RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block Vanguard Europe #0

They stand at the forefront of a new dawn for humanity. They are the posthuman supersoldiers of the 21st century's new cold war. They are the European branch of Vanguard International. Join them. . .


William’s day

4:30am
Wake up. Shower. Shave. Get dressed. Work on thesis on US prison reforms and rehabilitation.

6:00am
Leave for work. I take the helicopter to avoid traffic.

7:00am
Arrive at Paragon Industries home office, Los Angeles, CA.

8:00am
Board meeting.

10:00am
Fly out to NYC for press conference on my new self-help book.

4:00pm
Stop in Nevada for dinner with a friend. . .

A greasy diner in southewestern Nevada. William “Doc” Paragon sits in a corner booth across from a tall, thin, man in a grey and black suit. The afternoon sun is cut off from them by window blinds, though small shafts of light scrape through on Paragon’s side. The other man however, seems to bend the light away by his very presence.

“Have you considered my offer?” Paragon asks, his hands folded in front of his face.

“I’ve been terribly busy hunting Spector, you know.” the man answers. “I am the Shadow Chancellor, William. This is not a fancy name I made up for myself. It is my title.
My job. I govern the twilight worlds.”

“I know, Edmund. Your title and connections are one of many reasons I’d like you to participate in this.” Paragon answers, still optimistic.

A waitress walks over and motions towards the blinds. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like-”

Edmund Gaunt gently deflects her hand and cuts her off smoothly, his voice showing just a slight trace of a british accent. “Just because the sun is out, madam, does not mean I wish to be in it.”

“Oh.” she answers walking away a little put out.

“But,” he continues, “I have thought of this, and I think it could prove. . .useful to me in my search.” He finishes, taking a sip of coffee.

“Fantastic. We’ll discuss terms later. In the meantime, I need you to stop off in the Carribbean for me when you’re done here. . .”

Arriving back at the home office in LA, Doc Paragon retires to his private lab where he locates a small device. Using this device, he opens a small spatial gateway and walks
through, arriving in Munich, Germany. He takes out a keycard and opens the front door to the new offices of his latest enterprise, The European office of Vanguard International.

Building could do with a bit of a repaint, he thought, walking to the elevator. I'll have to call in the morning.

He takes a seat behind his desk and turns on his pc. Penny will be arriving tomorrow, but that doesn't mean I can't start putting together the rest of my group, let's see. . . He spends much of the day going over the Vanguard membership database, compiling a list of potential candidates for the new office. Finally, he arrives at his first candidate from the active roster.

“Adem Different. . .Yes, I think he’ll do nicely.” He says with a smile.

Adem Different cautiously felt his way along the dark corridor. Somewhere along the way, he'd gotten separated from Brianna and Danny. He found himself missing Bri's company a great deal, though he should not be able to say why this is so.

After what seemed an eternity, Adem spied a light coming from what seemed a doorway. Carefully, he made his way to the doorway and reached for the handle. As he did so, his mind briefly flashed back the holidays and Ozzy attempting to teach him to use the door. He smiled a bit, still a little unsure as to whether that was the correct response and wondered if he would ever see his friend again.

Adem opened the doorway and peered through into a brightly lit office room. He noticed, looking out one of the office's windows that it seemed to be night. "How. . .odd?"

"No, you're not in Kansas anymore. Or should I say, Nevada." A smiling, broad shouldered man in a white suit with white hair, motioned for him to come in.

"How did I come to be here?" Adem asked as the man motioned for him to sit down. Either that, or to begin one of this planet's convuluted ritual dances. Adem still wasn't sure.

"I brought you here using this little gymcrack. I call it a "sub-spatial inducer." It's a. . .souvenir from an old adventure. It allows for limited movement through space."

"And time." Adem asked.

"No, only space, I'm afraid. But that would be cool." The man seemed to think for a moment. "Anyway, down to business. My name is William Paragon, but my friends call me "Doc." Mr. Different, how would you like a job?"

"I already have a job," Adem said, keeping his distance from the mysterious man. "I'm with Vanguard."

"And so you shall remain," Doc Paragon said, shifting his weight in his seat. "I have been in negotiations with the top shareholders of Vanguard International for several months to open up a branch office, a franchise, if you will. I have used a considerable amount of my own capital to establish it and, thereby, giving it complete anonymity from the main office on La Perdita. We will share name and a network of information. That is all."

"Where do I fit in to all this?"

"Information will be an important part of this European branch. I need people who can collect and decipher it. Your abilities are more than suited for such tasks."

Different's fingers began to fumble around on his right hand as he thought. "I'm not too sure about all of this. Leaving the people who helped me when I first arrived doesn't appeal to my sense of ethics."

Paragon stood and walked over to the alien. "You will have plenty of time to visit them. Unlike the main branch, our office building will be simply that, an office building. Boarding the employees in the same place only draws undesired and troublesome attention. When not on assignment, you are free to go whereever you wish, including Puerta Mibela. What do you say?"

Adem hesitated for a moment. That was not something he was used to doing. "I.... I accept your offer."

Adem heard the loud footsteps of a human female wearing 'heels'. He turned around and smiled at the familar face. "Miss Goodweather?"

Penny Goodweather nodded. "You can call me Penny if you like, Mr. Different." She always spoke in a soft English accent. "Mr. Paragon is my new employer. I did not want to stay in with the Parliment in London." Penny's former employer, George Wilson, had been killed there a month back. "Too many memories, I suppose. Anyways, Mr. Paragon has convinced me that my talents could be used here."

She handed Doc Paragon a stack of papers. "Here are all the documents you requested, Mr. Paragon. I cross-checked the references. Everything is in order."

"Thank you Miss Penny," said Doc Paragon as the new secretary of Vanguard Europe left the room. "Brilliant girl. Brain like a computer."

Adem nodded. "I've seen it in action. So what's in all those papers you have."

Doc Paragon showed him the files. On top was an aristrocratic-looking woman at a museum. "Your new teammates."

Glover Memorial Hospital
Puerta Mibela, La Perdita
Room 42, currently occupied by one Oswald "Ozzy" Baxter.
Status: comatose



As the sun sets outside of Ozzy's window, the shadows lengthen and stretch. One particular reaches across and flows over the metahuman's still form. Traveling the length of his body, it covers him entirely, leaving him in complete darkness.

The shadows then retract back into the wall as the sun continues setting, leaving an empty hospital bed with the indentions of Ozzy's body in it.

A passing nurse stops to look in on Ozzy and screams when she notices the empty bed. "Doctor Quantos!" She calls to Henry Quantos, also passing. "Mr. Baxter's gone!" she grabs his arm and pulls him to the door.

"Eh? Oh, yes. They said they would be moving him today. Howver, I expected something a little more. . .conventional." He picked up the envelope laying in the space formerly occupied by Ozzy.

"And unless I miss my guess," he said, opening the envelope, "this check to Vanguard International should cover all of Oswald's outlying expenses."

*****************

Doc Paragon's office.

"New teammates?" Adem Different asked.

"And a few old ones, as well. In fact, we should be hearing something from, ah, how is Mr. Baxter, Edmund?" Paragon smiled, turning to look at the man stepping out of the shadows in the corner of the room.

Adem shivered slightly as the temperature dropped at Gaunt's entrance. "Baxter? Ozzy?"

"Still comatose, I'm afraid." The Shadow Chancellor replied. "I left him with Ian in London. If there's any change, he'll let us know."

Paragon's brow furrowed as he put his hand on his chin. "Damn. He should've recovered by now, according to his file. This is most unusual."

Adem looked at the new arrival. "How did you do that?"

"Personal secret." Gaunt answered.

Penny knocked twice and entered Doc Paragon's office. "A Mister Fox is here to see you, sir."

"Show him in," Paragon said.

"Who is this Mister Fox?" Edmund Gaunt asked.

"A wealthy man who's offered to fund us. I want you to meet him."

The door opened again and a man in his late twenties entered the office. He was wearing a hawaiian shirt and shorts. His skin was somewhat tanned and he used black sunglasses. His prematurely grey hair was slicked back. Adem noticed that, instead of shoes, the man was using slippers. This reminded him of the main character of a movie he once saw, about nihilists and bowlers.

“Hello, William,” Fox said. His tone of voice and everything in the way he acted and moved indicated that he was a relaxed person.

“Hello, Link,” Paragon replied. “I’m glad you came. I want to introduce you to these two gentlemen. This man is Edmund Gaunt, the Shadow Chancellor.”

Fox and Gaunt shook hands. “Nice to meet you,” Fox said.

Adem, following the local courtesy rules, stood up and offered Fox his hand.

“And this is Adem Different,” Paragon continued.

“A pleasure,” Fox said.

“Likewise, Mister Fox,” Adem replied.

“Oh, drop the Mister, willya?” Adem had become quite good at pinpointing earthling’s origin locations based on their accents, but he couldn’t figure out where this man came from. His accent seemed to come from everywhere at once, if that was possible. Fox patted Paragon in the back heavily. “William knows better, see?”

Fox looked around and smiled. “This is shaping up nicely. Yeah, this is gonna be one heck of a group!”

Edmund didn’t feel comfortable with this man. “How admirable of you to fund Vanguard expecting nothing in return, Mister Fox. You must be quite a philanthropist.”

“There’s nothing admirable about this! Who said I expected nothing in return? Of course I do! William and I already...”

“I knew it,” Gaunt interrupted. “You want us to work for you, don’t you? Well, let me—“

“Actually, I want to work you, pal. The only condition I gave William for my money was that he allowed me to come along for the group’s missions.” Both Adem and Edmund raised an eyebrow.

“No offense... Link,” Adem said, “but if this group’s missions are anything like the ones I took part of in the La Perdita group, then you will be put in extreme danger.”

“Not to mention,” Gaunt added, “that a man like you will do nothing but get in our way and hinder us during the missions.”

Fox smiled. “I’m aware of that little problem. In fact, the contract I signed with William frees the team from any responsibility if anything should happen to me during one of the missions. If I fall, you have the liberty of leaving me behind.”

“But that would be considered unethical,” Adem said. “We can’t do that.”

“But we must,” Paragon said. “The contract stipulates so. Link knows quite well what he’s getting himself into.”

“Exactly,” Fox said. He looked down at his watch. “Now, you must forgive me, but my favorite croissant shop in France just opened. Be seeing you, eh?”

Link Fox left in a rush. When he was gone, Gaunt looked at Paragon.

“What are you thinking, Paragon? Why did you accept the man’s condition? He’s nothing but an useless jerk. You have enough money to fund the group by yourself.”

“Trust me, Chancellor,” Paragon said, “he’s got quite an amazing redeeming quality...”

A black Rolls Royce drove up to the new Munich headquarters. A young brunette woman -- she looked to be in her mid-twenties -- parked the vehicle and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She then opened the passenger door. A large, lean, regal-looking hound jumped out. The young woman tied a leash to the jeweled collar and walked the dog inside the headquarters.

Penny was at her desk, shuffling papers. "Good morning. Follow me please."

The secretary opened the massive wooden doors leading to Paragon's office. "The Lady Lykopis, Mr. Paragon."

Adem turned to look at the newcomer. Lykopis had long brown hair than curled past her shoulders. Her eyes were a lighter, coffee-colored shade. The lips were a burnt red. She was not as tanned as Fox, but did posses an olive tone that gave her a vibrant, healthy look in her face. She was dressed in a loose-fitting white blouse. There was a wide brown belt, giving her a high, slim waistline, and her khaki pants ran all the way down to her leather high heels. She wore a modest amount of gold jewerly.

But it was her walk that made the biggest impression at all. She walked in a graceful, silent manner that had not been taught to women of good breeding for decades. Her head was held high, her feet made no noise, and her arms moved just enough to hint at the muscling underneath. She walked like a panther -- pacing and flexing in ballet-like movement.

"Good morning, Lady Lykopis," began Paragon. "I trust your journey wasn't too difficult."

The woman smiled. Adem noticed she had a few faint cuts on her face, and a bruise on her neck. "Actually there was little difficultly. I have been staying at my flat in Berlin for the past few days, so the trip was not very long at all."

Adem tried to place the voice. Definatly European, but from where?

Doc Paragon must have sense Adem's confusion. "Lady Lykopis comes to us from Greece. Ancient Greece, to be exact. She posses a rather unusal meta-trait: she does't age. Over the years, Lykopis has trained herself to use multiple fighting techniques, as well as hitting the limit of the human body."

Lykopis nodded. "I have recently left the Strikeforce under Jack Merlin to work for Vanguard." Without thinking, her hand went up the bruise she had aquired on her last Strikeforce mission. "I am hoping to make a useful contribution to the business."

Adem nodded. Doc Paragon looked at the dog. "I thought you were more into ponies."

Lykopis looked down at her hound and smiled. "I have use dogs before in my line of work. It would have been quite impossible to bring one of the horses with me. Besides, I am having Polly bred at the moment -- I need to replace a mare I have lost recently. This jewel of mine is Hecate."

Paragon motioned for Lykopis to sit down. She sat in one of the extra-soft armchairs. Hecate layed down on the left side of the chair. Her ears were still pricked up, alert. "So," said Lykopis, her slender fingers lightly gripping the end of the armrest. "When do we tour the building?"

"As much as I hate to keep you waiting, Lady Lykopis, I have an appointment with someone I've had some trouble getting to talk to. I'll return as soon as possible for your tour though."

"I understand."

Paragon returned Lykopis' smile as he pressed his control that opened a gateway, he stepped through the portal and it closed behind him. To the credit of the receptionist in the room he entered, she didn't seem too taken aback by the nature of his entrance. "Hello, the name is Paragon, I have an appontment."

"You're expected. Just take that hallway, it's the room on the end." The receptionist pointed to a door next to a large sign reading Blackburn Information Systems.

"Thank you." Doc Paragon headed to the indicated room, the door was open so he walked in. "Mr. Marshall?"


Drake Marshall looked up from the papers on his desk. There was a new looking name plate with his name and the title Head of Security. "That's right." Drake smiled as he stood up, his face open and friendly. Doc Paragon didn't believe it, but Drake gave no visual clues that Paragon was not welcome.

The bulk of Drake's muscular frame couldn't be fully concealed by the suit he was wearing, though it looked like Drake had tried to do so to Paragon's keen eyes. One thing Drake didn't try to cover up was the way he moved. No one as thick with muscle as Drake should be able to move as smoothly as he did. It seemed odd at first that Drake would try to cover up his abilities in all ways except for that one, but the reasoning was clear once Paragon gave it a little thought, until recently Drake had been confined to a wheelchair due to nerve damage. He was probably still enjoying having full use of his body too much to hold back.

Drake extened his hand and Paragon took it. Drake didn't seem ready to say anything more, so Paragon spoke first. "You've been a hard man to get into contact with, Mr Marshall."

Drake was still smiling, the Doc still didn't trust it. "Been busy, I was just starting here and I've been busier than I would have otherwise. Our president and owner hasn't been able to put in as many hours as usual and for some reason she trusts me more than anyone else here."

"That probably has something to do with the fact that her name is Jessica Blackburn-Marshall."

Drake was still smiling. "Yeah, probably."

"You're testing to see how much I know about you."

Drake's smile actually got bigger and one of his eyebrows raised. "I can see why you'd think that."

He's enjoying this. "I have access to all of Vanguard's files about you. Your rate of healing and endurance are both superhuman, this has allowed you to train until your other physical abilities; strength, speed and agility, to near human peak. You've mastered more armed and unarmed fighting styles than most people could name and you're an accomplished gymnast. You used your skills as the vigilante crimefighter Nightwatch until you became bonded with the otherdimensional dragon named Drax in a conflict with Jonas Cascade. Later on, Drax joined Vanguard International where you served as his advisor until the two of you became seperated during a mission. your old abilities returned and your healing ability displayed the previously unknown effect of being able to return you to your previous highest state of fitness, so you got your strength speed and agility back almost intstantly. The details get sketchy after that mission."

Drake made a big display of mock relief. "Oh, that explains it!"

"Explains what?"

"Why you're trying to recruit me for your team even though I'm retired from that superhero stuff."

"I'm sure we can come to some terms Mr. Marshall..."

"You seem to already know that I'm married to the President and owner of this company, so you know you can't buy me with money. What can you offer me that could justify me risking my life when I have a wife and newborn daughter to think of?"

"Because you're needed. What is it you said when you were Nightwatch? The people with the power to fight need to protect the ones who can't fight for themselves."

Drake's smile was now his familiar, natural crooked one. "I had a feeling someone would throw that back at me some day."

"You'll still be able to live here with your family, of course. Transportaion to our offices in Europe won't be a problem. I can compensate you in ways other than a paycheck. I know that Blackburn Information Systems has been trying to break into the european market, I can put you in touch with some contacts. Plus this will be your opportunity to show that Drake Marshall can make a difference without being Nightwatch and without being bonded with a dragon. What do you say?"

Drake's expression was unreadable as he steped back behind his desk, then he pushed a button on his intercom. "Ashley? Cancell the rest of my appointments for today. I'm going on a field trip with Doc Paragon here."

"You don't have any more appointmets today."

"I know, I was being dramatic."

"Oh, sorry."

"I've decided to give you a chance, Doc."

"Great, come with me to meet your teammates."

Drake picked up a gym bag by his desk and followed Paragon trhough the portal.

Outside Doc Paragon's office...

"What do you mean he's not in?" The well-built young man tossed his head as his blonde locks cascaded away from his face and behind his head. "I have an appointment..."

Penny Goodweather tried her best to 'grin-and-bear-it', but it would be obvious to any onlooker that her patience was beginning to wear thin. "Mr. Paragon has stepped out for just a moment, Mr. ...?"

"Sidewinder," the man said, looking around at his surroundings impatiently. "Icarus Sidewinder."

Penny sighed and cleared her throat. "Mr. Sidewinder, Mr. Paragon has stepped out for another appointment at the moment. He should be back in plenty of time for you appointment... especially considering you're not scheduled for another thirty minutes!"

"All the same," Icarus smiled - a smarmy, arrogant smile that chilled Penny's blood while simultaneously making it boil, "I was assured an audience with Paragon upon my arrival which, while I admit is earlier than you would like it to be, is still now and I wish to see my summoner at the promised time... NOW!"

Penny was slowly becoming exasperated. This... Mr. Sidewinder was being completely unreasonable and, what's more, unbearably rude. Plus, the most frustrating part of the whole ordeal was that, despite the raising of the decibel level in his voice, Icarus seemed to be keeping his cool about the whole situation... meaning he didn't seem upset, just... self-important.

And that made Penny all the more upset.

"I'm afraid, Mister Sidewinder..." she began, beginning to lose the aura of professionalism that she'd worked so hard to build up over the course of her life. Stray hair fell into her face. Reddish hues began to adorn the whole of her face. Spittle found its way out of her mouth and onto her desk. That little vein in her forehead that hadn't been visible in years began to show...

...just as a flash of light from the front door interrupted her, mid-sentence.

"Ah, Icarus!" came Doc Paragon's jovial voice as he stepped through the portal, Mr. Drake Marshall in tow. Paragon glanced at his watch. "A bit early, are we?"

Icarus smiled. "You know me, William," he said haughtily. "I do love to make an entrance!"

"I've not forgotten." Paragon took a sidelong glance at Penny as he ushered both Icarus and Drake into his office. "I see your fondness for making an impression has not changed either?"

Sidewinder laughed and Penny was quite certain the sound was everything to her like fingernails being run down a chalkboard. "William," he chuckled, "still fond of exaggeration, I see!"

As Paragon turned to close the large wooden double doors that led to his office, he gave Penny a sympathetic look and mouthed 'I'm sorry' as the doors shut, leaving him inside with his new team.

"Good Lord..." Penny sank into her chair, practically fuming. "I've never met a more pompous, egotistical man in all my life!"

Slowly, she turned back to her desk and returned to her work.

"Adem?"

"Drake!"

"It's great to see you, man. How've you been?" Drake shook the alien's hand and patted him on the back.

"I've been. . .well." Adem surmised this was the correct word. Yes, it was.

"Is Ozzy gonna join us? Man, this could be a lot of fun!" Drake glanced around the room briefly, noticing his teammates.

"Sadly, no, Mr. Baxter's medical condition has not improved. He has been placed in London with a specialist." Doc Paragon took his seat behind his desk and gazed around at the assemblage before him.

Edmund Gaunt stood off near a corner of the room, shadows covering most of him. Next, Adem and Drake sat next to each other, Drake's bag between them. Lykopis was next, her legs crossed and one arm gingerly stroking Hecate's neck as the dog rested it's chin on her leg. Link Fox had returned and was munching on a croissant and sipping an adult beverage. Icarus Sidewinder sat with his chair turned backwards and his arms propped up on the back. "Can we get this started, then, William?" he asked.

They will do very nicely, Paragon thought to himself. "Yes, as you know, you have been selected as the field team for our new branch of Vanguard International. You are all experts in your various fields. I'd like you all to take this time to familiarize yourselves with your new teammates. Even you, Edmund." He glanced over at the Shadow Chancellor, who merely folded his arms.

"Edmund has vast experience with, shall we say, paranormal occurences. . ." Paragon continued.

"Paranormal?" Icarus asked.

"Just think of it as anything that it takes more than a gun to kill." Gaunt's voice sounded from the shadows.

"Adem Different, here, comes to us from a race of beings that specialize in detective work. He is among the finest at what he does." Paragon continued, going through each person's specializations.

"Drake Marshall, experienced vigilante, and spent a great deal of time in the field with the La Perditan team,"

"Lykopis, trained in almost every fighting skill known to man, and probably some that aren't. . ."

"Link Fox," Paragon paused for a moment, as Link looked up from his croissant and smiled a knowing smile. "Well, Mr. Fox's usefulness will become apparent with time."

"And Icarus Sidewinder," Paragon was interrupted as Sidewinder stood up and spoke "The best pilot in all of Europe, and working with technology most of you have never heard of." Sidewinder returned to his seat with a flourish.

"Yes, thank you, Icarus. The point being, you are all here for a reason. You are all great at what you separately. But I feel you can be better, as a group. The work we are to do, will be largely out of the public eye. Many of our operations will be of the covert nature. And most, if not all, of you have had at least some experience in that regard." Paragon glanced around the room.

"Now, then, if you are all agreed to the terms, Miss Goodweather will show you to the debriefing room." Paragon pressed a button on his intercom. "Yes?"

"Penny, we're ready, would you show our guests to the debriefing room?"

"Yes, sir."

As the new Vanguardians filed out of the room, Paragon caught Drake's arm. "Mr. Marshall, a word if you would."

Adem stood at the doorway a moment, looking back at Drake. Drake motioned for him to go ahead and follow the others.

"What is it?" he asked Paragon.

"I had hoped that you, Adem, and Ozzy would be the nucleus of this group, Drake. The bond around which the rest of this group would form. However, with Ozzy still in a coma, it will be a little more difficult."

"What are you getting at, Paragon?" Drake asked, shifting his bag a bit.

"They need a leader, Drake. Someone who can mold them from the individuals they are into a team. I want you to be that leader."

Drake had a feeling where the conversation was headed, but he still couldn't believe it. "Are you sure you have the right guy, Doc? I've never been a leader before. I'm used to operating alone to tell the truth."

Paragon raised an eyebrow. "You operated alone when you were Drax's partner?"

Drake looked a little sheepish. "Well, no. You got me there. But are you sure?"

"Yes, Drake. You're the best suited for the role. Besides, with the personalities on this team it's going to be hard getting one person everyone would agree to. you have the best chance. People like you."

Drake let out a short burst of laughter. "So, I get the job because i'm a likable guy?"

"Partially. it';s also the way you guided Drax and the way you took charge during your last mission with Vanguard International. You have incredible potential, Mr. Marshall. This is your chance to realize it."

Drake looked down for a moment and then looked up and met Patragon's gaze. "OK, if it's what's best for the team I'll lead it in the field. I hope you're right. About me."

"I'm not worried, Mr. Marshall." Paragon extended his hand and Drake switched his bag to his other hand so he could take it. "What's in that bag anyway?"

"Usual stuff; body armor, boots, overcoat, night vision goggles, smoke bombs, dart gun, sword from another dimension, a few other things."

"You keep all of that in a bag next to your desk?"

"Most of it is standard equipment for the security division of Blackburn Information Systems. Except for the otherdimensional sword. Most people don't have one of those."

"Probably not." Paragon smiled as he led Drake into the next room to join the rest of the team.

"I rather like the high ceilings," Adem said after going through a doorway without ducking.

Icarus Sidewinder looked around the beautifully decorated hallway. "Nice and big in here. A lot of furniture and equipment too. Is William using some advanced technology to make the inside larger than the outside?"

"No," Penny replied. "We just used bright colored paint."

"Oh," the pilot said, running his finger across a seventeenth century table.

She opened up a set of oak double doors and stepped inside. "This, lady and gentlemen, is the debriefing room." A giant handcraften wooden table sat in the center of the room. It's long, rectangular form divided the large room in two. On the wall at the far end of it was a mural. With a flicker, it disappeared and was replaced by an image of world map. "You won't always be using this facility. Only when time and your current locations allow for your travel back here will you see it. But don't worry, information will be sent to you in a timely and organized fashion before you are ever sent off on an assignment."

Link Fox let out a slight whistle. "I see the money hasn't gone to waste."

"I had quite a substantial cache to pull from when I acquired the company currently known as Paragon Industries." Doc Paragon and Drake Marshall had finally caught up with the group. "Everyone, please, have a seat." He motioned for them all to take a chair as he approached the head of the table, opposite the mural/screen.

"There are a considerable number of chairs more than people to occupy them," Adem said out loud, though it sounded like an internal monologue to the rest. Drake, having worked with the alien, was used to it.

Doc Paragon smiled slightly. "I hope for us to be joined by more than this before too long."

Icarus Sidewinder laughed at this, in spite of himself. "Surely you jest, William," he said, pulling his hair behind his ears. "What else does this team need? As far as I'm concerned, we're set!"

"Indeed...?" Edmund Gaunt said, raising an eyebrow behind his dark sunglasses.

"Of course," the pilot nodded, sweeping his hand across the room. "William has prepared us for every eventuality!"

He stood and began to make his way around the table slowly, stopping behind Adem. "In the event of an otherworldly invasion, we've been blessed with an alien detective to tell why they're here."

Adem raised his finger as though to speak, but was cut off as Icarus made his way down to Drake. "And then there's the intrepid former hero with the heart of gold - most likely brought on to unify us into a cohesive unit, William?" Icarus shot a glance to Paragon, who only glared back at the blonde man over his steepled hands. Drake began to stammer out a response, only to be interrupted once again by Sidewinder.

"And, lest we forget the only female member of the team," he said, gesturing toward Lady Lykopis with a flourish, making his way to the other side of the table where she sat. "Voted most likely to break bones first and ask questions later in the Spartan High School class of 137 BC! Nothing a little romp through the forest wouldn't fix, though, eh?" He nudged the Amazon with his elbow and shot her a wink. Obviously restraining herself, the warrior merely grunted and glared.

"Ooh! The cold shoulder!" Icarus laughed, moving to Edmund. "And, then there's Mr. Perry Normal here, with his tattoos and dark suits. Prolly fancies himself some sort of wizard, I'd imagine." Icarus leaned over Edmund's shoulder, looking sideways at him. "Too bad they didn't tap you to play the new Dumbledore, huh?"

Chuckling, Sidewinder slid down to where Link Fox sat, licking his fingers after finishing up his buttered croissant. His bare feet were propped on the table, his empty slippers laying not too far off. "And last... and most likely least, Mr. Fox - the man brought on to shatter whatever professional aspect this little business venture might've otherwise had by providing no marketable skills whatsoever!

"However, William did have the foresight to bring me onboard," Sidewinder continued, slowly making his way back to his own seat. "Like any good investor, William knows that you need someone with the raw ability to handle any sort of menace that comes along. One who's brave, with sound mind and body. William knows that you need... ME!" On the word, Sidewinder plopped into his chair, beginning to spin in slow circles. "Europe's best and most cunning pilot, able to make tough calls and fast decisions. Able to utilize more than one talent at once, making him the most well-rounded of all of you and, if I may be so frank, the one most likely to pull all your butts from the fire should the situation call for it."

As the seven other pairs of eyes in the room bore into him, Icarus slowly stopped his spinning, coming to rest and leaning back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Any questions?"

Lykopis was closest to Icarus. "Just one question," she said. In less than half a second, she kicked her chair back and swung her leg. She brought the heel of her shoe right above Icarus's lap, her leg pulled back and ready for a kick. All she had to do was straighten her leg, and Icarus would be speaking an octive higher. "Does this not make you the team hotshot?"

Doc Paragon nudged Drake. The ex-vigilante looked at Paragon. "You're on," was all he whispered.

"Easy there, Lady Lykopis," said Drake. He was surprised Doc Paragon hadn't spoken to Lykopis first. "I'm sure Icarus would have trouble explaining what you did to him to all his girlfriends."

Drake had no idea if his light humor would work on the Amazon or not. But Lykopis pulled her leg back and resumed her proper sitting position.

Inside his own mind, Doc Paragon smiled. Drake was learning to lead, and Lykopis was learning to follow. Both were new to their appointed tasks, yet both seemed capable of mastering them.

Fox yawned. "So, when do we get to go to a mission?" he asked, looking at his watch. "It's getting kinda late."

"Not today, Link," Paragon replied. "I summoned the group today to show you the building and let you get acquainted with each other, nothing else."

"Oh," Fox said, looking quite disappointed. Adem sat next to him.

"If you don't mind me asking, Link," Different said, "why do you do this?"

Fox smiled. "Naturally curious, eh? I admire that in a person... Thing. Alien. Whatever."

"Person is fine. But you haven't answered my question."

"I lead a boring life, Adam..."

"Dem."

"Language."

"No, I--"

"I know. I find that a little action once in a while spices up my otherwise dull existence. I take every opportunity for adventure I can find, and I think this is an extraordinary one. Plus, there's that whole helping people thing. That's... what's the word...?"

"Admirable?"

"No. Kinda cool. I bet the chicks dig it. Right, Drake?"

"Uh, I suppose..." Marshall said.

"Oooooh, yeah..." Icarus said, nodding slowly.

"You, I like," Fox pointed at Icarus. Even the pilot himself seemed a little surprised. "Now I gotta go to the John. Talk to you guys in about a half hour."

"...these croissants are a pain to digest..." he muttered to himself as he walked to the bathroom.

"Odd fella," Drake commented.

"Indeed," Adem replied. "He's obviously more than he seems to be. He seems to be concealing his true nature. The question is... Why?"

"Sir, this is official Interpol business...I'm Agent Gudheim..." the beady-eyed-mouth in the dreadfully boring suit tried to explain.

"I don't care if you're Margaret-bloody-Thatcher risen from the grave!" the much-too-dramatic flash of eyes and teeth shouted back. "No one touches my patient!"

"Sir, you haven't even heard--"

"Oh, I know why you're here! My uncle sits in Parliament, you know! Keeps me in the loop!" the bulging vein of indignant pride lashed back, this time bringing his friend, the 'accusatory finger', into play. "One of the Royals got caught with 'is knickers down, and my patient here has seen-too-much, right?!"

"Sir--"

"Well, BOLLOCKS to that!"

Ian McGregor.

"Sir--"

"I took the Hippocratic Oath, you nazis!"

That's him.

"DOCTOR McGREGOR!"

Did I mention he was a Doctor?

"What?!" he barked.

In the brief moments of silence that followed, Ian's face began to retire to its normal lack of crimson red complexion that had made a guest appearance during his most vindictive statements. Also, taking a moment in this momentous, and, some would say, long coming calm, the two Interpol agents standing in the doorway of his office glanced at each other, finding some professional bearing in a look.

"We were sent here by your uncle."

The briefly mentioned, and quickly forgotten, 'Accusatory Finger' curled into a submissive fetal position.

"Oh."

Brilliant linguist, our Doctor McGregor.

"Yes, well....come in, I guess..."

McGregor stepped back from his blocking position, allowing the two agents access inside the room. His fresh-faced assistant...one third-year nurse Ruby Piper...still stood just outside the door in the hallway.

"Should I bring some tea around?" she asked in a half-whisper, leaning in through the doorway.

"No..." he replied in the same whisper. "...this shouldn't take that long..."

Beginning to close the door, her hand suddenly stopped it, as she squeezed her head back through.

"Margaret Thatcher isn't dead, you know..." she whispered.

"Go away." he whispered back, this time forcing her head out with his hand.

With the door closed, and the much-too-keen-for-her-age nurse properly put in her place...

...add a tongue to a cheek here...

...Dr. Ian McGregor slid down behind his desk, his expression going all-business.

"Now, then....what can I do for y--....excuse me. Stop that."

The other agent...the one that had yet to get a line...looked up from what he was doing. Of course, what he was doing was highly irrelevant to the purpose of their visit, and, in turn, to the purpose of this scene. Still, in all fairness to the color of the story, it should be told.

Most, if not all, physicians keep what is usually a replica of a human skull on top of their office desk. Of course, if they do not have a desk, then it is usually placed in some prominent location or venue of a selectively public domain. Like their examination rooms, or, in a locker. Of course, for all practical purposes lockers are not the most public of venues, and, in that, the storing of human skulls, replica or otherwise, is nominally frowned upon.

The words 'cult', 'pagan altar', and 'Dhamer' usually find a parking spot in the discussions of such people.

Whether this need...and some rumors have it, edict...by the medical community to display human skulls is in truth an attempt to assure the non-medical public of their prowess in the understanding of second-grade level biology, or, they just all think it's really cool, no one will say. And, as remarkable a man as Ian McGregor might be....and he just might be....he too displays the standard replica of a human skull on top of his office desk.

And, if there is one thing in the world that irritates McGregor the most, it is the need of the British to pronounce the word 'schedule' shedual.

There's a fucking 'C' in there, you know?!

But, playing with the replica of the human skull that sits on his desk is right up there on Ian's list, too.

And that's just what the agent was doing.

"Oh..." he said, sitting fully back from the skull. "...sorry..."

Ian stared at him for a moment, and, the agent would later wonder how on earth such a psychotically neurotic look could come from a healer.

"Okay." McGregor finally said, finding some calm in his life again. "As I was saying...what can I do for you?"

"And, as I was saying, I'm Agent Gudheim...this is Agent Moote'."

"Agent Mute, eh?" Ian interrupted, a small smirk forming. "I guess you're the quiet type, right?"

"Yes...that is how the standard joke goes, Doctor..." Agent Moote' replied with narrow eyes.

Ian had just played with his skull.

"We are here by request of Lord Falstaff McGregor...that's your uncle..."

"Yes, I believe my mother covered that for me when I was a child...please go on..."

"Yes sir, well, Lord McGregor's standing with the European council alone, he is beginning to feel a bit of the cook, if you understand me."

"Let's pretend I don't."

"Very well..." the agent sighed. "...this patient of yours...one Johan Oswald Baxter. A.K.A. 'Ozzy Baxter'. A.K.A. 'Johan Oz'. A.K.A. 'Oswald Barker'. A.K.A. 'Joseph Han'. A.K.A.--"

"Can we please get past the alphabet? I am a busy man, Agent Gudheim."

"As am I, Dr. McGregor." Gudheim replied in kind. "To be perfectly and honestly to the point, this is a social call."

"I'm sorry?"

"Your uncle has friends in high places, true. But, that won't be enough to keep Mr. Baxter here forever."

"And what is it that Mr. Baxter has done?" Ian demanded. "What is this all about? Uncle Falstaff filled me in on his legal exile. I know he's not supposed to be here on British soil. But, what the hell does Interpol have to do with this?"

"Oswald Baxter has a wrap-sheet that spans both oceans, Doctor. He has made business deals...bad ones at that...with some very powerful people. The kind of people that do not believe in the 'forgive-and-forget' department. The kind of people that fund countries and manipulate economies. You think it's difficult for your uncle to keep him here in the country for you? It may be of decent surprise to you that lives could be at risk if he remains on the European continent, itself."

Ian stared back, silent.

"Your uncle's life...and yours..."

Dr. McGregor thought on this for a moment, as one would do when faced with the thought of a death threat.

"What would you have me do?" Ian finally asked in a reasonable tone. Reasonable in relation to the ratio of government agents within this room that possessed firearms, as opposed to the doctors that did not.

"Us, Doctor? There is no 'us'. We are not, nor have we ever been, officially here." Gudheim responded.

"Officially." Ian repeated. "The most powerful word in modern human civilization."

"Doctor, if...if...there were two Interpol agents in your office at this moment..." Gudheim began. "...if you were all discussing what is to be done with a patient whose presence could cause great political and mortal trauma to members of your family....and, if you were seeking advice from said agents on a recourse...I would imagine, at great lengths, that the agent might suggest that you simply ship him back from where he came..."

"...if that were the case, eh...?" Ian replied with a low tone.

"Yes, Doctor. If." Gudheim said, his eyes low and convincing. "Or, one might find him or herself the victim of some dreadfully tragic accident...."

McGregor's began to chew on his bottom lip.

"...officially speaking, of course..."

The room was, once again, silent. However, this time, McGregor was wishing for a small thermonuclear explosion to cut the tension.

"Well....we've taken enough of your time, Doctor..." Gudheim nodded, he and Moote' rising to their feet. Ian rose as well, pulled along by their Jedi powers. Or, that's how he imagined it anyway.

...he could almost hear the rasping ventilator...

"Good evening, Doctor." Gudheim shook the man's hand...whether Ian wanted him to, or not. "We'll be in touch."

The two agents left as quickly as they had arrived, sans one maniac physician accusing them of invading Poland. The maniac physician, as he would be known for the remainder of this paragraph, instead, walked calmly out of his office, and watched them enter the lift. The physician, of the maniacal sort, smiled and waved at the two agents as the doors of the lift closed. The smile, of course, stayed glued to his face in some bizarre muscle cramp born of extreme anxiety, long after the agents were gone, and, quite shortly into his break-neck sprint down the hallway.

The many nurses he almost collided with in the ensuing dash would help in spreading the 'maniac physician' label.

"E.K.G.?"

Nurse Piper yelped with a quick high-pitched squeal as McGregor burst into the room, his white lab coat ruffling in passing. She fumbled with the chart, as he seemed to begin rudimentary examination of the comatose form in the bed.

"E-E.K.G. normal, Doctor Mc--"

"Blood pressure?"

"Uh..n-normal--"

"Any change in cellular morphis?" he asked, leaning close to the patient's exposed chest. He whipped a ballpoint pen from his coat pocket, tapping the grayish metal patches barely visible along the skin.

"None..." she replied, finally beginning to get into rhythm with his frantic burst of intensity. "...I can get Barbara and the lads in pathology to run another--"

"Won't be necessary." he waved his hands at her dismissively. "Besides, I don't think that's the way to go anymore."

"Doctor?"

"...hmmm..." he moaned, checking the patient's pupil dilation.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Ian paused, stood fully up, and stared at her with the look of a man that just did three lines of cocaine and was asked to smell a rose.

"What's going on, Nurse Piper, is that we are going to cure Mr. Baxter here." he announced. "And we are going to cure him as quickly as possible..."

He melted back into his work, mumbling what sounded like 'fondling puppy gong'...

...but, was in truth, 'fucking Paragon'.

"Sorry, I'm late. . ." Link Fox said, walking into the control booth and taking a seat next to Paragon. "Not at all, we're just about to get started." Paragon turned back and looked out through the plexiglass viewscreen towards the membership of Vanguard Europe.

They stood, five in all, on the floor of the training room located several sublevels below the offices. Drake Marshall, Lady Lykopis, Edmund Gaunt, Adem Different, and Icarus Sidewinder.

"Well, Perry, isn't this exciting?" Icarus said in mock appreciation.

Edmund Gaunt flicked his fingers towards Sidewinder's face as a small piece of shadow matter covered the pilot's mouth. "I prefer silence when I work." The Shadow Chancellor's only reply as Lykopis stifled a laugh.

"To start off, I thought we'd try something to apply towards teamwork. The objective," Paragon pressed several switches as the holographic hard light generators transformed the room from a barren steel area the size of a football field, into a desert plain with two flagpoles located at the far ends, "is to capture the enemie's flag."

"Enemies? I am not a fighter, William." Adem Different said, cautiously.



"You don't have to be, Adem. This test will gauge your skills as well as your aptitude for teamwork. Jym, load datafiles in Epsilon 4."

"Epsilon 4?" the alien AI asked. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. And we'll talk about your novel later." Paragon continued, not missing a beat.

"Great." the computer beamed.

<Downloading file: Daniel Hearn.>
<Downloading file: Grimm.>
<Downloading file: Banshee.>
<Downloading file: Phouka.>
<Downloading file: Grissom Montag.>
<Downloading file: Dirk Bell.>

As hard light hologram duplicates of Vanguardians past and present materialized on the far end of the desert battlefield, their European counterparts looked on in astonishment.

"We're missing a guy on our side, are you sure you don't want me to. . ." Link started.

"No, no, it's covered. Jym, download Epsilon five one one A zero niner to team Alpha's side." Paragon continued.

<Downloading file: Ozzy Baxter.>

As a hologram of Ozzy appeared next to Adem Different. "I had no idea. . ." the alien mused, wondering just what other surprises this Doc Paragon held in store for their team.

"Now, Vanguards, make me proud." Paragon said, starting the game.

"Move your arses, team! Phouka, Dirk, Grimm, guard the flag, Grissom, Banshee, you're with me, let's go!" The hologram of Danny sounded, replete with his Australian accent.

"Icarus, Lykopis, flank me, we're taking their flag, Ozzy, Adem, Gaunt, hold them off!" Drake Marshall responded, slipping his helmet on and pulling his broadsword.

Banshee circled in the air above Adem's head. . .

Grissom dived into the dirt and tunneled beneath Gaunt's body. . .

Danny flew straight for Ozzy, the hologram of the boxer, guarding the flag intently.


Icarus rocketed towards the form of Dirk Bell, readying his weaponry. . .

Lykopis drew steel and clashed with Grimm's own weapon. . .

Marshall ran in a straight sprint towards the enemy flag guarded by Phouka. . .

Grimm's axe was twice as heavy as the saber Lykopis was using. She grunted as she blocked his blow. I wonder...if he strikes me, will it hurt? The saber rattled in her hands -- this would not do.

Lykopis swung her right leg and tripped Grimm. He fell on his back. Lykopis was about to bring him down with his own axe when Grimm butted the head of his weapon in Lykopis's gut. If she had been in uniform, Lykopis's leather guard would have cushioned the blow. However, she was still in her street clothes, and the wind was knocked out her for a moment. As she coughed, Grimm stood back up. "This will not do," she said to him.

Grimm was about to bring her down when something collided with him. Icarus, trying to dodge Dirk, had decided to ram into Grimm's shoulder. "Hey baby, you can thank me later!"

Lykopis used the distraction to swing a punch into Grimm's jaw. "I cannot believe it. Five minutes in and I already owe the hotshot."

Adem had teamed up with the holographic Ozzy in keeping the flag away from Banshee and Danny. It seemed odd -- he and a computer program were fighting two other computer programs. Furthermore, the last time he had seen Brianna and Danny, they were on a mission together.

"Banshee, screaming's no good against Different. Just try to grab the flag!" Banshee nodded her head and flew upwards to collect momentum for a dive. Danny's shoulders and arms changed into that of a bull, and he charged towards Ozzy.

"Why do you do this?" Doc Paragon suddenly asked.

Link Fox was sitting next to him, eating from a bowl of pop corn as he watched the training session. "I'm sorry?"

"You should be down there with the rest of the team, you know that," Paragon calmly stated.

Fox threw a single pop corn into the air and caught it with his mouth. After having swallowed it, he spoke. "I'm a complex man, William. I have my reasons."

"They will find out sooner or later..."

"Not if I can help it."

"How?"

"My abillity is pretty easy to hide. I've been doing it for years. People never notice..."

"This is different."

"Sure, it's gonna be a little harder, but it's not impossible."

"That is not what I mean. This is a matter of trust. How can you earn your teammates' trust if you hide something like this from them? We are all here for the same reason, Link. There's no need for--"

"Aw, come on! Don't be like that. It'll be alright. You'll see."

"I hope so." Paragon sat back on his chair and watched the group in action. After a while, he looked at Fox again. "What is it you are so afriad of anyway?"

"Me? Nothing." Fox seemed very confident. But Paragon knew better. "Conversation over."

The soft blue aura of the subatomic scanner slowly drifted up and down, back and forth, continually mapping the comatose Baxter. Draped only in a pale white hospital gown, his body lay unmoving, and, quite unaware.

"I see a little silhouetto of a man..." the voice of Ian McGregor hummed from above, hovering as he would around the examination table.

Hovering, in the literal sense.

"...scaramouche,scaramouche will you do the fandango..." nurse Ruby Piper responded from her seated position across the room, studying the constantly feeding data. Watching the cellular secrets of Ozzy's body spill across her screen, she continued to take no notice of the floating doctor.

"...thunderbolt and lightning..." intern Dougie Smith bobbed his head to an internal beat, hands manipulating the scanner controls. "...very very frightening..."

Rudy: "Me!"

"Galileo." McGregor replied in a baratone voice.

Ruby: "...galileo..."

"Galileo."

Dougie: "...galileo..."

"Galileo figaro."

All three: "Magnificoooooooooooooooooooo!!"

"But I'm just a poor boy and nobody loves me..." McGregor continued. He stretched his arms high above his head, twisting and turning his stiff neck. His body slowly flipped end over end for one revolution.

Again, no one noticed.

"...he's just a poor boy from a poor family..." Dougie responded, stifling a yawn.

"Spare him his life from this monstrosity!" Ruby belted out with a bit too much enthusiasm.

"...easy come easy go...will you let me go?" Dougie bobbed his head.

Ian: "Bismillah! Nooo, we will not let you go!"

Ruby: "Let him go!"

"Bismillah! Nooo, we will not let you go!"

Dougie: "Let me go!"

"Bismillah! Nooo, we will not let you go!"

Dougie paused, looking up at the floating figure.

"No, really....it's 2a.m. and I promised my daughter I'd take her to breakfast..."

"Oh...right..." Ian looked up at the clock. "...off you go, then..."

Dougie nodded, beginning to shut down the scanning equipment. The high-pitched whine of the scanner slowing to a stop was drowned out by the quite loud yawn from Nurse Piper.

"...yeah, okay, you too..." Ian nodded, floating back down to his feet.

"I'll get Bethel to wheel him back to his room..." Ruby replied, standing up with a hard stretch of her back.

"Right, good...." Ian said, staring in serious thought at Baxter's unmoving form.

"Goodnight Dr. McGregor." she said, strolling out the door.

"What?" Ian said, suddenly shaken out of some deep revelry. "Oh, yes....goodnight..."

With a simple push off from his toes, Ian began to float again, taking a very relaxed posture in the cushion of nothing. He continued to stare at Baxter, bound and determined to solve his riddle.

Two billion pounds worth of technology, and they can't even sport a decent CD player... he thought to himself.

Oh. Did I mention Ian was a metahuman?

Banshee dove for the European team's flag, brushing past Adem Different. Adem's nanites had reconfigured space around his ears to protect them from her wail, and he now sought out a means for them to mimic her flight.

Before he could do so, however, she was intercepted by Icarus Sidewinder. Rocketing past, he grabbed her foot and pulled her along behind him. "Hello there, beautiful. . ." he began.

Grissom Montag popped up out of the ground behind where Edmund Gaunt had been standing. HAD been standing. As Montag's custom made GSC's took aim, the Sandcrawler noticed his foe had vanished. "Wot the. . ."

"Grissom Montag. . ." came a voice from his right.

"International thief and mercenary. . ." the voice sounded on his left.

"Descendant of Nigel Montag, the infamous Incubus of the Atlantic. . ." the voice seemed to be on all sides of him.

Montag and his tunnel were in the shadows of a very large butte, as if in Arizona in the American southwest. Grissom's confusion continued as a small single bladed hand axe made of shadowmatter slashed through one of his guns. "Those things cost money ya. . ." He looked around. No one.

Something grabbed him and pulled him back down into the tunnels below. . .

Danny Hearn, bull torso and all slammed straight into Ozzy Baxter, the holographic computer programs mimicing their true life counterparts with very close accuracy.

A scope centered in on Icarus, still chatting away at Banshee in tow. Take out the hotshot, then the others. . . the hologram of Bell seemed to be thinking.

Drake Marshall dodged a chaos blast and used the blunt end of his sword to take Phouka off of his feet. As he began to grab the flag he noticed Dirk about to fire at Icarus. "No!" He threw the sword he'd acquired and it flew end over end, towards Dirk's weapon, pinning it into the wall of the training room and shattering the illusion of the Arizona desert in one very small spot on said wall.

Dirk swung at Drake with his fists and the two began going at it hand to hand. . .

The holographic Danny sprouted kangaroo legs, something the real Danny would avoid doing at all cost to prevent any of the obvious jokes, and bounded into the air after the flag. His hand reached out, barely touching the cloth, when it was yanked from in front of him by another body rocketing into the air. "FUCK!"

Adem flipped over the pole and landed on the ground on the other side. He stuffed the flag into an interior pocket of his coat as he took off running. His speed astounded those who had yet to see him run.

"Hey," Link said with a beverage in his hand. "Isn't that cheating?"

"Not hardly," Adem's voice came through the system. There was no audible sign of him breathing harder than normal as he spoke and sprinted. "The objective of the scenario is to capture the opponent's flag while protecting our own. There was never any mention that the flags had to remain on the poles."

Danny, now sporting cheatah legs, was closing in on the alien. He noticed Adem dart to his left, and lept in that direction. Unfortunetly, the hologram Ozzy was waiting. He crumpled up as Ozzy tackled him, bringing him to the ground.

"Who the hell is this guy supposed to be?" Drake wasn't really expecting a reply. The Phouka hologram was programmed well enough to give him one.

"The name's Phouka, former Herald of Chaos, master of mischief and so on and so forth. by the way, it's really weird that me and Grimm are on the same team. That dude hates me. Must be because I get all the hot chicks. Now aren't you glad you asked?"

"Why yes, yes I am." Phouka aimed his hand at Adem but Drake knocked his hand up and Phouka's chaos magic hit brianna instead. She suddenly found herself wearing lead shoes. Gave me enough time to get in range to do that. Oh, and this too..." Drake sw3ung his sword, hitting Phouka in the stomach with the blunt end and knocking the air out of him (well, the holographic air out of the hologram at least.) "Everyone! Cover Adem!"

"EVERYONE! COVER ADEM!"

Drake Marshall may have been a decent field leader. But, as the members of the holographic Vanguard quickly learned, Marshall was anything but subtle. Something that now definitely worked to their advantage...

Grimm, still fighting Lady Lykopis, turned quickly as the alien detective known as Adem Different sprinted past him. Tightening his grip on his axe, he began to pursue the badly-dressed runner, trying to snag the flag and end this once and for all.

A sudden kick to the middle of the back felled the avatar as the graceful and deadly Lykopis kicked him over onto his back, facing her. "Where are you going so soon?" she sneered. "I have spent my entire life trying to escape your touch... and now that I have you in my sights, I will not let you out of them so easily. Not without having my vengeance for my fallen sisters."

Grimm's hollow sockets gazed into Lykopis', soaking up the intensity and passion. But, as the Avatar of Death, Grimm noticed something different. Something hidden beyond the rough exterior. Fear. Since the fall of the Amazons, this fear had haunted this woman. And now, she sought to eradicate Death itself in order that she may simply live.

If Grimm had the capacity, he would have smiled to have found such a worthy opponent. He swung his axe, which found itself blocked by Lykopis' sword. The battle continued...

...and Adem ran on.

"You knocked the wind out of me," Phouka said, recovering slightly, "but don't expect me to go without a fight..."

The ground directly below Drake Marshall turned suddenly to quicksand, as the vigilante formerly known as Nightwatch found himself sinking into the ground itself. Smiling, Phouka blew on the smoking gun that was his forefinger. "Can't believe that worked," he said with a hint of relief.

Marhsall continued sinking right in front of Phouka, who was ready in case the field leader of Vanguard Europe should try to make a break for it.

Still, Marshall thought, I should keep his attention off of Adem for the time being. The flag is safe... from Phouka anyway...

...and Adem ran on.

Meanwhile, below ground, Adem's sprint went almost unnoticed...

"Oh, bloody 'ell..." Grissom groaned, firing off a few shots at the darkness around him. At least, he was pretty sure it was darkness. It was hard telling, considering the former mercenary couldn't see his hand in front of his face. "Why not c'me out 'ere an' fight like a man 'stead o' playin' these 'shadowgames'?" Griss asked, beginning to get annoyed.

"Very well," a clipped British voice resounded, seeming to come from everywhere at once. As suddenly as it had come upon him, the darkness subsided and, in it's place stood the interior of the hole Grissom Montag had dug for himself in pursuit of the European branch's flag. Just in front of the merc, however, stood a large man dressed all in black. Grissom raised an eyebrow, no longer as impressed as he might've been under different circumstances.

"Well, tall, dark an' imposin'..." Grissom began, 'porting a new round of bullets into his gun, "...you know mine. Let's 'ear yours..."

"Edmund Gaunt," the figure said stoicly. "Paranormal investigator. Shadow Chancellor."

Grissom laughed a bit. "I dunno who your agent is, but tell 'im 'e needs to find you a less laughable moniker, mate!"

Suddenly, shadow tendrils reached up from Grissom's own shadow and began wrapping themselves around the limey's body. "Wot's all this, eh?" he said, struggling in vain with the bonds that held him.

"Judging from your particular abilities," Gaunt began, "it behooves me to restrain you here, rather than have you on the field where you can not retrieve our flag. Consider yourself neutralized, Mr. Montag. Good day."

And, with that, the Shadow Chancellor was gone.

"Yeah, well, we'll just see 'bout that, bucko!" Montag muttered, teleporting a small pen light into his hand...

...and Adem ran on.

Immediately after having collided with Danny, Baxter had attempted to immobilize the animorph in the best way he knew how - boxing his lights out. A quick one-two had Danny weak and disoriented enough to not be able to race after Adem Different...

...but, rather, it put him in defense mode as the field leader of Vanguard International saw fit to call upon an insect exoskeleton. Now, Ozzy was hammering away at what was now Danny's thorax, hoping beyond hope that he could crack through the time-lost Vanguardian's defenses.

"C'mon, you bastard," Ozzy muttered through clenched teeth. "Break...!"

"Not likely," came a discombobulated response from inside Danny's exoskeletal 'helmut'. And, unfortunately for Ozzy, that's not the only emission that came from within. Shortly after the exchange of dialogue, a fine spray of ink shot into the boxer's eyes, blinding him.

Ozzy howled in surprise, wiping furiously at the obstruction in his eyes. Suddenly, a scorpion tail formed at Danny's backside, preparing to strike at the boxer's now weakened state.

The stinger struck true... but Danny was surprised to see that it didn't do any damage at all. Still blind, Ozzy grunted, grabbing the tail in his arms... and beginning to spin the Animal Man around in the air, gaining velocity.

"Teach you to blind me," Baxter said, attempting to gain momentum...

...and Adem ran on.

...but he did not run unnoticed. Through the crosshairs of his rifle, Dirk Bell followed the alien as he sprinted across the field, the flag of Vanguard Europe tucked safely within his clothing.

"And now for one of my favorite games," Bell muttered under his breath, loading more ammo into his gun, "'Smear the Queer'..."

That's when it hit him... literally.

Icarus Sidewinder fell out of the sky, punching Bell in the jaw and rocketing off into the sky again.

"SON OF A BITCH!" Bell yelled as he quickly regained his composure and took aim again... this time at the self-proclaimed hotshot of Vanguard Europe.

Bell had been shooting at Icarus through most of the game so far and Icarus, the (again) self-proclaimed 'best pilot in Europe' had been able to dodge his bullets with ease. Any that had hit him hadn't done damage, due to the kevlar polymer flight suit that Icarus wore.

However, that wouldn't make a difference when Dirk broke out the armor-piercing bullets...

...which he just did. A hail of gunfire sounded as Icarus managed to keep just a second or two ahead of the barrage. He tried all sorts of things to shake the the gunslinger - loop-the-loops, barrel rolls, and even complex military flight patterns - but all the same, the steady hand of Dirk Bell kept right on his tail.

Then, Icarus saw it. Adem Different was still running (naturally), but the winged form of Banshee was closing in on him, sword in hand, ready for an attack... having left her lead boots behind her.

Teamwork... Icarus thought to himself. Help the lanky guy guard the flag and prove to everyone that I can do this crap...

Grinning wildly, Icarus took a dive at the racing Adem Different. Swooping between the alien's legs, he hoisted the sleuth into the air and out of immediate harm.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Adem yelled as he suddenly found himself twenty feet in the air and rising.

"Practicing teamwork and saving your ass," Icarus said with a cocky grin. "You can thank me later, Mr. Spock..."

"Are you insane?" Adem asked, looking around. "I could've easily handled Banshee! Now, you've subjected us to the attacks of both her and that guy who was shooting at you. If it's possible, I'm now in more danger than before!"

Sure enough, Dirk's hail of gunfire continued as Banshee soared upwards towards Icarus, her Irish temper showing vividly in her eyes.

"Oh..." Icarus said, the realization suddenly sinking in, "...crap!"

He quickly darted away, Adem in tow, trying to escape not one, but two pursuers from Vanguard International...

...and, more than anything, Adem wished he were still running...

Doc Paragon watched as the conflict escalated. "The safety protocols are in affect?"

{Of course. I am not an amateur, you know. Once, on Betalon, I had a second job refereeing the.....}

"That's quite enough," Paragon interjected into Jym's rant. "I just don't want any of them getting hurt."

"Does this thing get HBO?" Link Fox said while trying to find a button to change the channel of one of the monitors. "I'd hate to miss The Sopranos."

Drake clawed at the ground around him, trying to find something solid to hold on to and stop his decent into the computer generated landscape. Phouka stood a yard or two in front of him, no longer paying the ex-vigilante any attention.

Instead, the Phouka simulation was eyeing another target. His palm crackled with Chaos as another ball of energy collected. His attention focused in on the flying duo of Icarus and Adem. A line of magnalite (a combination of magnesium and aluminum) wire wrapped around his wrist. A hard tug pulled his hand back and caused the Chaos ball to fall out of Phouka's hand and crash down around his feet. "I hate it when that happens." A blinding flash of light transformed him from a computer simulation of a human with strange chaos powers to a computer simulation of a statue of Bea Arthur crossing the Potomac.

"Wow!" Drake said as his hands pulled along the wire, dragging his body up from the pit. "That really is random."

Lykopis parried and countered Grimm's terrifying blows. She could not match his strength, and he could not match her speed and experience. Her sword pierced him several times without stopping him. The Amazon began to realize that there was no way to fell her opponent with blades or clubs. Drake's sword lay on the ground at her feet. It is then that the age old warrior came up with a plan.

In beautiful, fluid motions her body collapsed to the ground as her legs shot forwards and scissored outwards to connect behind Grimm's kneecaps. Her left hand grasped hold of Drake's sword. She bounced herself up off the ground and drove her shoulder into the large man's chest. His shift in weight folded his knees under him, sending him crashing to the ground. Lykopis leapt into the air brandishing a sword in each hand. Her voice sang out a vicious and fear inspiring battle cry from times long buried and forgotten. The blades tore through Grimm's body just underneath both shoulder blades. The force of the Amazon's fall embedded both swords to the hilt. Lykopis quickly rolled off and sprinted to help the rest of her team while leaving the Grimm simulant pinned to the ground.

Metal heated up the air around it as it flew and spun. Faster than the human mind and eye could discern, it bore up to its target. With a victorious ring, it found it's mark.

"Disable Sidewinder's pack," Paragon ordered. For safety's sake, the bullets weren't allowed to penetrate any of the living participants or their gear. So Doc had taken control over all the equipment from the control room in order to simulate the outcomes of a real battle. There were other safe guards to prevent serious injury; but only serious injuries. Anything less was considered on par with what these people could handle.

Adem and Icarus dropped towards the ground. Adem's suit changed into something more capable of absorbing the force of the fall. Icarus pushed a small button on his belt. Two tiny parachutes launched from his pack. They were too small and he too close to the ground to prevent a painful impact, but they would slow him down enough to make the impact less painful.

Adem hit with a thud and rolled. Icarus was not too far behind him. The alien quickly went over to help his teammate up.

Brianna and Dirk’s simulations were closing in. They saw Adem look up and notice them. Quickly, he took off, leaving Sidewinder crumpled on the ground. His long legs began to pump furiously as he returned to running. Dirk lifted up his gun and took aim.

His body slammed against the ground under the weight and momentum of Lykopis. The two rolled along the ground, already involved in combat. They each let go and rolled up to their feet. Without hesitation they charged and began to swap blows. Dirk threw both fists, which she grabbed and held tightly. Instantly, his forehead crashed against her face. He fell back, pulling her with him, and used his foot to flip her over him. Lykopis scrambled to her feet. Her mind was formulating a new method of attack to counter this almost berserker like attitude.

Banshee pulled her wings in close. Her body began to streak down from the sky mimicking a hawk closing in on its prey. And like a jack rabbit, Adem continued to run from her. Her eyes narrowed as she came within a few feet of him. But they were soon filled with thick, white smoke that seemed to pour up from the ground itself. Brianna opened her wings to slow her decent and pull her up from her collision course with the ground. As she exited the cloud of smoke, a tiny dart stuck into her arm. Just as the real Brianna might react, the computer simulated one found herself being pulled deep down into a black, dreamless sleep.

With his legs stretching out over the sandy ground, Adem kept running. A hole appeared a few feet in front of him. A hand reached out and grabbed his leg. The alien’s body jerked, and he went crashing face first into the dirt. “Welly, welly, well. Wot ‘ave we got ‘ere?” Grissom Montag pulled himself from underneath the ground. “Looks like I just caught me a victory.”

“Not quite,” Adem responded while rolling over to his back.

“And why not? I got you; therefore, I got the flag.”

“That would be true if I had the flag.” The alien’s face looked almost uncaring, but the voice carried a bit of pride and laughter. He pointed back the way he came. Icarus Sidewinder stood above a mesa waving his team’s flag.

“Git the rocket boy!” Grissom yelled to his teammates.

“That would prove to be an utter waste of time and energy,” Gaunt replied from a behind the Brit. On his outstretched arm was draped the flag of the Vanguard International team. “It seems that my companions and I have already won.”

The computer program began to close, the holographic simulations fading away as Jym shut the sim room down.

Doc Paragon sat somewhat pensively, his hands folded in front of his face, as he studied data readouts on the group's performance.

"What's wrong? They won, right?" Link Fox said, finishing his beverage.

"Yes, they won, but with a lot of difficulty. Very little teamwork. Jym, set the program up again. . ."

"Again?" The AI asked.

"Yes, again." Turning the loudspeaker on, Paragon spoke to the group. "Okay team, you managed to win, but we still have a long way to go. So, we're going to run through the drill a few more times. . ."

There was a loud groan from the practice room. "He's right, guys, we're going to have to work together better." Marshall said, practicing with his blade.

"A fine weapon, I'd like to test it some day." Lykopis said, twirling her own blade and bringing it to rest just under Drake's chin.

"Umm, sure. You got it." Drake smiled a little uneasily.

They went through the simulations six more times that day. Facing off against various groupings of metas that had been logged into the Vanguard mainframe. Some games they won, some they lost. Ultimately, they ended with a 3 to 4 win/loss ratio. This was enough to satisfy Paragon for the day.

Epilogue: Gaunt


"And you say the room was locked from the inside?" Adem Different asked.

"Yes. The only sign of entry is the air vent, which seems to have been forced open." Gaunt answered, pointing to the vent, which hung loosely by one end.

"I do not understand. This is far too small for anything human to pass through." Different was puzzled.

"Yes. Anything. . .human." Gaunt answered absentmindedly before coming back to his senses.

"And you apparently do not have Aswethinkizzes on this planet. . ." The alien detective continued.

"What do you make of those?" Gaunt pointed towards the ceiling and the burn marks on the ceiling almost directly above the overweight, balding, dead man sitting in a recliner.

"Curious. . ." Adem asked. "Was he a meta?"

"We don't know, yet."

The dead man's neck appeared to have been savagely ripped apart. Spector taunts me, the Shadow Chancellor thought to himself. I know he killed this man, but I need to know why before I can act.

Adem noticed something rolling on the floor under the dead man's feet. "What is this?" Reaching down, he picked it up. It was a small aspirin bottle with a logo that read Nu:Genetix .

"What do you make of this?" Adem asked, holding the bottle up to the light.

"Now that is odd." Gaunt was genuinely surprised.

Epilogue: Icarus P. Sidewinder

Stockholm, Sweden

D.P. Sidewinder liked the quiet air of Sweden. It was so much more personable than the coldness of Russia or the facelessness of America. Sitting on the veranda of his penthouse apartment, he sipped his tea and looked out onto the streets below.

A slight fizzling sound turned his attention from the landscape to his living room, where his son was just arriving from work. The young man shook his blonde locks and tossed a duffel bag onto the couch, while he placed what looked like a black toolbox on the gorund.

"Dad!" Icarus called. "I'm home from work!"

"And how did the first day go?" the elder Sidewinder asked, moving hurriedly to the 'toolbox'.

"Not bad," his son answered, sinking into a plush leather armchair, leaning his head back as if asleep. "I think the pack might need some work done, though..."

D.P.'s eyes narrowed at his son's nonchalance reguarding his jetpack... then widened as he opened the 'toolbox' to reveal Icarus' damaged pack. "What did you do to this thing?!"

Icarus began rubbing his temples as his father raised his voice. "It was a bloodbath, okay, Dad?" Icarus began. "First, William had a little meet-and-greet with the rest of the team - who I'm sorely disappointed in, by the way. You'd think William would know how to assemble a team by this point in his life, but you wouldn't know it to look at --"

"Icarus!" came his father's commanding voice. "The pack?"

"Oh, right," Icarus said, back to his nonchalant attitude. "Then he put us in this battle simulator where we fought members of 'Vanguard Proper' as I like to call them. Ran the simulator seven times and each time, he had something 'go wrong' with the pack..."

"What do you mean, 'go wrong'?" Sidewinder asked.

"Well, the first round, he was somehow able to override the security systems you'd built in and shut the whole thing down..." Icarus said, finally looking up to meet his father's gaze.

"How so?" D.P. asked. "I designed it specifically so that even the Glitch Virus couldn't get in!"

"He's got an alien on the team... and he brought some kind of A.I. with him," Icarus answered, laying his head back again. "It probably found a way to override the system."

"Alien tech, huh?" the elder Sidewinder said, stroking his chin. "Interesting..." A look back at the jetpack changed his expression. "Still... how does that explain the damaged solar converters? Or the shorted suspension relay?"

"During the third round, some big skull-faced guy hit me in the back with an axe, which sufficiently managed to crack the solar converters wide open," Icarus answered with a heavy sigh. He continued, as though explaining to a child. "Then, during the last round, I was dodging some maniac with a rocket launcher and a death wish while trying to fight off a girl with wings, when some British guy jumped on my back. The strain of the pack trying to run three simulations at once is what fried the relay..."

D.P. let out a low whistle. "I wonder where William is getting a lot of his technology," he said, closing the jetpack case and placing it on the coffee table. "Hard light holograms, instantaneous transport... it all sounds fascinating."

"Well, we can't all live like you, Dad," Icarus said, rising finally and making his way to the minibar by the fireplace. "Not everyone can get away with swiping Mandelovian patents and selling them to the Soviet Union... and get away with it."

D.P. straightened up and pointed an accusing finger at his son. "I am an inventor and an entrepreneur, Icarus Percival Sidewinder!" he yelled. "I didn't hear you complaining when I was able to make this jetpack for you using a combination of those 'swiped' patents! I didn't hear you complaining when I made you into the foremost pilot in Europe! I certainly didn't hear you complaining when I bought this penthouse!"

"Alright, Dad, I get the point," Icarus said, rolling his eyes. "Geez..."

"Everything I've done, I've done for you!" Sidewinder continued. "Never forget that! I am not only your father, but your technician and your financial backer! As such, I think I deserve respect!"

"Yeah, okay, sounds good, Dad," Icarus said, obviously no longer listening. "I gotta go get washed up for my date with Inge tonight. Don't wait up!" And, with that, he was gone.

"This isn't over, Icarus..." D.P. Sidewinder muttered, picking up the jetpack carrying case and making his way toward the workshop.

Epilogue

Munich, Germany

Friedrich Wagner had been out of a job for several months. 'Down on his luck' hardly did the man justice anymore. His wife had left him and his children no longer wished to see him. He was left with no job, several payments, and a looming eviction notice...

...which lead to his aimless wandering of the streets. He'd been certifiably 'homeless' for a while now - at least a few weeks. It was hard to say, really. Wagner no longer had the motivation to so much as look at a newspaper to check the date.

On the street, he'd heard about a mission on the city's west end... the 'bad' side of town. Still, he could get a hot cup of soup and a roof over his head if he just listened to a few words about how good God was.

Some joke, Wanger thought as he walked. If He was as good as people say, then why did He allow me to end up here?

Just then, Wagner heard a light tapping sound coming from an alley as he walked by. Curious, he stopped and looked down into the darkness. After a few seconds, his eyes adjusted to reveal a young man dressed all in black, his face painted white, with an odd crop of jet black hair atop his head - the sides and back being completely shaved. He wore dark glasses and carried a long pole, which he used to feel his way down the alley.

"What are you doing down there?" Wagner called. "This is a dangerous place for a young man your age to be at night without protection!"

The young man said nothing, but made his way slowly to where Friedrich stood. He looked up into Friedrich's face, his dark round glasses obscuring his eyes. At this range, Friedrich was able to make out dark tattoos on the boy's face.

"Come with me, ja?" Friedrich said, taking the young man by the arm. "I'm heading to a mission where we should be able to get you some soup and a place to rest."

The boy walked along with Friedrich, still not saying a word. His eyebrow arched at the bum who'd gathered him. After a few yards, Wagner chuckled and broke the silence.

"You know, it's been a while since I had someone to talk to... even if they weren't able to talk back," he said. "Sometimes just having someone to listen is good eno--"

Wagner looked down at the young man to notice something... different. The boy had removed his glasses... revealing two empty sockets. Wagner's eyes widened as he looked in closer at the blackness in the boy's eyes that seemed to go on forever.

As the boy opened his mouth, Wagner thought once again about God and His strange absence as he looked into the cold, endless void for the last time...

Greece

Lykopis entered her manor, located in the sunny countryside of Greece. She was greated by her old collection of antiques -- a World War II newspaper, an Antebellum fan, a Spanish Atlantic map, a Rennisance painting of a Greek lady in Italian garb, an old monk manuscript, and a statue of a Greek warrior riding a horse. They all belong to her, they had all passed through history with her. In some ways, Lykopis use to think she was a lot like her collection. She thought that maybe she didn't belong in the modern world, that like some rusty sword, she was too fragile to be taken out of her case.

She let Hecate off the leash. The dog barked once and headed off towards the kitchen, hoping to find a small meal in her bowl.

Lykopis headed to her bedroom. It was small, with only one window. She had a rich-looking daybed with a canopy hanging over it, making the room somewhat exotic. The room had its share of antiques, but it manage to retain a certain modern look to it as well. It was both very old and very new.

Lykopis removed her earings and bracelets and placed them on the dresser. She looked into the mirror, fingering her brown hair. Her eyes still looked old and worn...and yet...and yet...there was a small flash of lightning in them. A sort of thrill from the pass few days events.

Vanguard Europe was nothing like the Amazons Lykopis was use to running around with. They had not gown up and grown old together. But there was something...something...something binding the team together. It wasn't blood, it wasn't a common curse...and yet...Lykopis felt her Amazon blood heat up when she was with the team.

She smiled at her reflection. "All these years of being alone...of being bitter...locking myself up with no one to talk to...I think I have missed being in the world. Being part of the world." There was a brief pause, and Lykopis shut her tired eyes. "But I think...I think...I think it is time for me to take up my place again."

Outside, the Amazon could hear several of the dogs barking and chasing rabbits. She smiled. For the first time in ages, it felt good to live.

Munich, Garmany

Penny was working on some security issues when Doc Paragon entered the room. "Miss Goodweather, it is six o'clock. Shouldn't you be heading home?"

Penny smiled at her boss. "There's still work to be done." She noticed Paragon raise an eyebrow. "Oh, and don't worry, I've never been bothered by odd and long hours. Remember, I did work for a politician." The computers began shutting down. Penny had ordered them to begin closing their programs. "Although I suppose Oscar will be wanting to eat soon."

"You moved here two weeks ago and already have a gentleman friend? Miss Goodweather, I'm pleased, just don't let him distract you from work --"

Paragon was surprised that Penny responded by laughing. "No, no, Oscar's my cat. Named him after an uncle of mine." She pulled back a strand of hair. "Besides, I'm too busy to have a gent. Men don't like workaholics. Lucky for me cats do." Her tone became more business-like. "I'll be here at seven tomorrow morning to open. Jym and I are going to finish getting the security camera operational. I called the painters, they're going to be here by nine in the morning to work on the exterior..."

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

"And where have you been?"

Drake froze and then slowly turned his head to face his wife. "Uh, hi. I was just. I, um, sorta..."

Jessica gave Drake the sort of look only a married woman is capable of giving. "You joined the new European branch of Vanguard."

"I, uh, yeah." Drake thought a moment. "How did you know?"

"Paragon called me before he came to ask you."

"He asked you first?"

"At least someone did."

"I'm sorry, I was just a little caught up in the situation."

"Yeah, I understand. It's good too." Jessica walked over and slipped her arms around him "There was just something wrong about you sitting behind a desk."

"So, it's OK?"

"I guess. But you're going to make this up to me. In a way only you can."

"Does me making this to you involve me having superhuman endurance?"

Jessica smiled up at him. "You could say that."

Drake smiled crookedly. "OK, I think I can handle that."

* * *

An armored figure stood in front of a large screen displaying a map of Europe. The map displayed a line originating in Germany but the figure blocked where the line ended. "So, you survived." Spoke an electronically altered voice. "Good, good." The armored figure turned in a strange, stiff manner revealing only the slight glint of a translucent faceplate and the hint of black and dark red colored metal. "I shall not be denied my revenge."

Amsterdam, Holland

"Hello, sir," a stereotypical english butler, created solely for purposes of this post, greeted Link Fox as soon as he set foot in his luxurious penthouse.

"Hey there, Quentin," Fox replied, marking the most significant event in the butler's short life by giving him a name.

The butler removed his master's cream colored overcoat. "How was your day, sir?"

"Surprisingly good." Fox answered. He walked through the entrance section and away from the butler, heading for the living room. "I had a great time with the Vanguard fellows..."

"Ah. I'm glad to hear that, sir."

"Oh!" Fox remembered something and turned back towards his butler. "Great news for you, Quen."

"Yes? I'm eager to hear them, sir," Quentin said, with a facial expression that showed otherwise.

"As you should. We're moving to Paris, old chap."

"Oh? Because of your participation in Vanguard, sir?"

"Eeeegg-sactly."

"I thought this would be something you would do in your spare time, sir. That is, when you're not watching pornography or reading the funnybooks."

"You missed the 'sir' at the end of that phrase," Fox said, shaking a finger at Quentin. "And the Last Tango in Paris isn't pornography... please."

"My apologies, sir."

Fox started calmly walking away from Quentin once again. "It turns out I have more in common with these people than I thought. I noticed I have something in common with each one of them, in fact... Even the one in a coma I haven't met."

"How odd," the butler said. "You will tell them about it, then, sir?"

"No." Fox stopped walking and looked down. Suddenly he seemed very somber. "I can't risk it."

Noticing the change in his master's mood, and knowing he didn't enjoy remembering certain things, Quentin changed the topic. "If I may ask... why did you say this was good news for me, sir?"

"Ah! Because I know you like 'em french, Quent."

Quentin pretended to look insulted. "I don't discriminate, sir. I love all men equally."

Fox laughed and shook his head. "Silly homasexuals..."

"Ozzy....we're at grandma's house...time to wake up..."

Baxter's comatose form did not show any signs of awareness or movement.

The man rubbed his chin, almost perplexed at the lack of reaction.

"Well, that's about all I can do, really...."

"Whot?!" Dr. McGregor asked, spinning towards the man with an annoyed stare. "Jaysis criste', Jody! I didn't fly you all the way here so you could read him 'is bedtime stories!"

"Why can't you just say 'Jesus Christ', like everyone else?" his friend half-smiled, cocking a single brow.

"Listen, you twat, I'M not going to hell..." McGregor replied, quickly crossing himself. "...and you're damn well going to do more than--"

"What do you want me to do, Ian?" Dr. Jody Huerta exclaimed, his normally calm demeanor barely rising in tone. "Read him a chapter in the text books that says it's all in his head?"

"At least do a standard examination of--"

"Examination? I'm clinical psyche! Baxter's unconscious!" he explained. "My field of expertise may not stop at the threshold of consciousness, but, my ability to examine and treat him does."

Ian sighed deeply, rubbing his haggard, exhausted face.

"I know..." Ian nodded. "I know."

Huerta watched him, studying the fatigue under his eyes.

"What's up, Ian? I haven't seen you this flustered since finals week."

"Oh, I'll take trying to memorize Crabtree's analysis over this any day..."

"What'd you get in that class? 'D'?"

"A 'C', thank you!"

"Right...right...it was Stoney's class you nearly flunked..."

"Man, he was hitting on me the entire semester."

"Arthur Stonewall is a noted author and scholar, and--"

"He's also a noted queen, too."

"--AND, I think you're full of shit." Huerta continued unabated. "If memory serves....and it rarely doesn't....I believe your difficulties lay elsewhere. I believe you met one Kara Ingram at the beginning of that semester..."

"Oh, hell....'Icy Ingram'....forgotten about her..." Ian chuckled, lost in a memory.

"Well, Mora Staples certainly didn't..."

"Did they ever get married?"

"Last I heard, they moved to one of the legal states in the U.S. and made it official."

"Heh." Ian grinned. "Who knew ol'Icy was gay?"

"Who knew you were?" Huerta replied.

"Good point." McGregor nodded.

"Come on, I'll let you buy me a coffee while you show me around..." Huerta motioned.

"Buy you a coffee?" Ian replied, as they headed through the doorway. "No one has to buy anything around here..."

The two began strolling down the very long, and very busy hallway. Smooth, greyish-metal walls added a touch of the futuristic, belying the technology housed within the building.

"So, this is the M.R.C., eh?" Huerta asked, studying his surroundings as they walked.

"The one and only." McGregor nodded. "Within this building are the top clinical minds on everything pertaining to the word metahuman."

"And they let you hang out with them. How quaint."

"Arse."

"Heh." the psychologist grinned. "So, do you get benefits or..."

"Are you kidding me? Daddy-Paragon had the insurance industry create entirely new sections of liability coverage BECAUSE of us." McGregor stated, pausing to sign a clipboard offered to him by a very pretty and very-noticed-by-Huerta nurse. "We have every advantage over every other metahuman facility on the planet."

"Except me, of course..." Huerta added nonchalantly under his breath.

"Well, that's just because you're an elitist snob who's obsessed with a trio of head-cases."

"Yes, the boys send their love."

"Screw their love! I want the one-fifty Blackwulf still owes me!"

"And, I want Amanda Peet covered in baby oil, lying in my bed." Huerta shrugged. "...we've both got equal odds."

The two finished the rest of their banter in the break room. However, that is for employees and their guests only. And, as such, the narration will have to pick back up as they enter Dr. McGregor's office.

"...so, I said, Are you crazy? I'm not doing that with a horse!" Ian laughed.

"...what the hell kind of Churches do you go to..." Huerta shook his head, slipping into one of the brown, leather recliners lining the office.

Ian promptly lay back-flat on his desk, stretching completely out, hands behind his head.

"So...I've got this problem, Doc..." he began.

Huerta leaned back into his recliner, cradling his coffee.

"Go on." he nodded.

"Well...see...I've got this patient, right? He's comatose. Won't respond to any therapy. No treatment has helped. I've examined him head to toe, all the way down to his pretty marvelous molecular structure."

"I see..." Huerta nodded, pulling a notepad and a pen from his shirt pocket.

"The only thing I can come up with is that it's all psychological. That he's placed himself so deeply into some...I don't know...protective state...that his conscious mind refuses to acknowledge that there's nothing wrong."

"Do you think it's a symptom of his metability?"

"The initial coma, sure." Ian sighed. "According to all of his medical records, his body does this whenever it is presented with some form of physical conflict that it cannot readily compensate against."

"So, then, would it be feasible to believe that, perhaps, he has developed mental attributes and defense mechanisms in a similar fashion? That, for whatever reason, this time...he was sent into an even deeper subconscious state?"

"Mmmm." Ian nodded, staring at the ceiling fan. "I've got a few postulations running on this. Looking back over his records, I've begun to see a pattern on what causes this state, and, how long he has remained down each time."

"This is the longest, I take it?"

"No, no...he missed nearly six months in the beginning..."

Huerta frowned.

"In the beginning of what?"

"When his gene kicked in..." Ian replied, glancing over at his friend. "You know...have you not read Baxter's file?"

"No...I've never had the chance." Huerta shook his head. "Ms. Xiang had them sealed at his personal request."

"Sealed?"

"Seems Baxter has a shady past. One, I can only guess, that he's not proud of..."

"Well, I didn't receive his personal file...just the medical records. Hospital reports...psyche profiles...sports injuries...the like."

McGregor arched his back, digging under him. He finally pulled a vanilla folder out from under his ass, and tossed it to Huerta.

"There...light reading for you..."

Huerta flipped through some of the pages.

"Hmmm..."

"What?"

"What?"

"You said 'Hmmm'. What were you saying 'Hmmm' for?"

"Oh, nothing really. Old 'couch-reflex'. I haven't actually read anything yet." he smiled.

"Read the damn thing." Ian motioned. "I'll wait."

"You really think this is going to work?"

"Shot in the dark."

"I'm glad it's you and not me..." Ian sighed. "How we doing, Ruby?"

"All ready, Doctor..." Nurse Piper offered, hitting the last few switches on the monitor. She leaned forward, adjusting one of the many sensor pads lining Ozzy's forehead. "...all brain functions are still at recorded levels..."

"Right...off you go, then..." Ian nodded, taking a seat next to the surgical table. "...Barbara should be along shortly. You know she likes her space when she's working."

"I'll be in ward seven if you need anything." she replied, closing the door behind her.

Huerta shivered a bit.

"It's a damn freezer in here." he said, taking an adjacent seat at the head of the table. "Why are we doing this in an operating room anyway?"

"Oh, suck it up, you girl..." McGregor frowned. "We all have our way of doing things, right? You prop all the miswired-weirdos on leather couches..."

"'Miswired-weirdos'?" Huerta shot back. "Where's your bedside manner?"

"...what is it with those couches, anyway?" Ian continued. "Why do all you psyche-boys have to flock to long, leather couches?"

"...oh, look who's talking...still touchy about your skull, I'll bet..."

"...I mean, why not recliners, or, a nice single bed...."

"...which you named Fred..."

Huerta suddenly paused, a wave of strange nausea passing quickly through him.

"...what..." he said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, that's Barb..." the doctor explained. "...means she's coming down the hall..."

"Some greeting..." Huerta frowned.

"No...I told you, she's blind and deaf." Ian shook his head.

"But, she's also a telepath."

"Right. And, that's how she 'sees' what's in front of her..."

"By making me nauseous?"

|||The nausea is an unfortunate side-effect for those that are not accustomed to my sweeps|||

The voice came at an echoed distance, even as a tall, lanky woman entered the room. Wire-frame shades, tinted as red as her hair, hid wide, sightless eyes. A ponytail, firmly braided into a single weave, pulled fiery strands tight along a perfect cranium.


Jodyhuerta Ian's voice rang in Huerta's head. Barbara

|||Tighten your thoughts, Ian||| her soothing voice came again. |||Dr. Huerta can barely make out your introduction|||

"...this is...odd..." Huerta spoke aloud, even as the thin-framed woman took her seat.

"Think it." Ian remarked.

"Wha--"

"Don't speak it...think it..." he said.

|||What Dr. McGregor is trying to say, is that, once linked, the telepathic community generally considers it rude to speak aloud during a thought-conference|||Barbara explained. |||And, to complete the rest of the patterns I see forming within you, yes, we are speaking telepathically. No, I am not sneaking into your private rooms. Yes, I use other people's senses as my own when I am near them. Yes, that is where the nausea originates. Yes, I am head of the M.R.C. Psychiatric Division.|||

Huerta opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short, instead closing his eyes.

...I...see..

|||Very good, Dr. Huerta. I can see this is not your first experience with a telepath. A Mr. Smith, is it?|||

...If...you work here....why hasn't this procedure...been attempted already?

Need guide Ian's voice replied.

|||That's right, Ian. I may have the skills to peer into Mr. Baxter's head, however, I would have no frame of reference for what I might find. We needed someone who knows him. Who knows what to look for, and why.|||

Yeah Ian added. Have fun with that

Huerta gave him the finger.

|||If you are ready, Dr. Huerta, I suggest we get started|||

Why was there no sound?

Nuriko stared in slight confusion to her surroundings, looking back and forth along the long...seemingly endless...hallway of the hospital. The cool floor met each barefooted step in as much muted effort as those rushing around her.

Two nurses frantically ran by her, followed by three white-shirted interns. Their mouths chattering away with quick orders, yet, not a single sound escaped into her ears.

The slender asian turned, staring at the commotion of the staff. Something was wrong. Something was happening. Trolleys of medical equipment, and more staff sped past her, turning the corner down at the far end of the hall.

She slowly began walking, following the flow of other doctors. Her pace grew steadily, as she became certain that something bad was happening. She didn't know why, or how. But, she knew.

And her heart's pace quickened. The first noise she could make out. A constant thumping. A constant.....beeping?

She turned the corner of the hallway, expecting to find a terrible tragedy. Expecting to confront a gruesome sight. And, as her view rounded the corner, she was met with, simply, another stretch of hallway.

She began running. Faster, and faster, she ran. Following the hallway. Keeping pace with the rest of the nurses that sped by....and did not notice her.

Two double-doors stood still swinging from the last person to pass, a very large member of the security personnel standing to the side, watching with an obvious wish that he was needed in some way. That he could help in some fashion.

The nurses burst through the swinging doors, Nuriko following unnoticed.

A crew of physicians, lead by Dr. Ian McGregor, crowded the operating theater, scrambling around the center table. Nurses fumbling with throat tubes. Technicians firing up cardiac pads. They worked and scurried as one, these professionals. They scrambled as a team, trying desperately to fix some problem.

To right some wrong.

||Thank you for coming.||

Nuriko jerked around to the voice. A tall, elegant woman...a doctor, by the look of her white coat...stood near the rear of the room. Her red hair pulled tightly against her cranium, red-spectacles hid sightless eyes.

Where am I? Nuriko said with no sound. What's happening?

Before the woman could respond, Nuriko felt a warm hand place against her shoulder. She turned to find....

"Hey..."

Ozzy?

The barechested boxer smiled, small pads still lining his forehead. He slowly pulled her body close, embracing her in a warm hug.

"God...it seems like months since I last saw you..."

Ozzy, what's happening? Where am I?

"Well, see, there's been a.....problem...."

He turned, looking behind him at the center of the silent room. Nuriko followed his gaze back to the operating table. This time, she could make out Dr. Huerta sitting on the floor a few feet away from the scurry of activity, holding a small cloth against his nosebleed.

Huerta...?

||Dr. Huerta will be quite fine|| Barbara said. || I cushioned most of the neural backlash.||

Neural....I don't understand...will someone PLEASE tell me where I am and what's happe--

She stopped immediately, her eyes finally glimpsing beyond the sea of doctors and nurses....finally able to make out the form on the operating platform.

The body.....of Ozzy Baxter.

She turned, her eyes full of bewilderment, staring at the boxer who was standing right behind her.

He simply smiled, shrugging.

...Ozzy?

"Sometimes...." he began. "...sometimes...shit happens, you know?"

The patient on the operating table jerked suddenly, the cardiac pads contacting his chest.

"Every fighter steps out of the ring at some point...."

No... Nuriko mouthed, suddenly beginning to grasp the ethereal situation. Ozzy...you can't...

"It's okay....really...." he added with a warm smile. "...I had a good run, didn't I?"

Oh....oh...Ozzy...I....I... Nuriko stammered with no sound.

"Sorry if I caused you more problems than I was worth, okay? I can be.....I was....a real jackass at times..."

Nuriko felt something. Something in her eye. Something....wet...

A tear?

Ozzy....I implore you...

The patient jerked again.

...you can't die....not yet....not like this....

"It's not really up to me, now is it?" he added with a chuckle. "You get that knock-out clip to the jaw, you're going to the mat. That's just the way life is..."

Nuriko was speechless. Why was this happening? Why was she here? Why...why was she...crying?

"Listen..." Ozzy added, his face becoming serious. "...before I go...I just wanted...."

He stammered, trailing off briefly. She stared into his eyes, watching the honesty creep forth.

"...I just wanted to know if you could do one thing for me..."

...yes? she replied.

"I just wanted...." he said, stepping up to her, "....I just wanted a.......kiss......"

She stared back speechless, the dawn of realization coming over her. Of what was happening. Of what had to be done.

No.

Ozzy stopped. His face etched in confusion and uncertainty.

"...no?!" he asked incredulously.

No...MR. Baxter... she responded, her nerves of steel returning to their proper place. .....I will NOT kiss you.....

Ozzy was almost speechless.

"But....but...I mean....I...just...I...."

If you wish to kiss me, you will have to do it in the real world....

The patient jerked with a higher voltage, the expressions of the doctors increasing in concern, as they scrambled desperately to save this man.

...in reality...not this strange fugue, dream-state we seem to be sharing....

Barbara slowly smiled.

"But, Nuriko...it's my time--"

Are you not a figher, Mr. Baxter? she replied cooly. Is it not your profession to strive for victory in combat? Is it not your way to strike your opponents when they strike you?

"Nuriko...."

"Start fighting, Mr. Baxter." she stated with a defined clarity, her voice finally beginning to ring true in her own ears. "If you want me....."

He stared at her with a building determination....

....and the doctors hit the pads one last time....

"...then fight for me, Ozzy!"

There was a sudden loud beeping noise, emanating from the heart monitor across the room. It grew more rhythmic.

And louder.

And...louder....

.....louder......

Nuriko's eyes suddenly jerked wide, as she sat up in her bed, startled. Her pants were quick, as she surveyed her surroundings.

She was in a hospital bed, her hear monitor beeping with a loud, rhythmic pace.

"You're awake...." a nurse said, stepping quickly into the room.

Nuriko looked around with confusion.

"...where..." she tried to speak, her vocal cords dry and hoarse.

"It's okay. You're okay. Lie down, Ms. Sai....everything is fine." the nurse comforted her, helping her to lie back again.

The nurse checked the monitors next to her, studying the readouts.

"You are in London. The Metahuman Research Center." the nurse explained. "Doctor Henry Quantos had you sent here due to the exteme nature of your injuries."

"...am...I..."

"You're fine, now." she replied with a comforting voice. "We've corrected your spinal injuries, and your punctured lung seems to be mending nicely. Still, it's going to be a long recovery, okay? We'll need to keep you here for awhile for rehabilitation."

Nuriko sighed, taking in the information. Remembering what happened in La Perdita.

Her eyes suddenly grew very frantic....

"...Ozzy...?"

The nurse cocked an eye with slight surprise.

"Yes...yes, Mr. Baxter has been here for a couple of months as well..." she nodded. "How did you know---"

"Is...he....okay?"

"Well....funny you should ask that..." she said. "....we almost lost him about an hour ago. But, then, out of nowhere....he came back to us. He's in post-op recovery now, and all of his signs are stable..."

Her voice dropped off a bit, still staring at Nuriko.

"...what...?"

"Oh...it's nothing, really..." the nurse smiled. "...it's just....well, when Mr. Baxter finally regained consciousness...he asked......the first thing he asked.....was about you...."

A smile finally broke across Nuriko's face, as she lay back peacefully....

". . .that's wonderful news, Ian. Yes, I'm well aware of the risk you've undergone. Yes, I'll take full responsibility should it come to that. Yes, well, the MRC is not without it's own resources, is it? Hahaha. Well said, old friend, well said. Keep me informed of his progress. You have my cell and pager numbers. Later."

William Paragon turned off his phone and took a sip of the wine on his desk. He turned and opened the sliding glass door leading to the balcony outside his office. He gazed out over the clear, night sky filled with stars and smiled contendedly. Fragmented lyrics to an old song passed through his mind as he savored the city lights in the not too far off distance. . ..are you a lucky little lady in the city of light. . .

Workmen would now be installing larger spatial inducers in the homes of Drake Marshall, Icarus Sidewinder, and Lykopis for easier travel to the offices in Munich. Adem and Gaunt would be a little more difficult, as they had no fixed addresses as yet. But things shouldn't be a problem.

He smiled and the lights were reflected in his eyes. Everything was going to be just fine. For them, and if he had anything to say about it, the world.

Finis.