Note: This is an original idea of mine, some of you may remember it,  
some not. Anyways, I've been tinkering with it, and this seems to be  
about as close to perfect as it can get unless someone out there  
spots some major problems, I'm marking this chapter as finished. All  
C&C is welcome.


Chapter 1

Cities changed over time. That was the way of things. The emergence  
of Metahumans had changed them even more. Technology had leapt ahead,  
trying to keep up with a population who could cause massive amounts  
of destruction without so much as a knife.

The soaring skyscrapers of fiction stretched towards the sky, a  
testament to human imagination. But they were built of reinforced  
materials, many equipped with their own defenses. Between them, cars  
moved at computer controlled speeds along skyways and bridges as  
Monorail trains roared along their tracks. Schools, parks,  and even  
other towers stood on top of other towers, creating layers and  
canyons of urban living.

Away from the towers, the buildings got less grandiose, smaller and  
at the edges, the homes, warehouses and suburbia reigned.

Cronikle City was just such a city. It sat at the edge of a huge  
lake, and one side of it's tallest tower was a huge TV, broadcasting  
the news from Channel seventy-five, which also happened to be in the  
building. The newcaster was literally, a talking head, a computer  
generated person crafted to visually appeal to as many people as  
possible as it read off the news in crisp, brisk tones, fitting the  
ever decreasing attention span of the average viewer.

     "And in national news today, clean-up efforts continue in Neo  
New Crystal City following its destruction by gravbomb during efforts  
by the Hero Legion to recapture Metaterrorist Bolshavar. Bolshavar  
had threatened the destrucution of the Eastern Coast with a massive  
tidal wave and reportedly commiteded suicide rather then be captured  
by Legion members.

     The Legion also announced that Jagged Edge, a former partner of  
Legion leader and founder Golden Gaurdian and current protector of  
Cronikle City, was killed in the battle. Jagged Edge was a founding  
member of Team Sentinel and considered one of the Legion's most  
powerful members. In a statement at Legion headqaurters Geneva,  
Legion second in command Cassandra paid tribute to the fallen hero."

The head vanished and Cassandra appeared. She was a tall woman with  
short, golden-colored hair, and only a few lines around her eyes to  
indicate her age. "Jagged Edge was a credit to the Legion and to  
humanity, which he labored tirelessly to aid. His exploits and  
achievements are legendary and we will miss him. His sacrfice is a  
sober reminder to humans and metas alike of the dangers that face us  
all."

     The head came back. "Despite Cassandra's words, rumors continue  
that Jagged Edge was not killed but instead led away in chains. There  
are also claims that staff from meta-prision S.L.A.B. was summoned to  
the Legion's moon base to implant a supression chip. S.L.A.B.  
declined comment, but observers say that this confirms whispers from  
unidentified civilan Legion members that Jagged Edge allowed  
Bolshavar to trigger the gravbomb.

     Astrofly, one of several protectors of Neo Atlantis, made  
several public appearances in Cronikle, and in a brief interview with  
News seventy-five, indicated that he has taken over protection of the  
city.

     In local news, excavations have begun on a new Voldianan  
artifact, the largest fragment yet of the alien craft that exploded  
in Earth orbit sixty years ago and in doing so, gave birth to the  
meta population. Legion member Doctor Flash is assisting in the  
excavation and it's expected that the Legion will take posession of  
the fragment.

     We turn now to Tom for sports. Tom?"

******

Aeon City, five years later...

     It wasn't the first time that James Clancy had had a knife held  
to his throat, but it was the first time he had woken up to it. The  
knife was being held by a muscular young woman whose completely black  
eyes marked her as a Jove, a user of Jovian Steroids.

     Without even blinking, James snatched her wrist and poked her in  
the neck with two fingers. Her knife fell from her suddenly useless  
hand. Poking her in the neck again, he shoved her off the bed.  
Sitting up, he felt around but found no blood. He tossed the knife  
away and looked down at his attacker as memory of the night before  
came back. Not attacker, the prostitute he had picked up last night.  
She was easily six six, with large, firm breasts. Her hair shimmered  
like white gold as it flowed down her back. Her skin was a golden  
brown and her arms were smooth, flawless muscle. She was hardly a  
bodybuilder, but no soft and curvy example of femminity either. She  
fell somewhere in between.

     "Marla, wasn't it? You always greet your marks like that in the  
morning?" he asked.

     "Yeah. Figured I could pick up some freebies."

     "You mean stick me and then clean out my supply," James  
retorted. He got up and crossed the room to the kitchen unit. "Coffee?"

     In the smooth metal of the unit, he watched Marla shrug. "Bodies  
like mine ain't cheap," she said.

     "So I recall. Ten ounces, eight up front," he noted and handed  
her a chipped cup.

     "You always this nice to people who try to kill you?" Marla asked.

     He grinned at her. "Only the pretty ones. Wanna use the shower  
before you leave?"

     She drained the mug. "Sure, why not?"

     Once she was in the shower and occupied with getting clean,  
James walked over to the bookcase and fiddled with the back, causing  
a small compartment to open. From there, he took two small objects  
that looked like uncut diamonds, black in color and a certain beauty  
in their rough oval shape. These he placed in a small bag and held it  
up to the light.

     Jovian Steroids. Most potent steroid known to man. Disease  
immunity, the body of dreams, enhanced intellegence, strength, and  
reflexes. Meta-powers in a bottle, so to speak.

     Of course, the human body was never meant to be altered like  
that. Cut off the supply, and the user did a biological implosion,  
wasting away into a puddle of goo. Used carefully and rationally,  
however, and the user could live a long life of fifty years or so  
beyond normal life expentantcy.

     "And then they break down into goo," James quipped to himself.  
Retrieving his coffee, he looked around the room. The paint was  
peeling, the battered climate control system was slowly dying, and  
the decor was spartan. In one corner, neatly stacked, was his only  
vice, the one luxury he allowed himself. Puzzle discs. Each one full  
of word games, logic puzzles, and the like. Then he looked out the  
window and caught sight of his reflection. It showed a lean, athletic  
young man in his early twenties with dark hair and a tattoo on his  
left shoulder. What it was was hard to tell anymore, the subtle lines  
having long ago been blurred by a bullet wound. He frowned. Not to  
long ago, that image would have been covered with a full black  
bodysuit. A single jagged silver slash across his chest from shoulder  
to hip would be his symbol.

     Five years ago, that image...that ghost would have dumped his  
ass in jail for dealing in Jovian Steroids, small time or not.

     Five Years ago, James Clancy would have sooner shot himself then  
screw a prostitute.

     With a snarl of fustration, he hurled his coffee cup at the  
window, but it only bounced off and smashed on the floor.

     "Something wrong?" Marla asked as she emerged from the shower.

     "Bad memory," James said. He handed her the bag and a small cred  
note. "A tip. Go buy yourself something nice."

     Marla tucked the steroids and the note into her small cloth  
purse, which was decorated with a small butterfly brooch, dressed,  
and walked to the door. "You know something," she said, "you're the  
first mark who's gotten me off in two years. Thanks." Then she was gone.

     James smiled at that and stepped into the shower. He'd have to  
leave for work soon . . . such as it was.

******

The outer edges of Aeon City, that night . . .

     James sighed as he unwrapped the soy dog and bit into it. Only  
the best imitation food for the chronically poor. Which was what he  
would be if he couldn't sell some of the stuff. He had close to  
thirty ounces in his pocket, and not one customer. He had even made  
the rounds to some of his regulars and they either hadn't been  
interested or couldn't be found.

     The rent was due tomorrow, hell of a time to have a slow day. He  
glanced up at the moon, hanging low in the sky. Towards the bottom of  
that luminous sphere, a small silver eye. James knew better, that eye  
was actually the size of Aeon City. That eye used to be his home. The  
Hero Legion's main headqaurters, a watchful eye watching over us all,  
or so the saying went.

     He stuck out his tounge at the eye and finished his soy dog.  
He'd have to take the long way home, through the warehouse district,  
try the super junkies, maybe they would want some.

     As he walked, he whistled what sounded like a meaningless ditty,  
but was actually a signal to anyone listening who might be interested  
in some of his wares, hell, he might even give 'em a discount, he  
just needed to make rent, who needed food as long as he had a home,  
right?

     When his foot kicked something, he glanced down and saw a  
butterfly brooch lying on the walk. Crouching, he picked it up. This  
looked an awful lot like Marla's brooch. She must have dropped it. He  
turned the brooch over in his hands and frowned, the pin was stuck  
through a small swatch of fabric. As though it had been torn off.

     'You're not in the game anymore,' his inner voice insisted.  
'Besides, even if the brooch is hers, she probably just got a frisky  
mark. Go swing by the bar you met her at. She's probably there.'

     James stood, but for some reason, gazed at the nearby  
warehouses. The chip may have turned him into a human, but the Golden  
Gaurdian had taught his young partners to be observant. It was not a  
skill the chip could take. Within moments, he saw the ever so faint  
glow at one of the windows. Had he not been looking for something, he  
would have missed it.

     'It's just a watchman burning the candle,' his inner voice said.  
'Or someone forgot to shut off something.'

     But James' feet were already carrying him across the yard.

******

It had taken some looking around and the chance finding of a crowbar,  
but James found an open window that he could pull himself through.

     The warehouse appeared to have been a printing plant at some  
point. There was massive amounts of machinery and rolls of paper.  
Using the sides like a ladder, he clambered up to the top of a press  
and took his bearings.

     The faint glow that had attracted his attention was coming from  
the far side of the room and James headed for it.


     The source of the glow turned out to be a bank of monitors and a  
steel circle around a circle of glowing blue light. A ramp led up  
into the light and strapped to a chair at it's foot was Marla. She  
wore a blue coverall and her expression was terrified. Two people in  
lab coats were checking the straps while a thin, weasel faced man  
dressed in black worked at the monitors.

     James shook himself to loosen up and then took a firm grip on  
the crowbar. With any luck he could get Marla out in one go. Picking  
up a card sized piece of metal, he hurled it away where it clanged as  
it bounced off something.

     Without even changing expression, the two men stood and walked  
off into the shadows, in the opposite direction of the noise, pulling  
hand lasers from under their coats. No dummies, these, and they were  
Lab assitants and hired muscle in one. How economical.

     Charging from the shadows, he hurled the crowbar not at the man  
in black, but at the machinery behind him. As the man blinked in  
surprise, James vaulted over the edge of the montiors and planted his  
foot in the man's chest. Taking only a moment to verify that the man  
was out cold, James scooped up the crowbar and walked over to Marla.

     "Lonley again?" she asked him with a small smile.

     James shrugged and started prying at the fasteners with the bar.  
"I like work by someone who takes pride in what they do."

     She laughed at that. "It wasn't my first choice."

     "Neither was my current profession," James said bitterly as he  
went to work on the strap around her waist. There was a flash of  
golden light and James' ribs felt like they'd been hit with a  
sledgehammer. He collapsed on Marla's lap. The toes of his boots  
dragged along the ramp and then he was falling.

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