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Time: March 31st, 1999. Late evening. Place: Hanover Institute of Technology, Freedom City, USA "Red team, how’s it going, over," the walkie-talkie crackled. "Three down, von to go," Viktor Archeville replied as his two cohorts stood by. Rose and Jenet were both very nervous, and very excited, not only at what they were about to do but with whom they were doing it. "Everyding is set dere, over?" "Yeah, landing pad is clear," Steve replied, "and the dampers are in place." He looked to Veronica and Ted, and both nodded back. “Blue Team out.†The "landing pad" the Blue Team referred to was the roof of the five-story Panettiere Memorial Library, an area not meant to receive airborne vehicles. But it was not an aircraft that was expected to arrive: it was Provost Michael Moses’ car. To that end, kinetic dampers had been set up over the entire roof. At Provost Moses’ car in the Administrative Building’s parking lot, the Read Team worked to make that happen, by setting up wormhole generators around the car. If their calculations were correct, the four beacons set on the pavement would open a portal under the car, large enough for it to fall through, appearing in the air a few inches above the roof of the building and landing there. The kinetic dampers would deflect much of the force of the impact, preventing the car from crashing through the roof. The prank had been the idea of Steve Nighton, a financial whiz, but he wanted to do so in a way that showcased the advanced science of HIT’s students, which he himself lacked. He had covertly asked others for assistance, and got the aid of Jenet Kyln (a cybernetics expert from San Francisco, who was as fiery as her red hair), Veronica Hawkes (another businesswoman with a stunning knack for PR and spin), and Ted Lineman (a lighthearted scientific omnidisciplinarian). Steve was shocked with Viktor approached him about the project; Steve had wanted to ask the odd German student, but never knew quite how to do so. Viktor had learned of it by overhearing some snippets from Ted, and was interested; he brought along his girlfriend of the past two weeks, Rose Morganite (a Chicago native studying manufacturing efficiency). Viktor had come up with the wormhole idea, but Ted pointed out the need for the kinetic dampers. Their team names were taken from redshift and blue shift, the phenomenon which caused a source of light to appear redder when it moves away from an observer, or bluer when it moves towards an observer. "You sure this is gonna work, Vic?," Rose asked. She knew Viktor would have already made up his mind by know on whether or not to go ahead, but she also knew he often needed an outside voice to make him slow down and see things. "If he drove a respectable car, like an Audi, or even a Bimmer, I vould take a bit more care," Archeville replied. He looked up from the toaster-sized generator he was adjusting, to the Provost's car, to Jenet who was monitoring the other three generators, then to Rose, and smirked. "But since our esteemed Provost drives a Renault Clio, I am less inclined to care if it gets roughed up in transit." Archeville set the last generator in place, and it and the other three began to a cycle of blinking. "Blue Team, come in, ve are ready for transport. Over." "Blue Team here, we are ready to receive," the walkie-talkie crackled, "Over." "Den stand back!," he shouted; the force of his words alone made Jenet jump back. Archeville pressed a button on one of the generators, then leaped back to be well clear of the vehicle. The cycling lights of the four generators spun faster and faster, and a bubble of light blue energy grew out of them to engulf the car. Sparks and then bolts of blue lightning leaped off the bubble, scorching but not severely damaging nearby vehicles and structures. The bubble then appeared to abruptly collapse in on itself, vanishing with a loud POP! Viktor, Rose and Jenet all cheered and jumped for joy, and Rose gave Viktor a quick kiss. Before he got too into it, the walkie-talkie crackled to life. "Red Leader! Red Leader, this is Blue Team! You almost took Ted's head off, and we've got a part of the parking lot's asphalt here... but we did it, the car is here! And in one piece!"

3 or 4 years ago, April Fool’s Day; early morning at the Prophet Mansion: James slowly and gently closed the door, breathing a sigh of relief. He looked around the door carefully, making sure that no sign of his little ‘trick’ could be seen. Satisfied, he slumped his shoulders in exhaustion as he quickly walked down the corridor. Sure, didn’t seem to need much sleep anymore but that was relatively new. And he’d been up all night arranging this little practical joke. He finally got his room, the smallest and most removed room in the entire place. It was in the basement unsurprisingly. Getting there, he flopped down onto his bed, reviewing the plan in his head one last time. It had taken him weeks and weeks to quietly collect whipped cream and keep it hidden, not mention relatively fresh. Then, filling hundreds and hundred of balloons with it and leaving them out long enough for the cream to go bad had been a real trick. It wasn’t like they left him unattended for long. Or that they didn’t search his room regularly. Well, he couldn’t prove the last one, but he suspected it. The actual placing all of them outside the various doors was easy by comparison as was rigging them to pop/explode when the door was opened. Now, hopefully when his ‘loving family’ **scoff scoff** opened their doors in the morning, they’d be treating with one heck of a stinky bath. He just had to make sure he was somewhere far from there when it happened. Which brought him to his second plan. He reached over and picked up a set of shiny keys off the dresser and smiled. He thought his Uncle’s car was pretty cool but had never been allowed near the thing shockingly enough. But now…now was the time for a test spin. After another moment, he got up and stretched. He’d never get out of the house without being noticed. It was a minor miracle he hadn’t been noticed setting up his little ‘prank’. But as he’d recently discovered, he had new abilities to help. He concentrated and a moment later he appeared in the large garage, staggering a little. He was still getting used to that. He moved over to his Uncle’s prized car. A beautifully restored red and white muscle car. A Chevelle. Very nice. He twirled the keys in his hand as he approached the car, grinning. He crouched down and placed a little something under the car before getting in the driver’s seat. Starting the car up, he slowly backed out. Where the car had been was now empty, save a tiny matchbox replica that is. He was just gonna drive it around a little, and then park it somewhere else. It’d drive his Uncle nuts to see just the little toy car and go looking. And what could go wrong with James just driving it around a little?

It was a beautiful day outside, much too nice a day to be so ridiculously busy. But April weddings brought April flowers, and April flowers were Stesha's stock-in-trade at the moment. The bride in this case had way more money than sense, wanting to give flowers to every female guest at her huge wedding, but they aimed to please at Flowers by Design. Making up five dozen tussy-mussies wasn't exactly Stesha's idea of a great artistic or creative endeavor, but it had to be done, and quickly. She looked up at the clock. Nine A.M. She'd be done by three, probably, hopefully. Time seemed to be speeding by as she worked. Maybe she was losing her touch, she thought worriedly. She'd never meant to let the hero work be more than a sideline, something to do because it was fun and interesting. Now not only was it far more dangerous than she'd ever thought, but it was eating up tons of time as well. As it turned out, danger didn't always happen at night or on holidays, and it really, really liked to show up right when she was prepping for weddings. Her boss wasn't happy with her, but Stesha's undeniable talent for turning out amazing flowers had kept her job safe so far. But was the hero work eroding her skills, too? Maybe she wasn't as good a florist, now that she was spending so much time making plants attack things instead of making them beautiful... She tied another three tussy-mussies, looked at the clock again. Nine forty-five? Her jaw dropped. How could time be getting away from her like this? She wasn't anywhere near on the schedule she should be on, and damned if she was going to beg for help. Almost as if summoned, her coworker Amy stuck her head in the door. "Hey Stesha, how's the bouquet-a-thon coming? Haven't been hearing much progress from in here," she said cheerfully. "You're not falling behind, are you?" A frown creased Stesha's usually pleasant face. "I'm just fine," she promised, "there's just a lot of work to do. How much noise do you expect, anyway?" Amy laughed. "All right, just checking. Call if you need some help!" A little desperate now, Stesha looked around at the seemingly acres of pink and white roses left to be prepared and tied. Closing her eyes, she unleashed concentrated desperation into the plants, which cooperated by helpfully dropping all their thorns. There, that should help. Relieved, Stesha went back to work, tying as fast as she possibly could, even as thoughts kept crowding her head. Maybe she would end up having to give up one or the other of her vocations, but how could she choose now? Not only did she love being a florist, but it was what paid her bills, not to mention what she put on her tax forms. She loved helping people, and being with her friends, and making a difference, but she knew she couldn't only do hero work, she'd be homeless within months. With another five extremely rapid bouquets done, she made the mistake of looking at the clock again, and nearly fainted. "Eleven o'clock?" she croaked. "No way! No way!" She still had four dozen left to do! Stesha went to work with feverish intensity, pushing all other thoughts from her mind. Amy stuck her head back in the door and watched her silently for a moment, grinning. "You look busy," she commented laconically. Stesha responded with an uncharacteristically rude comment, making Amy laugh. "Guess time flies when you're having fun." "Since when are we having fun?" Stesha muttered, sweat beading on her brow. She was never going to get these done, and that would be the end of her job, and where would she be then? "Oh, I dunno, sometime," Amy drawled. "Speaking of time, if you've got your phone handy, you should check the time. And the date." She sauntered out, laughing, even as Stesha dove in her pocket for her cell phone and flipped it open. _Eight_ forty-five am... on April 1. Her gaze flew up to the clock, which had advanced another ten minutes in the few moments she'd been talking to Amy. "AMY!" she yelled, standing up from her stool. "April fooooooools..." Amy caroled back from the other prep room, still laughing. With a growl, Stesha sat down and began tying tussy-mussies again. She still had to get the damn things finished, but oh, there would be a reckoning. Stesha concentrated on that idea for the three hours it took her to finish the rest of the mini-bouquets, and finally had her answer. Revenge was sweet indeed when she heard Amy shriek from the other room and saw her come racing in. "Green!" Amy shouted. "All my roses are bright green! It looks like a Saint Patrick's Day parade in there, and I've got a baby shower first thing in the morning! You did this, didn't you?" "Me?" Stesha asked, all wide eyed innocence. "I've been in here the whole _time,_ remember?" Grinning, she went back to her work with a happy heart.

Those books. Those movies. You've all read about them, you've all seen previews for them, even if you think the writer is an incompetent hack. Horror fans all over the world have condemned Her writing as just petty, stupid teenage romance that takes the terror out of some of the legendary monsters of worldwide folklore. But you've never really stopped to think about them, have you? Who'd have an interest in promoting a series of books that depict murderous, blood-soaked monsters as perfect lovers and the ideal soulmates for weepy teenage girls? That's right Us. I used to hate that writer too, and how embarrassingly cliched and pathetic she made us look. Until I started talking to people; especially until I started talking to superheroes. Jokes about glitter and Edward used to annoy me, you know? They really did. Until I started thinking about what it really meant. Let me start by saying a few words about what I am. I am the damned undead; a soul rejected by God that walks the Earth by night to feast on the blood of the living. I am a juggernaut of my kind, barely affected by the worst of our weaknesses, with only the power of faith to repel me and the Sun, that damnable sun overhead weakening a few of my abilities. There are no doors that can stand against me, no eyes that can see me, even of people with superpowers and super-science. And I should know, I've tested them all. I think about killing people not because I hate them, not because I fear them, but because when my mind wanders I think they might taste really good. Make no mistake. I've made a choice, an ethical decision, to put aside what I am to build a better world for my people and my city. Through great good luck and what I hope is good example, I've persuaded a dozen of my kind in this town to put aside what they are so they can keep what humanity they have. But I have no illusions about what I'm clinging to here, and no illusions about the thing I am at the core of my being. I'm a husband, a father, a superhero, and I am not a man. I am a thing that hunts and feeds on men. I've done it. And though I regret the killing now, there were times when I enjoyed it very much. But no one really cares. I mean sure, Stesha despises me for what I did to her before my control was better, and Taylor's not happy about the times I fed on her, and Ace is certainly keeping a watchful eye on me. Dark Star's kind of pissed too,. But everyone else? It's all jokes about those books and that hero, about glitter and sparkling. And I go on being what I am, doing what I do, and no one really seems to give a damn. All because somebody, somewhere, had the best idea in the history of anything. How do you make people let vampires into their lives, their home, their world? Get the humans to laugh at us first. April Fool's.

North Bay Yacht Club. April 1st, 2010 7:03 pm Estelle has been attending charity events since she'd been in the womb; family legend stated she once kicked so hard at a fundraising dinner that Warren Buffet dropped his fork. But this was her first time she'd ever hosted the annual Freedom City April Fool's Masque, and she'd seen it as a wonderful opportunity to have a little fun. It was typical for the host or hostess to present a skit, monologue or other entertainment, and the blonde scientist-turned-superheroine had gone all out. She only hoped she'd be asked back. She'd sent her one invitation to Viktor Archeville, but she'd been too busy setting things up to notice if he'd made it; as busy as he was, she knew better than to take it personally if he didn't attend. After the audience had enjoyed a few rounds of drinks and some sinful hors d' oeuvres, Estelle took the stage to enthusiastic applause; she looked very elegant in her powder-blue ball gown and heels, her signature locks coiled into an impressive arrangement on top of her head, with several diamond-encrusted combs on loan from Harry Winston tucked into a number of spots. She wore a black domino mask, which felt rather ironic considering unlike most heroes she normally didn't disguise her identity. "Ladies and gentlemen, madames et monsieurs, if I may have your attention please." She held up a small index card and cleared her throat, as if to make a dramatic recitation. "Would the owner of the 2009 Carver Sojourn please move your vessel? You're blocking the caterer's barge. Thank you." This led to a round of polite chuckles and smattering of applause. She bowed to both sides of the room as she grinned. "And I thank you again. As many of you know, I am Dr. Estelle de Havilland; a Harvard graduate, organic chemist and a fellow at ASTRO Labs. I was also born into money, so to be perfectly honest, I have probably attended more charity events than most people have enjoyed hot meals. I say this not in shame, nor in my defense, but more in the way of a pre-emptive apology." As she continued to speak, her hair began to unwind, revealing a number of odd items hidden within its mass, including a fairly complete makeup bag and a small compact. Estelle continued, seemingly oblivious to the confused murmurs of the crowd. "When I was asked to host the Masque, I was determined that I would bring something fresh to the table, something we haven't seen before. I'm fairly sure I've succeeded, but all of you will be the final judges." As she spoke, several cotton balls held by thin golden strands began to remove her classy make-up, while another set began to apply a wide variety of garish colors, including a bright red slash of rouge on either cheek. Now fairly tarted up, she looked offstage and gave a little nod. "I hope that any offense that our performance yields tonight will not impact your generosity of spirit, or far more importantly, your checkbooks." A well-groomed valet approached from stage left, bearing a cherry red Gibson SG, which the blonde heroine accepted with a smile, and in return, she handed him all her jewelry for safe keeping. At this point the crowd was alternately intrigued, concerned and offended, more or less split along age lines. Just before she put the strap over her shoulder, she used her hair to unzip and step out of her ballgown, revealing her old Knox School uniform underneath which now barely fit her, in the best possible way; this elicited a fairly vocal response from the crowd, mostly positive, thank God. Stelle plugged in, praying that the pre-dinner sound check would be enough; she did a few tentative strums, gave a thumbs up to the sound guy, and then the curtains behind her parted, revealing the other four members of 'Naughti Girlz', the 80s metal cover band Estelle, her sister Sunny and their three best friends founded back in high school. They hadn't played together in over ten years, but Sunny handled all the phone calls and somehow made it happen; she was even able to have an old artist friend put together a large banner with their name in angry silver and black glitter to hang from the rafters. Dr. de Havilland shook her head vigorously, and her hair all at once went all frizzy Dee Snider. Soliel de Havilland-King, mother of two and married to a State Department diplomat assigned to Japan, stepped forward cradling her massive Rickenbacker bass and grinned like an idiot. And Tippy Claremont, a highly-paid corporate tax attorney who owned a five-bedroom house in the Hamptons (since the divorce, anyway), leaped forward to grab the mic. "Are you guys ready to rock?" The crowd (well, most of them) responded enthusiastically. "Then let's hit it!" Stelle ripped into the opening licks of 'Thunderstruck', and they were off; technically AC/DC wasn't part of their normal repertoire, but Estelle had insisted she had to play at least a little Angus for her sake. They kept the set list fairly short, partly because they didn't want to drive out everyone over fifty, but also because they were all a bit older than they used to be, and many of them had kids. And truth to tell, they were never all that great to begin with, but what they lacked in skill they more than made up for in enthusiasm and sassy sex appeal. The players: Theresa 'Tippy' Claremont - lead vocals Yvonne 'Vonny' Brookhurst - guitar, vocals Estelle de Havilland - lead guitar Soliel 'Sunny' de Havilland-King - bass, vocals Carol Ann 'Dizzy' Desmond -drums The set: Thunderstuck We're Not Gonna Take It Panama Cum On Feel The Noize For Estelle, this was heaven; to let go so completely and so publically was not something that came easily to her, but having her big sister there made it all right and so much fun. Standing back to back as they played like rock stars, just like they did in Sunny’s room when their parents stayed out late, she felt like a kid again, and a weight she didn’t even know she was carrying lifted off her shoulders. On her last solo, Stelle spun her head ‘round and ‘round, whipping her magnificent golden hair into a downright dangerous helicopter effect that thrilled the crowd and pretty much terrified her bandmates, though they needn’t have worried; her hair never did anything she didn’t want it to, and it was way too much fun to pass up. By the time they were done, the yacht club ballroom had gone insane; there was dancing, leaping about, a few torn gowns and a lot of alcohol consumed. And Stelle and the girls had helped raise a lot of money for cancer research. And backstage, there were a lot of hugs and Facebook invites. Collapsed in a chair, her mass of hair drenched in sweat for the first time ever, Gossamer could only smile Yep, I love being a superhero.

It had been a wild night. Moira spent her New Year's Eve with Ace Danger at the Pyramid Plaza penthouse. By the time she woke up he was already gone. She looked over at the clock. No wonder he was gone, it was noon already! She only hoped she gave him what he and she wanted. Speaking of wants, it was New Year's Day... time for New Years resolutions! Yeah, those silly little things that were either dirt easy to keep or that she never followed through on. Still it was fun to have goals, no matter how easy or hard they were. She thought for a bit; was there anything she wanted to do this year? Might a well start off with the easy ones first... 1) I will follow my deams. That was simple enough! Now to expound. What were her dreams at the moment? Did she have any aspirations? What would she accomplish in 2010? 2) I will do something creative. She had really got the idea to sing or write or something within the past month or so. If it were writing it'd have to be fiction. based off her life. Her real life was already fantastic as it was. Why would anyone want to read about a boring ivincible heroine? Starting sometime within the next month or so she would sit down and think about it. 3) I will be a better superhero. Her meeting with Captain Knievel and The Emissary last year taught her a few things. Anyone couldfall off the wagon. She didn't want to believe what Captain Knievel did was real. He was just a fun guy... then to fall so far? She went to The Emissary for some counselling. It helped some, but she learned you can only count on yourself. The hero inside. Her hero inside needed a jumpstart. 4) I will get more friends. Another no-brainer. Her phone list was still growing. It was almost at the point where she thought she was going to have to cross-index. 5) I will be a better friend to my current friends Last year she did a few rotten things in the name of friendship and love. While it was good for some, it hurt others. She only hoped that she would make the right decisions this time around. If she followed her heart, she knew she would make the right choices. Then again... 6) I will try to be a better person HA! Now she was just musing. She wasn't going to be a worse person, but she was grasping at straws now. She got up and walked towards the bathroom. She had things to do today. Things to do this year.

Ace stepped out into the chill winter air of the observation deck. The noise of the celebration muted by the double paned glass door and even the traffic noise and revelries in the street nearly silenced by the sheer height of the building. He walked to the railing his gloved hands slowly folding around the icy metal as he stared off into the night. Another year gone, the endless cavalcade of the immortal. Behind him the vibrant celebration of Freedom City's elite. Below him the city of Freedom, the streets and homes filled with those joyously ringing in the coming New Year. Ace took a deep breath of the icy air and looked out over the city he loved, thinking back over another year gone. Criminals captured, Villains vanquished, Friends made and Friends lost. Times unerring march forward. Ace had greeted the new year in many places and many ways, from posh parties like this to silent and alone hidden in the loft of a resistance supporter. He had partaken in the Dakanan rituals of the suns rebirth and prayed forgiveness of the Holy See for his many sins. None of it however really mattered in the end. Ace had seen the malaise of the ageless in his travels. Ancient powers lost in their dreams of forgotten times. Obsessed immortals seeking some glimmer of meaning in their unending existence. He had even done so himself for a time. Lost himself among the celebrations of a thousand lands, warmed himself in the embrace of companions unnumbered. He had hoped to stave off the inevitable realization of his extended life. But even comparatively young as he was he knew, for the likes of him a year was no more meaningful than a decade, a century, or a day. So why mark a new one with such fanfare? “Because it is life.†He intoned to himself. A life that continued where others may not was not to be regretted it was to be put to use. He had sworn to put the immortal terror behind him years ago. To live each day to its fullest. For all of those who didn't get the chance he would live his life for all of them. And so he came to it, his resolution. Not the ones he would share with those inside, but the same he had made every year. Live life and never forget for all of them, and he silently listed them all; For Rex, Raj, Ace, The Colonel, … Ten minutes later Ace returned to the party eyes dried and a smile on his face, joining in the revel, “Should auld acquaintance be forgot ...â€

The penthouse had always had more room than they'd needed. Even with one room serving as the bedroom, there was plenty of space for Jack's office and Taylor's library with more to spare. The room that Taylor had currently opened had mostly been used for storage. The furniture from Taylor's sparse apartment had been hastily stacked in one corner. Boxes of old text books were shoved up against them along with a little bit of extraneous clutter that always came out during any move. In addition, there were the few things of Jack's that had been misplaced or replaced by her permanent arrival into his home. It had been a gradual thing, really. They'd never sat down and talked about it. One night had just turned into three, then five, then forever somewhere along the line. And slowly, this room had filled up with the things that didn't fit into a newly shared life. Shutting the door behind her with a quiet click, Taylor stepped into the room on bare feet. With her dark hair pulled up into a tight pony tail and dressed in ripped jeans and a tank top, she'd dressed for a hands on cleaning that didn't really match the actuality. She moved through the room, moving things back and forth with crackling eldritch energy. Keep. Donate. Donate. Ask Jack. Keep. Eventually, everything that had to be donated had vanished into her pocket, and the things to keep or question had all been shoved out in the hallway and Taylor was left in a pleasant if empty room. Like many of the rooms of the apartment, the few windows had thick drapes blocking the sun. Eventually those would have to be replaced but for now, Taylor spent the few minutes wrestling them all down to the ground and shoved them out in the hallway as well. It wasn't as mindless a task as Taylor had hoped it would be. It certainly allowed her thoughts to wander and considering she was working on clearing the spare room for a new and rather unexpected occupant, it was inevitable what direction her thoughts would take. Like marriage, children were something Taylor assumed were off her plate after accepting her duties as the Chosen of Heshem. In the act of ripping the drape off the wall, Taylor paused to stifle a snort of self-mocking laughter. At least the addage of 'plans in the face of the gods' held true. Taylor wondered if Heshem was in stitches at her Chosen. It was an image she had trouble forming. With a thump the heavy velvet floated to the ground and with a flick of her wrist, Taylor sent it floating out to the hallway with the rest of the 'things to get moved'. She rested her fingertips on her hips and frowned at the bare four walls and floor. She couldn't picture the room as a nursery. She couldn't picture herself as anyone's mother. She was still getting used to the whole 'being someone's wife' part. There was still graduation in the spring. Technically, she hadn't even finished college yet. Ruthlessly, Taylor suppressed the rising tide of hysteria. Cream. She would paint the walls cream and then decide on the carpet. Even if it was all too big to tackle at once. She could do one little thing, and then another. No, it wasn't going to be *normal*, but they'd manage it all somehow. She could deal with it, and she would. One step at a time.

Stesha walked into her apartment and dropped her carry-on bag onto the floor with a weary thud. Two of her hyacinth forcings opened up to drop her suitcases as well, and even they sounded tired as they thumped onto the living room carpet. It had been a long, long trip. She'd been very happy to get a chance to go back to Chicago for a week, see her family and spend the holidays, but Christmas at home was always chaotic, to say nothing of the plane trip. Her powers had spoiled her for easy travel, but with her dad accompanying her to the terminal to say goodbye, she hadn't been able to figure out a way to go through security and still miss her plane without losing her luggage or having anyone looking for her. Flying coach was quite a let-down after teleporting or flying with Derrick, and she was sure her elbow was black and blue from her rather aggressive seatmate. She didn't need to sleep anymore, but she was exhausted. When she was honest with herself, though, Stesha knew her weariness didn't come from the long flight from Chicago or a busy holiday week. She was desperately tired of having to lie to her family. Keeping secrets didn't come naturally to her, and after the invasion of the demons this past fall, strangely dreamlike though it seemed now, she'd known she had to tell the truth. She couldn't face the thought of something happening to her and her family never knowing, or knowing why. It wasn't fair. And it wouldn't be fair, either, to take Derrick home to meet everyone while making him participate in her deception. Even if he wouldn't have been utterly incapable of pulling it off. He was a secret she desperately wanted to share and show off, but she couldn't until she came clean about the other. She'd planned to do it at Christmas, she really had. She'd even worked out what to say, more or less, and when, and how to maybe do it without ruining the celebration. Then the thing with Jack had happened, and Taylor's wedding, and she'd just been so tired and afraid in the days following the invasion. Even though everything had seemed to go back to normal, she still remembered how bad it was, how much worse than she could possibly have imagined. For awhile, she'd thought about giving up, going back to being just a florist who was really good at growing things. She didn't have to keep putting herself in danger and watching people she liked or loved endangering themselves. Her powers weren't that great or indispensable, and she didn't have a charge from a god or a commission from the Freedom League to worry about. It wasn't like she'd signed a contract when she'd started visiting parks in the dead of night last summer. If she gave it all up, she could go home, back to Chicago, with no one the wiser, and everything would be the way it was, more or less. Simple and safe, even satisfying to a certain extent. She'd never have to watch anyone she loved die violently, ever again. She couldn't do it though, and some part of her knew that the whole time. Stesha liked who she was when she was Fleur de Joie, and she liked what she could do for people. Maybe it was mostly small potatoes, no pun intended, but it did make peoples' lives better, and every once in awhile, when the stars were aligned, she could do bigger and better things. Giving up on superheroing would mean giving up the whole life she'd found through it, all the friends she'd made, the confidence she'd gained. And it would mean giving up Derrick, who she was sure would never understand such a selfish decision. She couldn't do that, either. Eventually the memories had started to fade a little more, and her resolve had grown a little more, and the immediate fear began to recede. Even so, she'd scrapped her plans for Christmas and had simply gone home instead, talking about her boyfriend without mentioning anything particularly unusual about either of them. It was a copout, and it had colored her time with her family. Leaving her suitcases where they were for the moment, Stesha went to her front window. It was pretty enough outside, with Christmas lights still up even on the day before New Year's Eve, but the second floor didn't offer a lot of perspective. Making resolutions, especially big ones, called for a little of that. Touching one of her bromeliads, she transported herself through a little dwarf maple in the rooftop garden on one of the city's tallest buildings. That was better, though it was bitter cold even through her jacket. Stesha walked to the edge of the roof and looked up at the faint stars, then down at the bright lights of the city spread out beneath her. She would come clean this year, and she would do it soon. No more secrets, no more lies, not to the people who meant the most to her. This was the life she wanted, even the dangerous parts, but to keep it, she had to be good enough to deserve it. And her family was going to love Derrick, just as soon as she plucked up the courage to introduce them. "Soon," she promised aloud, her voice snatched away by the wind. "Very soon now!"

New Year's Eve, around midnight. ------------- Resolve Nothing changes on New Years Day. – U2, "New Years Day" Matt had intended to watch the usual New Year's Eve celebrations on TV, but the forced jubilation and banality of it all just made him depressed. There was always work to do with the Madcap outfit, so Matt made his way down into the lab and rolled up his sleeves. He'd spent the remainder of the evening cleaning the residue from the adhesive delivery tubes. The build-up of gunk in there bothered him. The tubes were lined with Teflon, but the stuff was still sticking. Matt starting making notes about milling his own tubes, and coating them with a new anti-adhesive. A swarm of molecules and diagrams consumed his attention… When Matt had moved into his father's old front business, he'd installed microphones by the door, so he'd know if customers entered the storefront while he was upstairs or in the lab. Sometimes, sounds from the outside filtered in, and it was such a sound – the blaring of a party horn – that let Matt know it was midnight. Happy New Year, I guess, he thought. He sat back from his scribbling and drank some water. With a stretch, Matt got up and wandered over to the rack holding the Madcap outfit. "Happy New Year, dad," he said, toasting the costume with his water bottle. He pulled over a chair and sat down. "Like what I've done so far? Me neither. I busted some of your old gang – which was dumb, because I should have been playing to them, getting more information about their activities, and not just getting them tossed in jail. I fought a couple of punk supervillains, in the middle of the night, where nobody could see, or care. The only thing I've done is to get on the radar of every super-hero who's aware of what you did. They think there's some sort of gang turf war going on. "And that's it. Pretty thin scrapbook so far. I'm trying to make Madcap a hero, and I can't even get on the front page." Matt sighed and spun the seat of his chair around. "So what do I do, dad? Can you give me a clue? How do I show the world that there's a Madcap - a Wyman, a you – out there who isn't a complete piece of – " Through the loudspeaker, a woman's scream of terror from outside interrupted him. Shoving the chair away, Matt scrambled into the Madcap costume, chuckling as he did so. "Subtle, dad, real subtle. I get it. Don't try to be, just do. Sounds like a resolution to me." He paused a moment before a mirror. "Look out, 2010. Here comes Madcap." With a grunt, he sprinted up the stairs, preparing to drop from the roof onto whatever assailant menaced the screaming woman.

Mike wasn't generally much for the resolutions thing. His father usually gave a toast for new years resolving to cut back on the coffee or whatever other minor vice Mikes mother was trying to put an end too. His mother usually made more sweeping resolutions about buying only organic or free trade or what not that would last for a few weeks then be forgotten. Perhaps that was the root of his disagreement with the whole practice. They always seemed so empty if not downright selfish and generally didn't last much past February. But when he really thought about it, it was more than that. Really deep down he'd never had anything that seemed worth making a resolution over. It seemed to him that if you were going to make a promise, to yourself or others it shouldn't be frivolous and really his middle class suburban wasn't long on the non-frivolous. If anything had occurred to him that wasn't it seemed silly to wait until the beginning of a new year to make such a resolution. He wasn't exactly sure what was different about this year but he found himself hovering far over the city of Freedom and pondering the new year and what it would bring. More than that he was pondering what he would bring to it. His newfound sense of responsibility for his fellow man was perhaps the cause of his musings, or perhaps his new friends. He certainly had learned a lot from each of them about what was really important after all. For all their foibles Eddie and Chris and especially James understood the value of living in the moment. Letting the past be the past. He certainly did want to be more like them in at least that. Learn from it don't dwell on it as Eddie had quoted from some song. And Mark of course had really taught him what friendship meant. Being there one hundred and ten percent for someone just because they were your friend. Of course he had kinda understood that before but Mark really lived it. Some might call it silly or naive but Mike had come to understand how valuable that simple trust was. He really had come far. From really knowing no one but Alex to all the friends he had. Beyond just being glad to have them though he had come to know just how much he valued them. Not to mention how he feared losing them. He didn't even understand how Erin managed as well as she did with all she lost but he was glad that he and the others could be, if only in some small part, a surrogate family to her. Family. Wow. He thought. Zoe and really Alex definitely were that. Alex always was in a way he supposed but that had definitely changed, and for the better at that. He still didn't know exactly what to do about Zoe. He could tell she was hurting, he wasn't blind after all. He wanted nothing more than to smash whatever it was that had done that. On a purely visceral level of course, he didn't even really know how to talk to her no less try and be anything like what she had lost. He didn't even know if that was what she needed now but he knew he'd be there when she did. Perhaps that's my resolution then, and not just for Zoe for all of them he thought. Simply to be there for his friends. As he pondered it faint cries of distress drifted to his ears, from far further than he could normally hear so clearly. But that too was forgotten along with his musings on resolutions. Some one needed his help. Phalanx shot down from the sky towards the cries in a flash of blue and gold, it was a bad night to be a criminal in Freedom City.

Avenger Hockey Mask Midtown Jack sat in his lush apartment, a glass of blood in hand, studying the mute skull-face in the chair opposite him. "You were supposed to be a lark, you know. Just a simple little diversion for my boring mornings and evenings. Look at me now, thanks to you." He took a drink. "I'm a superhero, I've got..." He swirled the blood in his glass and thought of Taylor. "I've got a woman I love. A real, human woman, friends, and...half the city knows what I am. Most of the vampires know too." He stared down at what he drank. "I don't even know if they realize the full implications of my existence." He set the glass down, looking intently at the hockey mask across from him. "God, it's so hard to remember how living people act. How living people think." He scrubbed his hands through his thick, glossy black hair. "It's just a joke to most of them, you know? Oh, look at the vampire who's a superhero, how very cornball and heroic." Gently, carefully, he replaced the glass on a nearby table. "I'm not like them. I'm not like them at all, really." A crackling fire burned in his apartment's fireplace, the light casting an eerie red and orange glow over Jack and his surroundings. "That's what I'm really afraid of," he finally said. "Maybe the only thing I really am afraid of. One day that particular mask is going to slip, and Taylor's going to see me at my worst. Or Scarab, or any of the others who've basically trusted me for so very long..." He shuddered, rising to his feet as he picked up the glass again from the nearby end table. "So what do I do? I put a hockey mask on and I go out and beat up muggers. And gods, and extra-dimensional tyrants, and...God." He rubbed his eyes, studying the mask again. "I can't keep doing that." Walking up to the mask, he bent down and studied the plastic most carefully, remembering his long-ago argument with the Scarab. Not so long ago, I guess, in the grand scheme of things. "The hockey mask is about scaring people. About hurting them, even when I'm supposed to be their protector." He touched the plastic. "If I'm going to be a hero, a real hero, who actually inspires people...this is one mask I don't need."

Ever since she was little, Lynn loved Halloween, for a wide variety of reasons. For one thing, along with Thanksgiving it was one of the two non-Jewish holidays her family celebrated. Her father was a fairly relaxed Conservative Jew who loved horror movies, and he saw no harm in letting his kids dress up like monsters and eat candy; after a fairly heated discussion, he finally convinced her mother it was one thing the kids could share with their Gentile friends and schoolmates. During her Aladdin phase, young Sherilyn Epstein dressed up as Princess Jasmine three years in a row, and cried for days when her mom told her she'd completely grown out of the costume and would have to be someone else. The memory of her childhood tantrum made Grim smile as she perched like a gargoyle over Broadway, watching people troop in and out of one of the ubiquitous Halloween stores, shopping bags in hand. It always amazed her how man of these places popped up in empty storefront in October, like black and orange mushrooms after a dark and stormy night. What was it about fake cobwebs and rubber skeletons that thrilled her so? Even as a little kid, the morbid and ghoulish fascinated her, especially stories that touched upon her family's past, and both sides of her family tree had a few dark and twisted branches. Her great-great-grandfather Karl Epstein was an opportunistic thug who supposedly fled a murder charge in Germany, sailing to America using a dead man's name; he became a bootlegger and mob enforcer, at one time almost as feared as the legendary Dutch Schultz. Her great-grandfather Ira Silberman started as a simple cabinetmaker, but started designing trick trunks and tables for master illusionists like Blackstone and Berastro, eventually performing on stage himself as "the Amazing Al-Kazara". However, when the limelight faded, he used his genuine occult powers (discovered quite by chance) to fight evil in the shadows, even aiding the Liberty League on occasion. He pulled off his final vanishing act back in 1957, and hadn't been seen since. So in a very real sense mischief ran in her veins, the blood of tricksters and thieves, mummers and murders, all before her transformation into a living breathing fairy tale. After meeting Mr. Silver at his Lantern Hill shop back in September, it all started to make sense; magic didn't just touch the life of anyone, it sought out those who were pre-disposed to it, either by birth or circumstance, or possibly both. And that put Lynn right in the mystical crosshairs of the universe. A loud gurgle from her stomach told her it might be a good time to make dinner plans, so Grim quietly made her way down the side of the building, invisible to all, and stepped out of the alley in her street clothes, as herself. Sometimes it was like her life before the change had happened to somebody else; she could barely remember a time when she couldn't look and dress exactly how she wanted to, slipping from one guise to another as easy as blinking. She almost pitied the rest of the world, stuck in one body and one face from cradle to grave, to be instantly judged, labeled and categorized by others by all who see them. How did she live before she broke free of the shackles of self? As she stood in line by the pushcart, waiting her turn for a kosher red hot, she suddenly felt the vast gulf that separated her from the rest of humanity; did being able to be anyone mean that she was, in fact, no one? Her guts twisted and her head went light, but soon the moment passed. No; everyone presents a mask to the world, a different face for lovers, coworkers, children and bosses. She was just better at it than most people, that's all. She was still as human as anyone else, she just had more options. Smiling at the push cart vendor, she took her dog and diet Coke and wandered off into the night, humming a tune to herself that she didn't quite recognize. But once she did, she laughed and belted out the lyrics as loud as she could. "I gotta be me! I gotta be me!"Â

For Fleur de Joie. Midtown October 24 (Takes place during Con GamesÂ) After separating from her friends, Stesha made her way through the crowd of convention-goers towards the women's restroom. She blended in pretty well with the crowd here, which was mostly young, though there were quite a few more men than women, and she was conscious of a few looks her way. Maybe it was the hair. She'd sort of gotten used to getting double-takes for her very long, very green locks. But for the moment, she was just one more attendee, exercising a little bit of reasonably healthy hero worship for the people who kept their hometown and the whole world safe. Despite the pinch of time, she looked over a booth or two, grinning at the comic books, toys and memorabilia on display. Once she'd done her thing and changed back, she'd have to stop by this way again and pick up some stuff for her brothers for Christmas. They were all adults, but they'd love some of this stuff. The idea of Christmas still made her feel a little nervous inside, but she was trying to work through it. She knew she'd go home, she wanted and needed to be there, but could she keep living the lie that was already difficult from a thousand miles away? And what about Derrick? She wanted him to be there too, but it wasn't fair to him to ask him to participate in her deception. Even if she'd thought he'd be able to do it convincingly, which seemed unlikely. She'd have to figure something out before the holidays, but it wasn't even Halloween yet! She still had time. Stepping into the ladies room, she walked up to the sink and patiently played with her hair while two women who were already in there finished up and left. Finally alone, she stepped into a stall, leaving it unlocked, and touched the little chain of daisies she'd put around her wrist that morning. (Braiding flowers into her hair had just seemed unsubtle today, somehow.) A quick breathless trip through living green, and she was back in her own apartment, where her costume was neatly laid out and waiting. It was much easier to do it that way than to try and change in the bathroom, certainly! Stesha quickly stripped to her underthings, then began putting on her costume. The green pants and shirt were easy enough, close-fitting but not the hated spandex, they were easy to move in and very resistant to damage or stains. That was important to a hero whose man activities tended to include a lot of gardening. After the pants came calf-length brown boots with low heels, enough to give her a little height without cutting divots if she had to walk or run on wet ground, and her utility belt, as she jokingly called it. It wasn't a real utility belt like the comic book Freedom Leaguers had, with a hundred useful little gadgets, it was more a toolbelt that was mostly pockets. Most of the pockets were filled with seeds and leaves and roots, the tools of her trade, though there were also spots for her wallet and cell phone. It paid to be prepared! Those outfit pieces were all useful, but that wasn't what really made the costume a disguise. Next, Stesha pulled on the long cowled cape that completed the outfit. Dark brown like freshly turned earth, it had sleeves and buttoned across her chest, stopping just below her breasts in the front and continuing in the back to a cape that hit the back of her knees. The hood came up around her face and hid her hair, probably her most recognizable feature, and rendering her all but anonymous. With her face cast in shadow, the domino mask she used to cover her eyes completed the transition. Fully dressed, she went over to the mirror and looked at herself. She wasn't Stesha Madison, florist, anymore, not even a hint. She was Fleur de Joie, a superhero from Freedom City, and she looked pretty darn good, if she did say so herself. Grinning cheekily at herself in the mirror, Stesha did one more quick turn to check herself over, then touched her flowers again. There was a potted plant waiting in the green room at the Hall, and she didn't want to be late.

Psyche The Manor was even more empty than usual at this point in the day. As it was early, early morning, Alex's grandfather was still in bed. Which, actually, was why Alex was in the 'hall of heroes' as she'd come to calling it. One of the rooms that they'd come accross was a memorial of sorts - a room filled with costumes under glass cases. Oh, it had started out as the changing room, with each costume and accessories held under pristine conditions. It had slowly morphed into a memorial of sorts instead, the first time a sidekick hadn't been able for one reason or another to don their mask and spandex again. It was the one room her grandfather had been unable to open and face, so Alex was up at the crack of dawn, quietly cleaning it. The glass cases kept the costumes themselves pristine but nothing else in the room certainly was. In a pair of raggedy jeans, with her hair knotted up in a scarf, Alex industrially dusted, swept and mopped. Each silent glass tube was scrubbed lovingly, and each letter on the name plate below was meticulously cleaned off. In this room, the soft hum of the manor's power cells was muted to a faint whooshing white-noise background. Like most of the areas of the underground potion of the base, the room was high ceilinged and panneled to look like a scene out of Star Trek. Except in this room, an aura of sorrow clung to the walls. Today, in the wake of the Halloween battle, Alex found a quiet sort of comfort in the ambient aura. Once the room was pristine, Alex turned back to survey her handiwork for a moment. She walked through, touching the nameplate of the tube that held her grandmother's lab coat before continuing on to an empty tube. Pressing her fingertips against the keypad at the side, the air tight chamber whooshed open. Pulling the jacket from her backpack, Alex slipped the expensive leather into the display case and palmed the chamber closed. Arms wrapped around her stomach, Alex watched as the jacket was held in stasis, waiting and in that moment understood exactly why this chamber existed. It wasn't about an eternal memorial. It was about the hope that the lost would one day walk down the hall and reclaim their costume. It was a promise that they were still and would always be waiting. Dry eyed, Alex walked out of the costume chamber.

Arming Up April 5th John Fraser paced back and forth across his dingry room, still limping but not as badly as a week ago. He was no doctor, but he knew enough to tell he'd never walk quite right again. Serves me right, he though as he turned to the assortment of equipment scattered across his bed. I need to clean the slate a little. Rein myself in, measure things up like I used to. And I need to cover my self-inflicted loss of mobility. He picked up a pair of trousers. They were closer-fitting than his previous loose costume, designed to support his legs, not provide complete freedom of movement. The shins, knees and thighs had thin armour plates of a strong carbon compound, light and tough, and he'd sewn strips of Kevlar into the chinks in the armour. He pulled them on over the trousers he'd been wearing already, taking a few experimental steps. Definitely tighter, but... needs more. Around his injured right thigh, he pulled tight the straps he'd affixed to the armour. He winced as his wound shot waves of pain through his thigh. John remembered the first night in costume. As a younger man he'd been able to bound across rooftops effortlessly. He'd been young, in peak condition. But he'd also been scarily inexperienced. Falling through a skylight into a meeting of gangsters, he'd thought his ankle had blown out upon the poor landing. A rookie mistake. Luckily, they'd all been too shocked to react quick enough to gun him down... Next... torso armour. John tutted. Until now, he'd eschewed traditional armour in favour of a kevlar vest and his own mobility. But he'd robbed himself of the latter. Not as much as I robbed it from those two people. The armour was constructed like scale mail, the plates overlapping to allow some flexibility without sacrificing protection. It slid on, forming a jet black shield for his torso and upper arms. In stark contrast to the armour, a white hawk logo was painted across the front. He'd chosen it as a symbol of fear. Hawks were swift, vicious, deadly. John had wanted to be that, to be the hawk the common criminal's rabbit. One man could do little, but a concept... A white hawk flying in the darkness of night. Not the one causing darkness, he reflected, strapping on his belt, laden with miscellaneous small tools us used. Binoculars and the like. The gloves to the costume were shy of elbow length, covering the fingertips and inner arms to prevent bowstring-related injury but leaving the backs free to move. Darkness was falling outside his window, so he locked the door and pushed open the window. He pulled on the cape. It was wide, and greyer than the rest of the outfit. Contrary to belief, grey faded into the night better than jet black. It was reinforced and billowed around, making him a more difficult target. Logically, a cape was impractical. It got caught in bowstrings, restricted access to the quiver... but you adapted, because it was useful. A hawk-shaped silhouette dropping into an alleyway was a dramatic way to scare someone. He turned to the window, placing his cowl on his head and his quiver over his shoulder. "Time for that clean slate," growled Arrowhawk, towering in his armour and wing-like cape. He dived from John Fraser's window and into the night.

31st October, 2009 The green airship floated down into the street, stopping above a small coffee shop. A hatch opened in its side and a skinny-looking teenager in a green costume leapt out, hands and feet adhering to the wall's sheer brickwork. With a quick scuttling motion, he dropped to the pavement and walked into the shop. They'd seen him coming, and knew his usual order. Since his metabolism was several times faster than a normal human's, to get a caffeine kick he needed coffee strong enough to drop an elephant, with half a bowl of sugar and served in something closer to a bucket than a cup. After chatting to the staff for a minute, he turned to leave. And saw Spellbound, the villain who'd recently attacked him, standing behind him. "Woah!" he pointed, hefting his coffee. "Don't try anything, grudge or not! This coffee is hot!" She just smiled at his and shook her head. "I'm going to a party, and really? You're not worth my time." Geckoman just rolled his eyes and walked past her. She grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "Hey, didn't you offer to buy me coffee?" She smiled at him, and he started feeling... fuzzy. "So... how about it?" Geckoman closed his eyes for a second. Liz would murder me, I should say no. "Ok... Just no stealing things, or electrocuting me. I've got a party to go to as well." Paying for her coffee, they took a seat in the corner of the shop. "Ok, so... you don't look much older than I am. Why rob banks?" He took a gulp of coffee, instantly feeling the caffeine hum. "Building the sort of inventions I come up with isn't cheap. You stole some of them... why masquerade as a superhero?" She fixed him with a not-quite-glare, not-quite-grin. God, she really has beautiful ey- no, Chris, stop. No. Bad Geckoman! "Guilt, obviously. I'd taken it, couldn't really give it back, so I pretended I'd built it and became a superhero. You show up, claim it's yours, and I believe you." He met her gaze. "But you rob banks. I'm not supplying a known thief with anything." He thought for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't point out the hypocrisy." She just smiled at him again. ... I'm going to Hell. "And yet I'm the only one you've told all this to?" Spellbound took his expression as a yes. "Ironic, eh? But you can't keep a secret forever." She drained her mug, leaned forward and kissed Geckoman dead on the lips. "I guess next time we meet, it's back to fighting." She walked a few steps away, before turning back to the obviously still stunned Geckoman. "Well... unless you had something else in mind?" Raising an eyebrow, Spellbound sashayed away between the tables, aware of the superhero's eyes following her. He pulled off his goggles and rubbed his face. He thought of Liz, how she'd react. He thought of Spellbound, the villainess who now seemed to like him as much as she hated him. Unless it was a game? Nonetheless, he could still taste her lipstick. He put his head on the table. "Can't keep secrets forever." Crap.

When: October 10th Where: Fens and Wading Way The Simple Answer It was weird being Atlas. People always looked at you differently, and not just because they had to crane their neck to do so. They assumed you brains were indirectly proportional to your muscles. However, sometimes this could be an advantage. You let people think that you were just a sack of dumb muscle and then surprise them with a 'burst of insight'. So, Samael had developed a particular speech pattern with Atlas. He talked in 'hulk speak'Â, which meant short words and taking in the third person, and threw in a 'smash'Â, 'crush' or 'little man' for good measure. And for a while, Samael actually liked the persona he threw on when he transformed into Atlas. He could say flat out stupid things, but it would actually seem threatening in the heat of the moment. But once e moved past normal street crime, that sort of persona seemed to be in bad taste. Like it was disrespectful for everyone involved to not take the situation seriously. So Samael decided that he would start to phase out the weird mannerisms. After all, he still wanted to have some fun, and people seemed a little scared of him if he got too serious. "So vat do ya zink? Am I over zinking zis again?" nnnnnnnrrrrryyyyyyyaaaaahhhhh. Mrow. was his only response as Sprinkles woke up from her little nap. She wormed her way through his legs and tugged on his pant leg in the direction of her food dish. 'ÂVat's ze matter? Poor bebbie starvin?†Continued tugs on his pants and a quiet "meow" confirmed this. "Oh da. Ya just wastin away to nuzin. I gotta hurry or zere'l be nozing left huh?' meeeeooooowww â"I'm coming starve-guts." Samael put out a bunch of dry cat food for Sprinkles and as a special treat, added some mackerel into the mix. Samael scratched Sprinkle's shoulder blades as she dug into her meal. This quiet moment was broken however when news of a break in came over across the police banner. "Time to vork. Goodbye my dear." muttered Samael as he messed with Sprinkles' ears, and headed out the door. He leapt across town, where the robbers were making their get away in a van. Atlas leap in front of the van, and before it could squirrel away managed to grab a hold of it, and lifted it off the ground. "Little, tiny men should vatch vere zey are going!" The apparent ring leader pulled out a gun and shot Atlas in the face a few times, but the bullets just fell to the ground. "We give." Said one of the smarter thugs who tossed his gun out of the van and threw up his hands. His compatriots did likewise. The criminals were rounded up and handed over to the authorities without further hassle. Atlas waved at the small crowd who had gathered and was applauding and cheering him on. With a smile spreading across his face, Atlas leapt back home. A few minutes later he was back home and sprawled out on the couch with Sprinkles slowly rising and falling on his chest. "ÂYou know, I zink zat I am alvays me, but people, ze see me how zey want to see me. But I am alvays me da?" Sprinkled looks at Samael, cocked her head to the side and then slowly reached out with her paw and squished Samael's nose.

October 16 Late at night Spitfire Max closed the door to his trailer and looked himself in the face in the mirror. He hated looking too long in the mirror, afraid the facade will crack, showing what he truly was. The bravado, the devil may care attitude, the crazy stunts, and even the tattoos; they were all thin, eggshell masks over a scared and lonely boy of seventeen. This was a truth he hid away, even himself from, and though unhealthy, it was the only way he knew to stay sane and not fall apart. Max grew up with no family, oh sure the carnival provided plenty of interesting friends, but even his adopted mother, Deedra, was more friend than mother, she never even called him son. The only person in the world who knew this, knew the real Max Compton, was Bertram. Maxie scoffed a laugh at himself in the mirror. "What does that say about you, huh? Only man in the world knows the real you eats fire fer a livin'". Maxie tried to laugh it off, but his voice cracked in his throat and he almost found himself crying. True, Bertram was a fire-eater, but he was also a good man. What one chooses for a vocation does not define them; it merely shows you one aspect of them. Maxie had taken that concept to the extreme; he had made his stage persona his only outward persona. He was a fire eater, a carnival sideshow attraction, and to the rest of the world, that’s all he was. More and more often, Max had found himself afraid of his own mask, the play he put on for the world. He'd been doing the show so long he'd started to forget which Max was the act. Maxie knew he needed friends, and he needed to be more than just some attraction, or he'd be consumed by his own false face. Maxie just didn' know if he had the strength to let anyone in. Maxie realized something then, looking in the mirror, fretting over whether to be consumed by his loneliness or risk letting a person in, he realized he was a coward. All the stunts he does, every life endangering flip and hair singeing fire show may look cool, but it didn't make him brave, it made him reckless at best, or perhaps suicidal at worst. Real bravery could be seen in elderly couples, holding hands walking in Liberty Park. It could be seen in movie theaters, where couples sat together watching a love story unfold while held in each other's arms. It was on golf courses, in bars, in shopping centers, and in airport terminals. Anywhere friends met to share stories and make memories, anywhere that families met or began. Real bravery was exhibited when one had the strength to open oneself to another, fully and completely, despite the dangers of rejection and failure. Real bravery was being vulnerable, not building a stone mask and cage for your heart. Maxie hung his head as a silent sob racked his body. Max had no qualms about risking his life to save another, or even just for a good laugh, but did he have the nerve to risk living to save his own life, or would he die alone, forever remembered for a masquerade, and not remembered for who he truly was?

Even in summertime, the Claremont Academy kept its students pretty busy, so it was the rare afternoon when Erin and Alex ended up in their dorm room together before bedtime. This was one of those days, though, when someone’s mucked-up powers training meant the gym and the library were both closed for a few hours for repairs. As Alex came into the room with her ever-present bag of books, she found Erin cross-legged on the floor near the bed, idly winding up her music box and watching the plastic Disney Princess spin in place to the tinkling music. Erin nodded to her in greeting, but seemed lost in thought. Alex set down her bag and opened her mouth to say something, when suddenly a weird urge seemed to possess her. Instead of the greeting she’d intended, instead a song began pouring from her mouth. (To the tune of Love Story, by Taylor Swift) “We were both young when I first saw you Crackers and alphabet blocks I'm standing there In a circle of platic chairs See the light See the party, the people I see you make your way from the crowd Please don't go, don't you know That you're my Romeo, you were throwing pebbles But you can't see I'm your Juliette And I was crying on your jacket Begging you please don't go, and I said Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone I'll be waiting all there's left to do is run You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess It's a love story, baby, just say yes So I help with homework, just to see you I keep quiet 'cause I'd die if you knew I close my eyes And I dream for a little while†Erin stared at Alex while she was singing, startled for a minute at the outburst of song. Somehow this sounded a little more personal than just a song from the radio. Then the music from her music box seemed to get louder, more insistent, and in a moment she was singing along with the dreamy, romantic tune. She never sang in public, and she wasn’t a great singer, but that wasn’t stopping her right now. (To the tune of So This is Love, from Disney’s Cinderella) “And here I am So far away Inside a world that never can be mine Sometimes I feel It isn't real But everyone around me thinks it's fine Easy for them, They'll never know Sometimes I hate them so Don't understand that life is just a sham And here I am…†As Erin started singing, the adagio of her song threaded through the upbeat allegro of Alex’s, creating a weird sort of duet. Their eyes met as both of them realized the complete oddity of the situation, but neither could stop. Something more powerful than either of them was directing this concert. Alex leaned against the edge of the desk and just kept singing. “You're my Romeo; I'm just your best friend You still can't see I'm your Juliette But you are everything to me I was begging you please don't go and I said Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone I'll be waiting all there's left to do is run You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess It's a love story, baby, just say yes Romeo, save me, I can't help how I feel Its so painful, I know its real Without you, I can't make it out of this mess Its a love story, baby, just say yes Oh, oh I get tired of waiting, Wondering if you are ever coming 'round My faith in you is fading I've got to find the courage to stand and say, Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone I keep waiting for you but you never know Is this in my head? I don't know what to do I don't think I'm more than a friend to you Don't worry, I'll be with you You'll never have to be alone I love you and that's all I really know I'll always give your friendship my best Its a love story, baby, just say yes†Erin slammed the music box shut when it reached the end of another repetition of its song, as though that might stop the urge to sing along. Instead, it just meant she was singing a capella for the next verse. “I wish I knew What’s coming next And if I’ll ever find myself a home Will someone care If I’m not there Or is this just a struggle on my own? No one to ask, No way to know Sometimes I hate them so Don’t think I can get with their program And here I am…†Abruptly, the impulse to sing trailed off, as though someone had shut a faucet. The room went completely quiet, leaving the two girls staring at each other.

The two thugs in the Riverside alleyway bust open the handbags they'd snatched over the evening. “That's gotta be over 300 bucks, Bill!†crowed one of them, stuffing the cash into his pockets. “Yeah, keep it down!†hissed the other, “You know how them supers are always crawling about, George. I'm sure I heard something overhead.†“Damn right you did,†came a voice from above. The two thugs glanced up to see a green airship floating above them with a wiry-looking kid in a green costume sliding down the rope suspended from the bottom. “Hand it over and you fellas won't have to go to hospital before I cart you off to the cops.†“Hah!†laughed George, pulling out a gun and pointing it at the teen, “No kid like you could get toys like that, unless you stole them. You're just as bad as us.†Geckoman nonchalantly walked towards the thug. “Well, now that you mention it... wait, do you hear music... oh no, I saw this on the news. People start singing and tell uncomfortable truths...†George started looking unnerved, shaking the gun aggressively. “What are you talking about you utter moron!?†To the tune of 'Misery Business' by Paramore “I'm in the business of superin', Let's take it from the top. I've got an airship and some zappers and can run right up the walls You can just shoot me now, it'll heal back real fast, Then I'll shoot you in the chest and I'll have a blast! I used to be some kid, I walked round town alone, Saw some warehouse, claimed its contents for my own Few minutes, made impact with hill, I've got gecko powers now, So I wear the biggest smile! Whoa, I never meant to brag But, I heal fast and I run up walls, Whoa, it was never my intention to steal But I think I'm gonna keep it for now. 'Cos man does it feel so good, Cause I could fly 'round the world right now. And if you could then you know you would. 'Cos man it just feels so, It just feels so good. Second chances they all really matter, people need to change. Once a thief but could be more, if I atone that'll change. So I'll go catch crooks, that's what I'm doing now you see? I'm sorry dude, but he's knocked out, cos he tried to shoot me! Well there's a thousand other crooks who do it just like you. Running up alleyways to hide from guess who? They steal and what they steal is petty 'less you take a risk. Well I guess I did, guess I did, guess I did! Whoa, I never meant to brag But, I heal fast and I run up walls, Whoa, it was never my intention to steal But I think I'm gonna keep it for now. 'Cos man does it feel so good, Cause I could fly 'round the world right now. And if you could then you know you would. 'Cos man it just feels so, It just feels so good. But my ship's so. My ship's so damn good. I flied 'round and I saved good folks But you'll compare my theft to you But those folks all thanked me, it's true Not one of them's comparing! Well, I never mean to brag, but I think the stuff's better used here! Whoa, I never meant to brag But, I heal fast and I run up walls, Whoa, it was never my intention to steal But I think I'm gonna keep it for now. 'Cos man does it feel so good, Cause I could fly 'round the world right now. And if you could then you know you would. 'Cos man it just feels so, It just feels so good." Geckoman kicked Billy's cowering and bemused form into a bin and upper-cutted him with his power knuckles. “Stupid confession song. Nobody's allowed to know I stole my ship!†He stopped and mused for a second. “Although I can sing. I'll be humming that tune all day now.†He turned and went to drag these two crooks off to the cops. Humming as he went.

In the middle of one of his DJ nights at the Millennium, Eddie suddenly feels the urge to break out in song. In front of a crowd full of people, he leaps over the DJ table, self-projecting the music to Sublime's "What I Got" And putting his own words too it. His song is a little bit of a confession about how he knows he's not the best hero around, and he isn't that confident about his abilities, but he doesn't let it get him down, because his music encourages him. The song is as follows: What I got – Breakdown – June Vingette Early in the morning, risin' to the street Start me up that iPOD and I strap shoes on my feet Got to find a reason, a reason ta’do what I want Got to find a reason why I should be a hero I got a Jazz record, and I can still fly high Wish I could play the guitar like a *explitive deleted* riot Life is too short, so use the stuff you got 'Cause you might get run over or you might get shot Never start no static, I just get it off my chest Never had to battle with none’ma powers yet Take a small example, take a tip from me Take all of your money, use it to make music free! Music’s what I got, it's within my reach Yeah, and the Breakdown style's still straight from FC! Rhythm comes back to you, you'll fin’ly get the beats you deserve Try and test me, you're bound to get served Music’s what I got, don't start a riot You'll feel it when the dance gets hot Music’s what I got, I said remember that Music’s what I got, I remember that Music’s what I got, I said remember that Music’s what I got Why I don't get nervous ‘bout screwin stuff up I don't get mad at the villains I have to drop I don't get upset, I don’t wanna stop I’m not confident, I just wanna rock! Jamin’ and fightin', it's all the same Livin' with my muic’s the only way to stay sane Let the Music, let the Music come back to me 'Cause Music’s what I got, I said remember that Music’s what I got, I remember that Music’s what I got, I said remember that Music’s what I got, I got, I got, I got

Location: Curious Things, Jos Terhune's antiques shoppe in Riverside. Inside are Adam Mears, Tom Wells, and Danny Levinson (better known as Fox, Vulture, and Shark) and Jos Terhune. The Trio are huddled together in one section, near a table of various knick-knacks, while Terhune sits at the counter, reading over the newspaper. (Note: this is taking place in late June 2009, many months after their run-in with some heroes in Riverside and their run-in with some other heroes at the Waterfront, which occurred in Sep 2008.) (Song is to the tune of "Be Prepared" from The Lion King) Adam: I don't think you two deserve this. {He dangles a set of storage locker keys in front of them} I practically gift-wrapped that Mind-Witch for you, and you couldn't even dispose of her! Tom: Well, ya know... it wasn't exactly like she was alone. Remember, it was that grim, dark Avenger who destroyed our suits. (Terhune lowers his newspaper and leans a bit closer.} Danny: Yeah. What are we supposed to do-- {swallows nervously} kill Scarab and Avenger? {Terhune speaks up.} Terhune: Precisely. {The Trio pause from their discussion and look over to Terhune questioningly.} Terhune:{spoken} I never thought souls were essential. They're crude and unspeakably plain. But maybe they've a glimmer of potential If alloyed to hellfire and pain. {Three-top flutter to coincide with Terune's long strides towards the Trio.} {Terhune walks calmly through sheets of flame and gas which are now shooting up from the floorboards of his shoppe} {Terhune paces slowly around Danny, who is nervously fiddling with a small bone wand.} Terhune: {Full song} I know that your powers of retention Are as wet as a Deep One's backside But thick as you are, pay attention I'm talking 'bout Lust, Wrath, and Pride {On 'Pay attention', Terhune angrily swats the bone away; Danny comes to abrupt attention} Terhune: It's clear from your guarded expressions You know my Deal comes from "Downstairs" {on "downstairs" Terhune makes an air quote gesture; Danny makes the Sign of the Horns, and Terhune winks} Terhune: But we're talking power! Possession! Even you can't be caught unawares {Adam & Tom are standing slack-jawed behind him; on "you," Terhune turns and leaps at them, throwing them backward onto a pair of chairs, which then animate like bucking broncos, throwing the two men into the air and crashing behind an aisle.} {In the next verse, Terhune is strutting theatrically up some small crates onto and then down the length of a long display case.} Terhune: So prepare for a deal of a lifetime Be prepared for sin-sational news A shining dark era Is creep-crawling nearer Adam: And how do we fit in? Terhune: {Grabbing Adam's cheek} Just shut up and listen {Adam rubs his cheek, which is now bruised red} Terhune: I know it sounds sordid But you'll be rewarded When at last I am given my dues Make a deal and you'll meet all your goals Sell your souls! {Terhune leaps up beside Danny, who is again messing with the bone wand, and here kicks him away from the display case} {The Trio crash into two aisles which fall in on them, submerging them in bric-a-brac; they reappear, each with a different horned skull on his head.} {Spoken} Adam: Yeah, make a deal. Yeah-heh... we'll make a deal, heh. ...For what? Terune: For the death of Avenger. Tom: Why? Is he sick? {Terhune grabs Tom by the throat} Terhune: No, fool - we're going to kill him. Scarab too. {Dropping Tom back onto the floor} Tom: Great idea! We'll rush in and overpower 'em! Tom (and then Danny): {Sing-song voices, dancing around Adam} Zerg Rug! Zerg Rush! Mua-ha-ha-ha-haa-haa! Terhune: Idiots! There will be no rushing! Danny: Hey, but you said, uh... Terhune: Plan out these things! ...Stick with me {triumphant, toothy grin}, and you'll never see prison again! Tom and Danny: Yaay! All right! Hail, our Dark Lord! {Camera reveals hundreds of imps in the shadows, ranging in size from horsefly to housecat, popping up from between and out of the antiques.} Trio & Imps: Hail, our Dark Lord! Hail, our Dark Lord! {Full song again} { Terhune's army of imps is goose-stepping across the floor of the shoppe, now stylized into a Nazi-esque quadrangle. Terhune sits upon a rock throne set atop his counter.} Imps: {In tight, crisp phrasing and diction} It's great that we'll soon be connected. With a fiend who'll tolle Inferni. Terhune: Of course, quid pro quo, you're expected To do a few small deeds for me {Motions a slice across the neck} Terhune: The future is littered with prizes And though I'm the main addressee The point that I must emphasize is You won't get revenge without me! {Leaps off his rock throne, hulking out into his Demonic Form, to single out one hapless imp in front of the Trio; that imp slips and falls into a fiery crack in the floorboards} {Throughout the next verse, the entire horde of imps joins in dancing boisterously, leaping along the tops of rock pillars that are bursting forth from beneath the shoppe & through to the second floor above, shaking animal & human skeletons in the light, one playing a rib cage/xylophone.} {The parenthetical parts are the imps' counterpoint singing} Belphegor: So prepare for the deal of the century (Oooh!) Be prepared to be ranked 'mongst the damned (Oooh... Damn! Damn Damn!) {rear ends punctuating} Meticulous planning (You'll have might!) Tenacity spanning (Might makes right!) Decades of torment (Say again) Have honed my intent (Pow'r of Sin) Be Fiend undiluted (Aaaaaaah...) Fear, envied, saluted (...aaaaaaah...) And seen as Hell's Great Artisan (...aaaaaaah!) Make a deal and you'll meet all your goals (Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo) Sell your souls! All (Even Danny): Make a deal and we'll all meet our goals - Sell our souls! {Close with a fill-in and a fade-out. Belphegor and the Trio are laughing evilly, then kneel before the demo. Drum roll rises to a crash.} Note: "tolle Inferni" is Latin for "raise Hell"

(This little scene take place in May the week before Memorial Day [making Grimalkin the very first victim of the effect!], on a largely deserted street in Riverside; the tune is original, and I’m hoping to have my sisters record it as a duet.) Sometimes when he touched her, she’d melt beneath his fingertips, but other times she flinched like a whipped dog. He thought he’d drown in her eyes like pools of dark brown coffee, except those days when all he saw was ice and fear. He finally decided to ask her about it on a warm spring night in Riverside after a movie, when her mood was light as cotton candy, and a street corner combo played guitar, pedal steel and fiddle. For a while she was quiet as she stared down at the sidewalk between her toes, and then she began to sing. Long Train to Nowhere (Grimalkin’s Song) When I was growing up back in New Jersey I always dreamed of heading out West Stuck out in a trailer My daddy was a failure And Momma never gave him a rest But I thought if I could make it to the railroad I could leave that sadness far behind I was riding the long train to nowhere Hoping and praying I was not found There’s a thousand miles between me and you But somehow it still feels like you’re around I met you in a camp outside Altoona You held me at night when it got cold To you, it wasn’t much But I shivered at your touch Remember I was just fifteen years old So we lived from train to train out on the railroad A freedom that I thought I’d never find Yes we’re riding the long train to nowhere Hoping and praying we don’t get found There’s a thousand miles between me and you But somehow it still feels like you’re around Then somehow it all changed out in Montana You tried to take something I could not give My back against the wall You were twice as tall And I found out just what I’d do to live Well I thought I would be safe out on the railroad But the strangers that you meet aren’t always kind So I’m riding the long train to nowhere Hoping and praying I don’t get found There’s a thousand miles between me and you But somehow it still feels like you’re around Now I find myself back in New Jersey And I see you in the eyes of every man It’s the price I’ve had to pay Never give my heart away I might dance, but lonely I will stand You can try to hide yourself out on the railroad But you can’t run away from your own mind I’m still riding the long train to nowhere Hoping and praying I don’t get found It’s a thousand lonely miles back to your grave But somehow it still feels like you’re around

Ace was late to the trustee meeting, not in and of itself unusual but the delay in this case had been due to the full vaudevillian routine of 'Puttin' on the Ritz' he and most of Wading Way had been compelled to partake in on his way to the meeting. Fortunately as he arrived the rest of the board was completing an acapella rendition of Pink Floyds 'Money' and the meeting was quickly voted to be postponed. Ace made a couple calls as he headed to talk in person to the commissioner about what might be going on. It seemed this song and dance act was pretty widespread as he mounted the steps of city hall he felt words swell unbidden to his lips once more. He moved to the music swelling within as he continued up the steps bounding back and forth and posing between stanzas as if in a music video and belting out the lyrics, a fast hard hitting sound that he personally didn't really care for even during its height of popularity. ((To the tune of 'The Kids Aren't Alright' by The Offspring)) "When it began the light was so bright The Whole city was full fire And everyone up and down the street Was terrified my heart skipped a beat The Omegadrone's cracked the sky I said it was too late but he had to try How can one foolish man Stand against such might Lances fire I can't see Searing pain Agony Try so Hard Hard to be A better man Why not me Rex took a chance, to save that kid Drones flew down fast he did all he could The Centurion took his final flight And saved us all from eternal night Had it been me I'd try to hide Saw Rex vaporized So many lost that day Why couldn't it be me Lances fire I can't see Searing pain Agony Try so Hard Hard to be A better man Why not me" He ended the song on his knees before the wide doors of city hall panting heavily. the assembled citizens glanced nervously at him and he quickly brushed himself off and with a grin and tip of his hat headed in to see if there was anything he could do to help with the situation.