*Editing magic performed by Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells*

*This tale is a bit tongue and cheek as well as kinky, so be warned.*

*This story arc is VERY sex light; you've been warned*

*Every hurricane starts as just a bit of rain*

[PRELUDE]

[A FEW SHORT WEEKS LATER]

Contrary to my pledge to the Night Watchman (head of Freedom Force), I was getting involved with the turmoil caused by the removal of Kori Ivankov, Criminal Kingpin of Megalopolis. I wasn't trying to take over, or get my slice of the pie. No, I was doing something much dumber - in my estimation. I was helping a group of vigilantes from being overwhelmed in the resulting chaos on the streets.

"Dark Son! Three more coming your way!" Arachne cautioned me. She was swinging around this unused warehouse, keeping the opposition spread out and occupied with trying to hit her. I was definitely the team's 'tank' (meaning me and my armored suit could take the most pounding).

I'd already dispatched (knocked unconscious) Hammer Storm ~ an augmented human using a variety of hammers in combat including his trademark two sledgehammers and was engaging Sonic Scythe. She (SS was a gal) was sending forth lethal, piercing sonic death from her fingertips my way. Her screams for my demise was a peripheral nuisance at best.

"I'm going to turn your body into Jell-O," she screeched.

'Not if I do this to you first', I thought. I reached out with my TK (telekinesis) gauntlets ~ range roughly 30 feet ~ and slammed her into an I-beam.

"OW! ... You Bastard!" she hollered. Apparently she had no volume control. She was also more resilient than she looked.

I tried to close with her to get my hands on Sonic Scythe and inflict some real damage when she slammed me with a double-handful of sonic doom, propelling me away. That was okay. Arachne wasn't coming my way just to get rid of her pursuers, but to help me get rid of Sonic Scythe too ... from behind. All I had to have done was keep her occupied, which I had done admirably.

Arachne came off the ceiling (she could run on, and stick to, all sorts of surfaces) and power-bombed Sonic Scythe from behind. I aimed my next attack at the closest pursuer who was spending a tad too much time watching Arachne's lithe form and not enough on where he was being led.

This joker went by the name Brain Bane and he was your standard telepathic / telekinetic egomaniac wielding a straight, dual-edged sword. He often went on hours long rants on the Web about how all other powers were merely the limited expression of either one of his base [read: superior] powers. It was wonderfully useful building a psych profile about him - that was for sure.

As he came around the same I-beam I'd planted Sonic Scythe into earlier, hyper-focused on Arachne, I grabbed him by the leg and proceeded to introduce the back of his head - and then his face - to the cold concrete floor. Yeah, I beat him like a ragdoll.

The follow-up members - Psy Lord and Backlash - were caught flat-footed when Arachne stood up from a clobbered Sonic Scythe and re-engaged them. Psy Lord was a miniature Brain Bane (emphasis on the telepathy with a minor in telekinesis) and Backlash was a Master (or Mistress in her case) of the whip which she took to be long, black sashes she kept wrapped around her person.

Backlash immediately engaged me in an attempt to make me let go of Brain Bane. Her lash wrapped around my left forearm, but made little progress as I was far stronger than she was. Still, she was slowing me down. It was enough for a groggy Brain Bane to zap me with a psionic blast. It was like fighting off a minor migraine yet hardly debilitating.

At the same time, Psy Lord attempted to trap all of us in a telepathic illusion. It was an Escher-esque landscape with all visual sensations being turned upside down and inside out.

"Psy Lord, you idiot!" Backlash screamed out, seemingly captured in the same illusion.

Psy Lord's distraction wasn't enough to make me release Brain Bane. He kept taking a beating even though my senses were skewed. Arachne and Backlash had it much worse, trapped as they were. After a career-affirming 'Crack!' from Brain Bane's skull, I used his body as a projectile to take out, or at least distract, Psy Lord.

Sure enough, the illusion wavered and faded somewhat. It was enough to allow Arachne to land a solid punch on him right as he shrugged off an unconscious Brain Bane's body. It was lights out for yet another member of the Night Crew. Speaking of which ...

Liberty Lincoln had finally dispatched the Night Crew's most serious brawlers, Berserk and Frenzy, and Lucky Dead had led Sinister Syd back after his own circular chase only to see it was him and his toxins plus Backlash versus the four of us.

"Oh ... bollocks," Syd groaned.

"Alright, you assholes," Liberty bellowed, "gather up your mates and get the hell out of the Bricks (aka the Brocton neighborhood of Megalopolis). Come around here again and you'll be leaving in ambulances."

"Gotchya ... gotchya," Sinister Syd head-bobbed.

"While you are at it, tell Romeo Dusk he doesn't own this town," she piled on the humiliation.

"Like that's going to happen," Backlash muttered.

"What was that?" Liberty postured.

"We get it! We get it," Backlash raised up her hands in surrender. "We'll tell Romeo what happened here ... good enough?"

"Yeah," I intervened. "Next time, if you come back, tell Romeo we will be coming uptown to deal with him."

"We'll let him know," Sinister Syd confirmed.

We departed to let them rouse their defeated comrades while we had our after-battle discussion.

"Thanks for coming over and helping out," Arachne raised up her mask enough for me to see she was smiling - a nice Asian smile.

"Meh," I shrugged. "It doesn't take a member of MENSA to realize whomever wants to come out on top of this criminal shit-pile isn't going to let the people responsible for taking doing Kori Ivankov off with anything short of a near-lethal lesson ... so I'm just looking after my future."

"You are just saying that to get over you not getting paid - again," Liberty Lincoln softly punched me in my upper arm. Had she been hitting me for real it would have felt totally different. "Also, nice upgrades to your suit. Each time we see you, you seem to have some new trick, or gadget."

"It's nothing fancy," I smirked. "As in nothing I couldn't kit-bash from the stuff hanging around the lair."

"Maybe you could make some kind of suit for Lucky Dead as well," Liberty suggested.

"I'll think about it," I allowed. "The biggest problem would be the suit runs of 'me' as its power source and I'm not sure how I could transform Lucky's power into something the suit could get creative with. Still, a little bit of armor and a jet pack aren't beyond me."

"Says the kid who doesn't understand we are still using baseball bats and pistols a year after we got started," Liberty guffawed. "See what you can do."

That was worth a nod and nothing more. I'd already told them I'd look in on it. We were splitting up again when I noticed Arachne holding back.

"Yes?" I inquired.

"Oh ... nothing. I was just wondering ... what you do ... when you aren't here ... with us?" she stammered.

"I'm a struggling college student."

"Struggling? From the art work you snatched up you should be worth millions ..."

"Struggling as in struggling to remain in the top of my perspective class. I not only want to graduate, I want to graduate magna cum laude," I explained.

"Oh ... that's wonderful!" she perked up. "Then what?"

"Is this going somewhere?" I questioned.

"No - Yes - I mean ... wouldyouliketogooutsometime?"

"You mean you and me as a date ~ go out?"

"Yes," she shrunk away slightly.

"Sure. I like you and wouldn't mind getting to know you outside of 'work'," I smiled.

"Great! How are we going to work this?"

"Do you have a phone on you?"

She handed it over so I entered my digits and gave it back.

"Here you go. Call me some time," I smiled with teeth this time around.

After all, how could this go afoul? I was dating one super-girl, had another interested in me (Princess Penumbra) and Arachne would make three. Easy-peasy. I wouldn't need a super-powered nemesis to do me in. I'd have a legion of jilted ex-lovers stumbling over one another for the pleasure.

[THREE DAYS LATER]

Like always, I checked my room's sensors before unlocking the door. Yet again, something told me my sensors were being spoofed. Ugh. I had to grab a shower before heading out on a date with Skye, damn it! In I went and ... I was surprised by what met my gaze.

It was a West Asian hottie - check that: a hologram of a West Asian hottie - reclining on my bed wearing nothing more than contour-hugging, stark white workout shorts and a sports bra which contrasted sweetly with her olive complexion. It took me three whole seconds.

"You must be Web Slinger," I murmured.

"Got it in one," she blessed me with positive vibes and a 'come hither' body posture.

"Or this is what you want me to think Web Slinger looks like," I concluded. "Face it, you could be a fat Otaku nerdling for all I know." Yeah, Web Slinger could be a guy with the perchance of making people think 'he' was a hot Asian number.

"Ha!' she laughed. "I could be, but I'm not. Nice to finally meet you, by the way."

"I'd agree if I was actually meeting you," I shrugged. "As you undoubtedly know I have a date I need to get ready for ... so why the 'meet & greet'?"

"I need you to do me a favor," she got down to business.

"Before I say 'no', why don't you tell me what it is first," I sighed. I also put my stuff aside and began prepping for a shower. Date night was date night after all.

"Why would you want to say 'no'?" she regarded me.

"I don't much like people who want to manipulate me," I explained, "and you told Liberty Lincoln stuff about me I wanted compartmentalized."

"Like?"

"Like my pedigree."

"Oh ... I hadn't thought of that. I would have thought you would want to make 'bank' on who your father was," she said.

"You guessed wrong," I grumbled. "What is between me and my Father is strictly family business - not for consumption by the General Public."

"Oh ... well, I thought you would want the help of getting him out of prison."

"Is that what you've been doing ... helping me out here?"

"I'd like to think we've been helping each other out," she mused.

"How is that working out for me? Ever since the death of Kalashnikov Kori, my life has been one bad night after another. Clearly Liberty and Arachne are in over their heads and need the help ... so I'm helping out."

"You are helping them out because you are a loyal Sonofabitch," she grinned. "A really loyal SOB at that."

"And you want me to be YOUR loyal SOB, is that it?"

"Basically - yes, but your payday is the rescue of your father, not any of the trinkets, or briefcases full of cash, which may come your way," she enlightened me.

"What's in it for you?" I wondered.

"My own little group of vigilantes," she may have been lying, or not. "Ooohhh ... you have a really nice body too," she ogled my now naked form.

"So you are a gay, fat Otaku," I snorted. "Nice to know."

"Ha," she repeated. "I'm definitely not homosexual."

"Again - nice to know. I'm going to take a shower now," which I proceeded to do. She got up from the bed and came my way so she could talk over the sound of the water stream and steam without shouting.

"None of this is why I chose to meet you tonight," she clarified.

"We aren't meeting. I'm here in the flesh meeting you as a hologram," I countered. "You, for whatever reason, don't want to meet me in the flesh."

"I'm squishy," she 'confessed'. Maybe she was and maybe she was a master manipulator. Who knew at this juncture?

"I imagine that isn't the reason for this meeting either," I lathered up.

"Too true. Something is coming down the pipeline tomorrow and I want you to agree to it," she related.

"Without knowing what it is - fat chance," I scoffed.

"Hold on, Tex," she giggled. "I'm going to tell you what it is. You have been nominated as one of the Ten Most Eligible Bachelors under Thirty in Megalopolis."

"Before you say 'no'," she continued, "this is a necessary evil to get your name out there - your public persona needs to be burnished up as much as your secret villain name is getting recognized in the Criminal Underworld."

"No thanks. I don't want to be a seen as a palatable piece of meat. Pick another guy."

"It is more than just your physique," she persisted. "You are being chosen because of your consistently high marks from MCIU (Megalopolis Crown International University) as well. Plus a lot of women think you are 'desirable'."

"Still not interested."

"Do this as a favor for me?"

"This implies there is more that you're telling me," I kept up my shower routine.

"Yes, there is, but I can't explain it right now," she teased.

"It is just you and me here ... unless it isn't," I riposted.

"No. I'm ghosting all the other surveillance in your abode," she informed me.

"Then you could tell me, but aren't," I persisted.

"How about this: I can make prognostications, but they aren't always clear to me when I forecast my predictions. I need you on the inside of this contest ... but I don't know why."

"Was honesty really all that difficult?" I snorted.

"It is with me," she confessed. "Normally, as you have insinuated, I manipulate people to get things done. This time ... I don't have the time. I need to move on this and move on this now."

"And I'm the only one you can use? Color me unhappy."

"Yes, you are the only person in the right place and time for me to use," she told me. Was this really the truth? I still didn't know.

"Fine," I shrugged. "I'll do this for you ... but you owe me."

"Understood," she sighed happily.

"So, how does this happen?"

"You will get a call from your university councilor tomorrow morning and from there, you will meet the Dean of you school and then the Chancellor," she laid out the next steps. "Try to act surprised."

"That won't be a problem," I scoffed. "I'm still surprised I'm going along with this insanity."

"Buckle up. This could be fun for you ... for all I know."

"Yeah ... for all you know," I groaned.

[~]

The next morning my academic champions informed me of the 'high honor' I was being afforded by being chosen as the leading student on campus to pursue this municipal brugh-ha-ha. What was in it for me? I was going to be able to help out numerous charities and thus get various 'credits' for extracurricular work. How could I say 'no' to that?

Besides yours truly ~ Reynard Haven ~ there were four other men and five women selected for this honor. Apparently bachelorette as well as heroine had recently gone the way of the Dodo Bird in common parlance. Three of my competition were jocks ~

Kyle Rodney, Quarterback for the Megalopolis Champion's NFL team;

Barry 'the Brush' Bushnell, Point Guard for the Megalopolis Magicians NBA franchise; and ...

India Figueroa, Central Midfielder for our Stars Women's National Soccer League team.

Aaron Quartermaine and Julie Feldman were both young, up-and-coming lawyers,

Inez Neustadt was a young, female police detective and represented our fair city,

Donna Pierre was a hotshot female Hedge Fund guru,

Liao Ping was a double-barrel threat - civil engineer and architect at one of the city's most prestigious civil engineering firms, and ...

Louise Dresser was a fitness model turned multi-millionaire entrepreneur / internet influencer, thus one smart cookie (our definite ringer).

Both Kyle and Barry were Black / African-American. India and Inez were Hispanic. Julie was Jewish and Liao was Asian / Chinese-American ... so we had our minority bases covered (even if you didn't count me as half-extraterrestrial).

Our first soiree / meet the press moment was on Friday night. Since I was missing some epic sex with Skye, I was more than a bit pissed with this revelation. She promised to make it up to me, even though I was the one missing our 'us' time for this event. It turned out to be a 'Celebrity Auction'. Any guesses on what was being auctioned?

It was the ten of us ... all for the Children's Critical Burn Unit for our Community General hospital ~ downtown and open to all. I didn't give a shit. I considered these lost hours gone forever without anything to show for it ... and I was never getting them back, damn it.

I dusted off my old tuxedo only to have my Godmother (Sarah Rains Reeds aka Storm Siren of the Sensational Six) tell me it wasn't good enough. Low and behold she bought me a far finer one from Brooks Brothers of London ... and they had it ready for me on Friday afternoon too ... okay, sometimes it pays to be famous, rich and well thought of. I have to say the bulletproof tailored suit felt really nice and looked so very sweet on me too.

The society folks who were running this farce sent a limo to pick me up from in front of the university's Administration Building (apparently my abode was not nice enough for the university pin-heads) and off I went to the gala at the Megalopolis Opera House. After putting in a brief appearance on the red carpet, I was whisked away to the 'Green Room' where I got to make my first impressions of the other contestants.

"So, who are you?" Kyle Rodney was the first to make contact with me. For such a major personality he was very approachable and appeared down to earth.

"Reynard Haven, sacrificial university student. You?" I pretended to not know him.

"Kyle Rodney," he extended his hand for me to shake. I did. "I play football for your NFL team. You don't follow football?"

"Nah - I do," I relaxed somewhat. "I was just teasing you. I know who you are."

"Ah-ha!" he chuckled. "You do any modeling?"

"Nope. Normally I avoid the camera. I'm trying to graduate at the top of my class which doesn't leave much time for other activities. How did you get roped into this?"

"Ooohhh," he shook his head. "Both the 'Front Office' and my agent said this would be good for my career ... so here I am. What did you get offered to put your actual life on hold?"

I was truly starting to like this guy. He seemed ... genuine.

"A host of extracurricular credits," I gave him a sly grin.

Kyle nodded. He'd gone to college himself and knew the score.

"How about we go rescue Ms. Figueroa?" he motioned with his drink. One of the hotshot 'regular' contestants had her trapped and it wouldn't have surprised me if she came out of her corner kicking and head-butting her way to freedom.

"You run a distraction play and I'll rescue the damsel - deal?" I offered.

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed and off we went. He introduced himself to the guy who turned out to be Aaron Quartermaine of the Baltimore Quartermaine's ... uh-huh ... while I rescued India.

"Thanks ... I think," she eyed me once I had shoe-horned her away from Aaron.

"Oh yeah. It was Kyle - Mr. Rodney's idea," I gave credit where credit was due. "I came up with the actual plan though."

"Well, a definite thank you," she snorted playfully. "Oh, I'm India Figueroa."

"I'm Reynard Haven - struggling student and collegiate patsy for this charity bit."

"Lucky you. I was voted one of the top ten cutest professional soccer players so I knew I was doomed to end up here," she sighed.

"If it is any consolation, you are cute," I toasted her.

"Thank you," she smirked. "I'd rather be one of the top ten highest earners in professional soccer."

"I think you are the wrong gender for that to happen," I cut to the heart of the matter rather brutally. She eyeballed me for nearly thirty seconds before smiling in response.

"Ain't that the damn truth," she allowed.

"I'd better warn you right now, I'm no feminist," I leaned in and told her softly.

"You don't think I deserve as much as one of my male counterparts earns?" she studied me intently.

"No; you deserve to be paid as much as the market will bear. The crime where you are concerned is that fans don't line up in the same droves to watch you as they do the men of the League despite you winning more games and titles. The same goes for endorsements."

"That's a rather critical answer."

"I'm not here to win brownie points, Ms. Figueroa," I pressed on. "I'd rather be despised for being honest than lauded for my ability to mangle the truth."

"Cheers to that then," she nodded.

"What are you two saluting to?" Kyle showed up.

"To honesty. We both think it isn't something we see very often," India explained.

"To honesty," Kyle toasted then we all drank. A hostess came by and exchanged our empty champagne glasses for full ones then moved along. We three engaged in some meaningless small talk until Louise Dresser came our way.

"Hey gang. Are you getting along okay?" she blessed us with her dazzling dentistry.

"Is there going to be a minimum bid for tonight's auction?" I tangled her up.

"Ah ... I don't know," her smile became brittle. "Worried about ... yourself?"

"Damn right. In comparison to Mr. Football hero and Ms. Cuteness, I figure I'll be going for pocket change. Rather humiliatingly so."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short, Stud," Louise let some emotion seep back into her facial expressions. "You are an up-and-comer in International Business Finance - a real catch."

"Now he knows how I feel," India jibed.

"Damn Skippy," I winked at India ... who giggled.

"Come on now you three," Louise pretended to feel aggrieved, "this can be a pretty good time if you just let it." And so it was. Mind you, Barry Bushnell was an egotistical ass - the direct opposite of Kyle. Aaron was a big believer in Aaron and otherwise was rather boring. Superficially, Ms.'s Feldman and Pierre thought the Sun rose and set on themselves as did Mr. Ping.

While Inez Neustadt was rather gloomy initially, she gravitated into our orbit as the safest place to be herself. She even lightened up a little, seeing as how none of us were hitting on her (she was incredibly beautiful).

"What do your significant others think of this nonsense?" was her first heartfelt question.

"We'll see," I shrugged.

"Not a fan," Kyle nodded sagely. "She didn't want me to come."

"I'm going solo so far this year," India confessed. "You?" to Inez.

"I'm going solo now too," she responded glumly. "With my hours ... it is kind of tough to get and keep a decent partner."

"I've heard things on the streets are heating up?" I wandered into dangerous territory.

"You could say that," Inez scrutinized me. "On one hand you've got the various criminal gangs with all their leaders wanting to be the next Kori Ivankov and on the other you have a host of costumed wackos showing up and busting everyone's heads. It is a mess."

"I bet it is a mess with tons of overtime hours too," Kyle commiserated.

"Oh God, yes," Inez sighed. "And it is only a matter of time before that violence spills over into the realm of innocent civilians' lives."

"How close were you to bringing Mr. Ivankov down?" Kyle beat me to the punch - thankfully.

"From what I've heard from the Federal Marshals, they had Kori's latest ex-girlfriend ready to spill her guts on Kori and a legion of his associates. They had a real convincing case too."

"They can still go after his associates though, right?" India wondered.

"Now it will be a bloodbath as - I hate to say - they don't know which cops are legit and which ones are on the take ... to another mobster," Inez shook her head. "You have family in this city?" was aimed at India.

"Yeah, though I've helped them move out of Portlandia and to a nicer abode uptown near St. Michael's (Cathedral)," India replied.

"Portlandia is rough," I mused. It was as bad as Brocton in some ways as it combined a decaying warehouse district with several low-income housing complexes. It wasn't quite the warren created by a lack of urban planning from a hundred years ago (aka Brocton), but it compensated by housing as many poor people in one area as possible.

"What do you know about Portlandia, College-boy?" Inez asked while India eyed me.

"International Business Finance is more than just created shell companies for the rich to hide their ill-gotten booty," I elaborated. "It is also about how one rehabilitates the poorer and neglected parts of any city, or even nation."

"Gentrification," India glared. Clearly not a favorite word of hers.

"Poe-tay-toe - Poe-ta-toe," I rolled my shoulders. "You find it really difficult to create better schools without some sort of urban revitalization - gentrification - plan. You need to create an environment where small businesses feel safe and have the client base to succeed. Hate it if you want, but the theory works in practice."

"For the rich developers maybe," Inez poured on the unhappy.

"For the small business owners who aren't facing extortion, theft and vandalism on a weekly basis," I countered. "You create a better small business base and you will see better, more community-proactive schools."

"Hey, let's talk about a less onerous topic ... like gun control," Kyle jumped in to save me from the ladies. Not so stunningly, while us guys were for more lax gun laws, the ladies were all for banning handguns ... and anything bigger. At least it got us off the topic of bashing my legitimate career path. It turned out India had never fired a firearm before, but had lost a cousin to gun violence - thus her stance.

All three of us offered to take her to a gun range, which was rather hilarious as we did it simultaneously. India agreed to contemplate the offers while Inez gifted us with a bit of praise.

"You guys really aren't a bunch of assholes," she appeared to be surprised. Sensing our confusion, she added, "Since you are all Alpha-types, I figured you would be more like Aaron, or 'The Brush'." She hadn't met Mr. Ping yet.

"Thanks ... I think," Kyle chuckled.

"Oh, I can be an asshole," I grinned. "To see the scintillating parts of my character you have to piss me off first - really get under my skin."

"Like what? Your invisible family no one talks about?" she skewered me.

"No. I don't talk about my family so there is nothing to annoy me about when people joke, pursue, or create stuff off the cuff about them. I don't talk about them and that's that."

"I can understand that ... though it leaves me curious as to what happened between you three," Kyle interjected.

"I'm sure for an ace detective like Ms. Neustadt it has to be a mystery she wants to solve though," he finished up.

"Why don't you want to talk about your family?" India sallied forth.

"Mom is dead - murdered. Dad is in prison for a long time, but not for the murder of my Mother. There is nothing else to discuss," I gave up the bare bones.

"Your real name - your birth surname - isn't 'Haven' is it?" Inez probed.

"I'll let you figure that out and - oh look, they want us for something," I evaded.

"Yeah," Kyle rescued me yet again. "The crowd must be ..."

"The mob ...," India joked.

"The mob must be getting restless," Kyle concluded so off we went to be introduced to the larger Megalopolis High Society crowd.

[~]

We were introduced. They gave out our vitals along with our occupation and real, or prospective, salaries. Then the bidding began with the caution to not make the 'purchased' (aka the ten of us) do anything naughty. Ah-ha ...

By democratic process, I was chosen to go last (of the men and last overall) while India went last of the women. Kyle and Ms. Feldman went first for their perspective genders.

How rich was this crowd? Bidding for a weekend with the appropriate Rube started at ... $10,000 and went up, up, up. Normally I would have been filled with trepidation, fearing I wouldn't even get one bid. I'm handsome, but hey, I never thought I was worth ten grand-handsome. I shouldn't have worried.

In the crowd I spotted Angelheart / Skye Steiner, dressed to the '9's and getting all kinds of attention ... and missing most of it. She didn't bid on any of the other eight so I figured I wouldn't be utterly humiliated (though I wasn't aware of Skye having a huge bankroll).

In the first eight, 'The Brush' garnered the most at a $108,000 after an intense bidding war between a rich matron and a couple of gay artistes. Aaron went for the least at $17,000 (Bwahahaha!), but I was looking to bust his record (get even less). Unfortunately, the crowd seemed to realize at India they were staring down the last two contestants and the bidding began to accelerate.

Mind you, India was very attractive (cute even) with a divinely sculpted ass and muscular thighs (which she exhibited through a daringly stylish slash in her evening gown. She garnered $54,000 ~ second only to Ms. Dresser by eleven thousand. Then it was my turn. For a split second I had the sensation no one was going to bid. There was utter silence.

At which point this female oncologist from the city made the opening bid, much to the amusement of her girl posse. The next bid came two seconds later. Before I realized what had happened, I was going for $52,000 ... then $55K.

"One hundred thousand," came a bid from the back. I had to track down the voice ... and my blood froze. Even at this distance I could tell the bidder had the most gorgeous sapphire eyes.

Skye, who had been silent up until now raised her hand.

"One hundred and ten thousand," she announced boldly.

"One hundred and fifteen thousand," the oncologist simply wouldn't give up.

"Two hundred thousand," Sapphire eyes (aka Theresa 'Terry' Markov aka Princess Penumbra) declared with authority.

"What the fuck?" Bushnell cursed, forgetting his lapel mic was still active. "Who is this guy?"

What an arrogant turd.

"Two hundred and fifty thousand," Skye tried to look through the crowd to see who the competition was. At this point I knew she was playing with either Golden Boy's, or the Night Watchman's, money. I didn't know who the second guy was in real life, but he was loaded ... maybe as loaded as Golden Boy.

"Half a million," Terry glared virulent hate through the crowd toward Skye. The crowd stilled then began to mutter ominously.

"Five hundred and ten thousand," a third female joined the fray. She hadn't bid on anyone either up until now.

Skye was on her earpiece, desperately pleading for ... something ... more money maybe?

"Five twenty-five," Terry was fearless and resilient.

"Five fifty," from the other lady. I scanned her through my glasses, but she read as normal. I was suddenly skeptical.

"Six hundred thousand," Skye bleated. She was clearly at the end of her financial tether.

"Seven hundred and fifty," Terry glared hate at both her competitors.

"One million," the strange lady didn't miss a beat, or a second. There was another hush.

"Well, it seems we've made our first milestone in the first hour of this Charity event," the announcer proclaimed. "Are there any other bidders?"

Skye looked at me imploringly. Terry looked darkly volcanic. Neither spoke.

"With a one million dollar bid, we award Mr. Haven to ..."

"Ms. Boniface Franklin," the lady proclaimed in a rather regal tone. There was definitely more going on here than met the eye.

[THE ESTEEMED MS. BONIFACE FRANKLIN]

Despite her awesome rack, the mature, raven-haired Ms. Franklin was going with a silk turquoise, off the shoulder evening gown ... with the inappropriate, up-to-the hip slit on the right side. Yes - her boobs defied gravity, which was the clearest sign of a metahuman woman there ever was and despite my glasses reporting her as a 'normie' woman ... until I got within ten feet.

At that range my glasses suddenly scrambled (as if passing through the disruptor field's active range) and began reporting the super-powered women before me. Sadly, inside this range I couldn't get access to my Father's database of known and suspected metahumans. All I could go on was the information before me.

It wasn't good news. Rather, it was really, really bleak news. There was nothing 'fancy' about Ms. Franklin. She had super-dense flesh, flight (level undetermined) and a quantum field which coalesced around her hands. The super-dense flesh meant hyper-strength and damage resistance (levels undetermined).

"Greetings Reynard," she addressed me in an imperious tone. "Though we've never met, I feel I've known you my entire life." She extended a hand my way so I stopped, bowed and kissed the proffered knuckles.

"What?" I faux-gasped. "Are you saying we passed one another in the same kindergarten class?"

"Hahaha," she chortled. "I'm older than I look, Reynard ... Haven." I didn't like the way she drew out my last name either.

"You certainly spent enough money on me - for charity - so where would you like to begin?"

"We have all weekend, though I understand I have to keep you here until midnight and then drop you off at the second round of events tomorrow at eleven in Municipal Park," she reminded me of my scheduled itinerary.

"Here doesn't mean we can't go out on a balcony for some semi-secluded time, I offered.

"Why, Mr. Haven, are you being fresh?"

"No, Ms. Franklin. I'm simply being curious why you would expend so much money on a man you've never met and who has never heard of you - before tonight."

"The money is a perk of my profession - I'm in International Relations with the United Nations. I've got more money than I know what to do with and this charity is as good as any other. As for you - I feel I know more about you than you feel comfortable discussing out here in the open," she gave me a side glance as she moved us through the crowd.

"Haven," a woman stepped in the way of our progress and put a hand to my chest. "I'll get you next time." It was Terry.

"Young lady, you don't have what it takes to play in my league," she looked down her aquiline nose at Princess Penumbra.

"Oh, you think so?" Terry grew combative.

"She knows so ...," I intervened.

"Do you know her?" Terry demanded.

"Never met her before this evening," I dissuaded Terry of 'us' having any relationship I was aware of.

"I take it you two know each other though," Ms. Franklin scanned us both.

"He's just the asshole who broke my heart," Terry seethed.

"And just who would you be?" Ms. Franklin regarded Terry.

"Theresa Markov."

"Ooohhh," she let her gaze wander back to me before returning to Terry. "A thank you - from both of you - would seem to be in order."

"I'd thank you," I addressed Ms. Franklin, "but I'm not afraid of Theresa. I'm starting to be afraid of you though."

"You got between me and MY MAN, so you're not getting any thanks from me either ... and why does SHE (Ms. Franklin) scare you when I don't?" Terry grumbled.

And then Skye showed up ...

"Reynard, are you okay?" she inquired.

"As 'okay' as I can be in the given situation," I forced a grin onto my face.

"Don't you even start ...," Terry seethed anger towards Angelheart.

"And who are you again," Ms. Franklin asked of Skye.

"I'm Skye Steiner also known as Angelheart," she announced with some heat.

"And has he broken your heart as well?" from Ms. Franklin.

"NO! He's my boyfriend!"

"One does not exclude the other," Ms. Franklin sagely pointed out.

"Reynard, do you know this woman?" from Skye this time around.

"No, and the more she is NOT adjusting to the turns in this conversation is worrying me and should be worrying you two," I tried to reason with the two younger women.

"Wait ... are you a metahuman? You don't scan as a metahuman," Skye whispered to the three of us. "Do you have some sort of life scan screen?"

"What makes you think I'm a metahuman?" Ms. Franklin fibbed perfectly.

"Yeah, she is," I coughed, "and she has got some pretty impressive screens up too."

"You think so?" Ms. Franklin rounded fully on me, eyes alight.

"I know so," I muttered.

"Are you in danger?" Skye requested of ... me perhaps?

"I'm not in any danger," Ms. Franklin declared. "I think you two need to back up and let this encounter play out without any of your antics ruining the evening ... for me, or anyone else here."

"Skye - Terry - just so we are clear; EVERY ONE of us has a secret identity we need to keep under wraps ... starting with you two. I can handle this," (meaning my date with Ms. Franklin) which was a lie.

"I'll be close by," Angelheart pledged.

"I will too," Terry promised as well. Like that couldn't lead to disaster.

Ms. Franklin steered me away from my miniscule fan club until we once more had some glasses of whatever and some alone space.

"You aren't asking me who I am," she noted.

"It is a question I wouldn't answer so why ask it of you?" I riposted.

"How nice of you ... except I know who you are," she smiled oh so haughtily.

"Who am I?" I kept up a less than panicky face.

"The son of Baron Cedric Bedlam and Starslayer," she whispered in my ear. Very few people used my Mother's Race's given name. Most referred to her as Viscountess Venom (from the Nine Nobles Nefarious), or Venus Starslayer (her 'Earthling' name).

"You sound like you knew her," I held myself in check. I feared the answer.

"I sure did. I was there when the heroes put an end to her rampage," Ms. Franklin informed me with a cruel twist of the lips.

"You make murder sound so sterile," I exhaled my rage.

"It wasn't murder. She was too dangerous to let run around free and too powerful to be contained in any prison cell at the time. She was put down because she was a threat to all terrestrial life, Reynard Haven."

"She was my Mother."

"She was a monster."

"Yeah. The Night Watchman told me the same thing though he didn't tell me the name of my Mom's murderer. Now that I find myself face to face with someone who was there when it happened ... I'd like to know your name."

"Boniface Franklin ... but you know me as ..."

[~]

"THE FESTIVAL OF CRIME HAS ARRIVED!" bellowed a random partygoer who had suddenly jumped up onto the stage. His voice was ... festive and I really wanted to punch his lights out as I was 'this' close to accomplishing one of my life's three goals - finding out who killed my Mother!

"I'm going to flatten some people," I seethed. Ms. Franklin effortlessly held me back by grabbing hold of my elbow.

"Hold up, or you could start a bloodbath," she cautioned me. "Let's see what these idiots want before deciding to clean house."

Oh yeah, the Festival of Crime were some notoriously obtuse criminal metahumans who were known for their 'outside of crime' presence and political opinions more than their criminal undertakings. In their ranks was Festivus (who claimed to be an ancient Roman spirit of festivals), Kwanzer, Christi Claws, Lunatic Faster, the Resurrecting Bunny, Killer Valentine, Ronan the Atoner, Bumpkinhead and Dark Saint.

Despite being mostly metahumans (as opposed to augmented humans), they committed their crimes with firearms on hand.

"Alright you Trump-supporting, White Imperialist Colonizers," Kwanzer began his spiel ... even though Megalopolis had gone Democrat by a 8% margin during the last presidential election ... and over half the crowd was non-White ... thus not in the regular position of being Imperialists, or Colonizers ... but hey, who was I to interfere at this juncture? "It is time to pay the MAN!"

"He means the 'Common Man', you White Imperialist Bastards," Bumpkinhead interpreted for us ... somewhat, "rich, billionaire parasites!"

"Hey man, I'm on a roll here," complained Kwanzer to Bumpkinhead.

"Oh ... sorry about that. Please continue, my Brother," from Bumpkinhead.

"Dude, tans don't count," Kwanzer grumped.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Can we get back to robbing these plebeians before some superhero group falls down upon us ... again?" Dark Saint interrupted.

"The White Man won't let me speak. I'm being oppressed here." Ya see, Dark Saint was a White guy while Kwanzer was a POC (Person of Color).

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Resurrecting Bunny griped as he moved into the crowd. "Put your wallets and your jewelry in the sacks. Put your wallets and your jewelry in the sacks."

"My Brother," Kwanzer berated RB (they were both 'Black' men), "this goes beyond a simple monetary reward. We have to plant the seeds of future revolution. The DAY is almost upon us when the Oppressor Capitalist class will fall and a new homogenous Working Class will rise up to do away with the slavery caused by White Culture and White Male Domination."

"Vive la révolution!" Killer Valentine emoted.

"greeLænge leve revolutionen!" came from Christi Claws.

"Fuck all of you," muttered RB, "I'm here for the payday ... and to get out of here alive."

No sooner had he said those words than someone attempted to stop Christi from taking a necklace. A bout of shoving erupted. To calm things down, Killer Valentine shot off some rounds into the ceiling. Unfortunately, she shot out the supports for a massive crystal chandelier ... which came crashing down to earth. Seeing two older folks about to be crushed, Resurrecting Bunny rushed over and pushed them out of the way, saving the old couple, only to be crushed himself.

Seconds later, a Black man in a brown bunny suit appeared next to the downed chandelier.

"Mother-fucker," the Resurrecting Bunny rubbed his head ... the one with the brown & white bunny ears on it. "Watch what you're shooting at!"

"Well man, you dissed the revolution," Kwanzer said as a way of explaining things.

"Can any of you stay focused for more than fifteen damn seconds!" hissed Dark Saint, rumored to be the sole competent member of this crew.

"greeLænge leve revolutionen?" Christi Claws repeated with less conviction.

"Ja, vi kommer til den forbandede revolution, men vi er nødt til at få nogle penge først. Har du det?" Dark Saint told her ... what ... I had no idea.

[English: "Yes, we will get to the damn revolution, but we need to get some money first. Got that?"]

"Can we get back to robbing these people - please?" Lunatic Faster begged his compatriots.

"I think we need to establish the ground work for the revolution here, people," Kwanzer sulked. "Ya know. Be more than reactionary bandits acting like some baseless terror squad."

"Yeah - we should listen to Kwanzer," Bumpkinhead insisted.

"I don't need your White Guilt messing up the movement at this juncture, Marcus," Kwanzer disrespected his sole supporter.

"Whoops! Sorry about that - carry on," Bumpkinhead nodded.

"I don't need your permission to carry on, Old Man," Kwanzer puffed himself up.

"You're right. Everyone else - Listen to Kwanzer!" Bumpkinhead shouted.

"That's more like it," Kwanzer mumbled. "As I was saying ..."

"Killer Valentine just KILLED me," Resurrecting Bunny griped. "Shouldn't we address that?"

"Ah ... you threw yourself under the chandelier," Kwanzer noted.

"De quoi la stupide crotte brune se plaint-elle cette fois?" killer Valentine inquired.

[English: "What is the stupid brown turd complaining about this time?"]

"What did she call me?" RB demanded to know.

"She called you a 'stupid brown turd'," Dark Saint translated.

"Fuck that bitch," he bitched then went searching for his original body under the glass and iron. Right as he found his gun, "Here it is ..." Killer Valentine shot him again ... killing him.

Three seconds later he resurrected himself ... sort of. A grown Black man in a brown bunny suit appeared roughly three feet away from where he had just died.

"Mother-fucker. Bitch, I'm going to ..." he got out before she murdered him again, all the while snickering evilly.

Three more dead man-bunnies later ...

"Come on guys," Kwanzer whined. "Can't get back to what I have to say?"

"When the psycho stops to reload, take her out," Ms. Franklin told me.

"Fine," I griped. "What will you be doing?"

"I'll be dropping Lunatic Faster then Christi Claws over there."

"Whatever - don't get killed." I was still unsure if I wanted to kill this bitch myself.

"Ha," she scoffed.

I started walking through the crowd Killer Valentine's way. I was right on her before she realized I wasn't acting cowed like the rest of the mundane masses.

Our eyes met. I punched and she blocked as she pivoted and took a half step back. She dropped her assault weapon, quick-drew a pistol, shoved it into my abdomen and fired three times. I hurt, but not overly much. My hand came down on her gun hand and pushed the pistol down between both of our legs.

Killer Valentine flexed and was about to put me into a hip toss when I growled to her.

"Abandonner!" I demanded. [English: Give up!]

She staggered, momentarily sane then regained her regularly scheduled 'facilities'. Apparently she had hyper-stupidity to go along with her power suite.

"Je ne pense pas," she glared. [English: I don't think so]

Mutual head-butts followed, but my head was much, much harder. She was going to regret shrugging off my offer when she regained consciousness. My second head-butt sent her off to La-La Land, at which point I let her drop while keeping custody of the pistol. No sense letting it go off when it hit the polished marble floor.

By that time, Lunatic Faster ... was falling down from the ceiling. Christi Claws lashed out at Ms. Franklin who parried with her arm. Normally Christi's talons could dispatch anything short of tank armor, so Boniface coming off with only a few light scratches was beyond impressive. Ms. Franklin's uppercut sent her flying head over heels toward the stage.

In the same instance, Skye aka Angelheart snuck up on the Resurrecting Bunny, put her palms to his temples from behind and he dropped like a puppet with his strings cut - fast and efficient. The Festival of Crime was down four of its nine members in under six seconds.

"Oh shit! I'm too important to go to jail," Kwanzer squalled, turned and fled.

"Looks like the jig is up," Festivus snickered as he too made a run for it.

Bumpkinhead merely looked terribly surprised for a moment, then teleported away in a flurry of confetti made up of torn, colored newsprint.

Ronin the Atoner, quiet up until now, confronted Ms. Franklin.

"Oh, you are not as tough as you ..." he got out before Terry brought down a chair on the back of his head, taking him down.

Boniface raced passed the falling body of Ronin and grappled with Festivus. As she did so, I could (with the help of my glasses) see the spirit leave the possessed man's body. That was two escaped / escaping and six down.

Dark Saint didn't wait for an invitation to surrender. He grabbed Ms. Dresser and raced for a window. I sprinted after him, as did Angelheart. Ms. Franklin was still figuring out she was grappled with a man who had no idea what was going on. Dark Saint threw himself through the window first - his tuxedo could take being cut by the glass far better than Louise's scant outfit. How considerate of him.

As they were propelled into the night sky, the villain pushed away from Ms. Dresser so the dilemma developed on who we would go after first. I really wanted to leave Louise to Angelheart except I realized I was tantalizing seconds ahead of my heroine ... who might not get to Louise in time. Fuck it! I had to drop the pistol so I could concentrate on the mission at hand.

I telekinetically pushed myself to catch up with Ms. Dresser, wrapped her up in my arms and then slowed our decent before taking the sidewalk three floors below on my back and shoulder, protecting my feminine bundle's far more vulnerable flesh.

"OH God! Oh God! Oh God!" she babbled, her arms wrapped around my neck and squeezing tight.

"We are okay now," I advised her as I pulled her arms apart enough for me to see if I could spot Dark Saint, or Angelheart, anywhere. Damn it! Dark Saint had made his getaway because I could see Angelheart hovering over 'us' instead of pursuing him.

"I've got her," I stated. "Did you see where the other guy went to?"

"No ... I wasn't sure if you would be okay," Angelheart knew I was a bit pissed off. She scanned about as well, but came up with nothing. Rumors abounded about Dark Saint's past. It was suggested he was some Super-Secret Spy type, disavowed by his home nation and now on his own. Why he hung out with these other jokers made no sense whatsoever.

What did matter was he had made his getaway and I had some explaining to do.

"Are you okay ... Mister ... Haven is it?" Angelheart went into damage control mode. The spiel which suggested she didn't know me and I didn't know her.

"Yeah," I sat up with Ms. Dresser still blubbering in my lap.

"Hey," she sniffled, "how are we both okay?"

"My tuxedo is bullet- and crash-resistant," I lied. Then I looked at my stomach and, sure enough, I hadn't been penetrated by the smaller caliber rounds from Killer Valentine's pistol. Had I been normal, my diaphragm would have been hurting like hell though.

"Oh ... really?"

"There is more to me than meets the eye," I helped us both stand. At the same time I looked up to the window we'd fallen from and people were leaning out. Some began applauding me - my bravery and good catch.

"We are just fine," Louise shouted up. "Reynard saved me!"

"You did good, Reynard," Angelheart floated down and put her hand upon my shoulder.

"The bad guy still got away," I complained.

"You went after the damsel first," she smiled.

"I didn't want to show the whole world I flew," I whispered to her. "Don't think I did it for any other reason."

"Oh, okay," she purred, happy that I was turning out to not be such a bad guy after all.

"Let's get back inside," I suggested ... so in we went. Ms. Dresser kept a tight hold on me especially when the interviews began.

"That was a steep fall," one journalist pointed out.

"I took jujutsu, which teaches you how to take a fall," I lied somewhat. I had taken jujutsu among other martial arts, but I wasn't aware of any of them allowing you to take a fall of that height without taking any damage.

"Still, that was a lucky catch," a different journo stated.

"If you say so," I shrugged. "I think it had more to do with Ms. Dresser pulling free than any other factor. She broke free of the other guy, which allowed me to get my arms around her."

"His big strong arms," Louise looked my way then kissed me ... on the cheek.

"You're welcome, Ms. Dresser," I tried to deflect the attention.

"You can call me Louise," she allowed.

"You are welcome, Louise," I smirked.

"Weren't you shot?" a different journalist - this one a female photographer - mused.

"My suite is bulletproof," I disclosed. Then, "have we met before?" She was a slender, tall East Asian lady who had a very familiar body type.

"I don't think so, Mr. Haven," she smiled. "I'm Suzi Park currently with the Megalopolis Metropolitan and I think you are a real hero."

Something about that smile ... so I pinged her with my eye glasses ... Suzi was Arachne! Holy Shit! With the huge uptick in crime, this could explain why she hadn't gotten around to calling me yet.

"I'm not the story here," I evaded. "Someone tried to murder Louise. I think that makes a much more interesting lead."

"Oh God, I was so scared," Louise stepped into the limelight hungrily. "I was thinking this might be the last time I got to address my fans ... and I didn't have my phone out to capture any of the excitement!"

I stepped back into the press of bodies behind me. A second step was followed by a third as I disentangled myself from this mess when a hand fell on my shoulder from behind.

"You did well, Reynard Haven," Boniface Franklin congratulated me.

"You were busy going after the main guy and Angelheart was a breath behind me so ..."

"So, you saved the life of someone I think you don't even like," she grinned.

"The real heroes were busy," I reiterated, "so it fell to me to do something."

"That is what makes someone a real hero," she skewered my sense of self.

"Had I known it would be this confusing for you, I'd have let her drop," I glared.

"Liar."

"Don't test me on this again. Besides, what did you find out by grabbing their ringleader?"

"Nothing. Festivus escaped before I could trap the spirit in the body."

"You can do that?"

"With a device I carry with me," she clarified. "I know someone who does really well with supplying me and other heroes with useful gadgets like it."

"And all of that is legal tech?"

"Yes."

"Isn't it legal because you tell the Powers That Be it's legal?"

"Yes."

"And the stuff I have is illegal solely because I don't have their ear?"

"Do you have any illegal tech on you?" she purred.

"No and I'm not submitting to a search either," I frowned. "Now, where were we? Oh yeah - you insinuated you know precisely who murdered my Mother. Care to enlighten me?"

"Not at this juncture. I'm afraid you won't be able to handle the news in an adult manner ... so I'm going to string you along instead," she teased ... about something which was clearly so very important to me.

"I should be going," I tried to pull away.

"Aren't you forgetting? I paid for you for another hour and a half," she reminded me of the stupid reason I was even at this event. An hour and a half suddenly felt like an eternity.

[END OF CHAPTER TWO]

Megalopolis Professional Sports Teams

Megalopolis Champions ~ Men's Football

"Archons ~ Men's Baseball

"Pioneers ~ Men's Hockey

" Magicians ~ Men's Basketball

"Witchfire ~ Women's Basketball

"Majors ~ Men's Soccer

"Stars ~ Women's Soccer

The Other Nine Contestants

Kyle Rodney, Quarterback for the Megalopolis Champion's NFL team;

Barry 'the Brush' Bushnell, Point Guard for the Megalopolis Magicians NBA franchise; and ...

India Figueroa, Central Midfielder for our women's National Soccer League team.

Aaron Quartermaine and Julie Feldman were both young, up-and-coming lawyers,

Inez Neustadt was a young, female police detective and represented our fair city,

Donna Pierre was a hotshot female Hedge Fund guru,

Liao Ping was a double-barrel threat - civil engineer and architect at one of the city's most prestigious firms, and ...

Louise Dresser was a fashion model turned multi-millionaire entrepreneur thus one smart cookie (our definite ringer).

[8] The Night Crew ~ currently working for criminal kingpin Romeo Dusk

Brain Bane ~ a flying telepathic telekinetic with a huge ego and much of the power to back it up. Love to exult in the 'reality' all other powers are merely weakened versions of telepathy and telekinetics.

Backlash ~ female mistress of the whip / sash used as a weapon. Uses her sashes to bind and beat her opponents.

Berserk ~ the team's toughest hand to hand expert. Once he goes berserk he becomes immune to pain and mind controlling effects. One tough brawler.

Frenzy ~ the female 'twin' of Berserk, or a 'Berserk' in training.

Hammer Storm ~ an augmented 'normie' who utilizes a variety of hammers in his attacks including his trademark twin sledgehammers in 'hand-to-hand' combat.

Psy Lord ~ a lesser version of Brain Bane with a greater emphasis on telepathic abilities. Able to create area effecting mental illusions.

Sinister Syd ~ a metahuman capable of breathing forth, or spitting, a variety of toxins ... which makes him less than popular with the ladies.

Sonic Scythe ~ a metahuman who sends forth sonic death from her fingertips capable of severing steel I-beams.

[9] The Festival of Crime:

Festivus (an ancient spirit who possesses a random partier) ~ creates an inebriation field (the "Glow Cloud"), among other things. Mainly seems to exist to f**k with the minds of the rest of the team. Speaks most languages known to man, but refuses to admit it.

Kwanzer (aka Fredrick Keith Holiday, or just F.K. Holiday) ~ his powers? Nothing known. Mostly this male POC stands about, brooding, when he isn't criticizing what others are attempting to do in the real world, or on Twatter. Speaks English and claims to understand multiple African languages no one else seems to have ever heard of.

Christi Claws (aka Kristi Clausen) ~ she's a gorgeous, lesbian psycho-wench with razor-sharp claws and a terribly short temper. What more do you need to know? Speaks Danish and French.

Lunatic Faster (aka Mustafa Ali) ~ he runs really fast, but can only eat, or drink, after sundown so he gets tired rather quickly. Thinks both women on the team are hot for his body when, in fact, they want to kill him. Speaks English and Arabic.

The Resurrecting Bunny (aka Lagomorph Garvey) ~ a rather normal POC who spontaneously resurrects himself in a brown bunny suit. While he has no useful (aka legal) talents - he is actually a burglar - he also has no flaws and everyone seems to like him ... even as they kill him ... as he dies a WHOLE LOT. Claims to know "please don't kill me" in 147 languages.

Killer Valentine (aka Valentina Kalashnikov) ~ the OTHER hot killer chick on the team. She uses weapons to make people dead and doesn't know the meaning of collateral damage ... or anything else in English as she is also an illegal immigrant ... who only speaks Russian and French.

Ronin the Atoner (aka Akira Greenbaum) ~ the team's diversity hire as he is both bi-racial and bi-sexual. His powers revolve around making people feel bad about things they have done, or thought about doing. It is suspected he is channeling the spirit of his dead Jewish Grandmother (who isn't actually dead yet ... but hey ...). Speaks English, Japanese and Yiddish.

Bumpkinhead (aka Wade Marcus) ~ a once awesome super-type from an alternate dimension, his powers are to rant, bully and threaten those who gainsay him and any other MARGINALIZED person on HIS team ... even though he isn't acknowledged as team leader ... because he 'presents' as an Old White Guy. Claims to speak dozens of Eurasian languages ... but can't be bothered to translate for anyone at the moment.

&

Dark Saint (aka Allen St. Day) ~ a rather competent spy cursed by a powerful demon to be on this team. He daily contemplates ending his own existence despite the eternity in Hell which will result. Speaks fifteen different languages fluently, but most often refuses to translate for anyone on the team because he hopes a miscommunication will result in the team's eventual violent and bloody demise and thus his freedom.

[END]