Last edited 02 Dec 2001 02:45 PM

ToC
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Rapidfire glanced over at Carnage, who'd come to a stop, looking down at Zebra. She was glaring back up at him. "Hey, what's up?"

Carnage smiled broadly, and not pleasantly. "Just thinking about what I'd like to do with this little girl."

"Ewwww," Rapidfire said. "I mean, like, that's sick, man. She's like, an animal."

Carnage licked his lips. "Animals taste good, too."

That made Rapidfire shut up.

"Leave her alone," Kid Castle said.

That drew a glance from Zebra, and full attention from Carnage. "Well, aren't you a brave little bit?" the feral man said, stalking over to where Tommy lay. "Have we met? I think I've remembered legs like those." He chuckled. "I probably wouldn't have stopped there, though. Shall we find out?"

"Great set of servants you've got here, Schreck," Victor interrupted, called out to the man working around the altar. "Are you going to tell us what this is all about, before they do away with us?"

"Cuidado is nobody's servant, señor," the red-suited Latino said. He hopped off the dais, walked over to Victor in easy steps. Cuidado reached down, and effortlessly yanked Victor up by the front of his shirt. "You understand that? Because, if not --"

"DO NOT HARM HIM, CUIDADO. I WANT HIM TO SEE WHAT IS COMING."

"Yeah, that's not someone ordering around a servant," Kid Castle commented.

"BUT DO NOT LET THEM DISTURB ME AGAIN. THESE PREPARATIONS ARE -- DELICATE. SO LONG AS THEY ARE ALIVE AND RELATIVELY INTACT, DO WHAT YOU NEED TO DO. DO NOT, THOUGH EAT THEM. YET."

Carnage gave the Kid a look that promised that "yet" would eventually happen.

Cuidado smiled, and dropped Victor back to the seat with a thud. "I have a better idea, anyway. Carnage -- you ever eat lobster?"

"My tastes are -- more highly advanced," he replied.

"Well, the fun thing about it is cracking open the shell -- you know what I mean?"

Carnage grinned broadly. His teeth were filed to points -- or perhaps they simply grew that way. "Indeed."

"Nice friends you have," Drake commented, quietly, to the Assassin, as the other two headed over to where Copper lay on the floor. "I know you've got your own 'code of honor' and all, but do you draw any sort of line in how your pals behave?"

"Needs must," the grey-garbed man murmured back. He still had his knife out, a blade famous in certain circles for its sharpness and ability to cut anything. "And you are hardly one to talk of honor."

Drake shrugged. "But there are those who say you are."

"Now, señor, there are those who say a lobster should be cracked open the easy way," Cuidado said, kneeling, "along the seams of its shell." He dug his fingers into the front entry portal of the Copper armor and gave a sharp pull. Ordinarily, a dozen internal systems, locks, and force fields would have kept even his enhanced strength from having an effect. Whatever the Djinn had done to the armor's systems, though, left a very few of those interlocking elements in place, and, with a scream and of metal, a portion of the armor popped out of place.

"Others suggest that the shell itself be cracked, of course, making it much more of a struggle between man and nature." Cuidado's eyes glowed a brilliant red, and thin lasers shot from each to a point on Copper's right arm. After a few moments, concentrated on one spot, the brazen ablative sheen had boiled off, and the metal below began to melt.

"Brilliant," Carnage applauded. "Such a technique not only unshells the lobster, it boils it in place as well."

"Hey, I can do that," Rapidfire said, stepping out into the aisle.

"But not with such precision, señor," Cuidado noted, continuing to fix his gaze upon that one spot, where the metal now was glowing in various shades, where it wasn't flowing away directly at the focus. "Now, if he were dressed in paper, perhaps your very puissant little weapons would be of some use."

Carnage chuckled. Rapidfire growled, turned his back, and began to stamp down the aisle toward the back of the church.

Victor made eye contract with Kid Castle. Nodded. Tommy didn't know how Vic had figured out what he was planning, but if Victor said this was the moment to do it, Tommy had faith in that. He hoped Victor's faith in his power would be as well-placed.

Tommy Mayerik was not a church-goer. But this was a good place for a quick prayer, and certainly a good moment. Then he mustered the energies he had been slowly building up -- and acted.

Castle.

Carnage was on the ground, where Kid Castle had sat.

Castle.

Zebra was standing over Copper, looking at Cuidado slice him open. The ropes had been left behind.

Castle.

The Assassin was prone, partly entangled in a cluster of ropes, sitting in a pew next to Victor.

The pain was beginning.

Castle.

Cuidado was elsewhere, his vision obscured for a few moments from using his eye beams, sweeping his gaze across in confusion.

Castle.

Rapidfire was standing atop the Copper armor, as he had just been boasting was where he could handle himself just fine, thank you.

The pain was getting worse.

Castle.

Penny Dreadful was suddenly on the floor of the church.

It was a blinding force, molten lead poured between his ears. But just one -- more --

Castle.

Tarot abruptly found herself in the choir loft.

And Kid Castle collapsed into a heap at Iris' feet.

* * *

Victor was the only one expecting what had happened. He was saying a prayer himself, that Tommy would be all right, never having performed that many sequential teleports before, over such a short interval.

That didn't keep him from acting. And when Zebra vanished, Tommy briefly appeared, and then the Assassin appeared next to him, he was quick to swing his legs around, using the Assassin's knife to slice through the ropes binding his ankles.

He wrapped his legs around the Assassin's neck, and used them to twist and flip the grey-clad figure down around onto the ground. Victor had no illusions that he had any more than a few seconds respite from that, but he was ready to use them.

* * *

Cuidado's eye beams swept around him, particularly in front of him, where Drake sat.

The thin gold chain that the Assassin had wrapped Drake in fell apart like butter. The other areas where the beam swept? Well the wooden pew smoked and flamed. Drake most distinctly did not.

Cuidado, after a second, had the beams turned off, and found himself kneeling in front of Drake.

Then all he could see -- for half a moment -- was a very large fist. And stars.

* * *

Zebra fell to the ground atop Copper. Her body was a mass of pain and prickling, from those areas where circulation had been cut off.

But her metabolism was faster than the locals. She shifted blood into those areas that had been starved for it, and after a second was hopping back onto her feet.

Her day had gone from bad to worse to utterly shitty. She was ready to look for someone to take it out on.

* * *

Penny Dreadful had been still sitting at the organ, growing less and less happy with all of this. She was the original girl who "just wanted to have fun," and this was turning into anything but.

Now she was in the aisle of the church, and everything was blowing up again.

"Fuck this," she said, and set out at a run for the exit.

Coincidentally, Tarot -- who had been considering what Drake had to say about Doktor Schreck and the latter's attitudes toward "lesser races" -- was reaching much the same conclusion. She was more used to abrupt changes in her reality, being a student of magic, voudon, and the Tarot. Thus she was even quicker to exit the choir loft and head out the main doors.

* * *

Doktor Schreck had been carefully preparing the altar, per the instructions of the Being who had summoned them all here. It was a most careful ritual, requiring his utmost concentration to speak the right words, in the right places, in the right times. The Fuhrer had introduced him to magic, and he'd absorbed it as yet another science -- once which had lain fallow for centuries, but which, when properly harnessed, could serve as well as electronics or atomics. His studies thereto had now proven to serve him well.

Schreck prided himself on his concentration, his force of will. It had allowed him to survive for decades since the end of the War -- the only war that mattered in his mind. It had kept him resolved to his Holy Purpose for all those years -- years of great successes, years of defeat at the hands of do-gooders and weak-hearted race traitors and decadent liberals, but years which now were culminating in the ultimate power being vested in him.

His concentration -- and turning down his exterior mikes, to assist it, not to mention facing away from the pews -- kept him from realizing what was happening for quite some time, in the scale of how rapidly events were changing around him.

* * *

Cuidado was no push-over. If he'd put his mind to it, he could have been one of the metas who had set up autocracies in various nations of both Latin America and Africa. He wasn't interested in power, though, in and of itself, only respect and pleasure. His formidable strength and other abilities had serve him well to that end.

Drake hammered at him a dozen times before he stopped moving.

There was a smile on his face when he was done. Like Zebra, he didn't like being screwed around with.

"Drake -- help Copper. Zebra -- the Assassin." Victor's words caught his attention.

Drake turned to where Copper lay. Cuidado's eye beams had started a fire in, he would guess, some internal insulation layers. Drake didn't know anything about the man inside, but if he didn't get out of there quickly, he'd be a dead man.

Rapidfire was still figuring out what was going on when he spotted Drake stepping toward him, blood in his eyes. He raised his gauntlets, and let fly point-blank with a full barrage of flame bolts. Even in his armor, he could feel the backwash of heat.

Then Drake stepped out of the maelstrom. His jeans and shirt were ablaze, but neither he nor his jacket seemed even singed. That struck Eddie as grossly unfair. Then Drake struck Eddie, and, amidst a crackle of snapping poly-fiber composite armor, Rapidfire was knocked out of the battle.

* * *

Carnage was, for all his vaunted intellect, a student of his senses. That was, in fact, part of his heart-felt philosophy -- that the senses, the emotions, the ego and the id were all that really mattered, and that to pursue them would make one the fittest in the Darwinian struggle to survive in a Hobbesian universe.

When he'd found himself transported to this strange place, it had been a shock, and had taken him several minutes to recover. When he was teleported by Kid Castle to a different spot in the church, it only took him thirty seconds or so of blinking and trembling to regain his equilibrium, mental and physical.

By that time, of course, it was all over.

* * *

The Assassin had recovered, and was watching Victor and Zebra square off against him. The former was clearly encumbered by having only his legs free -- but it was clear that Victor knew both la savate and some other martial arts which emphasized kicks and the lower body. Not enough to matter, one-on-one, but ...

The mutant woman was more problematic. She was incredibly fast, and savage. That, in turn, was also her disadvantage, since her anger made her less effective than she might otherwise have been. Again, faced with just her, his strategy -- caution, misdirection, striking exposed vulnerabilities -- would have been clear.

Together, though, the pair was proving difficult. Victor's skill and patience covered for Zebra's rashness and brutality. In turn, her swiftness and aggressiveness made up for Victor's injuries and restrictions.

The others of Doktor Schreck's allies were falling, fled, or not proving up to the task.

The Assassin began to plot his exit strategy.

* * *

Proteus considered his options.

He had been effectively restrained from action by the threat to the others. There was nothing he could do to take down all of Schreck's people, which meant his comrades would be hurt.

So he had done nothing.

Now the opportunity was presenting itself to act. He could leap into battle.

But Kid Castle lay, unconscious at his feet. And Iris was bound in chains beside him. They would have to take priority.

There was little he could directly for the Kid. So instead he focused on Iris. He tried shaking her, to get her to come to. She responded with low moans, incoherent muttering. Clearly her mind was muddled.

He stopped, and considered. What would be the most effective thing to say? What would get her attention?

He thought of the stories she had mentioned at the table on those occasions when she dined with her team mates.

* * *

Wild Iris was being battered by the storm. A dozen, two, three dozen images swept around her, distracting her, calling and yelling at her. Hanged men. Powerful visages on thrones. Capering fools. Grim reapers. Swords sliced at her, and rods pummeled. Coins glimmered, attractively, and cups moved always just beyond her reach.

She was lost in a storm of pictures and people, unable to make any sense of it all. She'd had a vague impression, a couple of times, of a place, a church, and people talking. But then the winds and howls and thunder had swept her away again.

An idle corner of her mind left her wondering whether she was going insane.

"Lydia Maria Bustamonte! You wake up this very moment! Stop lazing about that bed and get up, young lady! Do you hear me? Do you hear me?!"

A powerful, visceral, Pavlovian reaction shuddered through her, dragging her up out of the tempest, causing her to snap to attention, to shake out the cob webs

"Falling asleep in church! What in the name of the Blessed Virgin were you thinking! God is up there! Pay attention!"

Her eyes snapped open. Her mom, there, in the pew next to her, lecturing her in the way she'd done for years. What's going on? How did I fall asleep? Where are we? This isn't St. Joseph's? I'm so confused. I am so in trouble --

And then Rapidfire's barrage against Drake had swept across them.

* * *

By that time, of course, it was all over.

* * *

Torque was watching the proceedings. Nothing had directly threatened him, so there was no reason for him to act. Doktor Schreck had realized he was, to put it mildly, a wild card, so one of the Doktor's first actions had been to suborn the cyborg's will to his own, through a very sophisticated computer virus downloaded into his systems.

That left Torque, without any specific orders, as a passive observer of the demolition of the Doktor's other allies.

* * *

Her mom had thrown herself onto her as the flames hit, even as she'd thrown up a telekinetic shield. It had been close -- too close.

Her mom moaned against her, and then it was Proteus, lying atop her, smoking and bubbling. "Ow," he said, feebly. "That hurts. Ow. Ow."

"Proty!" She tried to sit up, but was still heavily chained.

"I'm all right. I'll just need to -- drink some extra water." He laughed, coughed, laughed some more. "Some extra water would have been handy against the fire." He blinked, looked down. "How is he?"

She followed his gaze. "Tommy!!"

In a moment, she was down beside him, cradling him in her arms. He was singed, but between the force field and the fact that he'd been on the outskirts of the blast pattern, he was all right, though still unconscious.

She held him for several long moments. Then she saw a flash of light, and heard Zebra scream with anger.

Yes. Anger. Iris knew about that, too. A violet haze rose around her. Somebody was going to pay for this. She cast her gaze about to see who it would be.

Proteus, for his part, just quietly lay down on the pew, atop the chains that Iris had simply burst apart when she'd seen Kid Castle on the ground.

* * *

Drake gripped the entry portal on the Copper armor where Cuidado had pried it partly open. He pulled, and heard more metal straining. He closed his eyes, fixed both hands on it, and gave it a tremendous yank.

With a combination of loud squealings, snappings, and poppings, the door came off in his hands. He tossed it casually down the center aisle, then bent down and pulled a choking, coughing, and, frankly, rather scared Adrian out of the armor.

When he caught his breath, Adrian choked out his thanks. "Thought -- was going to burn up -- in there." Drake could see the scorching on his clothes, a police uniform. Then he noticed something.

Adrian caught Drake's gaze at face, and understood it. He raised an eyebrow, as if to invite a comment, then reached into the smoldering interior of the armor, and pulled out a hood, which he pulled over his head.

By then, Drake had moved on, toward the Assassin.

* * *

Victor saw Drake come up beside him. "This guy's good," Victor warned, unnecessarily.

"Strength in numbers," Drake replied, spreading out. "Go help Adrian. Zebra and I can keep him busy." A smile lit up his face. "I think we can manage that."

Victor nodded, took a step back.

Carnage, recovered, gave an inhuman howl, and leapt at Drake. Victor and Drake both half-turned, and Drake brought his fist down on Carnage's head.

Carnage dropped like a sack of potatoes.

A flash of light, a billow of acrid smoke, and Zebra's scream of fury drew his attention back. She had her hands over her eyes, but was leaping in to attack --

-- but the Assassin was gone.

* * *

Victor ran over to Adrian. "Copper?"

Copper cracked his knuckles. "I used to do this sort of thing the rough way before I ever put the suit on, but I'm not in your league." He looked at Victor. "But the least I can do is get those ropes cut."

Victor shook his head. "It helps restrain the hands. But maybe there's something I can do to help you." He took a deep breath, let it out, and then --

"Rrgggh." He let that much of a grunt of pain out, as the Staff of Victory appeared in his left hand, and then the broken fingers let it fall to the floor.

Adrian scooped it up, held it gingerly, like a precious artifact. Which it was, though hardly fragile. "This? You call this 'help'?"

Victor looked the slightest bit pale, but he nodded. "More useful to you than to me, right now. And we still have --" He nodded up toward the altar, where the oblivious Schreck was still working, and where Torque was watching what they were doing.

Copper cast a glance at the useless armor at his feet. "Bowie's gonna kill me," he muttered, then turned to Victor, and the latter could hear his smile.

* * *

She was crazy to be doing this, but Penny Dreadful was back in the building. She'd circled the church, and slipped up to the partition that separated the church proper from the chapel that had been built in the back of it. She considered swiping some of the golden gew-gaws from the tabernacle, but that would have been sacrilegious.

And her thoughts were on that box that Schreck had put together and placed up by the altar. The items there were real gold, real silver, and real gems, too. Goblets, knives, symbolic stuff. A king's ransom in precious metals and jewels. He'd explained it to her. By using what you value, you show the powers you seek to invoke how serious you are, that what you will, you will with all your heart.

She didn't know about that. But she was drawn to pretty things like a moth to a flame. And whichever way the battle went, she was sure she could slip in there and take a few of them.

* * *

A flicker of light reflected on Torque's legs caught Doktor Schreck's eye. The spell was coming to a climax, but there was this last moment when he could pause, and so he reactivated his on-board monitors. And then whirled in dismay.

The were all looking at him.

On the left, Wild Iris was nearly aflame with the violet energies that were her signature. In the center, Victor and -- a hooded police man? -- both stood, the latter holding Victor's accursed staff. To the right, Drake had a hand on Zebra's shoulder, as she still blinked off the effects of the Assassin's flash-bang.

Schreck gave himself half a second to curse the cowardice and incompetence of the fools he'd been stuck with, then shouted out, "TORQUE -- KILL THEM ALL!"

That made Torque smile. Killing was what he did best any more, though once there had been far more reasons why he'd enhanced himself. But, for now, killing would do. He scuttled forward, chain guns opening up --

"No!" Iris yelled, her aura flaring a brilliant violet, into magenta, and she reached up, up, toward the roof, found the structural beam there, and pulled --

A section of the roof fifteen feet across collapsed onto Torque, burying him in rubble. They'd built the church ugly, but they'd built it strong, too. One spider-leg, sticking out of the heap of cement, steel, plaster and rock twitched a couple of times, then lay still

I was so close -- but there will be other opportunities. There always have been, and there always will be. I need to truly win only once --

A set of wings seemed to unfold from each of Schreck's shoulders, and from them a dozen rockets launched out, some at his foes, some at the roof (a fine idea, even from a woman). At the same time, he raised his hands, and let energy beams lance out at his most hated foe, Victor, who, predictably, dodged, them, even as he triggered his boot rockets, and the mix that would strew smoke behind him, and flew toward the back of the church. He'd break out through the wall there while they were dodging debris. He wasn't sure how he would get back to the real world, but he trusted the individual who had brought him here and told him of the spell would be willing to further help.

He flew low, reaching the edge of the partition just as Penny peeked around it to see if the confusion meant she could swipe the box. Her eyes widened and she screamed and every light on his boards went read and his boot jets exploded and the rest of his systems were exploding and he tumbled into her --

-- and all was light, then darkness.

* * *

Victor looked around, as he walked around inside St. Thomas'.

The bad guys were down. Of the ones left in the church, Rapidfire, Carnage and Cuidado were securely tied, and Tommy's jacket had some sleeping pellets in one pocket that would keep them under, too, for a while. Torque had not moved under the collapsed roof, and nobody seemed particularly inclined to dig him back up.

Of Penny Dreadful, Tarot, the Assassin, and the Djinn, there was no sign. I don't think they'll be back any time soon -- but we'll need to keep an eye out, just in case.

There had been a large explosion at the end of the battle -- though nobody had seem more than a few flickers of the intense fireball that had demolished the chapel. There were a few scraps of black armor, one with the charred, peeled pain of a corner of a swastika (somebody loves irony) and it seemed altogether possible that Doktor Schreck was no more than a carbonized smudge in the debris there.

I'll believe it when another sixty years go by without any word of him.

Their wounds they had bound up best they could. Tommy was back to consciousness, though still exhausted by his effort. He was in his chair and, much to his pleasure, clothed again. More importantly, Victor could tell he was jazzed over his role in defeating their opponents. I don't know how we'll handle the practical limitations of his disability -- but if he's inclined to let us try now, we'll manage somehow.

Iris was standing by his side. She'd clearly had a change of heart, or a resolution of an inner struggle, or something about how she felt about the Kid. She'd also demonstrated a lot more power than he'd been aware of before. We'll have to watch that, help her develop the control she'll need.

Proteus was in bad shape -- he'd taken a lot of burns. He was drinking water from the sink in the sacristy, and that would help him restore the fluids he'd need. And once that was the case, he could regenerate any parts of him that were damaged. I hope.

Drake was sitting by Proteus. They were having a quiet conversation. I'd give an Indian Nickel to know what they're talking about. Whatever other secrets Drake held, he'd proven invaluable in the battle. Maybe --

Zebra was off to one side, pacing near the fallen Torque. She seemed angry, but he knew that was sort of the natural state with her. He'd have to talk with her. She'd done as well as anyone else, she had to know that.

Copper -- in his "normal" clothes, still hooded and gloved, was sitting on his ruined armor. He'd pulled open some access plates, to find that the Djinn had replaced blocks of circuitry and equipment with jelly beans, cooked porridge, moths, and other oddities. Victor shook his head. Despite his words to Schreck, he didn't believe in magic, per se. But I know there is more in heaven and on earth than is dreamt of in our scientific philosophies, to paraphrase Shakespeare. For all we dress things up in our explanations, I only have to look around at the people in this room to know that.

And what about yourself, Vic? Still suffering from existential angst? Surprisingly, he wasn't. He knew it would come back -- the questions and anguish and fear over his origins, and what that meant about who and what he was. Still, this conflict had provided at least some answers. He was the leader of the Big Heroes. That was, really, enough for now.

Well, that and he was a guy with several broken fingers. The pain was still there, but under control. Of course, if they were stuck here, that might make things more difficult. He'd have to check with Copper to see if there were any hospitals within this strange area. No, wait -- no online maps. Heavens, they might have to rely on a phone book.

He was back over by Tommy. "Kid. Forgive me if I don't clap you on the shoulder, but good work. Not the order I'd have done it in, but --"

Tommy beamed. "Well, I wanted to get Zebra out of her ropes, primarily, and get the others confused. I could have done the same with Iris, maybe, but I couldn't see her from where I was --"

"My loss," Iris commented.

Tommy blushed.

Drake was there, interrupting the conversation. "So. What next?"

Victor let out a slow breath. "Well, we both checked the altar. No big button that says 'Home' on it. So -- once we all gather our thoughts, I'm open to suggestions."

"Victor!" Tommy was looking toward the dais. Everyone turned, to see a tall, powerfully built man there, long blond hair tied back in a pony tail, in a charcoal suit and tie, standing at the pulpit.

He smiled at them. "You have performed well beyond my dreams," he said.

Zebra screamed something in unintelligible rage, and was a black and white blur heading toward the man.

"Zebra, stop!" Drake took the words out of Victor's mouth. Iris reached out and insinuated a barrier, but Zebra skidded to a halt, a few feet from the man -- who, Victor noted, had not moved.

"He's not one of the bad guys?" she asked, glowering.

"No," said Drake.

"As far as we know," Copper added.

Victor stepped forward. Shaking hands wouldn't be possible, but he wasn't sure that hand-shaking was in the offing. "I don't believe we've met, friend."

The man at the pulpit smiled. "You can call me Sam."

* * *

Sam had taken the chair up behind the altar, a few more steps upward, where, during the Mass, the priest would sit. This put him both higher than the others and in a -- well, commanding position. Almost throne-like. During the Mass, this made a certain amount of sense for the celebrant of the ceremony. Outside of that context, it came across as somewhat throne-like.

He seemed to take to it.

Victor looked him over. The man was tall, and a long, full mane of hair was bound back behind his head with an interesting celtic-looking hair tie. His suit was dark grey, almost metallic in the way it shone under the light, and his tie was gold and scarlet stripes across his white shirt.

His bearing was powerful, almost regal. Victor found himself almost automatically responding to it, while at the same time vaguely resenting it. He wondered if sometimes he had the same effect on others.

"This place," Sam said, gesturing around him, "is a snapshot in time, if you will. Created and set aside by the powers that were working with Doktor Schreck, promising him that, if he proved worthy, they would provide him with dominion over the world."

"Could they have made good on that promise?" Tommy asked. His wheelchair could not make it up the steps of the dais, of course. Copper had offered to work something with castling, but the Kid had visibly winced at the prospect. He'd allowed Zebra and Copper to carry his chair and him up to at least the level of the altar, where most of them were standing.

Iris, wisely, had not offered to help.

"Had he been successful, yes, they could have arranged it. Whether they would have ..." He shrugged.

"Who are these 'powers'?" asked Victor.

Sam hesitated half a beat. "Nobody to be trifled with, Victor. Schreck was playing for very high stakes. His failure has cost him dearly."

"He lives?"

"Yes. But -- indisposed."

"And you know this," Zebra asked, leaning lazily against the altar (Victor caught a flash of a frown from Sam, but it was so brief he almost thought he imagined it), "how?"

"I have many resources," Sam replied. "Resources which I now offer to you."

Kid Castle looked over at Victor, then back. "What sort of resources?"

Sam smiled. "Resources such as to make you the most powerful force for justice in the world. A new headquarters for the seven of you, to start with, with much superior facilities -- and," he added, a slight smile on his lips, "a much better view. Plus intelligence that you will find useful. Contacts around the world. New technologies. And unswerving support in your battle against evil."

Zebra snorted. "For which you get, what?"

Sam nodded to her. "Fighting the good fight is my life's desire. Providing you with the tools and guidance to do so would be reward enough."

"Interesting offer," Copper said. He was off to Sam's right, one foot on the step. "But we're not a team. Zebra and I are only here 'on loan.'"

"Hell of a red carpet, Vic," Sh'heyla commented to the Big Heroes' leader.

Copper continued, "We still have lives, commitments -- and our own 'battle against evil' back home. And Victor's team has other members, too."

Sam dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand. "A technicality. Arrangements can be made."

Copper glanced at Zebra, who was back to frowning again.

"What about me, Sam?" Drake's voice reached up to them. He hadn't joined them on the dais. He was slowly walking around it, occasionally checking on Proteus, who had fallen asleep. "Am I a technicality, too?"

Sam smiled. "Oh, no, Drake. You're part of the arrangements, too."

"You two know each other," Victor said, not making too wild a cognitive leap.

"We've -- met," Drake said, clearly choosing the word carefully, and not caring who knew it. "In happier times."

Iris spoke up. This whole thing was spooking her in a way she couldn't explain. "So if some powers brought Schreck and his crew here to do this spell thing here -- how was it we were brought here."

Sam smiled at her. After a moment, he added, "It was necessary for you to do it. To show that you could defeat this evil."

"What, you had doubts?" Tommy asked, defiantly.

Sam turned his smile, just the least bit fierce, to him. "Perhaps I already knew. Perhaps I wanted to be sure that you knew."

They let that sink in for a moment. "What about them?" Copper asked at last, gesturing at Carnage, Cuidado, and the others.

"They've earned their punishment." Sam waved his hand. Each of the villains was wreathed in flame, and vanished. There was a chorus of gasps.

"Where are they?" Adrian growled. He took a step upward, undaunted by the display of power he'd just seen. "What did you do to them?"

Sam looked at him with mild surprise. "Does it matter?"

"Hell yes it matters," Copper snapped back. "They're criminals. They go to trial, they get sent to prison. That's the way it works."

"Does it?" Sam asked, a look of curiosity in his face. "How many of these have you faced before? How many deaths have they caused? How many deaths did they almost cause today? Are they criminals? Or prisoners of war?"

"Even prisoners of war have rights," Victor noted.

"Yes," Sam replied, reluctantly. "Though those are merely arrangement so that the virtuous who are captured are not subject to unjust treatment by their foes." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. They are -- not harmed. Just placed beyond where they can do harm to others.

"And if we don't take you up on your little offer?" Zebra asked. She was no longer lounging, but leaning across the altar. "Do we get placed somewhere beyond, too?"

Sam frowned at her. "No, of course not. But I don't understand why --"

"Then I'm outta here," she interrupted. "Assuming you're the way out, wave your hands or whatever it is you need to do to get us home."

Sam's frown was deeper now. "I see." His voice was no longer pleasant, either. "And the rest of you?"

Copper went over to stand by his team mate. "Count me out, too. I have an oath I've sworn. I'm not sure your battle against evil is completely compatible with that."

"I think you can guess my answer," Drake called out. "But it's been -- well, it's been as good to see you as it was last time."

"Sam," Victor said, taking a step toward him. "We do appreciate your -- desire to help us. And we'd like to talk about what assistance you can provide, but -- well, we'd like to talk about it."

Sam looked around at the others, and saw the same answer there. He felt a rage building within him, and, for a moment, he gave in to it, rising to his feet, his power rising. He got to his feet, and, despite themselves, the others drew back half a step.

"You dare?"

("Oh, shit," Drake muttered, and glanced around for the exits.)

He didn't actually change, but they all had a sense of Sam getting taller, of a hum of power, and flames in his hand, and about him shadow and light seemed to gather and hint at new patterns, rippling and seething, and in each of them, somewhere, no matter how they would deny it, a cold, sour wave of fear washed over them.

And then it was gone, and Sam was only standing there, looking as immaculate as before -- and angry, but -- well, no more than just a guy who was angry, and sad, and frustrated, and --

"I -- understand. And -- it must be your choice." His expression changed, a hint of sadness peering out from his eyes eyes of azure. "That is something I must respect."

He drew in a great breath, and then slowly released it. "And of course I will return you from here. The power that made this place cannot stop me, any more than it could stop me from coming here. And -- we will -- talk." The last words seemed difficult for him to say.

"Thank you," Victor said, still oddly shaken. He wasn't sure what had happened, and, judging by the expressions on the others faces, they did not, either. But he guessed they would all talk amongst themselves, first, before they would meet with Sam again.

Sam nodded. "Then home with you. And -- I'll be in touch."

And they were gone from that nightmare, not aware of the nightmare to which they were returning. Any more than Sam was aware, when he let the image of Alosta, California, collapse in on itself, and he returned to his own home.

Epilog

Sam came among them, then, his breastplate gleaming, his helm in one arm. His anger was still there, but there was also a joy. They looked up from the table in the great cathedral as he entered. "They succeeded, did you see? They will do perfectly. And, Ella, you must have been proud of me. I did keep my temper."

They were silent.

"What?"

"You were out of touch. As I said."

He looked around. "Where is Karen?"

Bob stood, went to him. He lay a hand upon Sam's brow, lightly, and he saw --

Flashes, images. A plane strikes the World Trade Center. Fire. Confusion. And then again, flames bursting out like an evil growth. Smoke rising, people screaming, fire and police racing in --

And then the collapse. Destruction. Despair. Death.

He saw other things, too. Other targets. Other disasters. War.

He sat down. Bob returned to his seat. Ella reached out, touched his forearm, eased the shock.

"How. How did it happen?" He didn't mean the immediate details.

"Petty evils? Random violence? A strike against your plan?"

Sam looked at Bob. The latter was angry, in a way he'd never seen before. That, in turn, raised his own temper.

"It was your plan."

"It was your plan, when we were done with it. You chose the players. You chose the conflict. That dictated the plan -- overt, flashy, high profile."

"And you think --?"

"I don't know!" Bob looked down, gathered himself. When he raised his eyes again, there were tears in them. "I don't know. It was the wrong approach, but whether that let -- someone guess in advance, act to forestall the Purpose, I -- don't know."

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't matter. So the headquarters we arranged is destroyed. That is a material thing, hardly a problem. We'll simply --"

"No." That was Ella. "They are shattered. Their spirits broken."

"But why?" Sam asked, confused. "It was not their fault. They weren't even --"

"-- Weren't even there," finished Bob. "I told you, you don't understand them. Even I don't, and that's my role in the Purpose. But consider. They are heroes. Their job is to protect the innocent, to defeat evil, to save lives. They failed. The city, the entire world, wants to know where they were, why they failed to avert this. They, themselves, even if they could not stop it, will feel that they should have."

Mia spoke up, and they knew from her tone that she was looking forward, as best as any of them still could. "They will recover from this, but it will be some time. They will be forgiven by others long before they forgive themselves. They will both draw closer, and further apart. The memory they share of this will always bind them, but to be together will be too painful a reminder, for many, many years. Not until 2023, and the Great Rising from Below, will those who still survive reunite." She blinked, and was herself again. "Damn."

"And in the end," Bob said, "they will remember that it was you who caused them to be absent. And even if they do not think it your fault, they will never trust you, never follow you, never accept your help, your mission. Our mission. The Purpose. Save in their own, imperfect way."

Sam was silent for too long, until Ella was reaching out to him again. He held up a hand. "And it was my fault. I took them away from where they could have been of use."

Douglas, who rarely spoke among them, said, slowly, "Do not fall into the trap which was set for them. Do not let it break your spirit, too."

Sam shook his head. "No. I won't. By God, this makes me even more determined in our course. We cannot let this defeat us. We must --"

"We must chart a slightly new course," Bob interrupted.

"You propose?"

"Softer. More subtle. We telegraphed what we were doing. Big-time stars. This time we'll make some unexpected choices. If someone is watching, working to thwart us, they won't be ready."

"And if that fails? Time is not unlimited, and you know what is coming."

"If it fails?" Bob was quiet. "I don't know."

Karen was back among them, though none had seen her come. She was that way. "Then I become very busy," she said.

Sarah bristled slightly. "Is that a joke?"

Karen shrugged slightly. "It depends, I suppose, on your sense of irony."

Bob smiled. "Then I'd better make the choices this time. And if prayer would do any good, it wouldn't be out of place right about now."

* * *

The man behind the desk was smiling. I appreciate irony, Bob. Like losing some of of his better soldiers in the skirmish, but still winning the battle. Of course, they weren't truly lost. Sam, ironically, had seen to that. They'd be back, probably in time for the next plan.

And to that end, to be sure, he was a bit worried. If the others were trying to be more subtle, no matter how well he was aware of what they openly did and said, he might have to take a more active role. Contemplating such always worried him, even now. After all, the last time he had truly acted in the open --

Well, that wasn't a problem, at least at the moment. Still, a bit of discretion would be worthwhile. And --

A thought occurred to him. Delicious. And, perhaps, the greatest irony of all. A pity they won't be able to appreciate it.

He turned, looked out the window at the huge smoking gap in the New York skyline. And smiled some more.

* * *

The short, elderly man in the green tweed suit had tears in his eyes, as he looked upon the same scene. All would be well in the end, he knew. But until then, there would be so much pain.

He considered his present course. In some ways, it would be much simpler to simply make all the players happy, but that would never do. No, this way was best.

He saw them at work amongst the rubble, lifting it high overhead in their strength, or floating the concrete and steel away, or slicing through it, or slipping between its confines to find if any still survived. He already knew the answer, of course, and his heart went out to them for the pain they were feeling, and would feel, echoes of his own.

But all would be well. He knew it in his heart. He just hoped they would somehow believe it.

He turned, and slowly walked away, into the smoke and dust, and was shortly lost to sight.