Like A Phoenix: Blue Battler's Story

[Kaos Arcanna]

Once upon a time, I was a hero.

They called me Horatio.

Now ... now I'm the Technology Hero contact in Atlas Park. Most of the time, it's a pretty good job. There's nothing quite so rewarding as watching a young hero take his, her, or its first steps on the road to adventure. Yes, most of the time I'm pretty happy with my job.

Today's not one of those days.

I can easily think of a dozen places I'd rather be than here today—and that includes trying to find the last hostage in Oranbega.

Helping a hero get started is one thing. Decommissioning one is quite another.

I tell myself that at least he's going to be a retired hero rather than a dead one, but I know from personal experience how cold a comfort that can be. I love my wife. I know that I do good work—important work. I have a good life ...

But not a day goes by when I don't miss being out on the front lines.

Old heroes do die—and they're the lucky ones.

The servos in my leg whine in protest, but I take the stairs anyway. I'm just delaying the inevitable, but I can't help myself. I've been where he is—I know exactly how he's going to feel.

That's why I'm doing this. When a hero is put on the inactive list, he's notified in person. We owe them that much.

And he was one of the first heroes I mentored back after the first Rikti Invasion. He's one of mine. If anyone's going to tell him, it's going to be me.

There's a man standing outside his room when I get there. He's incredibly tall, with the face of a poet. He's dressed in civvies, but the metallic right arm is a dead giveaway.

"Hello, Gungnir," I say. "It's been a while."

"Davies." He leans up against the wall. "I'd say that I'm surprised to see you, but we both know that'd be a lie."

"How is he?"

"Blue? He's doing better than he will be after he sees you."

That's Gungnir for you. Not exactly the most circumspect of guys. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that he's here. He and Blue started out together—and even though he went off the grid while Blue went onto to become a full fledged Hero of the City you never forget the first guy who guarded your back in a firefight.

"It has to be done, Gungnir. His armor's been totally destroyed, and no one's been able to duplicate his mother's work. He destroyed his rifle himself when he used it on that Rikti bomb. As for his fire powers ..." I shrug. "I'm not happy about this any more than you are, but it's not like I have a choice."

Gungnir scowls and electricity crackles around his hands. "Doesn't make it right."

"Gung? Who are you talking to?" The voice is weaker than I remember, but given what he's been through I'm not surprised.

"It's me, Blue. Rick Davies. I need to talk to you."

For a long moment, he's quiet.

"Blue?"

I can hear the sigh from the hallway, and it makes me feel even worse than I already do—and I thought that would be impossible. "Come on in, Rick."

Gungnir scowls at me again and follows me into Blue's room. He doesn't say anything else, just walks over to Blue's side and looks at me like he'd like to fry every circuit in my prosthetics.

"Hello, Blue." I smile at him.

He's younger than I remembered, though when I knew him he was wearing a full helmet that concealed his facial features. Still, he's no more likely to be 30 than Synapse is to be chaste and pure. He looks like the proverbial boy next door.

He also looks like he's been through hell.

He's bruised, burnt, and bandaged. I wince as I look at his right shoulder. I know from personal experience how thoroughly a Rikti Blade can shear through flesh and bone ... I bet it didn't even hurt when his arm was severed ...

"It's on the table, Rick."

"Blue, I'm sorry—"

"Me too, Rick. Me too."

Gungnir balls his fist and looks like he'd like nothing more than to punch me in the face, but Blue quiets him with a glance. "It's his job, Gung. I understand."

I take the ID Card and press a concealed button on it. "This is Rick Davies. Technology Contact. Atlas Park. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledged," the AI system that linked to Blue's ID responded.

"As of this date, Blue Battler—Origin Technology, Assault Rifle/Fire Manipulation Blaster—has been decommissioned as a hero of Paragon City. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledged. ID deactivating."

The card sizzled and popped and the display went blank in my hand.

Like Blue's career, it was dead.

Blue gasped like he'd been shot and looked away.

Gungnir laid his hand on Blue's shoulder and looked at me. "Get out before I throw you out."

"Blue—"

"Rick, please." His voice cracked like he was holding back tears. "Just go."

I nodded because my own throat was tightening up. It's never easy to take away someone's avocation from them. Still, I forced out the word, "Blue?"

"Yeah?" His eyes are filled with tears now.

"No matter what the official word is, you'll always be a Hero of the City."

"Thanks, Rick." He turns his head to stare out the window of his hospital room.

I want to say more. I want to tell him that his life isn't over. That he's going to get through this.

I want to, but I don't.

Blue Battler was a Hero of the City. He saved countless lives. He sacrificed his armor, his weapon, and his power to protect us.

And now I had just taken away everything he had earned over the last four years.

If I had been Gungnir I would have wanted to punch me too.

I turn and walk out.

[Kaos Arcanna]

When Heroes of Paragon lose their powers, they tend to have one of several possible reactions:

45% resume the lifestyle they had before they ever began their careers. They put aside their costumes and codenames and become nothing more than average citizens.

25% find themselves entering a career that resembles what they did as a Hero: they join Longbow or Vanguard or the Paragon Police Department. Alternatively, they go to work for the Bureau of Superhuman Affairs or branch out as a Hero Contact themselves, using their knowledge, experience, and street contacts to help new Heroes protect Paragon City and the world.

15% spend the rest of their lives trying to regain their powers. They try technology, science, magic, or training to become again what they had been. Most of them fail. More than a few of them die in the attempt.

8% turn against the very forces of Law and Order they once represented. They become, for lack of a better word, Villains.

12% take their own lives within the first year.

The more powerful the Hero, the less likely it is they will resume anything like a normal life.

The Countess is aware of this, of course. I personally wrote up a report on the subject myself. When we heard that the Hero of the City called Blue Battler had been wounded and depowered in combat with the Rikti, we realized that a unique opportunity presented itself.

It's not often a Hero of the City comes to work for Crey, but it has happened before. Given her personal history with Blue Battler, the Countess thought it best that someone else approached him. Of course, there was really only one possible choice for this task: me.

Gaining access to him was not easy ... but it was not especially difficult either. Not for someone with the resources of Crey Corporation behind him. The one possible obstacle was making sure that Blue Battler's friend and ally Gungnir was not present at the time of our meeting. Gungnir's antipathy for Crey is well known to us, and nothing could be achieved other than a pointless battle if Gungnir should be there when I made my offer to Blue Battler.

Fortunately, there was a Crey facility that had been underperforming as of late. By transferring some—let us say less than optimal—staff and equipment there and letting some rumors hit the streets, I managed to lure Gungnir from Blue Battler's side for several hours—with the additional benefit of disposing of some dead weight at minimal cost.

Quite efficient, if I say so myself.

With Gungnir out of the way, all I had to do was wait for Blue Battler to return from his physical therapy session. I occupied myself reading budget proposals from various department heads, determining which would be given the go ahead and which would be ... terminated. I had gotten perhaps a third of the way through when he returned.

I laid the report down and rose to my feet. "Good morning, Mr. Wagner." It was important to call him by his civilian name as a reminder of what he had lost ... and by extension, who had taken it from him. "I don't believe we've met. My name is—"

"I know who you are, Hopkins. What does the Countess' lapdog want with me?" Blue—no, Wagner—sits down on his bed and warily looks at me through his glasses. He frowns and takes them off, rubbing his eyes, before laying them down on his nightstand.

I was quite aware of his history with the Countess, so I simply dropped my proffered hand and picked up the case I had brought into the room. "The Countess wanted me to offer you her deepest sympathies on the loss of your powers and status as a Hero of the City, Mr. Wagner. She knows that you spent many hours protecting the public welfare and feels that a great injustice has been done to you. She offers the full services of Crey Corporation to help you find proper redress."

He awkwardly grips a cup with his remaining hand and takes a drink. "Oh right. I know exactly how the Countess operates, Mr. Hopkins. If I want to make a deal with the devil, I'll just cut the middleman out and pick up a COT Thorn myself."

"I know that you have had ... difficulties with Crey in the past, Mr. Wagner, but I assure you that we mean you no harm. The Countess can always find a use for talented personnel, and even without your powers your experience and the skills earned as a Hero of the City could be most useful to Crey." I look him straight in the eye. "And we might even be able to restore your status."

He crushes the cup in his hand. "There's nothing anyone can do. Mom made my armor expressly for the purpose of fighting the Rikti—no one's been able to duplicate her work since she passed away. My gun ... I had to trigger the self destruct myself. As for my natural power ..." He pauses then and shuts his eyes. "It's gone ... gone like my arm."

"Perhaps not, Mr. Wagner." I open the case. "Crey is the premier manufacturer of prosthesis in the country. We can give you a bionic limb that not only looks like the arm you lost, but also serves to mimic the powers you lost."

Inside the case is a bionic arm. It's already covered in synthetic flesh that feels disturbingly warm to the touch as I take it out of the case. I press a concealed stud on the shoulder joint, and a blazing scimitar forms in the grasp of that non-living hand.

"Crey can give you your powers back, Mr. Wagner. We can give you a new arm. We can make you Blue Battler again. All you have to do ... all you have to do is join us."

"What do you say, Mr. Wagner?" I don't often smile, but I am smiling now. I have him right where I want him. There's no way he can refuse this offer ... no way he can turn his back on the power that Crey offers him.

Body and soul, Blue Battler will belong to Crey!

[Kaos Arcanna]

Ever since Grandmother Monica died, I've hated hospitals.

I smile and wave at the young heroes as they rush out of the elevators and head to their next missions. "Miss Liberty!" one of them exclaims in delight.

"No, that's my mother," I reply with a tight smile. "I'm Ms. Liberty." You'd think that after all this time, they'd remember that. Could be worse, I suppose: at least no one calls me Statesgirl anymore.

Well, not more than once anyway.

It would have been more discrete to go in civilian clothing, but I didn't think that would have quite the impact that I wanted. Blue Battler might be able to say no to Jessica Cole; Ms. Liberty was another story.

I glance in a mirror before I enter his room. Hair and makeup are perfect. The smile takes a bit more work; it's not as easy as it used to be to look like the Girl Next Door.

Especially when I'm planning to take advantage of a man who trusts me.

Oh yes. I know what I'm doing. I know that it's not exactly fair to approach Blue now when he's still dealing with the termination of his Hero of the City status. If he says yes now, he may regret it later, but he'll stick with his agreement because that's the kind of man he is.

And I need men like that in Longbow.

I don't like it, but Recluse isn't going to be stopped by fighting fair. If that means that I have to sometimes do things I'd rather not—well, that's the price I pay for being the leader of Longbow.

I knock on the door before I open it. "Blue? May I speak with you?"

"Ms. Liberty? Sure. Come on in."

I can't keep from frowning as I enter the room and shut the door behind me. There was a time when Blue would have been thrilled to have me visit. Can't let him see that I'm irritated, though; it won't help my pitch at all. "It's good to see you again, Blue."

"Thanks, Ms. Liberty." He's testing out a new prosthetic right arm. It's not much to look at, but it's moving with a fluid grace that's better than almost any prosthesis I've ever seen. A smile flits across Blue's face as he clenches and unclenches the fist. "My friend Gungnir made it for me."

"The hospital hasn't equipped you with one yet?" Even if he was no longer a Hero of the City, Blue Battler had done too much for Paragon not to rate the best of care. "I'll speak to them right away—"

"Don't blame them. Crey Corporation offered me a state of the art bionic limb." He pauses. "Along with a job offer."

The thought of a former Hero of the City working for Crey with all his knowledge and contacts is enough to make me glad I hadn't had lunch yet. "And did you take it?"

"I told Hopkins what he could do with that robot arm and his job offer, and he wasn't too happy with me. That's when I asked Gung to make me this one. It's not much to look at, but I know that it's 100 percent Creytech free." He smiles wryly as he looks at me. "Gungnir's not a fan of Crey."

"I don't blame him." One of these days the Countess will have to be put away once for and all, but right now her army of lawyers have thwarted every attempt to put her into the Zig.

"So what are you here for, Ms. Liberty?"

The bluntness surprises me. I had been counting on Blue's ... fondness for me from his novice hero days to make this easier. "I don't remember you as being so abrupt, Blue."

"I'm not a Hero any longer." There's bitterness in his voice, and I can't blame him. "Rick Davies made sure to let me know that before I had even started to heal."

"I'm sorry, Blue—"

"I'm sorry too, Ms. Liberty. But it's not Rick's fault. He was just the messenger." He smiles wryly. "So again, what do you want? I'm pretty sure that you have better things to do with your time than to visit an ex-Hero."

Those eyes. I flinch away from the look in those eyes. I can remember a time when he had looked at me—at Grandfather, Positron, Synapse, all of us—with admiration rather than suspicion. Was it inevitable that Blue would become so cynical or did we have something to do with it?

For the first time since I decided to come here, I feel ... ashamed. Blue has already given up so much for Paragon, and I'm going to ask him to give more.

But I do it anyway.

"I want to offer you a job, Blue. I want you to join Longbow."

"Longbow?"

"Crey's not the only one with state of the art technology. We can give you back at least some of what you lost. You may have lost your powers, but you haven't lost your experience. You've always been a good tactician. You've traveled to at least half a dozen other worlds. You've traveled in time. You've faced some of the most powerful beings in existence without backing down. The Countess is right; you'd be a tremendous asset to any group you joined.

"I want that group to be mine."

"Ms. Liberty—"

I put my finger onto his lips. "Don't answer now, Blue. Just think about it. Think about what it'd be like to fight the good fight again." I look deeply into his eyes. "Paragon still needs you, Blue. I still need you."

I let the words linger in the air.

I kiss his forehead and take a card out of my belt and lay it on the table beside his bed. "Think about it, Blue. Let me know what you decide."

I know he's watching me as I leave.

I tell myself that it's not just because I want to make Longbow stronger. I tell myself that it's for Blue's own good—that he has too much to offer the world to let him stew in self-pity for God knows how long before he decides what he wants to do with his life. I tell myself I'm just offering him a choice ...

I still feel as dirty as Dominatrix.

[Kaos Arcanna]

"So, Doc? What's the verdict? Can I go home now?"

"I think that you've probably had enough of hospital food, Blue. I'll sign the discharge papers today."

The young man called Blue Battler smiles at me in relief. "Great. My cousin Drake said he'd pick me up. I'll call him as soon as I get back into my room."

"Your cousin Drake?" I raise my eyebrows. "I thought your first name was Drake, Blue ..."

"It is. Drake and I were born on the same day. We were both named after our grandfather." Blue grins again. "For a while, I was DW and he was DG—until Grandfather took to calling me Blue." He rises to his feet and flexes his prosthetic arm. "You know, I think I'm starting to get used to this thing ..."

"I'm glad to hear it. All things considered, Blue, you've made a remarkable recovery." The speed of his recovery was the reason that I was called in on the case, as a matter of fact. "Your cousin—he's the
Peacebringer?"

"Yes. He's a Hero of the City in his own right. They say that the only reason I'm alive is because Drake used some kind of Kheldian technology to keep me alive. Lucky me."

I'm not happy with the way Blue sounds when he says that. He doesn't know it yet, but he could have been released more than a week ago. I had personally insisted that he remain in care for some covert psychological analysis. I wasn't going to let him go until I was sure that he wasn't suicidal. I've seen too many depowered heroes take that option when they realize their powers are never going to return.

Paragon City owed Blue too much to give him less than the best possible care. And on a personal level, the only reason I'm not rotting in a jail cell as a convicted Rikti spy is because Blue managed to root out the hidden Rikti who had implicated me. Steven Sheridan always pays his debts.

And because of that debt, I'm about to risk my career. "Blue, could you ask your cousin to stop by my office before he picks you up?"

"Sure, Doc. Mind if I ask why?"

"Scientific curiosity, you might say." It's not wholly a lie, but it's not the full truth either. Perhaps I should tell Blue my suspicions, but I don't want this young man to volunteer to spend the rest of his life in government custody just because of my unspoken fears. He deserves better. "And Blue, take this card."

He takes it from me with his prosthesis, stunning me again with how naturally he moves with it. I make a mental note that I'm going to have to speak to this Gungnir fellow that Blue says made him the arm. I'd like to have him working with me. He glances at the card. "A support group? You want me to join a support group?"

"Sergeant Hicks and Justin Greene both have been through what you have, Blue. They've established a support group to give former heroes a place to go to talk about what they're going through. I want you to at least think about it."

"All right, Doc. I'll think about it."

"Now go along with you. Nurse Meg is going to walk you through your final round of therapy. You can go home after lunch."

"Thanks, Doc. What do I owe you?"

"You don't owe us a damn thing, Blue. We owe you." Of course it had taken Ms. Liberty herself to convince Billing of that ... more specifically she had gone to the hospital board and told them she'd be only too delighted to let her grandfather Statesman know that a former Hero of the City—one who had personally helped save him from the Praetorians—was being asked to pay for his treatment after being maimed in defense of Paragon City and that she was relatively sure he'd like to have words with them as well ... "Now off with you!"

I go back to my office and pull up Drake Griffin's file as I wait for him. Griffin didn't come to Paragon to be a hero like his cousin; he had come to study the advanced medical technology and become a doctor. His career plans had gotten sidetracked when he had been forced to bind with a Kheldian in order to save its life. In its infinite wisdom—note the sarcasm here please—Paragon City University had decided that the First Rikti Invasion was still too recent to allow a Peacebringer to go to medical school. Griffin had gone on to become an EMT as well as a Hero of the City. A shame; from what I'm able to tell from his file Griffin would make a fine doctor.

By the time I finish reviewing his file, Griffin is standing at my door. "Blue said you wanted to see me, Dr. Sheridan? Is there something wrong with him?"

"Blue's fine, Mr. Griffin. Have a seat."

Griffin sits down, and I can tell that he's nervous though he does his best to hide it. "So why did you want to see me? Not that it's not an honor to meet one of the greatest scientists in Paragon ..."

"Blue's fine, Mr. Griffin. As a matter of fact, he's almost too well. Given the nature of his injuries, he should be nowhere near this far along in his recovery."

"Didn't they tell you I injected him with some Kheldian nanobots--?"

"Mr. Griffin, please. You know me—by reputation, at least. I'm not a fool. Do you really think I wouldn't recognize Kheldian technology when I see it—or don't see it as the case may be?"

Griffin shifts uncomfortably in his seat, but says nothing.

"My most advanced equipment can detect the presence of some kind of micro technology at work in Blue, but it's not Kheldian. It's not Rikti, either." I pause. "I also know it's not terrestrial."

"Dr. Sheridian—"

"I'm not interested in an explanation, Mr. Griffin. The less I now the better—for Blue's sake as well as my own. I suspect." I stare hard at him. "But do you really think it was wise to inject your cousin with alien technology obtained from one of the most powerful Masterminds in the Rogue Islands?"

Drake Griffin gapes at me in surprise.

"No one else knows about this, Griffin. As far as the official record goes, Blue Battler's life was saved through the use of Kheldian science. The authorities don't need to know the truth."

"I had to," Drake Griffin says without looking at me. "It was the only way—"

"Again, I don't want to know." I stare hard at him. "But I do know. And I'm going to be keeping an eye on both you and Blue. If something happens to him—if this miracle cure of yours backfires—then I'm going to hold you personally responsible, young man! You have to live with what you've done, Drake Griffin—and so does Blue Battler. I just hope that none of us have cause to regret your actions."

"Does he know? Did you tell him?"

"No. And I'm not going to. He doesn't need to be burdened with this in addition to everything else. But when the time comes, you will tell him." It's an order, not a request.

Griffin takes it as such. "Thank you, Doctor Sheridan. I won't forget this."

"Neither will I, Griffin. Neither will I."

[Kaos Arcanna]

Decided to post at least some of my old stories here so they'd live on.  :)

[Kaos Arcanna]

"Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Wagner. I appreciate your willingness to discuss a position with Portal Corporation."

   "It's no problem, Dr. MacIntyre. And call me Blue. Or Drake."

   "Only if you call me Tina." Blue smiles at me and I find myself wishing I were at least ten years younger. He's a fine looking young man ... calm down, Tina. No reason to get all starry eyed. It's not like I hadn't worked with him before. 

   "Tina." He nods and self consciously rubs his prosthetic right arm. "It seems like I have more job offers as an ex-Hero than I ever did before." He looks at me again. "But I have to admit that I was kind of curious as to why you wanted to offer me a job. Believe me, I'm no scientist."

   "Perhaps not, but you are an explorer." He's not the way I remember him. He always used to be so full of life ... "You have fine survival skills.  And you're a leader. The heroes of Paragon have done a fine job, and they're always here for us when we need them, but Portal Corporation needs to learn to stand on its own two feet. My team ... my first team ..." Brian. More than twenty years later, and I still feel the loss as though it happened yesterday. I still have my work ... but I don't have Brian ...

   "Are you all right, Tina?"

   "I'm fine, Blue." No sense in tell him of my heartache. Even when he was a Hero of the City Blue Battler couldn't change the past. "So what do you think?"

   Blue shrugged his shoulders. "Ms. Liberty has offered me a position in Longbow, but I'm not sure that I'd be right for that. I was my own boss for too long to be a soldier in someone else's army ... even if it's a cause I believe in."

   "I see." There's a light in his eyes when he says her name, and a certain wistfulness in his voice. I'm almost jealous. It's been a long time since a man reacted like that to me. The ones that I had met after ... they had been good men, but they hadn't been Brian. And now ... now I'm fast heading into what my grandmother would call full-on spinsterhood. "So you might be willing to work for Portal? Even if you would prefer not to be a full time employee, we could use a special consultant."

   "I'm thinking about it. It does feel like a good fit. Something ... something that I could do and not feel like a charity case or a cog in someone else's machine. Maybe ... I don't want to commit to anything just yet, but I'm definitely going to think about it."

   "That's all I can hope for then." I smile at him. "Would you like a tour of the facilities before you go? I can even show you the places that we didn't normally allow Heroes."
      
   Before Blue can reply, two men come walking up towards us. I recognize one of them as being Detective Selnum, one of the Peregrine Island PPD Hero Contacts.  He's a nice man ... and rather handsome. Periodically, he asks me out for coffee. One of these days I may even work up the nerve to accept.

   But the look in his eyes tells me he's not here for a social visit. "Dr. MacIntyre."

   "Detective. How may I help you?"

   "We're not here to talk with you, ma'am." The other man with Detective Selnum flashes a PPD badge at us. He's much younger than Selnum, perhaps even younger than Blue. He's thin, and looks like he smiles a lot, but he's not smiling now. "I'm Detective Becktrees. King's Row PPD. We're here to talk with Mr. Wagner here."

   I see Blue wince as his civilian name is used, but he doesn't otherwise react. "What can I do for you, Detective?"

   "We're going to ask you to come along quietly, Mr. Wagner. You're under arrest."

   "Arrest?" I blurt out. "What's the charge?"
   
   Becktrees looks at me, and then at Blue. "Murder."

   

[Kaos Arcanna]

   He doesn't look like a killer.

   Drake Wagner aka Blue Battler aka "Blue". A former Hero of the City deactivated when he lost his armor, his weapon, and his powers. His days in King's Row were before my time, but judging by the cheers he got as he was led into the Station he's not been forgotten.

   "Do you think he did it?" I ask Freitag as Blue's statement is taken by a uniform.

   "DNA doesn't lie, Becktrees." Freitag states. "His was found at the crime scene. You know the kind of work that Crey does. Many depowered Capes have been known to go rogue when trying to regain their abilities."

   "He just doesn't seem the type. My gut tells me he's not our man."

   "'Guts' are no replacement for proven forensics science."

   The uniform finishes up with Blue, hands him a cup of coffee, and walks over to us. "He's not our guy."

   "What makes you say that?"

   "He's got an ironclad alibi. The night it all went down he was in therapy with Hicks and Greene's support group."

   "Kind of hard to commit murder when you've got both a cop and a former Cape as your alibi." I glance over at Freitag. He's a good cop—a little too by the book for my tastes, but he's not the kind of guy who'll stay married to a theory once it's proven false.

   "Let's lay our cards on the table with Mr. Wagner. Perhaps he can offer some suggestions." If he's disappointed he doesn't show it.

   We walk over to Blue. He finishes his coffee and looks at us. "So what's the verdict? Do I need to lawyer up?"
   
   Freitag doesn't rise to the bait. He walks over to his computer and pulls up the case file. "Ordinarily I wouldn't be showing this information to a civilian, but given your ... background...."
   
   "No offense, but I hope you're not leading up to a job offer. It seems like everyone I've met recently has wanted me to go to work for them."  Blue's grinning as he says that. It's the first time I've seen him smile since I met him.

   "Orpheus Industries. A biotech firm ... in King's Row?"  He looks at us. "That's new. Most of that stuff winds up in Bricks or Talos."

   "It's a startup company," I tell him. "And the rent here's a lot cheaper than it is in Bricks." That's an understatement. With the garment trade gone, there's not much business to speak of in the Row at all. Crey's got a few offices, but bars and gun shops tend to be our most flourishing enterprises. Orpheus had gotten their building for a song.

   "So ... any unusual stories about them? Odd deliveries the dead of night? Suspicious characters working for them? Mystic ceremonies? Walking vegetables?"

   "Not that I know of. Freitag?"

   "They hadn't been in business long. They had some of the usual run ins with the Skulls, but nothing serious. Skulls will kill, but they don't do anything like this. It was a slaughter, Blue."

   "How many?"
   
   "Six."

   "Six people?" Blue's eyes get hard. I can see the Hero in his eyes. You can take the costume and the ID away, but you can't take away what made you do it in the first place.  "How did they die?"

   "Burnt to death. Scorch marks were on the floor. The bodies showed signs of severe burns consistent with the use of a Blaster's Fire Sword."

   "Six people." His robotic fist clenches tightly. "Six people killed in a way made it to look that I was the culprit."

   "The hazards of being a Hero, Blue. You know that."

   "Gungnir. I was wondering if I had wasted my only telephone call." Blue reaches out and clasps the hand of the tall man that walks toward him. "Good to see you again, buddy."

   "Gungnir." Freitag's eyes narrow as he looks up at the tall Blaster with the long hair and beard. He's tolerant of Capes that work with the system, but even I know that Gung has mostly dropped off the official radar years ago. He's still around, but he doesn't work with official channels. He's about as close to rogue as you can get without being arrested for it. "Fancy meeting you here."

   "Someone has to keep an eye on you. It's not like I can trust the PPD to find the right guy."

   I feel my own hackles rise at that. I can see why Gungnir's not popular with my fellow cops.

   "You know anything about Orpheus, Gung?"

   "I know more than the PPD ... which isn't saying much." He tosses a DVD to Freitag. "Video surveillance the night of the crime scene."

   "We got the video too. It didn't show much of anything. Given that Blue's armor had Phase and Stealth, we assumed he just snuck in that way."

   "Um, you guys did know that I lost my powers and my armor?" Blue points out. "If I had the power to do that, why would I have gone rogue?"

   Freitag has the sense to look sheepish. Me, I just keep m y head down and hope no one notices  me blushing.

   "Gung, why didn't the tapes show an intruder?"

   "The first thing I suspected was the real tapes had been replaced. Given that Orpheus is a Crey front—"

   "Orpheus is independent," I interrupt. "There's no paper trail connecting them at all to Crey."

   Gung rolls his eyes. "And you know this how?"

   "We ran a check—"

   "Using Crey software on Crey built computers."

   "Everything's a Crey plot to you, Gungnir," Freitag retorts. "If there's not enough cream in your coffee you think the Countess is behind it."

   "Guys, you're not going to win this argument. Trust me." Blue raises his hands. "Besides, he's probably right. A biotech firm in King's Row that comes out of nowhere? With my DNA being found on the scene? The likelihood of Crey not being involved in Orpheus is about the same as the possibility that I'm not going to wear blue tomorrow."

    "So you're thinking that the Countess set up this corporation for the sole purpose of implicating Blue in a crime?"

   "Even I'm not that paranoid," Gungnir  shrugs. "Orpheus was set up a few years ago, long before Blue lost his powers. Strange as it seems, this is one of those rare cases when I don't think the Crey have anything to do with the crime."

   "You said at first you thought the tapes had been replaced," Blue said. "That implies they weren't."

   "No. They weren't." Gungnir turns to Freitag. "Put the DVD in. The quality isn't what I'd like, but you should see what happened."

   Grumbling, my partner does what he's told.

   The exterior cameras are what's shown first. There's a moment of static, but otherwise nothing. At least I don't see anything ...

   "What the--?" Blue turns to Gungnir.

   "You saw it then." The tall Blaster looks oddly proud of him.

   "Yeah. The time stamp. There's a jump." Blue replays the scene. "A fifteen second jump."

   "How did you spot that?" Freitag asks the former Hero with a trace of respect in his eyes.

   "If you'd ever had to hunt for hostages or clues in Orange Bagel you'd get pretty good at spotting the little details."

   "Orange Bagel?" I blink.

   "The COT city. Underground."

   "Oranbega," Gungnir says in an exasperated tone of voice. "As often as you've been there, Blue, you'd learn how to pronounce it."

   "Isn't that what I said?" Blue asks with a smile. "So the time jump ..." He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "EMP?"

   "EMP," Gungnir confirms. "Small, not enough to fry the camera, but enough to take it offline for a few seconds to give the intruder a chance to get inside the facility."

   "What about the internal cameras?" Blue asks.

   "We checked on that, but they'd been fried," I told him. "No recoverable data at all."

   "That right, Gung?"

   "Almost." For the first time since he walked in, Gungnir looks uncomfortable.  "I got a single image."

   "Let's see it. Maybe I'll recognize this guy."

   "Blue ... maybe you shouldn't watch this."

   "What?"

   "You're not going to like it."

   "Whoever this is, they killed six people in a way to make it look like I was the one behind it. It may be someone I put away. Someone who's carrying a grudge. You may not know who it is. The cops may not know him. But if there's a chance I know him, then I have to watch. I'm a Hero—was a Hero, Gung. I've seen death before. Let me see it."

   Gungnir says nothing more. He just leans over and presses the play button on Freitag's computer.   

   The image isn't very clear. It a man wearing a trench coat and hat, but all we have is a rear shot . He's raising his arm to bring a flaming sword down on a cowering scientist ...

   Blue gasps like he's been shot.

   The arm is covered in blue armor!

   Gungnir lays a hand on Blue's shoulder.

   "My—my arm." Blue glances down at the metallic right limb attached to his shoulder and back at the screen. "That's my arm! He has my arm! My real arm!"

      

[Kaos Arcanna]

This is not how I wanted to die.

   Through the green mists I can see the Circle of Thorns chanting in their harsh, cruel voices. I can see their demonic cohorts and spectral allies watching me—watching us as we writhe helplessly in the grip of their eldritch might. I also see my fellow prisoners, each struggling in their own way to free themselves from the power that holds him.

   Green Justice—well, Justin Greene—exchanges desperate glances with Officer Hicks from the Outbreak Zone. Together, the two of them run a Support Program for other Heroes who have lost their powers. Rumor has it that they're more than just friends, and perhaps that's why they seem to have eyes only for each other in this madness.

   Or perhaps it's because they're the reason we're in this mess in the first place.

   "Desmond, don't do this! We're your friends! Don't do this! Let us go!" Greene should have known that the Death Mage leading the chant wasn't Desmond anymore. Desmond's quest to restore his powers had led him to make a bargain with the COT—he hadn't known until it was too late that he wasn't just selling his friends—he was selling his soul.

   "Fool! Desmond  Steele no longer exists!" the Death Mage laughs harshly. "His body is ours now! His soul writhes in torment, feeding the Infernal Prince who gives us our power! You will join him, and then your bodies will be used to lure in heroes who have not lost their powers! Their might will become ours, and the world will belong to Oranbega once more!"

   Phillipa Meraux eyes blaze with hatred. Clandestine had lost her powers as a result of a battle between the Rikti and the COT.  Somehow, it seemed cosmically unjust that she should lose her life—and more—to them.

   As for me, I'm afraid.  I don't show it. I can't. I'm just Jake Montoya now, but I didn't show fear in front of the Clockwork King when he cost me my leg in my Red Tiger days. I'm not about to let these Robe Wearing punks have the satisfaction of seeing me sweat now.

   "Let the others go. I'm sure your Prince would be more than happy to just have me." He's writhing in the air like the rest of us, but Drake Wagner—the Blue Battler—hasn't said a word until now.

   "We'll have you and the others as well, Wagner!" the Death Mage laughs. "Your bargaining position is highly dubious to say the least!"
   
   "I'll fight you. We'll all fight you. You may be able to steal our bodies, but you won't be able to hold our souls. We're not like Steele. We didn't make a bargain. You can kill us—you can even take our bodies—but our souls—you won't be able to send those to your Master. Once we're dead, our souls will go elsewhere." He pauses. "Let the others go and I'll submit."

   "Damn it, Blue!" I roar. "Don't you dare play the hero here!"

   "We're all heroes here!" Hicks cries. "Take me! Release Justin and the others and I'll submit!"

   "No! Take me!" Greene gasps.

   "Me!" Phillipa screams. "Take me!"

   "I stopped the Envoy of Shadows!" Blue shouts. "The others—they're heroes, but I'm the one your Prince has a beef with! Imagine how much power he'd grant you for delivering him my soul!"

   The Death Mage pauses—and he's struck in the chest by a blast of blue energy!

   "Blue!" A woman appears out of nowhere, a Targeting Drone hovering around her head. She's wearing blue armor—armor that strongly resembles the kind that Blue Battler once wore.

   "Bluette!" Blue's surprise is unmistakable. "Get out of here! You're no match for a Temple full of COT!"

   We all fall to the floor, the binding magic shattered.

   For the first time, I see fear on his face—not for himself, but rather for the heroine who calls herself Blue Battlette.

   "You're right!" Bluette tosses some caltrops on the floor and blasts another one of the COT. "But I brought some backup!"

   "It won't be enough!" the Death Mage cries. "Destroy her!"

   Greene tackles one of the Thorn Casters. Hicks karate chops the wrist of one of the Soul Mages, knocking the staff out of his hand. Phillipa sweeps the feet out from a started Behemoth Lord.

   I grab a rock and throw it at the Death Mage, cursing the Clockwork King again for the loss of the leg that would have given me a fighting chance at taking one of these punks down.

   Blue climbs to his feet, his blue metallic arm glinting in the torch light. "Be careful, Bluette! Where's that backup of yours?!"

   "Right here, Blue!"

   At first I think it's a Behemoth Overlord talking as the sound comes from the general direction of two of the giant winged monstrosities. Then the Overlord doubles over as though someone's punched him in the stomach and is literally knocked into mid-air.

   "Painstake!" Blue shouts in relief. "You're here!"

   "Yeah, you know me, Blue. Can't let you have all this fun to yourself!" The big ax-wielding Tank slams his weapon into the other Overlord.

   Even with the Tank and Blaster, we're still sorely outnumbered and outgunned. We're a bunch of ex-heroes. By rights, we should have done what the typical hostage does in this situation and run for our lives.

   But we don't. We can't.

   Inside, we're still heroes.

   "You! You're the cause of this!" the Death Mage wearing Steele's body shrieks, glaring at Blue. "You'll pay for this interruption! I'll rip the soul from your body myself!"

   Tenebrous Tentacles of living darkness wrap themselves around Blue Battler, immobilizing him.

   With a strength born of madness, the Death Mage shoves Blue Battlette to one side and leaps on the struggling Blue Battler. "And thus I dispatch you!"

   The sword is short, curved, and black as night. It stabs through Blue's chest, piercing through to the other side.

   "Blue!" With a roar of anger, the big Tank wades through Demons and Robed Mages as though they're not there.  "You son of a—you killed Blue!"

   The Death Mage cackles. "Do what you will; Blue Battler will battle no more!"

   Painstake's reply is a massive sweep of his ax that sends the Death Mage flying.

   "Blue! Blue!" Bluette removes her helmet and rushes to the side of the fallen man. "You can't be dead! You can't be!"

   I curse the lost leg that leaves me limping my way to the fallen man. I know before I get there its too late. Mortal flesh can't withstand the power of the dark blade of a hate-maddened Death Mage.

   Phillipa and Hicks stand guard over the rest of us. Greene bends down and begins to whisper what words of comfort he can offer to the crying Bluette.

   "Thanks for the save," I tell the big Tank.

   "Wish we coulda been here sooner," Painstake says, taking his own helmet off. "I was helping a lowbie hero save a Fortuneteller from the COT when I found out about this thing going down.  Bluette was the only backup I could find. We got here as soon as we could—" He sighs. "But it looks like it wasn't soon enough."

   "It's not your fault. If it's any consolation, I think that he probably preferred going out like this." I kneel down by the fallen hero. "At least he wound up better off than my old buddy the Invisible Falcon."

   There's a gaping wound on Blue's chest. There's no blood, but its stained and bubbling with black energy.

   Bluette gasps "Look!"

   The black energy fades, devoured by a green light. The green light glows brightly for a second, then fades away, leaving not even a scar to show that Blue had ever been injured.

   Blue groans and opens his eyes. "Oh, man. What the hell just happened to me?!"

[Kaos Arcanna]

   "How are you, Blue?"

   Cold, I want to say, but don't. I haven't been warm since I woke up without my powers. All my life I burnt with an inner fire, but the Rikti put it out.

   No, it's worse than that. The Rikti stole it from me and someone else is using it now—someone is using it to kill.

   "Blue?" Her name is Blue Battlette. At least, that's the code name she took when she decided to become a Cape. She says that I rescued her from Perez Park one night after all her friends had been killed or worse. She took that name to honor me.

   I don't remember that night.

    There have been so many nights. So many people that I saved. At first, you remember all of them—every person you save, every one that you fail to save. You remember their faces, their names. How they look at you when you arrive in the nick of time—the way the survivors look at you when you're just a moment too late to save someone else ...

   But then you start to forget.

   It shames me that I don't remember the night that meant so much to Bluette. She's not a Hero of the City yet, but she's done more than her fair share of rescues and arrests. She shouldn't still look at me like that—shouldn't look at me like I was still a Hero of the City, still the man who had been capable of saving her life.

   I can't save anyone, anymore. Not even myself.

   "Blue?" Bluette takes her helmet off and looks at me. "Are you all right?"
   
   No, I want to say. I'm an Ex-Hero whose amputated right arm is being used to commit murder and mayhem. I just found out that the technology that my Kheldian cousin Drake Griffin used to save my life is potent enough to heal me from a near-fatal magic-based injury. I don't have time for self-pity or angst.

   I want to say that, but I don't.  She won't understand. She can't. I pray that she never has to.

   So I kiss her instead.

   She's warm and she's beautiful and she wants me. It's almost enough to rekindle the fire that's been dead in me since I woke up after I lost my arm.

   Almost.

   After a moment, she stiffens against me and we part. Her eyes are wide and dark and she says nothing for a moment. "You're not going to let me help you do this, are you?"

   "No. I'm sorry, Bluette. I can't. This is my responsibility. It's my power. It's my arm. I have to take care of this."
   
   "You're going to get yourself killed, Blue." She puts her helmet back on, the helmet that totally hides her face. "You're going to go after whoever it is with nothing but a metal arm and some extra healing and you're going to die. You're going to die, and he's going to go on killing because you're too proud to accept my help."

   I don't say anything. She's not a Hero of the City. If he's as powerful as I think he may be, she won't stand a chance. He'll kill her.

   I won't let that happen. I've lost friends ... and lovers. I won't lose anyone else if I can help it.
   
   "To hell with you then, Blue! Get yourself killed! I don't care! I don't!"

   She rockets into the sky, activating her cloak of invisibility as she does so.

   "Painstake, I know you're up there. Come on down, please."

   The ground shakes as the big tank jumps down from the rooftop he'd been hiding on. He looks at me, his face hidden beneath his own helmet. "She's right, Blue. Ya can't do this alone, bro. You're going to need backup."

   "Maybe." In fact, I have a plan, but I'm not ready to talk about it yet. "I could use your help right now, old friend."

   "Sure thing, Blue. Whatcha need?"

   "That Fortune Teller. The one who told you that I was in danger. Where can I find her?"

[Kaos Arcanna]

   Painstake told me that the Fortune Teller had mentioned that she spends a lot of time in Pocket D if he would like to buy her a drink sometime. Having rescued my share of Fortune Tellers in my career, I could fully understand Pain's eagerness to accompany me, but I told him that I could handle it on my own.

   Besides, I didn't need a babysitter. Just because I don't have powers any longer doesn't mean that I can't take care of myself. More or less.

   I do have to admit that I wondered if the bouncers were going to allow me to take the elevator up to the D. True, I had seen what looked like civilians there before, but I had no idea how they managed to get in and out as I had never seen them enter or leave the elevators. I did my best to hide my nervousness though, and just smiled at the bouncer as I jumped through the parked truck in King's Row.

   "Good to see you again, sir. Go right in. We were told to expect you."

   "DJ Zero?" I ask in surprise. I had spoken to him once or twice, and done him a favor—man, if I never see another Redcap again it'll be too soon!—but given how many pies DJ's got his fingers in, I certainly didn't expect him to remember me.

   "Someone else, sir. She said she was expecting you."

   Oh right. Guess it was kind of silly to expect that I was going to surprise a Fortune Teller.

   "Thank you." I take a deep breath, and I step into the elevator.

   I'm sure it's my imagination, but it feels like everyone is watching me when I step out. Robot arm notwithstanding, no one is going to mistake me for a hero now. Even though I wasn't really all that well known, I can tell by the looks of pity that some of the heroes give me as I walk past them that they know either who I am or what I am.

   I hate it.

   I don't want pity. I want information. I have to find Patchwork—he has my arm, he has my power. Everything he does—every one he kills—that's blood on my hands.

   I have to stop him. I will stop him.
   
   I walk over to one of my favorite bartenders. "Hey, Isaac."

   "Hey, Blue! What can I get you?" He doesn't ask a question about my civilian clothing or the metal arm. Guess that's why he works at Pocket D; nothing phases him.

   "I'm looking for a woman, Isaac."

   "You came to the right place, darling," a Carnival of Shadows Ring Mistress said, sitting down beside me. She's sipping her drink through a small straw that fits through her mask.

   "Another time," I tell her with a smile, feeling my skin crawl. I know about the Carnies. I know what they are. Trust me; I'd sooner date Barracuda than spend an evening with one of them. I turn back to Isaac. "I'm looking for a Fortune Teller. Her name's Cassandra. I was told she might be here."

   "You're one of hers, then?" I can hear the pout in the Ring Mistress' voice, but of course the mask doesn't move. "Perhaps we can play some other day. Have a ticket to one of our shows. They're all the rage you know."

   "Thanks." I take the ticket with my metal hand. "Tell Vanessa that Blue says hello."

   "Indeed." The Ring Mistress glides away, heading in the direction of some young hero I'd never met before. "Hello, darling. Would you care to dance ...?"

   "Um, Blue ...?"

   "Yes, Isaac?"
   
   "You might want to put that out. DJ doesn't allow smoking here ..."

   "What?" I glance down at the ticket ... and it's on fire. "Now how did that happen?" I toss it into a glass of water. "Cute Carnie trick. She must have known who I was."

   "I wonder ..." Isaac mutters.

   "So ... Cassandra?" I prompt him. "You know her? Have you seen her?"

   "Cassie? Sure. She comes in here all the time. She's probably upstairs playing poker right now."

   Poker? Who plays poker with a Fortune Teller?

   "Thanks, Isaac." I head upstairs.

   There's a civilian woman sitting at a table with an Arachnos soldier, a Council Warwolf, and a Longbow Warden. I don't see anyone in a Fortune Teller's outfit, but maybe they know where she's at.

   "Excuse me, I'm looking for a Fortune Teller named Cassandra ..."

   "Fortune Teller?" the Warwolf growls.

   The Longbow and Arachnos soldier spit out curses and the woman glares at me as she throws her cards down on the table. "Thanks a lot, Blue. I was really going to clean up on this hand."

   She picks up her chips. "Sorry, boys. Looks like I'm going to have to cut this short."

   "If DJ Zero allowed fighting here," the Warwolf growled.

   "Some other time, fuzzy," the Fortune Teller smiles at him—surprisingly, she's not really that attractive. Don't get me wrong; she's not ugly or anything, but she looks more like the people we rescue—that I used to rescue—than the heroines I've fought beside.

   "I wouldn't have suckered them into a game if I'd been wearing my outfit," she tells me as we sit down at the bar. "The usual, Isaac."

   "You knew I was coming, right?"

   "Sure."
   
   "I have two questions."

   "Actually, you have three. But the two you're thinking about now are: why did I start the game with them knowing you were coming and how did the Circle of Thorns manage to capture me given that I had to know they were after me?"

   "Exactly."

   "I know the future. That doesn't mean I can change it."

   "What about free will? Self determination?"

   "There's that too."

   "That doesn't make sense."
   
   "Sure it does. Take you, Blue." She takes a sip of her drink and looks at me. "If I had met you—if I had told you the day you first put that armor on what you were going to lose—what it would cost you—would you have still done it?"

   "Yes," I answer instinctively.

"Why?"

   "Because—"I close my eyes and think about the people I've saved. The people I've lost. The things I've done. The places I've been.  "It was worth it."

   "And there's your free will. You chose to do what you did. You would choose it again if you had the chance to do so. I knew you were going to show up before I won the big score, but I still did it because I love the game. I knew the Circle of Thorns were going to take me but I still chose to go to Perez Park because I knew it was necessary." She takes a drink. "If I hadn't been there to talk to Painstake—"

   "If you hadn't, then the Circle of Thorns would have killed us all."

   "Exactly." She finishes her drink. "Fate—and self-determination."

   "You know why I'm here."
   
   "I believe we covered that."

   "So where can I find him—Patchwork?"

   "I can't tell you that."

   "The whole fate thing? I have to figure it out myself?"

   "You already know what you need to do to find him, Blue."

   "I do?"

   "Think about it, Blue. King's Row. Stolen body parts. Do I really need to draw you a diagram? Hit me, Isaac."

   "Vahzilok. He's one of the Vahzilok."

   Cassandra takes a drink and raises her glass to me. "I knew you were a smart one. You know what that means, don't you? You know how you're going to find him."
   
   "Yes. Hit me, Isaac."

   "You don't drink, Blue." Isaac says, surprised.

   "Hit him, Isaac. He's going to need it."

   "Why?"

   I take the shot and drain it in one gulp. The liquor burns down my throat and almost—almost—makes the words I'm going to say bearable. "Because there's only one way I'm going to find Patchwork, Isaac. I have to talk to Dr. Vahzilok."

[Kaos Arcanna]

   It takes me three days—and calling in more favors than I care to remember—to find where they're keeping Dr. Vahzilok.

   Vahzilok.

   I had fought him, of course. In my time I fought pretty much everything there was to fight in Paragon, but it seemed like the Vahzilok were my own personal nightmare. I couldn't turn a corner without having one of his reanimated corpses vomiting on me.

   Cleaning off zombie vomit from my battle armor isn't exactly one of the fondest memories I have of my early career.

   I see Ms. Liberty talking to a young hero as he trains up with her, and I find myself thinking about her ... and her offer again. I don't like sitting on the sidelines. From the time I woke up in the hospital after losing my arm until I woke up after the Circle of Thorns tried to make a demonic sacrifice of me, I had been on automatic pilot. Reactive rather than proactive.

   Ironic.

   I have to almost die to feel really alive again.

   She's right about one thing; I can't stay on the sidelines. I'm not cut out to be a civilian. One way or the other, I have to get back in the game again.

   But that's something for me to think about later. Now I have to convince the Vanguard Guard that I should be admitted into the Vanguard Building and be given access to a lab that officially doesn't exist.

   For my next trick I'll sit the Clockwork King and Blue Steel down and have them work out their differences through a game of "Twister."

   "I'm sorry, sir. You'll have to move along."

   "I'm here to see the Dark Watcher."

   "I'm afraid you don't qualify to be admitted to this building, sir."

   "Tell the Watcher that it's a matter of life and death—and that unless he wants to see a story hitting the airways about Vanguard's latest scientist he'll talk to me—and no, I'm not talking about Argot."

   "Just a moment, sir." The guard steps aside and puts a hand to his ear as he begins muttering something. He stiffens in surprise and turns to me. "Go right in, Mr. Wagner. They're expecting you."

   "'They'?"

   "Lady Grey will be there as well."

   Well, well. For an ex-Hero I was suddenly Mr. Popular.

   I go into the building and the Watcher and Lady Grey are waiting for me. Dark Watcher is an old man—but with obvious health and vigor that belie the age of his features. Lady Grey—she looks to be no more than early 30s at most, but her eyes—her eyes are older than Statesman's.

   "Mr. Wagner," Lady Grey says in a clipped English accent. "We'd been expecting your visit. Watcher, if you please?"

   This is far from the first time I've been teleported, but the Dark Watcher's teleportation is like falling into darkness. It's cold and black and for a brief moment I don't think I exist.

   It feels like waking up in your own coffin, to be honest.

   The Watcher's hand is on Lady Grey's shoulder when I can see again. She doesn't notice it, but I do. He takes just a second longer than he should have to let go of her.

   "You were rather clumsy, Wagner. Gaussian's people noticed you were nosing around two days ago." Watcher's accent is hard to place, but it's not British.

   "Then you could have found me instead of waiting for me to show up at your doorstep, right? If you had, maybe some people who aren't alive any longer would be."

   "What do you mean, Mr. Wagner?" Lady Grey's eyes dart from the Watcher's face back to mine.  The voice was cold and disciplined, but not unfeeling.

   "I'm not here to play whose cape is longer, folks, so let's just skip all the clever wordplay, okay?" I told them about Patchwork, about my arm. "I need to see Vahzilok, and you have him. If anyone can tell me where to find Patchwork, it's him."

   "Dr. Vahzilok's work has great potential for Vanguard and the defense of the Earth," Lady Grey told me. "I am not sure that this merits interrupting his work."

   "Patchwork is killing people!" I shouted in her face. "He's killing people and he's using MY power to do it! Maybe he's not a Rikti-class threat, but that doesn't his victims are any less dead than someone who falls to a Rikti blaster."

   "Mr. Wagner, I can sympathize—"

   "No, I don't think you can, Lady Grey." I'm clutching my hand—my right metal hand—so hard that I can almost feel it. "MY POWER is being used to kill people! It's my responsibility to stop this! I will stop this. Either you work with me or I go through you. This isn't open to debate."

   I glare at Lady Grey. I know that I don't have a chance of overpowering her.  I'm an ex-Hero with no weapons, no power, and no hope of taking her down even if she let me try without summoning her Vanguard soldiers.  I can't win. I know I can't win.
   
   But I will win—or die trying.

   There's no other option.

   "Let him see Vahzilok," Watcher says in a whisper.

   Lady Grey turns to him in surprise. "Devon?"

   "I work with Vanguard now, but there was a time when I too was a hero of Paragon.  We say that Vanguard is here to save the world—what is the world if not for the people who inhabit it? Let the Blue Battler follow his destiny."

   "Very well then." Lady Grey turns back to me, and I can see that I'm not exactly going to be on her Christmas card list this year. "Mr. Wagner, you may speak with Dr. Vahzilok. But Vanguard will not coerce him to help you. You must convince him yourself."

   It's not much, but I'll take it. "Thank you."

   "Very well then, Blue Battler," and I notice again that the Watcher has started to refer to me by my real—I mean, my old codename—and I feel ... pleased for the recognition of who I was. "Come with me to the abode of monsters."

   The Watcher touches my shoulder and the world fades to back.

   

[Kaos Arcanna]

The smell.
   
   You never forget the smell of a Vahzilok lair.

   It's the stench of rotting, decayed meat. It's the unmistakable odor of dried blood. It's the whiff of old fear and human sweat.

   This is what death smells like.

   The Watcher isn't with me when I materialize. I'm on my own. Fleetingly, I wonder if this is how the Vanguard is going to keep me quiet—let the good doctor finish what he had started so long ago ...

   Suddenly, my right hand feels hot in the way it used to right before I called forth a flaming sword to defend myself.

   A neat trick, you must admit, considering the fact that my right hand was now nothing more than a piece of cold steel.

   It's not a sewer. It's not what my mother would have called a laboratory either. At one point, it might have been a basement – perhaps a garage—but now ... now it's a Charnel House.

   A hulking figure shambles out of the dim light towards me. It raises a massive hand and gestures at me. "Command: Me: Follow."

   It's ... or at least it had been ... a Rikti.

   The thing is naked so I can see the crude stitches that join together a human hand to a Rikti wrist. I can see the unsightly budges where cybernetics have been implanted in a torso that belonged to a Rikti much smaller than the one that the head had formerly belonged to. The skull is broken open and I can see the blinking lights of the computer that regulates the dead brain, giving it a semblance of life and motion.

   I have no love for the Rikti. They cost me my arm—and the life I had made for myself. Because of a Rikti blade, I had lost my arm and my power—but this ...

   This is an abomination.

   "Command: Me: Follow. Ask Again: I will not."

   But I need it, so I follow the thing deeper into Vahzilok's lair.

   Half-assembled Rikti monkeys weakly try to break free of barbed wire straps. Moaning Rikti—ones that I hope are already dead—lay on bloody tables, awaiting the knife of the good doctor. Hacksaws and power drills lie on a tray next to top of the art surgical instruments.

   Human and Lost Cadavers shuffle back and forth with ambulatory Rikti zombies. None of the alien zombies are wholly Rikti—they each have at least one or two pieces of human flesh attached to them.

   "A lack of materials or a flaw in your work, doctor?" I say it loud enough that Vahzilok should hear me regardless of where he is in the lab.

   "I'm afraid that I am still working out the finer points of Rikti anatomy. You can go now, Igor."

   The Rikti zombie shuffles away and I can see the man stepping out of the shadows behind it.

   I'm expecting to see him in his meatsuit, but for a change Vahzilok is just an average-sized man in a doctor's scrubs ... scrubs that may have started out as white, but now are considerably less so. He  stinks, of course—personal hygiene has never been his strong suit.  "Doctor Vahzilok. We meet again."

   "Mr. Wagner. I've been expecting you."

   "You have?"

   "The Lady Grey was kind enough to let me know that you were looking for me." He looks at my metallic arm. "I don't imagine you're here to trade up, are you?"

   "Not exactly." I gesture at his half-finished zombies. "I see that you've branched out."

   "Yes. The Rikti are a fascinating variant of the human race. They have highly developed minds and tend to be physically far more powerful than the average human being—but they are not built for the kind of sustained combat of a prolonged war. They are literally burning themselves out."

   His tone of voice is animated, enthusiastic ... and I'm horrified to admit how much it reminds me of Mom when she'd talk about her work. It sickens me to recognize something of her in him, but I can't deny that this madman is a genius. A depraved, insane genius, but nevertheless an incredible scientist. "Somehow I doubt that the welfare of the Rikti is on your mind."

   "Oh, no. The Vanguard hopes that I can assemble a force of Rikti Vahzilok that can fight for them. Lady Grey believes that the horror of fighting their own dead will weaken their will to fight." He smiled thinly. "And failing that, she believes I may be able to develop a virus or pathogen that will destroy the Rikti without posing a threat to the human race."

   "You should try chicken pox," I mutter, wondering how the Rikti fraction that has made tentative efforts to negotiate a peace treaty with humanity would feel about the good doctor's work. "But I'm not here to talk to you about this, doctor."

   "Indeed, why are you here? As you may guess, I don't have many willing visitors."

   "I'm looking for another piece of your handiwork. The one who has my arm. "

   "Oh, and what makes you think I know anything about that?"

   "The PPD haven't found all of your lairs. I'm guessing that Patchwork is staying in one of your labs and using your equipment."

   "That is a possibility. And why should I tell you anything?"

   That had always been the flaw in my little plan, I have to admit. If I had still been a Hero, I could have simply beaten or threatened the answer out of him. Now ... now I was just a man. So what did I have to offer a madman like this?

   It was a good question.

   Fortunately, I had an answer.

   "Let's make a deal, doctor ..."

   

[Kaos Arcanna]

   "Skulls don't like strangers nosing around our territory," the Bone Daddy says as he gestures for his buddies to surround me. "You a cop or a cape?"

   "Neither." There's five of them, and one of me. Not exactly the best odds for an ex-Hero to face. I'm probably going to come out of this alive, but it's going to hurt.

   A lot.

   "So what are you here for?" The Bone Daddy asks me. He's smirking.

   I manage to get my back to the wall. One less side to face an attack from. There's a garbage can lid nearby, too. It won't stop a bullet, but they're going to play with me before they get serious about doing some damage to me. The longer I last, the better my chances are that some lowbie hero'll show up and do the whole "Go. Hunt.  Kill Skullz" thing.

   "I'm looking for someone. He took something that doesn't belong to him. I'm going to get it back."

   "No. You won't. Bored now. Get 'em boys. Earn your bones."

   The first guy walks towards me smacking a baseball bat in his free hand. He's scrawny, dirty, and young, and probably isn't even old enough to shave. His eyes are old, though.

   They grow up fast in King's Row.

   I don't have my powers, but there's nothing wrong with my reflexes. Before he gets in range to play "Whackamole" I grab the garbage can lid and smash it into his face. I follow that up with a punch from my metal fist and as he goes down I grab the baseball bat from his stunned hands.

   "Hero!" the Bone Daddy curses.

   "Not anymore," I mutter.

   Bat-boy is down for the count. One of the others is toting a sledgehammer. The third has a hatchet.  The last one has a pistol.

   They look at me. They're more cautious now, but they've got numbers on their side and they think that means something.

   I grin at them as I feel the old familiar rush of adrenalin. It had been weeks since I had felt alive; only my near-death at the hands of the Circle of Thorns had been enough to wake me up. I'm not the man I was, but in this moment I can pretend.

   If not for the Bone Daddy, I might actually win this thing.

   I charge the kid with the pistol. His first shot goes wild; I know from experience how hard it can be to hit a moving target, especially one that's coming at you with mayhem in his eyes. I knock the pistol out of his hand with the baseball bat and shove him into the arms of the guy with the hatchet.

    Out of the corner of my eye I see the guy with the sledge winding up to hit me and manage to catch it with my steel hand. Momentum's on my side and I use it to wrench the sledge out of his hands. I follow that through with the baseball bat to his chin, knocking him flat on his butt.

   I throw the hammer at the Bone Daddy, but it's a horrible toss and he dodges it easily.

   "Not bad. You got some moves on you. Must be an ex-Hero or something. I'm impressed." He began to fade into the shadows. "I'm going to have a lot more fun than I thought I would."

   I grip the bat. "Maybe. Maybe not."

   Something small and hot flashes across the edge of my vision and collides with the gathering shadow of the Bone Daddy. Two more blurs quickly follow it and smack into the Bone Daddy.

   He doesn't even have time to scream before he goes down.

   Fire imps.

   Fire imps with a greenish glow about them.

   I drop the baseball bat in relief. "Moon! Moon Heat. Where are you?"

   "Right here, Blue."

   And he's there in a blur of speed. A well dressed man in a suit ... with blue skin.

   "You're a sight for sore eyes, Moon."

   "Same here, Blue. Haven't seen you in ages. What's going on?"

   "I'm looking for someone."
   
   "You should be more careful. If I hadn't been in the neighborhood ..."

   "Yeah. I know." I hate the reminder. It hadn't been that long ago when I could have taken every Skull in King's Row on at the same time and not even worked up a sweat. Those days are gone; the sooner I accept that the better off I'll be.

   But it's not easy. It'll never be easy.

   "You need a hand?'

   "No thanks. This is something I have to do myself."
   
   "All right."

   His imps come up to me and pat my legs, singing the pants I'm wearing.

   We'd always gotten along, his imps and I. Perhaps it was the connection of fire that we shared. Without thinking about, I reach down and scratch their heads. "Hey, guys. I missed you too."

   "Blue ..."

   "Yeah?" One of the imps raises his chin and I obligingly scratch there.

   "You think your power is gone."

   "My arm's gone. That's where my power was."

   "I don't think so."

   "It's gone, Moon. I can't feel it. Back in the hospital, they ran tests. I reached for it time and again, and it wasn't there. I lost it."

   "Then how are you able to touch my imps without burning?"

   I looked up at him in surprise.

   "The power's still there, Blue. I'm a Fire Controller. I can feel it in you. It's ... different. Not the same as it used to be, but it's there. You've changed. It's changed. You just have to find a way to call it back out."

   "Someone stole my power, Moon. They're using it to kill. To destroy. I'm going to stop them, Moon."

   "Yes, I think you will." Moon smiles that same reckless grin he gets right before he jumps in to tackle an AV like Black Swan singlehanded. "And when you do ..."

   I looked at him.

   "When you do, you'll have to take your power back." He spread his arms and I felt the warm green glow of his power accelerating my metabolism. "Be safe, Blue. Call if you need me."

   "I will, Moon. Thanks."

   He snaps his fingers and his imps jump to his side. "C'mon, boys. It's time we Ride!"

   And with that, he speeds off into the night.

[Kaos Arcanna]

   Traveling in the sewers isn't easy when you're not a Hero. It seems like you can't go half a block without stumbling into a COT, Vahz, or Lost. It gives you a lot of respect for the guys and girls who keep the pipes running.

   Strangely enough, this particular network appears to be deserted or abandoned. Given what used to happen here, I'm not terribly surprised. Though the Lost aren't exactly human anymore, and the COT long ago lost their mortality, there is still such a strong stench of death that only a Vahzilok could long endure here.

   Once, long ago, this used to be one of Dr. Vahzilok's lairs. The huge equipment that he used to power his devices still sit undisturbed—not even the metal-hungry Clockwork have attacked it yet. Bits of bone and blackened chunks of meat litter the metal tables. Discarded cleavers and hatchets lay where they had been left months ago when the filthy work of the good doctor was thwarted by some Hero.

   At first glance, it looks as though no one has been here since the end of the Vahzilok Plague. Just like the other two lairs I've already checked out. As I turn to leave though, I spot something out of the corner of my eye:

   A colorful bit of costume.

   That could only mean one thing:

   A Hero had died here.

   It doesn't happen often, thanks to the Medcom Technology, but every so often one of us—one of them—still falls. Sometimes—very rarely—the transporter fails. Sometimes a villain manages to block it.

   Sometimes, Heroes die.

   The piece of costume leads me another piece beside it, and the second leads to a third. The third leads to the fourth... which is still attached to a body.

   The body is fresh. Less than two weeks old, I'd say—and one of the things that I learned in my career was to estimate how long someone had been dead.  A man, his eyes still open wide with horror and fear.

   I don't know him, and for that I'm thankful.

   But I'm still angry and saddened by his death.

   Whoever he was, whoever he had been, we had belonged to the same fraternity. We had shared a cause. He had been a Hero, and like me, he had paid a price for his calling.

   And to be honest, I'm not sure which one of us is better off.

   The top of his head is sheared off, and his brain ... part of his brain is missing. His ID is on his belt—blackened and scorched so I can't see his name, but he's classified as a Mutant Mind/Radiation Controller, Level 47.

   Not quite a Hero of the City, but close enough.

   That explains how Patchwork could have gotten into Orpheus Labs. With that combination, there is no human or electronic security in Paragon that could stop him.

   The burns on the corpse tell me that he used my powers to kill the Controller. He used the Controller powers to gain access to Orpheus. Orpheus was a biotech firm. In Paragon City, biotech means only one thing:

   Metahuman powers.

   I'd been afraid of this. Patchwork isn't content with my powers. He's adding to them. That's what he wants: not the comparatively weak powers that most Vahzilok get from the bodies of dead Heroes, but rather the full force of a living Hero's abilities.

   He's power hunting.

   What did he gain from Orpheus? What's next target? What is he hoping to gain? A Tank? Defender? A Kheldian?

   Maybe one of the Surviving Eight?

   Patchwork has to be stopped. The longer he's active, the stronger he's going to become. The harder he's going to be to stop.

   I can't get a cell phone signal down in the sewers. I'm going to have to get out of here. I have to call the cops. The Vindicators. Maybe even the Phalanx.

   Uncle Blue.

   There's only one person who calls me "Uncle Blue"—especially telepathically.

   Y? Fascination Y. What is it?

   Fascination Y is an old friend. He's an Empath/Psi Defender. He's a  Hero of the City himself, though he mostly spends his time these days working out of a free clinic. He's a good kid.

   It's Bluette, Uncle Blue. She's gone.


   What do you mean "gone"?

   She came to visit me just a few hours ago to see if I knew where you were. We were attacked by an Eidolon. Uncle Blue, he was wearing—

   I know, Y. What happened to Bluette?

   She tried to fight him. We tried to fight him. But he was too strong—he defeated both of us. He took her, Uncle Blue. He took Bluette. He said that he was going to kill her if you didn't show up to meet him tonight. He said he'll kill her if you try to bring anyone else. He said he'll kill her if you say anything to anyone else.  Uncle Blue, what are we going to do?

   He knows the answer before he asks that. We both do. Tell me where I'm supposed to go, Y. Tell me where I'm supposed to meet him.

   

[Kaos Arcanna]

Do you remember this place, Blue Battler?

   The words seared themselves into my brain the moment I walked through the door. I winced, but I did my best not to show it. "It looks vaguely familiar, but I've been in a lot of abandoned offices over the years."

   So many battles ... so many victories. Rest assured, this will not be one of them.

   "I'm here. So why don't you let Bluette go? This is between us."
   
   I have waited a long time for this night, Blue Battler. I will not be rushed. You have no idea of the price I paid—the humiliation, the pain--- all just to have a moment when I could have you at my mercy.

   "So I'm taking it that means we've met before."

   Oh yes. I am but one of the many foes you vanquished in your career, Blue Battler. You cost me everything—my pride, the respect of my friends—my power! But now ... now I have an even better power. Yours.

   His "voice" was familiar. I had heard it before. But the diction—the way he used words—it was different now. More refined. "Sounds to me like you picked up an education along the way, Patchwork."
   
   So you know who I am, Blue Battler?

   "I'm working on it." The first floor was empty. King's Row was Skulls' Territory, but the graffiti in here belonged to the Hellions. That tickled something in the back of my mind. I had fought a Hellion Boss in King's Row long ago ...  I couldn't even fly back then ...

   I was supposed to kill you, Blue Battler. The Infernal Prince's Envoy of Shadows came to me in a dream. He promised me the kind of power  that most men can only dream of. The world would have been at my feet if I had been able to destroy you...

   The Envoy of Shadows had been interested in me at the start of my career? I had helped defeat him once. He had known we were going to meet?

   Fate and self determination ...

   "So what happened then?"

   Second floor, and no sign of him. Not surprising. Most of the bad guys I've fought have chosen to be on the final floor of a building, in the very back. Just once I'd like to meet someone who started at the front door ...

   You escaped me. The Envoy stripped my powers from me—no longer was I the Damned Battalion. I was just a man ... but I swore I would get my revenge on you.

   "You went to Vahzilok, didn't you?"

   Yes. I swore to serve him. He studied my magic-altered body to aid him in his research. The pain ... the pain was worth it. And thanks to my loyalty, the Doctor made me an Eidolon. He educated me in the techniques of his work. And when a Warrior came across your severed arm on the battlefield of Talos after the Second Rikti Invasion, I knew that the time for my revenge had come!

   Third floor.

   "You used my arm. My powers. You used them to kill."

   "Indeed I did, Blue Battler."

   And this time, I could hear him.

   He was in the last room of course. Not the tallest Eidolon I'd ever seen, but still imposing enough.

   And in his right hand—in my right hand—was a blazing sword.

   "Where's Bluette?"

   "I  could kill you now, Blue Battler. I could strike you down with your own arm, but that would be too easy. No, I worked too long—suffered too much—for this to be over so quickly. You want to know where Bluette is? Let me show you! Now!"

   I saw the shimmer out of the corner of my eye and hit the deck seconds before the energy blast almost took my head off.

   Blue Battlette appeared in front of me, targeting drone humming ominously. Her gauntlets glowed with residual power form the blast she had just unleashed. "I'll save you, Blue!"

   "Bluette! It's me! It's Blue!"

   She didn't seem to hear me at all. Her weapons powered up and she prepared to unleash another blast at me.

   Confused.

   He had used Confuse on her. Bluette was going to kill me thinking she was saving me.

   I ran towards her, but didn't make it: Bluette tossed a web grenade at me, anchoring me to the ground.

   "Any last words, Blue Battler?" Patchwork asked me, sneering.

   "Two actually," I told him. "PAINSTAKE! NOW!"

   And that's when my buddy the Tank came crashing through the window.

[Kaos Arcanna]

"You tricked me! You were supposed to come alone!" Patchwork screamed.

   "Painstake! Bluette's being mind-controlled! Keep her focused on you!"

   "You got it, Blue! Yo, Bluette! Come to Papa Painstake!" He waved his ax tauntingly in front of Bluette, beckoning her to attack him.

   "You're trying to hurt Blue! I'll stop you!" Bluette flew towards Pain and began peppering him with blasts.

   I wasn't worried about Painstake. He was a Hero of the City in his own right; Bluette didn't have the power that it took it to harm him. He could keep her busy all day if necessary.

   That left Patchwork to me.

   "You're a punk, Patchwork, Battalion ... whatever you want to call yourself." I had to keep him mad. Mind control could turn my brain into mush and his radiation powers could fry me even if his stolen fire powers couldn't. "I know mind controllers. I worked with the best one there's ever been. I knew that as long as I kept you focused on me you wouldn't be able to sense Pain climbing the building. No matter how much power you get, you're never going to be anything but a small time hood."

   "Shut up!"

   Suddenly, I slammed into the ceiling and came crashing back down.

   "I'll kill you! You hear me, Blue Battler? I'm going to kill you!"

   "It's going to take more than that, Patchwork," It hurts. It feels like one of my ribs may have broken, but I can feel it sliding back into place. I grabbed a piece of ceiling tile and threw it at his eyes.

   Patchwork cursed and ducked, but my aim was still as good as ever—the tile hit him square in the eyes. Howling in rage, he began ferociously rubbing his eyes.

   I rose to my feet. "Pain! Get Bluette out of here! Fascination Y's waiting outside! He can cure her Confusion."

   "Ya need my help, Blue! You can't take him alone!"

   "Do it, Pain!"

   "If ya get yourself killed I'm never gonna let you live it down!" Pain grumbled as he lured Bluette out of the window he had shattered.

   "Your friend is right, Blue Battler!" Patchwork growled, "You're no match for me!"

   I hadn't been standing still while I was talking to Pain. I had dived for cover. "Yeah, yeah. Like I never heard that before."

   "Where are you, coward! You're not a Hero anymore, Blue Battler! You're less than nothing to me now! I will kill you and then I will go on to kill all your friends! I write my future in the blood of your family, Blue Battler!"

   I laughed. "You really think that you're going to lure me out with that kind of talk, Patchwork? I've fought gods and demons! You may get lucky and kill me, but you're never going to make me afraid of you. You're just a pathetic little man."

   "Shut up! Shut up!"

   He began generating a healing aura to provide more light for him to see by.

   Idiot. All that did was make him a bigger target.

   I threw a coffee mug at him.

   It slammed into his forehead, and he staggered.

   I tackled him to the floor and began slamming my metal fist into his masked face.

   Once. Twice. Three times.

   "Enough!"

   Suddenly, I was hitting the ceiling again. When I came back down again, my head exploded in agony.

   "I grow weary of you, Blue Battler. You have been an interesting diversion, but I have grown beyond you. I have so much more to do with my time."

   He was tearing at my mind with his powers.  "Now I am going to kill you, Blue Battler. I am going to kill you while you stand by helplessly, unable to do a thing. Do you know what I took from Project Orpheus? Another power. This one will allow me to steal your life with the touch of my hand. I will drain you dry, Blue Battler. Everything you were—it will all be gone. Consumed. Devoured. By me."

   He raised his left hand, and it seemed to pulse with darkness.

   He grabbed my throat. "This is how it ends, Blue Battler. Not with a bang, but a whimper."

   I was suddenly cold. Colder than I had ever been. A cold that seemed to creeper ever deeper into my chest ...

   "No," I whispered. "I don't think so."

   I grabbed his throat with my metallic right hand and began to squeeze.

   Patchwork began gasping for breath.

   I was growing weaker with every passing second, but my prosthetic was not powered by human muscle. All I had to do was just think about it, and it would do what I asked ... and I was asking it to strangle the life out of my attacker.

   "No!" A blazing sword appeared in his right hand. My right hand. Frantically, he hit my artificial arm with it.

   As the fire from my real arm touched its replacement, I suddenly felt a familiar warmth kindle itself deep inside me, driving away the cold and darkness that Patchwork had unleashed on me.

   I threw him away from me.

   "You've got something that doesn't belong to you, Patchwork. It's time for me to take it back."

   "This isn't possible! Stay away from me! Stay away!"

   He shouldn't have been afraid. He was the one with all the power—my power. He should have been able to destroy me with a single thought.

   But he was afraid. I could smell on it.

   And he had a right to be.

   I raised my artificial arm.

   My stolen arm on Patchwork rose up in response, the fiery scimitar blazing in the blue armored fist.

   "What are you doing? Stop it! Stop it!"

   "I'm taking back the fire, Patchwork. It's mine. It's always been mine. You only had it because I let you have it. I'm not doing that anymore. I'm taking it back now!"

   "No! Don't!"

   The fiery blade began to lose its shape, becoming less of a blade than a living flame. It curled itself around the fist, down the arm ... and began to flare brighter, grow hotter.

   "Please! Don't do this!" Patchwork begged.

   But I couldn't stop. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn't stop it now.

   The fire flared so bright that it hurt my eyes.

   Patchwork screamed like a lost soul.

   And when the light died, the blue armored arm that had used to be mine was gone ... burnt to ashes that retained their shape for just a moment before they drifted down to the floor of the old office building.

   Patchwork fell to his knees, sobbing, clutching his shoulder.

   I took a deep breath. "Come on, Blue."

   I could feel it inside me, the warmth ... the power ... the FIRE.

   I raised my metal fist again.

   "No," Patchwork whispered. "It's not fair. It's not fair ... you're supposed to be the weak one now."

   "Not any longer, Patchwork. Not any longer."

   And the fiery scimitar burst forth from my metal fist.

   "I'm back." I raised the sword above my head. "The Blue Battler lives again!"

[Kaos Arcanna]

   "So that's how you got your groove back?"

   "That's how I got my groove back."

   We're in my private office, just the two of us. Blue's turned down the drink I offered him and began telling me what had happened to him since I had seen him last. "So you've got your fire powers back, and you're developed an acute case of self-regeneration. Not bad."

   I try not to sound jealous. Sometimes I dream about getting back into the game, making a new suit, and becoming a Hero again. I wake up wanting it so bad that I can taste it.

   But then an internal servomotor slips as I try to get out of the bed and I realize that time is never coming back for me. I had a good long run, but it's over now. I'm not Horatio anymore; I'm Rick Davies and that's something I just have to live with.

   "What happened to Patchwork?"

   "What do you mean?" He looks uncomfortable suddenly.

   "He wasn't picked up by the police. DATA's always called in when a new super powered criminal is captured to make sure that he doesn't require any specialized restraints. I haven't heard a thing about him."

   Blue nods. "I didn't turn him over to the cops. You remember when I went to Doctor Vahzilok for help? He wanted a favor ..."

   "You GAVE him Patchwork?"

   "He was quite interested in finding out how Patchwork had developed his abilities. I agreed to turn Patchwork over to him if the good doctor gave me a line on how to find him. He did his part; I had to do mine."

   "Blue---"

   "I made a deal, Rick." He smiles suddenly. "But I'm not an idiot. I told Grey and the Dark Watcher about it when I turned him over to Vahzilok. They'll keep an eye on both of them. And if Vahzilok decides to vivisect Patchwork ..." He shrugs.

   "That's a bit harsh for you, Blue."

   "It's a hard world, Rick. He butchered that mind controller. He used my powers to kill. He deserves whatever he gets."

   I'm not happy with that. Vanguard isn't much better than Vahzilok himself in my opinion. Anyone who's willing to use 'whatever means necessary" tends to be someone you can't trust in the long run. But I let that pass for now. "So you're going to apply for your ID back?"

   "Not exactly."

   I look at him in surprise.

   "I earned my Hero of the City status as an AR/Fire Blaster, Rick. That's not what I am now. I still don't have my armor. I still don't have my gun. Moon Heat was right; the power's changed. I have it back, but it's not what it was. It's changed, and so have I." He pulls out an application and tosses it on my desk along with a notepad. "I have to start at the beginning."

   I glance at the application. "I'll get it processed right away." I look at the notepad. "Bluette did that for you, didn't she?"

   "Most of it, yeah. I had the ideas, but she's the one who helped me with the actual design." He looks at me hopefully. "I'm hoping that you'll help me build it."

   I'm touched. "I'd be glad to. We'll get started right away. Blue Battler will be back on the streets before you know it."

   "And that's the other thing. I'm not going to call myself Blue Battler anymore..."

[Kaos Arcanna]

   There are days when I hate this job.

   There are so many better ways I can be spending my time. I could be supervising Longbow. I could be training with the Vindicators. I could be honing my own abilities and skills.

   Instead ... instead I'm here making like a glorified doll as I greet every new hero, telling him how he'll do great things and needs to "Bring those thugs to justice".

   It was a lot cuter to say the first ten thousand times I said it.

   Now, I've been smiling so long that I can't feel my jaws, and I badly need to switch on the hard light holograph so I can take a quick potty break, but I can't seem to reach the switch before some new hero comes running up asking to be trained.

   I shut my eyes as I try to stifle a yawn.

   "Hello, Ms. Liberty."

   And here's another one ...

   I open my eyes and my drops almost down to my pedestal. "Blue Battler?!"

   "Not anymore." He takes off the helmet, and the light is back in his eyes. He's whole, and he's smiling and I'm smiling back at him like an idiot because the happiness on his face is contagious. "Blue Battler 2.0, Level 2 Fire/Regen Scrapper at your service." He chuckled. "At least I will be after you train me."

   "I guess this means you won't be joining Longbow."

   "Nope. Sorry, Ms. L, but this is what I was born to do."

   "You are going to tell me how this happened, aren't you?"

   "I've love to. How about we talk about it over dinner?"

   Is he asking me out? I'm blushing. I can't remember the last time I blushed. I want to say yes, but ... "I don't really think I can right now, Blue."

   He looks at me quizzically.

   "Talk to me after you're a Hero of the City again. I don't really think it'd be proper right now."

   He shrugs and puts his helmet back on. "Well, don't go anywhere then. This shouldn't take too long."

   "You know where to find me." I'm flirting! If Mynx saw me now she'd never let me hear the end of it ... "And Blue?"
   
   "Yeah?"

   "Go out there and bring those thugs to justice!"

   He laughs and raises a blazing sword of fire in salute.  "Battle on!"

   And he runs off into the City of Heroes.

   

[Kaos Arcanna]

And that's the end.  :)

[JaguarX]

interesting material.