Heroes of Bifrost - HISTORY (PAST POSTS)

The whistle of a boiling kettle caught Toril's attention as he studied his microsope's video of a cellular sample on his macbook. Without hardly removing his eyes from the screen, the big man reached over and poured the boiling water into a cup into which there was already a tea bag.

The motel's kitchenette resembled a laboratory as several portable high tech machines had been neatly placed along the counter top. One was obviously some kind of microscope but only a researcher would be able to make sense of the other equipment.

He squeezed the remaining tea into the cup with a teaspoon and added a spot of milk, then returned to his stool, maximized his video software on the laptop and clicked on record.

"I have established that the eyes of meta-humans carry a marker of their mutation. One of the first traits humans take note of when they encounter another of their species is the eyes, it is part of the natural assessment of the fitness of a potential mate or rival. The marker takes the form of an odd colouration, animal mimicry or luminescence of some kind. I have found in those subjects that lack the visible sign of their mutation that the marker still exists on a cellular level. This may mean that a modified scan of the iris may be able to detect meta-humans who can other wise blend into the population."

Clicking off the recorder, he stood and stretched, his finger tips resting on the ceiling. Then taking up his tea he moved onto the bed, grabbed the remote and raised the volume to listen to the Troy evening news.

A picture of a burning McDonald's logo hovered to the right of the newscaster who was already in the progress of explaining the event. "... the coroner's report revealed that 26 year old, Matt Austin had died of smoke inhalation. Police still suspect arson, but a new video taken by the security camera of the neighbouring gas station is shedding new light on the case."
Toril watched intently as the video footage revealed the fire or at least a lot of smoke, suspiciously broke out from a central location, nearby but not directly from the kitchen, but it was difficult to really tell as the video quality was rather poor. They sped up the feed then and showed a black dodge ram, with what appeared to be a woman in the driver's seat pick up another woman and what seemed be one the victim's of the fire, a small man, who was still smoldering! Then one of the police officers that emerged from the burning building got into the truck after speaking with officers that entered the scene. The newscaster then continued with her dialog.
"Police are currently inquiring as to the whereabouts of the mystery police woman who was first on the scene and then apparently fled in the black Dodge Ram with at least two of the survivors of the fire. If you have any information concerning these events please contact the Troy Police Department."

Toril watched a little more of the news, but the remaining stories concerned the middle east, which usually prompted him to turn the channel or shut the TV off; he chose the latter. Then he laid back and stretched out along the bed, tucking a muscular arm behind his head. Still fully clothed, he drifted off to sleep in his usual fashion.

Thoughts of Toril's recent mission had stirred up old memories and as he drifted into a deep sleep his dreams returned him to a time when he was known by a different name. The moon light that shone directly into his room moved behind the clouds of an impending storm as two men in light kevlar armoured uniforms and masks to conceal their identities sprinted through an open field pursued by several guards armed with semi automatic rifles.

"They are right behind us!" called Wraith to his companion who he was easily keeping pace with.
The other smaller man was running as hard as he could but it did not appear he would be able to maintain his gate for very long, winded he managed to gasp a reply, "Over... the ridge."
Seeing their destination, Payden smoothly moved himself under his commander's arm and carried his weight upon long powerful gliding strides. Gusting winds surrounded the two men as Wraith used a combination of his strength and generated kinetic energy to carry them both to safety.

At the top of the ridge was a plateau, where they stood with the field behind them and sheer cliff face descending to the ocean below before.
"God damn it!" , screamed Surge. "Where's the bloody chopper?"
Wraith knew there was no time to worry about their extraction now and quickly surveyed the drop.
"Surge! I can float us down. Com 'on."
Surge looked past Wraith at the impending thunder storm and gritted his teeth defiantly.
"I'm tired of running from these rent-a-cops.", he growled. "Stir up that storm.", he ordered.
Against all better judgement, Wraith complied and with the storm already so close it didn't long to generate a vicious electrical storm above them.

The guards appeared over the ridge their guns trained on the two men. A few remained behind the cover of rocks while five more slowly approached to apprehend the trespassers. By then the lightning was beginning to flash violently above them and the winds were beginning to swirl about the platform in a most uncharacteristic fashion.

"Both of you on the ground, now!" ordered one of the guards.
Surge slowly raised his hands laughing. "You first!" Lightning descended from the clouds above and from the hands of the black suited man, striking down some of the guards and dispersing the others. A spray of gun fire from the covered guards were directed toward the men, but Wraith had vanished and the bullets seemed to strike a field around the other the stopped the bullets in mid flight.
As the guards watched in astonishment, the bigger man appeared for an instant and then as he faded once more a powerful gust of wind followed in his wake blowing them back down the incline.
Wraith re-appeared beside Surge. "Sir, let's go now, they're on the run." the younger man requested, but Surge had other plans. Drunk with the power of the storm, he pursued the guards, striking them down where they stood with ferocious bolts.

Wraith watched the attack, knowing all to well that these men were only security guards doing their jobs. They had no idea who they were, nor did they expect to lose their lives while protecting what they believed to be an ordinary pharmaceutical warehouse. He did not sign up to be a murderer and would not stand and watch these men fall victim to a meta-human gone mad. Generating a mass of wind, he hurled it at Surge with just enough force to drive him back to the plateau and away from the men.

"Are you out of your, God damn mind, soldier!" roared Surge as he rose to his feet, bursts of electricity radiating from his body.

Toril despised being referred to as a soldier and though the situation was in dire need of diplomacy he could not help but lash out at his scornful superior.
"I'm not a God damn, soldier, Surge. And you ARE out of your mind!", countered Wraith.

"So, the student thinks he can take on the master. Is that it?" spat Surge.

'That wasn't it at all', thought Wraith who was suddenly very worried, he had witnessed the effects of storms on Surge before, but quite often one could always appeal to his logical side. It seemed, however, that the storm that he had generated had unbalanced him or worse he had failed to take his medication.

"You have to —" Wraiths words were cut short by a barrage of electrical bursts which struck nothing but the air.

Wraith, had transformed before the attack, but even in his elemental form, the electrical assault was a jolt, scattering his molecules to the winds. While he assimilated, Surge waited, constantly swiveling his head as the ghost could appear anywhere. The wind stirred ominously behind him and Surge met it with vicious blast, but even as he turned, the big man appeared behind him and struck him with heavy hay maker followed by a blast of wind that threw him to the cliff side. Angry and dazed, Surge staggered to his feet, electricity raging around him and he found himself quickly surrounded by a mass of writhing winds forcing him closer to the cliff's edge.

There they both stood, two storm gods of old vying for control of the sky as elements of wind and lightning raged about them.

"Surge! You have to focus! We have to complete the mission." reasoned Wraith and it seemed that his words were making it through to his commander. Surge, slumped to his knees and lowered a hand, still Wraith was not convinced and maintained his wind-field. Then, Surge caught hold of the tip of what was probably a large rock beneath the surface of the soil and let loose a thunderous blast of lightning just as his opponent struck him with a tremendous gust.

Toril was pulled from the dream by the sound of his i-phone's alarm. He lay on the bed for a moment staring at the ceiling recalling the last time he had seen Surge, just before he hurled enough amps at him to light up a city, at least that what it felt like. There was pain and then he drifted along the winds, carried far away to eventually re-materialize on distant beach. He had remained in his non-coporeal for many months in a comatose state until his body was strong enough to reform, and the coast of Eastern Australia in the pouring rain awaking and thinking he was still on that cliffside battling his mentor.

He hadn't meant to sleep so long and was glad that he thought to set his alarm; his contact from Beacon would arrive soon and he would soon be able to return to his normal life. Toril had to admit though that he had enjoyed the espionage and ridding the world of a technology that could potentially expose all meta-humans was very satisfying but he knew that such outcomes were far and few between. He also realized that it was only a matter of time before someone else decided to dabble in the tainted research and discover that in fact the data was feasible and resumed the experimentation. By that time, he hoped that he was long gone.

Quickly he jumped through the shower, changed his shirt and then proceeded to compile all of his research and load it onto two flash drives. He was just gathering all of his samples and powering down the equipment when the lights of car shone through the curtains of the front window followed by the sound of tires grinding to halt on in the gravel parking lot. Payden peeked out the window and caught a glimpse of a single man making his way to the doorway of his motel room — then three knocks. Carefully he opened the door, and was surprised to see the man who awaited on the other side.



"Zradsvuite prizra", greeted Surge.

Toril was speechless, he hadn't expected his former mentor to come all this way to collect the data in person. "I think I am the one looking at the ghost.", he replied and the man responded with a warm smile, then Toril quickly added "It is good to see you Vacily." offereing his hand, which Vacily readily accepted and shook vigorously, reaching up with his other hand and slapping him hard on the shoulder. "Look at you!" he remarked studying Toril's youthful features inquisitively. Then moved his hand to the face and gave it an affectionate slap. "Still handsome and strong, and me," he gestured to his own face, moving his hand over a vicious scar around his right eye and grimacing, " nah."

Vacily's accent was pure american, a deep bold voice, but every so often in familiar company the accent of his first language slipped out and his mannerisms turned distinctly Eastern European. Toril remembered well, how Vacily could transform his persona at will, trained to do so during his days in the C.I.A. when he was used to infiltrate highly secure Russian installations. Born in American to Russian defectors, Vacily would become a marine and display aptitudes that would indoctrinate him into Central Intelligence, who honed his skills of misdirection and subterfuge. His expertise in deception had taught him to never readily trust anyone and so the same was with his own government, so he kept his mutant abilities a secret and that caution would eventually pay off. As meta-humans fell under scrutiny, Colonel Vacily Serge Petrovsky was able to retain his power and authority and use it to help create the secret organization called Beacon, an organization dedicated to eliminating the human threat from the mutant world.

Vacily thoroughly inspected the motel room as he entered, with obvious glances and stares. It was modest room in a motel located on the outskirts of Troy, with a patio overlooking a forested state park. He sat down in the single chair offered him and smiled widely. "You haven't changed at all, Toril. This room is just your style."

Toril, smiled at the comment as he walked over to the kitchenette and procured the data, sample tray and laptop he had used to do his research. He also made sure that his power surge device was on and all his other computer and all electronic equipment was off. A few of his long strides, and Toril was sitting on the edge of the bed where handed over the materials. Vacily accepted them with little scrutiny, trusting his former prodigy in tying up any loose ends. Both men, then sat in silence for a while, neither knowing where to begin. Ten years had passed since they had seen one another, and the last time Toril was looking into an enraged face of a much younger man. The years had apparently weighed very heavy on the colonel, he seemed old and tired but his strong character still resided beneath the haggard face. When he had contacted him out of the blue, he had flatly refused to do any work for Beacon, but Surge had reminded him of the time that he took a bullet for him, a sniper shot that would have ended his life. Instead, Surge blocked the bullet, and spent weeks in hospital recovering. Toril had never forgotten his sacrifice and also the first time taking a life during his brief service in the secret organization when he exacted swift vengeance on the sniper.

Vacily broke the silence. "I was at the funeral." he mentioned his eyes trained on the picture of woman at Toril's bedside. The large man looked up in disbelief, and Vacily verified his attendance. "Four years ago, August 17th. It was overcast that day and you shared a beautiful story of Tatyana helping a stray cat when you first met." He could see a questioning look in Toril's eyes and promptly addressed it. "You weren't ready to deal with much that day, let alone the return of a man who almost killed you." Vacily, leaned forward in his chair, "I'm sorry for what happened, Toril. After, I kept a close eye on you and don't blame you at all for your actions. Hell, if it were me, I'd a burnt everyone of those gang-banger bastards I could get my hands on." Vacily's expression turned intense and the lights in the motel flickered momentarily. "It's one of the reasons I contacted you. You're ready now to see the big picture."

Toril's eyes flashed a brilliant blue with the revelation of Vaciliy's other agenda. "I have repaid my debt. I want no part of Beacon." His voice was quiet but forceful.

Vacily noticeably sighed and straightened up in his seat, slightly shaking his head. "Do you think your brand of vigilante justice is better than ours?"

"Don't you dare judge me.", snapped Toril, his voice rising.

"And yet you presume that you have the right to judge those street rats.", retorted Vacily.

Toril stood up and paced in the kitchen area, defending his actions. "Our system has been destroyed by greedy lawyers manipulating the system for their own selfish means. There isn't justice anymore only deals, and if our government had a back bone maybe she would be —." He stopped in mid sentence and let out a long calming breath then continued in a more reserved manner. "Vacily, I take full responsibility for my actions and I am directed by own conscience, not the whims of an organization that discards innocent lives to further their own agenda."

"An agenda that serves to ensure the survival our kind.", added Vacily, straining to hold back his volume as he shook his fist with every word. "Look what you have just accomplished, no one was hurt and you have secured the identities of people like me for at least a decade."

Toril remembered the speech the first time he heard it years ago and back then he was naive enough to believe that they would face down their enemies, and if required kill with impunity. These people though resided behind a shroud of innocent pawns and he could not justify striking these people down in the name of the greater good. "It will not always be this way, Vacily. You know that.", he replied.

Vacily nodded, stood and began walking toward the door. He knew there was little else he could say that would sway Toril to their cause. He turned then, his chiseled profile, silhouetted before the light radiating through the patio doors. "I respect your decision, but I do urge you to choose a side other than your own. There are other's here in Troy, people like us. Maybe you will see your way to joining their cause. Take care of yourself, 'Ghost'."

Toril did not bid his old partner a farewell although he wished it. Time had washed away all animosity and bitterness he had toward the man; everyone makes mistakes. He could not accept, however, once more being subject to the will of Beacon. Vacily, shut the door without looking back leaving the former super-hero alone in the dark room.

Old memories shouted in Toril's ears as he packed up the equipment provided by Beacon, which was now his, technically speaking. He planned to check out early in the morning and use the rest of his leave to perhaps see of some of New York state. Some traveling would do him good.

He picked up a case and proceeded to carry it to the car, but then better judgment told him to keep such expensive items in the room for now, and so he placed it down on the chair by the TV. That's when he noticed the envelope that had been forced into the crack between the seat and back cushion. He pulled it out and almost ripped it apart right there knowing all to well it was left by Vacily, but his curiousity wouldn't allow it. Vacily probably second guessed that as well.

Toril slumped down onto the bed behind him and opened the envelope. An I.D. card slipped out along with a nameless Beacon business card. The identification card had Toril's picture on it, and read Doctor Paul Carson, genetics department of Our Lady of Mercy Hospital with a classification of intern. On the back of the card, was written in Vacily's hand, 'Robert Trousseau, room 305. Good luck.'

Toril couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he envisioned Vacily, heading back to DC with that smug wide grin stretched across his face. "Bastard, knows me too well", he said aloud. Sleep would wait, seemed he would be checking out a little earlier than he planned but at least he could say that seeing the state of New York was his idea.

-------------------



"Good bye, Mr. Deckard. Please come again." bid the night auditor to Toril Njordhagen, addressing him by his fake name as he vacated the motel. His assignment alias had been, Roy Deckard an ecologist from Boston who was doing a study of the local state park. He also had a company credit card for the Aspen Centre, a legitimate business through which Beacon was able to fabricate the identity.

Toril got into his rental car, plotted a course through the GPS map then turned on some old school trance for the trip. After about half an hour it started to lightly rain, turning the southbound interstate to a shimmering black. He yawned, and decided that the melodic drones of his music would only serve to increase is drowsiness, so he searched through the satellite radio in search of something to concentrate on. Eventually he found a show on paranormal research where they were investigating some southern cemetery rumored to be haunted by civil war ghosts. Toril listened intently and laughed at their contrived attempts to generate intrigue and eeriness, 'if only he could be there' he thought, he'd give them the fright of their lives. Still, he had to admit there was something to their science. He recalled encountering a group of these 'ghost hunters' and discovered for the first time that his wind form could be detected. It had hardly been the stereotypical, over weight, forty something psychic charlatan, who could scarcely sense a bad cliche let alone an actual ghost that had detected him, but their EMF reader. It seemed that when in his elemental form, Toril moved too quickly, his kinetic energy simulated an electro-magnetic frequency that could be tracked by the standard tool of para-psychologists. It was why in total darkness he would occasionally cast a ghostly aura, but he never considered it could be traced. From that chance encounter he had learned that in order to be completely invisible he had to move slowly, drifting naturally on air currents. He had owed much to the self discovery from that serendipitous meeting in the years to follow.

A car sped past him, and he judged that had to have at least been exceeding the speed limit by a hundred kilometers an hour. Watching the red sports car pull away, Toril's eyes radiated a blue aura as he viewed the world with his second sight, allowing him to see the world by the energy produced by all matter. The speeding car, was ablaze with kinetic energy trailing behind it in a spectacular display of vibrant coloured streaks, and up ahead amidst the vast blue landscape the dark silhouette of police car awaited it's quarry. He allowed his normal vision to return as he slowed down his vehicle to allow the police car to give chase, and it didn't seem like the speeder was slowing down any for the flashing reds and blues.

Toril watched the high speed pursuit vanish into the distance, and hours later as he approached the suburbs of New York City he still hadn't passed the apprehended speeder. That just seemed to intensify the feeling of awe as he approached the city that never sleeps. Even though he grew up in the sleepy suburb of Burnaby, in North Vancouver and now lived in Seattle, New York still seemed immense not just in size but also in reputation. It was the home of such legends as Moon Shadow, Trappist, Hazmat and the late Warmonger; heroes that were among the last to fade into obscurity after the passing of the Riggs act. He had also heard rumours that some of them had recently resurfaced and felt as if he were trespassing on their turf without asking permission, but how would he seek out their consent anyway?

It was nearing quarter to four in the morning when Toril checked into a Super 8 Motel in North Bergen under the false name Roy Deckard. He paid for his occupancy with his fake company card, unloaded all of his gear into a room with two double beds then flopped down on one of them and was asleep in a matter of minutes.

A sliver of light beamed through a part in the blinds casting a thin bright trail across the bed, slowly inching its away over its slumbering occupant until it rested on his eyelids. Toril turned his head away from the light and opened his eyes before the bedside clock displaying 11:11 am. Immediately he wondered who was thinking about him then stretched like a great cat pushing his hands against the head board and extending his feet way over the edge of the bed. His powerful muscles flexed and his joints popped and cracked, then he smoothly rolled off the end of the bed and to his fee. He performed some basic stretches where he landed, demonstrating impressive flexibility and balance for such a large man, then ended with a few movements of tai-chi.

After his shower, he grabbed the remote and turned on a recap of the morning news while he dried his hair.

New York Weather Report

This Morning
Partly Cloudy 55ºF. Light rain in areas with foggy conditions. Southwest winds at 5 to 10 mph.

This Afternoon
Sunny. Highs approaching 65ºF. Northeast winds gusting up to 30 mph by late afternoon.

Tonight
Clear in the evening becoming cloudy by the early morning.
Lows in the mid 40's. Northeast winds at 10 to 15 mph. Chance of rain 40 percent.

Toril who was always interested in the wind conditions was a little disappointed in the evening forecast not showing any gusts, but it would be of little concern anyway. While he listened to the rest of the news, he opened the blinds allowing the sunlight to flood the room then sat down at the edge of his bed. He stared into the TV and the sounds and pictures faded away as he gathered his thoughts and considered what his next move would be.

Beacon had always prepared his missions and it had been a while since Wraith followed his own agenda. He took out the business card, Vacily had left him and looked it over once more hoping to find some hidden clue that would point the way, but no such luck. Then he scanned over the false identification that would allow him to pose as a hospital employee in his own field and started to envision a course of action.

Over breakfast at a diner across the street from the motel, Toril went over several scenarios in his mind. He had already resigned himself to believe that this Robert Trousseau was a meta-human, he had to be or else why would Vacily care? Toril then considered a dry run, going to the hospital that afternoon and seeing what he was up against. But all it took was one caffeine fueled guard or a program reviewing video to match his face to the picture of his false identity, Dr. Paul Carson, which was probably in the hospital's database and it would be game over. Of course all this was dependent on what organization would be guarding the meta-human but he felt that he may be too conspicuous to pull off the subterfuge. So he decided it would be best to wait until the evening before he drifted into Our Lady of Mercy Hospital and learn what he could about room 305, if everything went right they wouldn't even know he was ever there.

After breakfast ,Toril had decided to kill some time and wander up the street where there seemed to be some strip malls. The day was already warming up and he unbuttoned his jean jacket and enjoyed the mild breeze. He wanted to completely remove the denim but it served as part of his disguise in case Toril was caught on video, which in the present day and age was very likely. It was also the reason he wore a red baseball cap and dark sunglasses.

The first thing that caught his eye was a comic book store, called 'Graphic Addictions' which was located in the corner of an 'L' shaped mall. He had always enjoyed reading people's interpretations of super-heroes, and sometimes he learned a thing or two about what was new on the meta-human scene. He passed between two cars as he headed toward the shop, but slowed down as something caught his eye. The vehicle to his left was a red sports car, Toril wasn't much of an auto-buff and they all basically looked the same to him, it was the sticker in small back window that caught his attention. He was positive it was the same speeding car that had passed him on the highway, after all how many flashing red rockets had a classic sticker of the band 'Blue Oyster Cult'. 'How many people even remembered them?', Toril wondered, as he himself couldn't remember one song they were known for.

The comic book store was fairly typical, six long rows with loose magazines and books on display and on one side the more expensive items were stored behind locked glass displays. There were two employees that could be distinguished by a fluorescent orange key card hanging around their necks. The one behind the counter was over weight and seemed generally pissed off with the world and the other a slim, greasy haired kid who's whole persona appeared condescending.

Toril entered the comic book shop and instinctively kept his head low, concealing his face with the bill of his baseball cap from any cameras. Then he non-chilantly walked over to the new releases and began to peruse the graphic novels. As he fingered through a few issues, he scanned the store, and out the eight people in aisles, one completely fit the profile of 1970's rock revivalist. The skinny kid wore his hair long and straight with a red bandana wrapped around his forehead, he wore a tight black shirt with some sort of death's head on it and loose fitting pants with various old band logos on them.

'Flashy car for a skid.', Toril considered, but then again it wouldn't have been first time he'd seen a rebellious brat wasting the money of his rich parents. Then he noticed that he had a friend with him, a girl with hooded sweat shirt drawn over her head, which seemed suspicious, but then again it was a style. Of course, his assumptions could be completely wrong and the innocent looking kid of asian descent in the corner could very well be the perpetrator — these days one could hardly tell.

Some time passed and aside from the pissed-off-looking employee at the counter giving Toril that 'are you going to buy that' look, nothing much was happening. 'Is was just as well', he considered, 'He had to stop playing the hero, those days were done and he had a real mission to concentrate on.'

Toril found a graphic novel that seemed interesting and rummaged through his wallet to see if he had enough a cash on him, he always like to use cash when possible to minimize any kind of electronic trail. He walked up to the counter placed the book down in front of the cashier, who didn't look grumpy when he saw what was being purchased. "Cool story.", he commented.

Toril didn't reply, just cast quick look toward the employee as he adjusted his sunglasses. Then as he laid down the cash he caught something curious out the corner of his eye happening by the glass display cases. The '70's' boy was stealing a comic while his partner served as a shield, but what really caught his attention was how he was performing the theft. The kid had some high tech laser device that adhered to the glass and quickly cut a small circular hole which he expertly removed and quickly snatched a rare comic. In a well practiced maneuver he then tucked the comic under his shirt and slipped the laser device and circular glass cutout into the large deep pocket of his baggy pants.

Wraith almost laughed at the fact that he had sniffed out some high-tech comic book thieves. He took the change from the cashier and proceeded to leave, it wasn't worth exposing himself for the sake of bringing a couple of two-bit thieves to justice.

As Toril exited the store, four well built men in dark suits approached him with purpose to their gate and there was no mistaking that they were agents. Wraith prepared himself, fearing the worst, 'How did they locate him?'. One reached out toward his shoulder and as Wraith calculated his counter attack said, "Excuse me, sir. You may want to vacate the premises.", then proceeded past him. Toril nodded and carried on his way, then stopped outside to observe through the store's windows.

The agents quickly surrounded the two young thieves. Two of them drew some sort of black hand guns and the other's produced retractable steel batons that hummed with a familiar electrical sound.

"Miss Tovar, Mr. Boone, you are in violation of the Riggs Act! You will lie on the floor and place your hands behind your back or we will take you by force." Announced one of the agents with a gun.

The 70's kid looked like he was about to piss his pants, but the girl was cool and defiant. Then she whispered something to him, and both of them assumed the position and ducked out of Toril's view. Then the agents closed in, the one's with ranged weapons standing back while the other two obtained handcuffs and cautiously descended behind the comic book rack to secure the prisoners.

A woman who had joined Toril then piped up, "Damned mutants! That's what those kids are y'know, I bet my money on it. I've seen guys like those on the six o'clock news rounding up those people. The sooner they're all locked up the better!"

Toril didn't justify the woman's comment with a reply, but he didn't hate her, she was the product of a society manipulated by fear generated by a corrupt government. He did, however, pity her for the ignorance that painted her world black and white.

There was a flash of light and a sound like an underwater explosion from behind the comic book stands, then one of the agents was thrown upward and lodged into the ceiling. The girl then leapt up and charged the agent that was between her and the exit to the store. With no hesitation he fired his weapon and discharged a pale blue coloured stream of electrical plasma that should have struck her down, but instead the energy was dispersed into several bright tendrils by some unseen force. One micro burst of lightning nearly struck the cashier and another licked round the girl, striking the agent trailing behind her, knocking him off his feet. The agent attempted a second shot, but the girl closed the distance much quicker than he had anticipated and threw a devastating overhand right directly into his chest. There was another flash of light where her fist connected followed by the strange imploding sound and the agent was driven through the air as if he were hit by a bus.

Toril quickly reacted, grabbing the woman beside him and leaping out of the way as the agent struck the store's front window with enough force to penetrate the glass. Large shards of razor sharp glass rained down, striking the unconscious man and a few pieces harmlessly struck Toril's back as he and the woman landed at a safe distance. The woman didn't have a chance to acknowledge the unnatural feat of strength when she saw the sliced, bloody body of the agent flailing about for a moment then he stopped moving, his unblinking eyes slowly rolling back into his head.

"Oh my God! He's dead!" Screamed the woman as the girl sprinted by them pursued by the last agent armed with a plasma gun.

Toril looked to the dead agent, 'he didn't deserve to die for doing his job by enforcing the 'Act'', and he knew right away that she had knowingly used her power excessively. He then turned and watched the agent running after the killer, quickly lagging behind the girl who moved like a sprinter.

The agent couldn't believe how fast the girl was as she started to pull away from him. "Agents down! I repeat, agents down! Medic required! Currently east bound near, Ford, in pursuit of Angela Tovar, 'metabilities' confirmed. Suspect dangerous, I need back-up, repeat, I need back-up!" Reported the agent to his headquarters.

The girl ran down a back lane and then ducked into a side alley out of the agent's sight. He rounded the corner and ran straight into a colossal haymaker that knocked the man for a loop to land hard and unconscious on the pavement. Her triumph was short lived, however, as a large man in a denim jacket came flying down the lane toward her.

"Give up!" Cried the stranger, but the girl was not about to surrender so easily and took off down the alley, sprinting as fast as her legs would carry her. The man was gaining on her, which didn't often happen to her but this guy could really move. Soon he was beside her and slowed down just enough to keep pace with speedy criminal, then seeing his opportunity shoved the girl, striking her shoulder with a stiff palm. What happened wasn't expected, as his hand hit her a repelling force surged from her, driving him into the side of brick building and her straight through an old weathered door of a warehouse.

The girl slid across the dusty floor, rolling several times until she stopped in the middle of the dark, abandoned warehouse, where she lay still for a moment. Where she rose to her feet the sun beaming through the dilapidated roof cut through the dusty air and surrounded her with pillars of light. Glancing around she could see no other exit, other than one she came through, but the tin walls of the rat trap wouldn't hold her anyway. Then her large pursuer filled the doorway and strode toward her, the movements of his large frame fluid and relaxed.

"You must have a death wish, esé!" Shouted the girl in a thick hispanic accent, opening her arms wide and calling him on.

Toril walked steadily toward the girl his arms at his side. The closer he came to her, the more she could see just how much the man towered over her, but she didn't seem intimidated in the least. She stepped to the side, circling right, keeping her distance but not retreating as her opponent advanced.

"You don't know who your messin' with hombre. If you know whas good for you, you'll step off of me! I'm not playin'

Toril smiled, somewhat amused by her antics, but he respected the power she had displayed and so maintained his guard. The girl then took a boxer's stance and began to quickly move her feet in a fashion no unlike someone with training, but then again she could be good mimic with a dancing background. Proof was in how one dealt with a punch and so far he had only seen her deliver them.



Were there onlookers they would probably see Toril as the villain, a hulking man about take a part a small, innocent girl but she was hardly innocent and all he saw before him was a dangerous meta-human. He had no second thoughts about fighting a diminutive girl, in his time he had seen people half her size punch through a concrete wall; in their world appearances meant little and when someone her size could knock a man through a ceiling you fought to your full potential or suffered the consequences.

"You think this is funny, esé! You won't be laughin when I bust up that pretty face!" She shouted then gracefully moved into striking range.

He had the reach advantage and as soon as she advanced into his perimeter, Wraith snapped out a blinding jab. The girl swiveled her head away, but misjudged his speed and was caught on the forehead by the heavy glancing blow, forcing her back. As the blow landed, Toril felt a strange sensation he could only describe as punching a bag of water and during the split second of contact a feint aura appeared around her body.

The girl, Angel Tovar, saw the recognition of her ability in the man's expression and a sinister smile twisted the edges of her mouth.

Toril had a bad feeling about her power but all he had to do was subdue her until the agents combed the area and captured her. He figured he had to keep her busy for about five to ten minutes, then he would make himself scarce and leave the rest up to the enforcers.

"You hit like a girl hesé." She taunted and Toril complied with a barrage of quick jabs, hooks and crosses, all of which she expertly dodged and ducked with amazing quickness. It was like trying to swat a fly and Wraith backed off, hovering on the balls of his feet in south paw stance, leading with his power hand. Then barely breathless she jeered, "You miss, you start thinking. Think too much and...".

She came in low, with a sweeping kick and impossibly, Wraith leapt high into the air, flipped as if on strings and kicked her flush in the head with half of his power so as not to snap her neck. He had utilized his levitating ability allowing him to perform gravity defying maneuvers and even fly and completely caught Tovar by surprise. An aura flashed round her as she was knocked across the floor and and she didn't move.

Wraith remained suspended in the air, the dust being stirred beneath by some sort of kinetic field as he hovered toward the girl, not sure whether or not she was knocked out. She laughed then, sat up and spat out a wad of blood.

"You're a meta! Why're you doin' this?" She asked as she rubbed her jaw. "It's us versus them, man!"

"You took a life." He answered plainly.

She stood up and swiveled her head around as she tested her balance, and Toril landed before her his hands slightly raised.

"It was him or me, muneca. Since when should we respect them? We're outlaws esé."

"You took a man's life. We have NO RIGHT to decide who lives and dies." Toril coldly countered, slowly shaking his head back and forth.

She considered his words for a second then defiantly spat before his feet, her green eyes staring up at him under a furrowed brow. "So that's way it's going to be?"

"That's the way it is." retorted Wraith, folding his arms over his chest.

She made one last effort and charged him, throwing a glowing fist into his smug face but hit nothing but air. There was a flash of light around her fist and the sound of an implosion, then Toril appeared behind her, his form appearing out of nothing like a specter. He was already in motion when he materialized and shoved his opponent hard, pushing her into the air and to the floor once more. The strike wasn't really meant to injure her, just piss her off and as she jumped to her feet swearing in Spanish, Toril knew he was successful. With her arms flexed and teeth barred she came at him once more, but Wraith pushed himself into the air and high above her.

"Chicken-shit!" She screamed as her opponent drifted up to the high ceiling of the warehouse and vanished in the shadows. Driving her fist into her hand she swore again and angrily screamed, "Is that all you got!". Then she became aware of noises outside and men in grey uniforms, armed with high powered rifles scrambled into the building. He had stalled her just long enough, and Angela swore under her breath that she would see the ghost-man again.

----------------------------------------------------
muneca - 'sissy doll'

MORE ANCIENT HISTORY:

Mcmanus smiled as he chomped on a cigar, it was good to hear from Cowboy. "I'll be there to get ya, wouldn't want your country ass getting lost or mugged or something. See ya in Newark."

Mcmanus hung up the phone, he thought of Tim alone at his sprawling ranch, the memory of his murdered family fresh in his mind even though five years had passed. Tim was one of the toughest men John had ever known, and he had a lot of respect for him.

He contemplated going into New York City for the night and trying to flush out The Bug, but decided against it for now. Mcmanus flipped through his grease covered address book and searched for Yelena's number, he hoped it was still current as he dialed.

The former Soviet Union had crumbled and the iron curtain that once held the country behind it was no longer in place. Many of the former republics held under the tight grasp of the former Soviet government were gone and small countries broke free from the strict Communism they had been subjected to over the past half a century or more.

As these country’s struggled for independence, they were subjected to the latest and craziest war lord looking to “cleanse” the country of what ever it was he had a hard on for. For some it was religion, for others it was money and for one particular crazed man, it was those who were considered “Super Human” or different from the normal human race.

Yelena Petrokovich was one of those particular individuals the man wanted eradicated from the face of the earth, the only problem with her was that he could never catch her. You see, Yelena had the uncanny ability to change herself to resemble anyone she wanted to, as long as they were close to her natural size. When ever he and his cronies were getting close, Yelena would transform into someone else and slip away from the man before he realized what she had done.

For the last five years, since the group she had worked with was disbanded, Yelena had returned to her native country of Yugoslavia only to find the country had been thrown into chaos. Bosnia broke free and was pretty much stable, but the war ravaged the country so bad that it was difficult to find a place for refuge.

But refuge WAS found, in a remote mountain village nearly separated from the mainstream. Yelena had settled down and made a life for herself following in her father’s foot steps by raising long haired goats. The wool was given to the local villagers and Yelena was left alone, able to live a peaceful and comfortable life.

She had stopped into the store to pick up some supplies when she saw the news paper headline and felt as though a sledgehammer struck her in the chest. ‘Former Superhero Babyface dies from Cancer.’

He was always so cheerful and he never made her feel anything less than welcomed. Finally catching her breath, she looked around frantically and quickly paid for her items then slipped out of the place, hurriedly making her way to her farmhouse on the outskirts of the village near the base of the mountains. There was one person she knew could be trusted and would be able to give her the details of services and everything. Once there she went to her bedroom, kicked the rug out of the way and opened a hidden door. Under the floorboards was an old wooden box that looked like a jewelry box at one time. Pulling it out, she opened it up and inside were small memorabilia of a time that seemed as though it was a century ago, but in reality was just a short five years and a pre paid cell phone.

Pulling out a piece of paper, she read the faded # then powered up the cell phone and dialed the number. Just as McManus was receiving the ‘We’re Sorry the number you dialed is no longer in service’, he received a beep indicating he had a call waiting. As soon as he clicked in and said hello, he heard the soft, Russian accent on the other end.

“I will be there in few days. Don’t look for me, I find you. Do not call number back.”

As soon as she got those words out, she canceled the call and quickly removed the battery then placed the cell phone back in the box, closed the box and replaced it back under the floor then retrieved another box. Within this box was several passports and after she thumbed through them, she pulled out one from Bosnia. Opening it up there was the picture of a dark haired woman smiling. The name Danka Kovach was typed on it. Placing the other passports back in the box and then closed the hidden hatch and pulled the rug back over it.

There was much to do before she could leave and if she got started now, she could make a red eye and be in Newark by Thursday at the latest. And of course, she would have to make sure she watched her back every step of the way.
John held the receiver to his ear for a second still hearing Yelena's Russian accent after she abruptly hung up, she was coming to the funeral. She was always a woman of few words and this call did not surprise him. John rubbed the stump of his right hand, he had taken his mech hand off, it sat in front of him on his desk. He wondered where Yelena had ended up living after the passing of the Riggs act, a law allowing the federal government to control, limit and track the movements and freedoms of all known super heroes. He felt that she probably went back home, or at least somewhere in Eastern Europe.

He was nervous at the thought of seeing her again, in fact he wondered if he had ever "seen" her real face....

After John had said he would pick him up, Tim hung up the phone and stood looking over at the hay barn. It had been nearly five years since the black Mustang had roared out of the barn. He had kept it tuned, maitained, polished and supplied all this time. Technically, according to the "Riggs Act", it had been destroyed. But hey he was a cop, there are always ways around things for cops, especially for cops in a corrupt city like Dallas.

Tim walked over to the hay barn, walked in and shut the door. He reached over an pressed the weathered board ro the left of the barn door and the floor hinged up, revealing a stairway down. Tim turned on the light, walked down the two flights of stairs and opened a steel door, flicked on the metal halide overhead lights and stepped into a large garage / crime lab. There in the center under an old tarp sat the black 1967 Ford Mustang Fastback. Tim uncovered it carefully and it seemed to come to life as it sat peacefully with a new showroom shine. Tim opened the door and climbed in, tapped on the accelerator and turned the key. The custom built ford race engine roared to life, then settled to the deep throated sound of a finely tuned machine, waiting to be unleashed. He looked over at the passanger's seat and visions of the the last time Herman had sat there, white knuckled as Tim had raced through the streets of "Hells Kitchen". He smiled as he could almost hear Herman say "You know this is not the Daytona 500 or the Indy, Tim"

Tim then reached up turned the automobile off, climbed out and covered it again. He then walked over to the stairway, turned off the lights and walked up the stairs. Shutting the light off he walked over to the barn door and pressed the board again shutting the door to the stairway. Slid the barn door open and walked out into the evening sun and to the house.

Once inside, he called the airline and booked a buissness class seat on an early flight to Newark arriving at 11:25 am EDST Thursday. He then walked over to the cabinet by the sink and took out a glass, set it on the counter, reached into the cabinet above the sink and took out a dusty bottle of Jack Daniels and poured a triple shot.

Tim had not had a drink other than an occasional cold beer in nearly four years. For six months after the death of his wife and son, and the mysterious bombings that had killed the suspects in the killings. Tim had crawled in a bottle. But after a drunken night on the ranch, sitting at the kitchen table staring at the loaded Smith & Wesson M&P.40 / 40 caliber automatic weapon laying in front of him, he swore he saw Abby had come to him and chew his ass out, telling him that he no longer was the man she had married and waited for. Nor the man Samuel always looked up to. Tim put the bottle of whiskey up and had not had a drink since.

Tim lifted the glass and said "Here's to you Herman, my compadre." He drank nearly half of it in one gulp. Walked over to the kitchen table and slowly drank the rest, thinking to himself " I wonder who else will show up? You can bet the Federaliess will have their beady little eyes on us all."

After finishing his drink, Tim got up and put the whiskey bottle back up in the cabinet, rinsed the glass out, laying it in the drainer and walked into his bedroom. He sat on the bed and stared at the closet door, stood and walked over and opened it. There in the back of the closet was an old battered trunk. Tim slid it out, opened the lid and took out his sawed off 12 gauge shot gun and shoulder holesters with the two M&P .40 / 40 caliber Smith & Wesson automatic pistols , laid them on the bed, pinned to the shoulder holster was his gold shield. Tim thought to himself. "Yes, it was time, what better way to honor a loyal and trusted friend, and fallen comrade, but to return to the fight. I wonder if the others feel the same way? It doesn't matter." Tim had made up his mind.

A bit of ancient histoty:

Tim awoke early as usual, walked into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee brewing. He then walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth, shower and shave.
After a long hot shower, he slipped on a pair of jeans and a Dallas Cowboys T-Shirt, walked back out into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. Sitting at the table, watching and the sun began to fill the kitchen with light. He reached for the cordless phone and called a nieghbor, that is if you can call someone that lived two and half miles away a nieghbor. "Henry? Tim here, I have to go away for a few days, no everything is fine. I was wondering if that thar boy of yourn' would keep an eye on tha place. Look after tha horses and all. I will be happy to add to that college fund of his and that old pickup, out behind tha stable, he has had his eye on would be thrown in for good measure. Not sure how long I will be gone but should not be over a week."
Henry said " I am sure he would be happy to, but I'll ask him when he gets up. I swear that boy sleeps half his life away. And Tim you know you don't have to pay him anything, we're neighbors for cryin out loud."
"Thanks Henry, but tha boy should be paid for tha extra work. Besides was gonna give him that old pick up anyway when he graduated high school this year. And it ain't much but give him something ta tinker with.
I'm leaving for Dallas late tonight and flying out from there. Thanks again. Take care Henry." Tim said and hung up.

Tim drank another cup of coffee, walked to the bedroom carying a third and began to pack. He took an old batter suitcase out and placed a couple of pairs of jeans and some t-shirts in it, then wrapped his shoulder holster, with the two S&W .40 weapons, four extra clips and three boxes of cartidges in a special blanket and his shaving kit. If the bag was scanned the blanket would hide the weapons, he was going to check it anyway and his police permit to carry gave him authorization too. He packed a suit, which for him was a sport coat, pressed jeans and a white button down shirt and tie, in his two suiter. In a carry on duffle he packed another pair of jeans, t-shirts, briefs socks and an extra pair of running shoes. Carried the suit cases out into the living room and set them by the door.
Tim then went out to feed, water the horses, and tend to his daily chores. While pitching some hay the phone in the stable rang and Tim answered it, the young voice on the other end of the line said " Mr. Rutherford, Michael here, I would be happy ta look after your place, sir.
And you ain't gotta pay me anything, you know that, sir."
Tim said "Thanks Mike, but I want to besides that old pick up is in tha way. It runs but not very well, when I get back we'll see if we can't tune it up a bit. There are some new tires for it in the bed. You get them on and tha truck is yours, tha title will be in tha covebox. Thanks again Mike."
Mike's voice became excited as he said. "Cool, Mr. Rutherford I'll get em on and have that truck looin like new. Be careful on your trip, sir."
"Will do Mike, be careful now." Tim said as he hung up and went back to work.

Tim, drove his black Jeep Liberty to the Dallas/Fortworth Airport, parked it in the long term parking, gathered his bags and boarded the shuttle to the Continental Airlines terminal. He walked to the counter, retrieved his e-ticket, checked his bags and walked to the gate. After dealing with the hassel of security, running his carry ons through the x-ray he walked to the waiting area. Within fifteen minutes, they announced the flight and boarding instructions.

As he stood in line to board a security agent walked up and said "Sir would you mind stepping over here please."

Tim asked "What is this all about I have been through security already."

The guard said "Random check sir. May I see your ticket, boarding pass and identification please?"

Tim looked at him hard the produced the required documents. As the guard examined them he said in a low voice. "I am sorry Mr. Rutherford, I did not recognize you. Regulations you know."

Tim smiled and said "It is all right I understand. Mind if I catch my flight now?"

The security agent said "Not at all sir have a nice flight."

Tim showed his boarding pass to the flight attendent and walked down the aisle to his seat, placed his bags in the over head and sat down next to the window. The lights blinked, the engines came to life as the flight attendent went through the seat belt procedure and the pointing out of the exits. The fasten your seat belts sign flashed on and the pilot went through his depature speal. Tim sat back with his seat belt fastened as they taxied to the runway and were soon in the air. The seat belt sign flashed off, the flight attendent took Tims drink order of coffee, as Tim looked out the window.

He must have dozed off as the next thing he knew the attractive blonde flight attendent touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Sir we will be landing in ten minutes, please bring your seat back to the upright position and fasten your seat belt."

Within forty-five minutes, Tim was standing, wearing a black Stetson cowboy hat, sunglasses, cowboy boots and an old jean jacket, on the curb outside Newark Airport Terminal, with his luggage.

A bit of ancient histoty:

Tim pulled his hat down in front and set one boot flat against the wall of the terminal as it began to rain. A young scruffy looking man shuffled by and stopped in front of Tim. He stood a few minuites with his back to Tim. The scruffy young man, then reached down for one of the bags. Without lifting his head Tim said in a low voice. " Son if you want to see tomorrow in one peice, I recon you best be just movein' on, that is unless you wanna feel some Texas justice."

The young man turned and looked at Tim, who raised is head and looked stone faced at the young man. the lads mouth opened, with a smart ass look on his face, then in less than a half second the young man found himself standing in the rain, in the middle of the driveway jumping out of the way of a taxi screaching to a halt. He looked up and Tim was standing in the same spot and position as before.

Tim raised his head again and said " Ya all git now, fore ya git hurt." Then he lowered his head again as the young man ran off mumbling.


Mcmanus stood at the kitchen sink, he was trying to figure out how a man with a large mechanical leg and hand was going to get through airport security, and how he might do this without garnering a lot of attention.

He went outside and walked to one of many junk piles nearby, car motors, motorcycle frames, and an old water heater could be sen sticking out of the heap. John dug through the pile, he pulled out a grimy wheelchair. He spent a minute wiping the wheelchair down and pushed it over to where his silver 1958 Cadillac El Dorado was parked, he popped the trunk and laid the chair inside.

He returned to the house and asked Otis if he was ready to go to Newark. Mcmanus told Yelena and Bug to feel at home in his house, he showed Bug where many cases of beer where in the basement, and told them to eat and drink whatever they wanted. He told Bug if there was any trouble why he and Otis were gone to call him on his CB radio, there was a unit in his office, he would be listening on the one in his Cadillac.

Mcmanus pulled an old quilt of the couch and took it with him as he and Otis left for Newark.

"See you soon Yelena, Bug." He winked at Bug as he left the small house.

Otis and John jumped in the old car, it roared out of the dusty driveway as the two sped away, the sunlight glinting of the Caddy's silver tail fins.

Tim raised his head and set his hat on the back of his head, as the rain stopped. "It is a pity a rain can't wash the filth away from the world as easily as it washed the dirt from the gutter." he said to himself. Just then an old woman pushing a shopping cart shuffled by and stopped to rumage in a trash can. Tim stepped away from the wall, reached in his pocket a took out two twenty dollar bills, folded them and placed them in the old woman's hand, closing her fingers around them.

He whispered "Here mother, get yourself a good meal and a safe place to stay tonight." he then steped back to the wall and stood, glacing at his watch.

The old woman, uncurled her fingers and looked at the money. With eyes that began to water some she said in a cracking weak voice..."God bless you son, the angels of heaven will watch over you." she then shuffled off to the next trash can.

Tim said to himself " I hope so mother, I think the angels will need to be watching over all of us soon."

Tim had been watching the unmarked black Ford Crown Victoria, with the slender antenna on the rear deck, car parked across the street for an hour. He grabbed his bags and walked over to it, set his bags down and tapped on the passanger's side window. When the window came down, Tim leaned down and said " Excuse me, are you a taxi or are you looking for someone in particular?"

The man in the dark suit and mirrored sunglasses looked at Tim and said "No I am not a taxi sir, and yes I am waiting for someone. Is there anything else I may assist your with, sir?"

Tim just smiled and said "No, thank you." He then whispered " You feds will never learn will you. You really should try and be less conspicuous. I will be staying at the Carlton for a couple of days, then flying back to Dallas. Would you like my flight number and cell phone number or is my phone tapped already?" Tim then picked up his bags and walked back over to the terminal building, set down his bags and leaned against the wall.

The window on the Crown Victoria slid up and the car sped off, down the drive. Tim just smiled to himself and shook his head.

A BIT OF ANCIENT HISTORY:

The old silver Caddy roared up to the terminal, Mcmanus jammed the brakes the car fishtailed up to the arrival lane and finally came to a stop.

Mcmanus grinned at Otis as he put it in nuetral. "Lead foot" He said flatly.

Mcmanus and Otis exited the car and John walked to the rear of the car and opened the trunk, they were about to perform the old Mcmanus-in-a-wheelchair to get through the metal detectors routine when they spotted a black Stetson hat near the terminal doors.

They walked quickly over to the Texan.

"How the hell are ya ,Tim." Mcmanus said as he lit up a cigar, he offered Tim and Otis one as well.

Tim, took his finger and pushed his hat back and smiled "If I was any better John, I would have to be two of me, and that is a scary thought. Just ask anyone who knows me." he said as he took the cigar and slid it into the pocket of his jean jacket. "I'll save this for later my good friend. Right now I think we better get going, the feds have been poking around. There was a black Crown Vic parked across the drive, just before you showed up. I asked them to take me to the Statue of Liberty, but they said they were waiting for someone, then left in a big hurry.

How you doing Otis? It has been a while. It is great to see both of you guys, Who else is here?" he said as he threw his bags in the back seat of the Caddilac and climbed in the back seat, shutting the door.

Tim's cell phone vibrated, he took it out of his pocket, looked at the number on the caller id and answered. "Yea" Tim answered, the voice on the other end said but a few words then hung up, before a trace could be made. Tim flipped the phone shut and looked at John and Otis. He said "We got trouble, the locals are on to us, we have to ditch this car. John, S.W.A.T. just stormed your shop and house, they came away empty. Was anyone there?" Tim said then cursed under his breath "Damned Feds don't respect nothin'

John shook Tim's hand as he put the cigar in his jacket, the three men climbed inside the old car. Tim got a brief phone call and told John and Otis the bad news.

"Yelena and Bug were there...damn cops."

John hoped his friends had gotten out safe, knowing Bug's talent for escape he felt pretty good that they did. There was no going back to the shop now. John thought for a moment and spoke to Otis and Tim.

"We are going to Robert's place, it's the last thing he'll want but we gotta find a place to hide out until the funeral. Robert owns the whole building he works out of, plenty of space for us criminals. I think Bug will know to find us there. One more thing, I'm not just giving Gladys over to the Feds, we'll drive until her wheels fall off."

With that said John jumped behind the wheel and dropped the gas pedal, the long silver car's wheels squealed as they quickly drove away.

Tim, slipped off his jean jacket and laid it on the seat, reached over and opened his suit case, took out a couple of pairs of jeans, and shirts. He then unfolded the blanket, removed his shouleder holsters with the two S&W .40MP semi automatic weapons in the holsters and slipped it on. He then put his jacket back on, took the weapons from their holsters and checked the clips, sliding them back in the holsters, he placed the extra clips in his jacket, replaced the clothes in his suitcase and closed it.

Seeing John look at him in the rear view mirror, Tim smiled and said ...."Hey I was an Eagle Scout, so sue me." and grinned.

As the car left the airport two blacked-out Crown Victoria's began to tail the Cadillac, at first they kept their distance, but as traffic got heavier they pulled closer, only 5 or 6 cars behind the three heroes. As soon as they left the airport a black helicopter appeared in the sky and began to track the Cadillac.

Mcmanus saw the Federal issue cars behind them, he pushed the big car faster as he weaved in and out of traffic. They drove for a good while, leaving Newark and heading toward New York. The were about to enter a turnpike, when from out of nowhere Bug dropped into the back seat next to Tim, Bug almost rolled over the back of the car and into traffic but he recovered his footing quickly and slipped into the white upholstered seat.

John cranked the wheel as he was startled by Bug's dropping in, the Cadillac drove a few cars into the breakdown lane as John regained control of the vehicle.

"Have a seat Bug!." John yelled over squealing brakes and honking horns.
"Nice of you to drop in on the party, Bug." Tim said " Great to see ya agin. Jus' like old times don't ya think.
Not all cops a dirty, John. There are a alot of good cops out there ya know, even in New York. Some of us still look at the job with honor and integrity and our fellow cops as a family, Ya know. 'I swear to protect and serve the citizens.' "

Tim, looked back at the gaining Crown Victoria, his eyes closed and he began to concentrate, time seemed to stop for approximately two minutes, suddenly a block behind them was a major traffic snarl as the black Crown Victoria had crashed into three parked cars, careaned across the street and ran into a store front. Tim turned around and said "That should buy us some time."

Bug hit the seat hard and wiggled as he gained his balance. He looked at Mcmanus and Tim nodding as Mcmanus spoke to him. He turned and saw the two black cars and then up, watching the helicopter. As Tim caused the car crash he frowned at him and shoke his head. He was very happy to see Tim but these circumstances where making the reunion extremely bittersweet.

Bug looked up at the helicopter. The bridge was whizzing by them and Bug tapped Mcmanus on the shoulder, pointing for him to shift to the right lane. As Mcmanus shifted lanes Bug leapt out of the car and hit the bridge with his feet, propelling himself up the girding so quick he became a blur. The massive strength in his legs allowed himself to fire his body like a cannon and he was at the top of the bridge in mere seconds. Mcmanus and Tim would see him streaking across the top spires of the square toped bridge and Bug leapt once again flying into the air, he hit the bottom of the helicopter with a thud they could hear even over the roar of traffic. The helicopter jutted and swayed violently as Bug’s body collided with the underbelly and he hooked his legs around one of the landing skids. Using the momentum he swung up and over, looking into the window at the pilot. Suddenly there was the sound of gunfire and Mcmanus and Tim would see Bug swinging back under the helicopter as bullets ripped through the door.

The helicopter teetered and swayed in the air and Bug was hanging off the bottom. Suddenly the aircraft stopped and began to back up over the waterway and ascend into the air. Finally the pilot stopped and hovered 800 yards above the water. Bug looked down, from this vantage point he could see a good portion of the city, including the federal vehicles with their sirens blaring. About a dozen cars were coming from both directions. Bug looked down, then up weighing his options. He could see Mcmanus slowing the Cadillac down. He knew his friend well enough to know that he would let them all get captured before allowing one of them to fall into custody. Bug grit his teeth and began to swing back and forth gaining momentum until he was swinging in a good rhythmic pattern. He kicked hard off the bottom of the helicopter and brought his feet up into the passenger side door and the helicopter listed violently to the side. As the pilot corrected Bug curled himself up onto the landing skid and tore the door off the hinges, sending it down into the water far below. He grabbed the passenger and tore the harness keeping him in his seat clean off the frame of the aircraft and twisted it around the skid, throwing the man out of the passenger compartment. The officer screamed as he fell about 10 feet and dangled from the straps connected around his chest. Bug entered the chopper just as the Pilot was leveling it back out and was immediately in the Pilot’s face. He spoke one word.

“Land.”

The Pilot looked at him and shoke his head “no” as he continued talking with the men on the ground.

“Target is in the helicopter, I repeat he is in the helicopter, over! Do I have permission to engage?”

“Permission Granted” echoed into the compartment and the man swung his fire arm up towards bug, in a flash Bug’s arm swung under the pilots and brought the gun between them and pointing out the passenger door. A tendril of his hair stripped the weapon and wrapped itself around the gun, tucking it into his head as the bright red eyes glowed in the man’s face. Sheer terror could be seen in the man’s expression and the Bug simply stared at him, breathing heavily only inches from the Pilot’s face.

“Land.”

The pilot nodded his head and began to bring the helicopter down towards Bayonne High School, about a half mile downriver from the bridge. As the man hit about 600 feet Bug turned and looked over his shoulder at the open doorway and in a flash, he was gone, out the window.

Mcmanus and Tim would not have been able to see the whole struggle in the helicopter, but what they did see was the Bug come sailing out of the aircraft, flying down and hitting the water with a loud splash. He never surfaced, never emerged, the current quickly erasing the rings from the impact.

John watched in the rear view as Cowboy did his thing, Tim has a unique talent to slow things down a bit, to slow time -sometimes he can reverse it for just a few seconds, sometimes a few minutes. The black car, caught in the mini time warp ricocheted off of three parked cars and spun into a storefront, the Federal Agents exited quickly, noticeably bruised and shaken. The remaining car soldiered on, redoubling it's efforts to catch the silver Caddy.

Bug motioned to John to switch lanes, he did and Bug was gone in a flash up and away he climbed the surrounding structures and leaped for the helicopter. He caught it and struggled with the machine and pilot and co-pilot, they were not going to be a match for Bug. There were gunshots, the helicopter spun around, the pilot struggled to keep it under control. After a few seconds Bug entered the canopy and tossed the copilot out, the man dangled by his safety harness from one of the skids. There was more gunfire as the helicopter descended wildly. Bug jumped from the copter, hitting the water hard and disappearing in its depths.

"He'll be okay.." Mcmanus shouted, trying to convince himself and the others.

Mcmanus steered the car in and out of traffic, sometimes nudging other cars out of the way as he barreled down the freeway. Up ahead traffic was not as heavy and John pushed the car faster at speeds approaching 100 mph.

The black Fed car was behind but speeding to catch up.

"We gotta get some distance!" John shouted as he cranked the wheel left and right, he looked down at the dashboard, in the center of it was a large after market black push button covered by a post-it, the post it read "DO NOT PUSH". John whipped the post it off of the button, it flew over his shoulder. He told his passengers to hold on to something as he pushed the chunky black button.

The Cadillac bucked and sputtered and shot smoke out the rear and after a second the secondary engines roared to life, the car rocketed through traffic, the cars they passed were mere blurs as they flew down the shoulder at close to 160 miles per hour.

"Whoooooo, Yeahhhhhh!" John was giddy as his upgrade to the classic car proved successful. The engines only fired for a minute or so but it was enough to lose the second car that followed them. The helicopter Bug had battled with limped away back to base for repairs. John exited on a side street and pulled the car to a stop.

"Well, so much for making a quiet, subdued, under the radar entrance back into the city." Tim said. "I guess we better find a spot to hide this car. Then we need to figure out how we are going to pay our respects. Do you think this was just a plan by the feds to get us all together again so they could wrap us all up in a neat package?" He then looked at John "John maybe this is a mesage from Herman. It is time for us to go back to work. Show these bastards just how wrong the "RIGGS ACT" is."