THURSDAY, APRIL 1, 2410 11:59 PM KUMBARI DINER SALUTOWN, NEW AVALON Mar'j Hay'dn stretched and watched the clock click over to midnight. Shift over, finally. She rubbed her head, ruffling her primary ears, and sighed, then called through the window to the grill, "Hey, Solly? Shift's over. Heading out." The grillman looked up and smiled. "'K, Mar'j. Have a good one. See ya Monday." Mar'j scanned the room as she headed into the back. The big man in the leather jacket at the counter was sipping his tea and reading the late edition of the Cornet-Scientifer, paging through it carefully. Other than that, all quiet. She pulled a pair of sweats over her skirt and grabbed her jacket. Out the back door and - -- the big man from the counter was leaning against the wall of the alley. She let out a small cry and started to back up, when he lifted one hand. "Wait." He reached into the top outside pocket of his coat with two fingers - she'd seen that before, it was a giveaway for a plainclothes cop, so she relaxed - and pulled out a white plastic card. He touched the back of it with his thumb. The white plastic shimmered as images appeared in it, revealing the Star of Avalon, the words 'International Police Organization', and a picture of the man. "Geoff Depew, IPO. There's been a couple of muggings around here, and when I saw you were knocking off as I was finishing up, I figured I'd do a good deed, offer you a walk home. I'm sorry I scared you." She chuckled. "It's all right." She examined the card. "What's Special Assignment 7?" "It's kind of like Expert of Justice trainee." He let her satisfy itself, then tucked it away. "I'm not a Lensman, or this would have gone a lot smoother." He shook his head. Mar'j paused, a memory sparking. "I heard about you," she said, suddenly. "You showed up a couple times to a couple friends of mine. They're waitresses too." She grinned at him. "You got a waitress fetish?" Geoff smiled. "Nah. Just hate seeing good service go downhill." He sketched a small bow. "After you." They had no sooner stepped out of the alley than they were surrounded by three 'borged punks. One had his arms replaced by oversized replacements that looked more like they were for a battlemover than a person, the second had a sparking whip coming out of the back of his right cyberarm, and the third had an eye that glowed an unpleasant orange color, like a personal phaser's beam. "Abomination!" the one with the arms yelled. "We shall crush you and the fool that stands with you! DEATH to the inhuman! So proclaims the Church of Man!" Geoff sighed. "Mar'j? In advance, I'm very sorry." /* Stewart Copeland "The Equaliser Busy Equalising" _The Equalizer & Other Cliffhangers_ */ Mar'j started. Was that IPO card a fake, what was he - She stopped thinking as Geoff shot his foot out and swept her feet out from under her. As she fell to the ground, she heard three thunderclaps that hurt both sets of ears terribly. Then she was being helped up, and the three punks were lying there, sparking and twitching. "I had to get you out of the line of fire as fast as possible," he said. "Tripping you was the fastest. Sorry if I shook you up." "Tha... that's all right." She shuddered, looking at the punks. "Are they... ?" "No, they're alive. Ionic pulse rounds - a little present from our friends in the Zardon Justice Department. They're hell on droids and cyborg parts." He holstered a massive revolver that seemed to vanish into the coat, and then pulled out an old-fashioned communicator. "Central? Depew, SA7. I'm at the corner of Orino and Talbar, out back of the Kumbari Diner. Three Commer punks with gear, unconscious. Charges: ADW, terroristic threats, illegal cyb aug. I'll keep an eye on them. And can you send me a car? I was going to walk one of the waitresses home, but looks like I'm going to be tied up in paperwork for a while." "10-4, Agent Depew. Dispatching now. ETA, your 20, five minutes," a tinny voice replied. Twenty minutes later, Mar'j Hay'dn was home, in a bath, and starting to relax. Solly had come out right after it all happened and told Geoff Depew his money wasn't good in the Kumbari any more. Hell of a night, she thought. But it's good to know that New Avalon's protected like that. And that guy was hella cute for a human, she added with a smile. If Geoff Depew had known she felt that way, he'd have showed up on IR scans from orbit. I have a message from another time... /* See-Saw "Obsession" _.hack//Sign Original Sound Track 1_ */ Eyrie Productions, Unlimited and Bacon Comics Group present UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT Vol. 1 No. 74 "A Certain Obligation" scripted by Geoff Depew pencils & inks by your imagination letters by Geoff Depew & Benjamin D. Hutchins editor: Benjamin D. Hutchins Bacon Comics chief: Derek Bacon (c) 2004 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited FRIDAY, APRIL 2, 2410 2:04 AM Geoff Depew sat at one of the terminals on the fifteenth floor of the IPO HQ building in New Avalon, going over reports. The Church of Man Trueborn - the cyborg raiders - had become more of a presence the past few weeks, dealing out random beatings and assaults. No murders yet - they'd always been stopped before it went that far - but still, it wouldn't be long until someone got there a minute too late. He pulled up a screen and started plotting things out, seeing if he could put together some kind of idea of distribution - with that, he might get a clue as to their main base. The mainline Church of Man house of worship (he found that laughable, really) denied any of the Trueborn was in New Avalon, but they might just be willfully ignorant of the matter. He tapped away, intent on the situation. "I presume you have a reason for being here," a voice came from behind him. He turned around in the chair to look up - - and up, and up. My, that was a tall man. Based on his height and the stark, unrelieved violet of his outfit, though, it could only be one man. "Geoff Depew, Special Assignment 7, working with Logan. I was just looking into these Commer assaults - I stopped one tonight, and it piqued my interest. Is something wrong, Chief Superintendent?" Martin Rose chuckled. "Well, these are odd hours for work, even for me." "I had paperwork to do, and I like to get it done as soon as I can. Then I started finding references, and one thing led to another... " He shrugged. "I get a little obsessive sometimes." "Depew, Depew," the inspector mused, looking off to one side, and then brightened. "Ah, right. 'Big Fire, Allegiance is Death'. I see you've come in from the cold." The Hammer leaned against a wall. "So how'd you end up knocking skulls with the ol' Church of Malarkey?" "I'm a night owl, so I spend time in diners. I saw a waitress leaving and offered her an escort home a few nights ago, and then again, and then tonight. This time we ran into the Commers, and, well, I stopped them. She was Salusian, over at the Kumbari Diner." "Mar'j? Yeah, she's a sweetheart. Always puts extra cinnamon in the cocoa on cold nights. You'll get a status boost with most every cop in town when they find out that was you helping her." "It's a cop diner? Didn't know that - just was out walking and there it was." "Well, nights are for daring rescues and sleeping, not sifting through old case files. The folders ain't walkin' away overnight. Trust me on this." Geoff chuckled and stretched. "You're right. Listen, I know we just met, but can I ask you a small favor?" Hammer smiled faintly and gave his head a fatigued back-and-forth waggle. "Ride home, huh? Maybe I should change my color scheme to yellow with a black-and-white checkerboard stripe." "No, actually. Someone called 'Daredevil' broke three of these up. I was hoping you'd give me an introduction... " 11:45 PM Geoff Depew stood on top of a dilapidated Art Deco tower at the border of Hell's Kitchen and Claremont, waiting. With a quiet zip, another man swung into position. He looked Geoff over for a moment, then nodded. "Hammer said you wanted to talk to me?" Daredevil said without preamble. Geoff took a moment to regard the red-clad figure. The suit was some kind of armored sim-leather, which was obvious; the headgear had small horns on it that emphasized the 'devil' motif. Something, about the way the man stood set off something in Geoff's fine-tuned combat senses. "Yes," he said. "I was looking at the Commer assault cases, and found you were involved in three of them. I was hoping to get some more information from you, if you have a few moments." Geoff watched as the red-horned head shifted a little, then realized something: The man was blind. Underneath that mask, he was blind. Which meant that he must have amazing skills to function as a crimefighter with that level of missing senses. "I was patrolling Hell's Kitchen, and came across them. Not much else to say, other than that." Daredevil shrugged. "Well, if it was just random chance, I guess there's not much else - what?" Daredevil stood still for a moment, head canted slightly. "Something - someone's in trouble." The red-clad crusader frowned. "I have to go." Without hesitation, he ran to the edge of the roof and jumped off, reaching out and firing a jumpline from his billy club. It snared a flagpole and he swung around a building. /* Drowning Pool feat. Rob Zombie "The Man Without Fear" */ "Trouble's part of my business too," Geoff murmured, reaching under his coat. He'd stopped by the armory to requisition one of these things, after getting the OK from Logan to work the case. It was a jumpline launcher, standard issue for tactical teams working urban assault, and its pedigree was distinguished indeed: Wayne Enterprises, the vendor, also made them for Batman. The launcher fit Geoff's hand well, and with a puff of compressed carbon dioxide release, he fired it. The grapnel wrapped around the same flagpole, and he leapt off the same way Daredevil had, praying for a moment that he wouldn't slip. It was a hell of a rush, but Geoff Depew was intent on something else - Daredevil, surrounded by a half-dozen cybernetically enhanced goons, and doing a pretty good job despite that. He was hindered, though, by having to block them from getting to the pair of Rodians, slightly bloody, who were backed up against a building behind him. Geoff frowned and started to swing in, unlimbering the Canon. "International Police! Nobody move!" he cried as he dropped from the sky. The call was a matter of form and not one he expected would make any difference to the fight, but it would allow him to tack "resisting arrest" onto the charges. Indeed, no one paid any apparent attention. He came down hard on one of the punks - who barely moved, whereas Geoff felt something go crack in his leg and felt a sharp shooting pain. He didn't curse, but put the big revolver to the back of the guy's head and fired. The ionic-pulse bullet, new production from the IPO Armory based on the Zardon design, slammed into the armored head and released its full charge into the nervous system of the Commer in half a second. An ionic pulse couldn't kill a man, even through noninsulated armor, but it was enough to crash most of his cybernetic control circuitry and leave him twitching. As the borg fell, Geoff hopped free. Oh, yeah, something's broken in there, he thought as he landed. He found himself leaning against the wall next to the two Rodians. "Glad you showed up!" Daredevil called out. "I could use the help." "Yeah, figured that out!" Geoff called back, then fired another ion slug into a guy with a set of oversized cybernetic arms - what, did they get them wholesale from somewhere? That guy staggered for a moment, then recovered - a sure sign that his arms were milspec. The rest of him was probably still meat enough to stand up to the pulse. "Ooooooh, crap," Geoff muttered, then tossed the Canon from his right hand to his left and drew the Jackal. As he was in the middle of that complex maneuver, there was a crunching sound and one of the oversized arms abruptly flew backwards down the street. Geoff looked up and paused as someone else dropped into view just below the streetlights. The new arrival was dressed in grey body armor and a strangely flanged golden helmet, but the two most distinguising factors about him were the pair of feathered wings he sported and the massive electro-mace he wielded. "A Thanagarian Hawkman as guardian angel?" Geoff muttered to himself, and was vaguely pleased to hear Daredevil make a snarky noise. The addition of the third person helped turn the tide, and a few more swoops from the flier ended with a few more of the Trueborn losing pieces. One of them glared at the flier and raised one arm, the hand of which popped off, revealing an emitter lens. "Hey, look out - " Geoff yelled, trying to get a shot at the 'borg without accidentally shooting Daredevil. The guy in the hawk-cop's uniform brought the mace, its head crackling with energy, to bear. He swung as the cyborg fired, making a perfect parry... and the stun bolt went right into the mace, which unhelpfully conducted it up right into its wielder's body. The hawkman jerked, then began to drift downwards at a speed rather less than seemed strictly appropriate in standard gravity. "Son of a BITCH!" Geoff shifted and managed to get his last ion round into the guy with the beam arm, grunting at the shock of pain as he stepped on the leg he'd injured. About the same moment, Daredevil drove his billy club into the gut of the last Trueborn, who grunted and dropped. "DD, flier down!" Geoff called. Daredevil caught the reference and managed to keep the winged guy from hitting the pavement. Geoff limped over, pulling his communicator as he did. "What the hell is a Thanagarian hawk-cop doing in New Avalon?" Then, with a wry chuckle, he added, "He's sure as hell not their IPO liaison." Daredevil pulled the helmet off the guy. As Geoff got his first good look, it became obvious he was really just a kid - maybe 15 or 16, exceedingly well-styled blond hair, with a Roman nose and a chain around his neck. Whoever he was, he was much too young to be a real hawk-cop. Daredevil pulled the chain out, ran a fingertip over the front of the golden pendant that hung from it, and said in a musing tone, "'To Warren, Happy Birthday, Mother.'" He could read that with his finger without even taking his glove off?! Geoff thought to himself. -Damn-. What he said out loud was, "Man, I hate this part." He flipped open his communicator. "Control, Depew here. More Trueborn trouble, near Colan and Miller northside corner. Six perps, same charges as last time plus resisting arrest. Two Rodians were the vics and need medical attention. Thanks. Depew out." He sagged against the building, glancing at Daredevil. "You heading out?" "I won't go far." The vigilante paused. "Thanks. I appreciate the help." "No problem," Geoff said, extending a hand. "Always glad to meet someone who appreciates the fine art of applied mayhem." Daredevil chuckled and took the hand, shaking it. "What about the kid?" he asked. "Not sure. Can you drop him off on a rooftop? I want to talk to him privately." "Sure. He's pretty light - can't be more than a hundred pounds. I think he's wearing a gravity compensator." Geoff nodded. "Thanagarians can't fly in a standard-gravity environment without one. Thanks again, Daredevil. Good luck. Be careful out there." "You too," the red-clad vigilante replied, then zipped out the line from his billy club and headed for the rooftops, leaving Geoff to wait for the sirens. After half an hour, and promising to file a report soon, he took to the rooftops to find the kid gone. He had only had a couple of moments to curse his bad timing when he felt the sensation deep within him - the familiar feeling of the Daodan waking up. He took a deep breath, and lay down on the rooftop, shuddering as the force of it flowed through him. It was a freaky feeling, as always, but it did have one very significant payoff: whenever it happened, any injuries he might've sustained beforehand were gone at the end. The process had just finished and he was regaining his breath when a burst of air and a certain sulphurous smell told him he had (highly welcome) company. "Trouble, mein freund?" the voice of Kurt Wagner said gently. SATURDAY, APRIL 3 11:50 AM The next day was spent in reports. Deep in reports. Ammo used; information on the third person who was involved; another special report for Boothroyd about the ion pulse bullets; then the "yes, I spoke to an IPO ally for information" and the "then we got into a fight" reports. Geoff filed the last of the reports, put away his PDA, then leaned back, rubbing his eyes. He loved the fifteenth floor lounge, he really did. This was the Special Assignment floor, where all of them could relax. He'd met more than a few people here. All of them knew his background, or, due to their security levels, they could look it up. And none of them treated him like he'd expected. Jackie Chan was the most affable man he'd ever met, always quick with a joke or some piece of wisdom he'd picked up in a hundred years of wandering martial arts training. Cain Marko had given him some hints about living on the right side of the law when you were used to the wrong side of it - from personal experience. The rest of them were really nice, overall. Well, there was Nabeshin - but then, Nabeshin was a special case, Geoff knew, and had to be given a little slack. (Besides, he deserved the respect given to another failed Ignatine aspirant.) He yawned and stretched, and his left hand touched something soft. He withdrew it immediately, then turned his chair around to see... a woman who stole his breath away. She may not have been classically beautiful, not the way that, say, Sumire Kanzaki was, but something about her just stopped his brain cold. Then a little voice in the back of his head cleared its throat and noted his body position and her body position and where he'd just poked the woman. /* Roxy Music "Avalon" _Avalon_ */ "I'm sorry," he said, going red. "I wasn't watching, I was rude, please forgive me." She also was a little red, underneath her big, heavy, black-framed glasses and slightly disordered black hair. She was a little on the short side (from Geoff's point of view), and wore a skirt-suit with a vest and tie, and over it a pale beige coat. The vest, shirt and tie all settled nicely on her well-built (indeed, perhaps a tad overbuilt) frame, and the skirt showed off a very nice pair of legs. Her left hand held the handle of a small wheeled suitcase, and the right carried a small package of brown paper wrapped with twine. "Oh, no, I'm sorry, I didn't watch where I was going, I walked right into your hand!" She blushed a little more, then extended the package in the tradtional shaking-hands position. "I'm sorry, let me introduce myself, I'm - " Precisely who she was would have to wait as her grip slipped and the package fell towards the floor. Geoff's hand swooped towards it as he shifted his body, sliding off the seat and onto one knee, and caught it, bringing it up to her waiting hand. For a brief moment as she took it back, her fingers touched his, leaving a tingling sensation behind. Both of them blushed a little. "I'm Geoff Depew," he said. She adjusted her package, placing it on top of the suitcase, then took his hand and shook it. "Yomiko Readman." Her sleeve moved a little, letting Geoff get a glimpse of her Lens and telling him that, in fact, this was actually Yomiko Readman, just in case he had been inclined not to believe her. They paused. Her hand was soft and warm against his. "Um," she said, "may I have my hand back?" "Oh!" He let go of her hand. "I'm very sorry." He coughed. "May I buy you lunch for being such a complete buffoon?" "Well... I did want to get started on the books I just received." She indicated the package. "There's a Barnes and Noble just down the street with a cafe. It's quiet and there's no one to stop you from reading. Or the Movenpick across the street." He paused and the words spilled out of him in a rush: "I just was hoping to spend some more time getting to know you." Where did THAT come from? She blushed again, adjusted her glasses and smiled, just a little bit. "All right. The Movenpick would be nice, as long as we can get a table in the back." LOGAN'S CABIN TOMODACHI SATURDAY, APRIL 3, 2410 7:30 PM Geoff took another spoonful of beef stew. "What do you think, Logan?" The short, burly man called Logan, Geoff's mentor in the art of dealing with being made into a weapon, snorted. "'Bout Yomiko? You're on your own there, bub. The guy with the blond hair and wings, named Warren? _That_ I got an idea about. When you get back to New Avalon, look up the name 'Warren Worthington'. I'll betcha you'll find something there." "I'd ask if you knew something I don't, but that's obvious. Let me in on the joke?" "Back home, there was an X-Man called Angel. Description fits, and the whole swooping down to help? He did that before he got recruited into the X-Men. Figure his local counterpart started doin' the same thing, bein' th' Avengin' Angel." Geoff nodded, chewing, then swallowing. "Makes a kind of sense, I guess. Anything else I should know?" "Expect him to be hifalutin' and snooty. Worthington was a snob, old money, had his own corporation, looks, and all that. Then he got wings. Then... well, some nasty stuff happened to him, he went kind of nuts for a while, but got better. Just be careful - if he's just a kid here, chances are he'll have a couple'a bodyguards." "Right. So what's up next?" "Don and Kitty invited us over for movie night - they just got an uncut version of the new Bourne flick." "Indemnity? 'Jason Bourne vs. Weapon X'? It's already on cable." Logan smirked. "The UNCUT version, bub. With the extra ten minutes of fight footage." "Ten minutes more of you versus Saionji? Wow." Geoff hadn't met Kyouichi Saionji, or, for that matter, any of the other Duelists on Tomodachi, due to various and sundry timing issues that had become the stuff of legend in that small circle. The most recent had been Logan and Geoff being attacked by ninja on the way to a Duelist Society get-together. Having seen the green-haired samurai in several Kanzaki films, though, he was looking forwards to the day when their paths finally crossed. "Actually, that fight just got two minutes added," Logan said. "Most of the fights got a minute or so, plus the foot chase." "Wow. We're gonna have to see that one." "Finish up and we'll run over, then, bub." "No traps this time?" "Now where's the fun in that?" TUESDAY, APRIL 6 3:30 PM /* Men At Work "Who Can It Be Now" _Business As Usual_ */ Geoff had gotten up a little early and put on his best suit, preparing for his visit to the Worthington residence. He'd already stopped by HQ to file his report on what he was doing, as well as stop by the Armory to get some more ion bullets. (Major Boothroyd, despite his stern demeanor, was quite pleased that they worked so well, and also pleased with the reports that Geoff filed on them.) With his guns secured, IPO ID in pocket and his chin freshly shaved, he rang the bell of the brownstone. He was a bit surprised that the Worthingtons lived in town, at the northern edge of City Center, instead of in one of the tony outlying districts like Crescent Heights. After a few moments, a tuxedo-clad man larger than Geoff (and almost larger than Pete Rasputin) opened the door. "Yes?" he said, with apparent disinterest. "IPO agent Geoffrey Depew, to see the young Mr. Worthington," Geoff replied, displaying his card. "On what business?" Geoff smiled, very slightly. "A discussion on the merits of guardian angels." -That- got a reaction. The man stiffened, then said, "Please come in. I will inform Master Warren that you are here." Geoff was led into a sitting room, whose décor was dominated by a statue of Nike, Greek goddess of victory - wings out and on display - on the mantelpiece. It was quite eye-catching. Geoff smiled at it, reminded of someone he'd met a couple of times since coming in from the cold. "Good afternoon, sir," a pleasant, if not-quite-mature, tenor voice said, coming into the room. Geoff turned, and there was the young man who'd helped him a few days ago. He was just shy of six feet, slender, with perfectly arranged hair and a suit that just had to be bespoke. "Mr. Worthington? Warren C. Worthington III?" "That would be me, yes. Bruno said you wished to speak to me on official business, and you are with the International Police?" "Indeed. This is more of a personal nature than truly official, but we initially encountered each other on a case I was working on." "I don't believe we've met before, Mr. Depew." "The corner of Miller and Colan, late this past Thursday? Does it start to come back?" Geoff had to admit, the young man had admirable aplomb. He didn't even blink as he replied smoothly, "Not at all, I'm sorry. One doesn't have many dealings in -that- part of town," he added tartly. "Mm," Geoff said, nodding. "Too bad. Someone who looked a great deal like you, except with wings, wearing a Thanagarian Hawkman's uniform with one of their war-maces, helped the man called Daredevil and me against some Church of Man Trueborn. I was hoping to thank him." He sighed, a touch theatrically, before adding, "But, since it seems I guessed wrong, I guess I'll just have to beg a favor with the crime lab and get a DNA scan on some hairs I kept from the uniform's helmet." He had no intention of doing that - in fact, despite everything he was still a little leery of going in the CSI area, and still a little worried about meeting up with Sara Sidle. Still, a bluff's a bluff. This one worked. The young man sighed. "Well, I suppose my secret's out, then." He sighed, sitting down. "The family will be so very ashamed that I was outed publicly as a freak. Poor Mother... this will destroy her." "What outed publicly? What I know is currently in files that maybe five other people in the galaxy can read, and just listed as suspicions. I didn't come here to blackmail you into the IPO, or bully you, or anything else. I just was wondering who the guy was, and now that I know that, wondering why the only son of a rich family is flying around impersonating a Hawkman and bashing Commer cyborgs. I'm a curious person." Warren gave him a thoughtful look. "I suppose you could call it... noblesse oblige? I feel a certain... obligation to use my talents for the betterment of society. But my parents would be scandalized to find out that I was consorting with what they consider the 'wrong element', so I bought that outfit and the mace, along with a prototype gravity neutralizer, on the Internet. The neutralizer doesn't work quite as well as a proper hawkman's harness, I'm afraid, but the Thanagarian government controls exports of Nth metal very strictly indeed." The young man smiled wryly. "It seems you can't quite get -anything- on eBay after all." "All the same, that's quite impressive, Mr. Worthington," Geoff said, and he meant it. He'd been a career criminal working for an organization that had links to the black markets of a hundred systems, and he wasn't sure -he- would be able to score a Thanagarian electro-mace. "Please, sir. I expect you can call me 'Warren' with everything that's gone on." "And I'm Geoff." Warren smiled, seeming to lighten up. "You see, in high society, image is everything. How you act, how you look, where you came from. If what I am were revealed, it would be a tremendous blow against them. They'd be shunned, ignored, shut out from all the social occasions that they enjoy." He sighed. "Personally, I find them tiresome, except that the contacts I make are invaluable. When I finally take over Worthington Enterprises, the people I meet will be part of that network of business, as well." He sighed. "Some of them remain horribly unpleasant. The Broadbank girl, a few others, they just use the Grand Tour as if putting down their peers gained them something." "Grand Tour?" Geoff asked, a little confused. "Oh, a term for all the parties and soirees that go on. It goes from one household to another, one estate to the next, for weeks on end. Clarissa Broadbank is a fixture, despite her family lacking control of Aztechnology. Her younger sister owns most of it, along with some woman named Arisugawa." "I see. I'm not familiar with the high society structure in New Avalon - I'm a bit too declasse for that. There are two things I'm wondering, though." "And that is?" "Firstly, how do you hide your wings? I'd think even a 5,000-credit Armani wouldn't have enough room to hide them." Warren chuckled and stood, removing the jacket, then his tie and shirt, to reveal his undershirt. He then turned around to show, under his undershirt, a thin layer of circuitry close to his back. "It creates a small dimensional pocket. Horribly expensive, but after Worthington Enterprises won its suit against the Earth Alliance for nationalizing our assets, Father had a spare 300 billion to toss around. Part of it went to this." He laughed lightly. "At first it made me a bit nervous, sticking part of my body into a folded spatial construct, but it -is- more comfortable than the rather ridiculous methods I had to use before." "Fascinating!" Geoff examined it without touching. "Cutting edge, really. I mean, the IPO has things like this, but they're fairly rare. Impressive. I'd love to know who did it." "Someone in Father's research labs. I really don't know more than that. I do know it's not nearly cost effective, so there's not going to be very many more, if any." "Impressive," Geoff noted, then withdrew as Warren re-dressed himself. "What was the second thing?" Warren asked. "Sorry?" Geoff replied, having lost his train of thought a bit while examining the displacer. "You said there were two things you were wondering about," Warren prompted him. "Oh! Yes. The obvious question - how does the son of a couple of rich human socialites end up with wings?" Warren's face clouded. "That, sir, is not for discussion, and I would appreciate you not mentioning it again, ever." Geoff realized that he'd struck quite a nerve there. "I'm very sorry. How are you bearing up after last night's fray?" "Woke up on the rooftop with quite a headache, barely made it home, and slept until past noon. I hadn't expected to get shot with a stunner - I knew that the mace would conduct a stunner, and I didn't think right in the heat of battle. That would have been the end of me if you hadn't been there." "We wouldn't have been there if it hadn't been for luck." (Geoff suppressed a chuckle - he'd almost said "blind luck".) Listen, have you considered the International Police? I'm sure they can find something for you to do, let you indulge your altruistic side in a way that won't get out." "No, no, there would be too much of a chance of it leaking out to the public. It would... embarrass the family. I can't have that." The young man sighed. "Perhaps I should pack up the suit. It's very risky - a young man's folly. I could do something else - pretend to be an elegantly dissipated young scion of the rich, and talk people into helping me start a philanthropic foundation around all my parties." He had a slight smirk as he said the last, seeming to be fond of that concept. "It's an option. Just keep the IPO in mind? You've got that do-gooder streak, and an unusual talent. They're always scouting. Besides," Geoff said with a small smile, "I have it on good authority that the Worthingtons tend to give in to their heroic side once in a while, alongside others." Geoff walked down the steps from the brownstone and sighed. The kid hadn't come around. That might have been just as well - Geoff should have just filed all the reports and let the IPO brass take the situation in hand, but no, he had to try to talk the kid into doing something. Well, the papers were all filed, including his intent to talk to the young man, so if he didn't get bitched out for it, at least someone better at recruiting would be sent. His face twitched slightly at the idea of them sending, say, Kurt, or Hank McCoy. Hands in pants pockets, Geoff began to walk back towards Claremont. Not exactly a short distance, but maybe the walk would clear his head. He wandered down Strange Street, passing the various shops, and was brought up short by one - Valsar Boskov's Emporium of Amusements, an arcade which was displaying the 'Street Fighter 2410: Experts of Justice Versus EVERYBODY' new-release poster in the window. Out of sheer whimsy, he went in and managed to get some time on the machine. He was vastly amused at playing, of all people, Logan, and sliced his way through a bunch of levels before being hammered by 'Hellfire', the Church of Man Trueborn top boss, who ended up hosing him with a long-range flamethrower. "Cheap," he remarked, and mentally noted to get Logan into an arcade to see it - he'd probably be amused at the way he was depicted. That garish yellow and blue getup - maybe, Geoff thought, I shouldn't have gone for the alternate costume. On his way out he was nearly run over by someone walking along very quickly. Dancing out of the way, he found himself face to face again with Yomiko Readman, who was picking books up off the ground. "Oh, dear, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just wasn't watching, I'm sorry - oh, Mr. Depew!" She got very red. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going." "Where WERE you going in such a hurry? Is there an emergency?" He knelt down to help her pick up the dropped books. "No... not that I know of. I just..." She looked a little embarrassed. "I just got some money and I thought I'd go buy some more books, then I found out the books I bought weren't as expensive as I thought, so I went to get more books, but I was going to a different bookstore. And I just was so close, and I didn't pay attention." "Well," he said, "You look like you could use some help. I don't have anything to do this afternoon, so if you'd like, I can be your schlepping agent." He smiled. "And that might help you keep from running into people." She smiled shyly, blushing, and said, "I'd like that." 8:34 PM Geoff leaned back in his chair, looking left and right first to make sure he wasn't going to poke anyone, then stretched. Yomiko Readman was, in fact, a lively young lady and had led him into more bookstores than he'd realized existed in that area. She seemed to be well-known - indeed, practically worshipped - in all of them, too. Geoff found himself wondering just how many books she -had-. Anyway, it had been an interesting afternoon, and he'd picked up a few books himself, including the bulkily-but-entertainingly-titled "Get the Girl, Kill the Baddies (And Save the Entire Planet): 100 Years As A Galactic Do-Gooder", which was written a long time ago by the Chief and probably was going to be pretty fun. He returned to his work, trying to find a connection between all of the Trueborn assaults. Victims were random but always had at least one nonhuman involved; times varied but always at night; some in Hell's Kitchen, some on the outer edges of Salutown or Claremont. Nothing to really tie them together. Finding a decent pattern was becoming difficult. Even the forensics weren't coming together, and interrogations? These people were fanatics, and they didn't talk at all. Finally, Geoff decided to just plot them on a map. They popped into view, slowly, making a random pattern. Then as a few more came in, they started to form clusters. Geoff waited for the computer to finish, then started poking around with it, overlaying it with city features. Electical cables, no. Sewers, no. Storm drains, no. Phone cables, no. Nothing was coming together, at all. He started to rotate the view and then it all came together. There was about a four-block area in the Docklands that, due to the way that buildings came toghether, would allow a nearly perfect line of sight to buildings in the center of the areas where the attacks happened. Lasercomm, microwave burst, what have you. Line-of-sight like that meant someone was communicating in a tight-beam mode, and that meant coordination. "Someone's keeping an eye for isolated groups, no police or security," he mused aloud. "When they see it, they comm back on the tight-beam, and someone sends out a goon squad of Trueborn. Hell of a plan." It was just a guess, but it felt right to Geoff. There wasn't any way to prove it, though. It WAS just a guess. Well, there was ONE way. 10:30 PM Geoff pulled on his denim jacket and headed out. Peter was out at a coffeehouse, and Kurt off again on another Experts mission, so no one was around to see him. Not that he felt guilty or anything; this was just recon. He'd go take a look around, and see what he could find. Despite the fact that there are no -other- major seaports on Lake Daniels, New Avalon's Docklands district is, in fact, a working seaport. Here's how it works: Heavy freight is handled at the Avalon County Heavy Freight Depot on Kaiser Island, a hundred miles off New Avalon. It's either shipped there from the city and then bundled onto heavy space freighters for export, or unloaded from incoming heavy space freighters there and shipped into the city for distribution. The reason for this is simple: It keeps the heavy freighters, with their accompanying noise, pollution, and huge damage potential in the event of a crash, well away from the city. Nothing much bigger than a passenger ship comes to New Avalon Interstellar or Mathews Memorial. So, Avalon County's grain, TV sets, and whatnot go out through Docklands to the island, and raw materials, imported foods, and such come in the same way. Doing some basic geometry gave Geoff a four-block area to search - but in that part of town, the blocks were BIG. Really, really big. He'd left notes in the files for people to follow if they wanted, and sent an email to Gryphon, CCing Logan, telling them he was going to check it out, not get involved in a fight if at all possible, just check and report back. Anyone who knows how luck goes for an IPO agent should realize that Geoff Depew had just walked up to the Universal Cafeteria's counter and ordered one large helping of disaster, to go, with extra fries. The roof of the building abruptly collapsed around Geoff's left foot with a sharp crack, wood and metal giving way and pitching him downwards into the warehouse. As he hadn't done in Hell's Kitchen, he curled up and started to spin. He landed on his shoulder blades and rolled to his feet, drawing his guns. He'd landed in the center of a ring of a damn lot of Trueborn. There were two choices here: fight or brazen it out. "IPO!" he said, holstering the Jackal and brandishing his ID card. "This is a raid. You're under arrest. Lie down on the floor and put your hands above your heads." There was a chuckle as a light went on at one end of the room, revealing a full-body-replacement borg whose face was a humaniform simulation - possibly of his old face. The decorative bits of armor around it had an old-fashioned motif that twitched the back of Geoff's head - it reminded him of the Arabic stylings used by Cervantes in his personal decoration. "You think to arrest the Trueborn? Why? For what crime?" "Assault and battery; attempted murder; grand larcery in the form of destruction of property; conspiracy to terrorize the populace at large... " He paused, glancing around. "... And a lot of illegal cybernetic enhancements - that comes under arms trading." Geoff smiled. "And of course, I'll need to take your names." "My name is Calistan, of the Church of Man! Soon, the sphere will ring with my praises as I show the one true way!" Oh, great, Geoff thought. Another damn fanatic. Just what we needed. "The same one true way that the Church showed on Zeltos?" he asked. Cain Marko had told Geoff the story of that particular debacle for the Church, and Geoff figured it would have a bad impact on the fanatic. Geoff was right. Unluckily for him. Calistan's face contorted and grew red - maybe not a re-creation after all, Geoff mused. "KILL HIM! BURN HIM! TEAR HIS HEART OUT AND BRING IT TO ME AS TRIBUTE!!" The borgs shouted their battle cry, "TRUEBORN! FOR TRUE MANKIND!" Then they started to rev up their battle accoutrements. Geoff's mind hadn't been inert during this, no matter what they thought. He's come up with a battle plan that gave him at least a 20% chance of making it out alive. His hand dove into his jacket, pulling out the Jackal to match the Canon, flipping off their safeties with a smooth motion. His left hand, holding the Canon, twitched slightly, and he began to glow with the pale light of biologically-generated radiation of a Daodan-implantee in overdrive. Now if he could just drop enough of them before they killed him. Light-years away from New Avalon, Logan sat naked in the stream in back of his cabin, eyes closed, clearing his mind. The icy water flowed around him as he shut the cold out of his awareness. Suddenly a screaming noise intruded, and he opened his eyes to see his pager shuddering and displaying a hologram: 24100406 23:04:28 WPN42582 (DEPEW, G. SA7) WEAPON DISCHARGE And then more of them appeared, almost faster than Logan's eyes could register. "What trouble did you get yourself into this time, kid?" he grunted, then heaved himself out of the stream and ran towards his cabin to dress. /* Traci Lords "Control" _1000 Fires_ */ Most of the Trueborn were built for hand-to-hand combat, a fact Geoff appreciated as he began the Psalm of the Plain of Megiddo - one of the second-level gun kata, mastery of which would earn one elevation to the next level and one in which he used his unorthodox manner of gunplay to good effect. Most Ignatines used the same type of weapon in each hand; Geoff's insistence on the different guns was part of the reason that he had progressed more slowly than most.) The time that he'd had to survey had given him a few good choices, and he used the Canon on those first, the ion pulse rounds slamming into them and dropping them with little bolts of blue lightning arcing across their bodies. They were the lightly-armored ones, who would be taken down fastest. He hit a crate with a foot and backflipped into the air, rising above them with his left hand bringing the big automatic pistol to bear. The Jackal spoke next as the Canon was slammed into its holster to be reloaded. Bullets severed external hoses and lightly armored cables on cyborg limbs to do a job on the movement of a number of the borgs. Geoff was taking care not to kill anyone if it was actually possible to avoid - if nothing else, the more taken the more they could learn from interrogation. He landed and rolled, firing the last two shots into the armored groin of a Trueborn from close range. As the Commer's eyes bulged, Geoff figured he hadn't had EVERYTHING replaced. He had just finished the roll behind a crate, getting cover to change clips, when another sound entered the room. Two of the borgs with nonarmored heads (now THAT, Geoff opined to himself, was stupid - if you armor two things you should armor your head and chest) fell down as something flew down, caromed off one's head with a twang, slammed into the noggin of the guy next to him with a similar twang, and then flew back up into the hand of a man in red leather standing on top of some crates. "DD!" Geoff yelled, as he slammed the clip home and leapt out from behind his cover, over the crate, landing feetfirst on a borg's shoulders to use him as a platform for a moment. Another Commer lost power to his arms, and Geoff kicked off from his mobile platform, sending the idiot backwards with a Nike swoosh and treadmarks imprinted from forehead to chin. Daredevil hadn't been idle, using his billy club as he jumped into the fight. Geoff adjused the internal Gregorian chants he used to time his attacks, shifting their beat in his head, and incorporated Daredevil into his attack patterns. He could feel the Daodan pulsing within him like a second heartbeat, shuddering inside him, and for the first time in a long time, he enjoyed it. This, he realized, was what he was meant to do! Big Fire trained him to kill for the good of the galaxy - their definition of good. Then the Ignatines taught him a greater meaning of Good. And then the IPO caught him, took him in, and gave him the chance to do things like this. And he really, truly, right now, in the heat of a fight where he knew death was moments away if he faltered, felt like he was living the life he should be leading. Logan told him once that there were people out there - like Logan himself, like Geoff - whose life could be defined by what they did, and the choices they made, when the chips were down. And if this wasn't a chips-down situation, what was? All this passed through his head in a tenth-second, and his face, usually solemn in a fight, split into a grin as he landed on one hand, used it and his Daodan-enhanced strength to spring into the face of another Trueborn, then rode that one down to the floor as he blew a hole in the lower torso of one more of the borgs. That one fell over, artificial spine feeding back with a slug lodged in it. Springing back to his feet, Geoff drew the reloaded Canon with his right hand. Another heavily-armored borg suddenly got his neck peppered with ion pulse bullets, preventing him from grabbing Daredevil. The big borg's head began to smoke, and he collapsed heavily to his knees. Daredevil finished his spin-kick, snapping around the head of another Trueborn, and flashed Geoff a thumbs-up, then pointed right behind Geoff. Geoff threw himself to the side just as one borg, his right hand replaced with a huge axe, slammed it into the floor. Geoff's hand went down to brace himself as he landed - - and slipped in a puddle of lubricant spilled on the floor. His hand went out from under him, and he lost balance and landed heavily. The Trueborn grinned gruesomely (having had part of his jaw replaced by something that looked like half a bear trap, he had no choice but to do so). "For true men!" he howled, raising up his arm - - and a mace, crackling with blue-white energy, fell down on him from above, crushed his shoulder and blew the conduits, freezing the arm above him. Since he'd been rearing back a little for his windup, this had the net effect of pitching Axe-Hand over on his back. Geoff rolled over in time to see this, and raised his eyes up to see Warren Worthington, wearing his hawk-cop's outfit, his wings outspread, overhead and hovering. Warren raised a hand in greeting, then jinked in the air to dodge some boxes thrown at him as he dove to recover the mace. Geoff used the momentary distraction to kippup, and the Canon related another few sermonettes to some of the borgs. The Canon clicked as the hammer fell on a spent chamber, and Geoff holstered it with a muttered, "ECX." The little droid that made up the holster processed the command that was radioed from the small mic in Geoff's mastoid, then started to remove bullets from one of the three sets of ammunition that it was loaded with, storing spent brass in a fourth for later recycling. (The Ignatines were nothing if not efficient in their processes.) A door slammed open and a half-dozen more Trueborn charged into the room. "Cripes, do they have a factory for these guys somewhere?" Geoff wondered, causing Daredevil to smirk. The new borgs were larger than the others, except the one who called himself Calistan, and began to simply wade through the fight, causing Geoff and Daredevil to back up against them. Their armor was too tough for bullets and, as Geoff watched, one of them grabbed Daredevil's billy club _out of the air_ and threw it hard at Daredevil, catching the red-clad man in the lower chest. The two ended up next to each other as the new fighters crossed the room towards them, and just at that moment a small bell rang out from under Geoff's jacket. Daredevil, back against the wall, turned his head sharply to Geoff. "What was that ding?" Geoff smirked, just a little, and drew the Canon. "Carnage up!" He emptied it as fast as he could. The barrage hit the heavily armored borgs and blew massive holes in them, dropping three of them with jagged chest wounds. Against a force this heavy and numerous, any thought of restraint had left Geoff's mind. The other three started to advance as Geoff shoved the Canon back into its holster, only to hear the thick blatt that indicated the ammo droid was almost out of ammunition. Daredevil cocked his head. "That didn't sound good." "Last reload for the big gun," Geoff said. He popped the clip on the Jackal, shoving another clip into place as the remaining Trueborn advanced. Suddenly, a angry grunt came from behind one of the taller stacks of crates and it collapsed, falling down and over about half of them, leaving a pile of cyborg parts - both factory-fresh and previously-installed-now-ripped-free - strewn across the floor. Warren Worthington was there, panting, his mace crackling after he'd used it to smash the pile over. One of the ones that hadn't been caught in the collapse grabbed a box and heaved it at Warren, who tried to dodge out of the way. The box caught him square in the chest, and something underneath gave up the ghost with a 'zrrrt' of malfunctioning technology and a puff of smoke. Whatever it was also dealt Warren a nasty shock, sending him reeling. Both Geoff and Daredevil leapt, Daredevil reaching first and catching Warren before he hit the floor. The Trueborn still standing picked their way over the packaging and continued moving towards them. "Gentlemen," Geoff said, as they found themselves backed against the door, "I would like to share with you a new idea for a plan to deal with this situation." Daredevil, holding his side with one arm and a stunned Warren with the other, said, "Good. I was about to say we should run." "Great minds think alike!" The Jackal started laying down cover fire as Geoff back-kicked the door open. His Daodan overdrive glow was starting to fade. "I'll cover you - go!" Daredevil got one of Warren's arms over his shoulder and got him through the door. Geoff followed, then spun, grabbed the edges of the doors, and slammed them shut before rejoining the other two on the run down the street. "What," Daredevil said, "did you expect to accomplish by closing the door?" The door burst open as the Trueborn began to spill out, howling. "Well, I'd hoped it would slow them down a LITTLE more than THAT," Geoff admitted. They ran through the streets of the Docklands with a batch of Church of Man Trueborn in their wake, screaming for blood. This part of town was mostly deserted this late at night, and ill-patrolled by the New Avalon Police Department, it seemed. "CRAP! They're gaining!" Geoff half-dragged Warren on one side, as Daredevil dragged him on the other, down the alley through the industrial neighborhood. "They are," agreed the red-clad man grimly. "How are you doing?" "Out of med-packs, one clip left, and the Canon just got its last reload, what there was left. You?" "Two ribs broken, lost my billy club." Warren raised his head, face pinched with pique. "They damaged my gravity neutralizer. Can't fly." "Man," Geoff muttered, "I HATE the idea of a last stand." He reached into a pocket, pulled out his communicator, and thumbed a bright red button. "Hope this works..." He paused, then a voice came out. "IPO Emergency Alert." "Central, This is Geoff Depew, SA7, code Logan 447. I'm just entering Hell's Kitchen with a bunch of borgs on my ass, low on ammo, two people with me, both injured, and the Trueborn gaining. I got two minutes before this is a last stand!" "Understood, Agent Depew. We have someone in your area. Dispatching to your location, ETA one minute. Tactical force incoming, ETA five minutes, attaching medical team." It clicked off, but the transponder light kept glowing - whoever was coming could track him. All three of them had the same slightly stunned look. "'Someone in your area'? Singular? What the hell?" Geoff muttered. Daredevil chuckled darkly. "Just hope they don't page -me-." Geoff had to laugh at that, just a little. Their way became easier a moment later, as Warren recovered the rest of his wits and started running on his own. They kept going, hearing the howls and clanking of the motley band of cyborg zealots coming close behind. A turn - And they were in a loading dock, or the alcove that lead to one, the armored external doors closed. "CRAP!" the three of them chorused. They were stuck now. Geoff drew both guns, Daredevil dropped into a ready stance, Warren did likewise, and they nodded grimly at each other. "Sorry, Warren," Geoff said. "I didn't think it would get this bad." "At least I went out honorably," Warren said, bringing up his mace, the tone of voice saying he wasn't looking forward to going out at all. The Trueborn horde trampled around the corner and came to a halt. Calistan grinned. "Trapped," he observed. "Excellent. We can dismember them and cleanse them with fire!" /* Ayumi Hamasaki "Evolution (Original Mix)" _Evolution_ */ "I think -not-," came a voice from above, and a figure dropped out of the sky to land between the cyborgs and the three bedraggled heroes. The new arrival was a woman, a bit taller than average and athletic, dressed in stylish but unremarkable street clothes. She had long black hair and, Geoff noticed with an arched eyebrow, wasn't getting any of her height from heels. The only really remarkable thing about her wardrobe, aside from what the woman inside did for it, was the pair of gleaming silver old-fashioned bracers she wore. They extended almost halfway to her elbows, something you just didn't see many women wearing nowadays. She stood foursquare, hands on hips, in the Commers' path and announced in a voice that invited no debate, "Diana Prince, Experts of Justice. Surrender." "Oh dear," the 'borg said in a sarcastic tone. "One girl will stop twenty Trueborn where those three men couldn't? Step aside, and we'll teach you what it means to deal with real men when we're done with them." "(Oh sure,)" Geoff muttered, "(don't say anything about the other bunch back there that'll be stuck in refit for weeks.)" Diana didn't bother concealing a derisive snort at Calistan's remark. "It'll take more than a bunch of grafted junk to make a real man out of the likes of you," she replied mockingly. The Trueborn leader smirked. "Stupid bitch." He waved his hands forward. "Fresh meat for you guys!" The horde surged forward around their leader. The first one to get there thrust a fistful of cyberspurs toward Diana's face at a speed almost too fast to see, but Diana just... got out of his way, moving her head a little bit less than four inches to the left. Then she drove her right fist into his abdomen - and sent him hurtling back into his buddies, bowling three more of them over in a tangle of crashing metal. The second to reach her was the leanest of the lot, a greyhound-thin speedborg armed with a PCHammer-style bayonet on each arm. He'd made it through the initial assault largely because he was so fast Geoff couldn't tag him with a round, even in overdrive. Now, howling incoherently, he faced off and launched a flurry of strikes that would have reduced an ordinary person to sashimi before she could even react. Diana met every one of them with a counterblow of her own, knocking the flickering blades away from her body and head by catching each blow on one of her bracers. The sparking impacts were almost a continuous sound at that speed, a sort of singing metallic scrape. The Commer tired first, or rather the buffer cells that banked drive power for these lightning assaults ran dry before Diana's arms felt fatigue. He slowed, backing off as he swung out of the preprogrammed attack sequence. He still had a half-second before the program would end and his arms would be returned to his conscious control, but that should be plenty of time to - Diana seized him by the forearm, spun him around, grabbed his -other- forearm, put a foot in the middle of his back, and slammed him face-first into the brick wall of the adjacent building. His shoulder joints parted with twin shrieks of overstressed metal, leaving his arms still gripped in her hands. The rest of him slid slowly and bloodily down the bricks. She turned to face the rest, discarding the speedborg's arms like pieces of a broken chair. "Next?" she inquired cordially. A hulking specimen with a rangefinder optic graft and a submachinegun where his right hand should have been opened fire. Diana handled the hail of gunfire the same way she had the speedborg's razorstorm attack. Ricochets pinged and twanged all around, pocking the walls and whomping into the sides of Dumpsters, as she somehow managed to get one of her bracers in front of each and every bullet. The last one she deflected with a special flourish, sending it smashing back into the gunner's own targeting optic. He gave a strangled cry and toppled, sparks and smoke spurting from the shattered cybereye. The rest of them screamed in outrage and rushed her. All that had taken about 15 seconds. "Geoff?" Geoff looked at Warren. "Yeah?" "Have you seen anything like this before?" "It's sort of a standard IPO kind of thing. Just when you think you've seen it all? Something comes along to say 'you ain't seen nothing yet'. This is two or three of them right there." Daredevil slumped against the wall breathing heavily. "I can't say I'm unhappy to see her." Geoff nodded. "Still, I kind of have my responsibilities, so... hold back, you two. " He drew his guns and charged into the fray. "Daredevil? Is he a hero, or is he insane?" Daredevil smiled wearily. "What's the difference?" Geoff fired two shots into the crowd, taking down a pair of Trueborn that were moving to flank Diana. No more Mr. Nice Guy; he went for head shots that they weren't getting up from, solid slugs crashing through their skulls. "Ms. Prince," Geoff said as he moved closer, "my compliments and thanks." She turned to glance at him, but only for an instant. "Save it," she said flatly, returning all her attention to the bad guys. "We're still in trouble." This was the first look he'd had at her face, and he had to admit, it didn't disappoint when stacked up with the rest of her. Even the scowl it wore now, pale-blue eyes narrowed with a mixture of concentration and contempt for the Commers, couldn't hide her loveliness. She wasn't really his -type-, per se, but Diana Prince had a great classical beauty about her, like museum statues he'd seen of Greek goddesses. She had a point, though, and right now wasn't the time to be contemplating her resemblance to Antiope. He nodded and ran the Jackal empty, only dropping two more of them. After that, the order of the day for everyone was hand-to-hand combat, Geoff using his guns as melee weapons in the Ignatine way, Diana relying still on her exceptional speed and strength. Still, they were outnumbered, and the borgs had armored a lot of their more vulnerable points. None of that seemed to rattle Diana. She looked like she could've kept it up all night; hell, she wasn't even sweating. Geoff, no slouch himself in the endurance department, was starting to get that chest-like-a-blast-furnace feeling that comes with pushing oneself too hard for too long. "I don't - suppose - you've got - a medpatch on you," he remarked to Diana between blows. Diana didn't respond, just moved faster than he could watch in the middle of the fight, flattening most of the remaining adversaries with lightning punches and kicks. She took down the last one with a nifty sort of backflip that damn near took his head off when both her feet connected with his chin. "Very nice!" Calistan remarked. "Unfortunately for you, I've got a few more followers to crush you with." With that, a half-dozen more Trueborn tramped around the corner and charged the two of them. "(I -swear- they get these guys wholesale,)" Geoff muttered, holstering the Jackal. He dodged and brought the Canon up into the armpit of one of them. The muzzle jabbed through the mesh guarding the joint, and he fired one of the four bullets left in the weapon right into the joint. The borg stopped in his tracks, lightning going up the side of his head and sending him into massive convulsions as part of his brainstem burned away. Diana had taken down three of the others, and was working on the fourth while evading the fifth, while Geoff tried to get a shot into one of those borgs without catching her. Suddenly, movement caught his eye. Calistan raised one arm, flexing his hand, and a nozzle emerged from his palm. Geoff's head ran through possibilities. Then he caught sight the hose leading into the forearm from a back-mounted canister and realized there were a limited number of things it could be - a number that got smaller still when a small flame appeared in the center of the nozzle. He yelled, "Bastard's got a flamethrower - " The flamethrower bloomed forth its yellow-white flower. Geoff cut himself off and threw himself in front of it, catching it on his back, keeping it from engulfing Diana - there was no way she was going to deflect -that- with her bracers. To his extremely painful surprise, it turned out not to be simple fuel, but cut with small flecks of white phosphorus, burning deeper into his body. Agony cut through him, and his nose filled with the scent of his own roasting meat. As the pain and shock put his conscious mind in neutral, his body continued on autopilot. Long training and experience reduced the process to something just above reflex action as he turned and shot the borg three times with the Canon. The first slug hit straight on, putting a crack in Calistan's plastron; the second slug hit the exact same spot, punching a hole in the plastron; the third bullet - the last ECX - followed the other two on the precise trajectory and went in the hole, through the left lung, and then impacted on the inner surface of his back armor, almost breaching his back-mounted fuel tank from the inside. It was a testament to his builders that all that, while certainly fatal damage if not dealt with immediately, failed to kill Calistan outright. The gurgling roar that the barrage elicited was mostly rage, since his bionic systems had cut the pain responses of his body down to almost nothing, and he stayed on his feet as he tracked with his flamethrower hand, intent on giving his foe another dose of the Purifying Flame. Then Geoff collapsed, jellied petroleum and white phosphorus charring him, his clothes going up in flames. As he dropped into full unconsciousness from the pain, he knew that another shot would finish him... if he wasn't finished already. He didn't notice as Warren started hosing him down with a chemical fire extinguisher kept at the side of the loading dock. Nor, to his everlasting chagrin, did he see what happened to stop him from getting that second treatment. Diana stepped into the gap, her left hand closing over Calistan's forearm. A muscle at the corner of her jaw jumped, the only indication of effort as her slim hand crushed the armored structure of Calistan's arm like a beer can. Calistan tried to abort the firing command, but it was too late. The valves were open. The rush of fuel shot down the feed line, hit the obstruction just past the igniter, and backflashed clean through the safety baffles, blowing his arm off at the shoulder and surging back into the fuel tank itself. The weakened point in Calistan's back armor failed, causing the contents of the exploding fuel tank to take the course of least resistance. As Diana dove for cover, yellow-white fire spurted from the breach in the cyborg's plastron, scorching a ragged lightning bolt on the opposite wall. The catastrophic weapon failure vaporized everything inside Calistan's torso armor - including more than 90 percent of the Commer's remaining organic parts. What was left of Calistan keeled over backward and crashed to the pavement, a thick column of smoke boiling out of the char-edged hole in his chest. Diana got back to her feet and stood over his wreckage for a moment, fists clenched, ready for more, but the man who had called himself Calistan had nothing more to give. Turning, she tagged her commbadge and demanded, "Central, where in Tartarus is that medical team?" The next thing he knew, he was floating horizontally, something was on his face, and the rest of him was oddly cool. He opened his eyes and found the world to be grey and murky. "He's awake," came a voice he didn't recognize, clipped and nearly emotionless. "Mr. Depew, my name is Winchester. I'm a trauma surgeon. You're in the burn ward at Boyce Memorial, in a therapeutic suspension tube. Your condition is critical. You have third-degree burns over forty-five percent of your body, and second-degree burns over most of the rest. There is also skeletal damage from white phosphorus burns." There was a pause. "Your symbiote is preventing a number of medical treatments - it's metabolizing the drugs, and trying to heal you, but it doesn't appear to be up to the task. There are some possibilities, but they all are long shots. As a physician, I'm authorized to advise you at this time that euthanasia is available, should you feel the need." "What're you - stow THAT, Chuck, what's the matter with you?!" came another voice, one that Geoff didn't recognize in his woozy state. The sound clicked off, but Geoff could still make out angry sounds through the tube. When the next intelligible voice spoke, he recognized it at once. It was the voice of Ben Hutchins, Chief of the International Police. "Geoff? Gryphon here." "Sir... sorry... messed up..." Even accounting for the muffling gel, he could tell that he was just mumbling, but the Chief understood him anyway. "Secure that! You did what you had to. I told you once: It's always about protecting people. You broke up that nest, protected people... " There was a sigh. "You did well. Next time, keep in touch better, and call in backup sooner." "If... there is... a next..." "Don't you say that, bub," Logan's voice crowded in. "You ain't gettin' away that easy." "Logan's right," Gryphon said. "One of the other doctors here has an idea. It's not going to be easy, and it might kill you, but there's no other way we can see. The Daodan is interfering with everything else, and we can't make it get out of the way and let us help you normally... so what we propose is to patch in a nutrient feed, hit you with a massive dose of medpatch solution, and hope the implant really knows its job." "Geoff, my name's BJ Hunnicut, I'm another of the trauma docs here," came still another voice - the one that had interrupted the first doctor. "Your symboiote's influence on you means that a standard regen tank or bacta treatment won't work - we don't know what might happen. This is the best we can think of. Are you up for it?" Geoff paused, thinking... this would be a fast death, or a chance at life. Another chance. How many of those had he had? How many more could he reasonably expect? What would Logan do? Logan would grunt and tell him he had to figure it out for himself. Anything had to be better than just floating here, right? Hoarsely, he said, "do it." BJ Hunnicut wasn't a man to hold back when he knew what a patient needed. He used a medical tractor beam to move Geoff's arm through the top forcefield of the life support unit. Gryphon and Logan both grimaced at its appearance - reddened where it wasn't blackened from the fire that he'd thrown himself in front of, and the clothes that had burned around him. They knew that his back had taken the worst of it, with terrible burns as well on his side where the two holster droids had melted and seared him. Only luck had kept his pistols from damage - he'd dropped the Jackal when the first gout had hit, and Diana Prince had grabbed the Canon when he dropped it after shooting Calistan. Carefully working the waldos that operated the burn tank's sterile robotic manipulators, Hunnicut cleared the burn gel away, then ran the nutrient line into one of the big veins in the arm, just above the elbow joint. "Feed's going," he reported once he had everything secured. "Should we do it?" "You're the doctor," replied the Chief. "Should we?" BJ closed his eyes and muttered Shepard's Prayer, then hit the switch. Above the ceiling, a pump dumped enough fast-heal solution to fill two hundred disposable ampules or soak four hundred slap patches straight into the nutrient line. A normal human hit with that much fast-heal would have died almost instantly from toxic shock, a disappointing limitation of the compound which had first been brought to light by a luckless test patient. Inside the murk of the life support tank - cloudy with antibiotics and anaesthetics that kept the person inside from realizing how badly injured he was or from getting opportunistic infections - there was a twitch. Then another. Then a full-blown set of convulsions shook it, causing the entire contents of it to shift like the tank was a blender mixing a smoothie. Even through the forcefield wall, the spectators could hear the sound of agonized howling. "Heart rate rising... BP rising... hormones shifting, adrenal levels spiking... nutrient feed uptake increasing..." BJ's eyes scanned the board. "My God, this may just work." "Go, kid," Logan muttered. "Don't let the ol' canucklehead down." For five minutes, the resident of the tank thrashed and howled; then, suddenly, there was silence. "Vitals dropping... steadying. Stable. Fifty pounds of high- density simple sugars and aminos taken in. Tank shows impurities in fluid increased by 32 percent, almost all carbonized organic material. And yes. He's stable." BJ turned around, grinning with relief. "He's unconcious... but alive. Damned if it didn't work." Logan grinned and went to light up a cigar, which was taken away from him by Gryphon as the latter worthy shook hands with BJ. "Well," Gryphon said, sticking the cigar back into Logan's coat pocket, "let's get him out of there." The tube's liquid contents drained into the reclamation system for filtering and cleaning, and Geoff settled down to the padded bottom of the chamber. The three of them blinked at him as the last of the fluid drained from the tube. "Well," said Logan, "always said comin' close to death left a mark on a man." FRIDAY, APRIL 9 PHILIP BOYCE MEMORIAL MEDICAL CENTER, NEW AVALON Much to his surprise, Geoff Depew woke up. He was in a white hospital room and dressed in a clean white gown. Pete Rasputin, who snapped awake as Geoff moved for the first time, took up the other bed. "Geoff!" the big Russian declared, getting up. "You are finally awake!" "...yeah. I feel like crap, though." Rasputin chuckled. "Are you hungry?" "For hospital food? Are you insane?" With another chuckle, Pete opened the door. "He's awake!" he called out, and a number of people crowded into the room. In the vanguard was Kurt, with Warren Worthington right behind, followed by Ororo, Logan, Don Griffin, and finally the Chief. His hand was shaken a number of times; there were congratulations on his recovery, a number of admonitions not to scare them like that ever again, and finally a cake was brought out to celebrate. "So, Warren, how did you like your first op?" "Oh," the young man said, "I found it exhilarating until they broke my gravity neutralizer. After that, it was just rather painful." "That'll happen," Geoff, Gryphon and Logan chorused, which brought a round of laughter. "Young Mr. Worthington," Gryphon said, "has decided to spend the summer at the IPO School for Non-Conventional Warfare in order to learn a bit better how to work his wings." "And after that," Warren said, "I'm going to lay off the random crimefighting until I'm fully grown and less likely to get myself badly injured from my own childish foolishness." He laid his hand over his heart. "I promised the Chief that I would rely on my adult foolishness after that." Logan let out a growling chuckle. "About what I expected from ya, kid." There was a brief digression while Logan, with help from Peter, Kurt, and Don, told Warren of the -other- Warren Worthington, the one those four had known back in their home universe. The other Worthington's story seemed to alternately amuse and worry Warren. Still, it was obvious that he wasn't going to just give up, and that was, in Geoff's eyes, the kind of fight to win. "Besides, Geoff," Gryphon said after the digression, "You're already in dutch." "Huh?" Geoff blurted. "What part of 'only operate with Logan' did you forget? For shame. I thought you were better than that." Gryphon sighed and shook his head. "I'm trying to decide if I'm disappointed in you or not." Geoff swallowed, then sighed, preparing to face the music. "I didn't want to say anything until I had better information, and really, sir, I was just doing a standard recon. It wasn't until the ceiling gave way that it became a fight." "Well, if it helps, Gil Grissom and his people worked out that the Commers had rigged parts of the roof to cave in for just that kind of situation." Gryphon shrugged. "Now you know better for next time. Well, then, I'm not that disappointed after all - you already nearly paid the price for that mistake." "Even Big Fire doesn't get THAT paranoid with their security," Geoff mused. "They rely on surveillance and secrecy, not booby-traps." "Oh, and Geoff?" Gryphon commented offhandedly around a slice of chocolate mousse cake. "Sir?" "Have you looked in a mirror yet?" Geoff paused. "No. I still have a nose, right?" He reached up and checked - yes, it was there. "No... someone give him a mirror, willya?" It turned out that none of them actually had a hand mirror, so he was levered out of bed, still weak, and into the bathroom to look into the mirror there. It was still his face, except that his hair was now down past his shoulders. His chin was clean-shaven, but his hair had grown in length far longer than he'd ever had it before. "Why is my hair... so damn long?" "BJ Hunnicut thinks that it's an effect of the Daodan being in that level of supercharge," Gryphon said. "We don't have that much information on it - it was a deep black program, and the Justice Department either doesn't have or has locked completely down all the information on it." The Chief shrugged. "But you're alive, so what's a little long hair?" "I look like Vic Creed on downers," Geoff protested, drawing a snorting guffaw from Logan. Gryphon shrugged. "You can get a haircut, although I hear women go for long hair in the dark grim avenger types," he observed with a grin. Geoff reddened. "I really wouldn't know, sir." Gryphon clapped him on the shoulder. "Congratulations," he said. "You did well. Like I said, you probably should have called in reinforcements earlier, but Hell, I know I've made that mistake a few times." He grinned. "I've come that close to checking out a couple of times, too. But! Duty calls, and I for one have to get going." His eyes twinkled as he smiled again. "I expect you'll have some more visitors tonight. But the rest of you mugs, get outta here. Man needs his rest." After herding the rest of the group toward the door, Gryphon turned back a moment. "By the way," he said, "Diana asked me to give you her thanks. She'd have stopped by in person, but she's on her way to Kane's World to check something out there." His voice dropped as he added, "(And, just between us, hospitals kind of freak her out. She's never been sick a day in her life.)" Geoff nodded, remembering the woman's grace and power. "I believe it. What is she, Kryptonian?" Gryphon shook her head. "No, she's human... she's just a human that some of the gods have a certain fondness for." He thumped Geoff's shoulder again, grinning. "You'll be seeing her again, I'm sure. She won't let a favor like the one you did go unacknowledged." That said, Gryphon went back to the door and shoved people out good-naturedly as they called their good wishes over his shoulders. Geoff called one of them back. "Warren?" Warren looked at Gryphon, who shrugged. The young man walked into the room next to the bed. "Yes?" Geoff brought his right hand across his body. "Thanks. And sorry for getting you into that mess." Warren smiled and took the proffered hand. "I got myself into the mess. I decided to do just one last patrol, and then I saw you running across the rooftops." "Me? How could you tell?" Warren gave that annoying little smirk of his. "A full-blooded Thanagarian has eyes so sharp they can count the wingbeats of a hummingbird. Mine aren't quite so good, but good enough that I could recognize you from two hundred meters up." "I'll remember that, and warn sunbathers." Warren chuckled at that, then touched his nose and pointed at Geoff. "Then I saw Daredevil and I thought perhaps I should see if you needed a hand. It was hard to keep track of everything, and with the gunfire, well, you can see why I waited so long." "Yeah. Well, thanks. And good luck at the NCW. Did the Chief give you any information?" "He said I'd be working with a Lieutenant Hol - apparently the IPO's liaison from the Hawk Corps." Geoff grinned. "Oh, will you now." Warren looked dubious. "That doesn't sound good." "You'll see," Geoff said, his grin unchanged. "Good luck." Warren did something Geoff hadn't seen before. His face went a little slack, and his eyes a little empty, and he said, "Luck? Luck is for peons. People of my class buy our own luck." Then he came back to the real world and smiled. "Been practicing that." Geoff's brain popped back to a previous road not taken in the conversational wood. "Wait, what did you mean, 'full-blooded Thanagarian'?" "Well, you see... " Warren paused, visibly composed his thoughts, and restarted. "My mother's indiscrection was with a gentleman named Paran Katar. He was a cultural attache to the Thanagarian embassy, and apparently quite the charmer. With my mother, though... well, he was returned in disgrace and the whole thing covered up quite deeply, but I was the result. They thought the human genes were dominant, until I turned thirteen and started growing wings." He shrugged. "My grandparents would be livid, utterly livid, if they knew that I was, technically, a bastard, but my father - Warren Worthington II, that is... he may come from old money, but my father is a -mensch-. He loved Mother - still does - and has never held any of it against me. He covered everything up with the Consul-General's assistance. As far as the world is concerned - and as far as I'm concerned - he is my father." "That must have been hard to deal with when you learned." "Oh, it was. As hard as it was to tell, but I'm learning that perhaps I'm not quite as alone as I thought I was." "You'll be fine, Warren. See you soon." They shook hands and the young man took his leave. Finally, Geoff was alone. Sitting on the tray table in front of him were his music player and a few books, brought from home by Pete Rasputin, no doubt. At least he wouldn't be bored. Immediately after that, Geoff drifted off and took a nap for a little bit, then started work on _Gunnr Brynjelfr and the Gunmasters of Galmadore_, which he hadn't gotten around to reading yet. He'd just finished the book when the door to the hospital room swung open again. Automatically, he glanced at the clock. 7 PM; evening visiting hours must have started. He looked to the door, then smiled. "Brother Neo! Forgive me for not getting up." The tall Ignatine smiled a bit. "Good evening, Brother Geoffrey. I understand you had some trouble? We were in the neighborhood... " Geoff raised an eyebrow. "We?" Neo moved aside and another man came in. He was a little shorter than Neo, with sandy hair going a bit grey at the temples. He wore the black-and-white regalia of a Cleric of the Tetragrammaton and walked with a cane. Geoff's eyes went wide. "Brother... Brother Partridge! I'm honored. I'm sorry I can't get up, but the doctors..." Brother Errol Partridge, Master-at-Arms of the Holy Order of St. Ignatius the Defender, raised one hand. "I know." He walked up to the bed began to sit down. Neo had just placed the chair in place when Brother Partridge arrived in it with the complete and total confidence of a man who knew that there would be a chair there when he got seated. "I'm honored," Geoff repeated, "I hadn't expected to see you... " "I'm not here for you," Partridge said in the severe tones that Geoff knew so well. "I'm here to see Chief Hutchins and discuss the possibility of a formal alliance between the Order and the International Police. Abbot Talesio is not feeling well and asked me to come in his stead." He paused and reached out a hand, and the cup of water that Neo had been pouring was placed into it. "I understand you nearly died recently." "Yes, sir. I threw myself in the path of a flamethrower to keep it from hitting someone else." "Good." Geoff was thunderstruck. Was Partridge GLAD he'd almost died? He knew the old bastard had never -liked- him, but -damn-! Geoff's confusion was resolved with the next sentence: "It tells me that you're finally walking the right path, that you were willing to sacrifice yourself for someone else." The severe mask cracked ever so slightly, revealing a slight smile. "Perhaps you weren't so useless after all." Geoff relaxed a little. "I'm sorry I took so long to disprove your feelings about me." "You should see my new student. Lord in Heaven," Partridge said, rolling his eyes slightly. "We admit a WOMAN, and she's twice as wrongheaded as you were. TWICE! It's maddening. She's talented - as talented as you were - but her entire philosophy is turned around. Worse than yours. You at least had some inkling of your value, even if it was warped by Big Fire's propaganda." He shook his head. "It will take a long time to bring her around. But, God willing, she -will- come around." The master Cleric sighed. "Still and all, it's probably good to have a hard case around the abbey - gives us something to complain about to each other, instead of talking all the time about how hard it was when we were all initiates." Geoff was actually a little surprised to hear Partridge admit that the Cleric had thought the ex-assassin was 'talented' - the man was a hard taskmaster, as was his place as the Master-at-Arms. "Well," he ventured, "at least you're not bored." Partridge actually laughed at that. "This is true... Brother Geoffrey." The Cleric reached out and patted Geoff's hand. "They should be releasing you tomorrow. I'd appreciate it if, once they certify you, you'd be willing to show me what you've learned since leaving us." "Of course, Brother Partridge!" Geoff bowed as best as he could in the bed. "You honor me with assuming I've learned anything." "I've heard from Brother Neo what you've been up to. You've at least got the Psalm of the Plain of Megiddo mastered, if I can trust that at all." "I will do my best to not disappoint you, Brother Partridge." The severe mask slipped into place again. "See that you don't." He rose, and walked towards the door. "God bless you, Brother Geoffrey - though I think He already has. Rest well." "The blessing of God and Saint Ignatius upon you, Brother Partridge," Geoff replied automatically. The door closed, leaving Geoff and Thomas alone. "That went well," Neo said with a small smile. "I didn't expect to see him!" Geoff fell back. "I thought I was going to die when he said 'Good.'" Neo chuckled. "Well, what do you expect? I've seen your records. Moral rectitude wasn't your strong point. The way you were hurt says more to him about how far you've come than anything you could actually say. As he always says - " "Anyone can pray, but only by acting can you show God that you really mean what you say," the two men chorused, then laughed. "I need to go," Neo said. "I'm technically Brother Partridge's assistant while he's in New Avalon." "How lucky," Geoff said in a sarcastic tone. "But thank you for coming! Don't think I don't appreciate it." "Congratulations on your victory. I wish I'd seen it." Brother Neo was the Order's expert on the Church of Man, and one of their most hated enemies. "Oh - I did bring you something. Gryphon said you'd lost these." He reached into the satchel he carried and removed a bulky pair of shoulder holsters, one containing Geoff's Jackal, the other his Canon. Geoff smiled, just a little, and took the proffered holsters. "The newest revisions to the software, a few new tricks. After you lost the other two... " "I don't even remember losing them." Neo cocked his head. "According to Gryphon, they were destroyed in the fire you were caught in." "I was unconcious by that point." Neo shuddered. "Lucky for you. I saw a photo. Do yourself a favor: don't ask what you looked like when you came in. Brother Partridge did, and I'm sure he wishes he hadn't." "I'll remember that," Geoff said, feeling a trifle unnerved. How close had it been? Too close. The two men clasped hands in the secret handshake of the Order, and then Neo left. Geoff chuckled at the amusment level of the universe, then reached for his book, only to be interrupted by the sound of a window opening. "Hello, DD," Geoff said. "You knew it was me?" Daredevil said. "Not a lot of people would come in the window." Daredevil had to admit that was the truth. "Glad to see you're alive," the red-clad vigilante said. Geoff shrugged. "You got your stick back, I see." "I have spares." "Good." There was a brief silence. "Listen," Geoff said, "I just want to say you impress the hell out of me, doing what you do with your problem." "Problem?" Daredevil said sharply. "I'm trained to read body language the way some people read Standard. I know you're blind, OK? That just impresses the hell out of me, that you can do some stuff that I'd be worried about doing." Daredevil considered that for a moment - he'd never been complimented on that before. "Well," he said, "it's not like I can see how dangerous it is." Geoff paused, then snickered. "True that." He reached out a hand. "If you ever need my help, call. I owe you." The crimefighter's red-leather-clad hand slapped against Geoff's. "I was going to say something like that myself. Let's call it even and call if we need help." "Sounds good. Want some cake?" "Cake? Are you kidding? Do you know how I have to diet and work out to FIT in this getup?" Daredevil shook his head. "I have to go. City to protect." "Good luck out there, friend." Daredevil let himself out the window, closing it. Geoff closed his eyes, heard the zip of the swingline being launched, and smiled a bit. Then he opened his eyes, and got to work on _Lenneth Winternight in the Lost City of Kolkular_. He knew now why people said that the Valkyrie Adventures books were addictive. When he was about twenty pages in, the door opened again. Well, he thought wryly, I hadn't expected to be in Grand Central Station. He looked up to see Yomiko Readman coming in. "Hello," she said, sounding nervous. "Hi," he replied, sliding a bookmark into the book and closing it. "Come on in." "I didn't mean to disturb your reading," she said, but continued into the room, letting the door close. "I just started." "What is it?" He showed her the book, and she smiled. "Oh, I read that one when it came out in hardcover. It's very good!" "I can tell, so far. Please, sit down." The chair that Brother Partridge had sat in hadn't been moved at all, so she sat. Then she said 'oh' in a soft tone, reached into her suitcase and pulled out two pieces of paper. Exactly what happened next, Geoff couldn't be sure, especially in his still-somewhat-mentally-fuzzy state. It appeared that, without her hands moving at all, the two pieces of paper danced for Yomiko, folding and shaping themselves until she held a paper flower in a paper vase in her hands. She placed it on the table next to his bed. "There. You needed a get-well-soon flower." She paused for a moment, then asked quietly, "Do you mind if I read?" "No, not at all. I'm glad to see... um, someone. Stopping by, I mean. Thank you." She smiled shyly, not hiding at all that she understood what he was really saying, then took out a small leather-wrapped tome and began reading. Geoff watched her read for a moment, then returned to his own book, and decided to be happy being alive. /* Bruce Hornsby and the Range "Jacob's Ladder" _Songs from the Southside_*/ Eyrie Productions & Bacon Comics I met a fan dancer down presented in southside Birmingham She was running from a fat man SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT V.1 #74 selling salvation in his hand "A Certain Obligation" She said he's tryin' to save me But I'm doin' alright, the best Starring that I can Mar'j Haydn Just a pair of fallen angels Solly Jablonsky tryin' to get through the night Geoff Depew Martin Rose Step by step, one by one Matthew Murdock Higher and higher Warren Carter Worthington III Step by step, one by one Kurt Wagner Climbing Jacob's ladder Yomiko Readman Logan Comin' over the airwaves Bruno Taglia the man says I'm overdue Calistan Sing a song, send money, Charles E. Winchester join the chosen few Benjamin J. Hunicutt XIII But mister I'm not in a hurry, Benjamin D. Hutchins and I don't want to be like you Peter Rasputin All I want from tomorrow Don Griffin is to get it better than today Ororo Munroe Thomas Anderson Step by step, one by one Errol Partridge Higher and higher Step by step, one by one And Introducing climbing Jacob's ladder Diana Prince All I want from tomorrow Explosion Prone is to get it better than today Geoff Depew Step by step, one by one Higher and higher Bomb Disposal Step by step, one by one Benjamin D. Hutchins climbing Jacob's ladder Grabbing the Cat The Usual Suspects Geoff Depew will return SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT Vol. 1 No. 74 BACON COMICS GROUP 2410 E P U (colour) 2004