Dead Man's Tale

by Faux Ray

A Korpsman, who has spent his entire life honing the art of death, is transported to a world full of life and without an Emperor to guide him. With no foreseeable way to return, he is forced to cooperate with an odd crew of criminals and antiheroes to unravel the mysteries behind his coming to this brand-new world.

3. Chapter 1: Going Once

The sky tore open and we weren't alone anymore. But the sudden light after being in the dark for so long can be blinding. And our eyes certainly hurt.

---

It begins with a backstreet alley in Manhattan, New York. The roads that were connected to this alley were dark, untouched by the unlit lamps inside the buildings that lined the street, nor the moonlight. The only major source of light was the one working lamp over a paint-chipped metal door inside the alley. Of the few people that might have chosen to traverse the particular two roads on either side of that alleyway that night, even less chose to notice the cars that stopped there, and less upon that were there long enough to consider it a pattern. They didn't even think to question the suitcases or the special valet services. It was New York, after all. Many stranger things had happened. Once it was a point of personal pride. Now, it felt almost like a burden.

A car slowed to a stop. If there would be something to draw the attention of others, it would be the standard of vehicle every party arrived in; most of them were high-end and expensive luxury models. For this particular car, the darkness did well in hiding the brand, but so did its color. It was black, but not pitch black. Rather, it was a sleek and glossy black. The silver wheels gleamed under the moonlight, but it was a dull glow. Its lights were piercing and its shape was sharp. The car here was a 2012 Merecedes-Benz E-class. The engine purred audibly.

The door opened and a man in a suit and a short man bun tied behind his head stepped out. His head swiveled left and right before focusing on the alleyway as two other men stepped up to greet him. These newcomers sported turtlenecks and wore a face scarf to cover their noses and mouths. It was a warm 73 degrees, even at night, so the outfit was a little uncomfortable. The masked men were in the shadows to avoid drawing attention to their choice of clothing. The man from the car closed the door and stood to face them. "Name?" one of the masked men asked.

"Percy Ranger," was the reply.

Percy removed sunglasses from his face, revealing green eyes. He sniffed and opened his mouth as he brought his hand up to his mustache and dragged his fingers down to his pointed chin. "Reservation?" the other man asked.

"Evans," Percy responded, tugging at the collar of the hoodie. "Jane Evans, party of five. So what do I call you boys then?"

"Sentry," one man said as the other flipped through a clipboard of paper. "He's Sentinel."

Sentinel looked up and nodded. Percy scoffed in amusement. "Yeah, yeah," Sentry said. "Protocol and whatnot. Security and all. You think it's fun wearing this in this weather? I didn't come up with the damn thing, but I get paid to keep my mouth shut. I would've been fine with a tee. Everyone's carrying these days anyway, with the Incident and all, so I wouldn't be too suspicious, especially if they can't see.

Ah, whatever. You won't be talking much to us anyway. You military?"

"Ex. You?"

"Army. Army?"

"Corporal, USMC retired."

"Ah, damn jarhead," Sentry joked. "Look awfully young though."

"Got out this year, actually," Percy revealed. "Just took my eight years and left. Found a job in the private sector."

"Oh yeah, it certainly pays better," Sentinel chimed in. "Sergeant, Army retired. Found you guys. Where's the card?"

Percy reached into his cargo shorts and took out a slim card. It looked like any other credit card, though something that might be reserved for the rich. If one looked closer, however, they would notice that there was nothing on there, no security code or card number, to mark it as such. It was a black plastic card with a white band, words in gold lettering, and details outlined in red. All very fancy. Percy handed it to Sentinel, who nodded at Sentry and walked back into the alley, disappearing through the door. "It's a pretty expensive entrance fee," Percy remarked.

"It's a pretty special auction," Sentry replied.

"Well, by luck, a pretty special thing happened only two months ago," Percy countered, to which Sentry grunted in agreement. "Be honest, what's your name?" Percy tried.

"Hm. James."

"Yeah," Percy said. "Sentry's better."

"Jackass!" James barked.

They both laughed as Sentinel came back. He raised an eyebrow at the two as he handed an entrance pass to Percy. "Bonding already, huh? Alright. All five million accounted for. Welcome to the party."

"Finally."

Percy nodded through the tinted windows of the Mercedes. The rear passenger side door opened. Sentinel whistled. "Wow, he's tall."

"Chaz," Percy introduced.

Chaz glanced at the two guards and nodded at Percy. He walked over to the driver's side door and stood on the right of it, near the trunk. Chaz crossed his arms in front of him, which only accentuated his form. He was indeed a tall man, standing at around six foot five and looking like he weighed around two hundred and fifty pounds. His black, greying hair wasn't cut but instead formed into somewhat unwinding dreads that hung to his shoulders. The man was muscular, hulking even, and was certainly an intimidating sight, even for these experienced soldiers. "He's also military?" James asked.

"No, not at all."

"Then why's he doing work as a guard?" Sentinel asked. He turned to Chaz. "Why are you doing security work? You should be in the ring, earn some money and some fame, my god."

Chaz grinned, barring his teeth like a wild animal challenging another. "Why? You want to fight me in the ring, eh? I'll fight you."

"Sheesh, alright," Sentinel said. "Do what you want."

The car's engine shut off. The driver's door finally opened, revealing a young woman, around her early twenties. She had long golden blond hair that reached to her lower back. On her eyes, she donned round-rimmed glasses that seem to bend the light from her green eyes. The two guards couldn't help but flicker their eyes for a moment toward her chest. Indeed, she was quite well endowed. She threw the keys at James, her stare icy. "Don't scratch it," she warned.

James raised his hand in a gesture of compliance. Percy turned around crisply and walked over to the driver's side passenger door. He looked left and right before grabbing the handle and pulling. Chaz uncrossed his arms, his head also on a swivel. Percy opened the door all the way and Chaz turned to help the passenger out. "Ah, so it's time."

It was a woman in her mid-thirties, with black hair and brown eyes. She was wearing a suit, they all were. James raised an eyebrow when Chaz reached an arm under her legs and behind her to lift her. "Uh?" he let out.

Percy glanced at James and quickly flicked his head to the trunk, where the younger woman was in the process of lifting out a wheelchair. "Oh," James murmured. "I see."

"Thank you, Michelle," the older woman said as she was gently put into the chair.

"No problem, Madame," Michelle responded.

"Alright then. I'm sure you can find the door yourselves. Go right ahead," James said as he pointed the way.

James then entered the driver's seat and eyed the steering wheel, whistling with admiration. He glanced over at Sentinel who rolled his eyes. "What?" James asked crossly.

"You've driven so many fucking luxury cars today. That's what this day's fucking for."

"Yeah, man, but this car's fucking awesome," James hushed.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Just drive the damn thing. And don't scratch it," Sentinel mocked.

James flipped Sentinel the bird and started the engine. By this point, the four-person group had made their way to the light, revealing a rusty metal door with no visible locks. There was, however, a blinking camera to the top right and Percy held up the card. The door clicked and parted. Percy swung it open. They were greeted inside a very cramped room by two women, also in masks, only, they were dressed in suits. "Welcome. You must be the Evans party. Please, hand over your suitcase."

Michelle walked forward and wheeled the suitcase over. "Thank you. Please step through the metal detector."

The group made their way through the metal detector with little problem, a process which Jane was spared due to her wheelchair. "Metal implants in my legs, dear," Jane had stated.

Once the suitcase was confirmed clean, the group was given four key cards. "Your suite is ready for you, Miss Evans."

They entered a room marked as a janitorial closet and the two women locked the door behind them; one of them gave the group a slight nod as the door closed. A dim light was all there was to illuminate the cramped chamber, revealing in its dimness three storage shelves, all packed with cleaning supplies. It was unassuming, and if the room were to be any smaller quite uncomfortable, that all uninformed persons would not bat a second glance towards it. Percy walked forward, reached his hand into the depths of the shadows, and felt around the walls. The third brick from the upper left corner, then down one. He pushed and it pressed backward. The lights flickered as an audible hum penetrated the room. Slowly, the roof caved in onto them just as the floor descended. The entire room was an elevator.

"Ohh," Jane let out appreciatively.

---

Union Allied Construction had quickly risen as a major player in the construction industry after the Incident had seen to it that billions of dollars in grants, donations, and funding were poured into New York City to help with reconstruction and reimbursement. Jumping at the clear chance of investment, the new start-up founded by one relatively unknown Wilson Grant Fisk, created barely a month after the invasion, had managed to prove their ability as a contender from the rest by building a hotel and casino in under three months. The company had been focusing on rebuilding, specifically, the Hell's Kitchen area, but wanted to spread its roots to the rest of New York as well. In a play to keep money circulating in the city, as well as build their own brand further, they decided on creating a tourist attraction. Some activists with still half a mind to protest during the aftermath of the damage had called them capitalist mongerers, profiting off the harm and damage, though they were readily ignored by the suffering masses that greatly appreciated the intervention. In the end, it was The Lucky Ace Hotel and Casino was on its grand opening night. Reservations were full as people came flocking in from all over the globe, either to either spend their money on luxury and extravagance or show off their philanthropy to the City of New York after the largest attack on American soil since 9/11. Coming out of a 2011 Ferrari 458 Italia, two men dressed in black suits made their way through the entrance, giving away the key to an extremely busy valet service. Inside the golden-lit lobby, the duo walked over to the front desk.

To either side of the receptionist, below the hanging chandelier, which was directly in front of the entrance, were two sets of stairs leading up to the 'first floor', breaking American tradition. Behind the receptionist's booth, which served as a security office as well, and a step down was the electronics section of the casino, holding slot machines and similar. Behind even that was an outdoor section, holding a fireplace and a pool. On the so-called first floor was where the manned tables of the casino were, tucked behind the dining area, which curved around the stairs all the way to the glass pane windows. On the third floor, which was the 'second floor' was where the rooms began. One of the pair glanced to the right, where the room to the occupied ballroom lay. "Hi!" he said. "Room under the name of Yewdril. Y-e-w-d-r-i-l."

The receptionist typed into her computer. "Hm, okay, Michael?"

"Yup," Michael replied, still smiling. "Michael Yewdril. And this is my brother, Rowan. Nice to meet you, uh, Jill."

Jill glanced at Rowan and frowned. Rowan blinked back at her noncommittal and jerked his head."Uh-huh," Jill responded. "I have you both for a double queen, hm, one night?"

"That's right," Michael said.

"Hi!" another receptionist said, coming up. She whispered something to Jill and Jill left. The new receptionist popped her lips and continued typing where Jill left off. "Sorry about that," she said. "Our boss needed her. Okay, one night, two beds…"

She reached to her right and grabbed two cards and their respective sleeves. After keying the room to the cards, she handed the keys over. "Enjoy your stay!"

Michael smiled, his gaze sliding over to the ballroom floor where Jill entered. "Of course."

Michael and Rowan made their way to the elevators on the left and Michael looked at his cards. "Fifth floor," he said.

Rowan punched the number in. Neither brother said anything, mindlessly listening to the muzak playing in the background until their floor. Before the elevator doors was a glass foyer with a feet mat, sofas, a vending machine, and a table. "Wow," Michael whistled and scrubbed his soles on the mat.

Rowan ignored the mat and the two stepped into the red-carpeted hallway. They quickly arrived at their room and Michael pressed a button on his watch. It clicked, whirred, and went silent. "You're okay, Fredric," Michael said, and Fredrick collapsed. Michael carried the heavily panting Fredrick over to the bed and situated him down. "Are you sure you can continue this without your suit, man?"

"I'm fine. Get off me, I can do this."

"Do what, man? You nearly died on the way up here!"

"Shut the fuck up."

"I'm serious. You're way too fucking shot here to continue, man."

"Look, it's in the van, right? I set the charges up here, I get to the van, and I'm good, right?"

"Yeah, if you can make it there."

Fredric sat up and shoved Michael aside. "Look, Doorman, let me do what I have to do, right? Right."

Michael pursed his lips and looked around. "Listen, if you collapse out there-"

"Fuck off, shitface. Jesus, DeMarr, calm yourself down."

DeMarr blinked. "Hey."

"Yeah, yeah, Doorman. No revealing your secret identity."

"Look, at least take a booster shot."

Fredric glared at DeMarr and reached over to the suitcase, unzipping it open and rummaging through the case. Underneath the clothes, he raised the false cover and pulled out a glass cylinder capped off with silver bands. Inside the cylinder were three tubes, each filled with a different colored liquid. Red, blue, and green. Fredric pressed one end against his neck and pushed on the flat plunger on the other end. Three hypodermic needles jammed themselves into his body and flushed the vials clean. Fredric blinked rapidly, his mouth working silent sounds. He swallowed, his body twitching a few times before the vial finally fell out of his locked grip. "Hooo… That's more like it."

"You good?"

"Yeah, yeah, we're good."

"Man, those mood relaxants turn you into a different person, man."

"Yeah, well, aggression's kinda what happens when your brain's got holes in it."

DeMarr backed away from Fredric, sitting himself down on the opposite bed. He pulled up the suitcase next to him, opened it up fully, and took a second to take everything in. Underneath the clothes and the false cover was a small arsenal of explosives, the tools they would need for their end of the mission. There were decoy charges, gas bombs, and a single unassuming cylindrical can with no label. The chemical charges consisted of 3-Quinuclidinyl benzilate gas bombs. These could incapacitate and cause delirium, enough to create a panic and to knock some people out, but no one was going to die. Hopefully, DeMarr thought. The four decoy charges would cause a big pop, a commotion, and maybe some damage, but nothing too bad. DeMarr stared at the cylinder can of thermite.

"So," DeMarr started, "are you handling the charges or am-"
Fredric glanced at DeMarr's face and blinked, giving him a wry smile. "I'm handling the charges, Doorman."
DeMarr swallowed. "You sure? You can barely walk, man."
Fredric gave a dismissive wave. "I got it under control."
DeMarr exhaled. "I mean, alright man."
"There we go. Pass me my cane?"
DeMarr reached underneath the thermite, his hands hesitating and coated in goosebumps. He pulled out a curved metal stick, meant to seemingly bend to one's hand. Holding it up and out, DeMarr pressed a small button on the edge of the handle. A long pole of stainless steel shot out of the handle, the jolt of it catching DeMarr a tad bit off guard. DeMarr tossed the cane a bit into the air, catching it by the neck, and handing its handle first to Fredric, who had propped himself onto the bed. Fredric shifted himself so that he was sitting, facing DeMarr, and slowly lifted himself with the metal cane. He wobbled a bit, his legs obviously weak, but without the strain DeMarr saw him walking in with. "Why didn't you just walk in with it? It could've been like part of the disguise or something?"
"Well," Fredric replied, "when shit goes sideways, they're probably going to figure out very quickly we had a role in it. But, they'll only know us from the little interaction we had at the front desk. They'll be looking for an able-bodied man, not a cripple."
"Hm, I guess… Man, how the fuck did that lady buy we were brothers? We're not even close to the same race."
"She didn't. Hence why they're going to be looking for us. And if she did buy that a pale white guy from Los Angeles and a black guy from Detroit were siblings, then she brings a whole new meaning to 'I don't see race.'"

Fredric went into the suitcase and pulled out an inane-looking fishing hat. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, placing it along with his slacks and suit jacket into the suitcase. In place of his two-piece suit, he wore a baggy sweater and some blue jeans. "Wow," DeMarr commented. "You really have that 'old man trying to be young' feel to you. Man, the face mask really works."

On Fredric's face, apart from the fishing hat that shadowed his features, was a synthetic cover made from, among other things, boiled pig feet. He was bald, but now he had wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead, and his cheeks had a droop. "But, man," DeMarr continued. "The mustache is just extra."

Fredric sat back down on the bed, giving his legs a bit of rest. He looked back at the bag as DeMarr pulled out a black piece of fabric. "Ah," Fredric chuckled. "The dreaded crime-fighting cowl. You're like a real-life Batman."
"You're just jealous that it's cool as fuck."
"I'm more of an Iron Man guy myself anyway," Fredrick commented, getting a raised eyebrow from DeMarr. Fredric's eyes narrowed a fraction at this display and DeMarr looked away. "Huh… Well, whatever, 'Doorman'"
"What would you have come up with?"
"Fair. Please don't tell me you brought the whole suit."
"Man, I was tempted, but couldn't fit the cape in the bag."
"Good, because I don't think a big, white cloak is our definition of stealthy."
DeMarr took the piece of fabric and pulled it over his head. It was a black mask, completely covering his face, save for two white diamonds over the eyes. "I kinda like it with the rest of the suit on, to be honest," Fredric said.
"Well, today's your lucky day, Fredric. You get to go full badass, and I'm stuck only wearing my helmet and walking around like an Agent 47 reject."
Fredric blinked. "Who?"

"Uh, never mind."

"Relax, Doorman. You're not meant to stand out anyway."
"But it's the, like, the psychological effect, man, you know what I mean? To be a badass, you gotta feel like one."
"Yeah sure, because you have so much experience in being a badass. Doorman, I'm walking down the hall to the elevator and punching it to the parking lot. Ooh, real badass. Calm down, hotshot."
Despite the mask, DeMarr's exasperation was still very much visible. He sighed, adjusting the mask. He pulled out two black gloves from his pockets, pulling each one on as Fredric stood back up, hobbling over to the suitcase and pulled out a small cardboard pole and the thermite charge, before closing and zipping up the suitcase, and pulling it off the bed. "Open that up and lets review the map one more time."
Fredric handed the cardboard container to DeMarr and DeMarr did as instructed, unscrewing the top, and dumping out a paper roll, before then unfolding it on the bed where the suitcase just was. A large map lay in front of them, saturated with colored lines and measurements. Fredric placed the thermite charge on the bed behind him before returning to the map. "You know where to go, right?" Fredric asked.

"Of course."

"Great. Once I plant the charges where they need to be, I get down, out from this side exit, and make my way to the van where I'll suit up and wait for the signal. You'll lead the rest of the group this way."Fredric reached his free hand into his right pocket, pulling out a small computer chip with wires, a button, and an antenna. "When that signal comes, I'm gonna use this to set all the charges off. You better be nowhere near any of them, or else it'll fuck this up in a multitude of ways. Now, run me down on what you're doing."
DeMarr shifted to face the map, scanning it over. "Man, it's simple, right? I just go down these stairs, walk down to the lobby, get over to this blindspot, and buzz myself into the ballroom. I reach this point, and I phase through into the elevator shaft. From there, I simply drop down and wait on the elevator ceiling. Then I wait till we roll."

"Perfect. Seems we got all our shit down. You ready? We're on the clock."
DeMarr adjusted his mask one more time and exhaled. "Yeah. Ready."
"Good."
Fredric turned back around again, picking up the thermite charge and sitting down, letting the cane rest against his knee as he primed it. The charge blinked with activity, coming to life, before letting off a steady beep. "Jesus fuck," DeMarr said.
"Relax. The thing isn't going to detonate until I give it the say-so."
"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about, what if you press the button in your pocket or something?"
"Isn't gonna happen, and if it went off right now, I'd be the one fucked, not you."
"I don't wanna tell gramps that you got charred to death by our own bomb though."
Fredrics's gaze shot back up at DeMarr. He held his stare for a few moments and DeMarr flinched at a sudden feeling of hostility before it was gone. Fredric sighed; it was his turn now to be exasperated. Fredric placed the thermite charge back on the bed before hobbling over to the opposite wall. It was the only thing separating them from the room next to them.
"Welp, Doorman, time to live up to your name."
DeMarr sighed and got up, walking over to the wall. He leaned his back up against it, anchoring himself securely, and faced Fredric. Fredric got the suitcase ready and stood right in front of DeMarr. "You ready?"
DeMarr closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, before opening them again. "We ready."
"Alright. Don't get caught. Stay undetected. Keep it together. Good luck."

DeMarr nodded. With that, Fredric ducked himself, and, as if walking through a door, hobbled right into DeMarr. But instead of simply just bumping into him, Fredric phased through, as if DeMarr, and by extension, the wall behind him, was nothing more than an illusion. To Fredric, it was like briefly walking through a realm of gray, monotone static; a world pulsing white with black bubbles floating all around him. He was nary in that realm of a physical hangover for more than a second and the world opened up to reveal the neighboring room. He turned around to look at what he had passed through. A glowing white mark bubbled the wall, shifting between the shape of an exploding star and a bullet hole in a glass pane. Black bubbles emanated from the hole, evaporating as quickly as they appeared. Fredric exhaled, and lifted his cane, banging it against the wall twice.

The portal disappeared from the wall, all evidence that Fredric had just traveled through a solid object entirely gone. "I suppose it is a fitting name," Fredric said to himself, hobbling over to the door of this new room.

Opening the door, he hunched his back, pulling down the cap so it would obscure his face. He opened the door and glanced up, eyes hidden, at the camera at the end of the hall, appearing on the screens as nothing more than a somewhat elderly man, going out on a stroll. Closing the door behind him, Fredric set out. Back in their original room, DeMarr pulled himself from the wall. He sighed; he acknowledged that his ability to be an interdimensional human door was quite useful, but it was never a pleasant feeling when someone used this ability in proxy. Nor did he like the feeling of being alone in a small room with a ticking thermite charge. Shaking off the goosebumps and shivering the feeling of a hole in his body away, DeMarr hastily walked over to the other wall and placed his hand upon it. When he was young, he only had what he called the 'pocket door ability'. He was worried that was all that he would get, but as he grew, his powers did as well.

Where DeMarr's hand was, a rectangle suddenly spawned, starting out as small as his hand before, in half a second, becoming the size of a full doorway, revealing the next room over. The blank space was surrounded by a familiar white frame that bubbled with black evaporating pellets. Over the doorway itself was a shimmering sheen, as if there was a layer of liquid frost. DeMarr glanced around, nodding to himself once he saw that it was clear. The thin saran wrap layer disappeared and DeMarr stepped through, and let the wormhole close behind him, shutting himself off from the thermite. He breathed a sigh of relief, before recollecting himself; he had to show everyone what he was made of. With a few hops in place to get his blood flowing and hype himself up, he began to walk toward the next room. Placing his hand on the wall once more, he furrowed his brows in concentration, spreading his static senses to the surrounding area, and placed a point on the three-dimensional mental map to his memory of the blueprints. Walking through, DeMarr found himself inside the emergency stairwell.
Fredric made his way down the hallway, making sure to keep his back arched and his head down. This slowed his pace and made him feel somewhat demeaned, but it was either that or his identity being plastered across every underground hit channel on the East Coast once this was over. And while he was from the West, he did not need that stress in his life. Fredric eventually reached his first target: a small little room, holding the ice machine for the floor. Despite it being exposed and open, it seemed whoever was in charge of security camera placement forgot this room existed, or wanted to cut corners. When he entered, his posture immediately straightened, and he quickened his pace, hastily hobbling over to the side of the ice machine. Leaning his head, he peered down the dark space between the machine and the wall. Opening the suitcase, he pulled one of the decoy charges, and, priming it, slid it in between. Any noise would be covered up by the hum of the machine.

Turning around, he looked up at the wall opposite the ice machine, holding the cover of a large vent. Fredric smirked. That smile quickly disappeared when Fredric looked down and very quickly realized there was a problem he'd failed to consider. To properly reach the vent, he would have to move a chair from the corner of the room, and stand on it to unscrew the vent cover, plant the chemical charge, and then re-screw the cover back on. Fredric gritted his teeth together. A loss of balance, or one of his legs giving out could blow his cover, or even worse, result in injury. If he hit his head against the linoleum floor, he probably wouldn't have the strength to get up, and either be found out, die on the floor, or, in the worse case, ruin the whole operation. But there was no other way around it. "Fuck."

With little choice, Fredric moved the chair underneath the grate, and, with a little hesitation, stepped and pulled himself onto it. The boosters were helping; instead of a burning stabbing pain, all he felt was a stinging icy pain, although that was combined with the nigh omnipresent fatigue and weakness. Grunting, Fredric ignored the pain, forcing himself up to stand and balance on the chair. The pain got worse the longer he exerted himself. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a small flathead screwdriver, slowly unscrewing the screws until the grate popped off. Bending over and carefully leaning it against his quivering legs, he then opened the suitcase. Taking out the first chemical charge, he primed it and slid it down the vent, watching it as it skidded into the darkness. Bending down again, he picked up the grate, and slowly screwed it back on. After the final screw was on, he turned, and slowly let himself off the chair.

He stepped down and immediately regretted every action he ever took as he wobbled and lost balance. Pain shot up from his legs to his spine and he slammed his cane down into the floor to hold himself upright. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain behind his eyes and he breathed deeply, calming down and feeling numb. A door opened down the hall and Fredric inhaled sharply, standing up. "Stupid machine," he muttered, slapping his cane against the ice machine. "Young man," he said in a hastily improvised Southern accent as he turned around, "care to help me out?"

The man, with a scantily dressed woman with more exposed than hidden at his arm, glanced over, gave an awkward and wry smile, and quickly walked away with the girl in tow. The girl giggled and glanced back. Fredric shook his head. He waved his hand in a noncommittal rude gesture and muttered something incomprehensible but audible. Once the pair was out of sight, Fredric sat down on the chair and breathed. He closed his eyes and leaned back, laughing quietly as he did sometimes. The pain was bearable now. He needed to push through. With one final sigh, Fredric lifted himself.

---

DeMarr slowly moved down the stairwell, carefully listening for any sort of echo or movement. Twenty seconds into his task and he was already on edge. There weren't many floors until he reached his next checkpoint but the emptiness of the space was jarring. Still, there was no one there and DeMarr began to ease up, the empty stairwell telling him that maybe this wouldn't be as challenging as it was cracked up to be. But that sentiment very, very quickly changed when he reached the first floor. Instead of the suffocating emptiness of the stairwell that at least provided some measure of comfort in the loneliness, he was faced down with a semi-packed two-level hotel lobby and casino. The sudden influx of noise was quite the experience; tourists, rich tourists, and New York natives alike bustled on the floor like ants, eating overpriced hotel food, making beelines for the bathroom, chatting up the opposite sex at the bar, and experiencing every emotion known to man at the slot machines and tables. Workers and staff members ran around, preoccupied with whatever task management wasn't paying them nearly enough to fulfill. However, most people here were small fry; easy to sneak around, and even if he was seen, they'd probably think that DeMarr was just some performer and that the mask was part of his act.

What was most concerning to DeMarr was the guard rotation. The guards around the machines, the tables, and the lobby were easily spotted, indicated by their white suits and red shirts and the holsters on their hips. They were vigilant, heads on a constant swivel behind their Oakleys. Sneaking past them would not be an easy task, and any drunk or wreck who pushed in one too many chips into the pot might spot him and raise hell if they thought he was trying something. DeMarr sucked in a breath through his teeth and exhaled. Resolving himself, he quickly walked over and ducked behind a plant display that was next to the stairwell door. He tensed up again, sweat coating his hands, making his gloves uncomfortable to wear, and ran the plan over and over ahead in his head to calm down. He would have to get down the grand staircase to the ground floor and walk to the left and enter the ballroom. The sheer amount of tourists of vice and sin that DeMarr had to make his way past left him perturbed.
The only real way he could do this was if he simply walked down there with the confidence that all of these rich, drunken bigwigs and tourists had: the confidence of the self-righteous with the right to be there. It wasn't too far-fetched; besides his mask, DeMarr was dressed in the same manner as the rest. He straightened his tie, raised his chin, and with one final breath, marched past the dining tables and started toward the staircase. Most people didn't notice him. Those that did, didn't really seem to care; it appeared the confidence trick was working. Either that or they just didn't fully take in what they saw. It was upon his final approach to the steps that a wrench was thrown into his plans. A man, seemingly drunk and very angry at Lady Luck's abandonment of him at the poker tables, had walked straight into his path.

The man wasn't very tall, somewhat portly, and didn't impose much of a physical threat. However, his drunken stupor and his possible temper posed a problem and made this man a potential nuke in DeMarr's plan. DeMarr nodded at the man and tried to sidestep him, but the man drunkenly lurched, blocking DeMarr's path. "What's…the deal with tha fuggin' maskkkk…you annnn ugly fucker or…what…answer meeeee, dumbass…"
The drunk smelled of alcohol, slobbering and slurring over his words. He held a certain spite with each bit of verbal diarrhea that spilled out that clearly spelled violence if DeMarr didn't do the right thing. He could take his own in a fistfight, but the ensuing commotion would attract guards. That was not acceptable. "Well, man," DeMarr began, trying to subtly sidestep the man, "it's, yeah, it's a mask, you know? To cover my face. The New York attack, during the battle-"
"D-durin' da New York attack ya what…spit it out…fuggin pussy…"
"I got hit. Yeah, yeah, man, I got hit in the face with falling debris while getting out of my office building. Was able to save a lot of lives that day, but… but my face was left fucked. Went through reconstruction surgery, man. The mask is meant to help my face better recover."
"Oh…I s-see…m-my brother gat killed durin' New York…I couldn't get ta him in time, was stuck on the subway…his apartment got demolished by some fuggin' aliens…he had cancer, too sick to get outta bed…"
"Oh…I'm sorry to hear about tha-"
"I god all his money. He was a wealthy guy, my brotha. Let me stay wit' him, helped me outta debt… was gettin' me b-b-ack on mah feet… than he gat killed and I wasn't there to get him…"
"That's, uh, yeah, that's awful man."
"Yeah…yeah…but I god all his money…and I didn know wat to do…so I just bought some drinks and I went here and I…and I…oh god…I-I blew all it…all my brother's money… everythin' he gave me…it's all gone…"
The man seemingly sobered up a little bit. The light of realization sparked in his eyes. The spite he had in his voice was replaced with a regret that was reserved for those who betrayed their family. His voice broke and tears began to roll down his face. DeMarr could tell the was trying desperately to hold it together, but the drinks and the weight of his actions pressed too heavily against his emotional barrier and the gambler broke down. The anger had burned away what was left of his bravado and he was left with less energy than before. The strength left his body. He fell forward, grabbing onto DeMarr's suit, and started sobbing into his shoulder. DeMarr couldn't help but feel sorry for the man and raised his arms to hug him, letting him cry.

DeMarr wasn't there in New York when it happened. He had friends, however, who were. This sadness, this nihilistic attitude, and the anger that this man possessed were found to varying degrees across all those that DeMarr talked to after the event. He had seen this before, felt it before, one, a decade ago. And while reports only counted 77 fatalities, they didn't count the aftermath. Those hospitalized due to injuries from the battle. The scars on their body but also in their hearts. They were forgotten. The event was too big for anyone to care about the individual.

People celebrated the Avengers and conspired about the aliens, and the survivors were just left to pick up the pieces. And so a sight of a broken man, who didn't know how, wasn't particularly uncommon anymore. The man took a second to regain himself, wiping the slobber and tears from his face in a futile effort. "I mean…what ya did durin' New York, you…you wa doin' God's work… need more people like you, man…with da' mask, you're…you're a goddamn superhero."
The man, giving one drunken pat on DeMarr's now somewhat damp shoulder, stumbled off, undoubtedly heading to the bar to drown out his newly returned sorrow. DeMarr took a second. He didn't know why, but being thanked by a man so broken for something he didn't actually do left DeMarr with a desire to be what that man thought he was. And it was that thought that reminded DeMarr of his mission. DeMarr quickly walked down the stairs, drawing a few confused looks, but ultimately unbothered. Once he made it to the ground floor, he made a beeline for his go line, a position where he could get through unseen. He was going to make it. "Hey! What's with the mask?"

Fuck! DeMarr turned around to see one of the guards walking toward him.

"I work here!"

DeMarr stopped and cursed himself. I work here? he thought. What the fuck?

The guard walked up to him and stopped short. "You work here?"

"Yes, I, uh, Mephisto. Mephisto the Magician. I'm here to-"

The guard waved his hand, giving DeMarr a snarky chuckle. "Mephisto? This ain't some third-rate inn, you-" The guard stopped and narrowed his eyes. He looked DeMarr up and down. "You're one of Mister Fisk's, aren't you?"

Fisk? Shit, uh… Right! "Yes," DeMarr replied. He straightened. "So you know. If you know, then you'd let me be. I'm very late. So if you could guide me?"

The guard studied him with suspicion but shrugged. "Sure." DeMarr exhaled a sigh of relief. "But prove it to me."

"What? Prove what?"

"You're wearing a costume-... Mask. You must be someone special, huh? One of those… powered people, right?"

"I-"

"Show me. Prove to me you're the 'Mephisto the Magician'. Do a trick right now, and if I'm not as shocked as the Roman soldier at the tomb on the third day, then I'm bringing your ass straight to a holding cell."
"Man, man, t-this is absurd, I-"
The guard wouldn't budge, staring daggers at DeMarr. DeMarr thought for a second and reached into his pocket, and pulled out the pen he had used earlier. "You see this pen? I'm going to make it disappear."
"This better be no Dark Knight Joker bullshit, fucko."
"Aw, man, I loved that- oh no no, don't worry, it isn't. Besides, I ain't strong enough to take you. But it is kind of…inspired off that movie. Now, I am going to make this pen… disappear. But not permanently."
"Anyone can do that, fucker. It's magician trick one-oh-one."
"Oh, anyone can, but not how the great Mephisto does it. Now, observe!"
DeMarr took the pen, waving it in front of the face of the guard. However, as he did this, he took his other hand, and subtly pointed it at the guard's pocket, creating a tiny portal. Holding the portal open, DeMarr took the pen, and without any hesitation, jammed it into his eye, it seemingly sliding right in and through his head. However, when DeMarr pulled his hand back, his eye was completely fine. It seemed as if the pen had just disappeared. "Well, no fucking way."
"Check your pocket."
The guard took his eyes off DeMarr for a second, checking his pockets to see if DeMarr was bullshitting. However, he wasn't as the guard, in awe, pulled out the same exact pen from his pocket. His eyes shot back up, pure shock coloring his formerly stoic face. "How the fuck did you? Shit, man, I wasn't even being serious, I, I mean, didn't even know Mister Fisk had- wow, you're actually one of those-"

"You've seen enough. Let me in."

The guard hesitated but relented, flipping the pen around in his hand in awe. The pair made their way to the ballroom door. The guard nodded at the sentries posted on either side. The one on the left stepped forward to open the door. DeMarr was finally in the ballroom. "I'll call it in, let him know you're coming."

"No!" DeMarr shouted, whirling on the guard.

The guard stepped back, one hand habitually flying to his weapon. "What?"

"That… would not be good."

The guard paused and gave him an understanding nod. "I heard. He's… violent, isn't he?" DeMarr gulped. "Alright, man. Yeah, sure. You just remember me for this favor. I might need a magician in the future… You know what to do, right? I'm sure he told you."

DeMarr nodded. The guard gave him a nod in return and exited. When the door closed, DeMarr studied the opposite wall. The entire wall was lined with glass panes, showing the starry night sky and the greenhouse garden the hotel had reserved for the wealthier of their clients. They offered many services for those with money, chiefly of which was a rumored secret clubhouse. Members, it was said, were given free access to high-class escorts that the hotel employed themselves, girls which others might have to pay thousands for to even have a conversation. In the center of the wall was a rectangular protrusion that held paintings on each of its three sides. The one that was directly in front of him depicted some sort of a woman. DeMarr didn't know who it was or what the value of the painting might have been, but he knew at a glance that it certainly wasn't the type of painting you might put in a kid's bedroom.

DeMarr walked straight into the secret clubroom. It was well furnished in an almost cliche manner, with red and gold lined sofas, chairs, carpets, et cetera. Bookshelves adorned the walls. However, even this was a front for anyone that might have been snooping. DeMarr stuck his head through the floor and saw his target. The roof of an elevator. Retracting his head and sticking his hand through, a tiny beam of evaporating light shot out, almost unnoticeable to the naked half. Maintaining the laser, he touched the floor beneath him. Another rectangular wormhole opened beneath him. At the same time it did, a portal of similar size opened from directly where his laser made contact with the elevator roof.

DeMarr then fell in a manner that might not even be accurate to call a fall. After all, the portal had been opened beneath him. And seeing as his axis suddenly changed, he was thrown out from the wall. He had expected it, however, and stopped himself with a small roll. The portal closed behind him as he got off, dusting himself off. "Agh," he let out.

After he was able to regain his breath and ignore the pain in his back, he sat up and shifted to his knees, kneeling down on the roof of the elevator, before opening a portal through the roof to the inside. Empty. Perfect. DeMarr anchored himself and slowly hung his head upside down inside. To his shock, there were no cameras. Even better. DeMarr lifted his head back out, and brought his legs in first, letting himself fall into the elevator, before closing the doorway behind him. He was in position, and ready to go. With that, he brought up his intercom and pressed a button.

Fredric glanced around at the lobby once the elevator doors opened, slowly limping into the foyer. Turning to the left, he pushed past double glass doors and walked the hall into the parking lot. The visual difference hit him like a truck. Whereas the hotel was bright with grand colors such as gold and red, the parking lot was a concrete prison of dim lights and the open New York air. Scoffing, Fredric started walking to where he parked the van. It was an inconspicuous van to the point that it became suspicious. Large white vans with no windows became somewhat of a symbol of criminal activities, hiding kidnappers, robbers, or even terrorists. But these suspicions did not come about for the guards that patrolled the parking lot. They were normal people who saw the car as a normal car, albeit a little out of place among the sports convertibles and luxury vehicles.

Fredric cracked his neck and unlocked the car doors. He pushed himself up into the driver's seat and closed the door, throwing his cane to the passenger's side before climbing into the back of the van and collapsed. He ripped off the false face and took a deep few breaths. The very idea of being so close to his suit had gotten his heart rate up as if just seeing the end and knowing it was just before his reached had burned the booster shot from his system. Gritting his teeth, Fredric pushed himself up and reached to grab a tarp around a stand. There, a yellow and red metal suit hung. Sighing, Fredric grabbed the nearby helmet, which was inside of a wooden box to the side, and pushed his head in. "Voice command, online."

The helmet blinked and a second later a fully layered H.U.D. projected itself inside. Fredric closed his eyes. When he opened them, he turned the armor around. Opening a panel on the bulk, he revealed a wheel and turned it. The armor creaked and hissed and opened up. Fredric stepped inside, letting himself feel the familiar weight of the suit on his shoulders, and unhooked it from the stand. He saw the H.U.D flash as the main suit connected with the helmet, pressuring and linking systems. He grabbed the boots from another box and put them on as the helmet flashed once more. Then came the stabbing pain of needles as a group of thirty-six microsized needles jammed into the base of his skull.

Fredric's eyes widened and he started to hyperventilate. Another needle entered both his forearms and he calmed down. A static buzz came from the intercom. "We're green," Fredric said.

---

"Hm," Jane said. "Green."

The elevator doors slid open and revealed the auditorium floor. It was bustling with activity. Glittering light shone from above, covering the neutral beige walls in gold. The smell of warm food from the open buffet area hit them as they passed the two hulking bodyguards dressed in suits and sunglasses posted next to the elevator door. On the stage, in front of the thick red curtains, were performers. Girls in skirts, stockings, and heels, wearing feathers and bands were dancing to men in women harmonizing their vocals, saxophones, electric violins, double basses, and trumpets. A pianist played in the corner. "Green," Percy repeated as he wheeled Jane out. "That's nice."

"This is certainly something, isn't it?" Jane commented.

Below the stage were chairs as you would find inside any usual auditorium. They were bolted to the floor with seats that folded up when not being used, with red velvet seats and red leather backrests. Surrounding the rows of chairs in a semi-circle were white tableclothed round tables, with the buffet tables situated in the midst of them. "Let's go and mingle, shall we?" Jane asked.

"At the buffet? We'll have a selection of food and drinks delivered up to our suit, ma'am, perks of our payment."

"Ah, but the atmosphere, you see," Jane replied as Percy glanced at the crowd. "Michelle, you go get us some, hm, snacks before we head up, yes?"

Michelle nodded, handing the duty of watching the cases to Chaz. Chaz grunted. The secretary made her way over to one of the buffet tables and started piling it up with easy bites of meat, things like sausages or bacon. "You must have just arrived, lady," a voice behind her said, and Michelle whirled around, "because I talked to everyone here." Michelle blinked. "How are you?" Justin Hammer asked.

"Aren't you supposed to be in prison?" Michelle asked. "You know, after the whole Stark fiasco?"

It was Justin's turn to blink as he looked around and spread his arms. He licked his lips and gave her a wide smile. "Are you aware of what you walked into, miss?"

"Right," Michelle said, giving him a quick and small smile.

"Besides, the Stark fiasco was the consequence of some incompetent hired help." He lowered his head and gave her a pointed stare. "You must know."

Michelle turned around to continue what she was doing. "Of course. Nice to meet you, Mister Hammer."

Jane blinked. "Shit."

"Fred," Chaz whispered.

Nothing came over the comms. Finally, the void of noise turned into an underlying static as Fredric keyed the comm but didn't speak. "Not my problem," he said after some time.

"Right," Jane said after a moment of silence. "Everything's in place. We're just on a timer now. Anything else?" Jane asked.

Fredric propped his head on the steering wheel, staring down at the gauges through the lenses with blank eyes. His hands were crossed between his legs and he fingered the detonation switch. A static buzz notified the rest of the group that Fredric had switched channels. "You told him about me."

"Hm?" Chaz intoned.

"You told him about me."

"Who?"

"Don't fuck with me, Chandler. The way he looked at me when I mentioned Iron Man. You told him about me."

Chaz rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, so what?"

"Fuck you, Charles. How much?"

"Some," Charles replied. "Enough."

The comms hissed. "I don't need his pity," Fredric growled. "I don't need him knowing jack shit, period!"

Charles paused. "We got a fucking problem?"

Fredric swallowed and sighed. "Naw, naw, man, just… damn it, if DeMarr starts looking at me like I'm some sort of-"

"Ah, he won't. Kid's not going to treat you any different. He hasn't so far, yeah? Besides, you're already one crippled mother fucker, so truth or no truth, he's still going to see your ass fall over, right? He's bound to wonder why, now he just knows."

Fredric barked a short laugh. "You asshole," he said.

"Ain't gonna change a thing," Charles reassured.

"Enough," a voice said. "Focus on the mission. Do not squabble. I do not want to listen to this."

"Sure, Poker-man," Charles snarked.

"Miss Evans!" Another voice called out to them as Fredric went silent.

"Mister Hammer. How surprising it is to see you here," Jane said as Justin walked up with Michelle.

Michelle gave Jane a strained smile and lowered the plate of food next to her. "Ma'am, a-" Michelle looked at Justin, "Justin Hammer here to see you."

"Thank you, dear. You can just hand the plate to me."

Michelle nodded and placed the plate on Jane's lap. "I don't think I've met you before," Justin continued.

"Must you be so familiar with everyone, Mister Hammer?" Justin chuckled and Jane went on. "Are you so connected to the darker side of the world that it would be unusual for another, hm, participant to be unknown to you?"

"No, this is actually pretty new. So I'm," he waves his hands a little, "branching out, you know? Get to know the inhabitants. Besides, there are more than a few public faces here. How are you enjoying the food tonight?"

"I think I'll give judgment when I get courses delivered up to my suite."

"Ah, you have a suite. Well, I can promise you that the food is very good, Jane. How's the show?"

Where is he going with this? Jane thought. "I haven't been watching. I barely got here before you came up to me. But I think that the music's good."

Justin reached forward, pushing out his hand. "Justin-" he began. Charles stepped forward, blocking the man's path, placing on hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, relax, man," Justin said, putting his hands up and retreating. "Harmless, hahaha! Fine, fine, I'll keep to a distance. You got a suite, you got that money, you must be aiming for something huge. Anything, in particular, you're looking to buy?"

"Hm, that's a personal matter, don't you think? What if I ask you that question?"

"Ah," Justin said, looking excited. "I'm not here to buy. I'm the organizer."

Percy frowned and Jane raised an eyebrow. "This auction is yours?" she asked.

"No, no, this auction's someone else's. I just helped supply the location and planned most things."

"But this place. Are you the founder of Union Allied Corporations?"

"Mister Hammer," someone said.

"Wesley!" Justin said. "William."

A group of men walked over, all carrying the bearings of experienced bodyguards. In the midst of them, however, was a duo. The one standing further behind held himself high but positioned himself in an almost secretarial manner, and yet Percy read from his eyes that this man was dangerous. The other one, the boss, the leader, the one that stood in front, needed no pretense. Percy couldn't help himself and he stepped backward, eyes widening in shock. "Mister Hammer," the secretary greeted.

"Justin," the boss began. "I believe you've mingled enough for tonight. The auction will be starting soon." William turned to face Jane. "I don't believe we've had the satisfaction of meeting." His eyes darted over to Percy and Percy felt himself stiffen. "It seems that my appearance makes your associates uncomfortable, miss-?"

"Evans. Jane Evans."

"Miss Evans. William B. Fisk."

William extended his hands. Jane grasped it gently and they shook while Justin gave their gesture a wavering smile and a hard stare. "The pleasure's mine, Mister Fisk," Jane replied.

"Please, call me William."

"William Fisk. You would be the founder of UAC, correct?" Jane asked.

"You would be right. A better Hell's Kitchen for everyone."

"And Hammer works for you?"

"Uh-" Justin cut in.

"And why would you think that, Miss Evans?"

"He said he organized this venue. With the way UAC is involved, I thought perhaps-"

William turned around to give Justin a look. Justin turned his head away. "It appears that my associate has been divulging information that we have not yet agreed to give out. Hammer Industries and Union Allied Corporation have agreed to a mutually beneficial merger. Hammer UAC. For the good of New York. And profits, of course."

"Of course."

William gave Jane a once over with his eyes. "Would you be here for the Chitauri Neurallink?"

"The Chi-"

"He refers to your inability to walk," a voice in Jane's ear said.

Jane's eyes hardened as she fixed William with a glare. "That's quite presumptuous of you, Mister Fisk. Don't tie me down to my condition."

"My apologies, Miss Evans. It was not my intention to be rude. I was not characterizing you by your unfortunate circumstances. I simply assumed that anyone with a chance to correct their hapless arrangements would do so."

Jane was silent for a moment. "Perhaps, Mister Fisk."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the auction will begin in five minutes."

"Enjoy your suite, Miss Evans," William told them.

"You aren't in one?" Jane asked.

"Publicity does not hurt, especially for an event of this nature. I have my protectors. And you know what is said, front row seats are most appropriate for a show."

With that, both sides parted ways. Justin gave them a parting nod and followed William and company. Jane's group reached the inner elevators that were to the left of the main elevator. There were three of them ferrying three lines of wealthy ner do wells to the third level. The auditorium was situated as one might expect from one you would find elsewhere, with boxes next to the stage and the royal circle above the stalls. The suites, on the third level, could be described as grander boxes, furnished with closets, soft sofas and benches, a bar, tables, and even two beds should any unaccounted needs arise during whatever performance may be happening on stage. They arrived with little problem and situated themselves in their suite. "You saw the pause there. She was listening to something," James said.

Fisk, in his seat now, unbuttoned his suit jacket. "Look around you, Wesley. Everyone here could have snuck in a bug or a microphone. If she was listening to someone in her ear, it would hardly be surprising. I guarantee that many of our contemporaries have had their entourage sneak in weapons. Just as we have. Leave it be."

James glanced at William before giving a stern nod as the curtains opened. Justin walked onto the stage. The band, which was to the side, started to play a jazzy melody to which Justin dance-stepped. Some polite clapping echoed in the audience. "Yeah! Thank you, everyone, for coming tonight! Ladies and gentlemen, the world was bereft months ago when aliens invaded Earth. There, we learned the harsh reality of our world. That we are not alone and that we were vulnerable.

The Avengers pushed back this threat. They're heroes who had very well saved this planet from decimation. But then they packed up their toys and took the spoils. Damage Control, run by Stark, the Avengers' very own clean-up crew, leaving nothing for the rest of us. They didn't even bother to help with the mess they made. They left that to us. That's not very fair. Not very right of them. And it's just too bad.

Regardless, it was an impressive display of powers. It showed that humanity had the ability and the will to defend themselves and that we could. Iron Man. Captain America. Heck, even the Hulk. The NYPD. The National Guard. But the Avengers took the headlines, and they Battle of New York's poster image in newspapers all over the world. So Stark watched the Phantom Menace, so what?"

Scattered single claps and chuckles. Hammer coughed. "But we're not here to talk about them. We're here to talk about us. It's time we get something as well. And the Lord knows that we can use all the fun we can get. It's no longer just about gang wars. It's about right, right? So I want to introduce you to the first item of tonight's auction, Iron Drones!

Let's get this auction going! Yeah!"

---

"Our sixth item of the night! The Iscariot Bullet! A prototype bullet of Hammer Industries's experimental armaments line, developed using alien metal from the Incident and combined with the genius of the American industrial war complex. Built with a kinetic-kill sidewinder, this dual-stage missile bullet packs a punch and explodes into a gory shrapnel-filled mess after! The gyrojet brought into the modern age. At three thousand dollars a pop, let's start selling these ten-round magazines for thirty thousand dollars! Thirty thousand, do I have thirty thousand dollars? Thirty, thirty-five-"

"Thank you," Percy said as he closed the door. He wheeled in a silver cart with multiple layers of silver platters. "Food's here," he announced.

"Well wheel it up then," Charles said.

Percy made his way to the table and set the platters, taking off the cloches to reveal steaming entrees letting off mouth-watering aromas. The room was soundproof, so they heard the auctioneer through the speakers placed in each corner. There was a screen to the side that showed closeups of the auctioneer, but more importantly, the items that he was showcasing. A display case showed off a row of Iscariot bullets and a Judas Rifle. "When's the thing coming out?" Michelle asked.

"Towards the end. Look in the brochure," Percy replied.

"Right, about that. It's not in there."

"It's under 'special'. It's not explicitly stated."

"Then what was I supposed to look for?" Michelle asked. "Use the paper to mind-read the guy who wrote it?"

"Listen-" Percy started.

"Enough," the voice in their ear said. "Focus."

Charles scoffed. "Don't get your panties in a twist, Pokerface." Percy whirled on Charles, pointing a finger at him. "Relax, Lance. We did a sweep. No bugs. I doubt Mister Fisk over there, and that jerk-of-a-face Hammer would put bugs in their suites. Makes for bad business."

"It doesn't matter if there are bugs or not, it's called OPSEC," Lance countered. "Ever heard of it?"

"Yeah, I fucking have. It just don't mean fuck right now. Hey Poker, now that we're a step away from getting that big shiny rock of yours, wanna finally answer my question?"

"..."

The group waited for Pokerface to answer as the Iscariot bullets got sold. The next item came on. "Yay or nay, man?" Charles continued. "Because May fourth kind of put a rocker for me in trusting you. Kind of ironic, given what that date's supposed to mean for aliens."

"I have made it abundantly clear that my people, and I especially, had no place in that event nor relation to the Chitarui."

"That wasn't my question," Charles said.

"Why are you doing this now," Lance asked, exasperated.

"Because we're right on the cusp of getting the damn thing, so we finally have the leverage to ask. Besides, you heard the rumors. What's one space rock to another?"

"Atrion is rare. I was only lucky enough to procure this planet and only lucky enough to get a return signal for Atrion when I scanned the planet again. There is no higher reason. Just an unprecedented opportunity."

"That's it?" Lance asked. "You could've told us that at the beginning! Why would you even hide that?"

"Careful, boss, your Lance is showing," Michelle said.

"Oh, don't you start, you."

The auction continues as the gang watched. They bid a few times to show their participation, random items, and a few even come into their possession after a successful bid. A Chitauri anatomy dissection book at a million and thirty thousand dollars, a highly decorated golden Walther PP that belonged to the late Adolf Hitler for five hundred thousand dollars, and even got their hands on The Storm on the Sea of Galilee for ten million dollars. They were unfortunate, or perhaps fortunate, enough to not win the preserved Chitauri soldier that the book was auctioned alongside with. They didn't eat much. They had eaten before they got here. The food they ordered was for show, for eating now would be a bad choice in preparation for upcoming events. Still, they picked at the plates once or twice; it was hard to resist the allure of master-crafted foods, risking stomach aches for a chance to taste greatness.

Jane had to admit that she was tempted to put money down the Neural Link when it showed up. The pang of being able to use her legs freely was tempting, but it didn't outweigh the uncomfortable feeling in her chest when she realized that she would be putting alien technology in her body. It didn't help that she had no goodwill in store for the invaders of what was, now truly considerable as a variable, her home planet. She did, however, place money down for an FF Chem Link System, under the persuasion of Charles, to give to Fredric. It was a low-grade stim pack that was reverse-engineered from Chitarui technology, linking to and boosting vital organs, though the auctioneer warned that it was toxic under prolonged use. However, they found out that it had to be paired with Chitarui Neural Network. Different from the Neural Link, the person implanted with this device would have to obey a Control Module, whether that be implated in a person or not, with resistance causing pain and obedience causing pleasure. With it lowering self-preservation and providing a built-in H.U.D. and communications network, this device was built to enhance a person to become the perfect soldier. Charles joked that it would have to work once Fredric stopped being able to function properly.

He laughed it off as a joke. Jane didn't feel so sure.

Charles, without prompting from other group members, much to the chagrin of Jane and the displeasure of Lance, bid on Angel Tears, saying those were for Fredric too. It was a drug ingested through the mouth in liquid form or shot through a needle. Using this drug, the auctioneer said, causes immense physical relief and mental ecstasy, shutting down voluntary muscular movement and perception of surroundings. It causes the user's deepest wishes and dreams to surface in the most vivid visions. He never mentioned the negative side effects. The rest of the items were more normal. Chitauri power cores, glowing purple powerful but volatile energy source that can power an Earth vehicle for half a lifetime. Chitauri energy rifles. A deposit of Vibranium in its pure ore form.

"Now, special item number three, Atrion ore!"

"Well, shit," Lance said, "there it is."

The attendants rolled out a cart with a pulsing jagged blue stone sitting on top of a red velvet pillow. "Not much is known about this mysterious space stone," the announcer continued. "All we know is that it has special properties when conducting energy through it. This thing takes up a lot of energy to do what it's supposed to, and your average double-a batteries won't be much use. Its redeeming qualities? Maybe you can master clean energy with it. Maybe you'll disintegrate your enemies. A hundred and sixty-four pounds, going at ten million dollars!"

"Shit. That's too big to carry."

"Big?" Poker asked. "How big?"

"Uh, roughly the size of a kickball."

"In metric measurements."

"Uh, upper twenty-ish centimeters," Lance replied.

"Impossi- Hm. Try. If you can't, get something out of it."

"You said it would be small enough to grab in one hand."

The voice didn't answer. "Three million," Michelle said. "Doesn't that seem too cheap for what Poker said it can do?"

"Well, I, I mean, you heard the announcer. Nobody knows what that rock can do apart from some general assumptions based on really inconclusive tests."

"Seventy million!"

"Jesus, seventy? The last raise was only to twenty."

"God damn, that Fisk must really want it. What do you think-"

"I think the better question is, what can we sell it for?" Michelle purred.

"Well. It seems at least seventy million," Lance smirked.

"Ah, but that's for the entire one hundred and sixty pounds, isn't it?" Jane remarked.

Michelle tsked.

"Doesn't matter now," Lance said. "We'll take what we can. Given how rare the thing is, especially after we nab a part of that, we'll get enough. Suit up."

Lance grabbed their suitcase and threw it open on the bed. Charles stood up from the seat and loosened his tie, unbuttoning his suit jacket and throwing it on the floor. In another smooth motion, he ripped open his shirt, the shirt joining the jacket on the floor, and revealed an over-the-top fake muscle suit, underneath which was a red and green suit. Lance tossed a pair of green boots and red gloves next to him as he took off his slacks to reveal the complete outfit: a formfitting bodysuit, split down the middle with red on the right and green on the left. Charles took off his dress gloves and put on the ones that Lance tossed, stepping into the shin-high boots. He caught the helmet that Lance tossed after, casting his world in a tint of yellow as amber goggles slid over his eyes, and wrapped a deep brown trench coat around himself. "Hey, boss, hand me my stuff too," Michelle said.

Lance tossed her a pair of black gauntlet gloves and a dominoqsue mask. Michelle caught them, removing her dress gloves and wig. Her hands went up and she took off a hair tie, shaking her head, letting her white hair cascade down to her shoulder blades. Putting on her gloves, she flexed her fingers and five claws popped out. She blinked, and the triangular lenses of her mask polarized, her shining green eyes reflecting a dark shade of blue. Jane reached around to her lower back, pressing down in a few places. "Help me up, please?" she asked.

Michelle walked over and grabbed both of Jane's hands, pulling her out of her wheelchair. Jane arched her back and brought a tiny circular chip to the base of her neck, hidden underneath her suit collar. Placing the chip in a receptacle, something beeped and Jane took a step forward. "Thank you, Felicia."

"No problem, Miss Turing," Felicia replied.

"Hey," Lance said. "Codenames, or, uh, you know, from now on."

Lance grunted and grabbed his own gear, a simple collection of holsters and weaponry, and night vision goggles. He had his body armor underneath his suit, rated for light calibers. He had to admit he was worried. "Right then," he said, his British accent sliding through. "Either way, we're screwed. Cause we're not getting that whole thing out of here. Don't you just hate it when rare stones turn out to not be so rare after all?"

"It is rare," Pokerface interjected. "The size of your current objective is not an indication of-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, right," Lance said. "Let us handle this, PF. We'll get back to you when we're done or dead. In which case, we won't."

Pokerface was silent for a moment. "Very well," he said.

"Mighty optimistic of you, boss," Felicia said.

Lance pulled back the charging handle, tugging on the stubby grip to make sure it was secure, before slapping it back into position. "Optimism has nothing to do with it, Cat," Lance replied. He unlocked the stock and pulled its length back, tightening the screws on his suppressor. "Let's go."

They paused at the door. Jane closed her eyes. "It's done," she said after a moment.

Lance opened the door and stuck his head out, waving to the rest of the group once he saw that the coast was clear. Unseeing cameras blinked on the roof. Slowly, they stepped out. Lance nodded to Felicia. Felicia gave him a smile and tugged on Jane's arm before she ran off. Jane sighed and made to follow. Lance turned to Charles and nodded as well. Charles just gave him an eye roll and the duo moved forward. They rounded the circular way and paused just before the angle of the elevators. By each one were two guards.

In the center of the four elevators was the staircase. Lance peeked and raised his gun, squeezing the trigger. Every disciplined trigger pull was met with one of the guard's heads popping, billowing into red mist. These suppressed subsonic rounds were still louder than a pneumatic wood chipper right by the ear, but the soft carpet and thick walls absorbed the sound and the prevalence of the gasaction blowback was greater than that of the propelling rounds of lead. Click. The gun jammed when he reached the last pair of guards, who by this point had their weapons drawn and were reaching for their communications units. "Shit," Lance muttered.

He dropped the MP5, which tugged on his neck as it hung on its sling, and dropped to his knees, quickly drew a sidearm, firing a rising vertical line of bullets into the first one and emptying the rest of the clip into the upper chest and neck of the second. They fell down to the red floors with a squelch, drenching the carpet in an even deeper red. Lance stood up, releasing the magazine and throwing it to the floor. He pulled back the bolt back, shaking the gun, causing the jammed casing to fall out. "Stupid," Lance muttered as he inserted a fresh magazine, slapping the bolt home with a satisfying snap.

"So, I guess we ain't buying from them again?" Charles asked as the two made their way to the door.

"Ah, it's high-grain powder, it's bound to jam a bit," Lance replied as he pushed open the door.

They stepped down the stairs, making their way down to the first floor, and waited by the exit.

The control room was above the stage, opposite the suites but on the same level. Gaining access to this room would allow for complete control of the auditorium and the stage, but most importantly, the auction itself. Felicia grinned as she moved forward. There were no guards for there were no elevators and no stairs, so she was free to run. When she rounded the circular nonexistent edge, she saw her target and the two guards by the one-way glass door. Felicia stopped running, walking up to them with a smile and swaying hips. "Hey there, boys," she greeted.

"Uh," one of them said, clearly caught off guard. "Ma'am, you're not supposed to be here," he said noncommittally.

Felicia's grin widened as she approached the man on her right, lowering her body and almost snaking it around him. The man gulped. "Oh, but I want to be here, darling."

The man gave a wavering smile before his eyes widened as razor-sharp talons tore across the man's face, leaving him crying and on the floor withering. The woman's smile turned something fierce and the other guard let out an "Oh shit!"

He quickly unholstered his own weapon and got it up, but was unable to find his target as Felicia lowered herself even further and weaved left and right, stepping into his arms. The man left standing dropped his weapon to free his arms and stepped backwards, evading another slash as he punched forward. Felicia ducked but her eyes widened as she came up to block a knee to the face. Pushed backwards, Felicia growled and stepped to the side, pulling the incoming knife hand to trip the man, raking a claw across his throat. Slowly, she lowered him. "No hard feelings," she said.

The man looked up at her with confused eyes as his world went cold and dark. "A bit much, I think," Jane said as she walked up.

Felicia grabbed a stretch lanyard keycard off one the dead body and swiped it across the reader. She reached a cautious hand from beyond the doorframe and grabbed the vertical door handle, pulling it open and pushing it aside as bullets cracked into the one-way glass. Inside, an operator screamed at his partner to get on the radio. Felicia tsked and slid her way through the closing door, flicking her wrists. A wire snapped into existence and whipped itself across the room, wrapping itself around the gunman's hand. She pulled, the gunman screamed, and the gun came loose. The other man had reached the walkie-talkie, raising it toward his mouth. Felicia flicked her other wrist and a similar wire jumped at him too. She jumped forward with outstretched legs and kicked the second guy in the head, knocking him out.

Retracting her wires, Felicia sashayed over to the first one. "That wasn't very nice," she said, raising her fist. "Good night."

She cracked her fist across the man's face and he slumped down unconscious. The door opened again and Jane walked in. "Well. That's the room clear for you. You'll be alright here?"

Jane walked over to the main console, studying the controls that would descend the auditorium into chaos. She then looked over at an unattached board, the one that the auctioneers brought in that would unlock each protective case. "Yes," Jane replied.

"Great. Have fun," Felicia said as she ran out the door.

She made her way to the stairs, ignoring the eight other bodies there, and hopped down two flights of stairs, dropping into a perfect three-point landing, barely slowing down as she bounced up right after. "Hey," she greeted the boys.

"Celeste, we're good," Lance whispered into his comms.

"Whatever happened to codenames?" Felecia said smirking.

"Oh shut up."

Jane looked over to the console and pressed a few buttons, pushing sliders, and turning knobs. She looked out the viewport, seeing the entire auditorium flash to a blinding level of lumination, before cutting power altogether, drowning the area in a pitch black. "Go," she said.

"Ya hear that, buddy?" Charles asked as Lance flipped down his goggles and pushed open the door.

Fredric sighed and looked down at his hand. He flipped open the cap and pressed the button. The green light blinked and turned red. The roof of the garage rumbled. "You got ten minutes," he said, leaning back into the seat.

Jane grunted as she bent her back to pick up the fallen firearm. She then walked over to the door, opened a panel next to the door and placed her hands on the ports. Glowing blue wires seemed to swim up her veins and nerves from her legs as they flashed toward her fingertips. Her fingers appeared to have melded with the electronics on the walls. She closed her eyes, feeling the switches and chips, coaxing them to listen to her with silent words. A few green lights inside the panel turned to red. Jane opened her eyes in satisfaction. She pulled her hand away, and grey wire tubing extended between her fingertips and the ports. With a yank, they snapped away from the wall and slowly retreated back into her body with the consistency of sand, the blue veins returning to her legs.

With that done, she returned to the swivel chair and sat facing the door, sighing with bone-deep exhaustion, and waited.

---

"What's going on?" William asked. "What's happening?"

"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer said, his voice significantly softer outside of the speakers, "please remain in your seats. We will go up to the control booth to check on the p-"

He went silent as someone ran up to him, but missed, and fell off the stage. Cursing, the auctioneer bent down to pick him up and the messenger finally revealed to him that they could not get in contact with the control room and that every single case in the back was suddenly unlocked. The auctioneer reeled back up. "Subterfu-"

There was a flash of light and a clear bursting rattle noise. Someone thudded. Another flash of light, another thud, and someone screamed, "Gun!"

The auditorium burst into pandemonium as Willson jumped up from his seat, lunging toward the stage. James hurriedly grabbed at his shirt, his apologetic face hidden by the darkness. "No! We have to get you out of here."

William allowed himself to be dragged away by James as they blindly pushed their way to safety. "Get him, call him, now!" William yelled.

"I already have him dialed," James said.

William threw James's hand off, rounding on where he thought Justin to be, and grabbed Justin's cuffs. He was correct in his assumption after Justin yelled. "Whoa!" he said. "I didn't do-"

"Never mind that! You brought that girl here with you. Call her."

"She's probably with your man right now! Jeez, I'll call! Let go!"

Some semblance of order that was restored was lost when they realized that the exit door was locked, and the security struggled to regain control, directing them to a different holding area as they tried to sort out the situation. Those that somehow made their way to the stage were quickly picked off by submachine gun fire. Coming to their senses, the audience pulled out their phones and turned on the flashlight apparatus, while the guards pulled out higher-powered flashlights. Security had rushed up the stairs, into the suite level, tripping over the missed dead bodies fallen next to the elevators to try to get to the control room. Sliding their keycards across the reader had no effect and bullets cracked but failed to shatter the bulletproof glass. One of the guards, a senior member, rushed over to Justin. "Mister Hammer, sir," he began.

"Hey, hey, get that out of my face!" Justin said, raising his hand to block the blinding beam of light.

"Oh- sorry, sir," the guard said as he dropped the light.

"No, I can't see you- just give me that," Justin said as he grabbed the flashlight and put it in a more neutral position. "What?"

"We raised the security at the hotel, sir, to ask why we weren't getting support."

"And?"

"An explosion, sir. Someone set off charges on the fifth floor. They're tied up there."

"Shit. And what about here? Upper levels?"

"Sentinel and Sentry aren't responding, and the girls have gone silent."

"Fuckin-"

"What's going on? What is this, Hammer?" Someone in the crowd asked.

Justin chuckled nervously and ran a hand through his hair. "Don't worry, we'll get this done!" He reached out and grabbed the guard by the cuffs. "Figure this out," he growled under his breath. "I don't need their ire on me, or, or! lose the partnerships with the auctioneers. Understood?"

The guard nodded frantically. "Yes, sir!"

The guard pulled away and turned to run when Justin grabbed the back of his collar. The guard let out a choked gasp as he got spun around. "Your flashlight," Justin said, slamming it into the guard's hands. "Come on now," he continued, grabbing the man's face. "Do your job, earn your keep, yeah?"

The guard nodded uncomfortably and was released, finally off to do what he was told to do. Hammer looked down at his phone as it buzzed and he tapped William on the shoulder. "Yeah, they're coming."

Outside and around the stage, the guards were popping off periodic shots into the darkness, not hitting anything but not willing to get out of cover to try. Their flashlights were able to catch shadows that their eyes finally processed as they got used to the pitch-black darkness, but no shadow seemed to be the shadow they were looking for. Some audience members flinched with each gunshot, made bearable only by the many sound-absorbing and dampening materials. In fact, the reflective surfaces that served to refract the sound evenly across the entire auditorium seem to give it tasteful acoustics. Guards that did move into the darkness without being shot were met with a crueler end. Their eyes made out two different shades of color, even their vibrancy dulled by the darkness. A silver blade flashes up to their neck, plunging in and carving their jugular. That phantom sneaked up behind each one, making quick work of any who dared to invade the abyss. If their gargling did not make the guards outside think twice, the screaming did, for every once in a while, a bright flash of light popped up and the man afflicted by said light shrieked as if burned, their bodies warping into unimaginable contours, folding into dimensions a human body is not supposed to occupy; they heard laughing.

The glowing blue Atrion was visible in the total darkness even without the night vision goggles and Lance quickly walked over, opening the glass case. He was thankful that the Atrion was not in view of the stage proper, else he be lit up and shot at. Lance let his gun drop to his side as he tried lifting the stone but quickly found himself struggling. He was strong enough to lift it and even carry it, but it would severely slow him down if he tried. Charles followed close behind, observing Lance struggle with the Atrion. "That ain't sustainable," Charles remarked, somehow seemingly unfazed by the thunderous cacophony of gunfire that echoed throughout the hall.
"Oh, oh yeah?"Lance fired back, extremely exasperated. "Why don't you carry it? You've done fuck all this whole goddamn mission."
"I haven't needed to do anything. Seems I have to now." Charles walked to Lance's side, lowering himself and squinting his eyes to get a closer look at the Atrion ore, before bringing his hand up to the right side of his helmet, patching into his comm. "Poker. What do you want us to do about this? Cause we really can't fuck off with something this heavy."

"Does the Atrion stone have an opaque layer that does not seem to carry the same glow?"

"Uh. Yeah? Maybe."

"That crystalline coating, to put it in simple terms, is a naturally occurring protective layer. While it looks like diamond and may appear valuable, it is entirely useless. Removing that layer should sheer a considerable amount of weight. Determine the manageability then and I will give you further direction should you require."
"Alright, got it."Charles cut comms with Poker. "Lance, drop the Atrion ore on the ground and hand me your knife."
"What? You're kidding. You're really not getting through that with my knife," Lance said, handing him his knife.

Charles grabbed it in a very odd fashion, squeezing the handle between his fingers like he was holding a piece of trash. Taking the knife, Charles positioned its tip onto the Atrion ore. "Boys," Felicia said, peering down at them. She had a sack at her waist, weighted with small items at the bottom. Lance gave her a raised eyebrow. "As much as I would love to stick around and admire all the things that we can take, we really don't have much time."

"Yeah, yeah, pussycat, give me a minute," Charles said.

Suddenly, the tips of Charles's fingers began to glow through his gloves. It was a subtle, neon glow, barely noticeable if you were further than a few feet away. But the glow almost seemed to spread, the entire knife suddenly gaining an almost blue-red highlight. Then, in less than half a second, the knife suddenly seemingly flattened, becoming almost thinner than a sheet of paper. It looked like an error, like a transparent texture of a knife in a video game. Charles pinched it between his fingers, before sliding it into the Atrion ore, like a credit card into a reader. The glow on the knife suddenly stopped, and the knife seemingly popped back to its normal state. However, because it was within the ore, its blade grew back to its width within the ore's outer layer, cracking it open and splitting the large protective layer in half. Charles smiled.

The smile disappeared. "Shit," he said.

"What?" Lance asked.

"I hit the-"

The ore burst open in an explosion of blue light that had the texture of burning jet engine flames, rippling with bursts of plasmic electricity. The protective layer of crystal vibrated and turned into fine particles, not too dissimilar from sand. Charles screamed as he pulled his hand away. "Goddamit!"
The fingertips on the suit had been burned off though his skin seemed to be fine. Charles cursed again and looked down at the Atrion. It had split into multiple pieces. "Well," Lance remarked, rubbing his eyes. "I guess that makes it easier for us to carry. Thank God I wasn't wearing the goggles."

"Boys, now," Felicia said. "Come on, boss, get a move on."

Lance nodded. "Computer, move."

"Copy that, coming down," Jane said.

Lance reached down to grab the largest piece but found himself stuck with a grunt. He exerted himself, reaching his second hand down and pushing with his legs against the floor. Charles started laughing. "Are you serious?" He pushed Lance aside and went to grab it before he also found himself unable to lift it. "What the fuck? Poker, the hell is this?"

"Explain."

"The Atrion. I can't lift it at all."

Poker said nothing for a moment. "This explains the energy frequency shift. You split the ore with brute force."

"That doesn't solve my fucking problem."

"You-"

"Ah, short version, please, PF," Lance piped in.

"The density of the material increased. It matters not. Any pieces you can recover will be valuable enough."

"Tch, easier my arse, 3D."

Charles didn't respond to the jab as he grabbed one of the smaller pieces and put it on his belt, stumbling off balance from the weight. He raised a fist in the air. "Quiet. Doesn't it seem quieter to you?"

Felicia blinked. "You're right. The atmosph-"

A stick flew out of nowhere and whacked Felicia across the head. She let out an oomph and fell to the floor winded and grasping the back of her head. "What was-" Lance started.

A fist came out of nowhere and struck him across the face. Lance's head snapped sideways and he stumbled backward, falling to the floor. Disoriented, he kicked out and slid backward, trying to fit the night vision goggles back on his face. "Ah, ah, ah," a voice said.

It had a taste of an electronic voice modulator but it was unmistakably female. Her hand reached out and grabbed Lance's hair, and she pulled the night vision goggles off, heaving Lance to the side. Lance tumbled around the floor, gritting his teeth. "Team, the elevators are working again," Jane said. "People's getting on!"

"Yeah," Lance said as he raised his gun. "People got off too."

He fired in the general direction of the person who threw him but heard nothing but the thud of bullets hitting thick curtains. "Missed me," that same electronic voice said. Lance snapped to the left and squeezed off another burst, once again hitting nothing. "Aw, am I too fast for you?"

"Don't play with your food, Afterburner" another one said, his feet stepping into the light of the Atrion.

Felicia groaned and pushed herself up. A red boot came smashing down on Felicia, slamming her forehead into the floor. "Come on, Devil, look at you having a little fun," Afterburner replied.

"Devil?" Charles said as he threw a jab at Afterburner. "The Devil of Hell's Kitchen? Daredevil? Stop fucking dodging, bitch!"

Afterburner slid past another punch and retaliated with a right elbow hook, which connected. Red liquid tricked out of Charles's nose underneath his helmet as he glared. "Look at that, Devil, he knows you!"

"Well, sorry to say that I don't know you back," Daredevil replied.
Charles looked back up at Daredevil, spitting malice behind his voice "You talk too much."

Daredevil's unseen smirk faded as Felicia twisted her body and her legs shot toward's Daredevil's feet. Daredevil lept over the blow as Felicia raised herself on both hands and flipped over to her feet. She put one leg forward and one leg back, both hands positioned in a claw-like manner as the talons flashed out of her gloves. Daredevil cocked his head. Felicia rushed forward, rotating her body as she jumped, performing a jump spin sidekick. Daredevil stepped back to avoid the kick, raising his chin as Felicia launched a knife-handed cleave toward his throat and again when she aimed a clawed circular punch with her left hand. His own hand came up to meet Felicia's right circular punch as he rotated his hand to grab Felicia's forearm in a classic trapping maneuver. Instead of throwing an expected punch with his opposite hand, however, Daredevil brought his arm outside of Felicia's arm and reached his other hand to grab her neck. He stepped in and hooked his inner leg around Felicia's outer leg, bending his body to throw her.

Felicia's eyes widened as she pivoted with her own leg and pressed her body weight in the opposite direction. The pair turned and it was Daredevil who found himself on the floor. Not letting his surprise get to him, Daredevil's foot instantly came up from behind Felicia's head. This time, Felicia dodged, backflipping away. At the same time, Lance and Charles were dealing with Afterburner. She was literally running circles around them, evading Lance's bullets and Charles's fists. Lance had even handed over one of his pistols to Charles to no avail. Every time they shot at nothing, Afterburner would close the distance and introduce their faces to new pain.

The mental clock in both Lance's and Charles's heads was running down and their internal coils were being wound up. Every second that they wasted on this person was another second that the police were rushing over and security organized themselves. "Enough of this cocksucker," Charles said, growling at yet another taunt Afterburner spewed at them.

He blurred, his afterimage splitting apart into multiple facets of his movement, and his fist collided with Afterburner's face. Not stopping there, Charles threw haymaker after haymaker, his fist clanging against the metal of Afterburner's helmet. Afterburner, in a moment of respite, jumped backward, smiling underneath the metal sheen. "So, you can move fast too?"

Charles didn't reply as he rushed forward again. Afterburner sidestepped his fist, preparing for a blow of her own, but was knocked to the floor as Charles stepped into his overswinged jab and side-kicked her in the abdomen. Afterburner clanged to the ground. She grit her teeth. "But those gimmicks of yours can't match real speed."

With that, Afterburner kicked up and ran her metal fist into Charles's face with full force. Charles roared, winded and concussed, a crack in his goggles from her speed and suit-enhanced strength. He slammed his hands down on the floor and it turned into a sheen of white. "What the fuck?" Afterburner said a thought that was echoed by Lance.

The floor shattered and Afterburner fell through, catching herself on what remained of the solid floor. "Bitch," Charles said as he walked backward in triumph.

His smile widened as Daredevil, diverted by Afterburner's scream as she fell, was hit across the chest with a sidekick. Someone shot right by Charles's head. His smile faded and he snarled, turning on the guilty shooter and tackling him to the ground. He then proceeded to lift the guard off the ground, one hand on his cuffs, and struck blow after blow on his face, a flurry of unrefined hamfisted closed palms to the temple, the cheek, the eyes, the mouth, and the nose. Blood poured down the guard's face and out of his mouth. "Fuck you, you Charlie son of a bitch!" Charles snarked.

The guard went limp and Charles stumbled underneath the dead weight, finally letting the guard hit the floor unconscious. He panted heavily, turning back toward Afterburner when he felt something cold in his chest. Afterburner made him lower his guard and the poor challenger had been too big of a distraction. All it took was a lucky shot. Charles tumbled forward and lay motionless, a bloom of red sprouting on her chest. He had walked right into the light. "Shit! 3D!" Lance yelled.

"What happened to him?" Jane asked through their comms.

"He got shot!" Lance replied.

"I got the door!" Jane shouted. "Come on!"

"Flare!" Lance yelled.

Felicia reached into her pocket as her blue eyes turned green. Lance averted his gaze as Daredevil cursed and lunged at Felicia. There was a bright flash and a scream of pain. By the time the flash had faded, Lance was already holding Charles's feet. He couldn't see in the dark without his goggles, but he knew how to walk. Felicia, her eyes returning to that shade of blue, would lead the way. He felt a pull on the body and he started moving. The next moment, he felt the body drop and he dropped alongside it, crashing to the floor as they came off the ledge of the stage. He blindly reached for Charles's boots again and they ran for the elevator. Jane was there, a hand on the wall.

Switches blinked and the hydraulic motors whirred. The majority of the audience was above ground now, having exited in the elevators. The ones remaining didn't bother to look at the new light flooding into the room as the steel blast doors revealed a corridor. Guards, now able to see the illuminated intruders, fired upon them with increasing accuracy. Bullets whizzed and whined past their heads, getting too close for comfort. Lance swallowed as they ran, with Jane clunkily following along, firing back with her pistol. "I'm out!" she said as she threw away her weapon.

A bullet flew between Lance's feet, sending shrapnel into his legs, though not penetrating more than skin. However, Lance startled, fell, and dropped Charles. Charles groaned. "Shit!" Lance called out. "3D, you're still alive?"

"Huh?" Charles's moaned. "What?"

He groggily looked up, blinking in confusion. Adrenaline spiked as he heard the crack of a gun and he bolted into action, rolling behind a nearby protrusion in the wall. He looked wildly at his surroundings, staring at Lance as he ran to hide beside him. Lance glanced at Charles, giving him a confused look in return. "What?" Lance asked as he raised his own weapon. Lance's gaze flicked down toward Charles's chest, finding no wound. "You fucking bastard, you never told me you had a healing factor!"

"Urg, fuck you, Lance" Charles muttered.

Lance ignored him as he angeled himself around the cover and started putting lead downrange. He found Jane and Felicia opposite them. Jane was working on a panel next to the jutting pillar. A shrill note echoed out of hidden speakers and Jane pumped her arm in victory. "Got it!" she said.

Blast doors slid out of the protrusion and slammed shut. Lance slid down the wall. "God bless you, HC," Lance said.

"Pray later, run now, gang," Felicia said.

They started down the rest of the corridor. "Doorman," Lance called out. "Prepare. We're coming in."

In the distance, a white bubbling portal frame appeared. "Aren't you a sight, Doorman?" Felicia said as they closed in.

Behind them, the blast doors opened and an enraged Afterburner came thudding after them. "Uh oh," Lance said. "Go, go, go, go!"

The team threw themselves into the elevator as Doorman quickly retracted his hand, and the portal closed. Something hit the elevator doors with a thud. A muffled scream of rage reverberated through the metal frame. "Ha!" Lance laughed. "Yeah, suck it, metal bitch!"

Lance quickly stepped back as the thudding continued, becoming faster and faster in tempo. Dents started to push through. "Now would be a good time, Doorman," Felicia said.

"Uh, right, got it."

He opened a portal on the roof of the car and everyone jumped through one by one. Wordlessly, everyone took a grapple launcher. Lance took first aim, firing the hook. It hit the top of the shaft. It sparked, and a strand of electricity traveled down the line. "Ah!" Lance yelled.

The hook fell and hit the roof of the car with a clang. "No wonder my legs feel bad," Jane said.

"So now what?" Felicia asked.

"He can make portals. Make fucking portals."

"Huh?" DeMarr intoned.

"If you shoot one of your portals up there… and open one down here, we can attach both the hook and the grapple to the car."

"3D, you absolute genius!" Lance said. "Alright, do that, Doorman."

"Roger that, man."

Doorman shot a portal onto the roof and opened another portal. Lance fired a second hook. It came out of the ground and both ends were secured in place. The portal on the ground felt of static and the air smelled faintly of ozone. Charles stuck a cautious hand through. He nodded at the rest. They moved, jumping into the portal on the ground and hanging off the line at the top, slowly inching down. Sparks jumped at them. "3D, what are you waiting for?" Lance asked.

"Huh?"

"Jane can't work her magic so go to plan b!"

Charles blinked away his stupor and raised a hand and the door turned white, flattening with a horrible noise.

The group jumped through and the door crumpled like paper. They crashed into the hidden clubroom, smashing tables and glasses and ceramic plates. Doorman crawled up and stood by the door, placing himself against it. One by one, they walked through him, into that static void, and out the other end. They made the mistake of forgetting that there were security officers in the hotel. A squad of them had been placed outside the hidden room, waiting for them. They opened fire as the team scattered, with Lance returning fire. Charles seemed to regain his vigor in this moment as he blurred once more and multiple guards found themselves with their necks snapped. Lance gave him a nod.

And then they were out of the ballroom. Guards had been mobilized but they were still running the front of a hotel and casino. With police mere moments from the site, their weapons had to be aimed carefully. Civilians ran two and fro, the ignorant wondering what the others were excited about, the fearful trying to escape another terrorist attack, and the tourists trying to catch sight of the villains and the fire. Instead, the guards rushed at them, seeking to use their numbers to take them down. And yet the team had no reservations about shooting. Although they were hesitant to hit civilians, the proxomity allowed them to be accurate without fault. Those that did not carry a firearm on them instead used their fists, taking down the guards in rapid succession.

But outside, where the only damages might be toward cars, money which the hotel could afford to reimburse, was a different story. The guns came out and the team once again found themselves under fire. "Heat-Ray!" Lance shouted.

The back doors of the van burst open as Fredric waved them in. Lance threw himself into the back, tossing his gun to the side, and raced over to the driver's seat. The car was already in drive, so Lance gunned it, tires screeching on the concrete as it swerved out of the parking space, slamming into the lights of a particular blue Lexus ES on their right. The force almost launched Celeste out of the van. Charles reached back to grab her, pulling her in. He closed the swinging van doors shut afterward. Bullets pinged off the, thankfully, steel-reinforced doors, but bulging dents appeared with every shot. The van swerved around a turn as it slammed through the boom barrier. They were out on the streets.

"PF?" Lance asked as he sped past a yellow light.

"The digital virus was uploaded. All traffic cameras are temporarily disabled."

"They're not chasing us," Charles said, looking out the window.

Lance glanced at him through the rearview. "Uh, yeah, we know. That's part of the plan."

"Uh huh, I know…"

Fredric blinked in the passenger seat and glanced at Charles, looking at Lance. A police car raced past them. "Something wrong with him?"

"Huh?"

"He's… I don't know, he feels weird."

"Yeah, he got shot."

"What?"

"Yeah, I guess dying does that to a man, huh?"

"He died?" Fredric asked, leaning forward in his seat in alarm. "What do you mean he died?"

"What? I dunno, I mean, if he died, he wouldn't be there, would he? It's a figure of speech, or, something. I mean, the man got shot."

Fredric scoffed as he leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the seatbelt as he looked up at the night sky. Charles sat silently, his brow furrowed underneath his goggles. DeMarr looked upon him, uncertain if he should say anything. Celeste tinkered with her legs while Felicia went through their bounty. "Quite the jackpot," Felicia said.

"So what did you all pick up?" Fredric asked.

"Mm, diamonds, mostly."

"Really? All that for a bunch of diamonds?"

"Diamonds are my favorite," Felicia replied.

"Diamonds, man," DeMarr said. "Diamonds are cool."

They drove on, weaving through the nightly traffic in the city that never sleeps. The lights were soothing, the old grimy gothic look of the buildings giving some manner of nostalgia to Fredric as he viewed the speeding surroundings. The shimmering lights of the skyscrapers paired beautifully with the multicolored thunderstorm above; it didn't rain, however. Of course, it wasn't long until they were over the waters, and the skyline became a distant figure instead of a looming one. Concrete turned to wood and the bustling atmosphere of a restless metropolis turned suburban. The rest of New York opened itself up to them. Lance turned on the radio and Gotye's Somebody That I Used to Know came on. He glanced in the rearview, expecting Charles to groan. Charles just looked out the back windows.

Felicia let out a sigh and pulled out earbuds and her iPhone, tapping over the music application. "What are you listening to?" Jane asked. Felicia held out her phone. "Oh," Jane said, tapping the back of her neck. "I took it out."

Felicia nodded and handed her an earbud.

Welcome to the dawn of the night are you looking for a friend to walk this sleepless sleep with just tell me all your hopes and your secrets your fantasies don't worry they're safe with me play with me Welcome to the dead of the day are you looking for a friend to walk this deathless death with just tell me all your hopes and your secrets your fantasies don't worry they're safe with me ill sell them to you as a dream.

"What band is this?" Jane asked.

"Some small-time band."

They continued the drive, now thoroughly relaxing as they were quite a distance from Manhattan. There were no signs of pursuers either. The radio, playing Maroon 5's Payphone, started to scramble and play static. Lance turned off the radio. "Man, that storm's really picking up, isn't it?" Lance remarked after a length of silence.

"And those colors," Fredric added. "It's odd. My sensors are-"

The lightning bolt ripped through the car roof and the resulting explosion blew open the back doors. The wheels bucked under the force and the left rear tire popped, sending the car into a skid that almost tipped it over. One of the back doors burst off the hinges and hung onto the frame of the van by a single screw, swinging widely as Lance attempted to regain control. Celeste screamed as her legs spasmed, sparking with static, and Charles's head slammed against the side, knocking him out. Veering into the grass, the car slowed to a stop as it jammed itself between a group of trees at the edge of a roadside forest. Felicia jumped out of the vehicle. "Are you guys alright?" she asked. "Shit!

The package!"

She started running for the road as the others groaned. Lance pushed the driver's door open and stepped out. He muttered a short thankful prayer to no god in particular that the road was empty, but cursed them afterward for the state of their transport. "Heat, you good?" he asked.

"Great."

"Great. Check on Celeste and DeMarr, will you?"

With that, Lance walked over to Felicia, who had stopped to look at something in the middle of the road. "Boss, what's that?"

"What's what?"

The dust and ozone started to dissipate into the air. In the outline, they saw a round shape on the ground and some sort of staff. The staff held fabric, evident from its fluttering. It was hard to make out in the dim waxing crescent moonlight. There were skulls and characters from a language that they did not recognize. Lance looked up into the sky. The fluorescent clouds and lightning disappeared like it was never there. Assumed evident from its glorious nature and the form of the flag, Lance said, "It's some kind of… battle standard?"

"You mean our multimillion-dollar package turned into a flag?"

"I-"

Lance stopped talking. The shape on the ground revealed itself. A man in heavy armor plates, a coat, a gas mask, and some toy guns lay curled on the road. "What the fuck?"

"Shit…" Felicia turned her head to the van. Charles stepped out of the back, woozy and swaying. "You think our other stuff survived?"

Life goes on, it gets so heavy The wheel breaks the butterfly Every tear a waterfall In the night the stormy night she'll close her eyes In the night the stormy night away she'd fly Dream of para-para-paradise Para-para-paradise Para-para-paradise

---

Launchpad Chapter.

See DMT's Felicia Hardy, available on PA:treon.

Join Discord via /VpZ6HJK for some Star Wars RP.

DV: Hello, I'm the second writer here was poppin that's all I got peace out

New Supporters:

Find extra content on PA:treon at: /PoisonedGarden