Issue #11

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"What Lies In Shadows"

by Chuck "da `Cat!" Burke

It was nearly 3AM in downtown Syracuse when Tonya Keller left her job at the FUZION dance club and walked the four blocks to the Jefferson Tower. One of three twenty-story apartment buildings erected in the late sixties, the `Jeff was home to over 300 residents. Most of them were lower income or, in some cases, welfare cases. Unlike Kennedy Square and Pioneer Farms, though, Jefferson Tower had a reputation as a good place to live. Tonya was one of the working poor, raising a son on low wages and tips earned tending bar six hours a night, six nights a week. She counted on help from her neighbors, if only for someone to stay in her apartment at night until she got home. The people who lived there looked out for each other, and bad things rarely happened to them.

Rarely. But nevertheless, sometimes bad things did happen.

This morning, Tonya walked towards the entrance, past the gate that led to the service entrance and the garbage dumpsters. As she walked past, the gate opened quietly, and an arm reached out to grab her. Her cry of surprise was muffled by a hand that quickly covered the lower part of her face. "C'mon, baby, let's have ourselves a little fun," whispered a hoarse voice.

"You know, Jackson, I think it's you and me that are going to have some fun!" The second voice wasn't a whisper it was a growl, and it was accompanied by the glare of two chemical light bombs detonating in the alleyway, lighting up the scene like daylight. Tonya felt the arm that gripped her loosen, and the hand fell away from her face. Her attacker turned and started running out of the alleyway. "Ah, you want to run? Good, that means I get to play, too."

Jackson Summerly turned onto the sidewalk, running toward the parking lot next to the building. Leaping out of the alleyway behind him was a large, broad-shouldered man dressed in a midnight-blue bodysuit with a headpiece loosely designed to look like the head of a cat. Tonya wasn't surprised by that: she was actually expecting it. Bad things happened sometimes, but sometimes you could do something about it. She leaned against the wall as she saw a pair of police cars pull around the corner.

Jackson jinked around a black Taurus, then planted his hands on the hood of an old, silver BMW and vaulted over it. Behind him, Wildcat ran up the hood of the Taurus and started running over the tops of the cars. Jackson fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys with a remote entry fob. Wildcat heard the clunk of a lock disengaging, and saw the dome light of a blue Olds Achieva come on. Jackson came around the back of another car and yanked open the door as the engine roared noisily to life. He was trying to put the key into the ignition when a fist smashed through the windshield. He felt a massive hand wrap around his throat, and he was pulled over the steering wheel. "Bad time to go for a drive, Jackson."

"All right! All right! I give up, man!" Jackson threw his arms up. "Don't cut me up on the glass!"

Wildcat simply held him in place until a pair of police officers reached the car. Once they had the young man handcuffed and were leading him off, the costumed hero returned to the alleyway entrance.

"How're you doing, Tonya?" he asked, seeing the intended victim leaning against the fence in the flashing lights of the police cars.

"Okay, I guess," replied the younger woman.

"Better than okay. She played that like a seasoned undercover officer," remarked Officer Frank Potter. "That was pretty brave of you, offering to be the bait in this trap."

"No, it was just something I had to do. I saw what he did to Kara last week. When she said she thought it was Jackson, I wanted to do something, anything to get him put away."

"Yeah, but not too many women have the chutzpah to call their local costumed hero to help set up a sting." Wildcat laid a hand on her shoulder. "You ever consider the police academy?"

"Oh, I couldn't-"

"Yes, you could," asserted Potter. "I remember when we were in high school, you did all right, grade-wise. How about we get together next week, I'll bring the application forms over?"

"Well, I guess it can't hurt, right?"

As Tonya and Frank started making arrangements, Wildcat looked around. Knowing that Lt. Abby Walker was out of town, he didn't expect to strike up any small talk with any of the other officers. He was turning to jog the two blocks to the Public Safety Building when he saw the flare of a match nearby.

"Got a moment, `Cat?" The voice was deep, but feminine. And familiar.

"Anybody ever tell you those things are bad for you, Chase?" Wildcat waved away cigarette smoke as he approached the black-suited young woman. "What's DEO want in Syracuse?"

"Nice to see you, too, `Cat. Director wants to talk to you. ParkView Hotel, half hour." She dropped a card in his hand and turned to walk away.

"What does Bones want with me at three in the morning?"

Cameron Chase turned, her blond hair falling over one side of her face. "Word is, he wants to congratulate you. Something about the Ultra-Humanite?"

"Does he now?" Wildcat rubbed his chin as she strode away. "That's got to be a first."

Thirty-five minutes later, Wildcat knocked on the door to a fifth-floor suite at the ParkView. He heard a rough voice bark out "C'mon in," and opened the door. Stepping inside, he found himself once again waving off cigarette smoke.

"Sheesh, what is it with you DEO guys? You got anybody in that joint that doesn't smoke?"

Director Bones turned from the window looking over a construction site. "Might be one or two. How ya doing, Teddy?"

"Nothing a cold beer or two can't fix." Bones waved a gloved hand toward a small refrigerator. Wildcat walked over and pulled out a dark bottle. "You?"

"I'm good." Bones sat down on a couch, Wildcat sat in an overstuffed chair and twisted off the bottle cap.

"So, whatcha looking to talk to me about?"

"Heard about that little operation you led against Ultra last month. Very impressive."

"Whaddaya talking about, Bones? The big ape got away."

"You shut down his operation, kept him from getting a new body. Heard that Sportsmaster is confirmed dead, too."

"Yeah, your folks down at Belle Reve kinda messed that one up, didn't they?"

Bones shrugged, laying his cigarette in an ashtray on the table in front of him. "Mistakes happen. What happened to his kid?"

"She took off for Vegas."

"Not Artemis. Jake Crock."

Wildcat stared at Bones for a moment. "I gotta admit, having nothing but a skull sticking out of the suit, makes for the best poker face I've ever seen." He shook his head. "You know who Jake is, don't you?"

"Of course I do. That's why he was held but never charged with murder. That, and the fact that you're still breathing. Kinda hard to bring a murder charge when the victim isn't really dead."

"So why do you want to know where he is?"

"Just curiosity. Thought you might be doing a little father-son bonding."

Wildcat drained his bottle and set it on the table. "Well, if that's all you wanted to know, I'll just be-"

"Down, kittycat. I'm just the middle man here. My boss wants words with you."

"Your boss? I thought you were the Director? You mean `Fats' Waller is looking for me?"

"Waller's with DOJ, and runs the Suicide Squad. All she has to do with us is budget approval. But the Senior Director is here." Bones got up and walked over to the door to one of the suite's bedrooms. "I think you might know him, actually."

The door opened, and an older man with thinning blond hair and dark glasses stepped into the room.

"Charlie?" exclaimed Wildcat. "Charlie McNider? But, how? You're dead?"

"Relax, Ted, I can explain everything." McNider wave Bones out the door, then walked over and took a seat on the couch. "I've been living something of a double life for a few years. I figured it was about time I let one of my old friends in on the story."

"What are you talking about? Extant killed you, Al and Rex, Coupla years ago."

"Yes and no. I remember everything up to that battle, I remember being zapped by Extant, then I woke up in my study. Five years before that battle. It was just a couple of months after the big Crisis, when the JSA was off battling the Norse gods."

Wildcat leaned forward, his beer bottle dangling between his legs. "So what'd you do?"

"Well, first I tried to figure out what had happened, but I couldn't do much research on my own, and all my closest friends were off fighting Ragnarok. During that time, I also spent a lot of time thinking about my life, and the things I'd done, and that we'd done in the JSA. And I realized that we really could have done better."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Well, Ted, look at yourself. You were on your way to becoming a doctor. After winning the championship, you could have gone back to school, finished up your degree, and as a doctor you could have done a hell of a lot more good than you did running around in that costume with the JSA throughout the forties."

"Aww, don't give me that, Charlie. The JSA did a hell of a lot for this world. Still does. You trying to tell me that you went to the DEO because you thought superheroes were bad for the world."

"No, Ted. I went to an old friend at the FBI, because I think costumed mysterymen are a bad idea. He went to his contacts in the Department of Justice and in Congress, and they agreed. And together, we established the DEO to keep an eye on the JSA, JLA, Titans, other groups and individual vigilantes.

"Of all the sanctimonious bull I've heard in my time, that's just about the craziest. Hell, Charlie, that line of reasoning might have worked back in '41, when there were just a couple of costumed mopes running around and the freaks and psychos hadn't started showing up yet, but once the clowns like Brainwave and Wotan started in, the JSA and the others were needed. You said yourself plenty of times."

"And I was wrong, Ted. The military and the intelligence agencies should have taken care of the costumed villains that started appearing, and maybe that would have discouraged more of them from showing up." McNider stood and walked over to the window. "That's the long-term goal of the DEO."

"Yeah? So why are you telling me? And what's this got to do with that note about the phony Dr. MidNite you sent me?"

McNider waved one hand dismissively at the last. "For one thing, you're not a meta. You're a normal human. So I figure the other JSA members will be more likely to listen to you. Because if things go as planned, they're going to have to make a choice soon."

"Choice? What choice?"

"Whether to comply with the law and disband, or continue operating as outlaws. I've arranged for a bill to be introduced to Congress, outlawing organizations of metahumans. Eventually, it will be expanded to outlaw the use of metapowers."

"You're crazy, Charles." Wildcat put down his bottle, stood, and walked to the door. "And you're even crazier if you think I'm going to be a part of this."

Returning home, Wildcat stripped off his costume and stepped into the shower. As the hot water cascaded over him, he thought about the past two hours. Things didn't add up. McNider's obvious dismissal of the note was the most glaring thing about their discussion. Other details about their time together in the JSA didn't match, either.

A half hour later, Ted was lounging on the couch, half asleep, watching one of his former students going down to defeat in a title match when his phone rang. By the ring tone, he knew who was on the other end of the call despite the random name and number that appeared on the caller ID. "Heya, Oracle. Little early, ain't it?"

"Is it? What time - oh, Ted, I'm sorry, I didn't realize it's only 4:30. Did I wake you?"

"Nah, this time o'day, I'm either just heading to bed, or I'm starting my morning run. So, what's your excuse?" asked Ted as he muted the television.

"Been working on a couple of system upgrades. Want to hear about them?"

"Want to hear me snore? You know I don't get half that mumbo-jumbo, girl."

"Well, while I was working, one of your searches turned up something, and you did tell me to call anytime, as soon as anything popped up."

Ted sat up, fully awake now. "Whatcha got?"

"Maybe nothing. One of the properties you asked me to watch just showed up with a mismatch between the property records and utility company records. According to Starlight Gas & Electric, the last four month's bills for Myra Mason's home have been paid by a Doctor Pieter Cross."

Ted rubbed his stubbled chin. "Could be a relative."

"I ran a full check on him. No relation to Mason, but he was a resident under Charles McNider."

"No change of ownership on the property, right?" Ted was trying to look at the situation from any possible angle.

"No. And no record of Mason passing away, purchasing another property, renting a property, or entering any sort of nursing home or care facility. Doesn't rule out a private rental. though."

"Or she could be shacking up with someone," commented Ted.

"Ewwww! She's got to be, what, eighty-something years old? That's just sick, Grant!"

"Heh heh heh. Gotcha. Now, here's something you can run through your databases: I had a little meeting with the Executive Director of the DEO."

"With Bones? What did he want?"

"Not with Bones. He was there, but I was talking to his boss."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Ted could hear Oracle typing furiously. "It doesn't wash, Ted. Bones is the top of the food chain in DEO. Go any higher, and you're in top echelon at the Department of Justice."

"That's what we all thought, but I just found out different. Charles McNider is the man behind the DEO."

"Okay, one of us needs to get to bed. I thought I just heard you say that a dead superhero is running an anti-metahuman agency that was started three years before he died."

"Come on, Oracle, you know death and time aren't enough to keep a meta down anymore."

"You have a point there, Ted. So what's his story?"

"Tell ya what: let me sleep on this one, and I'll write it up in an e-mail before I head to classes."

"Sounds good. You want me to pass this along to anyone yet?"

"No, I want to do a little digging, the old fashioned way. Starting with Doctor Pieter Cross."

It was late in the afternoon as Ted drove his rented car along a lonesome seaside road. The rental bounced in and out of potholes in the gravel-strewn roadway, as waves crashed against the base of the cliffs below. A cool breeze blew in the open window as Ted watched for the home that was supposed to be on this road.

"Unless I'm mistaken, this must be the house where Charlie lived when he first became Dr. Mid-nite," Ted said to himself as he drove. He recalled McNider's descriptions of his earliest efforts to rid Starlight of organized crime. He smiled, remembering his old friend's flair for storytelling. He'd made those early exploits sound like the best of the pulp novels that Ted would read on bus trips between fights.

He came around a bend and spotted the house. It was a big, rambling Victorian home, with a round turret at one corner and a porch that wrapped around three sides. White-painted trim stood out against the dark green siding, and the roof looked like it had been recently replaced. A carriage house stood off to one side, and between the two buildings Ted could see the ocean. "Someone is keeping this place up, that's for sure."

He parked in front of the carriage house and walked over to the front door of the house. While covering the short distance, he spied three cameras monitoring the area. The two mounted in trees were stationary, but the one mounted under an eave of the turret swiveled to follow him as he moved. Ted knocked on the door, and heard footsteps inside. His body tensed, his feet flexed as he rose to the balls of his feet. His arms bent slightly at the elbow, and his hands curled into fists. The door opened to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered man of African American descent dressed in black slacks and a black silk turtleneck.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Grant. Please, come in, the doctors are waiting in the study." He stepped back from the doorway, allowing Ted room to step inside.

"Have we met?" asked Ted, relaxing oy a little bit as he stepped inside.

"No, I haven't had the honor. But we have some common friends." Smiling, he added "My name is Michael. Michael Holt."

As they walked down a hallway, Ted scratched his head. "Name sounds familiar, wasn't there a Michael Holt in the Olympics a few years back?"

Michael smiled again. "Guilty as charged."

"Yeah, yeah, I remember, you were there for the decathlon, and you were also an alternate for fencing. Surprised the hell out of some folks, as I recall."

"Heh, no doubt. A lot of the folks on the Olympic committees like their athletes in neat little categories. Just like doctoral review boards."

Ted gave Michael an appraising look. "Doctoral? You're a doctor, too?"

"Not a medical doctor." Seeing Ted's questioning look, he elaborated. "Engineering and philosophy."

"Hmph. And who are these common friends you mentioned?"

"Power Girl, for one." Michael noted Ted"s raised eyebrows as he opened a door at the end of the hall. "Yeah, that was, um, different. And of course, there is-"

"Ted! Come on in, let me get a look at you!" exclaimed an eldery man sitting next to the fireplace in a room filled with bookcases. Dark glasses rode low on his nose, and he raised a frail hand to push them back up into place.

"Charlie? Is it really you this time?" asked Ted as he walked over and crouched before the older man.

"That will be up to you to decide, Ted," replied Charles McNider. "I expect you will want to hear the long, twisted tale of my survival. Before I start, though, I'd like you to meet my associates. Michael Holt, you've already met."

"Yeah, and I don't think that's the only name he goes by," said Ted with a snort. "You're the guy that's carrying on for Terry Sloane, ain'tcha?"

"Once again, guilty as charged."

Charles spoke up again. "And this is Doctor Pieter Cross, from Portsmouth. He did his residency with me when I was out in California."

Ted nodded his head as he shook Pieter's hand. "A pleasure, Doctor."

"Indeed, Mr. Grant, and an honor. My father was a big fan of yours."

Ted reached for a chair and sat down. "Now, the big questions. How are you still alive? We all saw you die, along with Rex and Al."

McNider lowered his head and responded in a low voice. "I wasn't supposed to be the only one. But it all happened so fast."

"What do you mean, Charlie?"

"It was Rex's idea," he said, referring to Rex Tyler, the late Hourman. "He was running some new tests on his blood and mine, part of the annual physicals I did for each JSA member. He noticed something odd in our samples, like an unknown antibody." He looked up at Ted. "You know, Rex never did believe much in magic, despite what we'd all been through together. But after we checked his findings with Dr. Fate, we agreed that we had isolated the blood factor that was keeping us young. Karkull's temporal magic spawned an antibody the retarded the aging process!"

"If we could synthesize it, imagine the lives that could be saved," said Pieter. "Since it seems to keep tissue from aging and deteriorating, it could prevent most of the non-cancer related diseases from taking hold in the body."

"Sounds a bit too good to be true," said Ted.

"Exactly. Rex found something else: these antibodies had a minute electromagnetic charge, on a wavelength akin to tachyonic particles." Michael's smile was one of irony.

"Time-based, in other words. And when Extant hit you guys with his chronal blasts, it messed with these antibodies, right?"

"Exactly. Just as Rex and I planned."

"Huh? You lost me there, Doc. You planned on getting zapped by Extant?"

"No, but Rex and I realized such a thing was possible, that we all might somehow lose this X-factor that was keeping us young. So we came up with a counter-measure."

Michael now smiled in earnest. "This was a bit of genius."

McNider reached over to a shelf and picked up something that looked like an oversized wristwatch. "Rex came up with a sensor that could detect a drop in the level of this antibody. When it dropped off, the device injected a cryogenic compound into the bloodstream." McNider looked up from the device. "You might recall that I used a similar device at one time to incapacitate criminals"

"Yeah, your Cryotuber. Always thought that was a bad idea, myself."

"I came to the same conclusion, and stopped using it. But Rex recognized the potential of the chemicals I used in it."

"But Rex got blasted apart by Extant, didn't he?"

"Right. And we didn't have a chance to tell the rest of the JSA. Otherwise, we might have saved Al. After you guys brought my body back, the second part of our plan kicked in."

"That was me," said Pieter. "The sensor unit notified me, and I retrieved his body from the morgue. I split my time between Portsmouth and Starlight. When Mike told me about his career as Mr. Terrific, I asked him to help us out here."

"So, I'm guessing you revived Charlie, and you've all been living happily ever after here, right?"

"I suppose it looks that way, doesn't it?" said Charles. "I was ready to stay out of the limelight, especially given the fact that my body now matches my real age. And over the last year or so, the three of us have been looking into some odd occurrences. Including my doppleganger that you dealt with."

"And it was you who sent the letter about that fake Mid-Nite, right? What was the deal with him?"

"That was the result of something we've come to refer to as a DNA overlay. An agent who has been genetically modified to be a duplicate of Charles McNider." Pieter pulled a folder down from a shelf. "We found notes describing the process, in theoretical terms, among Terry Sloane's notes from his career as Mr. Terrific."

"Terry was dabbling in this stuff?"

"No, but he found out about it during one of his adventures. And we think the person behind this is the same one he battled during tha-"

"Doctor McNider!" A woman's voice came through an intercom on McNider's desk, sounding worried. "There are several men coming toward the house! And a helicopter with the DEO insignia is coming in from the south!"

"Aw, hell, Charlie, they musta had a trace on me!" said Ted as he pulled off his shirt to reveal the midnight blue costume underneath. Michael reached for a jacket hanging near the door. Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a black, T-shaped mask and held it to his face. The mask molded itself to his features and his slacks shimmered and changed color. The words "Fair Play" shimmered into view down the side of his legs. "Neat trick, kid," said Ted as he pulled his own mask up over his head.

"Ted, do you still have the lenses?" asked McNider.

"You better believe it, Doc," answered Wildcat, tapping the side of his mask. "I think Batman has a private factory somewhere turning out his custom starlight lenses, based on your original design."

Pieter Cross pulled a pair of goggles from his pocket. "I'm set," he said, as he reached into a leather attache case and pulled out a crossbow pistol.

"Looks like you gents were expecting something like this," observed Wildcat.

"The DEO was set up to help steer events in favor of a society distrustful of meta-humans, Ted," said McNider, who had turned his chair towards a desk and was checking images from cameras around the house. "Sooner or later, they were bound to figure out where the opposition to their methods was centered, and try to crush us." He clicked on something on the screen. Out the window, Wildcat saw several objects come flying down from somewhere above. Wherever they struck, a cloud of black smoke billowed outward.

"What did you do, make an artillery version of your blackout bombs?" asked Wildcat.

"Just the standard grenades, with launchers built into the security cameras." McNider touched another control on the screen, and the video feeds changed to black backgrounds with everything shown in green. "Looks like a dozen of them on the ground. You three, go out the side door to the porch. I'll take care of the helicopter."

As he followed Pietor and Michael through the halls, Wildcat asked "How's he going to stop a chopper? Shoot it down?"

"Narrow focus electromagnetic pulse beam." Mr. Terrific grinned. "Not exactly, but it's a pulsed energy beam that has the same effect."

"Damn. A gadget that Batman doesn't have. What"s this world coming to?"

Pietor opened the door and stepped out onto the porch in near-total darkness. At the outer range of his vision, he saw movement. His hand came up, and the crossbow fired. There was a cry, and the sound of a body hitting the ground. Behind him, Mr. Terrific leaped over the porch railing and dropped to the ground, turning his head slowly from side to side. He reached into a pocket inside his jacket and pulled out several small flat discs. Each was about two inches in diameter. He slid one between his fingers, and flipped toward an advancing DEO agent. When it struck, there was a burst of bright blue light, then the agent stiffened and collapsed.

I feel like I'm the only one doing this the old-fashioned way, thought Wildcat as he waded into a grouping of four DEO agents. He grabbed the closest one by the front of his shirt and pulled him to within inches of his face. "Whose calling the shots, punk?" he growled.

"Magursky. Up on the copter." The agent jerked his head upward and to his right, where the helicopter could be heard. Before Wildcat could respond, there was a short-lived, low-pitched hum, and the sound of the copter changed .

"Sounds like your boss is landing sooner than planned." Wildcat swung around, drew back his right hand and punched. The force of the blow sent the agent back to collide with one of his companions. One of the remaining pair fired into the darkness, his shot going wild. Wildcat tackled him and wrenched the gun from his hand.

The last agent pulled something from his pocket and twisted one end of it. As he drew back to throw it, one of Pietor's crossbow bolts struck him. He whirled and threw, the stun grenade glowing dimly in the chemical darkness. Pietor tried to dive to the side, but he was blocked by a garden trellis. Before he could move in another direction, the grenade struck him in the head.

"Aiiee!" The doctor's scream of pain made Wildcat turn in his direction. The goggles he wore to see in the darkness were glowing and sparking. Mr. Terrific leaped over the still bodies of a pair of agents and landed in front of Cross. He yanked the goggles away from the doctor's face, then caught him as he passed out.

Wildcat slammed a fist into the face of the last agent standing. "How is he?" he asked.

"Can't tell. He's breathing, but he's unresponsive."

"Get him inside! I'll find the chopper!"

"I'll come back to help when I can," cried Terrific as he ran toward the house with Pietor in his arms.

Wildcat took off at a dead run toward the south, where he saw a thin column of black smoke rising over a ridge. As he reached the top of the ridge, Wildcat saw a dozen uniformed DEO agents climbing down from a back helicopter that had landed poorly on the rocky shore. Before he could duck back down, he was spotted and hailed by the commander of the squadron.

Maybe I can stall them for a bit if I let them take me, thought Wildcat, raising his hands over his head and walking down the hill toward them.

"Wildcat! Where is the ground squadron?" asked the commander.

"Back at the house. Mostly unconscious." Wildcat came to a stop. "Magursky, I assume?"

"Jed Magursky. And you can put your hands down."

"Huh? What's the deal?"

"Contrary to popular belief, not all DEO agents are anti-meta. I heard the Director sending that squad out to McNider's place, and brought my team out to provide back-up." Magursky held up his hands, fingers crooked to make quotation marks around the last two words. He pulled off his helmet, revealing a narrow face topped with a shock of pale blond hair. "Cameron Chase told me trouble was on the way." He held up a radio, and directed several of his men to secure the agents who had attacked at the house.

"Well, whaddaya know?" said Wildcat, rubbing his chin. "There's hope for that girl after all."

Five hours later, Michael Holt and Charles McNider walked into McNider's study.

"How is he?" asked Ted.

"He'll make it," replied McNider. "For the most part, it was just a mild electrical shock."

"I'm hearing a 'but' in there, Charlie."

"When the goggles shorted out, the current went through the fluid of the eyes, and burned the retinas and the optic nerves." Michael rubbed his forehead as he sat.

"I'm not sure burned is the right word," added Charles. "The nerve are retaining an electrical charge that we couldn't bleed off."

Jed Magursky looked up from his laptop computer. "So your friend is blind?"

"Maybe," said Charles, walking over to stand by the fire. "I take it you're familiar with my history?"

"I know that you sustained an injury that left you hyper-sensitive to light. You aren't truly blind, but can see only in what others view as darkness."

"Correct. I'm impressed. So I wouldn't make any assumptions about Pietor's prognosis just yet." Charles glanced toward the laptop. "Filing a report on my miraculous re-appearance?"

"Covering for my men. Officially, we were enroute to Bludhaven. Starlight City is a little out of our way. So I'm hacking in a record of a call requesting our assistance from Agent Chase, who is conveniently in the area. Some teenagers displaying powers trashing a playground."

"Nice. How many people in DEO are on your side?" asked Michael. "That is, I'm assuming there are sides."

"It's a sort of pro-meta underground. At first it was just a group who thought the Director was a little harsh on the heroes because of his background, but lately we've been finding evidence that he isn't even the one calling the shots."

"We have a pretty good idea who is," said Michael. "A fellow who fought the original Mr. Terrific over fifty years ago."

"Time isn't really a problem for this guy though," added McNider, opening an old photo album. On the page he selected was a detailed drawing in pen and ink of a wild-eyed man with a large, hawkish nose and a wild mane of dark hair. "He's from several centuries in the future, actually. Called himself Black Barax."

(to be continued)

Like it, don't like it, think I'm full of it? Let me know, at FDCwriter@hauntedparsonage.us

Chuck

aka, da `Cat!