RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block Vanguard: MURDER MYSTERY!

It wasn't a pretty sight. Not a pretty sight at all.

Until last night, her name was Emma Sigfried. At 23, she was already set for life because of her family's wealth. Unlike her father and, by extent, her mother, she actually felt guilt over being so insanely rich without ever having to work. This is why, instead of spending her life travelling like her parents did before dying in a plane accident when she was 17, she decided to become a teacher and dedicate her life to educating children in poor sectors of her beloved Liverpool. Until last night.

Death caught her when she was vacationing in Berlin for the holidays. She didn't like spending her time like that, but the holidays were an exception. Her deceased parents being her only family, she felt nostalgic during this time of the year. The Berlin penthouse was on top of a building with such expensive rates that it was mostly empty. Emma's closest neighbor lived fourteen stories under her. But the penthouse was also her parents' favorite property when they were alive, and where they spent most of their festivities. It was the only one of her father's luxurious places that Emma didn't sell or donate after she legally gained control of her family's estate.

Now her brains and shattered skull, along with a pool of her own dark blood, stained a great portion of the living room's ceramic floor, that, in addition to being completely ruined by this mess, also suffered from lenghty cracks. Said cracks in the ceramic originated under the remains of Emma's head (right next to a wall where several family photos hanged) and ended several feet away.

Emma's body, on the other hand, seemed unharmed and fully clothed. On the floor near her lay a thick leather wallet, closed by a small button. A long stain of blood started on the floor, continued over the upper face of the wallet, and ended back on the floor. Splashes of blood like this one were common in the surroundings of Emma's body.

But, by far, the oddest part of the scene was the wall next to Emma's corpse. Not because of the small splashes of blood that stained some of the pictures hanging from it. Not because of the small percentage of the brain that now decorated the lower part of it. No, what was so unusual was the writing on the wall: the words "BANG BANG", written with bright red blood in thin large letters.

An hour from now, a childhood friend of Emma would show up at her door and use the key she's owned for years to walk in and surprise her. After crying and screaming for nearly half and hour, instead of calling the police she would call her dad, a powerful german industrial who knew and befriended both Emma and her father, who after hearing what his little girl had found would vow to her that he make sure the killer was found, even if that meant pulling some strings and not going by the legal channels...

Los Angeles, CA, USA

Home office of Paragon Industries

Dr. William L. Paragon's Office


The phone on Paragon's desk rings a preset number of times. After the call is not answered, it is rerouted out automatically to an energy conversation project in Northern California that Doc Paragon is overseeing.

William's cell rings. A familiar yet, rarely heard ringtone, alerting him to the identity of the caller. "Montag, you old devil! How are you? It's been what, six, seven years?"

"Seven, Will, if you don't count that nasty business in Mexico." The former thief known as the Sandcrawler responded. "Listen, Will, this isn't exactly a social call. We've got a job offer, but things are kinda crazy here on the island at present, and I was wondering if yer boys in Germany could handle it. It's kinda in your neck o' the woods, anyway."

Paragon reached into his inside coat pocket with his free hand pulled out a small metallic cube. "Tell me more, Griss." Pressing the cube between his thumb and forefinger, it emitted a small cascade of energy which opened a brief pathway in time and space in front of Paragon. Stepping into the pathway, Doc Paragon literally walked from California to the inside office of Vanguard Europe in Munich, Germany in mere moments.

"I see. Well, thank you for calling, Grissom. I'll put some of our best on the case." Paragon pocketed his cellphone and the subspatial inducer as the doorway in time and space closed behind him.

"Good morning, sir." Penny Goodweather smiled from her desk. "Would you like some coffee?"

"No, thank you, Penny. I need you to get hold of some of our field team. I have a feeling it's going to be a long day."

"Who do we need?" Penny's eyes rolled back a bit as she mentally called up the contact information for the Vanguard Europe field team.

"Put them all on alert, but for the moment, I need you to send Adem, Ozzy, and Edmund to this address in Berlin. . ."

"Ozzy..."

BAM!

"Ozzy..."

BAM!

Ozzy fell flat on his ass for the tenth time. He looked up at his business associate. Adem Different had met up with Vanguard's boxer outside the building. The two had made their way to the penthouse where the murder took place. However, in a lapse of reason, no one had discovered how to get into the crime scene. The door was locked.

Which is why Mr. Baxter was busting his rear trying to open the mahogany door. He rammed into the wood, trying to break the lock. Every attempt ended the same way -- him looking up at the ceiling. "We could just wait for Gaunt..."

BAM!

"Shadow-dude is taking his sweet ass time getting here." Ozzy had an idea. He backed to the edge of the wall opposite of the door. "Here we go..." Ozzy charged at his target...

...which then opened easily. Ozzy skidded past the open door, tripped on a rug, and fell face-forward into the expensive hardwood floor. Adem followed, walking slowing into the penthouse. He turned to his other associate, Edmund Gaunt. "How long have you been standing there?"

Gaunt looked at Ozzy. The boxer groaned, got off the floor, and shot Gaunt a nasty look. Gaunt smirked faintly. "About five minutes before you both arrived here."

"Fuck. You."

Adem stepped forward. "Alright, alright. Let's take a look to see what we can find..."

"You ever investigated a murder before?"

"Not really," Drake kicked a can. "But I watch CSI whenever I get a break."

The two men had just stepped off the subway train. They were now in the downtown district of Berlin. "Welcome to the capital of Germany, Mr. Foxe."

"Kick-ass. So what's the next step?"

Drake pulled out his cell phone. "We need someone good at interrigation..."

*** *** ***

Meadowbrook Apartments, Berlin, Germany

Lykopis heard her cell phone ring. She yawned like a hound, brushed the hair off of her face, and felt for the phone on the nightstand. The room was still dark. "Lykopis here. Drake?"

"Listen, Vanguard has a murder case to solve."

Lykopis yawned again. "Drake, I am a fighter, not a detective. Besides, Adem can do everything himself. And I only got two hours of sleep last night."

"We need your talents too. Meet us at the Berlin courthouse in a half-hour."

The She-Wolf bit her lip. "One hour. Do not rush me." The cell phone was turned off before Drake could reply. She turned to the other side of the bed. "I have work today."

Todd Briggs stretched out and yawned. "They keep you busy, eh?"

Lykopis was already out of bed and getting dressed. "You have no idea." She looked around on the floor. "Have you seen my dagger?"

Briggs laughed. "The dagger is on the kitchen countertop. The sheath is on the coffee table. The spare keys are by the door. I take it you won't be back for the concert tonight?"

Briggs played in one of Berlin's orchestras, and tonight The Nutcracker Suite would premiere. And this case meant that her plans for the evening were about to be changed. "Probably not."

"I'll cancel dinner."

Lykopis scowled. "Do not do that. It is just a murder case. I will be back in time for dinner."

"Yeah. Right. I'll see you tomorrow, baby."

*** *** ***

"Nice building," was all Lykopis said to Drake and Tommy as she approached them.

Both Foxe and Lykopis turned to Drake. "So what now?" asked Tommy.

"We conduct a little investigation of our own. I hope Adem's found something worthwhile..."

"Don't touch that."

"What? Why not? There's no blood on it." Ozzy Baxter quizzed his partner. "It's all the way on the other side of the room."

"One thing I've learned in my time here is that you humans give off small amounts of dust bunnies constantly. You could be tainting important evidence." Adem Different said proudly, moving Ozzy's arm away from a small ming vase in Emma's apartment.

"Well, I guess I'll just sit on the. .." Ozzy moved towards the couch.

"Don't sit there!" Adem said rapidly, pulling Ozzy out of his movement towards the couch.

"Is there anything here I can do?!" Baxter screamed in frustration.

Edmund Gaunt stood in a far corner of the room, half shadowed. He remained silent. He'd taken off his glasses and seemed to be staring out into the room with his dark orbs.

Tilting his head back so slightly as to be almost imperceptible, he began to reach out, into the surrounding shadows, searching. . .searching. . .searching for the killer of Emma Siegfried.

"You want me to... what, exactly?"

Dr. William Paragon steepled his fingers and leaned back in his high-backed leather chair. "I want you to stay here until I see fit to deploy you."

Icarus Sidewinder was not happy to hear that. "Bullshit!" he yelled, jumping out of his seat. "You expect me to just sit here and wait for everyone else to do their thing?"

"Icarus," Paragon said, tilting his head slightly, "not every situation calls for your particular manner of expertise... that being the 'shoot-first-ask-questions-later' style of information gathering."

Vanguard Europe's resident pilot slouched into his seat, his arms crossed and a slight pout on his face. "So now what?" he asked. "Durden, Spock, and Perry are at the crime scene... She-Bitch, Captain America, and rookie of the year are off doing who knows what... and I'm here. With you. And the secretary from Hell."

Paragon smiled. "Yes, I think that sums it up rather nicely." Icarus continued to sulk, a scowl gradually creeping across his features. Paragon sighed heavily and swallowed a small lump in his throat. "Look, Icarus. If you're that hard up for something to do, I'll give you a sort of... mini-mission to occupy your time until we need your particular skills."

"Thank you!" the pilot yelled, throwing his hands in the air. "Anything to get me out of here!"

Paragon pulled a small disc-like object from his pocket and handed it to Icarus. "Take this," he said.

"What is this?" Sidewinder asked, picking up the disc and turning it over in his hand.

"It's a portable link-up with Jym," Paragon answered.

{{Hello,}} the AI said to Icarus who, in his surprise and confusion, dropped the disc to the ground.

{{Ow!}} Jym cried as he hit the floor. {{Watch what you're doing!}}

"Did it really feel that?" Icarus asked, pointing to the ground.

{{No,}} came Jym's voice from the floor, {{but I imagine you'll think twice about dropping a pricey piece of alien artificial intelligence again...}}

"Don't press your luck!" Icarus rebutted. He looked back to Paragon. "And what am I supposed to do with that, Paragon?" he asked.

{{'Him'... not 'that'...}}

"Not now, Jym..." Paragon answered, rubbing his forehead in that way he did when he was beginning to get frustrated.

{{Very well,}} Jym responded, {{but it is easier for me not to interject when I am not on the floor.}}

"Icarus, pick him up," Paragon said, motioning to Jym's place on the floor.

"Why should I--"

"Because if you don't, I may not deploy you at all," Paragon said, raising his voice just enough to get Icarus' attention. Icarus quickly stooped down low, grabbed the AI disc, and sat in his seat... almost as if it were one fluid motion.

"Thank you," Paragon said. "Now, the two of you are to go to the archives located in the west wing of the building. Look through the global data records - private and public - specifically those files dealing with serial killings. I want to know what you can find as to the nature of this killing."

"Research," Sidewinder blinked. "Years of piloting and combat experience... and you've got me doing research with an inanimate hunk of metal?"

"You want to help?" Paragon said, gesturing vaguely. "You can either research or interview Mr. Reilly on the possible 'hows' and 'whys' of Ms. Sigfried's death."

Icarus paused slightly. "I'll stick with the computer..." he said quickly.

{{A wise choice,}} Jym piped up.

"Shut up," Icarus retorted.

{{Make me.}}

"You make me."

{{You first.}}

"No, you."

{{No. You.}}

William shook his head heavily and ran his hands through his snowy locks. "What have I done?" he muttered to himself.

The doors of the penthouse suite suddenly burst open, a wave of pure 80's rock-and-roll sweeping in with an entrance...

WEELLL HERE I AAAAAMMM!

Ian McGregor strutted in with the beat, lip-synching the performance perfectly...

ROOOCKKKK ME LIKE A HURRICANE!!

Coming down the minimal stairs into the center of the lavish foyer, he continued to strut, bobbing his head back and forth, completely lost in the world of 1980's glam-rock.

HERE I AAAAMMM!!

Ozzy stared on with something resembling confusion and disgust. Gaunt found his face remaining its normal fixed stare, ever-so-familiar with the antics of this particular physician.

ROOOOCCCKKK....

...Ian's face grimaced, eyes clenched tight, straining with the screeching note...

....ME LIKE A HURRICANE!!

With that, he slumped back into his casual stance, coming up to face them with a cocky smile. He suddenly realized the music was still going, and promptly shot his eyes to the doorway. The music immediately ceased, Nurse Ruby Piper coming in still holding the large 'boom box'.

"You missed the mark!" he griped. "You always miss the mark!"

"...sorry...I can't tell when you're done..." she mumbled fumbling with few switches on the portable stereo.

Ian grunted, turning back to face the bewildered Vanguardians. The doctor sort of half-nodded a greeting, while placing something resembling a cigarette into his mouth.

"What the...hell...was that?" Ozzy asked, McGregor lighting his smoke.

"Entrance theme, rite'..." McGregor shrugged. "Figured if I was going ta' be heading out into the field with you silly spandex-tarts, I needed my own entrance-theme."

"Do you see anyone here wearing spandex?" Edmund replied, folding his arms.

McGregor took a puff from his smoke, looking around casually. He looked back to Gaunt with a noncommital shrug.

"Speaking of fashion sense..." Ozzy remarked, looking McGregor up and down.

The doctor was not wearing anything resembling medical garb. In fact, he looked as if he had just come from some kind of nightclub. He was decked out in black leather pants, a muted crimson and purple floral-print silk buttonup with a wide collar, and black dress shoes. His short, thick sandy-red hair was spiked in small clusters, giving it that mussed-up, 'rock star' look.

"I came offa thirty-six-hours straight, six-hours ago..." he replied, half of his mouth holding the burning smoke. "...what do you want from me?"

"A full examination of the crime scene before your next set, if you please?" Edmund asked.

McGregor lightly bowed, and, instantly strode forth into the living room, the others following.

The living room spread forth in its tarnished mix of macabre and splendor. Strodding purposefully around any spots of blood or organic debris, he came to a stop in front of a squatting Adem Different.

"Bad luck." McGregor grimaced, staring down at the body.

Adem looked up at Ian with neutral eyes.

"Yes." he nodded.

"How long she been here?" the doctor asked, looking around at the damage.

"Hard to tell." Different replied. "I'm estimating eight hours, given the dryness of some of the blood spots."

"I was going to say seven, but you're probably right..." Ian nodded, squatting down next to the alien.

Ozzy started sniffing the air with a confused expression. His eyes finally settled on Ian.

"Are you smoking.....a joint?" he asked incredulously.

"...Doctor..." Ruby sighed, seemingly just now noticing he was smoking anything at all.

"And yor' problem is?" the doctor replied, Nurse Piper pulling the smoke from his lips, and walking towards the balconey.

"Well, for one thing...it's illegal..." Gaunt remarked with a cocked brow.

"So is breaking-and-entering...so is tampering with a crime scene..." McGregor responded, he and Adem still examining the body. "...I mean, when are you going to call the law?"

The Shadow Chancellor just grunted under his breath, turning away with a sigh.

"...have you noticed how the cranium splits off in these three main fractures?" Adem mumbled to Ian, completely ignoring everything else around him.

"Yes..." McGregor nodded thoughtfully, allowing himself to fall back into a sitting position in the air. He quickly crossed his legs in a neo-buddhist contortion, steepling his fingers in a relaxed posture.

"That specific impact point..." Adem continued, pointing along a certain area of the bloody mess. "...given a relative surface-area to pressure ratio..."

"...three-hundred-pounds of pressure..." Ian danced the numbers in his head. "...coming in at...how fast? Ten? Fifteen-miles-an-hour?"

"First guess is twenty." Adem nodded. "But, I'd need to get better stats on the pressure-resistance of this particular type of ceramic..."

"Mmm..." Ian thought. "...RUBY!!...call the office...have Cates and Rhimer bring some of the autop-staff in...we need to get this body in deep-freeze, stat!"

Ruby Piper was still across the room, lit narcotic in hand, trying to open the balconey door.

"Ugnt!" she grunted, pulling on the handle. "Just a minute!"

"I need it TODAY, Ruby!" Ian yelled back across the room.

"Hold...unggh!...on!"

Baxter, noticing her dilema, walked over to help her.

"Here...here..." he offered, taking both the joint, and the door in hand. "...I got it..."

"Thank you!" she said frustrated with the jammed door. She headed back across the room, whipping her cell phone out...

Ozzy wrestled with the handle using one hand, the other holding the smoking stick. He switched hands, and it didn't help. He then, without thinking, put the joint between his lips, using both hands. It was only a moment before he realized that he had just put a lit joint in his mouth, and quickly yanked it out, coughing a bit.

"...ugh..." he murmured with a grimace, the smell and taste of the substance bringing back memories of college. "...what the hell was I thinking back then...."

He crushed the burning part of the joint between his fingertips, shoving it into his pockets. Then, with both hands, began struggling with the handle. After another moment, he stood back from it, prepared to ram it through with his shoulder. He, of course, decided against it, since the door as mostly made of glass, it was a small balconey, and they were over fifteen stories up.

He looked the door up and down, confused...

"...how many Vanguardians does it take to open a door..." he mumbled to himself.

His eyes drifted down to the floor, and, that's when he noticed it. A chunk of white ceramic was lodged under the door, holding it tight. He knelt down yanking the masonry from its lodging, and brought it up eye level.

It was crusted with blood...

"Hey Diff..." he yelled across the room. "....catch...."

He tossed the piece of ceramic to Adem.

"Found it under the door over here...." he added, turning back to the balconey.

The doors opened normally, now. The strong, brisk late morning breeze washing in with fresh air. Baxter walked out, smiling with the bright, beautiful morning he was greeted with. He stood on the edge of the wide, granite balconey, leaning against the bannister with a deep breath of crisp air.

He looked around, studying the view from the extravagent height. Taking in the beautiful scenery around him, he breathed with a warm sigh.

"...must be nice..." he said to himself.

After a moment or two taking in the view, he remembered he had the small burnt roach in his pocket. Pulling it out, he prepared to toss it over the edge. He paused, looking at it for a moment, a small smile coming to his lips.

"...well....it wasn't all bad times...." he grinned, thinking about his drug-induced past.

He stared at the small marijuana stick, considering putting it back into his pocket for later, when he suddenly realized that the view of a nice, silver skyrise in his left peripheral vision, had become replaced with the view of a dark, smooth stomach, and bare navel.

It took even Ozzy's brain only nanoseconds to realize that for any navel to be in his peripheral vision at this moment, it would have to be standing on nothing at all.

"...I'm not going to like this, am I?" Baxter asked the small, burnt joint, before looking up.

And, there she was. A tall, African female, her body was curved and etched with a tensile muscle structure that devoured anything less than an absolute rock-hard definition.

"...moto-boi-que'..." she said with a thick Zimbabwe accent, floating on the air current before him. Her breasts and waist hidden by rough animal hide, her long, thick hair was braided in tight, heavy dreadlocks, tittering along the wind. Gold rings, and thin ornamental bracelts decorated her body, as three tribal hoops of metal around her neck.

"...uhh..." Baxter got out, staring up at the floating goddess with his mouth hanging loose in confusion.

She stepped forward in the air, coming over the bannister. With a single, casual motion, she reached out, gripped Ozzy by his upper left arm, and tossed him straight over the balconey with ease.

"SSSSSHHHHHIIIIIIiiiiittttt...." Ozzy yelled, his voice dropping away.

The tall woman grabbed the balconey door in one hand, ripping it from its hinges with a glass-shattering crack.

"Holy--" Ian remarked, as everyone in the room turned just in time to see her toss the free door straight at them.

Ruby screamed, even as Edmund flung his arms open, using what bit of shadow he could muster to envelope the projectile into the void.

"Take it outside! TAKE IT OUTSIDE!" Ian instantly barked, diving for cover.

The woman launched herself into the room, coming right at the ensemble....

"Ground floor!" Edmund yelled in a reply. He whipped the flaps of his overcoat open in a broad motion, a burst of shadow-matter enveloping the attacker and himself.

Adem brought his wrist-link up to his mouth...

"...all points...we have an issue..."

"Next."

Most people would not be able to look at the images scrolling across Icarus Sidewinder's computer screen at the moment. Truth be told, they were not images intended for the weak of heart.

...but it was part of the living. One that Icarus didn't necessecarily enjoy.

{{Manson, Charles. (see also: Manson family) At large during the late 1960s, Manson and his cult followers - called 'the Family' - were responsible for the murder of Sharon Tate and several other individuals. The members of the Family included several flower children, including...}}

"Next."

Icarus rubbed his eyes. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

{{Dahmer, Jeffery. Beginning in 1978, Dahmer embarked on a killing spree that spanned two decades and included the murders of 16 individual men. He admitted to mutilation, dismemberment, and cannibalization of his victims. Dahmer was killed in 1994 by a fellow prison inmate after a drive-by 'shivving'.}}

"Jym..." Icarus sighed. "This is neither the time nor the place..."

{{Sorry,}} Jym's tinny voice rang out. {{Apparently Earth humor is too sophisticated for the likes of this simplistic artificial intelligence...}}

Icarus shook his head in disgust. "Next."

{{Lecter, Hannibal. Doctor. Aliases include "Hannibal the Cannibal". Like Dahmer, Lecter was also known for the cannibalization of his victims. In 1991, he aided FBI investigator Clarice Starling in her investigation of the 'Buffalo Bill' murders. Lecter escaped shortly after--}}

"Jym, that was a movie!" Icarus shouted, interrupting the mechanized rant. "That didn't really happen! Hannibal Lecter isn't a real serial killer!"

{{Says you.}}

"Says everybody!" Icarus said, finally exasperated. "Just ask them! In fact, I don't even know why we're having this conversation!"

{{Because Dr. Paragon told you to research serial killers for some sort of correlation between...}}

"I know what William told me to do!" Icarus barked, fury rising into his eyes. "But he didn't tell me I couldn't take you out of the equation!"

Icarus rose to his feet with a flash, snatching up the disck linkup to Jym and prepared to hurl it against the wall with uncanny accuracy.

{{Uh... you may not want to do that, Mr. Sidewinder,}} Jym said.

"Oh, yes. I do."

A noise emanated from the disc that sounded a lot like a sigh. {{Very well,}} the AI said. {{Then I shall not need to tell you about the all points emergency bulletin that Adem sent out exactly 38.6 seconds ago...}}

Icarus' throw was stopped short. Bringing the disc before his face, he squinted at the faceless hunk of technology. "What?"

{{The team is under attack on the first floor of the apartment building where Emma Sigfried was found murdered,}} Jym answered to a now befuddled Icarus. {{It's amazing what you can learn when you actually turn on your official Vanguard Europe person-to-person wrist communicator.}}

Looking down at his wrist, Icarus flipped the switch on his 'watch' that activated the group commlink. Sure enough, Adem's voice rang through as clear as day.

"...repeat, we have a situation at the Berlin location. All points, please converge on these coordinates..."

"HOT DAMN!" Icarus yelled, absent-mindedly shoving Jym into his pants pocket. The AI said something rather uncomplimentary, but Icarus wasn't paying attention to the muffled voice speaking to him from his pants.

Quickly, he rushed to the corner of the room and grabbed his duffel bag and jet case, flinging the bag over his shoulder as he ran out of the library. Raising his wrist comm to his lips, he said in a vibrant voice: "This is Sidewinder. I'm en route."

And, with an added bit of his trademark cocky flair, he quipped. "Gimme five minutes..."

The African female lay in a fetal position upon the sidewalk. Her arms wrapped around her legs, her eyes vacant and staring off into the distance. Her teeth chattered, as her body shivered. Tears streamed down her face. The Shadow Chancellor stood above her.

Icarus Sidewinder landed next to him and shut off his pack. Removing his helmet, he looked at the limp form before him. "Perry. . .what did you do to her?" Sidewinder's eyes grew wide at the site, as a shudder crept down his spine.

"I merely allowed her to experience a brief instance within the shadowlands." Gaunt answered nonchalantly. "William has gone to a great deal of trouble with the authorities to allow us to investigate this matter. The last thing we need right now is some garish metahuman wrestling exhibition."

"How come. . .how come that didn't happen to me?" Ozzy Baxter looked at Gaunt. "When you brought me to meet the group, why wasn't I affected like her?"

"Because, Mr. Baxter, I chose to keep you safe." Gaunt turned and began to move into the dark shadows cast by the building behind them. "Now I have real work to get back to. Work that was rudely interrupted by that drunken sot, Mcgregor and this little escapade." Gaunt's form began to sink into the wall. Briefly he popped back out and looked at Ozzy. "Unless you'd like to travel back with me?"

Baxter could swear that Gaunt was smiling, even though he couldn't make out his features. "I'll. . .I'll take the stairs, thanks."

"Suit yourself." Gaunt disappeared back into the darkness.

"Stairs? Who needs stairs?" Icarus locked his helmet back down. "You're riding with me!"

"Oh, no, seriously, I have issues with flying. . ." Baxter begged off. . .

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

Back inside, as Mcgregor and Adem continued looking over the scene, Gaunt returned to his prior position and returned to his search. Within this room, he thought to himself, is a psychic impression of the violent attack upon this girl. I felt the killer's mind before. Vaguely. But I felt it. And it was. . .familiar. . ."

Drake caught the man's wrist with one hand, adjusting his index finger against a specific pressure point. The street punk gave an involuntary yelp of pain as his hand popped open by itself, the small blade dropping to the alleyway pavement. Whipping the wrist around behind the man's back, Marshall slammed him firmly against the brick wall. Holding him tightly pressed against the brick, the former urban vigilante kicked his right foot out, tapping another punk's 'Adam's Apple'. The muscled thug collapsed to the ground, dropping his lead pipe and clutching his wheezing throat.

Drake glanced over to his left just in time to see a third attacker slam, upside down, into the wall hard enough to bounce. A shriek of pain twisted Marshall's eyes all the way around behind him, watching as the last mugger was being pressed against the cold, hard pavement face-first, his right arm hyper-extended behind. The warrior queen Lykopis held her iron-stilletos, crawling into his jawbone, while holding the man's arm taught.....a fractured wrist dangling between her vise-like grip.

"...you spilled my coffee..." she growled to the thug, squealing in pain under her heel.

Drake turned back to the man he had face-first against the brick. Leaning in, his voice dropped a few octaves, finding a familiar old tone that he hadn't used in years....

"...sounds like bad news for your friend, Gordon..." 'Nightwatch' whispered into the ear. "....that is your name, right? Gordon. That's what your ID says....or...is the real Gordon someone else?"

"I'm Gordon!" the punk grunted under his grip.

"...are you sure? I mean, how do I know you didn't just kill someone and take their identity, huh?"

Lykopis' current toy squealed again, a very loud snapping sound coming from his thumb...

"No man, no! I ain't never killed NO one!" Drake's thug protested. "I swear to God I'm Gordon!"

"Gordon Bailey?" Marshall continued. "Word on the street is that you hold things for certain people. Do you Gordon? Do you hold things?"

"AAIIIGGHH!!" the voice screamed from behind Drake's man, making his eyes go wide as he heard another bone pop.

"Wh-What k-k-kind of things?!" Gordon asked, the panic in his voice evident.

"Information."

"Y-Yeah, YEAH!" Gordon tried to nod. "I know things! Lots of things!"

"Tell me about these things, Gordon. Tell me everything about everyone. Let it pour free. Get it off your chest."

"Who-Who are y-y-you?!" Gordon stammered out.

"I am your father confessor, Gordon. I am your best friend." Drake replied with a leering whisper in his ear. "And I want to know everything you know about the name 'Emma Sigfried'...."

Another scream, and Lykopis' friend became triple-jointed along his elbow....

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

Two blocks away, in the very extravagent and quite elite club, The Mandarin Parkhouse, two men laughed over smoked whiskey, and Turkish tobacco. Of course, if anyone had been paying proper attention, only one of them, a smooth asian man of delicate fashion sense, was the only one actually drinking.

The other merely played conversational cat-and-mouse with the companion, contstantly keeping him occupied to avoid having to answer why he wasn't drinking the liquor. He was a broad gentleman of old money, and smart business. Othello Golpe' was his name, and boardroom buyouts was his game...

"...and then you gobble up GlovTech, too?" Golpe' asked with a loud laughter. "My god, Ant-Woang....have you devoured enough of the small timers?"

"There are plenty to go around, Othello..." industrialist Ant-Woan Keichu replied, sipping his drink. "...do not become soft on me in your older years..."

Golpe's laughed his broad, German laugh, shaking his head.

"That, you should have NO fear of, my son." Golpe's grinned. "In fact, I've been hearing some rattlings I wanted to run by you."

Ant-Woang frowned, leaning in a bit.

"Tell me."

Golpe's scratched his face casually, leaning in as well.

"Well...heard some people say some things, that may or may not have anything to do with PanClectic..."

"The Sigfried portfolio?" Ant-Woang cocked an eye. "Is the heiress finally going to make the stocks public again?"

"Now, I'm not saying that...." Golpe' corrected him. "...I've just...heard things..."

"What kind of things?"

"Ah. No." Othello shook his head, leaning back up. "Too sensitive right now."

"What? You would not tell me? Don't you trust me?"

"Well, it's never about trust, now is it?" he replied. "It's about you riding the train for free."

Ant-Woang smiled.

"Correct, as usual my friend." the asian nodded. "And what can I offer you in return?"

Golpe' grinned.

"Well, we could compare notes....share what we both know about PanClectic...the Sigfried heiress..."

"Oh, yes. Emma Sigfried." Ant-Woang nodded. "I have heard much about her ingenious attitudes towards business and the conventional practices..."

"So, tell me, Woang..." Tommy Foxe smiled. "....tell me everything you know about Ms. Sigfried...."

"Sure, fly away and leave the amazon to me! No problem at all, Icarus!" an exhausted Ozzy Baxter said to himself as he walked up the stairs of the luxurious building, while carrying the now uncouncious female warrior on his back. "I'll just... I'll just carry her all the to the penthouse. What's that? You'll bring her back into your merry shadowland and take her up there in a second, Gaunt? Oh, don't worry... what's good old Ozzy here for, if not... carrying warriors up stairs...?"

Ten more painful steps later, Ozzy reached one of the rests on every floor. He stopped for a second to wipe the drops of sweat off his brow, and saw the door marked '13' in front of him.

"...I'm such a dumbass..."

Ozzy opened the door and walked to the other side, where not one but two elevators awaited him. He took the one on the left and was glad to see it was empty.

"Penthouse, please," he said as he twirled around inside the elevator, making the warrior's pointy nose hit the button marked 'P'. "Thank you, ma'am."

As the elevator started moving upwards, Ozzy noticed something weird on the floor: a tiny red drop.

"You don't think..." he said to his voluptuous and silent new friend as he bent over to take a closer look. "You're right, that IS blood! How come nobody...? Right, we took the other elevator," he added, nodding. "Hmmm..."

The classic 'PING!' of the elevator sounded and the door slided open, but not on the penthouse. The number above the elevator was a lone 1.

Ozzy let the female warrior on his back drop on the elevator floor. "Sorry, sister, but I gotta look into this..." he walked out into the lobby with his head low, carefully inspecting the crimson ceramic under him for other drops of blood...

*******

"Did any of you see this?" Icarus loudly said, interrupting whatever exchange of theories Adem and Ian might have been having. He was carefully holding a folded piece of paper from one of its corners with the thumb and index finger of his right hand.

"Can I see it?" Adem asked. Icarus handed him the paper with extreme care. Adem looked at it:



"Where did you find this?" Adem asked.

"Little table near the entrance, on top of all the mail. Doesn't seem too suspicious, but I figured it could mean something," Icarus answered. "I watch CSI, you know."

"I noticed," Adem replied.

"Both Marshall and Foxe have just contacted me," Gaunt suddenly said, taking everyone by surprise, as if they'd forgotten he was in the room. "They haven't found anything unusual on the victim or her deceased parents yet. They weren't involved in anything illegal, it seems..."

"...I think we're done with the body for now, Adem," Ian McGregor said, getting up from his crouched position next to the victim. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go wash my quite literally bloody hands... It looks like I've been naughty with Nurse Piper in one of those days again..."

"DOCTOR!!!" the nurse yelled in horror and disgust. She looked at Gaunt, standing next to her. "He's lying."

As McGregor walked next to the entrance door, a triple knock on it took him by surprise and almost makes him lose his balance. "Holy shit, the coppers!" he grabbed a small bag of substance resembling oregano from his jacket's pocket and threw it at Icarus, who grabbed it on reflex.

"HEY!" the pilot yelled.

"It's Baxter..." Gaunt said, letting out a long sigh.

"Oh." McGregor calmed down and opened the door.

"Hello, team..." Ozzy said, "look what I just found!" He was holding an unusually big metallic hammer almost covered in blood and wrapped in a white sheet.

Adem immediately stood up and approached him to examine the new evidence. "Where...?"

"Trash container in the basement."

"How...?"

Ozzy grinned and shrugged. "What can I say? Looks like you've got competition, pal..."

Icarus walked and stood in front of him. "Then please tell us, dear Sherlock," he said, making his words last as much as he could to enjoy the moment, "where's the big black warrior chick?"

Ozzy slapped himself in the forehead and tightly closed his eyes.

"...I'm such a dumbass..."

Adem sighed. Whilst Ozzy was his closest friend, his tendency to indulge in rank sutpidity was very exasperating.

"Ozzy, it would be useful to the investigation if you were to refrain from abandoning suspects to bring us clues"

"Whoah, Sherlock! Since when was the amazon chick a supect?"

Adem sighed. Icarus annoyed even him sometimes.

"Since, Mr. Sidewinder, she attacked us at the scene of the crime. It is logical to assume that she came here to complete a task involving Ms. Siegfried, and based on her power level we can only assume that she meant some harm to her'

Gaunt chose that moment to speak up.

"Whatever she came to do, The Amazon's intent was definitely violent"

"Gee, y'think? I'd never have guessed that from the way she tried to kill us!!!"

"I would advise you to shut up, Mr. Sidewinder. There is only so long we can stand your prattling"

Suddenly, Adem's cellphone rang. He took the call, and Tommy's voice came over the line

"Adem? I've just got something, don't know how reliable it is though. Turns out that Miss Siegfried had a bit of rep for her personal life. Couldn't find out what but I do have a name, Remy Mantell, so I reckon it's worth looking into"

"I'll get Drake and Lykopis onto it. Thanks for the lead"

"So... what do I do now?"

Adem sighed again, pocketing his company-issue cellphone, shaking his head slightly. He smiled a bit - not an irritated smile per se. In fact, as per usual, it was difficult to determine exactly what Adem Different was thinking.

Adem shot a glance to Edmund Gaunt and, for the slimmest of moments, Icarus could swear that the two were communicating telepathically, swapping all sorts of means stories and uncomplementary slurs about him, his mother, and his favorite athletic team. Both men turned toward Icarus, their expressions utterly unreadable.

"What?" the pilot said, shrugging a bit.

"Were you given an assignment by Dr. Paragon?" Gaunt asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah..." Icarus said, leaning against a wall. "I was told to look over library files on the history of serial killers with Max Headroom here." Icarus took the disc he had Jym in out of his pocket and tossed it at Gaunt, who effortlessly snatched it out of the air.

"Jym," the Shadow Chancellor offered.

"Whatever, Perry," Icarus shrugged, his typical smirk spreading across his smug features.

"And what conclusions did your 'research' lead you to?" Different asked, attempting to get Icarus back on task.

"That serial killers are some seriously screwed up people!" Icarus yelled. "Heck, most of these guys eat their victims! How screwed up is that?"

Edmund shook his head slightly. "Is there anything you discovered that might help us in this case?" he asked, gesturing around the room.

"Not unless the body's been mutilated, dismembered, or partially digested by our killer..." Icarus said, turning to Ian McGregor, who was on the ground inspecting the body.

Suddenly, McGregor stopped and raised his head, blinking rapidly. "Okay, you can stop boring holes into the back o' my head now," he called out.

"Dr. McGregor?" Different asked. "Has Ms. Sigfried been mutilated, dismembered, or eaten in any way?"

"Not by my reckoning," Ian said sardonically, shooting a faux-sexy look at the pilot. "But you may want to get a second opinion."

"Uh... sure," Icarus said, not sure how to process McGregor really.

"It appears that your presence here is unnecessary, then, Mr. Sidewinder," Gaunt said. For a half a second, Icarus could've sworn the Shadow Chancellor was smiling. But, after blinking, he wasn't sure he'd seen anything of the sort. "I suggest you take Jym back to headquarters and awair further instruction." Gaunt tossed Jym back to the pilot. The disc hit Icarus' palm, bouncing off, only to be caught in his other hand.

"Screw that!" the pilot said indignantly. "I'm as much a member of this team as either of you! I have every right to be here!"

"However, your skills are not required for this endeavour, Icarus," Adem said, nodding cordially, his eyebrows furrowed.

"And his are?" Icarus said, gesturing toward Ozzy who stood in the corner, looking at Nurse Piper's backside as the nurse bent over Ms. Sigfried.

Ozzy suddenly got the feeling he was being watched. "Huh?" he said, looking up quickly from Icarus to Gaunt to Different and back again as fast as he could.

"Never mind, Ozzy," Adem answered. "Please return to admiring Miss Piper's posterior."

Ruby's head shot up, whipping over to where Baxter stood as she stared daggers at the boxer.

Ozzy laughed nervously. "Oh, Adem... whatta kidder!"

"Not at all," Adem said, cocking his head to the side. "You were in a perfect position to be looking at Nurse Piper's behind and, given that I see very few flaws in the overall design, I can only assume you were looking at it with admiration. Furthermore--"

"That's enough, Adem!" Ozzy interjected, quickly making his way to the porch. "If anyone needs me, I'll be outside trying to find a way to hang myself..."

As Ozzy exited, the room resumed the quiet of examination as the inhabitants of the room ignored Icarus and returned to its studious nature. Icarus slipped into a chair in the corner and, within a few moments, found himself singing absent-mindedly.

"Bang bang... he shot me down... bang bang... he hid the clown... bang bang... that something sound... bang bang... my baby shot me down..."

Gaunt looked over, a bit annoyed. "Do you mind?" he asked.

"Not at all," Icarus said with a smile as he resumed his singing. "I was five and he was six... somethin' 'bout horses made of sticks..."

Adem cleared his throat, glancing over at Icarus who in turn stopped singing... but continued humming the Nancy Sinatra song as best as he could remember it.

"Must you?" Ian finally asked, turning to Icarus. "Usually I do the whole 'annoying song' thing... Don't even think it, Piper!" Ian pointed a stern finger at Ruby.

"Why, Dr. McGregor!" Piper answered with feigned surprise. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Sorry," Icarus answered insincerely, "but you know how those songs get stuck in your head and you can't do anything about it?"

Ian nodded. "Tell me about it."

"Well, I was just looking around the room, saw that blood mural over there," he said, pointing at the words 'BANG BANG' written on the wall, "and it reminded me of that song..."

Different, Gaunt, and McGregor all followed Icarus' finger and looked at the wall as if seeing the words written in blood for the first time.

Adem uttered a thoughtful groan while the other two men remained silent.

"Kind of like that movie," Icarus offered. "Y'know... with Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman? Where Kevin Spacey cuts off that guy's hand and writes 'HELP ME' on the wall behind the painting?"

Gaunt turned to Icarus, unamused. "I... must have missed that one," he said.

"Ooh!" Ozzy chimed in from the porch, peeking his head in. "Or that one with Denzel where Maximus kills those people and writes... uh... something on the wall. I forget what..."

"We get the point," Adem said. "The killer must have watched movies..."

{{Or he didn't watch movies and thought he was being original, but since he didn't watch movies, he didn't know that what he was doing was completely unoriginal altogether.}}

"Jym, don't encourage them," Adem said, looking down at his wrist.

{{My apologies,}} Jym answered. {{I don't know what came over me.}}

"So, I'm guessing whasserface was shot then?" Icarus asked.

"Not at all," Ian said. "In fact, the fractures on her cranium as well as the cracks in the ceramics and the wall suggest that her head was rammed repeatedly into the floor and wall."

"So..." Icarus said, elongating the vowel in 'so', "what exactly does 'BANG BANG' mean?"

Different and McGregor exchanged inquisitve and pensive looks. Gaunt continued looking at the writing... or rather through the writing, as though looking at it with different eyes than anyone else was capable of.

"A clue?" Adem asked.

"Y'think?" Ian answered, kneeling back down beside the body, continuing his investigation.

Different merely took two steps back and began turning in a slow circle, taking in the whole of the scene once again.

"So..." Icarus began again, "can I stay?"

Different shot him a sidelong glance. "Just don't touch anything, Icarus."

Icarus smiled, leaning back in his chair.

"Bang band... he shot me down... bang bang..."

After having seemingly paused to look at Nurse Piper's lovely bits, Ozzy left the room....again....to go fetch their would-be assassin. And, even as he turned the corner down the hallway, headed for the elevators, a brisk torrent of wind shot by.....

"You think it was repeated blows that fractured her cranium?" Adem questioned. "There seems to be only one pressure-point of impact..."

Doctor McGregor shrugged, folding his arms.

"...good point..." he commented. "...won't know anything until I get 'er on the table...."

He suddenly brought his wrist up, staring at his watch.

"...which...shouldn't be taking thi---"

The door to the penthouse flung open, a rush of wind hitting everyone with surprise. Everyone, except Ian and Ruby.

"About time!" McGregor barked, coming to a full stance.

In the middle of the room now stood four figures. Each one decked out in identical white, form-fitting thermal suits, they stood on each side of a slender, glassy tube floating like a futuristic coffin.

"What is this?" Gaunt asked, raising an eyebrow, as the figures began sliding open the hovering tube.

"People...." Ian announced, walking over. "....this is Larry, his brother Darell, his other brother Daryl, and their half-brother Cornelius..."

The four figures randomly nodded to everyone, even as they moved silently through the room, heading towards the body.

"....they're MeRC's metahuman Med-Evac team." McGregor continued, watching as the four started spraying some type of gel-like substance over the crime scene.

The gel created a glassy, paper-thin sheathe over the body that dried and sealed almost instantly....

"...speedsters..." Different added, sniffing the hint of burnt ozone that drifted from their feet.

"Yeah..." Ian nodded, looking over at Larry with sneer. "...the slowest fucking speedsters I've ever been around. London to Berlin in twenty minutes, guys?"

"Cut us some slack, Doc." Larry replied.

"Bad weather." Cornelius chimed in, the four kneeling down to grip the body.

"You...you're all brothers?" Icarus spoke up. "And....you're all speedsters, as well?"

"...mother was the fast one..." Daryl replied.

They lifted, and the body lifted perfectly with them. Frozen, like a statue, nothing crumbled or dropped. Nothing leaked or oozed.

And, silently....almost respectfully....they carried the statuesque tragedy over to the stasis tube.

"I want Edwards and Alda on this the moment you get back..." McGregor ordered. "....have the bio-boys on standby if anything gets weird."

"Yes, Doctor." Larry nodded, as the foggy glass crawled back down over the body like a funeral drape.

"...theater-blue...incoming..." Larry mumbled into a tiny shoulder-mic. And, with nothing more than a gust of breeze, the superhuman ambulance ripped out of the room.......sonic thunder suddenly echoing in the distance outside.

"Right...well..." McGregor slapped his hands together, looking around at everyone. "...it's been perfectly gruesome. And, since I feel sobriety encroaching upon my senses, I've just realized that I shant' be enjoying you lot any further."

He turned, striding for the door.

"Tell Bill I'll have something for him in two hours...." the physician added. "....not a fucking second sooner....NURSE!"

Ruby quickly nodded a smile to everyone, scurrying to follow his pace...

Meanwhile, seven stories below, lying on the floor of the penthouse lift, the nubian goddess was still drooling, wide eyed and unmoving. The doors suddenly slid open, a low hum of bass riding in with metallic footsteps.

"Silly girl." the mechanized voice said, coming to a stop in front of the woman. "Your passion is commendable, but, Rome will not be pleased with this unscheduled attack...."

The armored figure quickly hoisted her onto his back, turning and leaving the elevator doors, even as it recieved a signal to go up....

Back up on the penthouse level, Ozzy stood in front of the lift doors, waiting impatiently. Around the corner, Ian and Ruby strolled up.

"Oh. It's you." Ian said dryly.

"Yeah, it's me..." Baxter grimaced.

"Yes. Good. Hello." McGregor sighed, turning to look at the elevator doors.

The two men stood there, staring at the doors, saying nothing.

"So...how's things?" Ian commented.

"...shut up..." Baxter sighed.

"Fair enough."

The doors slid open, Ian and Ruby quickly entering. Ozzy stuck his head in, looking back and forth in the otherwise empty lift.

"...sonofabitch..." he mumbled.

"Problem?" Ruby asked.

"Yeah....I've lost a body...." Baxter nodded, finally pulling his head back out.

"...I've heard that before..." Ruby shrugged, looking straight over at Ian with a stare.

"ONE time!" Ian barked, the doors closing....

La Perdita

6:03 AM

While most of the neighborhood sleeps, the door to Jake's Bar opens and Jake himself stands in the doorway, sweeping dust and dirt off to the street, preparing his establishment for what he calls his 'early birds'.

"What's this? You're still here?" Jake says as he notices the drunken man sitting on the street against his wall, with his head hanging low and his middle body covered by a dirty blanket.

"Come on! Shoosh! Shoosh!" Jake begins to yell as he hits the man with his broom. "Hey! I'm talking to you!" Jake 'brooms' the man with a little more strenght, and he falls to the side. "Oh, crap, he's wasted..." Jake says under his breath.

"Ah, what the heck..." Everyone knows Jake is a tough guy, but no one can say he's not compassionate. Jake walks over to the man and removes the blanket to pick him up. "Come here, buddy... SHIT!"

The first thing Jake notices is that the man's hands are a mess of broken bones and open flesh. Then he sees the stab wounds all over his torso. They're 19 in total, but right now, he's a bit too shocked to take the time to count. The next thing Jake notices are the bruises that cover every visible body part... including the face, that only now Jake has taken the time to inspect. It's deformed almost beyond recognition. Jake knows that if he looked at the man's torso, arms, or legs, he would find more bruises of the same kind.
Jake tries to find a pulse but fails. He almost feels relieved for the poor man, considering the sorry state he's been left in.

"Jake? What's wrong?"

The voice takes Jake by surprise. "Oh... Otto. Take a look at this."

The large, round bear-man, a Jake's Bar regular, approaches the corpse slowly, only to pull back in one second as soon as he realizes what he's looking at. "Holy granola! What happened here, Jake?"

"I dunno... I first saw this guy when I was kickin' out some bums around 4... Figured he was drunk, y'know? Poor fella was probably already dead by then... I dun--"

"Hold on..." Otto says, interrupting the bar owner. "I know this guy!"

"Wha? Who's he?"

"His brother Frank was with Shirley's group a while back!"

"The Vanguards?!"

"Yeah! Name's something Cavalli... Rick I think. I met Frank a couple of times... He said he was working with Shirley's friends to pay Rick's hospital bill. He had some sort of meta disease... Frank dissapeared pretty soon after that... I thought I saw him in your bar one day, but it turned out to be Rick. He told me he was cured in that hospital in one of the islands and wanted to start a new life here."

"I don't recall seein' him..." Jake says, looking at what's left of the man's face. "So this guy was a meta?"

"Yeah... He could grow big or something, but the medication they gave him for his disease didn't let him do that... Whatever hit 'im, poor guy couldn't fight back."

"Yeah, but the bastards who did this are gonna pay... I know who I'm gonna call now, and it ain't precisely the cops..."

"Jake..." Otto said, trying to be as sensible as he could "...the C-Men's disbanded, we can't..."

"I mean Vanguard."

"Right," Otto nodded. "Right."

Montag was twirling a pen between his fingers as he talked to Jake over the cell phone. "Wot? The bruisin' is everywhere?" Grissom leaned back in his chair. "That bloody sceams a beatin'...although I'd 'ave to see the body to make sure. Yeh, we're not workin' on anything at the moment...okay...okay...yeah, we'll be there shortly...yes, it would be better not to disturb the body...See you 'round, Jake."

Grissom ended his call with Jake and dialed the number for Phil. "'Ello, Mister Smith. Looks like we're back in business..."

*** *** ***

Brianna took a few steps away from the dead body. Perhaps she should have stayed with Tiberius at Grissom's flat. "This really isn't my thing."

The other memebers of Vanguard had gathered outside of Jake's Bar for the investigation. The wall faced a deserted street, which was lined with small thin trees and lampposts with broken lamps. Scattered between buildings were long alleyways. A perfect spot for a murder. Brute Force, upon seeing the corpse, nearly fainted. He was now at the bar, eating a mountain of turkey sandwiches. Otto was annoyed. Jake had said Vanguard could eat for free while the investigation was going on. Ben Philips was already cutting into the day's profits, and it was only eleven in the morning.

Robo Squirrel landed on Brianna's shoulder. Brianna was usually pale, she was practically clear now. "Robo Squirrel is detecting abnormal levels of digestive metabolism. What does this abnormality mean?"

"It means I'm gonna upchuck." Brianna nodded to the rest of the boys and ducked into an alleyway. Robo Squirrel jumped off Brianna's shoulder and landed on top of Phil's head.

"Right..." said Phil. It was hard to take him seriously at the moment, what with a robotic rodent on his cranium. "So, I think we can all agree it was a beating. All the classic signs, Griss?"

Montag ducked down towards the body. "Er, yeah. Still wish that bloody alien was here to agree 'ith me." Then again, Adem has a case of his own, doesn't he? "But all the same, it looks like he was beatin' till he was dead. No sort o' trauma after they killed him."

"They?"

Montag shrugged. "Just assumin'."

Phil lifted a finger. "Rule number one of detective work -- never assume."

*** *** ***

Brianna was not going to hurl after all. But something else had caught her eye. She was still in the alleyway, just within earshot of the rest of the team. In one of the trash cans, casually tossed into the garbage, was a kitchen blade covered in blood.

The Banshee was careful not to touch the weapon. It was possible that Jake had simply thrown away one of his own butcher knives. But Brianna suspected she had just spotted the murder weapon.

The smartest thing would have been to call someone from the team, but Brianna was eaten up with her own curiousity. She looked farther back into the alleyway. There was a few tossed-over trash cans against a tall wooden fence. "If I had just finished killing a man," she thought outloud, "I'd toss the weapon quick as lightning and start running."

And with that, the little Banshee jumped the fence using her wide gray wings. There was a small chain-link fence which she leaped over just as easily. And then there was a pile of lumber, and soon, Brianna realized she was too far from the team for them to hear her.

"Hey, pretty birdy..."

Brianna backed into a wall. Some strange voice had called from the shadows. "Um...who are you?"

A few figures emerged from the shadows. Some carried crobars, others carried hammers. They were dressed in the usual punk fashion. All of them looked as though they had just popped out of a grave. They were rotton-looking corpses, a whole gang of them, and Brianna realize that -- not for the first time -- she had bitten off more than she could chew.

"You belong to The Dead now, bitch!"

The Dead? Real smooth, Bree. These are the goons that were on the telly a few months back. Brianna let out one superaudio note before returning her voice to a normal octive. "Not if I can help it..."

*** *** ***

If Robo Squirrel had ears, they would have been pricked up at the moment. Instead, still on top of Phil's head, he made some beeping and chirping noises.

"Wot the hell..." began Montag.

"Robo Squirrel is recieving a distress call from Brianna. Coming point-twenty-five kilometers away from this spot, bearing north-northwest...hey, where are you all going?"

Montag moved without thinking. Leaping to his feet, he began running as fast as he can, practically yelling over his shoulder, "Philsy, keep it up 'ere! Squirrelly... get Phillips!"

Griss...

Grissom shook his head a bit, almost as if he were having a cold chill or a mild spasm. It was the sort of reaction he had anytime Phil Smith deigned to speak with him telepathically.

"Wot is it, Phil?" Montag said, using his momentum to leap over the first fence.

I sent out a telepathic probe, Phil's thoughts said. I can sense Brianna... and her attackers.

"Plural?"

'Fraid so, Phil said, maintaining a healthy level of professionalism for a drastic situation. But then, it was a necessity in this situation... seeing as how Grissom was about to fly off the handle. There's at least five... but there's something about their thoughts...

"No time for guessing games here, Smith..." Grissom said, somersaulting over the chainlink fence.

I can't put my finger on it, Phil thought. They're metas, no doubt... but it's almost like there's some sort of mental dampener.

"Look, I'm almost there..." Grissom said, beginning to climb the lumber pile overlooking a construction site for a new restaurant or somesuch. "You and Squirrel keep scanning the area. Look for mental residue or anything that the robot's scans pick up. Hell, call in Tiberius. Surely he's got something that can help us out here.

"As for me," he said, reaching the top of the lumber pile, his gun materializing in his hand, "I've got a few fish to fry..."

Receiving a mental alert from Phil Smith, BF looked up from his pile of sandwiches. "Jake," he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "Am I on the clock?"

"No, Ben," the catfish man started, holding his massive head in his hands, "In fact, I think we'll close today."

"Hey, what did I say about when I'm in uniform?" BF said, pulling on his mask.

"Oh, right, right. I meant Brute Force. Sorry." Jake answered, absentmindedly.

"That's the ticket!" BF ran out the door, his metahumanly powered leg muscles taking him through the alleyway and past Smith and Robo Squirrel.

"Go get 'em, big guy." Smith mentally responded, while avoiding BF's attempt at a high five. Robo Squirrel, was not so lucky, and got spun around in a complete 360 in the air.

Now, whereas, Banshee and Grissom gracefully moved over the fences and steel link gates blocking off the alleys, BF simply smashed directly through them, emitting a powerful scream from his lungs as he did so.

"Oh, wot now?" Montag said, backflipping off of the pile of lumber as BF smashed through it, sending wood chips flying everywhere. Montag skillfully picked off two attackers with gunshots to the head, while BF sized up a massive albino with tattered clothing and a green mohawk.

"Solly wanna play." The zombie punk muttered. BF flexed his muscles a bit while Griss moaned and Banshee rolled her eyes.

"That's just fine with me, stinky. You wanna play, let's play!" As BF and Solly locked up and slammed each other into the side of a building.

Four square metres worth of bricks shook as Brute Force and Solly slammed into the wall sideways, each underestimating the other's resilience. For a solitary moment, Solly had a triumphant grin on his face, certain that the impact with the wall had been enough to hurt Phillips.

The grin disappeared as the man known for obvious reasons as Brute Force just glared at the gang member and wrapped a hand around his throat. Ben slammed the man against the brick wall with more than human strength, screaming as he did so.

Ben. Duck.

Brute Force ducked as he heard Phil's mental command, looking up from his crouched position to see a sledgehammer connect with the bricks above him. He reached up and grabbed the wooden handle, standing up and pulling the hammer from its owner's grip. He swung it around and connected with the man's ribs.

Help Bri! Three o'clock!

Brute Force turned to his right and hurled the hammer in Brianna's direction. She was currently being set upon by a goon with a chain. A big chain.

Bri. Sidestep left.

Brianna had long since stopped being surprised at Phil Smith's mental intrusions, and merely stepped to her left as she had been instructed. A sledgehammer hurled past her and hit the chain wielding gang member right in the stomach.

Griss is in trouble. Three on one.

Brianna turned to find her lover being set upon by three of the gang simultaneously. She dove towards him and opened her mouth to scream.

Griss. Cover your ears.

Grissom Montag dove to the ground and clamped his hands over his ears. Above him, his three attackers collapsed under the force of Brianna's scream.

Griss! Help Ben. Six o'clock. Two attackers.

Griss teleported a crowbar from the hand of one of the men who had fallen at Brianna's scream. He spun around and found Brute Force's position.

Ben! Stay out of range of his weapon. Swing and miss.

Brute Force stepped backwards to avoid his opponent's chain, and swung a huge right hook towards him. The gang member just laughed, noticing that Ben's fist was a good foot and a half from landing anywhere on his body.

A crowbar suddenly appeared in Brute Force's hand and connected with his opponent's face at the peak of his swing. The man fell to the ground, unconscious.

Ben! Turn!

Ben turned at Phil's command and found himself face to face with four of the remaining gang members. They each wielded painful looking weapons (to inventory: A huge knife, a sledghammer, an aluminium baseball bat, and an umbrella. Foolish, yes. But pointy and somewhat threatening nonetheless).

Grissom! Help Ben!

Grissom looked up to see Brute Force being menaced by four attackers at the other end of the alley.

He could use an ally. Look up.

Grissom looked up to see Robo Squirrel hovering a few metres above him, having just calculated precisely how many steel walnuts to the crotch it would take, and precisely what speed they would need to be launched at, to render a man completely unconscious from pain.

Robo Squirrel, much to Robo Squirrel's surprise, disappeared. He reappeared a second later, hovering in between Brute Force and four ugly gang members.

Grissom grinned as the weapons that the four had been holding up until a moment ago clattered harmless to the floor around him (except for the umbrella. Grissom had left his in a taxi and never replaced it, and he decided he'd need a new one when the La Perditan wet season rolled around. So he kept the umbrella in his hand).

Brute Force looked sideways at the flying metallic squirrel that had appeared in between him and his attackers. The attackers paused for a moment and looked confused, staring down at their hands where weapons had once been.

Ben laughed as he and Robo Squirrel lunged forward together.

Every emotion has a scent. Or, at least, that's the closest telepaths can describe it.

A tightly woven, almost singular, psychic pattern that triggers a specific combination of neuro-peptides throughout key areas of the brain. It varies how strong the scent is, and the duration it lingers on the mental planes.

Most people, in normal cirumstances, have at least three simultaneous scents whether they realize it or not. Two are attributed to dominant thought, and subconscious behavior. The third is what is termed as the 'Primal Scent'. No one is quite certain what the primal scent truly is, except that it is present from the moment life begins....and it is the most basic method of mental identification.

This is how a telepath truly sees.

Sure, hijacking a tele-feed into the visual cortex of a brain gives four-dimensional sight for an immediate glimpse of the situation. But, it's alot of detailed work for most psychics, and is mostly just used in short, quick glimpses.

Broad carpet-views, as they are called, relay the overall scenario of mental surroundings within a telepathic perimeter, allowing the psychic him or herself to concentrate on a multi-pathic situation where the eyes are simply useless. Or, in some cases, an annoyance in having to allocate a percentage of their brain to process a visual feed of their immediate location.

Most telepaths rely on carpet-views to keep them aprised of people within their immedtiate surroundings. The more talented can register and follow up to twenty or thirty scents at once. The best in the world can follow up to fifty, and make rare dips into the visual cortex for four-dimensional shots of about ten of those scents at any given time.

Phil Smith was currently following one-hundred-and-three seperate scents, with one-hundred-and-three multi-pathic visual feeds streaming into his awareness at a constant rate.

For five blocks, Smith was mentally and visually intimate with every single La Perditian. And, even while he fought The Dead with his Vanguardian chess pieces almost a block away, he was constantly aware of the average citizen that was walking by. Seventy-eight were on their way to a job. Seventeen were running personal errands of some kind. Three were headed for individual medical appointments. Three were buying some hash from a fourth. And one considering streaking naked through traffic.

Phil floated in the lotus position, eyes closed, hands at rest...

Ben, throw a left

Passing citizens walked on, seemingly never noticing a floating man, the body under him, or the loud noises from Vanguard's fight in the distance. That's because Smith was coaxing their attention. He would shoot short messages into their sublimal awareness, effectively blinding them to a piece of their own reality.

Nothing here. Move along.

This is the power of a true telepath.

Nice day, keep walking. Body? There's no body here. The other sidewalk would be more pleasant to cross. No reason to take your eyes off the road, there's nothing to look at here. Keep your clothes on.

Griss duck.

Seven new people entered telepathic range...

...walking near the crosswalk...sexual fantasies....

Four leaving the corner shop...

....two walking together....milk, eggs, butter....one by himself....the newspaper....stock market soaring.....one smells sour....anticipation....fear....adrenaline......shoplifter...

Two people rollerblading south....

....do I look fat in this... ...she's getting fat...

Bri, watch your six.

One man, turning the corner to Jake's....

You don't feel like Jake's....it's boring...

...he turned away, casually strolling across the street for another bar nearbye.

Nine people entering a cafe......fourteen crossing the intersection....three cyclists speeding by....

...what the hell's that... ...is that a man... ...he'll be killed...

Phil frowned, jumping mental tracks quicker and quicker....

...he's falling... ...oh my god I can't look... ....what's that.... ....he's crazy....

The slap of pennyloafer-against-pavement snapped Phil's eyes open with a sudden shock. Standing next to him was the man called only....

"...Tiberius?" he asked.

Phil looked quickly around, as everyone seemingly forgot about the man as easily as forgetting the body, and turned his attention back to the newest of Vanguardians.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Smith asked.

There was something odd about Tiberius.

"Grissom Montag's penthouse." Tiberius replied honestly.

Of course, 'odd' was an understatement. But, something specifically odd for Phil.

"Montag's......that's six miles away..." he said. "...how did you get here?"

He could read his mind, and that was not, in itself, unusual. He could see the man's answer before he spoke it.

"I jumped."

He could also see that Tiberius did not mean he jumped the entire six miles in one leap. He did it in quarter-mile intervals.

"Of course...." Smith nodded, accepting his answer.

The odd part, for Smith, was the fact that...he had been monitoring the surroundings. He had been monitoring and watching....and had not seen Tiberius until he was upon him.

"You did send for me, correct?" Ty asked.

Phil had only known him for a few days now, but, he had already noticed that the man seemed to hold his emotions greatly in check. Solemn and given to bouts of long silences. It was not a menacing air he produced, as much as an attention to the moment.

Tiberius had no scent.

"Yes....yes I did...." Smith finally said.

He knelt down by the body, Tiberius following.

"We got called in this morning by Jake, the owner of this bar." he began. "Found this body pretty much exactly the same as it is now..."

Smith withdrew the blanket back, so that Ty could see it completely. His expression did not change, light-purple eyes scanning the body up and down.

"Now...I'm not certain exactly what makes you tick..." Smith began. "....but, I've seen abilities like yours at work..."

"...Turkish Stringfellow...?" Tiberius asked, still looking at the body.

"Right. Turkish." Phil nodded. "If you work anything like him, I'd imagine you may be able to tell me something about this body..."

"Something?"

"A clue. A hint. Anything that might get us started down a path..."

Tiberius rubbed his goatee, staring at the dead person before him.

"I see....."

"...yes?"

"A dead man."

Phil stared at him cooly.

"Are you fucking with me again?" he asked.

"I do not know what you think I can tell you about this..." Tiberius shrugged. "...but, I can only see what you see. Given your own abilities, probably less..."

"Can't you...like...communicate with the elements, or something?"

"Like Turkish?"

"Yes, like Turkish."

"No."

"No?"

"No. I cannot communicate with any elements...."

"But, what about that walk-on-water trick you do?"

"What about it?"

"Don't you...you know...communicate with the water, or something? Ask it to hold you up?"

"No."

"Then how do you do it?"

"I force it to happen." Tiberius responded plainly.

Smith stared at him a moment. He was serious.

"So, you have no ethereal powers that can give me anything about this body?"

"Only what my eyes tell me." the man said. "Only what is obvious. He has been stabbed nineteen times. But, the only blood present is what has come from his wounds..."

The man indicated the small pool with his finger.

"There are no signs blood along the walls of this bar, or this sidewalk." he continued. "Also, bone fragments, shattered in this pattern, would seem to indicate that a severe beating or collison took place. All of this leads me to believe many possible things..."

"...yes?" Smith asked, curiously listening to the man's theories.

"Well, one....the lack of blood leads me to believe that this occured at a different location." he began. "The body was placed here after the wounds were inflicted. Also, with the broken bone pattern, if his body had collided with an unmovable object at a high speed....we should see some sign of it. Whether...indication that he was hit by an automobile, or, marks on the sidewalk or wall...."

He paused, looking around...as did Phil.

"Nothing." he stated.

Phil thought about this, staring at the body.

"Of course...." Tiberius added. "...there is another possibility..."

Phil glanced up.

"Shoot."

"Well, there is a way the wounds could have been inflicted here...." he began. "...if he had stayed in the exact same place...if he had been right here...."

Tiberius pointed at the body itself.

"....when all of this happened to him. Then, certainly, it's possible."

"But....for all of this...the stab wounds...the bruises...the broken bones...for all of this to have happened right here, only on this exact spot.....it would have had to have happened...."

His voice trailed off, looking up at Tiberius with a subtle glaze of worry...

"Simultaneously?" Tiberius said, coming to the same conclusion.

Phil just stared, a bit wide-eyed...

"...fast..." he finally answered.

While the Vanguardians fought on under the mental direction of Phil Smith, the meta street gang known as The Dead continued to pour forth into the alleyway.

"How many of bleedin' arseholes are there?" Montag questioned, firing off a few rounds into his attackers.

A squad of six dogpiled onto Brute Force all at once, as he struggled to carry their weight. After a few moments, he drew his limbs back up into himself and quickly released, sending Johnny, Joey, Dee Dee, Tommy, Marky, and CJ Dead flying into the air.

As they fell back to earth, he rocked them with lefts and rights. "Too damn many, I'd say, Griss!" He responded through gritted teeth.

Robo Squirrel zipped along, picking off gang members left and right with metal acorns fired from his mouth. Ducking between two large gang members Robo Squirrel zigged and zagged as Jerry Dead and Paul Dead slammed into each other. The two brother gang members growled angrily, and got up. Jerry adjusted his spiked gauntlets. Paul slammed his fist into a side wall, and ripped loose a water pipe, brandishing it in his hand.

Bri! Now! The telepathic command rang as the Vanguards covered their ears. Or audio receptors. The Banshee unleashed her wail, wreaking havoc on the inner ears of most of the gang.

A leather gloved fists slammed into the back of Bri's head as a short, long haired gang member stood behind her. Glenn Dead smiled, to himself. "I got the power to turn to wolf, pretty birdy. All I had to do was keep changing my inner ears, and your little scream can't affect me." Glenn held Banshee in front of him, his hands at her throat. "Any one of you move, I'll rip out her pretty little throat!"

Grissom weighed the risks of teleporting an object into Glenn's brain, but his sharp fangs hovered over Brianna's neckline. Robo Squirrel could not get a fix on her, as members of The Dead recovered and stood surrounding Glenn and Banshee. Siouxie Dead ran a hand through Bri's red locks. "Pretty hair. I want it, Glenn."

Solly, Jerry, and Paul Dead stood in front of Brute Force, all ready to jump if he made a move. The meta strongman glared angrily at his foes.

"Bri's in trouble." Phil's thoughts broadcast to Tiberius.

"Then why are we wasting time here?" In a flash, Tiberius strode across air currents, almost faster than the molecules could solidify to match his pace. He strode directly into the middle of the gang, an air of confidence, or even arrogance you could say, as he stepped down into the middle of them.

"This will not do." Tiberius glared at Glenn, holding Brianna's still unconscious form. "You will release her and depart. Now."

Glenn smiled and laughed a savage laughter. "Man, you gotta be kidding me!" As he laughed, several gang members moved in towards Tiberius.

Tiberius gestured with his arms, as the winds rose, knocking all of the standing gang members into the sides of the surrounding buildings. All but Glenn. Glenn was forcefully separated from Banshee, who dropped down as Montag, Robo Squirrel, and Brute Force rushed to her form.

Phil was eyeing Tiberius. Tiberius was eyeing Glenn. Glenn was beginning to get very nervous. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea, after all. "Screw this." Glenn turned and ran back down the alleyway.

"Stop him! He might know something!" Montag screamed out. "Phil-"

Smith looked at Montag and smiled a knowing smile. "It's okay, Griss."

"Whut?!" Montag was confused.

Tiberius concentrated, his eyes were narrowing into slits. Blood vessels in Glenn's body began to tighten and constrict, he fell onto his knees at the far end of the alleyway.

Glenn's body jerked and convulsed, spasming as the supply of blood in hisbody began to be cut off. He probably never even saw the large, double bladed axe that took his head off.

But the Vanguards most certainly did. Stepping up out of the darkness of the far end of the alleyway came a sight familiar to half of our small band of heroes. Black motorcycle boots. Torn blue jeans. Chains hanging over a bare, muscular chest of greyish white skin. Leather jacket draped over broad shoulders, the end of the sleeves covered by metal gauntlets that ended at the fingertips. And a skull faced head topped with black hair.

"GRIMM!" Montag exclaimed.

"Exactly." Phil replied.

"Who?" Brute Force, Robo Squirrel, and Tiberius questioned.

The long thin muscles of Brianna's wings twitched as she regained conciousness. Her eyes contracted for a brief moment, then refocused to the new shape in front of her. She looked up to see Death starring back. She shivered for a moment before realizing who she was looking at. "Grimm?"

The undead biker responded. "Brianna."

"Robo Squirrel demends an explanation."

Brianna, still lying on the ground, pointed a thumb towards Grimm. "Avator of Death. Hard-hitting-axe-wielder. Grande arse kicker."

"Robo Squirrel understands. The brute of the team?"

Grimm's axe hovered dangerously close towards the robot's neck. "Not just the brute, shiney."

Montag interrupted. "This still doesn't help the fact that someone we could question is dead now..."

"I alrady did question him," said Phil. Everyone turned towards him. Both Phil and Tiberius seemed pleased with themselves. "While Tiberius was finishing him off. I managed to look inside his head and find out what happened." Phil's eyes glazed for a moment as he mentally repeated what Glenn had said to him. Glenn's confession was pure stream of conciousness.

Fuck off you stupid meta...meta...yeah, we came here to kill him because it's the second Tuesday of December. That's when we were told to kill him...kill him...kill him...some stranger paid us...he told us back in August what he wanted us to do...'Wait until the second Tuesday in December. He always comes on Tuesdays. You have knives? Good. Here's what I want you to do with them...'

Everyone got the idea. Phil continued. "So. He had no clue who his employer really was. They were paid in cash. They were told what sort of wounds to make."

"Why would they be told what wounds to make?" asked Brianna.

Phil shrugged. "Cover something up?"

Grimm heaved his might axe onto his shoulder. "Well, let's find out." He noticed Brianna looked like she wanted to ask a question. Grimm held his hand up. "Wait a while, everyone. I'll explain things on my own time."

The Vanguards regrouped at Jake's Place, the catfish man grateful for their help, yet still disturbed by the morning's events. The La Perditan authorities had arrived by this time, and were inspecting the crime scene, as well as incarcerating the surviving members of The Dead, and interviewing the metas.

"You understand, Mr. Smith, that telepathically gained evidence from a person who is deceased, may not hold up in court." Inspector Kramer stated.

"I understand, all the same, it's yours if you need it, and I'm willing to help gain any information you might need from the surviving gang members." Phil answered, trying very hard not to coerce Inspector Kramer into simply following his mental commands.

"You folks are pretty lucky. Most of the citizens around here are very grateful to you for what you've done for this little island. Hell, you guys saved me and my family during that hurricane business a while back. You need anything, you call me." Kramer handed Phil his card.

"I will, and we appreciate what you do as well." Phil answered, placing the card within his inside jacket pocket.

Grissom, Bri, and Grimm sat at the bar, having a few drinks, served by Uncle Otto. "Here you go, kids, on me." Otto said, placing their drinks in front of them with a light touch unexpected from someone resembling a large bear.

"So, Grimm, what brings you back to our little island paradise?" Montag asked, sipping a Long Island Iced Tea.

"Are ye coming back to Vanguard?" Bri sipped her wine slowly, her head still aching from where he was struck earlier.

"No, no, nothing like that. I've been out visiting. . .old haunts. . .I guess you could say. . .taking care of unfinished business." Grimm answered. He pulled off his gauntlets and placed them in the stool next to him before taking a drink of his Guinness. "I saw Dirk not too long ago, as well."

"And so you just came to La Perdita to visit?" Montag wrapped an arm around Bri while teleporting a small umbrealla into her drink. "Griss!" She laughed at the small gesture.

"Well, no. Actually I've been tracking that gang from the mainland United States. They're not just made up like zombies. Some of them actually are zombies."

Bri shivered a bit at the notion. "I wondered from their smell."

"Say, Grimm, 'ave you seen Turkish lately?" Montag asked.

"Not since I left Haven." Grimm answered. It seemed to Montag that this answer was a bit cold, but with Grimm, it was often hard to tell.

"You. . .left?" Bri asked. "Are you going back?"

"No, no, I don't think I am." He answered, turning back to his drink.

Bri looked at Grissom who responded with a look that said don't push it, not right now. This was a very complicated look to pull off, but Grissom did it quite well, having had many years of experience.

"Yes. So, where's the rest of the group?" Grimm took another drink of Guinness.

"This is it. It's just us." Montag replied rather glumly.

"What? What happened?" Grimm looked at the Sandcrawler as Phil took a seat next to them and dialed Leslie's number on his speedphone.

"Well, it's a long story. . ." And Griss proceded to catch him up on what he'd missed.

*Grimm's unfinished business and why he left Haven to be the subject of an upcoming solo story.

As the team left the bar later that day, while the police were still examining the area, something caught Brianna's eye. She stopped walking at looked at the place where Rick Cavalli's corpse used to lay before the police had it removed.

"Bri?" Grissom said.

"...Hm...?" she replied absent-mindedly, as she continued looking down.

"What is it, hon?"

"Hm?" She suddenly snapped out of it. "Oh, nothing... Nevermind."

"Haven't you ever seen a detective movie, Bri?" Phil said. "The smallest detail could be very important."

"Well... I was just looking at that piece of paper over there... Where the victim used to be. Seems odd."

Phil looked at Inspector Kramer. "Can we...?"

"Go ahead. We already took a picture of that part of the scene. But don't touch it!" the Inspector said. "Just in case."

"Sure," Phil said, and the piece of paper started moving by itself, levitating towards the team:



Nobody said anything. Brute Force scratched his head.

"Robo Squirrel does not understand."

"It's Professor Zoom!" Ozzy said holding up the paper.



"Huh?" Lykopis let out, looking oddly at the boxer.

"You see," he began to explain, "the Flash wears a red suit with a yellow lightening bolt through a white circle. His nemesis, Professor Zoom, wears an identical suit but yellow with a red lightening bolt. Ergo, Professor Zoom did it in the living room with the candle stick."

"It's like watching someone try and pour Jell-O through a sieve," Icarus commented.

Baxter smiled, "If you would allow me to elaborate further, I will detail how the half eaten lasagna in the fridge points to Garfield being the accomplice."

"What do you think, Adem?" Drake said as he lowered himself down next to the detective.

"Our murderer, assuming there is only one, is very clever," the alien responded. "Though it is impossible to tell for sure, it seems as though the entry was not forced. The front door was locked, according to the account of the woman who found the body. The terrace door was jammed shut by a loose piece of ceramics. How did the murderer exit after his crime?"

"Teleporter?" Drake mumbled aloud.

"Transmuter," Gaunt added as he kept searching in his own way around the apartment.

"Or he walked right out the front door," Icarus said in a mocking tone.

"Indeed," Adem agreed. "Straight out the front without a care as to who sees him.... or her. Dripping with blood down to the lobby to leave this note."

"That's a lot of nerve," Ozzy said pulling a loose thread away from his tattered shirt.

"Yes, it is." Adem walked over to the front door. His eyes focused in on the knob. "No discernable print. Except our own, of course." Ozzy blushed a little as his hands entered his pockets. Lykopis hid hers under her crossed arms. "Humans covet wealth, correct?"

"We sure as hell like it if that's what you mean," Icarus answered.

"Wouldn't a place were the wealthy live have some form of security?"

Drake cupped his hand around his chin. "There wasn't a doorman downstairs when we came in."

"Survelliance cameras!" Tommy let out as though the idea had bitten him on the rear.

"Jym," Different called into his wrist.

{I am glad you called,} the AI's squat face spoke from the screen. {Just this very nanosecond, I have completed the fifth volume of my collected poems concerning the simple, yet exotic binary system used on this planet.}

"I'm sure no one cares," Adem said. "I need you to find out if this building has any securtiy measures. Also, I need a detailed list of Emma Sigfried's life. Financials, personal contacts, all going two generation if necessary."

{Compliance.}

"Compliance?"

{If you are just going to treat me like a machine, then I am going to react like one.} Jym sobbed.

"Oh great!" Adem lowered his arm. "An AI with an inferiority complex." He turned to the rest of the group. "Now, we wait for the autopsy and see."

"See what?" Icarus asked.

"We see if Sigfried was a meta," the alien continued to gaze around the apartment.

"Why would she be a meta?" the pilot asked.

"Why would a dark skinned warrior woman be standing on her terrace?"

"Oooooohhhhh! Burned, flyboy!" Ozzy made a sizzling sound.

"Make no mistake," the alien interrupted. "Our advisary this time is clever and bold. A dangerous combination to be sure."

{DONE!} Jym exclaimed from Adem's wrist, startling the alien detective.

"I thought you would react as a machine from now on?" Adem asked.

{Yeah, I'm over that now. We're back to best pals.}

"...the information, please, pal."

{The building counts with security cameras in every floor including the lobby, a doorman, a receptionist, and a security guard present at all times.}

"Then how come we didn't..." Ozzy began to say, before realizing the terrible answer "...SHIT!"

Icarus was the first to run out the front door, followed closely by Ozzy.

"Come on, come on, COME ON!" Icarus repeated as he pushed the elevator button with no result. Ozzy simply punched the stairs door open and both men started running down the stairs.

When they reached the first floor, they ran to the spacious lobby. "Over there!" Ozzy yelled, pointing to the left, "I saw a door over there before!"

They found the door, marked 'authorized personnel only', and this time Ozzy kicked it open. More stairs awaited them on the other side. There was another door at the end of the stairs. Ozzy simply charged against it and took it down.

They found Gaunt waiting for them inside the ample dark room. "Dead," Gaunt said looking up to his two teammates from his crouched positon near the three bodies. A doorman, a receptionist, and a security guard, all three killed with simple cuts in their throats.

"...shit..." Ozzy said to himself.

"Wait, look at those screen over there..." Icarus said, referring to the only source of light in the room: the monitors that covered one of the walls, showing one floor each. "Those cameras must be getting taped somewhere, maybe--"

"Search the tapes all you want," Adem said from the doorway, having arrived at the scene a few seconds earlier. "The ones we want will be gone. Likewise, if you look at the keys hanging from the opposite wall, you'll find that the one from Ms. Sigfried's penthouse is missing."

A strange silence filled the room. There's no way they could have saved the three men, since they were killed hours before they even learned about the first murder, but for some reason the Vanguardians felt like they had just failed all the same.

"I suggest we check on the people in the occupied appartments now," Adem said.

"You think maybe one saw the killer?" Ozzy asked.

"...I fear so, my friend..."

A 'reformed' Soviet Space Station several thousand miles above the earth's crust...

ACK 2.0 opened his eyes.

All he could see through his armor's open visor was the ceiling of one of the corridors in the space station. A disturbingly close rattling noise and the faint presence of sparks coming from under him soon joined. Very soon he realized he was moving, and not by his own will.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!" he exclaimed.

"If you don't want to be punched again..." a deep strong voice said "...you'll keep your mouth shut until we get there."

ACK finally saw the person carrying him (or carrying his armor, rather) against the metal floor of the space station. It was Hero II. He didn't look like his usual shy self, though... ACK had never seen the man so angry.

And then ACK remembered. He HAD seen the man that angry, even angrier in fact. Just a few minutes ago, in fact... when his secret was revealed*.

* in the instant classic Strikeforce 3 #3 -- still on sale, if you're lucky!

"Listen, Hero... Brandon... This is not what you think... I can e--"

"You have nothing to explain!" Hero yelled. "You betrayed us! First we find out that you're actually the first ACK and not a different person -- and then, when we put you under survellaince, we realize that you're nothing but a spy of Merlin! Nobody in the team completely trusted Merlin... but we never suspected he would actually place a spy in our ranks!"

"...geez, you sound like a plot synopsis..." ACK joked to himself, not loud enough for Hero to hear. The japanese 'hero' recognized his surroundings: they were reaching Merlin's office, a place restriced for every Strikeforcer. Except him, of course. At least, before he carelessly let his secret come out.

"MERLIN!" Hero's voice thundered as the door of Merlin's office slided open. The Strikeforce field leader walked inside and threw ACK in front of Merlin's desk. "Explain this."

Merlin, who was sitting in his leather chair facing the large window looking into space behind his desk, said nothing. Hero could picture the irritating grin he probably had in his face.

"Oh, no, you won't ignore me..." Hero said as he walked over to Merlin. Disturbing Merlin during meditative moments like these was forbidden to all Strikeforce members. Often important matters had to be delayed to respect Merlin's privacy. "...not this time..."

"...Brandon..."

"Shut up, ACK!" Hero said, his left hand at the top of Merlin's
chair.

"...Brandon, this is..." said ACK from the floor.

"SHUT UP!" Hero violently spun the chair around and came face to face with Merlin.

"...this is blood..."

There was no grin on his face.

"...is he... dead?" ACK asked.

"Y-Yes," Hero said, pulling away from Merlin's chair. "Unless he can survive a shot to the head..." he pointed at the bullet hole in the middle of Merlin's forehead, "...can... can he?"

"No," ACK said, standing up, "no he can't."

ACK walked over to Merlin and checked behind his head. The skull was open.

"Oh, geez!" Hero said, horrified. "That's brain matter pouring out! And on the chair!"

"Yes..." ACK coldly nodded, "...but not nearly as much as there would be if he'd been killed here."

Hero then saw what ACK had seen a few moments earlier: the drops of blood on the floor. They lead to the door that connected Merlin's office with his personal chamber. Hero looked at ACK. They were thinking the same thing.

Though neither of them had ever been into Merlin's chamber before, they could both see that this wasn't it's normal state. Tables turned over, priceless antiques lying on the floor... and blood and brain matter everywhere.

"Whoever did this must be in the station," ACK said. "There's no possible escape method."

"Impossible," Hero said, finally in control of himself after the initial shock. "The security system would have detected any intruders. Outside Merlin's chamber and office, that is... He never allowed any cameras or sensors inside."

ACK looked at Hero. "What if it wasn't an intruder?"

Hero crossed his arms over his ample chest. "I trust each one of those men and women."

ACK looked back to the front. "You trusted me..."

Hero punched ACK in the face.

"You gotta stop doing that..." ACK said, once again on the floor.

Hero started walking around the chamber. "Well, here's your escape method..." he said, moving a bloodstained curtain to reveal a large tube behind.

"His own teleporter..." ACK muttered "...motherfucker..."

ACK expression was one of lost confidence. His own sponsor was gone, the man to which he was faithfully reporting anything that was told between the member of this strange Strikeforce, that for the fist time (this was the third incarnation) was made of strongly independent people, more interested at doing good than to money, fame, or power. No one now was going to talk in his favour. But maybe that occurrence was what he was needing to leave the scene.

"What can we do? We call the cops?" asked somehow innocently the armoured man, while thinking of a way out.

A punch in the face, the fourth of fifth of the day, silenced the man.

"Police of what country? We are the police here, idiot" said Brandon Mullarney, younger brother of Frank, the Hero who saved Paris from the falling meteor. Or, at least, that Merlin had the people of the planet to believe he did. "We have scientists and doctors on this very satellite. We'll find who killed Merlin and we'll execute him".

ACK frowned, surprised.

"I mean, we'll assure him to justice, to have him executed. That is, after a regular trial" corrected himself Hero.

The young man pushed a button to activate a communicator, and called on Doctor Auguste Von Brown, the size-altering scientist known also as Graviton, and Doctor Harvey Mc Neil, the lizard-man known as Freak, official physician of the Strikeforce 3 team.

The two arrived after a few seconds, as the orbital base was not very large. Both remain speechless at the sight of the cadaver.

"Strange" said Mc Neil. Killed by someone standing in front of him. "It seems the bullet hole in the forehead is the entrance hole. The one that shot him had to be known and trusted by Merlin, to leave him without the time to do a step."

Graviton frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Merlin metagene's power is the ability to walk across space. He can walk over the air, and also teleport. He just needs to do a step with his legs, and he jumps for one place to another. That's how he survived the T-rex attack in Tokio, in September. I was with him, and I saw it. He made me swear I wouldn't have revealed it to anyone for safety matters, but I have checked the files, and in the Strikeforce One he was even called the Walker, as a nickname. For the meta-discrimination, he had the press revealing it was a cybernetic implant to give him the teleportation and air-walikng powers, but it was just bullshit. It was his metagene" explained the Freak.

"So you say that for not having made just a step it should have known and trusted the killer. When the mysterious man had taken out the gun, he had not the time to make a complete step with his legs, before the bullet penetrated his cranium?" asked Hero.

McNeil nodded. "Or he was sleeping".

Al the presents looked at the bed, that was stained with blood and brain matter like the rest of the room.

"No, he was not on the bed. There would be the hole of the bullet in the mattress" said Graviton.

"Right!" exulted the New Zealander. "Let's look for the bullet!"

And the four of them, kneeling down, began to search for the bullet in the chaos of the private room of Merlin.

"Now that I think of..." said Graviton, "why if he was a teleporter had a teleportation tube in his room?"

"For his dates" explained ACK. That's why he didn't wanted any security camera or device here... he didn't want any records of the young boys coming here."

Hero grimaced. "Let's find that bullet, OK?"

"What I don't understand," Graviton said, shrinked to the size of a soda bottle to get a different perspective of the murder scene and try to find the bullet, "is this: if Merlin was taken by surprise by the killer... then why is his room such a big mess? Seems like there was a big fight here..."

"Yes..." Freak said. "In fact, it looks too much like there was a fight here. Look at his desk: torn to pieces. This is just too convenient."

ACK nodded. "I knew Merlin better than any of you... He wouldn't have put up a fight, much less one so big to leave a mess like this. He simply would have 'walked' away..."

"Always the coward..." Hero said.

ACK laughed. "He wasn't a coward, you stupid fuck. That was his M.O.," the japanese said.

"You keep telling yourself that..." Hero replied.

ACK smiled. Hero wasn't one to talk about idealizing dead people. But mentioning his late brother would only make Hero snap at him, ACK thought, so it wouldn't be prudent to bring that up. At least, not yet.

Graviton wasn't paying attention to the conflict between the two, lost in his own thoughts. "So whoever killed Merlin messed up the room to make it seem like a fight?" Graviton asked, more to himself than to anyone else. "Why would anyone do that?"

"Here's what I don't understand..." ACK added. "You say the shooter had to be someone Merlin trusted. Well, Merlin trusted no one. Not the UN, not me... no one. He has no friends. It must have been something else."

The group kept on searching for the bullet.

"This isn't exactly a bullet..." Freak said, "but I think you'll find it interesting."



"Hmmm..." Graviton said, regaining his normal height to take a look at the piece of paper Freak had just carefully removed from the top of a stack of papers. "Could it be a clue of some sort?"

But Hero was more interested in what was under the piece of paper... the stack. Folders marked 'TOP SECRET', 'CONFIDENTIAL', 'EYES ONLY'... 'STRIKEFORCE 3', 'VANGUARD'...

Soon after that, Freak found a .38 bullet, incrusted in one of the walls. They didn't see it before because of the splash of blood that painted that wall, hiding any irregularities.
But Hero paid little attention to that discovery. He was captivated by Merlin's secret documents... his secret plans.

Now he was glad he didn't tell the UN about Merlin's death.

Hero looked around. ACK, Freak and Graviton were looking closely at the piece of paper.

The paper in his hands proved that Vanguard wasn't evil like Merlin made him believe... and worse of all, it proved that his brother, Hero I, didn't die living up to his name... but doing the opposite. It was hard to process so much information in so little time.

His brother's memory could not be tainted like this. Hero considered using his superspeed to hide the incriminating folders... but Graviton looked at him before he could do anything. "What is that, Brandon?" the scientist asked.

"This..." Hero hesitated. "This clears Vanguard. Everything Merlin made us believe about them is false."

ACK, aware of what other information the folders held, said nothing.

"Everything?!" Freak asked. "Let me s--"

"NO!" Hero yelled, pulling the folder away. He looked at ACK, who just smiled. "I and only I will look at these folders. Nobody else. I'll brief the rest of the team on this later and we'll decide what to do."

"Well..." Graviton said "we need to inform the UN..."

"No," Hero replied. "Not yet."

In a desperate attempt to change the subject, he took the little piece of paper Graviton held, watched it for a second and then rotated it ninety degree. "A d". Then he rotated it 180 degree. "Or, better, a capital P."

Graviton nodded. "A signature, maybe?"

"Most likely. Use the uber-computer to search for any precedents in other murders... Maybe this isn't an isolated incident."

Hero was in his private room. It was very small, with the space for nothing more than a bed, having been created, just like all the quarters for the members of the Strikeforce, in a small section of the old Soviet space lab.

On the bed was sitting the New Zealand hero. Standing over the small floor space left empty, was ACK. The first one sported an expression that was a mixture of anger, delusion and sadness. The other, for the first time in te day, was smiling.

"So, oh fearless superman, what do you want to do? In a minute or two, Graviton and Freak will get the answer from the computer, and they will return here expecting an answer from YOU! No one has died and made you leader. Not, definitely, Merlin, although you sound more and more like him."

The young superhero didn't raise the head from the load of papers and pictures all over his bed.

"Your stunt of a few minutes ago was not appreciated by Graviton. Keeping that papers for yourself was not a smart move. You should thanks just that piece of paper that he didn't took the flies from you by then. So, again, what do you think to do?"

The back curly haired guy shook his head for a moment. Then, he took just a few pages and three photos from the folder, raised them at eyes level, and suddenly the pieces of paper were disintegrated.

"The part about the meteor, Paris and your brother, I presume" continued ACK in his monologue.

Hero took all what was left, mostly concerning Vanguard and the Metahuman Brotherood for Liberation, folded them together and put them back in the folder.

"You know that I know what was in that paper, Brandon. And that what have you just done doesn't bode for this Strikeforce code of ethics." ACK was triumphant.

Hero stood over, looking very angry. "You know slimy maggot that I can think a thousand different way to kill you without being noticed, and that no one would ever care for a traitor like you, while you have not a single way to harm me?"

The smile died on the face of ACK.

"Back me on this and I will find a way to discharge you from the accuse of being a spy. But remember... just a word and I will kill you."

In that instant Graviton opened the door. "Hero, you have some explanation to give..." he began, but hero stopped him handling directly the folder with the secret plans of Merlin.

"It's all here. Vanguard are good guys, and Merlin was a bastard liar. I was hoping to find something about the death of my brother but there is nothing. Sorry for having been so... rough."

Graviton took the folder, and looked at the young man with a slightly tilted head. The he shook it, and said: "Nothing to worry, son, we all know how you loved your brother. We'll look at the paper later. The computer has given his response."

Ian Mcgregor stopped short outside of the door to his office. He held the file underneath his arm tightly and took a deep breath. He did not want to go inside.

Not because he didn't like his job. He did. He loved it, in fact. Not because he was now involved in a grisly murder investigation. He'd seen and handled his share of the aftermath of many violent and particularly disgusting affairs. (But we'll not get into his private life right now. )

No, Ian didn't want to go inside his office because of the two men who stood inside waiting for him. He didn't like them. That's putting it mildly. In fact, on some days he rather wanted to stab their eyes out with a large, blunt object.

Blunt. Hmm. What had he done with that "cigarette" he'd had earlier this evening? "Bugger it. . ." He finally said, puffing up his chest and loudly opening the door to his office and stomping in. "I hate you all. I want you to know that."

Mcgregor didn't wait for a response from the two men. He plopped down into his chair and tossed the file onto his desk towards the men. "Well, the hammer's definitely the murder weapon. Damn nasty one, too. Bits of bone and brains all over it."

The first man, with his white suit and hair, picked up the file and flipped through it sadly. William Paragon hadn't known Emma Sigfried, exactly. But it seemed they may have met once or twice in passing. He was rather sure that was her in Marakesh, at least. But, who could remember?

Edmund Gaunt's face gave no trace of whatever emotions he may have been feeling inside. Paragon passed the file over to Gaunt, who held it in his hand. Gaunt held the file for a moment, saying nothing. After a few moments, he stood and placed it back on Mcgregor's desk. "Fascinating. . ."

Gaunt turned, looking out through the window of the door in Mcgregor's office. ". . .but nothing we didn't know already."

Mcgregor leaned back in his chair and muttered under his breath. ". . .damn Vulcan. . ."

Gaunt raised an eyebrow and turned to him. "What was that?"

"You heard me, Spock!" Mcgregor started, leaning up and pointing a finger at Gaunt while a cigarette dangled on his lip. "Everytime you come in here with your damn "aloof" personality and your dark clothes, my patients get frightened!"

" Your patients have every right to be frightened." Gaunt replied, so casually that Mcgregor almost didn't catch his meaning.

Mcgregor nearly swallowed his cigarette as his eyes widened. "Get. . .out!" he screamed between coughs. "Get the hell out of my office! I mean it, Bill, get him out of here!" Mcgregor hacked out, as Nurse Piper ran into the office and smacked him on the back, attempting to ease his coughin.

"Yes, I think it would be best if we left now." Paragon said, as the two departed.

Spock, indeed, Gaunt thought to himself as they walked towards the elevator.

"Ozzy, I don't mean this as an insult..." began Adem.

Ozzy rolled his eyes. Sometimes, he really disliked Adem's politeness. "That's what everyone said before they insult someone."

"...but I don't know if this particular mission permits you to use your skills to their fullest potential."

"In other words, you don't need a fighter." Adem nodded. "So why is Lykopis still here?"

Adem frowned. "I'm trying to find the right way of dismissing her without insulting her intelligence."

Ozzy's eyes lit up. "Tell her she can only work on the case if she's in a chain-mail bikini. And let me watch you tell her. From far away. With a telescope."

"I detect sarcasim."

"Fuck yeah. So, you need me and Lykopis to haul out here?"

"Paragon suggested you both head to the Munich HQ and standby."

Ozzy laughed. "Nice. Wiat...I have an idea..."

Now Adem was worried. "Oh dear..."

Lykopis was standing near Icarus. Ozzy walked over to her. "Hey, Ly-ly, what's shakin'?"

What have I done to deserve this? Lykopis ran her fingers through her long brown hair. After three-thousand years, the 'diss' motion had evolved little. "Ozzy, unless you have something intelligent to say --"

"I need your help."

Well, that changed things. Lykopis's neck snapped to attention and her eyes narrowed. "My help?"

"Paragon told me you knew John L. Sullivan. You know, the world's first modern-day boxing heavyweight champion?"

"Knew John Sullivan? I fought him at a cigar-factory basement back in 1891." Or was it 1892? "Five times. What is his record? 'Fifty wins, one loss, four ties?' Bah. I beat him twice."

"Out of how many rounds?"

Lykopis looked embarassed. "Um...seven." She looked serious again. "What is it to you?"

"You have to ask? Lykopis, you are a perfected killing machine. A weapon of war. I heard the Greeks invented boxing."

The Amazon beamed with pride. "We did it first, we did it best."

"Exactly. Look, it's clear the kiddies here don't need any heavy-hitters like us. So what do you say to a little training exercise until they call us for help?"

Lykopis thought about it for a moment. "You know...I have not trained with anyone for a few years. Why not. Come on. And do not worry about gloves, you will not need them..."

Ozzy spun his head to spot Adem. He winked at the alien. Uppity little boxer wins this round. Annoyed at the lack of organized evidence, Adem continued searching the room, ignoring Icarus singing 'These Boots are Made for Walking'.

"Hey, Adem!"

Adem turned to see Tommy running towards him. Skidding to a halt, Tommy steadied himself, then spoke.

"Remember that lead on Siegfried's personal life? Mantell and all that?"

"Of course. I thought you were looking into that"

Tommy grinned, a somewhat odd-looking gesture on his gaunt face.

"Turns out this Mantell is a, well, I suppose you'd call it a one-man dating agency. He fixes the rich, famous and gay with other rich, famous and gay people. Emma was one of his clients"

"Siegfried was homosexual?"

"Apparently yeah. According to Mantell, she'd been using his services since she was 19, hooking up with all sorts of people up until about a year ago"

"What happened?"

"She fell in love with some Yankee. Kept jetting off to some private playground to fiddle about with said lover. And you'll never guess where this playground was..."

"La Perdita?"

Tommy's face fell. Adem found his look almost amusing

"So you do know then"

"Just a guess."

And an easy one at that, thought Adem Anyone could tell from your grin it would have something to do with Vanguard.

"It would seem that after our investigations here La Perdita would be the next logical place to investigate"

Tommy's grin was so wide it looked positively comical.

"I was hoping you'd say that"

"As you know, Merlin was very cautious when it came to keeping an eye on Vanguard," Graviton said, as a manner of introduction, standing next to the giant screen of the Strikeforce's uber-computer and in front of a group of inner-circle Strikeforces, Hero and ACK among them. "Though he placed undercover agents in both La Perdita and Munich, he never allowed any of us to access the continuous stream of information they fed -and continue to feed- our computer... Now we know why. Vanguard aren't the bad guys... Merlin is."

"Was," Hero corrected. "I just briefed everyone on what we found on Merlin's secret files, Graviton, there's no need to repeat it. Also, I don't see what this has to do with the reason we're in this room..."

"Yes, yes, the information about the murder," Graviton said, "we'll get to that. Be patient, Brandon." Graviton started walking around the room, like a teacher in front of his class. "These agents in Vanguard's enviroment report on anything they do -- what kind of movies they watch, what kind of food they eat, what kind of people they see... and, of course, what cases they work on." Graviton smiled.

"I have little patience today, Doctor," Hero interrupted once again. "Could you please get to the point once and for all?!"

Graviton shook his head and sighed, then continued to walk. "When I fed the computer the information about Merlin's murder to see if killings with any similarities had happened around the world recently, it returned two restricted reference files, which required Merlin's password to be accessed. Lucky for us, Merlin didn't seem to have much of a memory; I was able to find a sheet with every one of his passwords written down in his desk. Using the password I was able to open the files... and I realized they were the latest reports on Vanguard's activities. Both Vanguards."

"WHOA!" Brian Dead yelled. The rest of the 'classroom' looked at him. "...sorry..."

"So, both Vanguards are investigating murders similar to Merlin's?" Freak asked.

"Exactly," Graviton replied, "though it isn't precisely the way the people were murdered what connects the three cases, or even the identities of the killed, as one would think... it's something much more simple, actually." Graviton pressed a button in the computer.



"They found the same symbol in both murder scenes?" Freak asked. "So it was a signature..."

"Well, not the same symbols," Graviton explained, "but similar ones in similar pieces of paper. We know that the one in La Perdita showed a symbol resembling a lightning bolt and the one in Munich is apparently a Q... but our agents weren't able to photograph the evidence without arousing suspicions, so that's all we know. Uh, yes, Brian?"

Brian Dead put his hand down. "So, well, if the Vanguard guys aren't really baddies... then why don't we just phone and ask 'em what's in the papers?"

"Ridiculous," Hero said.

"Actually, that's not such a bad idea..." ACK added. "We would find the killer faster if we compared notes and--"

"You shut up, traitor!" Brain snapped. "What's this guy doin' here, anyway? Shouldn't we fire him for, you know, bein' a fuckin' spy and all???"

ACK looked at Hero, who simply made a quiet sigh.

"Actually, Brian," Hero said, "as I said to the rest of the team before you got here... late... ACK wasn't spying on us under Merlin's orders... but spying on Merlin on my orders. We put up the act of exposing everything earlier today because we knew Merlin was watching, and it was all part of our plan to expose him."

"So..." Brian said, absorbing what Hero had just said, "...you trust this guy?"

Hero looked at ACK. "With my life," he lied.

Graviton coughed. "Back to the subject at hand... I think ACK and Brian have a point, Brandon. I have been reading the reports from the agents, and I must say both Vanguard teams are impressive. If anything, we should be worrying about whether they trust us..."

Hero still felt resentment against Vanguard for having killed his brother... but he had to do the right thing. He chose to put his feelings aside and do what's best for the team. "All right," he said. "Let's contact them."

"There's also the small matter of Vanguard being banned by the UN..." Freak said. "Anyone remember that?"

"Why's that even a problem?" Brian asked. "Why don't we just tell the UN what we found out about Merlin and VI and..."

"No," Hero interrupted. "The time isn't right to inform the UN about that."

"Then how are we gonna work with Vanguard then???" Brian asked.

"Well, if I may," Graviton said, "I have an idea that might just work..."

"And you say that it's imperative that you work with Vanguard in this mission, General?" said the man in the screen in a heavy russian accent... the man being a certain General Secretary of the United Nations.

"Exactly," Jack Merlin replied, "it's essential for the success of this mission that you allow Vanguard to bypass the ban temporarily."

The man in the screen moved one of his heavy eyebrows in skepticism. "Are you sure about this, General Merlin? You know you can't afford another fuck-up..."

"I'm quite aware of that, sir, thank you. Just trust me this once, and I assure you..." Merlin grinned like only Merlin can grin. "...it'll pay off."

"All right, what the fuck. Go ahead and do it. If you can get Vanguard to trust you enough to work with you, then I'll see that they're free to move around the world... for now. Now leave me alone, it's three in the fucking morning over here..." said the General, and with that the screen turned to black.

"Thank you very much, General..." Merlin said, and then turned around quickly. "Now can I get this bloody face off???" he said in a completely different voice.

"Yes. Yes, of course," Graviton said, coming out of the adjacent room, Hero by his side. "Well done, Chamaleon."

"Don't you fuckin' call me that!" 'Merlin' said holding a finger against Graviton, as his hair shortened and turned red, and his uniform changed into a very different, much more colorful spandex costume. His face morphed as well, turning skinnier. "Ah fuckin' hate that name! Fuckin' hate it!"

"A-All right, Jones, don't get upset..." Graviton said.

"Ma name's Zippy Moondust, ya hea' me?!" he said before turning around and walking out the door. "An' don't you fuckin' fohget it! I'm an alligator..." he began to sing as his loud high-pitched voice got lost in the halls of the space station.

"What's that, the third one this week?" Hero asked.

"Yes," Graviton replied. "Whatever happened to that guy? He used to be much more... consistent with his personas not so long ago."

"Yes. I miss Major Tim."

Both Grissom Montag and William Paragon were surprised when they were invited to a video conference with the field leader of The Strikeforce. Not as surprised as they would be if it had been Jesus or Marvin Gaye, but very surprised nonetheless.

"You WOT?!" Grissom exclaimed. Hero hadn't said anything yet.

"Uhhhh..." Hero said "I haven't said anything yet."

"Oh." Grissom should have been embarassed. But he wasn't. At least it didn't look like it. "Sorry, mate." He scratched his forehead.

"All right," Hero said, moving around his chair to find a position that didn't make his arse hurt. Damn Merlin liked his seats hard. "I want you to w--."

"You W--"

"Montag..."

"Sorry, go now, mate."

"I want you to work with us in a case" Hero let it all out in one continuous stream of words. At least the worst part was over, he thought.

Grissom sent both his hands flying towards the top of his head so fast that three days later he would regret having done that for no good reason, seeing that the headache still persisted. "You........ WOT?!"

Hero sighed. "You heard me. The Strikeforce needs your help for this mission."

"And what makes you think we're willing to help you, Mr. Mega Bloody Superstar? Your mate Merlin has been on our case since day one..." Grissom folded his arms and sat back. "...'sides, we're a bit busy with a case of our own don 'ere..."

"About Merlin... Things have changed in the past hours."

"Oh, yeah? Pray tell, how have things changed?" Grissom, bit upset as he'd say, talked with a fast pace and an irritated tone. "Thing will never change as long as 'e's still in charge. 'less the bloke's dead, we..." Hero moved his chair to the side, leaving Grissom's screen and revealing what was a few feet behind him, on the other side of Merlin's office "...are not willing to work with scum like you, is that Merlin's corpse?" Grissom asked without changing his tone.

Hero's head entered the screen only to nod gravely and disappear again.

"Huh..." Grissom got closer to the monitor to take a better look. He then typed a sequence of commands, that made the screen zoom in on Merlin. "...huh. William, what do you think?"



"William?" Grissom insisted.

Nothing.

"William, you still there?"

"Oh?" Paragon finally responded. "Oh! Sorry... I forgot I still had this window open. A pop-up from an online casino caught my attention..."

"It's usually the ones with topless models the ones that take mine..." Grissom said with a slight chuckle, for some reason feeling the need to reassure his manhood in a moment like this. Well, Hero was strikingly handsome, after all.

"I'm sure they are," Paragon said. "Now tell me, is that Jack Merlin sitting over there with a bullet hole in his forehead?"

"It seems so..." Grissom said. "What d'you think? I figure you've seen even more corpses than I 'ave..."

"...you're right, and I'd say this is another one," Paragon said with confidence. "Modern technology allows the creation of holograms vivid enough to trick both man and machine, but, setting humbliness aside for a second, I can say that they can't fool m..." Hero moved his chair back to its original place, suddenly popping back into the screen "...GAH!"

"GAH!"

"GAH!"

The three men stood silently for a long moment.

"That was gay..." Grissom finally said.

"Let's never talk about that," Hero added.

"I would appreciate it if you wouldn't," Paragon concluded.

"Getting back on the subject at hand..." Hero started, opening his mouths and filling with lungs with air to prepare himself for one his long speeches, "...as you can see, things have indeed changed around here. Not only is Merlin dead; we have also have found out his real intentions, something I presume you have known for a long time. We found out that he had been incriminating your organization this whole time, making the world believe your team and the Metahuman Brotherhood League were one and the same, and taking credit for your success in the Antartic War... and other places. We found out he also had plans for us: he wanted to pit us against you and then kills us by exploding our satellite after you were no longer a problem. All this we found out by entering Merlin's chambers after finding him dead where you see him."

"If I may ask, who killed Merlin?" Paragon asked.

"Does it matter?" Grissom said. "Cunt's dead, that's all that matters... 'bout time, too..."

"This is where you come in," Hero replied. "We don't know who killed him. We've examined the murder scene with our best men, and we've found nothing. Our only solid lead, so far... is this."



Grissom and Paragon looked at each other.

"Don't tell me..." Grissom said. "The murder I sent your way. Y'got one o' those too, didn't you?"

"Yes," Paragon answered. "And I suppose you were investigating a murder and found one of those, too."

Grissom nodded. He rubbed his neck for a moment, then looked at Hero. "Well, what do we need you for, anyway? Vanguard could crack this case on our own..."

"I agree, both Vanguards together could probably solve the mystery..." Paragon said.

"...or, with Europe, sure, why not, they're not too bad..." Grissom added.

"...however," Paragon continued, "The Strikeforce may have information we need to solve this. The killer could be a 'gamer'... He could have intended us to work together to solve this. I've encountered my share of those in my time. I don't know, Grissom... I think we should consider it."

Grissom didn't look convinced. "Maybe you're right, mate, but still..."

"Well, solving the mystery isn't all that's in for you, in case saving lives doesn't motivate you," Hero said. "Do I need to remind you that we have in our possesion the files that prove that you're not really the MBL?"

"Wait, you found out all that and you didn't tell the UN?!" Grissom asked.

"No, so far all we've done is clear you for travelling around the world for the time being... but we will reveal the rest if you help us." After a pause to let the offer sink in, Hero continued. "I'll leave you alone now. Discuss this with your teams. If you choose to help us, gather your people in the place and time I'm currently faxing you and you'll be teleported to the Station. Strikeforce out."

Montag and Paragon looked at each other.

"Will you come, Grissom?"

"I don't know..." the brit said "...we'll see."

After Hero had logged off the video conference, Griss turned back to Paragon. "Do you trust, 'em, then?"

"Not for a moment." Paragon answered. He frowned deeply. This case troubled him greatly.

"What did your trace turn up?" Montag asked.

"It's legit. The signal was beamed straight from Strikeforce's satellite headquarters. They either don't know we can trace them, or simply don't care. If Merlin is dead, and this isn't another of his headgames, this is much more serious than we thought."

"Right. Your place or mine, then?" Montag asked, lighting a cigarette.

"Your place. I've already sent the team out." Paragon answered, glancing at another display on his screen.

"How soon can they get here, then? Munich's a bit out of the way. . ."

"They should be arriving about. . .now." Paragon answered, as Montag turned to see Drake Marshall stepping out of the pathway created by Paragon's patented subspatial inducers. "Hey, Griss, long time no see, buddy." Drake smiled at the man he hadn't seen in nearly a year.

And for the first time, Vanguard International came face to face with Vanguard Europe. . .

"What the hell was that?" Victor Reilly asked, rubbing his eyes.

"That was cool..." Tommy Foxe said to nobody in particular, taking in his new surroundings.

"What the hell was what?" Icarus Sidewinder replied.

"That. When everything went white and now we're somewhere else and that's weird."

"Oh... that's Paragon's patented subsomething inducers," Icarus explained. "They teleport."

"As was explained to me. But I didn't know everything would get so... white. And who the hell is that?" Reilly asked, pointing. Icarus followed his finger and found himself face to face with Grissom Montag.

"That..." Drake Marshall said, turning to face Reilly and Icarus, "...is Grissom Montag." Marshall and Montag shook hands. Montag looked over Marshall's shoulder and found some guy they didn't know standing there.

"Hey! Who the hell are you?" Montag asked.

The man shrugged. "Jeff. What's up?"

"...not a lot."

Montag smiled when he turned to face Adem.

"Adem. Hey," Grissom said, and held out a hand.

"It's good to see you, Grissom," Adem said, shaking Montag's offered hand.

"You too, Adem."

"So, wait..." Reilly whispered. "Those guys already know this guy?"

"Yeah. Drake, Ozzy and Adem used to be members of Vanguard International before Paragon hired them," Icarus answered.

"Not you, though?"

"Me? No. I don't like the tropics. Too humid."

Lykopis walked forward towards Grissom.

"You are Montag?" She asked.

"That's me, love."

"I am Lykopis. Drake has mentioned you. Do not call me 'love'."

"...right. Well... you're every bit as tall as Drake described," Grissom said. A moment of silence passed wherein Icarus giggled slightly and Gaunt coughed.

"So... we should do introductions, then," Grissom said, stepping aside and gesturing out of his study. He and Drake walked alongside each other through the hallway and towards the loungeroom that Grissom usually shared with Brianna, but now housed all of Vanguard International.

Drake entered the room to find himself facing Brianna, Bruteforce, Robo Squirrel, Grimm, Tiberius and Phil Smith.

"This..." Grissom said, his arm outstretched, "Is Vanguard International."

"Vanguard International?" Reilly asked.

"Yes."

"Doesn't international law confine you to this island?" Reilly said. Nobody from VI said anything for a moment.

"This is one of those 'shut up, Victor' moments, isn't it?" Reilly asked, turning to Icarus, who nodded. Reilly shrugged.

"I get those a lot," Icarus said.

Robo Squirrel shot up from his place hovering behind the couch, and circled the room above the heads of Vanguard Europe.

"GAH! What the hell is that?" Drake exclaimed, ducking as Robo Squirrel zoomed above his head.

Robo Squirrel beeped loudly. "New arrivals registered. Should Robo Squirrel scan for weapons?" Robo Squirrel asked.

"Never mind, Robo Squirrel," Banshee said.

"I repeat. Gah, what the hell is that?" Drake asked.

"That," Grissom said, sighing slightly, "Is Robo Squirrel."

"You have a robotic squirrel on your roster?" Edmond Gaunt asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes! Yes we do! What of it?" Bruteforce asked.

"Nothing..." Gaunt replied, turning away and taking in the rest of the room.

Drake stepped forward with his arms outstretched. "Brianna! It's good to see you again." The two ex-teammates hugged, then Drake turned. "Grimm! You're back."

"We're not hugging," Grimm said, and Drake laughed.

Icarus picked up a framed photo of Grissom and Brianna on the beach from the mantelpiece next to him. He smirked, and showed it to Reilly as the former members of Vanguard International caught up with their old teammates.

"Where's Danny? And Ed? And Mason?" Some guy named Jeff asked, excitedly.

"Ed and Mason left, for reasons of their own," Grissom explained. "How the hell do you know them, anyway?"

Jeff shrugged again. "I read their Wikipedia entry."

"And Danny?" Adem asked.

Nobody from VI said anything for a moment, simply sharing uncomfortable glances amongst themselves.

"Hal... you remember Hal?" Brianna asked. Drake nodded, so she kept going. "Hal possessed Danny. Took over his body and his powers. He turned against the rest of us, trying to take DNA samples and then destroy the team. The headquarters was ruined in the fight and then when we beat Hal and Danny came back... he left."

Brianna hung her head as her voice became a little choked up at the end of the story.

Drake paused for a moment before he replied. "...oh," Was all he said.

"Introductions, then?" Drake said, as Grissom sat down next to Brianna and held her hand. "This is..."

Drake was cut off by Grissom. "Don't worry about it. We can skip the verbal introductions. Phil?"

"Hmm? Oh, right," Phil Smith said, still sitting on the arm of the couch. Suddenly, every member of both teams was mentally introduced to every other. Names and powers were instantly known.

"Right. Done," Phil said.

"Hey! Cut that shit out!" Icarus said.

"What?" Phil asked.

"Stay out of my head," Icarus said, his arm pointed across the room.

"Fine," Phil said, shrugging. "I doubt there's much in there that would interest me..."

"Should we compare our notes on the crime scenes?" Brianna said, standing up.

The first thing Victor Reilly thought when she spoke was: Take out the throat first. Disable her ability to fight back. Then take out the wings so she can't retreat. Then she's as defenseless as anyone else.

He shook the thought from his head.

Grissom followed Brianna up as she got a folder from their desk drawer.

Reilly realised that one would have to catch Grissom by surprise, before he had a chance to teleport himself anything useful, to have a chance to kill him.

These thoughts brought him no joy. But he had them anyway. He'd been created and trained to have them.

Adem stepped forward to consult the notes VI had made on their crime scene.