RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block Worldwalkers #1: Avant-Garde

In the Northern Sea, far off the coast of Denmark, in front of the mouth of the River Elba, lies the island of Helgoland, nothing more than a rock shaken by the fierce winds and the colossal waves of the Ocean. Some archaeologist and historians, ostracised by the official scientific community, claim this was the northern outpost of the Atlantean Empire, back when the walls of ice of the Arctic Circle stretched from Scotland to Norway to Siberia. Today, the memories of those days lives only in an handful of living beings.

One of them immortals lives in a stone manor of the XIII century at the top of the highest hill of the island. In the surroundings garden, among rose bushes now in their winter sleeps, play two Dalmatians. Inside, in the library located in the northern tower, the owner of the manor, the immortal known only as Myrrdin, is sipping from a glass of amber coloured century old Porto, his big eyebrows of Neaderthal eritage frowning at the standing figure of his guest, the metahuman known as Edulcore Cicciotto, who is looking outside the window, giving his back at the old man.

"So, you are saying each one of this windows look at a different reality? It seems all the same landscape to me". The words were pronounced in English, with an heavy Italian accent.

"Usually the differences are nearly unnoticeable. The flight of a butterfly, the angle of the rain. Sometimes the sky become dotted by spaceships, and it is then that I begin to play." The old Neaderthal man was smiling, like what he had said was a sort of private joke for someone who was not there to hear. "In any case, the answer is yes. This place is a hub to different dimension. Like the Metatithenai, the Castle of Crossed Destinies or their offspring that you and your friend protected the last day. This is a small, private hub, not something on the scale of Haven, but, it does his work pretty well. From here, you can go in any parallel reality you desire."

Edulcore turned, to face the man. "Why are you helping me on this?"

"Because I want to win your trust. Times are approaching that will need your support for my cause, that is the cause of Earth. Of the Earths. With Hoods and Capes gone, I need true champions for fighting the claws that soon will close over our planet. And with my son, Jack Merlin, pulling the strings of much of the metahuman community of the planet, I must choose carefully who will wear my flag. So, I am giving you my help, and the help of my associates, to let you find your son and save him from the hand of EN.KI and Aurochs, certain that one day you'll pay your debt to me."

Euro looked far, to the sea outside the windows, to the violet clouds and the lighting in the distance. A thunder clapped, and the Dalmatians stopped to play on the lawn to barks at the sky. he looked back at the Neanderthal and nodded.

"Good" said the old man. "My butler will accompany you to the Tracking room. There, Ameristar will help you to find a possible location for Aurochs and Eddie. I will meet you at the Red Dining Room at six PM, with your family and my associated. Go, now."

The old man pressed a button, and a young man with a strange uniform appeared. "He's Marcus, my butler. He will show you the way".

Without a word the young man preceded Euro, across narrow and dark dungeons beneath the manor, to an ample hall full of scientific devices, monitors and hologram decks. Sitting at the only armchair present, was a tall woman in a hi-tech armour.

"Jakie?" wondered Euro, surprised.

The woman stood up, one hand suddenly going to the helmet, and the index finger pressing a button on the back of it. The visor retracted, revealing a face that was not the one of Jackie Munroe. "Tanya. Tanya Landsvitter. I am sorry, but Jackie has retired. She..."

"I know, I know. She is taking care of the Old Man's daughter" said Euro, one hand raised to stop the woman to telling a sad story he was perfectly aware of."

The woman produced a smile of circumstance, and went back to her seat. "I need clues and suggestion to narrow down the range of possible parallel realities where the wizard could have retired to." She looked at Euro. "Anything could be of help".

Euro closed the yes for few instants that seemed to last hours. "Look for a place where I became an hero and then died. And where magic doesn't works".

"Where magic doesn't works? Why the hell a wizard should go where magic doesn't exist?" exclaimed the woman.

"Because the man is a coward. He fear much more my mythical weapons and my supposed knowledge of the Book of Life than trust his own powers. I am sure he has found a good refuge and has plenty of henchmen armed to the teeth. Living in a place where he knows nothing can stands between my skin and a bullet makes him feeling safer than relying over his own skills."

"And the bit about you being dead?"

"Years ago he saw me becoming dictator of the world and killing him. Since then, he has always tried to kill me. I am sure he has chosen a place where that possibility for me has been rendered null."

The woman's hands began to dance over the touchscreen of her virtual desk. "As amazing it sounds, there are just three parallel boards that share those two conditions. I will prepare for your travel in the afternoon. I will meet you at the red Dining Room at six, then."

Edulcore nodded, and left the room, doing in the reverse the way Marcus showed him before. Soon, he reached a winter garden, where a surprise was awaiting him.

Edulcore Cicciotto stepped into the courtyard of the winter garden and was surprised to see a very familiar figure sitting there, apparently in deep meditation.

"Rama?" Cicciotto blurted out before he realized that his fellow Vanguardian, the immortal known as the Swordsman whose most recent form was that of an Indian warrior named Rama Avatar, was not in a position to hear him. Yet the spell had been broken. Rama Avatar's concentration wavered, and he finally opened his eyes with frustration, only to see his comrade-in-arms standing before him.

"You?!" the Swordsman exclaimed, rising to his feet. "Ah, I see. And I suppose the other Vanguardians are here as well...?"

Cicciotto was somewhat taken aback at this turn of events but not displeased. He and Rama Avatar had not been friends but merely comrades-in-arms, and the Swordsman's former incarnation, Mason Templar, had displayed outright hostility towards him on a number of occasions. Still, he was glad to see a familiar face. "Not at all," Cicciotto admitted. "I had to leave La Perdita suddenly due to an emergency and hadn't had a chance to contact any of our fellow teammates before my departure. But you? Are you not with--?"

"No," Rama Avatar replied. He became silent for a moment, considering whether or not to unburden himself and deciding in the affirmative. "I left Vanguard, apparently at the same time as you did, though for different reasons. Something has weighed upon my mind for several months, now, ever since my most recent death and resurrection. I have been troubled by glimpses of memory from my previous incarnation that should not have been. I have had the strange feeling that I have been a pawn in a most insidious game -- one that would have resulted in my eventual betrayal of Vanguard had my death not ended the life of Mason Templar, my former incarnation. I had never exactly been sure why I had joined Vanguard in the first place, and not until now have I finally begun to learn the reason. It was not until after our most recent battle with Jack Merlin and his Strikeforce that I realized that these vague feelings of dread centered on one individual: the wizard Aurochs."

Cicciotto's eyebrows rose in surprise upon hearing the name of his arch-enemy. "And you came here for help? I was unaware that you knew the Old Man."

The Swordsman smiled dourly and replied, "I am immortal. Myrddin is immortal. There are few of us upon this earth who have survived into the present. Is it that surprising that two immortals know each other? In truth, my history with Myrddin goes back for a longer time than I can recall. Unfortunately my most ancient incarnations have been lost to my memory. Only Myrddin remembers all. He has been an uneasy ally of mine but one with whom I have had to seek assistance from time to time. I have made it no secret that I distrust wizards."

Edulcore Cicciotto nodded and said, "We seem to have the same goal, then, Rama. I am also here to seek assistance from Myrddin to capture Aurochs but for different reasons. He has taken my son."

"Eddy?" Rama exclaimed, remembering a time from his previous incarnation one year ago during Christmastime, when he gave a strange gift to the strange young boy. "Then we will stand together as warriors, Cicciotto, and slay the foul mage."

Cicciotto said, "I did not think it right to involve any of our teammates on so personal and urgent a mission, but... well... I'm glad to have my fellow Vanguardian at my side, after all."

"Aye," Rama answered, his face remaining stoic. "Yet I came here also for another reason. I have learned that Quantos is dead."

Edulcore Cicciotto nodded sadly. "Yes, I knew."

"You learned this before you left the island, then?"

"Yes, Axel told me," Cicciotto said.

Rama Avatar's stoicism shattered in surprise. "The boy is here as well?"

"He is," said Cicciotto. "He was already with Myrddin when I learned of my son's abduction."

"Ahh..." Rama said, as if some puzzle had become clear to him.

"At least Doctor Quantos died peacefully," Cicciotto said as the two began walking back into the house. "He suffered a stroke, followed by cardiac arrest some hours later. He was already unconscious when he died. He suffered no pain."

"And who else is with you?" Rama asked. "Are there others who will follow our cause?"

"Rose is with me, of course," Cicciotto said, smiling as he thought of his wife. "And with her my newborn daughter. I cannot afford to remain apart from them for very long -- it's bad enough that Eddy has been abducted, but it could've been much worse. Also, a woman named Tanya Landsvitter is with us. She has taken the name of Ameristar due to the retirement of Jackie Munroe, the former Vanguardian who went by that name."

"Aye," said Rama, nodding as he remembered the name of the former member of Vanguard. "She was before my time, but I have heard tales of her prowess as a warrioress."

"What are you doing now?" asked Cicciotto. "I assume you'll be at the dinner tonight at six?"

"Don't you mean eighteen?" Rama said with a wink. "And yes, I'll be at the dinner tonight, though I am not pleased with Myrddin's lack of forthrightness. He, like all cursed wizards, keeps all of his cards close to his chest, never revealing more than he has to. It saddens me to see young Axel now following the same path. I would make him a warrior if given the chance. As for your first question, I had planned on an afternoon of meditation, but this news has broken my concentration, and I fear there is no hope of attaining it once more. If you would be so inclined, there is a large hall full of ancient weaponry. It has been too long since I've had the chance to practice with a fellow warrior of equal prowess. I need a good battle to work up an appetite for tonight. What say you?"

"It sounds fine to me."

"CLANG!"

The two ancient swords met with a thunderous roar. The short gladius known as Caliburn (or, in times before, Ensis Caliburnus, Excalibur, Caledwulch) hit the long, heavy broadsword Durendal (or Durlindana, in the native language of her current owner) producing long, blue sparks.

The gladius once owned by Julius Caesar, by Uther Pendragon and King Arthur crashed once, twice, countless of time over the broadsword of Hector and then of Roland, forced in defence.

Edulcore wiped quickly the sweat from his forehead. Rama was good. He was the best actually. And he managed to use the short blade to a level of excellence that the two hand sword was nearly useless.

After another hammering hit of Rama, Euro threw away Durendal, somersaulted back, landing near the wall full of ancient weapon. Without leaving his sight from the figure of rama, he touched the wall behind himself, and his hand closed over the first weapon it touched. A flash of memories hit his mind, images of gladiators in the Circus Maximus in Rome, when he was a Retiarius whose name was now forgotten to history. He waved his arm to Rama, and the big net was detached from the wall and fled at the Swordsman.

Without any surprise, Rama's Caliburn cut across the net, whose two cut halves fell on the wooden floor. But Euro had bought the time to take a trident to block Caliburn between the forks. A small spin, and Caliburn was taken from the hand of Rama, flying across the hall.

"Ah!" said Rama, smiling, as his hand gracefully grabbed a long spear from the wall. And branding it, he was ready to continue his battle with his fellow ex-Vanguardian, when an applause interrupted them. "Very good swordplay, sirs. Very good indeed".

The woman called Tanya, who had left the armour in favour of a refined XVIII century dress, with a high white wig. Both Euro and Rama suddenly had the impression of having known the woman long before, but it lasted for mere moments, and then went away.

"Sirs, the dinner is served. It is exactly six PM... or eighteen, if you prefer."

Euro was sure the woman had grinned unnoticeably at him at the end of the phrase, but again he wasn't sure of what he had just seen, or believed to see. Following Tanya toward the Red Dining Room, he wondered who that woman really was.

After a few turns, some staircases and a long corridor, Tanya opened a door that brought them in an ample room, lined with crimson velvet. It was lighted only by candelabrums, with hundreds of candles, that did not cancelled the moon light coming from the windows.

At the centre of the room was a long table. Standing around it, waiting for the arrival of the two ex-Vanguardians and of the new Ameristar, were Myrrdin, Axel Magus, Rose Biggles with little Amara in arms. A little behind was Marcus, the Old Man's butler.

Euro, entering, noticed the smile Axel gave at Tanya, before his eyes were caught by the small, beautiful face of her new-born daughter.

"Ladies and gentlemen, take your place. Diner will be served soon. And after it, I will illustrate the reality in which we hope Aurochs is hiding."

Dinner was served around an ancient oak table with a refurbished 17th century facade. Marcus, the faithful butler whose shoulder-length gray hair belied his youthful-looking face, directed three other servants as they delivered an assortment of food before taking a seat himself. It was a virtual smörgåsbord of dishes from all around the world, enough variety for everyone seated to be satisfied.

Myrddin, the last full-blooded Neanderthal to walk the earth, rose at the head of the table to address his guests. The Old Man was not tall by any means, rising just a little over five feet, but he commanded a powerful yet serene presence in the room. He possessed the low brow of the Neanderthal and a completely bald cranium that may have looked foolish on anyone else but him. His beetle-browed features looked instead wise beyond human understanding. His face was long and somewhat ape-like, but completely regal. He had never been a king, except perhaps the king of wizards, but he had been the perfect advisor to many monarchs over the centuries as per his life's calling. A close-cropped white beard completed the regal look, and his short and stocky body, adorned in a well-tailored, dark tuxedo, seemed almost unmoveable except by his will.

He looked carefully over the faces of his guests, gauging the state of their emotions beyond their outward physical appearances. No mind was hidden from him, yet he was careful not to intrude upon the privacy of any of them by going beyond mere surface emotions. The gathering was not a happy one, not at all. Too much tragedy had occurred in so short a time for this Christmas celebration to be a joyous one. Yet, as the Old Man looked into the faces of everyone sitting at the table, a kind of calm peacefulness seemed to fill them from inside. Yes, there were pressing matters that needed to be solved, and great men to be mourned, but this time, this dinner, would be theirs to enjoy for its own sake. Finally he spoke.

"My friends, we gather here together on this day for a most sober and critical occasion. We mourn the loss of young Axel's father, Doctor Henry Quantos, a man known to many of you for his scientific and medical achievements and to some of you for his human compassion and generosity of spirit. We also condemn the heinous kidnapping of young Eddy Cicciotto and stand side-by-side with Edulcore and Rose to accomplish his safe return as soon as possible.

"Yet let us not forget what season this is. The winter solstice, Christmas, a time to remember what we still have and what we can do for others, even in the midst of the darkest, most bitterly cold time of the year. This is a season of hope. I have seen the future, and I am confident that our continued hope is not in vain.

"It is also a time of particular celebration for one of our number, young Axel Magus. He has turned thirteen years old today, and though he mourns for the loss of the only father he has ever known, let us honor the memory of his father by celebrating Axel's birthday."

Myrddin placed a hand down upon the shoulder of the boy sitting on his right and smiled kindly down at him with an expression of understanding. No audible words passed between them, but more was spoken in that gesture than a thousand words could express.

"Thank you," Axel said, as if feeling the need to say something out loud for the benefit of the few at this table who could not read minds.

Axel Magus was at that uncomfortable, gawky age between childhood and adolescence and had grown by leaps and bounds since his twelfth birthday one year ago. During that time he had been formally adopted by his foster father, Doctor Henry Quantos, and he had seen his hero and savior, the hot-tempered Mason Templar, be killed and resurrected as the relatively dispassionate Rama Avatar, a man who was very similar yet different in so many ways from his predecessor. The boy's hair, once an almost-platinum-shaded blond, had grown darker with age, and it was now chestnut brown and somewhat unkempt and straggly-looking. With the gawkiness of his thin frame he looked like a normal young teenager, but his outward appearance belied the power that he held within.

The boy had always held power. As a young orphan with natural psychic powers, he had been made a ward of the state in the small Caribbean island-nation of La Perdita. Along with six other psychically-gifted children, he had been groomed to become one of La Perdita's protectors. With the powers of telekinesis and telepathy, an array of powers such as flight, force-fields, and mind-blasts enabled Axel and his honorary brothers and sisters to become the PSI-Unit, the Psychic Security and Intelligence Unit as the government dubbed them. The people loved them. They had no parents but were embraced by the public they protected as their own.

And then it all ended. A series of disastrous circumstances and intentional maliciousness caused the deaths and disappearances of all but one of them: Axel. Yet compared to the ordeal that Axel had been put through, the other PSI-Unit members had gotten off easy: Axel had been tortured by a rogue Perditian military officer who sought wealth and power for himself and used the secrets of the PSI-Unit to gain such. His rescue from that situation was akin to leaping from the frying pan into the fire, for although he briefly came into the care of Dr. Henry Quantos, he was quickly abducted by a mystic cult rumored to be run by the infamous wizard, Auguste Bullock, also known as Aurochs.

Finally, his savior found him and rescued him. The legendary Mason Templar, an adventurer and museum troubleshooter, had tracked down this mystic cult while on an errand for a prominent museum from which a priceless artifact had been stolen. During this mission he found the boy Axel and wrested him from out of their clutches, delivering him back to the one man who had cared for him as a father, if only briefly: Doctor Henry Quantos, who was now living on the island of La Perdita where Axel had grown up. Mason relocated to the island himself, partly to ensure Axel's safety.

The ordeal had caused Axel's latest psychic powers to become dulled, but a newfound mystic power of his own had brought him under the notice of Myrddin, who began to teach the boy the ways of the wizard. Axel was soon adopted by Quantos even as he became the disciple of the wizard Myrddin, known in legend under the name of Merlin, the wizard of King Arthur.

On Axel's right sat Marcus, the faithful butler of Myrddin's. Marcus had telepathic gifts of his own, and as such he had been one of two unofficial adult members of the PSI-Unit, training the young psychics in their more powerful yet undisciplined abilities with his own lifelong experience. Across from Marcus sat Tanya Landsvitter, now calling herself Ameristar. Tanya had been the other unofficial adult member of the PSI-Unit and had been particularly close to young Axel, becoming a much-needed mother figure in the boy's life during his formative years. Both Marcus and Tanya were psychically-gifted to a certain degree but were much more powerful when their powers were used in tandem.

An empty space was left between Marcus and Edulcore Cicciotto, who sat opposite from Myrddin at the other end of the table. This empty space was perhaps left to serve as a reminder of the grave reason for this gathering.

After returning from a battle with the La Perdita-based Vanguard International, a team of adventurers with whom Edulcore Cicciotto had a long history, Cicciotto learned to his utter dread and horror that his old arch-enemy, the wizard Aurochs (who had already influenced so many of the people at this table in evil ways) had captured Cicciotto's own son, Eddy. Fortunately for him, his wife Rose and their newborn daughter, Amara, were still safe, but only one man could help Cicciotto retrieve his son from whatever parallel universe Aurochs had secreted him away to. And so the proud Edulcore Cicciotto accepted the help of the wizard Myrddin, a man whom he had never fully grown to trust yet with whom he felt a strange bond going back beyond his own lifetime. At Cicciotto's right hand sat his wife, Rose Biggles, and their very young daughter Amara. Rose was yet another accomplished telepath and was an adventuress in her own right. Had she not been responsible for the care of Amara, she would have insisted on accompanying Edulcore on his mission to pursue Aurochs and rescue Eddy.

To the right of Rose and Amara sat Tanya. Since her days as a trainer for the PSI-Unit, she had returned to Myrddin's side and now took on the role of Ameristar, a heroine who intervened for a good cause when an intervention was deemed necessary. As Ameristar she wore an advanced suit of armor with a number of capabilities that enhanced her already-formidable psychic powers, yet she was now adorned in an elegant eighteenth-century dress and an archaic-looking powdered wig befitting the dinner and the modest festivities.

Rama Avatar sat uncomfortably between Tanya Landsvitter and the Old Man, attempting to raise the ever-present anger that boiled within without success. The telepaths who outnumbered the rest were out to ensure that a pervading calm settled upon everyone, even the warrior's heart of the legendary Swordsman himself.

The dinner conversation consisted of short but polite sentences and knowing glances between certain individuals. Despite the prevasive calm among the dinner guests, none of them could truly celebrate the season nor the young man's birthday. The group was allowed to enjoy this meal as fully as they could under the circumstances, but it was evident to all that Edulcore Cicciotto and Rama Avatar could only wait for so long until they were allowed to embark upon the hunt.

The diner continued, without joy but with the much needed sense of family, in a sad moment like that, for just more than one hour. Then, as it was evident that no one would have continued to taste the exotic recipes that Myrrdin's cook had prepared for the event, the Old Neanderthal with a simple nod of the massive head to Marcus signalled that was the moment to clear up the table.

The butler disappeared behind a door, and suddenly the servants returned, bringing bowls of fresh water for the presents to wahs their hands, and at the same time they brought away all the dishes and the various meals. Once the table was finally cleared up completely, Myrrdin stood up, and cleared his throat.

"Dear friends, time has come to start this adventure. Ameristar has scanned the Multiverse looking for a reality following the suggestions of Edulcore. Strange suggestions, I must add, but no one like him knows as Aurochs' mind works. That man's mind is complex, and follows strange ways. He joined the now dead secret society of witches and wizards, whose name is lost, but that was called, mostly by their enemies, Capes, by the dark cloaks they wore during their ceremonies. He joined it, I was saying, when he was a young boy, and his powers were discovered by an old member of the cult. He was a sad child, always bulled by many of his schoolmates; having lost his parents in World War One, he grew up in an institute. Slim, often sick with flu and other weakness, he developed a profound cowardly to survive the constant harassment of his friends.
And when he entered the Capes Society, and began studying magic, he remained that... a coward. So, he remained for long in the lower ranks, never going into the big battles with the rival society of the Hoods. But he was gathering knowledge, and powers... and recently, thanks to a moment of crisis, was able to step to the higher position in the society. But his lack of courage made him fail, and his failure took the whole society down... although him, like always, survived and found a way out. But enough with this talk about Aurochs. Both of you, Rama avatar and Edulcore Cicciotto, know him well.
Now, we come at the universe that Aurochs has chosen to hide Eddie. A universe where magic doesn't exist, where the laws of physics can't be bend or stretched by arcane spells. A universe where Aurochs' power is just what his moneys can buy: the strength of superpowered metas and of enchmen armed to the teeth. But also a universe where your arsenal of mythical weapons, Ed, is just a collection of old relics, of interest for an historian, maybe, but of no use for you. Your coat would not stop even a small knife, your wings would never even glide from an high point... and Durendal would be just an unmanageable rusty broadsword.
Aurochs feels saver to be in a Universe where you, Ed, are powerless, even if he is powerless too.
I'll leave to Tanya to highlight other features of that Universe."

The Old Man sat back in his chair, while the Ameristar stood up, to talk.

"The Universe is, like Myrrdin said, distinct by the absence of magic. Anything resembling true magic is either illusion or the product of technology. ESp powers, like telepathy and telekinesis are a product of the metagene, that enhances certain areas of the brain. But it works at a smaller degree than on the world you know so well.
The metagene is present in a much smaller part of the population of Earth; like on your Earth, it has been discovered in the blood sample of Edulcore Cicciotto requested by the American Olympic Committee after the row of victories at the Barcelona and Atlanta Olympic Games, where he won all the track specialities.
But the metagene was found in very few people in the world, so the "meta-hate" of your world never developed there. The few metahumans were all enlisted by government agencies of various countries of the world, until, in 2002, all the metahumans known to be part of these special forces where asked to join an international organisation, founded by the UN, called "Avant-Garde", and based in Geneva, Switzerland.
That Edulcore Cicciotto, a speedster, was the first leader of the team, but died shortly after his election saving Mandelovia from a falling asteroid.
One thing to say is that the metagene works a little different than in your world: it simply multiply the common abilities of any human. So, it can makes you faster, stronger, resilient, can increase your vision, your smell, your hearing, can give you a regenerative ability, or make you able to heal yourself from big wounds... this sort of thing. But don't expect to find people able to fly, or to change people into cows, or to teleport himself or material things. And also don't expect human bears, purple mohawk giants or bipedal eels. The key word of this Universe is subtleness. And there are no spandex wearing people, too.
I have no idea where Aurochs could hide, but knowing how he likes to gamble, I would suggest to start from Las Vegas, or Montecarlo."

"Just that?" asked Euro.

"Yes, nothing more. The fact that magic doesn't work there makes it impenetrable to your woman's psychic powers, so we have no idea where Aurochs could hide. And, to say the truth, we don't even know if Aurochs is there at all. There are other two different parallel Universes that share the same combination of factors, and nothing tell us that he is really in one of those three. So, I think it would be better to hurry up" said Tanya, sitting back.

Euro and Rama stood up at unison. "Are you with us?" asked the Italian to the woman. Tanya shook her head. "The peculiar characteristic of that Universe makes me not much useful, as my armour and my powers wouldn't works. I think for this one you'll be alone. But I will monitor you from here, and in case of danger, me, Trinity or one of the other warrior of Myrrdin could come to help."

Ed gave a kiss to Rose, one to the little Amara, and then asked, to Myrrdin: "To travel there, will you give us a Gaia Unit or what?"

Myrrdin smiled. "Just leave from the main gate of the manor and you will be in the right Universe".

"In Vegas?"

The Neanderthal laughed loudly, shaking his head. "Oh, no... you will be still on the Helgoland of that world. You will have to take a ferry toi the continent, and then a plane from Copenagen. Gaia Units don't work there."

Euro nodded, and looked at Rama. "I guess we'll have to buy two tuxedoes before arriving at Las Vegas."

Tanya smiled. "And don't forget long, black leather coats. And sunglasses, too."

The Old Man took Rama Avatar aside and said to him, "Be careful, Swordsman. If you should die in that world, there's no resurrection for you."

Rama glowered at the wizard's touch and replied, "I need not be reminded of the danger of my final death, as you have been warning me of such since time out of mind." The Swordsman's hand gripped the hilt of his sword, still in its scabbard. "And as long as I have Caliburn by my side, no foe can end my life."

Myrddin nodded and said, "Ah... well... about that, Rama... As I told Edulcore, the mysticism of your amazing sword would be lost on that world. It would be no more than an ordinary sword."

"You insult me, magician! To suggest that I rely upon the magic of the sword is utter nonsense. I am proficient with any weapon within my hands, and--"

"I suggest nothing of the kind, gentle warrior," the Neanderthal said in a calm voice. "I mention this fact merely to bring up the fact that your sword's unique qualities will be removed once you step through the gateway. Should you lose it, you will find it most difficult to find it once more, as it will not return to you of its own accord. As well, you will find that it is much more difficult to travel on that world bearing a sword or a knife, or any hidden weapon, especially since you must travel by conventional means. If you bring your own sword, you will be risking the mission itself."

Rama Avatar's face remained stoic, but he silently burned within for some moments. Finally he said, "I will take your counsel into consideration as always, Venerable One. Yet remember you that I am no longer your cat's paw, and I will not be treated like one of your girl agents."

Myrddin replied in a grave tone, "Yes, you are proud as always, Swordsman, but you would do well to listen to those who have your best interests at heart." As the Swordsman opened his mouth to retort, the Neanderthal switched the subject by saying, "You and Edulcore have no need to purchase clothing and luggage on that other world, by the way. I just happen to have an assortment of clothing in your size and in that of your comrade, as well as a small sum of money from that world with which to invest in weaponry once you have reached your destination. And should you need it, I've provided you with a laptop computer with an encrypted list of contacts on that world who will be able to help you should you need it."

Rama Avatar accepted this information from the Old Man with a curt nod and, within half an hour, he had discarded his Indian warrior's garb for a well-cut, flexible, pin-striped black business suit and a black trenchcoat, with expensive black athletic shoes upon his feet. He wore oval-shaped sunglasses and carried one small suit of luggage in one hand and a laptop briefcase in the other. His sword was concealed and beyond his reach now that both hands were occupied, and he looked exceedingly uncomfortable.

Edulcore Cicciotto was dressed in a similar black business suit but wore a long leather trenchcoat atop his suit rather than the fabric one the Indian wore. He also seemed somewhat uncomfortable at first in the suit and tie, but the leather coat was much more his style, and he began to appear much more comfortable in his clothing as time went on despite his own luggage.

"Let us delay no further -- my blade thirsts for the neck of the wizard," the Swordsman said, his uncomfortable stance with both hands carrying luggage belying his words.

"Are you always this intense?" said Ed.

Rama's eyebrow shot up in puzzlement. "What mean you?"

"You don't seem to be able to say anything except in your 'fabled swordsman' lingo, like something out of Gunga Din. You're a man of the 21st century, so why don't you speak like one?"

"Why don't you remain silent until it is absolutely necessary to communicate valid information," the Swordsman said in a warning tone.

"Fine, fine," the Italian athlete-turned-hero said.

The two walked towards the main gateway and stepped over the threshold, expecting something strange to happen. Nothing did. They looked back, and the same old mansion was behind them. Before them was the same night-enshrouded North Sea island landscape of Heligoland that had always surrounded the Old Man's estate.

Forging forward, the two walked towards the harbor, silently carrying their baggage with them. This world seemed outwardly the same as their own, but somehow the luggage they carried seemed heavier, the clothing they wore more uncomfortable, the howling wind on this stormy evening more bitterly cold than it should have been. Even the colors seemed muted, almost washed out, and the lights around them were dimmed and infused with subtle shades of gray. This world seemed somehow bleak in comparison to their own for some indistinguishable reason that they could not fathom.

By the time they had reached the harbor and communicated their desire to take a boat to the mainland (the Swordsman was fluent in German), their shoes and lower pant-legs were dirtied by dust, and their hair was somewhat disheveled by the wind.

"And you have passports, I assume?" the young woman said to the two men.

"Passports?" Edulcore said.

"Blast!" exclaimed Rama under his breath.

Ed said to the young woman at the ferry, "A moment, please." He and Rama left their luggage by the counter, and the young woman rolled her eyes and began to tap her fingers impatiently. "Did the Old Man say anything to you about passports?" he asked the Swordsman.

"He said nothing. The trickster. I have never trusted wizards."

"But he's provided us with everything else we need," said Edulcore. "Why not passports as well?" He began fumbling through his coat pockets, and the Swordsman did likewise.

They both pulled out small, black passport booklets. Rama's was German and contained the name Rajinder Brar, an India-born naturalized citizen of Germany. Edulcore's was Italian and contained the name Alfonso Gaglardi, a citizen of Italy.

"Here they are," said Rama, pushing the passports over the counter towards the young woman.

"Listen: I don't need your passports myself," she replied, sliding them right back to him without a glance, "as the ferry just takes you to mainland Germany -- I just asked to ensure that you are both aware that they're being very strict about checking passports at all border crossings and airports today."

By the time the two had purchased their ferry tickets, the counter girl was not impressed.

The wind was now accompanied by a cold rain as the two rode the ferry to the mainland. Edulcore had remained silent after Rama's earlier outburst, but he finally said, "You know, Rama, I've been thinking. There's no way you'll be able to take your sword with you on the plane. Even in our world that would be a difficult thing to carry off."

Rama snorted in disgust. "I've always carried legal papers enabling me to travel anywhere in the world with my sword and other artifacts."

"But for our world, not this one," Ed pointed out.

The Swordsman did not answer him.

"Perhaps you should rent a locker at the airport," Ed suggested.

"No," Rama said in a somewhat humbled tone. "That is not necessary. I should have done this in the first place."

"What?"

The Swordsman rose from his seat and said, "I'll be back momentarily."

Edulcore watched his fellow Vanguardian leave and return some ten minutes later. "Well?" he said as Rama sat back down without a word.

"It is done. Caliburn will present us with no problem during our travels."

"Well?" asked Ed after a few moments of silence passed. "Where is it?"

"Worry yourself not with that concern, 'Alfonso'," Rama said with a chuckle.

Ed slumped back into his seat and said, "We're going to have to work on our communication skills, 'Rajinder'."

The Eurostar train to Copenagen rode fast in the snow covered flat country, where only long lines of windmills for electricity production broke the monotony of the landscape. The first lights of the new day managed to find a way across a dense cover of grey, low clouds.

"It will snow soon" said Edulcore, looking outside the window. "I grew up in the mountain, I know when it's going to snow" said the Italian, his eyes exploring the fast changing country. Every once in a while the train was passing, without stopping or even lowering its velocity, across small villages with houses with pointy roofs. The intermitted light of Christmas trees in gardens and balcony was the only thing to remember it was Christmas.

"You grew up in a mountain in the middle of the Mediterranean. What could you know about snow in the great north?" retorted Rama.

"Uhmm..." Euro though for a moment of how to reply, but nothing came to his mind. "That reminds me that Inuits have seventeen different words for snow..." continued the Italian nonchalantly. The last thing he wanted was to show of being sensitive to Rama's harsh sentences.

"Actually you made up that number, Cicciotto. Inuits use more than thirty words to describe different kinds of snow. At least, they used it when I was hunting dwarf mammoths in the island of Wrangler, six centuries ago" said Rama, with a boldness that Ed found out of character for the usually meditative Rama.

Ed shrugged, and instead of trying to find something else to start a "normal" conversation, he opened his briefcase and took out a book. A thick paperback, with an embossed shiny title, "Avant-Garde, the true story".

Rama raised an eyebrow. "What's that?" he asked.

Euro finally smiled, having captured Rama's attention. "My homework" said cryptically the Italian.

The Indian frowned.

"Avant Garde is the international metahuman organisation of this world. I saw this book in the bookstore of the train station, when you went for the toilette, and bought it. I guess we need to know as much we can about possible allies in our quest for Eddie..." explained Euro.

Rama shook his head. "Possible allies? I think this is not the Universe where you could go to their headquarters saying you are an alternate version of the Edulcore they knew. This kind of things would send you straight to a mental asylum, here."

Euro nodded. "Right. But what if I go there saying I am their Edulcore Cicciotto? Here says his body was never found..."

Rama shook his head again. "It's a gamble unjustifiable. You can't assume that your counterpart here had the same history as you. They could know things you should be supposed to know, but that you actually don't".

"Yes, it's a gamble. Should I remind you that our adversary is just that? A gambler? We must play his own game if we want to win. Besides, I was a public figure here as on our world. My history is recorded in books and magazines. I have just to read it" said Euro. And with that, he opened up his book and started reading, flipping page after page while outside the window the outskirts of Copenagen were replacing the flat country.

Chapter 1 - Make way for the Eurostar

Son of the owner of restaurant in Castelluccio Bolognese, in the Apennine Mountains of Italy, the first part of the life of Edulcore Cicciotto, born the ten of March of 1967, would be the same of an ordinary Italian kid grown in a small village. And probably it would have remained the same, if not for the day in which the young Cicciotto, in his freshman year at the University, decided to register to the Sports Club of the Atheneum, worrying about the ever-increasing size of his belt-circumference.

That casual happening started the career of the most incredible athlete of the late XX century. Because the fat, pimpled kid, in less that a year of training, broke all the established track records, including 100, 200, 400 m, by seconds. Even more incredibly, the boy revealed to be a marvel also at long distances, including the marathon. In the following years Cicciotto won the gold medals for the 100, 200, 400, long and triple jump in the Olympic Games of Barcellona and Atlanta.

He was nicknamed by the press "The Eurostar", a class of fast train in Western Europe. He was the main aim of anti-doping investigations, but he always come out perfectly clear, while the same doesn't apply for his main rival, American-naturalised Cuban Eduardo Frederico, whose silver medals from Atlanta were retired just after mere hours from the medals ceremony.

America did not stayed on the window, and trough its Olympic Committee decided to find the reason behind the superhuman exploit of the Italian sport-hero. They requested a blood sample of the man, and had it studied by the Nobel awarded Professor Zachary Knell, head researcher and CEO of 3VX Research Center, a private genetic lab heavily founded by the Pentagon. In 1996, it was announced to the world that in the blood sample of Edulcore Cicciotto was found a special genetic trait, called the Metagene, responsible for the activation of other genes, gifting the Eurostar with increased muscular power and stamina.

Following the revelation, the Olympic International Committe retired the medals won by Cicciotto, and part of the prizes. After a legal battle of two years, that Edulcore loose, the man retired to the family restaurant, embarking in a fortunate cooking career that kept alive Cicciotto's fame.

Edulcore closed the book, as the train was entering the station.

It was his same life.

"Let me see that book," Rama Avatar said to Edulcore Cicciotto as the two well-dressed men stood in line at Københavns Lufthavne, the Copenhagen Airport, after having purchased two first-class tickets with Scandinavian Airlines (SAS) on a direct flight from Copenhagen to Las Vegas. Ed folded over a corner of the page he was reading and handed it hesitantly over to the Swordsman, as if he was not sure he would get it back in one piece. Rama flipped quickly through it, frowning all the while, and finally held it out at arm's length and read a bit of the blurb on the back cover: "'In this daring new book, author David Icke asks the question: Was Avant-Garde's formation prompted by a... thwarted extraterrestrial invasion?' ... 'Insidious Reptilian agenda'?!? What utter trash! How can you read this tripe, Cicciotto?"

Ed shrugged. "Stranger things have happened, as you well know, Mason," he said with a wink.

Rama sighed loudly. "You can have the book back. I'll find a more reputable one for myself."

"Your homework, also?"

"Indeed," Rama said with a knowing grin. "I'd like to know as much as possible about our possible enemies."

Ed shook his head and sighed.

"If these 'Avant-Gardians' are anything like our own universe's Vanguardians, we can be sure that they're a disorganized group of individualistic morons with meta-powers coming out their arses who are incapable the least amount of team-work. In that case we have nothing to worry about. It's the possibility that they're actually efficient that worries me. And, judging by their apparent status with NATO, if your book is correct on that point, they don't seem to have remained small-time in this world."

Rama was next in line and waited for the light to turn green before walking up to the booth at the International Departures wing. The man at the booth greeted him and took his passport.

"Your name is Rajinder Brar? From Dresden?"

"That is correct," said Rama.

"You don't look German," the man said with a self-amused tone.

"And you don't seem to be aware of the marvel that is immigration," Rama retorted.

"Touche," said the man with a tone of boredom. "Have a good flight."

***

Shortly afterwards, within Terminal 1, Edulcore and Rama were sitting down opposite each other as they waited for their flight. It was almost midnight, and their flight was at 3:30 AM.

"This is a most unnatural way to travel," the Swordsman growled. "Ungodly departure times, no stopping anywhere to have a proper night's rest and good meal... and no interesting company, either."

Ed ignored the last remark and said, "Get sleep wherever and whenever you can, Rama." He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

Rama Avatar looked around indignantly at the dirty cushions on his seat. "Do you really expect me to fall asleep right here, on this filthy Davenport?"

"I don't 'spect you t'do anything," Edulcore muttered as he began to nod off. "Just wake me up when it's time t'go."

The Swordsman crossed his arms, completely outraged at the situation, and harrumphed as loudly as he could. Cicciotto didn't seem to notice.

Two hours and a half later Ed was awaken in a quite rough manner by the Indian warrior. "It's time for our embark, Cicciotto. Let's go!" he said, shaking the Italian over the shoulder.

Ed opened his eyes all of a sudden, wondering for a moment about where he was. "ah... Ok, Ok. " he said, standing up and taking the luggage.

"There is half an hour left... I think I'll go to find something to bite before... I fell an insatiable hungry from the moment I got in this Universe" said Euro, touching his belly.

"And I will go for a piss" replied Rama Avatar.

"Again?" said Euro, smiling.

Rama didn't answer, and turned his back to the "friend", heading for the toilettes. Once there, opening the door, he found on the other side a young boy that was the spitted image of Axel Magus. But the impression lasted just a blink of the eyes, because the man behind the door was actually a lot older than thirteen years, and with black curly eyes, spectacles and a goatee. Rama shook his head, and before taking his long needed piss, washed his face with cold water. When he was back to Euro, he has completely forgotten the episode.

Half an hour later the two were sitting at their places in the plane, waiting for the departure.

"Have you ever been in Las Vegas before?" asked Rama, enough uncharacteristically starting a conversation.

"Yes, I did. A few times when I was an Olympic star, and then once, when I was on the run from the EPS. Me and Agent Turner won a lot of money that time... And you, Rama?"

The Indian man smiled. "Actually, I was one of the founders of the town, back... when it was? 1831? Or it was thirty two? Bwah ha ha!"

Ed shook his head. "I wonder why I asked" he said, taking the book from his briefcase and opening it, trying to ignore the laughs of his companion.

Chapter 2 - The metagene

The discovery of the metagene in 1996, by Doctor Zachary Knell of 3VX Industries, discovery that granted him the Nobel prize for medicine in the following year, has not changed to a big deal our history.

The metagene, a peculiar gene whose sole ability is to force the human DNA to mutate in different, but not unlimited ways, is actually present just in the 0,01% of the human population. That is, in more that six billion of humans, just 600,000 men and women, scattered throughout all the world, are estimated to possess the metagene.

And that doesn't mean they are going to become superheroes. The metagene in most cases simply enhances certain activities of the brain. Telepathy, telekinesis, and the well known phenomenon of poltergeist, related to young people reaching maturity, has been discovered being caused by the presence of the metagene. In other cases, the metagene acts over the brain inducing abilities in the mathematic field, allowing kids to elaborate numbers as quickly as a computer. 78% of the metagene carrying population is believed to be interested by this kind of "power-augmentation" , as the action of the metagene is called. That equates to 468,000 humans, dispersed in all the countries of earth.

The others 132,000 metahumans are interested by a different -or, better, by a plethora of other different- kind of "power-augmentation". In those people, the metagene acts over other parts, or organs, of the body: muscles, sensorial organs, nervous system, even hairs.
At the most basic level, the metagene slightly enhances normal humans abilities: it makes running faster (the case of Edulcore Cicciotto, whose ability on the Olympic tracks was the first "power-augmentation" ever observed), being able to dive deeper without breathing apparatuses, or survive falls from big heights, without too big wounds.

But in a very few cases, known as "Alpha classes" metahumans, the metagene pushes some organs beyond the imaginable, making the carriers real superheroes. It is estimated that just a few hundreds metas over the whole planet are of Alpha class, and as of today, May 2003 as I am writing this, 78 are in the ranks of Avant-Guarde, as operatives, cadets and young students, all coming from countries member or associated or allied to NATO. Little is known of similar organisation for Russia, China or India.

Alpha classes metagene carrying people, so far, has been catalogued into the following categories:
-speedster: the metagene acts over the muscles of the body, the hearth and the lungs, allowing the carrier to run as fast as half the speed of sound, and making long jumps of over one kilometre (high jumps of nearly 250 metres).
-sensorial: the metagene acts over sensorial receptors, allowing the carrier to have augmented senses (usually just one), usually smell (with the ability to following and detecting scents like a hound) or vision (telescopic vision like a falcon, or night vision like a cat). other rarely seen augmentation of sense are thermal detection (the carrier "sees" infrareds with the palms of his hands), or super-hearing.
-strongman: the metagene enhance the muscular structure, giving the carrier extra-strength; usually it comes with a hardened skin, able to resist to long distance shots or hits by cutting blades. So called strongmen always have a weight higher than normal, and are severely slower into their actions.
-mastermind: the metagene acts over the brain, giving ESP powers: telepathy, telekinesis, collective hypnosis.
-healers: the metagene enhance the normal regenerative process of the human body, allowing these carriers heal very faster and better any wounds they can receive. In a very few cases, it is know that some healers can, to a lesser degree, help healing or regeneration in another person carrying the metagene.
-one of a kind: the last category gathers all the cases in which just one or few person are know to carry a particular "power-augmentation". Example are the electrical powers, due to the augmentation of the electrical production of the nervous system, of the ex MCCA agent Shock or the super-scream of Avant Guarde member Banshee.

After a few years of relative quiet, in which the methuman phenomenon was matter just for Scientific magazines, in 2001 the hunt for metahumans began. The most advanced nations of the worlds began to look for the metahumans present inside their borders or abroad, desperately searching for all the Alpha Class, It was the next step in armaments race, as an army of metahumans would have meant to have an edge over any enemy country.

Or, as some insider source from the Pentagon assures, enemy planet. It was at the beginning of the century, actually, that a sleeping menace known from the beginning of the fifties, with the crash of Roswell, became topical. Two alien factions, the grey ones, or Boulls, and a reptilian race nicknamed Basilisk by the experts of CIA, found Earth to be the perfect battlefield for a future war. The government of the USA found that the disadvantage in technology could be filled with a genetic superiority granted by the metagene.

And so, the MCCA, the Metagene Carrier Control Agency was secretly founded, manned and financed by the USA government, with the goal of procure as much Alpha Class Metahumans as possible, to be transferred to 3VX and Professor Knell for experimentation; the nature of the experiments, being the uttermost augmentation of the metagene action over each Alpha Class metahuman, paired up with, the same sources claims, brainwashing and artificially induced total loyalty, through the use of an ample variety of drugs.

Euro closed the book. Again, it seemed a load of bullshit, but it was not so different from what happened in their original Universe.

Better to sleep, to avoid the jet-lag, though Euro. He put the light above his seat to off, and closed his eyes.

Rama Avatar didn't sleep. He couldn't sleep, despite the roomy First Class seating and capacity to recline as far back as he could have wanted.

During the ticket negotiation, Rama had tried to get a couple of seats, or at least just one, near the back by the bulkhead, a place where he could see the rest of the First Class passenger section. Unfortunately, those were popular seats and the only empty seats left were elsewhere. Finally he had to relent on the seating and took what he could. Yet he was unable to relax. Part of being a warrior was being constantly aware of your environment. A warrior never allowed himself to be taken from unawares, and one was never to make his own back a target for a potential enemy. Even though he should not have known anyone on this plane, it was possible that the cursed magician, Aurochs, had hired spies and was expecting him. Thus prudence called for his constant alert. Besides the fact that sleep was unnatural in such an artificial environment, Rama Avatar would not sleep until he had reached safe lodgings on the ground. The flight was eleven hours long. He still had ten to go.

Ed glanced at the warrior at his side. He was really going not to sleep for all the flight.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. And suddenly felt the urgence to go to the bathroom.

He stood up.

"Weren't you going to sleep, Cicciotto?" asked sarcastically Rama.

Euro looked at him, opened his mouth to answer and then closed it. No way to win, so why even to start the fight?

So, he walked toward the toilette. In one of the distant seat, next to a very beautiful girl on her mid twenties, was a kid resembling Axel in an impressive manner. Ed headed straight toward the bathroom, as he can't really postpone that, with the idea of looking better at the kid on his way back.

Coming back, thinking how impractical was that universe, with all that dirt and that pressing physiological urgencies, he saw that the face of the boy was hiding behind the back of the head of the girl, as they were intensively kissing.

No, he couldn't be the thirteen year old Axel. "Better to get to sleep, Euro" said to himself the Italian hero.

As he seated, he told Rama the fact, The warrior stood up, and went to control the place next to the beautiful girl. when he returned, he said between the teeth: "That man will be at least ten years older than Axel. Sleep, Cicciotto, it seems you are tired".

The Italian gruntend, and closed his eyes.

Rama Avatar found himself completely unable to relax on the plane. Besides the indefensible position he was situated in, there was something unsettling about being in this airplane. It wasn't that he hadn't flown before or hadn't had any experience with flying before -- he regularly took his gargantuan hawk on flights, and he had not only flown but built several flying machines over the course of his long life -- but an airplane was made for travel, not relaxation, and he marvelled at the ability of the people around him to fully give in to sleep, trusting that this metal machine hurtling at breakneck speed through the air would keep them safe from harm.

More than a century earlier, the Swordsman had built a flying airship with a strange, otherwordly metal which lacked the usual magnetic properties of many metals yet held a strong negative electromagnetic field which enabled it to hover at a definitive distance from the surface of the earth (or, rather, from the molten metal core of the earth which gave the planet its own electromagnetic field), and merely by making adjustments to the field could the airship be made to move up and down from the planet, thus defying gravity. Once a setting was made it had to be altered before the ship would move any closer or further away from the earth's surface, and thus it was not difficult to sleep on such a secure ship. The only time he found the ship difficult to sleep on was when it was moving in a forward or lateral motion, requiring the use of his specially-built engines to propel it, a motion independent of the anti-gravity effects of the otherworldly metal of which much of the ship was built. Contrary to his relatively safe airship, the airplane which Rama Avatar was currently situated upon needed to be in a constant state of motion in order to merely remain aloft. Any number of eventualities could cause a rupture in the flying process, causing the plane to crash. Knowing too much about the mechanics of air flight was thus a hindrance to his relaxation, even if he was inclined to sleep.

Rama spent the next several hours looking up information on his laptop computer, thanks to the wireless Internet connection it had. As he had suspected from his own observations, this world had many similarities in history to his own, but somehow it was more mundane than his world, probably safer yet less interesting for an individual in search of adventure. It was as if the history of his own world had been carefully scrutinized for anything that smacked of the fantastic and was washed out with diluted bleach. He was not sure if this was due to a higher amount of skepticism on the part of this world's people in general, but that still would not explain the phenomenon that he had noticed immediately upon stepping into this world, that the colours seemed washed out, greyer somehow.

Still, despite the somewhat fantastic nature of their abilities, there were metahumans on this world as well, though those abilities were also much less fantastic than the ones found in the more numerous metahumans of his own world. To the Swordsman's way of thinking, this gave him an advantage should he have need to battle one or more of these metahumans. This world's version of Vanguard International -- Avant Garde (which, of course, was French for "Vanguard") -- included almost all of the western world's metas, and although the core team had a limited number, there were auxiliary members stationed in each member nation of NATO. Rama made a point of studying the abilities of each one he learned about, one-by-one. After a while it became apparent that all the metahuman abilities were variations of one another and not all that different. It was just a question of anticipating which one would be used against him.

***

On the outskirts of Las Vegas, 19-year-old Jay Fischer leaned heavily on the counter inside an old gas station named Bud's Fill-'er-up which, several years before, had been the only stop for several miles. Now the suburbs of the sprawling city had encroached even here, enabling a local youth such as Jay to have nearby (if low-paying) employment. Since business had been slow all day, Jay was engrossed, as usual, in a comic-book published by Dark Horse Comics which was full of big brawls and zombies galore. The fantasy world of this comic was much more interesting than the day in, day out real world he was forced to exist in.

That is, until today. He glanced up to see a red sportscar of a make and model he didn't see come through very often fly down Highway 15 towards him. He shifted himself up from the countertop a bit to watch it, not noticing as the issue of The Goon he was reading flipped shut. He began moving towards the door when he realized it was finally slowing down and stopping at his station.

He saw, of course, the beautiful woman with long, brunette hair who wore sunglasses and a revealing tank top even on this December day in the desert, before the car came to a stop, so he more-or-less prepared himself for talking with her. Even so, his voice sounded high-pitched and squeaky when he asked her, "Fill 'er up?"

She handed him a twenty without more than a glance at him, and as he filled her gas tank to full, he couldn't help but watch her as she adjusted her makeup in the mirror. A few moments later he was back at the side of her car and said, in a huskier voice that still sounded somewhat fake, "Want an oil-change, ma'am?"

"No thanks," the woman said in a flat tone, but as Jay nodded and began to walk away, she called out to him again and motioned him back. She said, in a surprising tone, "On second thought, handsome, how about you give me that oil-change inside?"

"'Inside'?" Jay said in his earlier squeaky voice a moment before realization kicked in, and his freckled face went stark red. "Uh, okay," he managed to sputter as she removed the keys from the ignition and opened the car door. By the time she followed him inside he could no longer hide his erection.

***

At the McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas, Ed Cicciotto stretched and yawned as he and Rama Avatar waited in the line-up at Customs.

"I really had a good rest last night," Ed remarked.

The Swordsman grunted in a warning tone. The bags under his eyes literally had bags under them. His hair was somewhat dishevelled, and his three-piece suit was as wrinkled as one would expect after having worn it for far too long in a sitting position. He felt barely conscious of his surroundings and wanted nothing more than to plop down in his hotel and sleep the rest of the day away.

"We should begin looking for Aurochs right away, I think," Ed continued. "Knowing him as well as I do, I have a few ideas of what kinds of places he may have gone. We need to find a section of this city which caters to men looking for male prostitutes. And, of course, we should check out the casinos. Aurochs is fond of gambling."

"What?" Rama said, a frown creasing his brow.

"I said that Aurochs is fond of gambling, so he may be found at one of the local casinos."

Rama shook his head. "No, no, what you said about male prostitutes before..."

"Right, well, Aurochs' sexual fondness for boys has long been known, and--"

"There's no way in bloody hell--" Rama Avatar said in a controlled yet aggressive tone, "--that I am about to go traipsing around looking for male prostitutes!"

Rama turned around as he heard a shocked sound of disgust behind him. He saw an overweight mother with two small children, who wore a patriotically-colored button which said "Support Our President", holding her hands over her younger child's ears, even as her daughter tried to squirm her way out of her mother's grasp. The mother glared at the Swordsman with an expression of righteous anger and exclaimed, "Watch your mouth! There are ladies and children present!" This statement, of course, was at odds with her own actions, as she was an avid viewer of the Jerry Springer show.

"Oh, get over it, madam," Rama snorted and turned his back on her, ignoring her further comments, which were not meant for the ears of little ones, either.

Soon enough, Ed and Rama were at the front of the line, where they were asked if they had anything to declare, and both their luggage and themselves were scanned. Ed went through without any problems, but Rama had to stop as a beeping noise in the walk-through scanner indicated he had something metallic on his person.

"Would you mind removing everything from your pockets, sir?" an overweight African-American woman named Betsy said in a tired tone, holding out a metal tray that looked somewhat like a bedpan, in which a few coins from Rama's pockets already lay.

The Swordsman sighed and dug into his pockets, not finding anything until he realized he had a pouch fastened to a string around his neck. "Oh, right," he muttered as he removed the pouch, "I'd forgotten about this." He dropped the pouch into the tray with a dulled clinking sound.

"Please remove the objects of your pouch, sir, and place them in the tray," said Betsy in the same tired, flat tone as before.

Rama did so, and 12 keys clinked onto the metal tray. Betsy nodded, and Rama walked through the scanner once more, this time with no problems.

Betsy had pushed the tray to the other side already, so Rama picked up his keys and put them back in his pouch, slipping it into his outer jacket pocket rather than reattaching it once again to the string under his shirt.

"Are you a locksmith, sir?" Betsy asked him.

"Excuse me?" Rama said, taken aback at the unexpected question.

Betsy said, "I mean, do you always keep a dozen blank, uncut keys on your person?"

The corners of Rama's mouth twitched slightly, and he said, "They're for good luck." He flashed an ingratiating smile for a moment to smoothe the situation and began to walk away.

"Excuse me, sir!" Betsy shouted in a somewhat alarming tone which made Rama wonder what was wrong now. He considered dashing for the exit right then and there but thought better of it.

"Yes?" the Swordsman said in a guarded tone as he slowly walked back to the walk-through scanner.

Betsy held up the bedpan-like tray and shook it enough to let him know there was something still in it. "You wouldn't want to forget your money, would you?"

Rama walked up to her and saw a single penny left in the corner of the tray.

"You might need that, sir," Betsy said with a straight face.

Rama grunted as a few of the other Customs officers chuckled at his expense, and he picked up his penny, soon enough joining Ed on their way out of the airport. The Swordsman was looking forward to a quiet hotel room all to himself, a hot bath and a few hours' sleep.

In a darkened room at the world-famous Bellagio Hotel and Casino, a room paid for by a nonexistent German national named Rajinder Brar, the man behind that alias lay in a deep, coma-like sleep on top of the bed, over the sheets, still fully clothed in his three-piece suit, minus the jacket which was slung over a chair, which made this particular gentleman look like an unmade bed.

The hotel staff were used to such cases of jet lag but had rarely seen such an extreme case as this one. Two bellboys with nothing better to do even on this Christmas Day made a wager against each other, betting their next paycheck on how many hours the brown-skinned German of Indian heritage had been awake by this time -- Duane figured it was under 50 hours, while Colin thought it was at least 50 hours or more -- but of course the only difficulty was how to discover this information from the hotel guest while still maintaining the kind of respect such a high-roller as Mr. Brar would expect to receive at this high-class establishment.

It was a sunny, relatively warm day of December 25th in the desert town of Las Vegas, Nevada, yet the interior of Rajinder Brar's hotel room was almost completely pitch-black, thanks to window shades that effectively blocked off all outside light. In that room the man who called himself Rajinder Brar was able to shed that fictional name and his fictional purpose for being there (he was supposedly a sales representative for a German multinational), and everything was allowed to melt away into sleep.

This Rajinder Brar was, of course, the legendary figure known by various names but most often as the Swordsman due to his now-absent yet almost always present sword, Caliburn. He was a warrior-born, disciplined to always remain on guard for any threat to his person or to those whom he has vowed to protect. Yet he had also not slept for several days, now. Thus it was understandable that he remained asleep and did not hear the sound of a key-card being swiped at his hotel room door, did not hear the click of the lock opening nor the door opening and shutting, and did not hear a figure creep quietly across his room, retrieve an object from his belongings, and steal just as quietly out of the room as if this figure had never been there. He was, after all, even despite his immortality, still only human.

***

In another room at the Bellagio, a raven-haired woman scribbled notes onto the pages of a miniature notebook as she sat in a hot bath, steam rising from the soapy hot water. It was very relaxing and quite a treat, as she hadn't had a bath for such a long time. She hoped she hadn't gotten that poor boy back at the gas station into too much trouble, but once she had done him a "favor" or two he was more than willing to part with any and all available cash and necessary supplies that he could gather in a short time. If she hadn't stopped him she was sure he could've gone so far as to steal from his own grandmother's purse to give her more money, but there was enough in the till to last for awhile. The owner of that gas station, "Bud" or one of his surviving progeny, must have forgotten to deposit the week's take at the bank. And after all that, poor young Jay wouldn't remember the first thing about her. If only every situation were as simple as that one, perhaps she wouldn't have had any blood on her hands. Some people took a bit more convincing, however.

***

In yet another room at the Bellagio, this one a large, deluxe suite reserved for V.I.P.s, a young man and a young woman had just finished what they did best: love-making.

"Oh, Merx, that was wonderful," the auburn-haired woman said, stroking the man's ebony arm slowly and delicately as she stared into his dark eyes. Her name was Ursula Mittelholzer, and she spoke with a Swiss accent. "I don't know why I resisted you for so long."

Merx grinned and said, "If you want, I can keep going, babe. I can go all day, all night."

Ursula laughed. "Some of us have to work, liebchen. And as much as I appreciate your... boundless stamina as much as the next girl, I'll never have enough endurance to keep up with you."

The African-American man known as Mercury "Merx" O'Donovan sighed loudly and sat up on the edge of the bed, still grinning to show he wasn't completely serious about his irritation at the interruption of their coupling. "You're right, of course. We should get back to work."

The Swiss-born Ursula Mittelholzer sat up just behind him and placed her pink arms around his chest, allowing him to feel the tips of her breasts along his back. "Well... we don't have to leave right away..."

"No?" Merx said, turning his head back a bit.

"I'm willing to put work off for another hour or so, if you are," Ursula said, her face next to his. They both grinned, and she pulled him back down onto the sheets. It would be three more hours before they left their hotel room and got to work.

The room remained mostly darkened when Rama Avatar opened his curtains late that night, with the exception of the neon and other lights throughout Sin City. He had felt groggy and old beyond his physical years when he finally woke up after sleeping all day long, but the hot bath had done wonders for him. The only problem was that he felt completely relaxed and at ease when he should have been gearing himself up for his intended mission: to find the wizard Aurochs in this modern-day Sodom.

Rama stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom for several minutes, staring at his bearded visage through the foggy film of water vapor. He brushed a hand across it, making a streak of clear glass with which he could see his face. He was ageless, neither young nor old, but able to pass for both. He was tall and had an athletic brown frame free of all excess body-fat, yet he was not skinny. His hair was short, like a warrior's, but his beard seemed a carry-over from a previous life. It was that which he stared at the longest, deliberating. Finally he decided to shave it completely off. His beard and now-absent warrior's garb forming such a staple "look" for the Swordsman, he would almost look like a different man entirely. He would look almost civilized.

The Swordsman changed into a fresh suit and called for laundry to pick up his old one, making sure to take the pouch of blank keys out of the jacket pocket and putting it back on the string around his neck. He didn't want any of these falling into the wrong hands. He then went down the hall to the next door down, which led to Ed's room, and knocked three times. No answer. He was probably already out long before, he realized.

The man with the alias of Rajinder Brar walked down to the dining room and selected a table in the corner, where he could see every person in the room. He ordered the paella de la casa (the house dish), rabbit tapas and Spanish meatballs, with a bottle of sangria. It was a "Spanish Christmas" theme night tonight.

While waiting for his food to arrive, Rama pulled his digital phone out of his coat pocket and dialled Ed's number. The Neanderthal had supplied them each with digital phones with active accounts in this world. "Come on, pick up, Cicciotto. Pick up," he muttered to himself, hating technology and hating himself for having to depend on it. If only Erasmus was here -- she'd be able to track down Cicciotto within half an hour.

The phone stopped ringing, and a pre-recorded voice said: "Your call has been forwarded to a voice mail service that has not been initialized to the customer you are calling..."

"Blast!" Rama cursed as he clicked the "end" key. "You have a telephone, Cicciotto -- use it."

Soon enough, the Swordsman's dinner arrived. After he was finished he left both the dining room and the hotel itself for the evening. On the way out he happened to catch a glimpse of a strikingly attractive, exotic-looking woman with raven-black long hair wearing an expensive dress. He found himself lingering his gaze over her for longer than he would normally have done so, and only looked away when she flicked her eyes over to him and smiled. He felt disorientated and unsure of where he was for a moment, until he pulled himself together and stepped outside of the hotel.

It was not until some twenty minutes later that he remembered that he wanted to find an arms dealer. He was sure that he could find some guns in this city, even on Christmas Day. In America, guns were as plentiful as water, and they -- like everything else in America -- were for sale.

When finally arrived in his hotel room, Ed jumped over the bed and began to take out the clothes from his bag, impatient to head to the streets looking for information. But it was too early, two PM, at that time of the day it was not really wise to go street hunting.

Rama in the other room was sleeping. Ed had plenty of sleep over the plane, and now was perfectly rested. To let some time to pass, he put the TV on, surfing from channel to channel, trying to get a good idea of how that world was different from his own. The news were the same he saw the previous days on his world... minus here there was no mention of any metahuman affair. with so few of them in the world, it was just obvious.

Unable to find anything worth, Ed turned off the tv and went to the bathroom to took a shower.

It was then the mirror in the room caught his attention. He went there, looking at himself. On his own world the beard and the baldness were sufficient to hide his identity, that as past Olympic Champion was well known across the world. Here that simple camouflage would have be sufficient to conceal his own identity? Or, his parallel twin being dead, nobody would think him being Edulcore Cicciotto even if the face was the same?

Suddenly, a burst of curiosity for his counterpart got birth in his mind. Who was Edulcore on this world? Respected hero, or feared rogue like on his home planet?

"The book!" though Euro, and taking it from the bag, he jumped, landing on the bed on relaxed position, determined to discover who was the Eurostar on that dimension.

Chapter three
Avant-Guarde members files: The Eurostar

The life of Edulcore Cicciotto, cook and ex-Olympic champion, changed the night of XX-XX- 2001, when he was kidnapped by secret agents of the genetic firm Marvenex, based in Nokia, Finland, the most advanced European based metagene researching centre.

It was 2001, actually, the year in which over the metagene began a new armament race between many nations of the world. After five years of research, the knowledge about the metagene was deep enough to let the possible utilisation in the military field become evident.

The hunt for the alpha metas began, and where the money was not sufficient to enlist them in the various national research centres, they become the subject of abduction through military black ops stunts.

That was the case for Cicciotto: after refusing for at the least six months to be enlisted by the 3VX, the Boston based American metagene research centre, by Marvenex and by half a dozen other facilities, he was finally kidnapped and brought to Finlad.

At Marvenex Edulcore Cicciotto was put under the care of acclaimed scientist Dr Henry Quantos, who revealed the world famous Eurostar that his power was augmentable to levels seemingly impossible for a human being, making him able to reach speed bursts of 350 Km/h. What most impressed the ex-athlete were the proofs for such claims: video footage stolen from the 3VX laboratory in Boston, showing a mere months old baby able to walk and run at inhuman speed.

The kid was supposedly a clone of Edulcore Cicciotto, grown from the same blood samples that revealed for the first time to the world the existence of the metagene.

Cicciotto was also made aware that Marvenex took him from home right before an agent of the MCCA, the American agency for the control of metahumans, Shock (see relative file, pag 67) could kidnap him to force him to join the USA metahumans programs. And the true scope of the American hunt for metas was finally revealed for the first time to one of the metahumans subject of that very hunt: to built an army of supersoldier to side an alien race in a war to be fought on Earth with a second alien race.

Edulcore, after the revelations, apparently agreed to join freely the Marvanex project. There, he befriended especially a young Australian, with bizarre animal powers, named Danny Hearn, apparently the subject of an experiment of time travel.

After the process of power-augmentation succeeded, however, Ed and Danny found a way out of the laboratory complex, disappearing in the boreal forest surrounding Nokia.

They reappeared in Chicago, at the O'Hare International Airport, in time for what was dubbed by the press the "Chicago meta-incident" and that caused much concer happening shortly after 9/11. The two were involved in a big fight to stop the mad meta known as Mr. Kaleidoscope, on the run from the police and the MCCA.

The two, joined by Mr. Kaleidoscope's twin brothers, Mick Harrison, a meta with illusionist and super-hypnosis powers, stopped Kaleidoscope after his crime spree, but then had to run away from Agent Shok and others of the MCCA, trying to capture them.

Edulcore Cicciotto, in that occasion, showed for the first time in public his powers, making a everlasting impression over the public with his out-racing of the Boeing 747 in take-off, with which Kaleidoscope was escaping.

In that very first "mission", Cicciotto showed good leading abilities, making his powers and the ones of his two comrades to work well together. After the stunt, he found without too much hassle a perfect place to hide, applying the old adage that the best hiding place is being in plain view, joining a travelling circus where their abilities were more than welcomed, in exchange of being hidden from the likes of the MCCA with fake identities.

Escaping from the MCCA was not their only goal: Edulcore convinced the three to help him to recover the little clone of himself, to which he always refer as being his son.

Shortly before the arrival of the Circus in Boston, home of 3VX Company and place of custody of Cicciotto's clone, the group was joined by another metahuman, the mysterious Kristogar Velo, a man who came to the circus as the director of a documentary over circus life, but that soon revealed to be an ex CIA agents, involved into the alien agenda of the USA Government. The man asked the help of the three metas for sneaking inside the Leviathan, the fortress-like laboratory of 3VX, to retrieve documentation to expose the traitorous behaviour of part of the government agencies, in exchange of information into how to free the Eurostar's "son".

Edulcore Cicciotto had an instinctive faith into the man, and assured his help and his friend's one.

The night of Christmas eve, 2001, the four men entered dressed as Santa and their elves into the 3VX building, during the employees party. What followed is detailed in chapter 9, "The fall of the Leviathan", but without anticipating too much, we have to remember how the Eurostar was instrumental into the destruction of the building and the exposition of Zachary Knell as a member of the reptilian alien race classified by the CIA as "basilisks".

Cicciotto (now finally united with his "son"), Hearn, Harrison and Velo, joined by the MCCA agent Shok, that was following them and got involved in the spectacular action, with the instrumental help of one of the 3VX top researcher, Dr. Charles Walker, a metahuman himself, succeeded into exposing the plan to gather all the alpha metahumans of Earth to be transformed into superpowered drones of the invading alien force.

Obviously, nothing was ever revealed by the authorities about what happened that night, and we are detailing those happenings for the first time whitin this book, thanks to insider sources. But the enormous amount of special forces of the army converging over Boston, near the location of the fall of the Leviathan building, in the day of Christmas, 2001, is a fact.

Like it is a fact that in the following months many heads in the government, the FBI, the CIA and the Army (and also in the NASA) fell, and there was a general reorganisation of the various government agencies, justified with the necessity for increase necessity of national security, but that we know had another reason to be.

After a month, a new special force for the defence of the free world and the war to terrorism was announced, under the NATO flag and composed exclusively by metagene bearers. Called "Avante-Guard", and based in Bruxelles, Belgium, the first members it counted were those very metahumans that contributed to the fall of 3VX.

Edulcore Cicciotto was the field leader, but that didn't lasted much. During the very first mission of Avant-Guarde, taking place in Helsinki, Finland, for coincidence the same country where the Eurostar was born as a superhero, the Italian found death.

The team had been assigned to stop a band of rogue Russian officers that wanted to blackmail the Finnish government with the use of nuclear weapons.

Edulcore, after much struggle of the entire team, once the bomb was recovered about to explode, ran with it in the Baltic Sea, to save the city. His body was never found. Today, a giant statue of Edulcore Cicciotto stands in Helsinki as a memento of that extraordinary and sad day.

Euro closed the book. In his world Mandelovia never built a monument to him for having sacrificed the life to save the city from a meteor, but at last he returned to life. For an instant, Ed wondered if Mandelovia did exist on that world, so alike and so different from his own, then jumped on his feet, and left the room.

Edulcore knocked at the door of the hotel room occupied by the Indian warrior, and that was right next to his own. "Rama? Rama? It's time to move!" whispered the Italian, but the only answer was the loud snoring of the man. At last in that, noticed Euro, the Swordsman had not changed much from his previous incarnation, the one of Mason Templar, bold adventurer.

Ed knocked again. "Rama? Rama!"

No reply came, so Ed shrugged and walked away, toward the elevator.
.................................................................................

"What direction, sir?" asked the taxi driver, after Euro got on.

Ed remained silent for a moment, trying to judge the grade of filthness of the man, and then asked straight the question: "I am looking for sex".

The man smiled, a smile that gave Euro nausea and disgust. "What kind of sex?"

"Young males"

"How young?"

"Very young".

The cabbie paused, looking at Ed trough the rear mirror, to guess if it was a legit question or the man was a cop in disguise. The heavy accent of Ed's English made the cabbie to believe he was a rich tourist in search of prohibited sensations. "That information will not be cheap..."

"I am going to pay" said Euro, taking a roll of dollars out of a pocket.

"Good. I'm bringing you to a snuff movies director that deals also in the goods you are looking for." The yellow cab speeded up toward a distant part of the city.

"There!" The taxi driver stopped in front of a two story house in a dpeleted part of the city. His finger was pointing to a door at the second level, up a metal staircase.

"Guy's name's Liotta. Mark Liotta. Be careful" said laconically the man.

Ed paid the run, and stepped out. It was Christmas, but the sun was hot, and everything in sight was dusted by the sand of the nearby desert. Euro found his throat dry, and would have paid anything for a glass of water.

The Italian stepped up the stair, stopping in front of the door. Before knocking, he tried to hear if any sound was coming from inside.

There were just the words coming from a TV...

...Birecic, Turkey... a first grade school with hundreds of children has been seized by terrorists of Al Quaeda at nine AM, local time, two AM east coast time. The terrorists, after having slain three teachers of the school, have given an ultimatum of twenty four hours to the Turkey government for retiring their troops in Iraq before bowing up the school...

Euro knocked the door.

After a moment, it opened, revealing a tall unshaved man, with a black goatee and ponytail, wearing shorts and a black T-shirt. The man just frowned.

"Liotta?" asked Edulcore.

"Maybe. Who are you?"

Euro grimaced. "The name's not important. A little bird told me you have something that interests me.."

Liotta looked outside, behind Euro. "And what that would be?"

"Boys..."

Liotta looked at Euro's eyes. "I don't know who told you such, but I am not the man you are looking for. Now excuse me..." he said, pushing the door. Just, it didn't close, because there was a foot of Euro between door and frame.

Euro's hand pushed the man inside. "I have a lot of money, man. I pay well..."

The man ran to open a drawer, taking out a small gun.

"I don't want to harm you, I just want to deal" smiled Ed. "A good friend of mine told me about you, Mark" gambled Ed. "An old French named Bull... Auguste Bull... a man over his seventies... white hair, white long beard... a Gandalf kind of figure... with a scar across his forehead."

The eyebrows of the man raised for an instant, revealing the name was not new to him. Or at least, that's what Euro thought.

"Come on..." said mellowly Ed, stepping in front of the man who still had the gun raised.

The hand of Euro went slowly to the back pocket of his jeans, taking out a roll of dollars. "Come on... he told me you have the goods...."

At the sight of the money, the man lowered the gun. "If it was Bull to tell you, I guess I could trust you. The man is a good client of mine."

"Bingo", though Euro. "This man knows Aurochs. Now I just need to..." but the line of toughs was cut by the door suddenly opening.

Sblam!

Framed by the door, appeared two man aiming guns at Ed and Liotta. More were behind.

"Raise your hands. You are under arrest for sexual abuse of minors!"

At the same time, above the Mediterranean Sea...

"... Turkish intelligence has been not able to gather any information about them. They have tried to infiltrate one as a doctor to take care for some of the injured ones, but they have killed him as soon as he entered. probably there is a mind reader among them, Dan." The voice coming from the radio was crackling through static.

"That would be a problem, Kris. To infiltrate Chance we have first to discover the meta terrorist, then. And also we can't replace him with the captain, as he can't fake to be a mind reader..."

"You think, Colonel?"

"Mhhh... you say Phil can suggest him... exchange though... it would be hard to accomplish, even for the Major".

"I have absolute faith into Smith, Hearn. I think he should deserves the same from you..."

"Ok, Kris. We are approaching the air base of Konia, where the 'copter is awaiting us. Colonel Hearn out."

"Good luck, Danny. Velo out".

The air-plane landed over the long asphalt strip. Five men, one of which with his features covered by a full face mask, and a woman, all wearing grey-blue uniforms with kevlar shielding, got out of the C130, heading for a Agusta Bell AB-212 helicopter, ready to depart for Birecic.

The very first hint of the morning made the eastern sky to change from black to a deep shade of blue. There were still four hour before the sun would rise.

Birecic, Turkey

The school building is a rather shoddy construction, a two story brickwork surrounded by an asphalted parking, a soccer field and a half dried lawn, all inseded a fenced enclosure. The building around the school, on a radius of 500 metres, have been evacuated since last morning.

At the top of the minaret of a nearby mosque, the head of Turkish secret services is looking at the windows of the school trough the lenses of his Zeiss Dyalit 10x40 binocular. Next to him, the field leader of the Avant Guarde, Colonel Danny Hearn.

"Mr. Colonel, take the lens. Look, there are twelve armed guards at each windows on the south facade... and it's the same for every side of the building..." says the Turkish operative, handling the binocular to the Australian.

The blond young man refuse it, shaking the head. "I don't need it. I've got my own" he said, simply squeezing his eye...

Las Vegas, USA

Chapter four
Avant-Guarde members files: Danny Hearn

The story of Colonel Danny Hearn is a sad chronicle of the early days of the metagene exploitation, when the military applications of the recent scientific discoveries about the metagene and metagene carrying people, not yet regulated by a more recently acquired ethical code, created veritable monsters.
Danny Hearn appears to the face of the world in October, the seventh, of the year 2001, when he and Edulcore Cicciotto ran away from the Marvanex Industries complex in Nokia, Finland.

The then teenager Hearn had befriended Cicciotto in the test laboratories for genetical research, where the Italian ex-track champion had is metagene produced speed abilities augmented to superhuman level.

Hearn, to the lab department employee, was known as "future-boy"; the strange nickname was due to the memories of the boy who, at the time, kept talking about him coming for the future, around the year 2080, in an accidental run from a mad scientist whose works would have been the cause of the multiple powers of the young Australian.

Only later, after the demise of Edulcore Cicciotto in the very first mission of Avant-Guarde, the truth was discovered. While investigating the remnants of Marvanex Industries, destroyed in a collateral accident during that first mission, Kristogar Velo dug out secret files concerning the origin of Danny Hearn.

A young orphan from Camberra, Australia, Hearn was discovered in 1997 to carry the larger array of metagenetic mutated genes known all over the planet. Kidnapped by Marvanex agents and subsequently brought to Nokia, the boy was put under research and experimentation for the next five years. To make him completely subjugated to the project, the boy was brainwashed and put in a virtual reality chamber, creating the illusion of having been born and raised in the future. The reason was to make him able to quicker reaction than a normal human, a need for the future use of the metagene powers that the engineers were experiment upon at the same time. When he finally was judged in a state of complete development, the team in charge of the reality chaber (nicknamed "the Time Trust" in the secret documents) organised the fake time travel, that brought him to be "rescued" by Marvenex agent right in the Finnish forest.

But why all this struggle over this young Australian?

The answer live in the peculiar powers of the man, Powers common on a sigle base across the metahuman population, but that no one in the world sum in just one body: chemical synthesis, enhanced smell, enhanced hearing, enhanced sight, thermal detection, healing factor, electrical shocking production, enhanced agility, stamina, speed... it's even thought that new powers could develop across the years...

Ed puts down the book, the only thing from his backpack that the officer left after all the procedures before putting him in the jail. He stands up from the couch, sweating.

The jail is small, with no windows, just a light bulb protected by a metallic wire. Ed walks across the narrow space like a lion in a cage, as his claustrophobia mounts.

His fingers run over the plastered walls, touch gently the steel bars forming one side of the jail, stroke the tiled floor. Palms open, he presses the wall, looking for a weak spot in the construction.

Nothing.

This world is simply unforgiving. From where he comes, there is always the way out. There is always the gimmick to which the hero can hang to find a solution for his problems.

Here not.

The walls are solid, the steel stainless.

And he has no powers. No magical weapons, no fancy super-strength to appeal to.

There is nothing left than lay back on the couch, and wait. As much as he hates it, Rama Avatar is his only hope.

Voices. Voices and the clicks of heels over the floor. Approaching the door of the jail.

Edulcore opens one eye.

"We arrested him for pedophily, I don't understand why you superheroes should come here and ruin my enquiry. I have yet to question him, damn.." Ed recognize the voice of the detective who arrested him earlier that day.

"You saw the papers. The high seats want the man in Europe as soon as possible. Shut up and hand us the man quickly. It's global security matter, man" respond a second voice.

Euro stand up from the couch. Rama is coming to rescue him. So soon. he wouldn't have believed the Swordsman so good. Actually he was expecting him to come trough the walls with some sort of ram-head.

When the door opens, Edulcore marvels at the sight. It's not Rama, with the officer there are a tall African American and an auburn haired girl. The expression of surprise of Cicciotto's face is mirrored on the one of the two young people.

"Mein Gott... it's really the Eurostar!" whispers the woman. His tall comrade nods, his face the one of a person who is seeing a ghost.

"Are you... Mr. Edulcore Cicciotto?" aks politely the woman. "I am Ursula Mittelholzer and my colleague is Mercury O'Donovan. We are with the Avant Guarde. Your fingerprints matches exactly the ones of the missing Cicciotto... are you really him?".

Euro doesn't know what to do. He looks at the two young agents, tempted to negate the evidence. But why? His cover his burned out anyway, how much would take for the "discovering of the missing founder of Avant Guarde in Vegas" to become publicly known? At that point, Aurochs would fled away suddenly. If they brought him away, in Europe, even if the press would be able to reveal about him, Aurochs wouldn't be so scared, half a planet away... and rama, still undercover, would have some chance to find him. Yes, is the right thing to do, thinks Euro.

"Yes, I am Edulcore Cicciotto" states, simply, Euro. Both the Avante-Guardists smiles, before re assuming the composture needed by the situation. "You gotta some 'splaining to do, Mr." says the tall man. "Follows us".

"Wait. I take my book" says Euro, turning back toward the couch.

The woman quickly glances at the book's title. "Leave that shit there, Mr. Cicciotto. You are going to see the real thing!"

"Bruce tells me you're looking for weapons, Mr. Brar," said Jason Luger, a neat-looking man in a grey suit to the tall Indian standing before him. He had all the coolness of a cat who had trapped a mouse and was playing with it. "Mind if I ask why?"

Rajinder Brar (as Rama Avatar was calling himself), standing before Luger with an impassive expression on his face, briefly considered that Luger looked nothing at all like the stereotypical Mafioso he had not only seen in so many films but had known personally over the centuries, but rather he looked like a typical upper-class American executive from a Fortune 500 company. How times had changed. "No," Rama replied. "No, you may not. Suffice it to say that, if you have the merchandise, I have the cold, hard cash. Is that not a sufficient answer?"

Luger smiled, his already squinting eyes further clouded by the smile like an avid Poker player used to hiding his emotions from any and all observers. "All right, then," he finally said, rising from his desk. "Assuming I have the weapons that you're looking for, and I make no claim to do so, what exactly are you looking for?"

"Assault weapons," Rama said flatly. "An assortment of such."

"Specifics?" Luger asked as he stared at the man at the same eye level, his cobra smile morphing into an amused grin.

"None," Rama replied. "All I require is that they are in good working order and are easy to use. I make no claims to be an expert on assault weapons, but I am interested in a diverse assortment of them, complete with a good supply of bullets and all associated paraphernalia."

Luger walked around his desk and leaned against the front of it, pulling out a packet of chewing gum. "Care for a piece?" he asked. Rama shook his head. "Pity. This is a good brand. Wrigley's. Can't get enough of it since I stopped smoking. The toxicity is more-or-less gone from my body, but I still crave tobacco. I tried using the Patch for awhile, but I find that only chewing gum gives my mouth something to do. Do you smoke, Mr. Brar?"

Rama forced himself to keep from sneering, as his facial muscles seemed to involuntarily twitch around his nose. The situation was completely in the hands of Luger, and he knew it. "No, I do not."

"A non-smoker, huh?" Luger said casually. "What about drink?"

"Pardon?" Rama asked.

"Booze. Ever have a drinking problem?" Luger asked, chewing his gum as he folded his arms casually.

Rama hesitated a moment. "Well, yes. I have, on occasion, abused alcohol at times in my past."

Luger smiled broadly. "I'm glad to hear it," he stated. "I was beginning to think you were one of these health-freaks who's never had an addiction or craving in his life. So you're an alcoholic?"

"Ex-alcoholic," Rama corrected.

"No such thing," said Luger. "Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. My doctor said so. Only difference between you and the boozers down in the hotel bar is the time between drinks. How long has it been since your last drink, Raj. You don't mind if I call you Raj, do you?"

"Not at all," said Rama, who was actually bristling at the sudden and unwelcome familiarity of the man towards him. "I believe it's been... seven months, more or less."

"What? Nothing for Christmas? Not even a glass of wine?" Luger said with his ever-present grin.

"Well, I did have a glass of Zinfandel during my... company's Christmas dinner," Rama admitted.

"Ah-ha! the truth comes out!" Luger joked.

Rama was beginning to wonder if this man could help him at all. He said nothing, but merely continued his stoic demeanor.

"You're human, after all," Luger said after a pause. "Okay, I'll do business with you. So you're basically looking for a 'gift basket' of assault weaponry?"

"More or less," Rama answered, "at least for now. If we're happy with what we receive, there will assuredly be further orders."

Luger nodded. "As I thought there may be." He glanced at a man in the corner. "Chuck, show Raj, here, what we've got. Wrap up a gift basket of goods for him." He turned back to Rama. "Any special delivery requirements?"

"None," said Rama. "Delivery's completely local."

"We do have great rates for overseas shipping," Luger prodded.

Rama replied, "Thank you, but I have no need."

"Have your own transpo', then?" Luger said with a chuckle. "Fine, then. Fine." He pushed himself up from his relaxed pose at his desk and held out his hand. Rama shook it. "Good doing business with you, Mr. Brar. Donny will handle the financial transactions, and Chuck will give you the goods."

"Thank you," Rama said, replying with an affected smile.

A black Mercedes is speeding away on the asphalt strip in the middle of the desert. It's still mid afternoon of the hotter Christmas day Edulcore ever lived.

He's sitting in the rear seat of the car, with the two Avant Guarde agents at his sides.

"Can I ask you where are you bringing me?" asks the Italian, looking at the woman. It's the tall man to answer: "We are bringing you to our local base, Brussels has sent a plane for you. They want you there as soon as possible."

"Why?" asks innocently Edulcore.

"Why?" repeat the woman, with an heavy German accent. "You are the founder of Avant Guarde, you disappeared in a nuclear explosion in the very first mission, now you reappear half a world away, three years later, with fake documents, being arrested accused of being a pedophile, and you ask us why?"

"I am sorry, miss, but I can't give you the answers. I need to talk with your superiors..." says Euro, still not sure what he should reveal about himself in this strange world. Surely, if he could win the help of this heroes for his quest for Eddie, it would be a lot easier... but would they accept the idea of something like a man for a parallel universe?

The woman shakes her head. "Oh, I wasn't expecting you to do. Mr. Walker in person is waiting for you at the Complex."

"Walker?" wonders Euro. "Charles Walker?"

"Sure. Who else? The General is eagerly awaiting to see you. He surely is not the type to think possible such a return, after having seen you exploding with the bomb..." explains Merx.

"Charles Walker leads the Avant Guarde!" The though iss seemingly unacceptable for Euro, as the counterpart of the man in his home universe was one of his most fierce adversaries, or at last it had been, at the time of his EPS days.

"Well, in any case he will have just one hour to wait, before meeting you, Mr. Cicciotto" says Ursula Mittelholzer, as the car crosses a guarded gate that separates the desert from a long airstrip and some assorted barracks. "Our local base" explains laconically Merx.

"One hour... to get to West Europe?" wonders Ed, as the meaning of the last phrase of the woman slowly makes way into his brain.

"Sure, Mr. Cicciotto. You will travel over our Stormloader" says the woman. The Mercedes stops right near a big, old looking airplane.

"That's a B422" says Euro, wondering how such a plane could bring him so faster in Belgium.

"Nah, look up, man" says the woman smiling. Up, on the back of the big carrier, is stacked a sleek, silver thing, shaped like the tip of an arrow.

"X-43A Scramjet, Cicciotto" explains Merx. "Mach ten speed. Fasten your seat-belt, man!"

"How was the flight, Edulcore?" The man behind the desk, in simple white lab coat, is Charles Walker. An identical Walker to the one Ed knows well, "yet this one is the leader of the good guys", thinks Ed.

The man sits behind a big desk covered with stacks of documents, a desktop computer and a laptop, a small Palm. It's really Charles walker, but that aura of invincibility of that other Walker is missing. This one is just a man among men.

"Fine, thanks. But I do wonder how could you have though I could have survived a Mach ten flight" says Euro, raising an eyebrows. The man raises a corner of the mouth, in a unnoticeable smile.

"You run at mach 2, Ed. We do know you can sustain that speed".

"I can't run anymore" says Ed.

"I presumed it. Else, you wouldn't allow those policemen to arrest you" responds Walker.

"How do you know I am Edulcore Cicciotto, then?"

"As soon as our Echelon feeds told us of the arrest of a man in Vegas whose fingerprint were identical to the ones of the Eurostar, I had one of ours operative in Nevada to analyze a bloodsample of yours. The DNA analysis confirm it is you. Now, established you are Edulcore Cicciotto, we must discover what happened to you, and why instead of coming to the Avant-Guarde, you resurfaced in America while dealing with a snuff movie maker."

Ed looks at the Avant Guarde leader.

"Care to explain?" says Walker, standing up and going to the window, which overlooked a busy street of the the historical centre of Brussels.

Euro leans back. It was the time for the lies. And the time to be convincing. "What can I explain? I don't remember anything. I was washed ashore in Denmark, a few days ago. A man found me on the beach, nearly frozen, and brought me to his castle. I didn't remember anything about me and my past, but something happened. And... and that man happened to be a private making investigation over... actually hunting down pedophiles around the world. Among the photos of kids missing I found one that triggered some of my memories... a kid looking exactly like myself at three years of age. And then I though it could have been Eddie.
So the man gave me help... fake documents, money... to go to Las Vegas to make investigation,,, that's why I was there. But what happened to me after my supposed death... I don't remember."

Walker grimaces. "You disappeared right before a nuclear explosion. Then you were missing for three years. Now your metagenes are deactivated, probably by some unidentified genes grafted by unknown means to your owns. And you sports signs of multiple operations over your body. I think the equation is easy to solve."

Euro frowns. He didn't expect that a complete analysis of his own DNA was carried while he was crossing the Atlantic, in a little more than an hour. And in the Christmas day, too.

"I am meaning that it has the features of an abduction... I guess after what happened to 3VX then, our friends up there had some resentment toward you..." explained, serious, Walker.

Euro is not able to hide the stupor in his eyes. The friends up there... the accident at 3VX... an abduction... Walker is talking about aliens? It was not shit the book, then?

"The... Basilisks... you mean?" asks Ed.

"Sure".

"Do you had... encounters with them after the 3VX?" asks Euro, cautiously.

"One or two at a year. Small incidents, mostly. But they are still on the planet, even if we stopped their main plans, then:"

A finger of Euro moved rapidly under his nose. "If you believe me the subject of an abduction... and of alien operations... you surely consider me a potential threat, Charles. A drone of the Basilisk..."

Walker smiles, this time openly. "Obviously. But that you could be remotely controlled from away has to be demonstrated. You don't carry explosive or any kind of weapons, the examinations you were gone trough before meeting me shows you are in no way harmful. You don't have meta-powers anymore... frankly, I simply think you were brought back alive to show that they know how to strip us of the powers. You have been sent back by the Basilisks to show they know how to defeat us."

Ed fakes a look of deep concentration.

Walker continues. "That's why I had you carried by the Stormloader here, even if I correctly supposed you had not the superspeed anymore. If you'd die, a possible basilisks thread was eliminated. If you'd survive, a possible Basilisk threat would have been turned over to our advantage."

At the words, Euro smiles. After all, this Walker was exactly like the one he knew on his home dimension."

"You forgot one thing. My son is in the hand of someone in Vegas. I thanks you to have took me out of prison, but I need to return there..." says Euro.

Wlaker shakes his head. "Not now. By the way, I can push some levers in the local police to find that... those... kids... but your own is safe ... and his here at the Complex. Come with me!"

They walker fast across many corridors, up to a window looking over a playground. There, a few kids of many ages were playing.

"Metahuman kids. we train them to use their powers for the better. That one..."

"... is Eddie. I can see him."

And Eddie it was. Exactly like Edulcore's own, this one had the same features, the same long curly hairs similar to serpents, the same strange, disturbing smile. Suddenly, the kid raised the head, looking right at the windows. The glance he gave to Euro was cold, and a wicked smile appeared for an instant over the lips of the boy.

A chill passed down Euro's spine. "He's looking at me" said Euro.

"He can't recognise you. He was mere months old when you disappeared" notes Walker.

"Right, right" admits Ed.

"Well, I need you to run more test, Edulcore. We need to find what has been done to your body". A those words, a man and a woman in lab coats arrives from the opposite end of the corridor, and invites Euro to follow them.

After the Italian was gone, another woman with long black curly hairs joins Walker.

"Agent Biggle. How was the probe?" asks Walker.

"Completely blank. There is like a mind shield protecting his mind" explains the woman.

Walker nodded. "Just how I was expecting. The same thing Eddie has developed recently. Too bad there weren't mind reader around three years ago, to know if the mind shield was present then... Bah, keep two eyes open over Cicciotto. He seems harmless, but who knows..."

"Lemme get this straight: The East Indian told you to ship the merchandise to the alley behind the building?" Luger questioned. He was much more puzzled than he let on.

"Well, it wasn't right in the alley itself, Mr. Luger," Chuck explained nervously. "He opened up that brown door under the awning. The one where Shorty took that chick that one time."

"That door? The brown door? Chuck, that leads into Papagopoulos' Restaurant. Right into the kitchen."

Chuck gulped. "I know, Mr. Luger. I know. But it was dark, and it didn't look like no--"

"Like 'any'."

"It didn't look like any kitchen at all. We just brought in the goods after he paid us, and we left."

Luger looked up at him for a moment from his desk. "Did you go back?"

"No."

Luger frowned. "Donny, did you two go back and check the door?"

Donny shot a glance at Chuck and looked back at Luger. "Yes, Mr. Luger. We knew that was Papagopoulos's place. Chuck went in from the front and opened the door from the inside. No guns. This was just 10 minutes after the transaction. Plus the kitchen was busy. There's a large Christmas crowd there tonight."

"Would you like to explain exactly what went on, Chuck?" Luger asked with a facade of calm.

"It was the same door, Mr. Luger -- I swear it was!" Chuck said, exasperated.

"Donny?" Luger said, addressing the quiet man.

"Chuck's telling the truth this time, Mr. Luger. It was the very same door. But Papagopoulos swears that his cooks were in the kitchen the whole time, and that he never saw any of us, let alone the East Indian, at all when we did the transaction."

Luger stood up and looked out the bay window behind his desk, surveying his gambling empire below. He was quiet for several moments before finally saying, in a quiet tone, "It's all right, boys. I believe you."

Chuck wore an obvious expression of relief, while Donny remained emotionless.

"But there's something strange about that East Indian. I want to find out what it is."

"Yessir, Mr. Luger," said Chuck. "He won't be out of our sight."

"No, he's seen you. Knows who you are. I have in mind someone else."

Youssuf Nadir Alhek stands in the middle of the training room of the seized school. There are a few armed terrorists at the windows, but that is a mere formality. Youssuf is in no danger. His mind can sense the though of whoever is near a radius of two hundred metres. No one can sneak upon him.

It's his bless. And his damnation. Since he was a child, the though of peoples have opened his mind. He matured faster than any other child. The though of his mother, of his father, of brothers and sisters, of teachers and imams, of leaders of the revolt in his hometown disoriented him at first, and then surprised and disgusted him. All the talks and the teaching and the warnings and the praises... most of them false. Anything was said by everyone always with the secret hope for a personal purpose.

And more people Youssuf met, more he grew disillusioned... but the bullets of the Israeli army over his Palestinian village were real, and so, like many of his friends, he choose the revolt. In fact, he was finally finding honesty in the minds of some men and women... the kamikazes that were giving their life for the cause. Not their leader, that were using them like cannon fodders, a mere device for higher political machinations... but themselves, all genuinely believers in a better world.

Youssuf loved them, and tried to follow in their footstep... but his abilities became obvious soon, and although feared, he was quickly regarded as a superior weapon in the War with Israel, America and the western world. It came the training in Pakistan and Indonesia, the first small mission and a few more. And then, this one... his first real mission...
Youssouf knew who would have to meet. Operating in Turkey, it would have triggered NATO answer. And NATO mean Avant Guarde. And Phil Smith, his counterpart in the western world.

Youssuf scans the surround, discarding though after though the mind of pupils, of teachers, of his comrades. Trying to stretch his own limits, he gets small glimpses from the mind of guards positioned behind trees and cars in the streets around the school. But the military operatives, and the Avant Guardists are too far, outside his power.

Youssuf grins. Cowards, they are a bunch of cowards. Even the great Phil Smith don't dare to show up, thinks triumphantly the metahuman terrorist. He stands up, laughing of the smallness of those men, when a piercing though hits his mind. Though forming and changing at a speed rate he never experienced before. They have sent the speedster.

The man grins again, as his hand brings the walkie talkie near his mouth. As soon as his contact with Tobias Christopher's mind becomes steadier, he instantly knows the plan, as he was explained to the meta. Arabic words begins to be shout in the communicator device, and reach the men positioned across the school, ready to shoot, or to bomb, or to execute hostage.

The plan of Avant Guarde is simple, even crude, thinks Youssouf, as it is based over Tobias velocity to enter the school and seize himself, to eliminate the only advantage the terroists have. Fools, thinks the meta, when suddenly he feels a different voice in the head of Christopher, that order to retire. The Avant Guardist in mere instant is away, unreachable by the terrorist mindreader. "Smith!," exclaims Youssuf, "that order was Smith's voice!" Why he gave the order? Did he feel his own mind, his own though, learning he was ready to counteract? Is Smith so much powerful than Youssuf, encompassing the boundaries of his reading ability?

A high piercing scream makes the windows on the south facade of the school to explode inwards. The though of Brianna Fionnghuala, attacking with a jet backpack from north, are suddenly evident to the Palestinian. The experimental devices is of risible autonomy, but allow her to reach for the roofs. From there, he can easily take down the few men put there, that were expecting 'copters, and not a screaming she devil. The rest of the plan unfolds in Youssuf's mind, and he prepares to shouts the orders to counterattack, when the woman change suddenly direction, at the order of retreat, again forming inside of the mind of the Avant Guarde operative from nowhere. Again Smith, assuredly.

What is happening? What are they trying to do? Testing himself? Trying to find the limits of his abilities?

Enough with that non sense. Youssuf takes the radio and barks inside the radio at the officer at the other end. "Are you mad? We'll blow the whole school if you keep doing this stunt".

On the other side, near the officer, stands Danny Hearn. His expression stiff, just a muscle over the neck vibrate for the tension. This is the only possible plan, thinks the Australian. Each Avant Guardist has been taught a different plan for the mission. Phil Smith is the only to know the true plan, which is made with parts of each plan known to the other Avant Guarde operative, and he is enough far from Youssuf to be mind-scanned.

"Drake, go!" Danny yells in his mouthpiece, as Brianna lands safely back among the military forces.

Drake Marshall depart. His attack will come from the sewers. For what he knows, it will be a suicide attack, as there will be no way to pass across the defensive terrorist forces to get to Youssuf. But with his healing factor, suicide missions are the norm for him.

What he doesn't know, is that he will be made to retreat just after a few minutes, when much of the terrorist will divert to the sewers themselves. At that point, Ben Phillips will do the last of the diversion, bringing Youssuf near the broken windows. Dirk Bell will have to kill him and his escort from afar, and then Chance will replace him, in time for the return of most of the terrorist from the sewer hunt. And with Chance posing as the leader, the rest of the mission will be child's play.

Back in the school Youssuf is excited. For two times he got the brief but clear glimpse of the voice of Phil Smith. So what he heard was true. Smith not only read minds like himself, he is also able to talk to minds. Fascinating. And he can't stop to wonder if knowing the secret, he would be able to do it as well.

Two times he gave the orders to retreat. What if...

He has not even the time to wonder. The third attack comes. As he begins to give orders, his second in command start to whine that they have to kill some hostages to give a lesson.

"No! We'll wait!" hisses Youssuf. He is waiting for something big.

Drake Marshall advances in the sewers. Armed to the teeth, he believes to be on the verge of Apocalypse. Instead, the voice of Smith resonates in his mind, yelling him to retreat as of a sudden.

What he experiences rightly after is like a breeze inside his skull. A breeze that takes force and become a strong wind. The biggest headache of his whole life. As he prays that the healing factor would kick in as soon as possible, he runs toward safety. Behind him there should be most of the terrorists, thinks.

But on the surface, in the training facility, Youssuf exults. Through the bridge of Marshall's mind, he has peered inside the head of Phil Smith.

He has seen the power. He has unlocked the secrets of the greatest mentalist of the world, and know the matle has to pass. To pass over himself.

The first to fall is Marshall. What seemed a headache now is clearly an brain-stroke. His knees fall, he vomits. He tries to keep upright but fall in the dirty water. As his mind run to the memory of her baby daughter, a bullet from a single terrorist following him pass through his heart.

The terrorists that should have been in the sewers following Marshall have been diverted to the appointed place for the next strike. It's Ben Phillips to fall next, finding a small army of terrorists where he should have found just a wall to take down with bare hands.

Third and last to fall is Dirk Bell, his position, not secret anymore, destroyed by a mortar shot.

Danny yelss the order to cease the action. His eyes pierce Phil: "You let that one to read your mind, right?"

Smith doesn't answers, biting his inferior lips so hard to make it bleed. The face covered with a mask, Chance was looking to the school. He was able to fake anyone identity, but what use was that with one that could read right into your soul?

Across a continent, in Brussels, the door of the lab where Euro was submitted to more tests, opens all of a sudden.

"Velo?" says Euro, surprised at the sight of his old friend, who has just entered the laboratory.


"Ed. Glad to see you alive. I need you for a mission" he says abruptly.

"A mission? But..."

"No excuse, man. You survived the flight, you are in perfect shape. Prepare for another flight."

Dawn.

The cool mist slowly settling on a beach somewhere, somewhen.
The only sound coming from a scavenging Blue Crab, slowly searching for snails and juicy worms.
As if knowing the events to come, the crab hunts for a long while, killing a huge amount of the unsuspecting snails. Then it settles down and starts it´s orgy in culinary delight.
Maybe some instinct told it that this was the final day of it´s existence. Maybe...it sensed the horror approaching from the twisted corridors of the space-time continuum, maybe...it was just exceptionally hungry, for reasons that were not complicated at all, and frankly not very interesting if you weren´t a Blue Crab.

Two observers watch it from a nearby rock, drinking water from a small military issue flask.

"Just look at that, Hanna. That crab is in heaven right now. All the food laid out like a smorgasbord, with no one trying to steal it from him." Jackie Munroe, the former Ameristar, smiles at the blond short girl that most people know as Crasher.

"Don´t call me that." Crasher replies with a moody tone. "You know that I don´t like it."

She looks at her taller, lightbrown-haired companion with eyes that are full of hidden repressed anger and hurt.

"Aww, come on, Hanna. Its just us here. No one can hear us. Most likely there is no one for hundreds of miles that would even think of coming here."

"Probably not,but anyway...please, I ask you. Hanna died a long time ago, and I don´t want to be reminded of that past. Or that place."

Jackie shook her head, frowning.
"You can´t live like this Hanna. This has to stop. Look at yourself."

Crasher rose with a angry look.
"I said...don´t call me that!!" She turned and walked down to the edge of the water.

"Geez&...I´m just saying that maybe you should start thinking about what you want to do about it , instead of just sulking. Ok...I agree, and I sympathise. You were abused in the worst manner possible. It was terrible. But you have to move on. Hell...I have to move on, home that is. The pains are getting worse everyday now."

That stopped Crasher, and she looked at Jackie with concern.
"Is it the chest pains again?"

"Yes."

"But..." Crasher looked around, searching for something meaningful to say.
"But, going back there will only remind me of all the awful things that happened, the humiliation, the anger, the helplessness and the dark months afterwards before we came here. Wherever that is. I don´t think I could handle that."

Jackie walked up to her and looked straight into Crasher´s fear filled eyes.
"Maybe confronting your fear will take away your angst? You know I would be there for you, to help with anything you might need to accomplish that."

Crasher gave Jackie a shocked look.
"Are you crazy? Confronting...him...is suicide. You know how dangerous he is."

"Well, yes." Jackie said, apparently in deep thought.

"Then you know perfectly well that if I would even glance at Jack again, he would kill me. And probably even you. Easily."

"Hmm, well...we´ve been discussing that."

"And when you mean "we", you mean that weird entity within you, that "inner voice"; you keep talking about?"

"Yes."

"Hells...you don´t even know what that is! It could be anything. A villain sending telepathic messages, a demon from another dimension or...a figment of you own mind..." Her voice was subdued as she said the last words, knowing quiet well that the "entity" was a lot more than a hallucination.

"True, but I sense nothing that would indicate that it would be evil. More like...a mother, a soft warm feeling every time it communicates. That is until we came here of course. I haven´t heard a word from it."

"A good thing too, I don´t want that...that thing whispering strange advice on my private affairs. Who knows wh..."

"Crasher! Listen. I think I have a way to neutralize Jack´s power. If you would just stop and listen."

Danny Hearn’s eyes wander over the empty lot surrounding the school. The order from Brussels was clear, yet unexpected: stop any operation. No explanation was given, as, the Australian supposed, the heads in Belgium were thinking Youssouf was somehow able to read minds much more farther and easier than any known meta.

“Danny…”

A voice from behind. A voice he had not hear since three long years, the most incredible and intense of his whole life.

Danny turned, eyes wide open. “Ed?!”

The tall Italian smiles. He sports an Avante Guard uniform, not perfectly fitting, evidently not tailored over his body like all the operative’s own are.

“Ed, how can…” begin Hearn, but the other one silences him raising his index finger in front of the mouth.

“Can’t say anything, Danny. All for later, if we’ll survive.” And hands a small piece of paper to the Avant Guarde Colonel, who read it and looks back puzzled at his old friend. “How can it be possible?”

Euro shakes his head. “Velo’s idea. Or Walker’s. I don’t know.”

Hearn shakes in turn the head. “Let it be…” he whispers, firmly believing, for the second time in his life, that he will not see his friend again, at the end of the operation.

Birecic, Turkey. A quarter before midnight, Christmas Eve, 2004.

The sky is black, thick clouds obscuring the full moon. Sparse drops of rain begin to fall.

Edulcore Ciccioto looks at the school across the valley, from the top of a mountain dominating the city.

Every Avant-Guardist have been made to retreat to a bigger distance. The augmentation of Yussuf’s power is a guess for everyone. How much far could he read minds? There is no way to create a coordinate effort. No way to tell anyone, from the powerful meta to the least soldier, any part of a plan. Youssuf can hear it.

Now Euro is alone. His mind-shield, heritage of his hybrid alien ancestry, the only power at his disposal, is THE power needed for this mission. If only he could have also his wings. But Da Vinci’s flying machine wouldn’t work on this world. On this world, those bat-like mechanical wings never went past the drawing stage. Therefore, Ed has to rely over a common glider.

Exactly three years before, on a Christmas Eve as dark as this one, he was about to run into a suicide mission like this one, dressed as Santa Claus. However, there were a few elves as powerful as him, working with him.

This time, he is alone.

He runs down the grassy slope, and then the glider takes air.

It takes just minutes to get above the school roof. Euro leaves the glider, landing on the pebbles cover with a soft thud. There are six men on the edge of the roof, green shadows in his night goggles. They are staring down, to the parking lot, where a pack of dogs has been released just minutes earlier. The dogs are barking and fighting in the dim lights coming from the windows of the school; the guards are betting on the winner.

Euro aims his crossbow. One dart flies in the air and hits one man across his chest. The man, without a word, falls down the roof. The other men shouts, believing he just fell on imprudence. Two runs down the stairs, three relocates to the other sides of the roof. Down, the dogs begin feasting on the fallen man.

Euro raises the crossbow again, and shoots another. Then he casts away the crossbow, takes a long knife from a leg holster and silent as a howl, moving in complete darkness, he slice through the neck of the third man. The fourth guard sees Ed, but the flinging knife pierces the brain of the man passing through his left eye.

Out of a pocket Ed takes a small explosive device, and put it in the jacket of one of the just killed men. The, one after the other, he push them over the rim of the roof.

Ed looks down. The dogs scavenge like mad over the bodies. Guards are running there.

The explosion!

It was not powerful enough to kill many. Most of the guards and the dogs are just injured. Human screams and dog barks pierces the silent night.

Euro smiles, running to the stairs after having retrieved the crossbow.

Yussuf is not feeling anyone, he doesn’t feel any attack. He is blind for the first time. Drops of sweat run down his face as he observes the slaughterhouse below. No one is attacking, but his men are dying! How can it be possible? He searches, jumping from mind to mind, but he feels just fear, terror, and pain. The pain! The pain of dying people seizes his mind, leaving no space to think. Fight, fight, orders himself Youssuf. Fuck! We must blow up everything! Those bastards will not win.

“Where’s the radio?” says the terrorist chief, opening his eyes. The room is dark; they should have cut the power. Where’s the fucking radio, where the hell are his henchmen, yells Youssouf.

“Are you looking for this?” asks a voice in English.

Youssouf turns around, unable to see anything in the total darkness.

“Where are you?” he shouts.

“I’m here, Youssuf.” The voice comes from behind.

“You can’t exist. You have no toughs. You can’t be alive” hisses Youssouf.

“I died three year ago. I am Edulcore Cicciotto”.

Silence. There is no word coming form the terrorist.

“It can’t be”, finally he says.

“Sure it could. I came to avenge my comrades you just killed.”

“IT CAN’T BE!” yells the terrorist.

“It can, Youssouf. How can else you wouldn’t feel me, just as you feel all the people dying out there? Just like you feels the fear of all the people you keep prisoner?”

“I... I don’t... know...”

“Do you feel the fear? Do you feel the anguish of people meeting death? I am the Ghost of Edulcore Cicciotto, Youssouf. I am coming for you. It’s Christmas night, Youssuf, and a crime like your can’t pass unpunished, in the eye of our Lord.”

“I...I...”

The face of Youssouf distorts in panic, in the greenish image in the night goggles of Euro.

“Hell is awaiting you, Youssouf.”

The right hand of the man goes to the other arm.

“I... I....”

And then the man falls to the ground.

Euro walks there, and places his hand over his throat. He waits a few seconds, and then closes his eyes.

He then takes his communicator, and speaks. “Danny, send the ambulances. The place is cleared.”

Ed looks at this wristwatch. Midnight. “Happy Christmas, folks” he whispers, as he walks away across the carnage.

The door creaked slightly as it was swung slowly open. The merest touch was all it needed to get going. Rama Avatar saw three shapes at that door—two men and a woman. But only the woman stepped through the doorway as the two men closed the door behind her.

“Mr. Brar,” the woman says in a soft, sultry voice, “do you remember me?”

Rama looked up at the mention of his alias, Rajinder Brar, and found that he was blind in his right eye. It was nothing—he could tell from experience it was just a split eyebrow—but it factored in to his current situation. It was a disadvantage he would have to overcome. This woman was another.

She waited for a moment, but Rama said nothing. He could sense the pheromones from here. She positively reeked of them. Finally, she pulled up another chair and sat across from the Swordsman.

“Rajinder Brar, is it?” She smiled. “Please, call me Madeleine. Madeleine Kasoulos.”

His memory was slowly returning as brief flashes of memory the longer she remained in his presence. And he didn't want her ever to leave his presence. He knew it was just an effect of her power over him, though. His body shot endorphines into the pleasure centers of his brain with every breath he took while near her.

“You're quite a remarkable man, Rajinder,” she said. “I do hope you don't mind if I call you Rajinder—I dislike formalities amongst friends.”

Rama glowered at her.

“Oh, don't give me that look, Rajinder,” she said, laughing. “You enjoyed it just as much as I did, possibly more.”

A memory of the smell of her hair, the soft flesh of her breasts, the taste of the natural lubrication between her legs... He shook his head to snap himself out of it. She was closer to him now. The pain from his wounds was almost completely obscured by the pleasure he felt.

“Yes, that's it, Rajinder. You remember me now, and all the fun we had.”

He remembered being in the casino for some reason or another. He was looking for something, or someone, he couldn't recall. He had found her instead. Or had he been looking for her all along? He hadn't cared one way or another. Whatever he'd been looking for, it couldn't have been that important. Madeleine was face to face with him now, sitting on his lap, her legs spread open. The pheromone power she had over him was irresistable.

She began kissing his neck, moving up to his ear. She lightly licked his earlobe and softly bit into it, and whispered, “They're going to hurt me if I don't find out why you're here. Worse, they could deliver me into the hands of Avant-Garde.”

Madeleine pulled back and giggled. “Mr. Brar! You're a very naughty boy.”

She pulled closer to him and continued whispering, “Just play along. I'll find a way to get both of us out of here.”

Rama Avatar muttered, “Anything you wish.”

“Now that's what I like to hear,” said Madeleine Kasoulos, the metahuman known in Avant-Garde law enforcement files as Medusa Lass.