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May 22, 2011 9 AM Lincoln The Church of the Eternal Rock of Justice is the oldest traditionally black church in Freedom City. The congregation dates back to the 1850s when the first large black communities began in the city, while the building itself is a magnificent Romanesque cathedral rebuilt and refurbished in the 1920s thanks to lavish donations from a wealthy parishioner turned beauty shop tycoon. Chester Brown, the Bluesman, once sang in the choir here, at least before he decided to take his magnificent vocal talents, and his fists, to juke joints rather than choir. (The acoustics are still magnificent.) Back in the 1960s, 'the Rock' was a centerpiece of Freedom City's civil rights movement: Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. spoke here in 1966, back when today's senior pastor Reverend Thaddeus Q. Stone was just another fervent young believer in the crowd. Now in his mid-60s, Stone is famous for rejecting the support of larger religious organizations who make their financial aid dependent on adopting regressive social politics he and his congregants reject: the Rock, as it has so often in the past, stands for integrity and compassion. Numbers of parishoners are falling these days, as they are in most churches, but it remains a centerpiece of Freedom City's community. Parishioners are running out the door; screaming. "There are dragons in the church! There are dragons in the church!" And sure enough, if one looked past the frightened older woman clinging to the rail as she heads down and away, inside the sanctuary is a scene from a science fiction film: six gigantic reptilians, each as tall as a man with a tail whipping behind them as long as they were tall, paced the hallways as those parishioners who hadn't been able to run cowered in their seats or slipped away where they hoped the new arrivals couldn't find them. Today was children's choir! Standing behind his podium, secure in his faith (if not, if he was honest, his ability to live through the next few minutes,) the Reverend Stone faced down fearlessly the largest of the beasts as it stalked down the aisle towards him. No, not a beast... On closer inspection, all the new arrivals were wearing harnesses and carrying gear, their clawed hands working with an unnatural dexterity. And so it was that as the lizard-thing approached him, the Reverend asked, "How can I help you, Brother?" The thing hissed a reply in English that sounded inside the Reverend's head, its foul breath like rotten meat blasting in his face. "<Monkeys! Where are your leaders!>"

June 1, 2011 8 AM Mark stood in his dorm room, peering out the window at the junior students working to set up the stage, folding seats, banners, and other paraphernalia of a Claremont graduation. Mike had already moved his stuff out, leaving a hollow space on one side of the room. The Class of 2011 was just a couple of hours from graduation; he was just about to finish high school. He didn't feel quite as triumphant as he'd once thought he would. Maybe it was because he was alone; he'd have a few cousins in the crowd, but neither Rick nor Martha Lucas had made any sign of coming to their son's graduation. They'd made no sign at all of where they'd gone, just a month earlier, and made no sign of coming back. His parents were gone. And worse, it looked like he'd be going too: he was happy about the thought of working with UNISON, and loved the idea of going to Africa to work for people who needed the kind of help most superheroes couldn't give them. But it still meant going away from the city that had been his home his whole life, from the friends and extended family he'd known for so long. He checked his watch, then gathered up his bundle of graduation stuff (just so he wouldn't lose it), and decided to head upstairs to where at least one friend would probably be. He figured this was one night she probably hadn't spent at Trevor's. Amid the hustle and bustle of his fellow students getting ready for graduation, Mark knocked on Erin's door. How many more times am I going to do this?, he asked himself. Not many. No one I know will be living here soon! That thought was soothing enough to relax him, at least for the moment. He wasn't really good at dwelling on things for long, not even on a big day like this. They were all moving on, after all, and surely the always-prepared Erin had more in mind for the future than he did.

Ellie Espadas paced nervously back and forth in the foyer of her family's modest home, tugging absently at the bottom of her vintage vest as she made a conscious effort not to look at the clock hanging nearby. Failing miserably, she noted with some irritation that the hands hadn't moved perceptibly from the position they'd been at when she'd checked moments earlier. "You're going to dig a rut in the linoleum, hermaita," her brother noted dryly as he stepped downstairs. Erik Espadas had donned one of his nicer dress shirts at his sibling's insistence, though he'd left the collar unbuttoned. Perhaps more telling, however, was that he'd taken time to shave without being asked. Stopping in her tracks, Ellie turned to give him a baleful look before sighing. "I just want this to go well, okay?" she told him with an emphatic gesture that gave way to running her fingers through her hair. "It's important." "Worried we'll embarrass you, dear?" Gina Espadas asked her daughter, raising an eyebrow as she wheeled herself out of the first floor bedroom, tilting her head slightly to one side with a faint, amused smile. "Yes, exactly!" the youngest member of the family answered immediately, throwing her hands up in the air.

In the night sky above Freedom City’s West End, a swift figure in royal blue leapt gracefully from rooftop to rooftop, racing through shadows only to reappear suddenly in the space over alleyways, flipping and tumbling like an acrobat. The swashbuckling swordsman known as Jack of all Blades knew every brick and stone of his neighbourhood so completely that he barely had to look where he was going. And that’s why nobody in their right mind causes trouble on my turf. Which made it all the more surprising when, at the apex of a gratuitously showy aerial tumble, the air seemed to rend itself before him, opening into a wormhole rift through which the flailing vigilante fell! "Gah! I swear if I end up in some Medieval Times knock off one more time..." Jack grated as he fell through warped space uncontrollably, only to suddenly be ejected back out into the night. Now, however, the city around him was well lit my neon light as he reflexively shot off his grappling line and swung down to the street. Looking about, he found that the buildings around him had sprung up into monstrosities several times the size they’d been moments ago. There was no mistaking that it was still the West End; he still recognised a handful on landmarks that had been incorporated into the unchecked urban sprawl, which seemed old enough now to look dingy and in disrepair. "Kansas, Toto, so on and so forth," Jack muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. As the hero attempted to get his bearings, high pitched cackling drew his attention. Out of the alley, a quintet of youths in gaudy, shredded clothes emerged, displaying a menacing mix of oversized cybernetic enhancements and predatory animalistic qualities. "Looks like somebody got lost on the way to the costume party," the group’s jackal faced leader snickered, brandishing foot long metal claws as his gang surrounded their quarry. "Looks like you got lost on your way to the hospital, twip," a bold voice called from above a moment before a young black man in a leather jacket swung down to deliver a haymaker punch to the gang leader’s face, sending him reeling. "How ‘bout I draw you a map?" the new arrival grinned, gleaming white smile contrasting with the spade shaped tattoo over his left eye. "It’s a Fifty-Two!" a thug with mechanical wings cried, attempting to lift off into the air a moment before a willowy girl with shock white hair slipped from a darkened corner and laid him out with a flurry of blows from her metallic bo staff. What first appeared to be red tear drops inscribed under her right eye were, on closer inspection, a trio of diamonds arranged in a horizontal line. A motorcycle -like vehicle that floated well off of the ground roared onto the scene, it’s smirking driver bringing it to a sharp halt in front of the remaining cyborgs. "Ain’t you ever heard of a pocket pair?" he quipped with a distinct twang, patting a stylised set of hearts painted on the side of his ride while the amazonian blonde riding behind him trained an arrow notched in her composite bow on the suddenly outnumbered aggressors. Pulling the bowstring back with muscular ease revealed a club shaped cut-out in her top, made somewhat less alluring by the grim set of her tanned lips. Sensing that they were well and truly outmatched the remaining would-be muggers gathered up their downed friends and beat a hasty retreat back down the alley. A bemused Jack was left to regard his new-found saviours with an arched brow. "Pretty slick moves, there. Thanks." "Heh, no sweat," the jacketed youth assured the swordsman, crossing his arms with a confident smirk. "S’like the old man always says: nobody in their right mind causes trouble on the Fifty-Twos’ turf." "The police may be too afraid to venture here," the brooding archer intoned with more than a little heated anger, "but the West Quarter is not without defenders." "Or good taste," her red haired companion chimed in. "I mean, lordy, splicin’ and ‘borgin’? 2040 called, they want their feeb back!" The joke drew an amused giggle from the otherwise silent martial artist who had hopped up to balance impossibly in a crouch on the top of her staff. "...right." Before the conversation could continue, another rippling portal opened up in the middle of the empty street. "Whoa, think that’s my ride, folks," the swordsman observed, calling over his shoulder as he ran toward the rift and jumped in. "Keep up the good work!"

April 5th, 2011, 6:26pm Mara sat on the floor of her warehouse, back against the wall that held her monitors; usually this position would have gotten a lot of concerned curiosity out of Puppy, but she'd long since turned him off to silence his whirring and beeping. Normally innocuous noise had been pretty painful when she'd woken up this morning, and her head had only gotten worse since then - at the moment she had both hands on her skull like she was trying to keep it from exploding, grimacing at every car that drove by, every loud and unidentifiable noise from the warehouse district beyond the walls that, thankfully, blocked most of the light. The small bottle of extra-strength migraine medicine on a nearby bench got an accusing, hurt glare for failing to be even remotely effective. bad day - been a long time - months? - call her - don't want to bother her - call her - leads to questions - trust her - call her Very, very carefully avoiding the few shafts of light that shone through the windows near her roof, Dragonfly made her way to one of the benches, shifted aside some miscellaneous junk (hissing at the noise a piece of metal made when it fell off and hit concrete), and did something truly rare: physically dialed a number.

Late afternoon in Greenbank saw a crimson and black blur darting from warehouse rooftop to rooftop, acrobatically picking its way across the city. The days had just started to get perceptibly longer again, enough to light the way, but it wouldn't have done for Ellie Espadas to be spotted walking about the admittedly sketchy area, so it was the masked medic Jill O'Cure who finally arrived at the side of one warehouse in particular, messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Making certain there was no one else about, she rapped quickly on the door, humming absently through a small smile and brushing her unruly bangs out of her eyes.

February 1, 2011 Earth-Prime This is exactly where Young Freedom belongs. It's been raining for days now, what was once drizzles transforming into thick, heavy drops that come as part of a torrential downpour, turning what should have been a lovely flowering of spring into a cold, sopping wet bog. Exposed grass is wet and the earth beneath it muddy, and the city's levees have been shored up along the Wading River. All that wouldn't be so bad, except that's not just happening here. What was a joke for meteorologists last week has become all too serious today: it's raining everywhere. All through New Jersey, all through New York; across the East Coast and across America. The entire continental United States is under the biggest storm system anyone's ever seen, maybe ever heard of, and the rain is getting worse. The natural assumption, of course, is that culprit is the villainous Dr. Stratos, the wicked weather manipulator. The League is off dealing with that, leaving the city in the hands of its teen heroes. Edge stood by the levee, watching with worry as the river level slowly rose. He was doing all he could to keep the water level down, standing on the dam and draining away the water as it came in, a thousand improbable accidents sending the water cascading downriver and into the Atlantic, but he wasn't powerful enough to stop a storm this big: maybe no one was. Trusting that the rest of Young Freedom was busy, either helping with the sandbags or assisting the engineers reinforcing the seawall in other ways, Mark looked up to see the familiar shape of the Pegasus spaceplane dipping low through the storm, heading for nearby Freedom Hall. _Thank goodness!_ Edge thought. _The League is here!_ That was when a tremendous lightning bolt came ripping out of the storm, heralding a massive tornado that came roaring down after it, and before Edge could do anything, bolt and tornado both struck the plane, shattering it to a thousand pieces in a jagged-edged explosion that tore open a violent hole in the sky. As the engineers and volunteers around him started to panic, Edge threw up barriers in the sky, falling debris vanishing in circles of mist as the Pegasus came tumbling down, shouting to his teammates for help... --- February 1, 2011 Earth-No Designation (aka, 'Earth-Paragons') "Oh my freaking God!" As the League's plane broke into pieces and vanished, leaving behind a shimmering purple void that had to be provenance of paragon powers, Edge shouted in surprise as pieces of the falling plane began tumbling to earth all around him: he pushed his powers to the utmost to deflect them, sending showers of debris falling away from him, away from the hard-working engineers and volunteers below. It had been an awful few days as unprecedented weather disasters swept the nation, as rumors of terrible paragon powers unleashed began to terrify a frightened populace; he'd seen reports of lynchings in Texas and Arkansas, and televangelists speaking grimly of the End Times. It wasn't the end for Mark, but despite his best efforts, people around him were dying, even as the scream of the waterspout in the river filled his ears. It was all over in a few terrible seconds, and though he'd saved many people, he was surrounded by disaster! Whipping out his cellphone to call up the linked phones of his teammates, Mark yelled, "Listen, you guys! I need help in City Center right now!" Claremont's young paragons had been divided up through the city to help deal with the rising water, the better to promote their individual Q-ratings while each of them combatted the threatening disaster that was so baffling to both the Freedom League and the Vanguard alike, indeed, to all the scientists and supers working for the government. "The Pegasus just blew up!"

The cold weather and grey skies in Greenbank that late afternoon lent themselves to trudging slowly, hands in pockets, staring at feet. If one had cared to look upward, however, one might have caught a glimpse of a figure in crimson, black and silver leaping from rooftop to rooftop. The old railroad neighbourhood wasn't far out of the way of the West End's protectors, but even so it was unusual to see Jill O'Cure on patrol without her older brother. The young woman certainly seemed to be moving with a purpose, pausing only briefly at intersections to peer down at street signs below. Eventually, she made her way to an unremarkable looking warehouse with a sturdy curved roof. Sliding down a drain pipe into an alleyway, she quickly crossed the street and looked about, vaguely disconcerted. Well, this is the place. Unless I got the address wrong... With a deep breath, she located the buzzer by the front door and pressed it, looking over her shoulder with feigned nonchalance as she waited.

January 13th, 2011; 6:23pm The Lab arched up into the winter sky, its egg-like shape playing tricks on the eyes of anyone who stood at the base and looked up. Thirty stories of the best science and engineering this side of ArcheTech, even just after normal business hours it still had its share of people coming and going for one reason or another - workers, visitors, scientists, hopefuls. Up in her office, Dragonfly frowned in front of a whiteboard. Her rooms may have been equipped with the finest simulation and design technology money could buy - and she ought to know, she'd contributed her fair share of that money, not to mention personally installed most of the electronics in the room - but few things could beat a good, old-fashioned whiteboard and some dry-erase markers. Some thoughts needed to be physically written down, and while erasing paper was a pain, chalk boards got too messy.

December 23, 2010 It's a cold and dreary day in late December, at least here in the Northern Hemisphere where most people live. It's no better in Freedom City, where a heavy snowfall last night has transformed into dirty ice and slush by the unaesthetic mechanics of life in a major urban area. It's a good day to be inside with a strong cup of hot cocoa or eggnog, letting ceremonial libations shake away the incipient holiday blues. Luckily this is generally a quiet time for superheroes: most supercriminals are people too, and even the ones without Christmas cheer have been socked away at home thanks to the lousy weather. You need a good reason to be out tonight, whether it's carrying out the duties of a government agent's patrol, hunting for last-minute Christmas presents, or else dealing with problems that have nothing to do with the season. - "Growing tired of these lies," said Avenger, leering malevolently down at the snitch he'd cornered in the Fens back alley. There were new heroes active in the Fens, he knew, but these were _his_ streets, and he was possessive enough, and secretive enough, that he preferred to keep his own council even when dealing with notorious criminals. "Christmas will be difficult in prison. Worse in prison hospital." He grabbed the frightened man by the collar and jacked him up against the wall with one hand, a murderous look in his eyes. "Where's the shipment?" "Oh God, don't hurt me, please!" Mondale Tommahan whimpered, still wearing the shattered sunglasses that Avenger had broken on his face and then neatly put back there after dragging him away for interrogation. He'd heard all about the notorious vigilante, about his brutality and uncompromising violence, and watching him tear through his friends in the Irish mob in their favorite bar that evening had certainly put the fear of Avenger into him. "Look, the X-Ray stuff was just a joke, man? What kind of scuzzball would take naked pictures of Lady Liberty-" "A SCUZZBALL LIKE YOU!" Damn, Jack loved the look in their eye when he _yelled_. "Already know you inside. Time to show you!" He went for the machete on the wall, the one that usually had them wetting themselves before his hands were on the blade, but his nighttime exertions were suddenly interrupted as a brilliant white light shone on the wall in a pattern of brilliant hexagons!

Trevor Hunter paced back and forth is hurried stops and spurts, tugging forcefully at the collar of a dress shirt that didn’t fit very well. Despite having access to custom tailored clothes, the wealthy fifteen year old was all too aware that his tall, gangly frame made it difficult to craft garments he was truly comfortable in. His growth spurt over the last few year or so had put him the better part of a foot above most of his classmates, but with his width lagging behind, the dark haired teen gave the impression of being made largely of elbows. It wasn’t the clothes that had Trevor upset, even as he threw his tie to the floor of his grandfather’s estate on the outskirts of Freedom City. His grandfather, who had once been the hero known as Midnight, the shadowy mystery man armed with a pistol full of obscuring mist of his own chemical design. His grandfather, who, until minutes ago, had been the only person who knew the effect his prolonged exposure to the gas had ultimately had on his grandson. An effect made evident by the twin wisps of inky vapour rising from the corners of the boy’s eyes where tears should have been welling up. Rubbing futilely at his face with the back of one sleeve, Trevor made a low, inarticulate sound in the back of his throat. The normally reserved youth had no way of knowing if this particular change had been part of his mutation all along of if it was an example of yet further changes to his body. The mist didn’t sting his eyes, but it did block his vision, forcing him to jerk back and forth to avoid the cloud trailing from them, even as he felt a dull, childish shame for the show of weakness. â€Not even human...†he coughed out darkly, a voice recently descended into a rich baritone made thready and uneven by his fitful breathing. â€Freak,†he spat, a guttural syllable filled with bitter disgust. That was what she’d called him, and as taken aback as he’d been, Trevor was hard pressed to argue the point. â€Broken thing.†That assessment was all his own, as the same frustration he felt when a mechanism he was tinkering with just wouldn’t work crashed angrily back and forth against his naturally stoic demeanour. He felt so foolish for telling her, for trusting her, even as he despaired at losing his best friend and scorned his own naivety in turn. He knew he was smart, at least; he should have known better. Should have... With a grimace that pulled his thing, pale lips back from bared teeth, the teen punched the nearest wall, clattering the portraits hanging on it and bruising his knuckles. Ignoring the pain, he stood still for a beat, then another, as the cloud of mist wrapped around him and his breathing slowed to a steadier rhythm. Slowly, he backed up against the wall he’d struck and slid down to the floor, wrapping his lean arms around his knees. There was a soft, shuddering intake of breath from the little ball of light consuming darkness, then even more quietly a voice. â€...why, Maeg?†After that, the long, darkened hallway was silent for a very long time.

Autumn brought cooler weather and shorter nights, but the darkness and the late hour wasn't too much of a bother. The garage at the Claremont Academy was well-lit, and the two people who occupied it didn't need a lot of sleep. Erin sat on the floor of the garage and passed tools to Trevor, who was hip-deep underneath the chassis of her blue truck, tinkering with the fuel injector manifold. Erin's mechanical skill was still that of a knowledgeable amateur, but it was nice to sit in the peace and quiet of the garage with him, and interesting to watch him work. They didn't get a lot of peaceful and quiet time together. "So, how fast is this gonna go when you're done with it?" she asked.

The Freedom City Medical Center was seen as a safe haven to many before the announcement earlier today. Its staff was measured in the thousands and had state of the art medical equipment; there was no where in the world where you could get better attention. As violence swept the streets, the hospital was soon filled to the point of breaking. Now if Atlas's threat comes to pass, the hospital could very well turn into a feeding ground with a death toll measured in the thousands.

Blackstone Prison is what allows the citizens of Freedom City to sleep at night. They know that all of the super villains Freedom City seems to attract are safely locked up inside the formidable walls of Blackstone. That security blanket was shattered as a large scale break out attempt larger than any since the Terminus Invasion began mere moments ago. The Blackguards were fighting valiantly, but it was only a matter of time before they were overrun. Prisoners were already making it to the surface, there only saving grace was that the least powerful of the villains were kept closest to the surface. The longer the prisoners went uncontained, the more likely the guards were to be overrun by Freedom's most wanted.

Erik Espadas tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his dress shirt as his sister helped their mother wheel herself off of the bus and onto the sidewalk. "Is this really necessary?" he grumbled as the trio started off toward St. Stephens. "What, running around in tights makes you too good to go to church with your mother?" Gina Espadas countered from her wheelchair. A dark haired woman in her mid forties, she's made a point of maintaining her athletic build regardless of early retirement. Though her features weren't quite so angular as those of her two children, it was clear where they had inherited their mannerisms. Her son winced. "Jeez, Mamá, trying to keep somebody out of the loop on that, y'know?" The young swordsman was still adjusting to the new situation with his family and secret identity as Jack of all Blades. "Nobody's around to hear," Ellie countered, stifling a yawn and absently smoothing a crease in her black pants. "Everyone else is asleep at this hour." With her hair cut shorter and dyed dark, the resemblance to her mother was considerably more pronounced. "You'll live, dear," Gina opined wryly, easily rolling herself up the church's ramp. "Late nights," Erik stated, holding the broad door open for the ladies. "One more reason to rethink this 'sidekick' thing, hermanita." Ellie responded with a snort as the family entered the building. "That's 'partner', hotshot."

9:45 pm, March 12, 2010 The pops of pistol fire echoed over police band. "Requesting immediate support on Erin Drive! We are under attack by multiple unknown assailants!" More shots rang out, followed by a high-pitched squeal of pain. "Plants! The damn pl..." The channel went dead. "Rodriguez! Officer down!" Heavy breathing and running footsteps. "Officer down! Need EMS at..." A strange, wet splat echoed in the microphone. Silence. "Units 14 and 15, situation report. Officer Rodriguez, Officer Johns, please respond." All units be advised. Officers down. Shots fired in the vicinity of 315 Erin Drive, Lantern Hill. Units A14 and A15 on scene. Suspected meta-human activity. EMS, Fire and STAR en route. ---- Minutes earlier... A green meteor streaked across the misty skies of Freedom City. Long and needle-like, the falling star cut through the rain and twinkled as it neared the horizon. With a burst of green light, one thin, green line broke into five, showering Wharton Forest and northwestern Freedom City. The winds whipped up in protest. Deep in the heart of Wharton Forest, a small, twisted tree stirred. Leaves sprouted and the trunk bent to look at the sky. Glowing yellow eyes shined from deep within the foliage. A low rumble emanated from the branches themselves. Those of telepathic persuasion felt a dark signal creeping from the forest. My children, the Prophesy is at hand. Bring me the shards of the Green Star. Tonight we shall reclaim the city in the name of the Green!

Earth-Prime The swashbuckling hero known as Jack of all Blades vaulted over the brick outcropping encircling the top of the decrepit building he was sprinting across, his royal blue greatcoat flaring open as he leaped through the gap to the next rooftop. The buildings in this part of town weren't tall enough for him to grapple between, but he found himself relishing the opportunity to return to his neglected parkour skills. Jack was following up on a series of increasingly frequent thefts from electronics stores in the West End and the surrounding city. Vince's digging had turned up a likely suspect, but the recently fired Professor Manning, despite allegations of instability from his previous employers, had an airtight alibi for each crime. A little too airtight, Jack mused as he paused briefly to perch like a gargoyle atop a streetlamp and observe the area. As good as Vince is, a little legwork was definitely the order of the day.

Date: June 2010 Deep under the streets of Freedom City's West End, the swashbuckling hero known as Jack of all Blades finished stretching in the Underground's training room and began bouncing lightly up and down on the balls of his feet, eager to get his first lesson started. Rather than his traditional greatcoat and bandanna mask, the tanned young man wore loose-fitting workout clothes: black shorts and a white tank top that revealed layer of lithe muscle marred by the occasional faint scar. He'd told the rest of the team to show up similarly attired, but hadn't revealed anything else about his lesson plan. Looking up, the fencer nodded to Colt where the cowboy sat in the room's control center, visible through a large translucent panel in the far wall, then turned to look at a digital readout of the time as he wrapped his hands with a roll of tape.

It was a solemn affair that was filling up Freedom Hall today, filled with the sort of mixed crowd that only a Freedom City gathering would engender. And this gathering was unusual even for Freedom City. There were a few Golden Agers left but those that were able to, were in attendance. Ace Danger, the newly redeemed Bombshell among others. Then there were also the heroes whose legacies stretched back to the era of the war who were here with relatives or on the behalf of relatives. Today, they celebrated the life time achievement on one of the Golden Age heroes on his hundredth birthday, the charming Spaniard El Fuego also known as Don Leon Montoya de Castille. Now, long since retired and with great grand children. Still the super-science that gave him his amazing abilities had helped preserve his body so he looked a remarkably fit seventy or so. Bombshell, aka Natalya Browning, like many of the veterans was in her dress uniform rather than black tie or costume. She wore the navy blues under a silver sash that stretched from her right shoulder down to her left hip, with several medals adorning the breast of the uniform. It wasn't about showing off. Actually, for the few who were able to read the blonde's body language under her careful facade, she was slightly uncomfortable in the outfit at this point in her life. However, showing up in anything less would have been disrespectful to a man she'd fought alongside so many years ago. The ceremony wasn't overly long and was much more informal than the appearance would suggest, with the old guard that remained going up to volunteer anecdotes and stories. In short order, the speeches were wrapped up and there was simply mingling and some dancing. The music, of course, was to the taste of the guest of honor, as after all - it was the celebration of his life.

Several of Freedom City's heroic types received a large invitation slid under their door around the middle of June; the cards appeared to be handmade either by someone in their late teens or perhaps merely addicted to clip art, glitter and caffeinated soft drinks. Some people did not get hard copies at all, due to Lynn's unfamiliarity with their current living arrangements, but she still made sure the word got around.

Natalya Browning, better known as the incomparable Bombshell, was still wondering how her erstwhile lover managed to talk her into things as she swung out across the city to the late-night meeting. She was still bemused by being on the side of the angels again as the Scarab put it, let alone going and talking to some newer heroes about 'mutual problems'. However, she'd agreed and so, here she was, swinging through the West End and looking for some address. It wasn't, of course, the actual head quarters, just a neutral meeting ground spot. Fortunately, she had a rather large amount of practice for finding buildings while no where near the street, so after a short search, Bombshell released the swing-line to flip through the air and perch on the edge of the roof. She stood up out of her crouch and stretched, stepping down onto the roof top proper.

Mark Lucas was a lucky young man and well used to winning assorted contests but this was quite the prize, A day with Ace Danger. He arrived right on time traffic being surprisingly light, as he stepped from the cab a gorgeous blond called out, "Hold the cab." as she emerged from the main entry of One Pyramid Plaza, and hurried down the steps to slide gracefully into the back seat, "Thanks tiger." She said and blew the lucky young man a kiss. *** Upstairs Ace didn't know where it had all gone wrong. Well to be honest he knew it had gone wrong the instant he had invited Talya up for a nightcap, he really only had himself to blame for his current predicament. She had come to him though, and with information on a job she had turned down, hope springs eternal he supposed but she was unlikely to ever fully reform. The bonds were of course quite well tied, she was a professional after all. Not the best conditions under which to meet the scion of house Lucas but the boy was undoubtedly on his way. 'Well,' Thought Ace 'there could certainly be worse winners of that damnable Day with Ace Danger contest, given the circumstances.'

The Liberty Dome was packed full of 80,000 hooting, hollering hockey fans, all eager to see the Freedom City Blades take on the New Jersey Devils in the first round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. The shivering cold required of the frozen-over floor did nothing to dampen the spirits; there was too much at stake. Like most match-ups between teams representing the same geographical area, this David-vs-Goliath promised to be a grudge match of epic proportions. The Blades were an up-and-coming team of scrappy underdogs who'd managed to claw their way to the top in their first year as part of the NHL, and now they were butting heads against the veterans from their own backyard. Elena Guerrero had reserved a private luxury box, and now she sat inside with her old (older than anyone realized) friend, Rhodes Foundation C.E.O. Sofia Cruz, her husband Bob, and their three children, Alejandro, Emilia, and Esteban. Elena lounged in her seat, almost making it look like a monarch's throne, sipping her lattè and smiling as the children munched on their caramel corn and cheered the Blades on. "What do we say to Aunt Lena for getting us these great seats, mijos?" Bob admonished the kids. They turned to Elena and replied in a chorus "THAAANK YOU," then turned once more to the action down below. Sofia punched Elena playfully on the shoulder, "thinking out loud." So, tell me about this new ladyfriend of yours! Elena cleared her throat nervously. She's...more of an old friend, actually. We've sort of picked up where we left off. It's complicated. Sofia raised an eyebrow. That kind of "complicated?" Elena nodded, a stern look in her eyes. Sofia shook her head and sighed. Well, I hope you know what you're doing. And she must be a special lady if Elena Guerrero was willing to step down off the soapbox and drop $4,000 on a designer outfit just to impress her. Elena and Sofia both laughed. Bob glanced at them quizzically. "You two having another one of your 'telepathic conversations' over there?" Elena and Sofia turned to each other. If he only knew...

(a week before the birth of Jack's son) West End was a good neighborhood, usually, but it had its dark spots. The shadow of the old waste recycling plant, closed a few years ago for urban renewal purposes, had left a block of empty warehouses along Miller Avenue. From the outside, the battered old brick industrial warhorse at 4686 looked just like plenty of the run-down former industrial warehouses in the area: windows covered or boarded up, brick and concrete walls covered with daring gang tags and the vandalism of neighborhood hoodlums. It was dark outside, and it was raining, the lightning overhead reflecting off the spattering drops in flash after flash of light. The rain was an obstacle, but the darkness of the night (and the broken streetlights) was nothing to Avenger's eyes. He had experience with people hiding secret facilities, after all. A faint light leaked out around the window coverings and fresh marks showed the doors had been opened recently. He'd learned from a contact in Freedom's medical business that 'they' were making max here, and in gigantic quantities. Jack hated the stuff. He hated the memories of the rush of addiction, he hated the feeling of false bravado, and he hated the memory of being a weak, helpless addict. He was going to break these people in two.

The Brownstone. Saturday, April 10th 1:15pm Lynn paced back in forth in the living room, gnawing on a thumbnail. She really hoped her teammate wouldn't think ill of her for doing this, but you never knew with Jack's sometimes; the man was driven and extremely protective of his family, but she sincerely felt his sister 'Jill' might help her in dealing with her brother's many moods. Vince, bless his electronic heart, agreed to contact Jill through whatever mysterious channels he had to arrange for this meeting, and now that is was actually going to happen, the tiny shapeshifter was starting to regret it. "It'll be fine; if he asks, just tell him the truth, and he'll totally get it...right?" The faeling was barefoot in pair of navy blue sweats and a Fraggle Rock t-shirt, and had put on a fresh pot of coffee on in anticipation of the teenager's arrival.