Knight Warden/The Price Of Heroism

Since gaining his hero license in 2019, Morgan Denvers had been working alongside experienced heroes and law enforcement in order to better develop his skills and become more confident in his abilities. A larger part of this had been his time shadowing Detective Elaine Winterby of the PPD.

The following is a collection of relevant stories, in chronological order of the events of this story.

Questions, post-Halloween Rave

Pendragon Lane, Founder’s Falls Suburbs

Since the destruction of Eastgate, it was hard not to say that Founder’s Falls had become the richest part of town, at least in appearance. Home to Paragon’s esteemed Yacht Club, it was also a hub for learning and a key point of tourism, even if this would be one of the core places for the Rikti and Circle to crawl out of the sewers while the Devouring Earth clambered out from Eden.

Tucked away behind some hills south of Talos Island and west of Founders Falls dwelled a small section of suburbia that, were it not for its own set of War Walls, would have a perfect view of the bay. A few hundred homes designed with the mid 2000s style, cookie cutter projects built with haste after the invasion in 2004 wiped out much of the neighbourhood; each two story detached house an exact duplicate of its brothers and sisters within that lane, only the most basic of variations present within the neighbourhood.

Morgan sat on a stool in the kitchen of his home, hands clasped together, eyes cast down to the counter as he sat across from a pair of people he had always worried he would fail to live up to the standards of: his parents. His mother, Sarah Denvers, stood straight, arms folded, face cast in a frown. She was a prolific author and, having grown up in a strict household in Dublin, couldn’t help but share those same ideas on parenting. Her long, raven black hair brushed back and tied into a tight ponytail, she scrutinised her son for every indication of body language. A tablet on the counter next to her had been open to a page of the Tales of Talos news website, the headline reading “Rave Becomes Warehouse Disaster.”

His father, Andrew, a broad shouldered man with square features and fiery red hair that never seemed to relent to any kind of brush or comb sat on another stool next to his wife as he sipped his coffee. He’d opted to let Sarah do most of the talking, as she always seemed to be the more proactive of the two. It was him that had moved the family from Ireland to Paragon after a job opening for a fire fighter became available. Morgan was born shortly after and Andrew had worked his way up to the role of chief of his local precinct.

“Morgan,” Sarah began again, “I feel the need to ask, what were you thinking? You’re sixteen! You can’t be going to a rave like that!”

“I... I know mom, I’m sorry...” the boy could only mumble. He knew his parents weren’t exactly stupid, and since he was registered with the FBSA, the two of them had been watching the news constantly, keeping an eye for any mention of the Knight Warden.

“So you should be,” his mother continued, “no wonder it went arseways, the thing was run by the Warriors. You remember the Warriors, right?”

“Y-yeah...” Morgan shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he prepared some kind of defence, “b-but I didn’t exactly know it was a Warriors party until an hour before we went...”

“That still gave you the chance to turn it down,” Sarah countered, “that is a thing you can do, ya know.”

“Y-yeah...” his shoulders slumped,

“Indestructible you may be, but they can still cart your arse to jail if they have to,” his mother’s elaboration twisted the knot in Morgan’s stomach tighter, “so, tell me, why’d ya go?”

“Uh... w-well... concern, actually...” he explained, “I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings and, w-well... if I was there I could try and stop things from hurting people, m-maybe... Terri felt the same way.” Sarah sighed and shook her head,

“Christ on a bike, Morgan,” she started, “I know ye haven’t had many friends, but if they all decided to jump of a bridge, you shouldn’t be eager to do the same, would you?”

“Still,” interjected Andrew, “it was good of you to keep an eye out for them. It’s an awful good thing the news sees it the same way.” Morgan finally looked up from the counter to his parents, more surprised than anything.

“The news?”

Sarah scooped up the tablet from the counter, scrolling down to a section of the article.

“’While Sunstorm and noted members of the PPD arrived on the scene to apprehend criminals, eye witness reports state that up and coming hero the Knight Warden was on the scene fighting the amorphous monsters alongside Warriors, Freakshow and other, currently unidentified metahumans,’” she read, before turning the tablet to show Morgan a blurry, cellphone picture of Knight Warden throwing an off balance punch at the oozing creature before him, the background a mix of rave painted Warriors and other Hydra creatures under the filter of UV lights.

“...Oh...” was all he could manage. His idea of ducking away to change into costume to maintain his secret identity from the general public had suddenly backfired. All it did was give hard evidence that he was in the area, while the store bought vampire costume had a hood, and could let him remain at least somewhat anonymous. He could only be thankful none of the other students were positively ID’d alongside him, at least for now.

“Imagine if they took a picture of something else,” Sarah stated, putting the tablet down, “Your secret could be blown and you could have been arrested.”

“Y-yeah...” he said, his voice sounding somewhat hoarse as he looked back to the counter, another anxiety to throw on the pile. Andrew raised an eyebrow as he looked to his son inquisitively. Clearly, something else was going on.

“I get the feeling you’re not telling us the whole story,” he began. He paused to let Morgan interject with something, but when all he got was silence, he continued his role as good cop, “you know you can tell us anything.” Morgan said nothing, only giving a bit of a nod. Sarah, picking up on the cue, took it in her own direction.

“Morgan, love,” she started, loosening her stance to be less confrontational, “you’re... not on drugs, right?”

The question caused the young hero to look up quickly, a fear that his parents thought he was a drug user screamed to the forefront of his mind.

“What!? N-no! I don’t... I...” he calmed. They were right, of course. He trusted them with his secret identity, he told them everything that he would do at school within reason, he might as well tell them this.

“Then what’s the matter?” Sarah probed. Morgan heaved a sigh and took the plunge.

“Th-there’s this girl, at school, and I, um...”

There was a pause as he tried to find the right words to elaborate, but his thought process was cut short as his father burst out with a loud, baritone laugh, the man putting down his coffee mug as he started to double over, wife glaring at him as he did.

“Andrew!” she snarled.

“Heh, faith and begorrah, Morgan,” his father said between gasps of air, “you had us scared to death there. Well, come on then, out with it, who is she?”

Knight Warden: Addicted

The Gimry, Steel Canyon, 4:07pm, November 10th

Today was a complicated day.

Due to a recent series of reassignments and too wide a variety of cases, Detective Elaine Winterby was, as of one month ago, the only detective in the Bronze Way precinct assigned to the Superadine cases. She was working the case as part of a trio of detectives, but a lack of meaningful headway, as well as fallout from the Metallix Incident almost a year ago had meant the other two were made to look into some other cases within their jurisdiction in Steel Canyon. While stressful, this wouldn’t be a problem most days; the labs they had been finding were always abandoned by the time they got there, and had been cleared out long enough that forensics couldn’t find anything due to the perps cleaning the scene, so there was no active danger for her or the officers that came along with her. The dens were no better, with the only people there being users who were too late to pick up their fix. They remained tight-lipped through the whole endeavour, surprisingly so. Previous experience with the Skullz and Trolls meant that this didn’t strictly fit their MO, but you could never rule it out.

However, what made today specifically complicated were two things.

The first was the cape. A long while ago, in an effort to up funding and public appeal, Bronze Way’s captain, Alex Munroe had accepted a suggestion from the FBSA to have younger, inexperienced heroes tag along with police investigations to understand more aspects of the law. It wasn’t that the PPD and local superheroes had a strained relationship, mind; the incident in Talos Island some time ago was more to do with the availability of Mediporters than anything else. Rather, it was just that the abundance of super powers and mass appeal behind the brand, so to speak, often made it feel like the PPD weren’t always recognised for their efforts. That, and the ‘brand’ meant that heroes would have a personality to go with their general theme, more or less like a celebrity, and that lead to clashes in ideology more often than anyone could like; too many loose cannons who were a little too close to literal cannons than anyone on the force could be comfortable with.

Knight Warden was not the assignment anyone in the squad expected, however. As it turns out, the hero that was assigned to the precinct for work experience was a fifteen year old flying brick with major self-confidence issues. Invulnerable, strong, fast, and not truly willing to put any of it to use, which, the more Winterby thought about it, was almost a blessing. Better to have the limiters on and take forever to turn it up than to start big and then learn restraint while among the rubble, she thought. About a year ago, the Metallix incident meant Knight Warden was reassigned; given the influence on technology the praetorian-born entity had, it played major havoc with the Hard Shells, and he just happened to be their best replacement. Since then, Winterby continued her investigation, lost most of her team due to reassignments and was largely operating alone until Knight Warden had come back a couple weeks ago, eager to continue his aid with a bit more self-confidence than before. He mentioned being transferred to a new school, making some new friends and learning more about his abilities.

He daydreamed a bit more as well, his body language being sheepish and embarrassed whenever he was brought out of it, saying he was worried about something. Great, she thought, either he’s not having the best time at school, or he’s got a girlfriend. Either way, it was a distraction she’d rather do without.

Of course, even this wasn’t the biggest complication of the day.

That was the fact that this time, they had gotten to the scene early.

The building, a squat industrial office of brick, sat behind a group of newer buildings, hidden away from the bustling streets of Steel Canyon like a blemish the city was ashamed of. Two floors tall and weathered by years of misuse, little light seemed to escape the building, whatever windows that weren’t boarded up being smashed through. The quiet rumble of activity could be heard inside, interrupted with the occasional shout.

Winterby used the cover in the alleyway to move right up to the open front door. She noted with some interest that there wasn’t even a single guard outside the door itself. Back against the darkened brick, she took the pistol from the holster on her belt and peered around the corner. Her current partner in this investigation, the young hero Knight Warden, was positioned nearby, a little ways out of sight given his costume didn’t suit for matters of stealth. Winterby had been given an anonymous tip earlier that day that some suspicious looking people were creeping into an alleyway. It was normally the duty of a patrolling officer to check out, but she played a hunch, and it seemed to pay off.

Inside she could see a small line of individuals, backs to the door. The way they were dressed suggested they only barely managed the effort. They stood and waited, the fact seeming to agitate them as they looked over their shoulder, at the walls, never in one direction for too long as they busied their hands by scratching themselves or pulling on their clothes. Winterby grimaced; customers, she thought.

The small line was being tended to by two men in black clothing, though certainly not of the Skulls variety, just dark and expensive looking street clothes. Winterby locked her gaze on something that one of the two carried; it was a rifle, but not of a design she’d seen before. The size suggested something of a far heavier calibre than the budget of a regular gangbanger could accommodate, and it was covered in panels and blinking lights. Given the capabilities of certain folks within the city, she elected to expect the worst and assumed it was an energy weapon of some description. The other man, whose choice of clothes seemed a lot tighter than his smaller companion’s, was handling the potential buyers and appeared unarmed.

She hesitated. She didn’t have the confidence to send the kid in by himself, not so much for his own safety but for the safety of those who were there for their fix of ‘dyne. Similarly, if she went in, she might be cut down by whatever that one guy was packing, and they’d get away while Knight Warden was alone and rudderless. They needed to go in together, but how?

“Dispatch, this is Detective Winterby, we have a situation at Fourth and Crescent. Need backup, over,” she muttered into her radio, turning the dial down to a whisper as they responded saying that officers would be on the scene in a few minutes.

It was only a moment. They just had to wait a little longer, and then they could catch the dealers in the act. It was merely a pity that things couldn’t always work out that way.

Mere moments after closing off her connection to dispatch, Winterby heard a voice coming from inside. Peering in, a third man, much less intimidating than the others, appeared around the corner. He tossed the first customer in line a ziplock bag full of some thin, plastic cylinders and turned his attention to the other two goons. Loud, obnoxious music was blasting from the poor quality speakers on his phone, which he held in his other hand.

“Boss says we need to move out. No new people, just give these guys the stuff and we go,” his order was all he said before turning around to move back into the building.

The detective frowned. Now she was on a time limit, and chances are, by the time the rest of the force got here these guys would have cleared out. She had to act fast, just to get at least one of these guys in an interrogation room. After a few moments, she listened to her gut and formulated a plan. The guys in the front didn’t look like they were too smart, and as such, could probably be convinced to move away from the civilians. Looking up to Knight Warden, who was watching her like a hawk for any kind of signal, Winterby used a series of hand gestures to indicate that there were two of them inside, one was armed, and when ready he was to take the weapon from the guy. It took him a moment, but the young hero gave a nod, and primed himself to move in. The detective had to hope he understood what she meant, before taking in a deep breath and slamming her foot against the door, remaining hidden around the corner.

Inside, the congregation turned to regard the loud noise. The two thugs turned to each other, and after a brief, hushed discussion, the one with the rifle crept towards the door. With a flip of a switch on the side of the device, the weapon let out a high-pitched electronic whine, the wielder already placing a finger on the trigger. Winterby calmed herself, reaffirmed the grip on her pistol and remained hidden.

Listening to the footsteps, the crunch of rubble under heavy boots, felt like it took far too long. Her mind raced with contingencies in case the kid couldn’t manage direct combat, how to handle an opponent with a powerful energy weapon, who the priorities belonged to. Her gaze was fixed squarely on the open doorway, watching as moments later, the raised barrel of the rifle came into view.

Then, from out of the corner of her vision came her backup. Knight Warden flew down, boots impacting with the concrete as his hand came down, grasping on to the panels of the rifle. As his grip tightened, the hard alloy bent and faltered like cardboard, and with a swift yank, the thug was disarmed, the electronic rifle sparking and hissing in protest. Taking her opportunity, Winterby placed a hand on the thug’s shoulder, guiding him down to better land a knee to his midsection. With a wheeze he fell, and without missing a moment, the detective grasped one of his arms and put him in a practiced hold.

“Hey!” called the other from inside, moving forwards to aid his comrade. Winterby looked to the young hero who was already in motion, placing himself between the oncoming threat and her. The thug raised both his bare fists as he bore down on the armoured hero, and after rolling one shoulder, pulled back his arm to deliver a right hook with as much force as he could muster. The strike made contact with the metal cheek guard of the Knight Warden’s helmet, ringing out with a loud pang and sickening crunch. The thug pulled back, grasping his right wrist and crying out in pain. It seemed that he hadn’t anticipated how durable the kid was. After the briefest of pauses, the Knight Warden reached forwards, placing both hands on his opponent’s left shoulder and pushed him to the side. As if he weighed nothing, the brawny man tumbled into the nearby wall, slamming hard into the brickwork and sliding to the ground, dazed. Without missing a beat, the hero turned to the would-be buyers and gestured to the door.

“G-get outside where it’s safe!” he said, the stammering, tenor voice not matching the costume at all.

Still, this didn’t hamper the weight of the command, and the people scrambled to their feet and made their way out in a less than organised fashion. While this occurred, Winterby had busied herself with handcuffing the two thugs while reading their Miranda Rights in the professional monotone hammered into her head back at the academy. Propping them up next to the door, she took stock of the situation. There were at least one more of these guys in the building, possibly two, and still some time before the rest of the precinct would arrive with enough people to contain the place.

Winterby thought back to the third guy who had come in earlier. He implied having some connection to whoever was running this place, and was clearly carrying a phone. Phone records could point in the right direction if this is a much larger operation, and the guy himself might be a much more valuable repository of information than the two designated to tend to customers. Venturing further ahead to peer around the corner, the detective saw a set of stairs going up to the second floor. She sighed, realising that unless the guys at the door were dragged along, the two of them would still have to split up. She certainly didn’t like the idea, since if one of these guys had an energy weapon, there was no telling what the other guy had, if anything.

She turned her attention to Knight Warden, who stood by the two captured thugs and looked back at her, awaiting orders.

“You OK?” Winterby asked, turning her attention to the stairs ahead.

“Y-yeah. What do we do?” His voice was shaky. Despite the length of time he had been doing this, the kid still seemed apprehensive at these more active crime scenes.

“There’s another guy upstairs. I’m going to need you to keep an eye on these two for now, but come up when I shout, ok?” her order was responded to with a nod. Plan confirmed, the detective made her way upstairs.

Thankfully, despite the age and misuse, it seemed that the building was still structurally sound. The stairs were made of concrete rather than wood, which let Winterby creep up with nary a sound. The smell of dust and damp began to mix with another scent that she had come to know while on these investigations, being the pungent scent of Superadine. She could still hear the obnoxious music being played up ahead, and upon reaching the top of the stairs followed it to a large room at the head of the hallway, something that looked like it used to be a break room of some kind.

Inside there was a single table with a pair of cardboard boxes, one of which Winterby’s quarry was loading more of these bags filled with the plastic vials. He bobbed his head to the music, clearly oblivious to the confrontation downstairs. There were no other exits from the room, bar a window that led to an all too thin alley.

Perfect.

She wheeled around the corner, pistol raised.

“PPD, freeze!”

The guy looked up, eyes wide. He raised his hands, though the phone that was playing the music was still firmly grasped in his right hand, an ampoule in his left.

“Hey, be cool man! Be cool!”

The detective began to move into the room, keeping the pistol trained on the ganger’s centre mass.

“Drop it,” she ordered, “no funny business.”

The growing panic in the guy was tangible. He subconsciously shuffled backward while the detective moved closer, his gaze glancing to the ampoule in his hand and the door that the detective had come through. With only a few feet between him and his captor, his fear overtook him, and in a panic, his grip tightened on the ampoule and he sharply brought it down, jabbing it into his own leg.

Reacting quickly, Winterby moved her aim to the left shoulder and pulled the trigger, bullet impacting the man, who toppled backwards to the nearby wall. The detective moved forward to get to the wounded man, holstering her pistol and preparing a set of handcuffs.

As she got closer, she noticed a change, perhaps a little too late. At a glimpse, she noticed the man’s skin take on a sickly green tint, and a rapid succession of sickening strains and snaps could be heard throughout his body. Winterby had but a moment to pull backwards, narrowly avoiding the guy’s arm as it swung in a wide, clumsy arc, the brickwork of the wall as it made impact cracking.

Winterby tumbled back, already going for the pistol again. Even for Superadine, that was way too fast, almost instant. Most ‘dyne users didn’t even turn green until after they were going overboard with the stuff. This batch was new and frightening. She had to hope that it wasn’t the uncut stuff some Trolls used in Skyway. There was no time for speculation now, however, what was needed was distance. The detective retrieved the pistol, hurrying back to let her get through the door at a moment’s notice.

Through the door, Knight Warden appeared, rushing to Winterby’s side.

“Wh-what’s going on?” he asked, though he got his answer soon enough. The dealer pushed himself fully to his feet, righting himself and removing his hand from the bullet wound, hand and phone coated in blood. After but a moment to slip his phone into his pocket, he took a step forward, grabbing the table in front of him and hurling it at the two with little effort.

Knight Warden moved, crossing his arms in front of his face and shielding the detective, the table exploding into wooden and plastic shards, the boxes spilling out by their feet with a clatter. The dealer used the opportunity to make a break for it, tearing past the two of them with a quickness that matched his newfound strength.

Recovering from the shock of the attack, both detective and hero made their way outside, Knight Warden taking to the air the moment he arrived outside the building. Winterby was close behind, only throwing a cursory glance to see if the two from before were still apprehended, which they thankfully were. She cursed herself as she ran. Of course this had to happen, of course the dealers would try to use it to let them escape. It was no matter now though, what was important was getting to the guy before he got too far.

She turned a corner, seeing the view on to the busy streets of Steel Canyon, the crowds of people before her.

“Shit,” she whispered, slowing her pace. Steel Canyon always had some high levels of traffic, both on foot and in cars. She lost sight of him before he got into the crowd, most of which had seemingly stopped before the entrance to the alleyway as they looked up at something. Looking up, she saw, hovering above the street, stock still was Knight Warden. He had his back to her, but he floated there, not moving an inch.

“Hey, kid!” she called, only to get no response. Was he ignoring her? Frowning, she was about to call out to him again, only for his body to twist sharply in the air and surge forwards at an alarming pace, vanishing from view as he flew down the road. The detective sighed, reaching for her radio.

“Dispatch, I need an APB on a Caucasian male, roughly five ten, black clothes, last seen fleeing the scene on fourth and crescent, suspect is empowered and highly dange-”

The command was interrupted as she heard the grunts and snarls of someone from above her, a stream of frustrated vitriol boosted by power-granting narcotics and backed by loud, obnoxious music. She looked up and descending from on high was the Knight Warden. He had his arms wrapped around the dealer, fingers locked together. The dealer struggled all he could, shouting and swearing as he tried his best to escape, but even with the enhanced strength he now possessed, it wasn’t enough to break the kid’s grip.

“....Cancel that dispatch. Suspect has been caught. Need further backup on fourth and crescent, over.”

Winterby holstered the pistol, looking up to the two with a raised brow and a grin that couldn’t exactly hide a level of pride.

“How’d you find him?”

“A-a friend has been helping me with my hearing,” Knight Warden explained, though he had to shout a bit to be heard over his captive’s profanities, “T-took me a while to kinda pick him out from the crowd, but it helped that he had the phone with him.”

“I’m impressed. Where’d you learn the hold?” She asked. The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance, approaching rapidly, and the detective felt a notable amount of tension leave her. The crowd from before had suddenly taken notice of the two, who had been in the alley way’s entrance in plain view, and as most would do in this modern age, had taken to watching and recording the incident on their phones.

“Uh... j-just guessed, honestly,” the teen explained, “I came up behind him and knew I wanted to keep his arms tight, s-so I thought this would work best.”

Winterby gave a nod and a thumbs up.

“Well, good work. It’s good to have you on this one.”

After the adrenaline high that was the investigation, the wind down that came after felt like an eternity, though it was one that Winterby could easily welcome. A squad of officers, as well as Sergeant Rooker, the precinct’s resident Psi-Cop, had come in droves, setting to work on containing the scene. Rooker pacified the dealer, lulling him into a stupor long enough for them to slap a power dampener on and let Knight Warden release him, lest the poor kid have to carry the perp until the Superadine wore off. The other two thugs who had been guarding the door were escorted to separate police vehicles and carted away, leaving only the matter of crowd control and cordoning off the crime scene.

Winterby spent a long amount of time briefing everyone important about the situation, checking in with each officer there to make sure that everything was in order. It was after a moment of time that she found Knight Warden standing off to one side, away from the crowds who had stuck around to see what they could. He was staring at the emergency vehicles, EMTs and officers alike tending to a quintet of poorly dressed and scared looking people, one of whom was being talked into relinquishing a newly acquired ziplock bag. The detective walked next to the teen.

“You OK?” She asked.

“Are they going to be OK?” he responded, quietly. Winterby looked to the congregation, a sight that the hero’s fiery gaze hadn’t left since.

“I can’t say for sure,” she said, shifting her weight, “superadine’s a hard drug. Hopefully they’ll get back on their feet during rehab, but it’ll take some time. What we’re doing is getting it off the streets so that this sort of thing doesn’t happen, but it’s an uphill battle.”

“...Right...” Knight Warden’s response didn’t sound especially convinced. The detective sighed a little, placing a hand on the hero’s shoulder, a light ting sounding as her wedding band hit the heavy metal plating.

“Fighting this stuff comes from a lot of different angles, kid,” she mentioned, “trust me, I get it, it’d be easier if all this stuff was something that would be fixed the moment we put someone behind bars, but it’s not. There are a lot of things that need to be changed everywhere, and people need to be convinced of that.”

The comment caused the hero to turn and look up to the detective, who tried her best reassuring smile.

“What’ll make the difference is people like you inspiring others to make the system better,” she explained, “because when that happens, stuff like this will happen less and less.”

The hero paused a bit, his gaze returning to the group of people, still being calmed by the EMTs present. After a moment, he gave a small nod.

“R-right...” he murmured. Winterby gave him a nudge on the shoulder.

“You’ve got this,” she said, “now, I’ve gotta get back to it. Stop by the precinct later on, we’ve got a bunch of paperwork to fill out. You did good work today, I think we’re finally going to make some major progress on this one.”

She gave one last smile to him before she made her way to speak one last time to Rooker. She needed to go over the place, one last sweep to be sure it was secured and what they had to inspect next.

Knight Warden stood in silence for a moment, ruminating on what he was just told, a swirling series of uncertainties that sat in his mind. After a few moments of hesitation, he slowly made his way over to the group. As one of the addicts caught sight of him, they recoiled lightly, though it was to be expected, given Knight Warden’s aesthetic. Stopping short a few feet away, the young hero clasped his hands together, doing his best to make his body language seem as non-threatening as possible.

“H-hello,” he began, softly, “I’m the Knight Warden. I’m sorry for the commotion. I-I know you’ve been through a lot these last few minutes, but would you like some company while all of this is being sorted out?”

The Big Break

Bronze Way Precinct, Steel Canyon, 6:03pm November 30th

“You’ve been busy.”

Winterby’s comment brought the young hero out of a stupor. Knight Warden had been staring at the clipboard in his hands for a while, the filled in report having remained unchanged for the whole time, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

The detective held in her hands two cups of coffee, standing next to the desk where he sat, eyebrow raised. They were at one of the desks in the open-plan room of the precinct, other officers and detectives moving about as much as they can to tend to work.

“E-excuse me?” he asked.

“I’ve been hearing about the stuff you’ve been up to the other day, good work,” she explained, sitting down at the opposite side of the desk. She didn’t offer either of the cups to the young hero, a yawn she didn’t even attempt to conceal being evidence enough they were both for her.

“Oh, uh, thank you, Detective,” Knight Warden noted. He put the clipboard down and sighed quietly.

“Something on your mind?” she asked. The young hero shook his head.

“Yes, but not something I can get into,” he said, there being something of a sad note to his response. Winterby took a sip of her first coffee and gave a nod.

“If you say so,” she replied, looking over some of the stacks of reports to her side. Work to be done later, of course. She turned her attention to the hero before her and allowed her lips to curl into a grin.

“So, something interesting came up recently,” she continued. She leaned forwards on the desk, as if to keep it a hushed secret, despite the high traffic of the room, “you know that den we busted a few days ago?”

Knight Warden gave a nod, sitting a little straighter as the question caught his attention.

“Well, the commish has seen it as a potential problem that needs eliminating now. New, more dangerous Superadine? New tech? Can’t be good, right?” Winterby explained, “he wants a Task Force started, and he’s put me to lead it.”

“Oh, uh, congratulations Detective,” the hero stated, offering a thumbs up.

“Thank you. Honestly, this feels like a really big amount of progress, but,” the detective held up a finger, “it’s going to need some major work, right? Some heavy hitters? You up for it?” There was a pause as the young hero considered it.

“You sure you need me?” he asked. The detective gave a nod.

“As big as this development is, drug busts of this nature are usually dolled out by the FBSA to inexperienced heroes. That, and you’re kind of my good luck charm by this point; you were the one to help find the break in this case, after all,” she leaned back in her seat, taking another sip of her coffee. There was another pause as Knight Warden thought it over, but he gave a nod.

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s the spirit. And uh, hey, you have friends right? You think they need work experience too?” she asked. This got a more immediate response, the young hero giving a more enthusiastic nod.

“Y-yeah! I mean, I don’t know if they need the experience, but they’d be happy to help out,” he explained. The detective gave a wry smile.

“Well, if they’re as good as you say they are, we’ll knock this out of the park. I’ll speak to the Captain later today, see if he can’t send an email to your school. In the mean time,” she placed a hand on the stack of unfinished reports next to her, “we’ve got some boring stuff to do.”

The Detective Winterby Task Force

A Task Force has been created and is playable through Architect Entertainment. Labelled Detective WInterby Task Force parts 1 and 2, it is a total of 8 missions in which players will take on the Family as they help Winterby take down a major drug operation.

The Task Force comes with a souvenir badge, which reads the following:

Winterby's Compadre Badge

This badge, a small metal rectangle has a fairly plain design. On a silver canvas is a golden star, the badge bordered by a pair of golden wings.

This badge is one given to you by Detective Elaine Winterby of the Paragon Police Department after you joined her as Task Force Trafalgar.

"If you're ever looking for work experience, the PPD would be happy to have you."

It reminds you of a story you call...

The Newest Addiction

Detective Winterby, a mentor of Knight Warden's, requested aid from the AoH in the completion of a Task Force to take down a worrying new drug that's on the streets of Steel Canyon.

After forming up, you quickly dismantled a drug den, quickly finding out that these well equiped thugs were being backed by members of the Family.

With this information in mind, Winterby had you look for clues the old fashioned way, interrogating Family goons until one of them told you of a warehouse or two nearby that might have something to do with the operation. Checking it out, you found more 'dyne and papers detailing the building belonging to 'Laud Solutions.'

Winterby told you that the Family's new 'dyne variations are just being made cheaply but in wider, more dangerous varieties. Additionally, after checking with some contacts, Laud shipments all seem to congregate around one key building, and that it might be worth checking.

Once there, you find the place to be a 'dyne lab. After a brief interruption by the Tsoo who were attacking the warehouse, you find what you believed to be a Supa Troll, who launched at you with a feral fury.

Defeating the troll and locking down the scene, Winterby congratulated you on a job well done and confers with some contacts about what to do next, eventually telling you to head to Laud Solution's head office to investigate the company.

What you found was an empty warehouse, which turned out to be a trap as Family hitmen stormed the building to kill you! Fighting them off, you speak with Winterby with what little information you had and tells you of an off shore shipment coming in via freighter, and you're sent to secure it to gain further evidence.

Returning, Winterby works with you to piece together the remaining evidence, that the operation is likely being run by Giarnelli enforcer and chemist Luciano De Mallo. With a warrant to search his home, you head inside to find the place already under attack by the Tsoo and Luciano having fled!

After finding data on his next project, and security footage, you deduce with Winterby where he had fled to, and pursue him.

Following him to a warehouse, you confront Luciano, who briefly escapes to use the new Blitz super drug on himself. After a hard fight, however, you bring him low.

With Luciano behind bars, Winterby congratulated you on a job well don. Truly, Paragon had been made safer.

News Report, December 5th 2020

Welcome to the Paragon City News, I’m your anchor, Felicity Scarborough.

A noted member of the Family organised crime group, Luciano De Mallo, has been arrested as the result of a joint task force between heroes and members of the Paragon Police Department. De Mallo, in addition to a large number of his associates had been heading a large scale drug operation within Steel Canyon. Detective Elaine Winterby of the PPD lead the task force, with assistance from several newer heroes from the Academy of Heroes.

“This win has been a long time coming. I’m proud to say that a dangerous threat to our streets has been taken out of the equation, and it was thanks to the co-operation of these young heroes that all of this was finally accomplished. It was handled beautifully, and it’s exciting to see so many young supers want to do good. I believe I speak on behalf of every officer in my precinct when I say we’d welcome more of this kind of co-operation in the future.”

Luciano De Mallo, known among others in the Family as ‘Lucky Luci’ has been found on the wrong side of the law before, but has never been found guilty of any crime he’s been arrested for. De Mallo, in addition to another associate, is being kept under close watch due to the nature of their final confrontation with the Academy of Heroes. Reportedly, this is due to their use of an experimental super serum, which has had a detrimental effect on their physical bodies, and may require extensive medical treatment. Captain Alex Munroe believes that this is proof of their step in the right direction.

“I know sometimes things between the PPD and the heroes of paragon can get a little strained. There’s a lot of problems in every direction that need to be fixed. This, I feel is a good step in the right direction. With heroes and the PPD working this closely together, we have a real victory over some of the more insidious aspects of organised crime.”

Damien Morton, CEO of Invoked Inc, commented that there was still healing to be done.

“Blackspire will be more than happy to accept mr. De Mallo and his associates as they serve their sentences. In light of the nature of their crimes, Invoked Inc. will help back a number of foundations dedicated to helping those afflicted with an addiction to Superadine and similar drugs. The monster might be defeated, but the people he hurt still need help.”

Over the past year, reported drug use in Steel Canyon had been rising, with most cases being linked in some way to Superadine.

De Mallo’s lawyers could not be reached for comment at this time.

Detective Winterby's Personal Story

Bronze Way, Steel Canyon, December 27th, 10:41pm

It wasn’t often that things were quiet in a PPD precinct. Even with heroes working around the clock to stop crime, it didn’t mean most of the PPD had turned into desk jockeys. While the officers were out on their beats and detectives worked on their cases, the precinct was typically an ever active hub for work.

Winterby surrendered to a yawn as she scoured over the text on the computer screen before her, the last report to be filed relating to Neo ‘Dyne and the Family’s involvement. A total of two hundred and sixty seven arrests had been made, twelve tons of illegal substances, a further twenty tons of counterfeit electronics and black market cybernetics, and the acquisition of close to twenty commercial buildings and two freighters. She did not envy the judicial system for this particular workload, and she was glad to see the end of it. The FBI had come calling at least twice to read over the documentation, part of their own efforts to thwart the united mafia as best they could, no doubt.

As her tired gaze scanned over the last of the documentation, finally sure it was grammatically correct and detailed as could be, she heaved a sigh and slumped back into her chair, which squeaked in protest at the slightest movement. Satisfied, she clicked the save icon, three times to be sure, before closing the windows one by one and savouring the feeling of logging off.

“All done?” asked the detective on the neighbouring desk. Winterby glanced over, seeing Martins who was still slouching back in his chair, coffee mug in one hand. His long, blonde hair was a mess, but that was to be expected; Winterby knew the man never got enough sleep and he steadfastly refused to comb it lest he had a date.

“You know it,” she responded, forcing herself from her chair and stretching, feeling the joints in her arms and legs pop from the tension of being sat in the same position for hours at a time.

“Ten bucks says the Captain won’t be satisfied,” the man remarked, taking another sip, “you know how he is.”

“It’ll be fine. It’s a goddamn novel, it’ll take a week for the lawyers to read the whole thing,” Winterby plucked her jacket from the back of the chair and slipping it on. She took a look around the precinct, “where’s Rooker? He can’t still be out on a call, right?”

Sergeant Rooker was dedicated to his protocol, sticking strictly to the book as much as possible, and was sadly quite humourless as a result. He was the precinct’s best interrogator, but since going through the training to become a Psi-Cop, he’d been banned from the interrogation room for ethical concerns. He didn’t have a bad bone in his body, but his all business outlook combined with the public knowledge that he very much could read your mind wasn’t comforting at all.

“He called in the scene about an hour ago, might be getting something to eat,” Martins remarked. He yawned, following it up with a mouthful of coffee before putting the mug down and standing himself, “gotta go and check in with Jones in security. Catch you tomorrow.”

“Go to bed, Martins,” Winterby remarked, earning a dismissive wave as she made her way out.

The night time air was especially chilling. Out of habit, Winterby put her hands into her pockets and made the short trek along the snow covered sidewalk to around the back of the building. Rounding the corner, she spied her reliable sedan, one that had been with her almost as long as she had been in the force. The very sight of it forced a sigh of relief, the physical embodiment of the journey home.

However, as she approached she slowed down. Something was off, and it wasn’t until she inspected the other vehicles in the parking lot that it had occurred to her what it was; the car had lacked a layer of snow. She had been working all day, a near sixteen hour shift working on reports, and it hadn’t stopped snowing. However, the car looked like it had just arrived. Even Musgrove’s car, a ridiculous looking compact that she swore was the wave of the future, was covered in snow, and she had rolled into the precinct four hours after Winterby did.

Out of habit, she placed a hand on the pistol attached to her belt and moved forwards, checking each direction for anything else out of the ordinary. The footprints in the snow were too numerous, at least without closer inspection. As she arrived at her car, she gave it a once over. Nothing seemed damaged, at least. Curiosity took her, and she tested the handle on the driver’s side.

It was unlocked.

Frowning, she made sure the door was closed and backed away from the vehicle. As far as she was concerned, the car was now a crime scene, and professionally she shouldn’t be touching anything. She also didn’t know if anything was stolen or if this person had left something behind.

Taking another glance around the lot, she spied one of the security cameras. It had a clear view of the car and her. Maybe Jones would have some answers. Taking out her phone, she dialled Martins’ number.

“You get lost?” was his snide response.

“I need a favour. You still with Jones?” she asked

“Yeah, still with him here. What’s up?”

“Can you ask him to check the camera in the parking lot? Anything up with it?”

There was a pause, Winterby’s growing concern forcing her to check behind her as she waited. Nothing, so far.

“…Looks good. You leave your car here?”

“I’m still by my car,” Winterby explained. She lowered her voice, “I think it’s been messed with.”

“You’re still with your car?” Martins asked. After a pause, his tone grew far more serious, “Come back inside. Leave the car here, I’m going to put out an alert. You’re not showing up on the camera right now, I think it’s being looped.”

The detective grimaced. The hand she had hovering over her pistol removed the clasp that kept it in its holster.

“Got it,” she remarked.

“Stay on the phone with me,” Martins added, “just in case.”

“Don’t worry, I wo-”

Her response as interrupted as she turned around, eyes settling on a large, suited figure. They wore a long black coat over their red suit, red fedora hat gathering snow which seemed to melt almost immediately on the brim which covered their eyes. A Family goon. Winterby froze. Even with the guy standing casually, blocking the entrance to the parking lot, hands in pockets, the likelihood that he had powers meant that she couldn’t risk a sudden movement.

“Winterby, you there?” asked Martins, who got no response, “Elaine? Shit, hang on.”

“The famous ‘Detective Winterby’ eh?” spoke the goon, taking a few slow, casual steps forwards, “You’ve been real busy.”

“I’m guessing you have a problem with me doing my job,” the detective’s response was almost snarled through gritted teeth.

“I guess we do.”

Rounding the corner were two others, similar in build and with matching red suits. The first goon glanced over his shoulder.

“You boys keep the cops busy. I’m gonna have a chat with Ms Winterby here,” he said, with the other two turning and heading back towards the precinct.

“Getting awful obvious with your methods, dirtbag,” Winterby spat. She threw caution to the wind and drew her pistol, aiming for centre mass. The goon stopped his advance, smile widening.

“Subtlety works for only a few. Enough of the cops and judges in this city are rotten, and forgiveness is easy to find with a little green,” he explained. He removed his hands from his pockets, both of them being empty though harbouring an impressive array of burn scars, “must be hard, knowing that we’d kill you and walk free all the same.”

“This is your last chance to stand down,” the detective’s order was met with a laugh.

“Oh, it’s too late for that, detective. You and your super kid squad messed with the wrong group,” the goon raised a hand and snapped his fingers, a small spark emitting from it. Almost instantly, the upper half of Winterby’s leather jacket began to smoulder, a small column of smoke rising into the air. The detective choked and sputtered, now blinded. She fired off a round, but the metallic ping was enough to tell her that it missed. She backed away, getting closer to her car.

“No one fucks with the Giarnellis. We’ve been at this for too long to let that happen,” the assailant moved forwards, speaking with the confidence of a man who believed he had already won, “whatever we don’t run is too scared to get in our way. They know this is what happens if they do.”

There was another snap, and moments later, a hideous explosion as Winterby’s car erupted into a fireball of burnt metal and broken glass. The force of the explosion threw Winterby bodily several feet, landing in a painful heap in the snow nearby. There was a brief period of numbness as her mind tried to process exactly what happened. The explosion had freed her from the choking smog of her ruined jacket, and groggily she breathed in the cold winter air. As her mind settled, she recognised the pain, the sting of a hideous burn all down her side and the dull, pulsing pressure of what she soon began to think were broken bones. Her head swam and her vision was blurry. The last detail she’d recall being that she lost her gun.

The assailant took his time to find the detective’s missing weapon, slowly advancing over to the fallen form as he tested the weapon’s weight and balance.

“Well, ain’t you lucky,” he says, pulling back the hammer, “ain’t many that can survive this long. Don’t worry though, it’ll be over soon.”

The assassin levelled the gun to aim at Winterby’s head, pausing only a moment to savour the finishing touch. He could hear the gunshots in the street nearby, the other two Cleaners doing enough to keep them from being uninterrupted or so he thought.

As he settled his aim, the weapon began to disassemble itself, piece by piece. As the mechanism that allowed the gun to fire was removed, the bulk of the weapon was torn from the assassin’s grip, flying through the air and landing in the hand of a stern, middle aged man in a long, dark coat and beret, a plain white plastic bag in his other hand.

“I’m going to have to ask you to surrender,” Rooker’s order was met with a sneer. The assassin turned to meet the new challenger, his confident smile fading. When it became clear that the answer to Rooker’s request was going to be a no, the sergeant sighed and dropped the disassembled pistol.

“Sleep.”

With a quick, almost dismissive wave of the hand, Rooker generated just enough of a psionic push to scramble the assailant’s mind and force him to shut down. The assassin opened his mouth to speak, only to rapidly become drowsy and topple forwards, landing in the snow with dull thump. Threat eliminated, Rooker took out his radio and immediately called in.

“Dispatch, this is Sergeant Rooker, Bronze Way precinct, code 10-40, need medical ASAP, Detective Winterby is down, I repeat, Detective Winterby is down, 10-51,” he rushed over to the wounded detective as the rattled off the commands, doing whatever he could to ensure she’d survive.

News Report, December 28th 2020

Welcome to the Paragon City News, I’m your anchor, Felicity Scarborough.

An explosion at the Bronze Way Police Precinct in Steel Canyon has gravely wounded one officer late Sunday evening.

Detective Elaine Winterby, who had recently lead a task force alongside younger heroes in the arrest of Family chemical expert Luciano De Mallo and a large number of other associates, is alive and recovering in intensive care.

PPD Captain Alex Munroe issued a statement Monday morning.

“Last night, one of our hardest working detectives was attacked. It is greatly fortunate that Detective Winterby had survived the attack, and is now being taken care of by skilled medical professionals. I want to make this clear: this was most definitely an attack by the Family, in retaliation to our successes recently. We will not be intimidated. We will continue to fight the good fight, whatever might be in front of us.”

Representatives of Mr De Mallo still have not been reached for comment.

Details of the attack indicate that three suspects were seen assaulting the precinct. While one of these assailants has been reported as arrested, the remaining two are at large. Further details have been provided by the PPD on their website and social media.

The profiles include two men, one blonde, the other with a shaved head, being of a larger build. Both have notable burn scars on their skin and reportedly have pyrokinetic powers.

Ire of a Made Man

Talos Island, The Silent Crow club, January 5th 2021, 3:27pm

Stepping into the Silent Crow was like taking a step into the past. The patrons, while few always dressed in crisp suits and beautiful dresses, quiet jazz music filled the cigarette stained air and the only people in attendance were those who could afford to be there.

Sitting quietly in a back office of the club was a middle aged man, olive complexion on his thin frame, the lips on his long, narrow face turned into a frown, as if contemplating the drink in the glass tumbler he held in his right hand. His left lay motionless on the desk he sat behind, the sleeve rolled up and the skin pulled away so the man sitting next to him could tune the cybernetics beneath.

The Giarnellis, a Sicilian crime family who, up until the arrival of Sebastian Frost, had a branching territory all over Talos Island. Granted, the Giarnellis had seen the most benefit from the merger, and even kept a substantial amount of their power, so that fact never really changed. When Frost approached them with the benefits of falling in line, the Giarnelli’s don, Marco had been all too quick to sign up, and because of such quick loyalty, the Giarnellis remained one of the more influential members of the Family, with Marco being among the few Dons who are closest to the top of the pyramid.

With this stepping stone, the Giarnellis would advance the selling of the Superadine drug, even expanding upon it to make the recipe much more versatile. Beyond the selling of the drug, they had also heavily invested in the technology boom created from the spoils of war with Praetoria, and Marco had, with the backing of his own consigliere, taken to research into cybernetics thanks to a lucrative acquisition shortly after the battle in Steel Canyon with Battle Maiden.

And then Luciano had to go and screw up.

Leo ‘One-Two’ Giarnelli was not pleased. He had spent a great amount of time catering to Luciano and his little projects. As Consigliere, it was his job to challenge and advise his cousin, Marco in the matters of the organisation and he had really pushed to improve Luciano’s production of Superadine and expansion of their cybernetics, and yet the bald bastard couldn’t even maintain his one job when challenged by a bunch of children. Luciano’s failure was his failure, even if what Leo had been doing was more important to the progress of the Family as a whole.

He might have lost his cool, ordered a trio of cleaners to send a message to the PPD, that despite their public victory, they weren’t untouchable, that the Giarnellis still existed, but that only set to make things more tense between himself and the Don. If he wasn’t careful, it would be brought to the attention of Frost, which would be an offense Marco wouldn’t be able to forgive all that soon.

The door to the room entered, a young man with brushed back black hair poked his head in.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” he asked, albeit a little timidly.

“Nah, you can come in,” Leo murmured, raising the glass, “I’m guessing you’re here to tell me how we just lost another lab?”

“’Fraid so,” the younger man started, slinking into the room and closing the door behind him quietly, “another one in Independence.”

Leo heaved a sigh before taking a swig of his drink. He put down the glass, expression becoming more stern.

“They’re dropping like flies,” he snarled. He heaved a sigh and rubbed his face, “and without the freighters, we’re cut off from our off shore suppliers too. Who was this one busted by?”

“Got word it was the Knight Warden, sir,” the answer forced the consigliere to groan. He knew of the Knight Warden, in fact it was the one cape that had been hounding the superadine project alongside the PPD. Another kid. Unlike the dear detective, however, the Knight Warden was noted to be a little sturdier, to put it mildly.

“The kid’s probably looking for the two guys we sent after Winterby,” Leo explained after something of a pause, “no child, powers or otherwise, has a right to mess in the affairs of the Family. We’re being upstaged by children.”

“We’re doing our best, boss,” the younger man said. This, in turn had earned a scowl from Leo.

“If we were doing our best, this wouldn’t be happening,” he explained, “if we were doing our best, the Knight Warden would be dead. Got it?”

He thought deeply about what to do. Of course, he didn’t know exactly how strong the Knight Warden was; he wasn’t exactly alone when Task Force Trafalgar brought in Luciano, and it might have been any of the other kids who had been doing the heavy lifting, but Knight Warden was the most prominent, the one who didn’t just walk away to deal with other matters when the detective got attacked. After a moment, he shook his head.

“He’s one of those strong types, right? More powerful than a speeding locomotive sort of deal?” Leo’s question got a nod, “Might not have as strong a mind. Get in touch with the Bartiluccis, see if they wouldn’t mind us borrowing Mind Slice Moe for a job.”

“You’re gonna have him killed?” the younger man asked.

“If the kid’s old enough to fuck up our business, he’s old enough to suffer the consequences,” the consigliere’s response was a little calmer, not a shred of regret in the notion, “we put him down. Then maybe people will wise up and stay out of our way.”

Complications

Pendragon Lane, Founder’s Falls, January 26th, 4:37pm

It had been a weird few days. Painful, yes, but mostly weird in the sense that this was suddenly new territory and he couldn’t quite reconcile it. Recently, while being helped by his friends in a raid on another Family drug laboratory, he had come under attack by a psychic adversary, one known as Mind Slice Moe.

Morgan’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling as he lay in bed. His head had cleared up, finally since the attack on the weekend, but the implication had hung in his mind for the longest time. Specifically, it was the first time anyone had sent someone to kill him specifically. It had taken him a while to get used to the fact that his life was in danger for simply wearing the costume, but in those instances it didn’t feel personal. Retail managers would often say that an angry customer wasn’t yelling at you, but the uniform, even if that wasn’t terribly accurate to begin with, but most hero work certainly felt like that; the aggression wasn’t towards you specifically, but instead being toward the fact that you were an obstacle, and that you weren’t being hunted down but were just an inconvenience.

The assassin, this ‘Mind Slice Moe’ felt targeted. He mentioned Morgan by his hero handle and made a real effort to take him down. The psychic assault was painful, a roiling mix of emotion and anxiety coupled with, what he could only describe as the worst ice cream headache he ever experienced. It was disabling, and it was the first time since his fight with Dani where he felt hurt.

He heaved a sigh and sat up, looking around his quiet room, eyes settling on his phone. He had spent a decent amount of time during his rest texting Ashley, her company doing wonders as he recovered from the attack. He allowed himself a smile; truly if there was anyone who could inspire confidence, it would her, even if she couldn’t admit that herself.

That went for all of his friends too, the more he thought about it. They all seemed to have a lot of confidence in him, more than anyone had a right to. He was pretty sure without them during the raid, he would have been in a lot of trouble, and it wouldn’t have been the first time the presence of his friends had made dealing with the hero life much easier. He had to wonder if their support was misplaced, but he couldn’t help but smile wider.

Rubbing his forehead, he picked up his phone and began texting again. Maybe just a quick chat with Ash would raise his spirits enough before he could return to patrol.

…………………………………………..

Venta, Talos Island, January 26th, 6:14pm

Venta was always a quiet place, though that was chiefly due to the price tag on the menu. With a beautiful view of the Talos harbour and exquisite decor, only the privileged few could sit at one of their tables.

Sitting at the back of the establishment was a long table, seated around which were twenty men, all of whom wore crisp business suits, each one dinning on a high-price steak that was the restaurant’s specialty.

Leo Giarnelli picked at his food in as dignified manner as he could. He sat alongside a number of his associates as they joined the Don on one of his rare jaunts into the city. As was expected, Marco sat at the head of the table to view all his loyal men all at once, with Antonio, his Underboss to his left and Leo, his Consigliere to his right. It was a symbolic process, true, but there was no need to abandon tradition, and subtle reminders of where everyone was to sit within this hierarchy of theirs were all the more important.

The table was void of chatter, not a single soul daring to speak up as the top most collection of the Giarnelli family ate their meal. Leo couldn’t help but find the silence unnerving, especially since he knew what likely dominated the minds of those gathered.

Mind Slice had failed, the Knight Warden was still alive, and still causing problems.

Since Luciano was arrested, a massive chunk of the Giarnelli’s income had up and vanished, taken into custody by the less corrupt PPD. Even with the few on the take doing what they could, the matter had become so public that damage control was minimal. Luciano was Leo’s asset, one that worked for quite a while, and the failure of Lucky Luci meant that it was Leo’s responsibility to clean up the mess. The direct attack on the PPD didn’t work, and now a teenager in armour had been dismantling their warehouses and drug labs up and down Independence Port. Not many were convicted, but it was an unacceptable loss of stock and supply.

“I had an interesting conversation the other day,” Marco’s bassy voice cut through the silence, causing everyone at the table to look up in surprise despite the calm tone he had taken, “not a terribly pleasant one, but interesting nonetheless.”

Leo looked to his left, straightening his back and looking his cousin in the eye. He had to maintain a sense of decorum and professionalism. Anyone else, even Antonio could allow themselves the luxury of fear, the ability to grovel and apologise, but not the Consigliere. He was very much the second to the Don, employed specifically to argue and counter the Don’s decisions in order to make sure business was done properly. He was only half a step below the Marco, and he had to act like it.

“Oh? I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” Leo said, bowing his head a little

“Indeed. It’s not every day Frost wants a word,” the Don continued. The mention of the singular head of the organisation forced Leo to widen his eyes.

“Don Frost?” Antonio asked, cutting through his steak as he listened, “I hope he’s been doing well.”

“He had been, Antonio,” Marco paused to take a sip of his wine, “though he hadn’t been pleased with the recent developments from certain members of the Family. He said a grievance had been aired by the Bartiluccis.”

A number of eyes fell on Leo, who risked a glance down to the meal in front of him, the half-finished steak, as delicious as it was now seeming to be significantly unappetising. Leo put down his cutlery and looked back to Marco.

“To be perfectly candid, sir,” he began, “Moe knew the risks when he agreed to take the job. Any form of wetwork, especially against capes comes with a lot of unknown factors.”

“Not often that the organisation runs afoul of a child. How is it that this is a continued problem, Leo?” Marco’s question prompted another pause. It was clear that the Don held no concern for the Bartilucci’s man, but was more concerned over the fact that a notably young hero had been causing so much trouble and unsettling the cosy spot the Giarnelli’s enjoyed at the top of Frost’s list.

“I’m not sure, sir,” Leo responded, “even with his friends there, Moe should have been able to put him down. Must be more resistant to psychic attack than expected. Young heroes shouldn’t be this powerful, it’s like he can’t be hurt.”

“You have other avenues available to you,” Marco explained, “I entrust you with this task because you are my number two, I know you are smarter than this. Have you not contacted Malta?”

“I considered it,” the Consigliere’s tone held a mote of disapproval. Malta was one of many business partners the Family had, and even the incarnates running around the city had to be wary of their efficiency, but they were notoriously difficult to deal with in matters other than the transfer of goods. Truthfully, it would be more surprising if Malta hadn’t already tried their hand at killing Knight Warden, “they never would have contracted themselves out like hitmen, sir, and our own investigating tells us that the Malta group have already tried and failed to neutralise Knight Warden. I thought to start in house.”

“Well, I would humbly advise you to expedite your efforts, Leo,” Marco stated, lifting the wine glass to his lips, “I like to be lenient with my associates, especially with you, but I fear Frost may not.”

There was no change in the Don’s voice, but the short statement was weighed down with so many implications that Leo felt the pit in his stomach grow even worse.

“Of course, Don Giarnelli,” he murmured, bowing his head. He removed the napkin from his lap as he moved to stand, “if you’ll excuse me."

Marco gave a simple nod, returning his attention to his meal as Leo made his way outside.

Something needed to change, and there was no known group in Paragon that could work. The new Praetorian tech didn’t make a dent in the kid, their psychic assassin failed, Malta wouldn’t work either. Clearly, there needed to be a change, and that change would have to come quickly. If there’s one thing Leo couldn’t lose it would be his position within the Family.

Finding a quiet, secluded spot in a connecting alleyway, Leo took out his cellphone and quickly dialled a number.

“Hello? Yes, I’d like to create a contract, please. The Knight Warden, Paragon City. Five hundred thousand. Thank you.”

Throwing Down the Gauntlet

'???, Siberia, January 30th, 12:03 AM'

Hidden beneath the cold tundras of Siberia was a labyrinthine network of tunnels, connecting secure bunkers shielded from the cold and prying eyes. The tunnels, outfitted with the latest technology, were deathly quiet. Emblazoned on the walls and doors of this bunker was a golden gauntlet, clenched in a fist on a field of black inside hexagon border of yet more gold.

Near the lowest levels of this complex was a large room, cloaked in darkness. Near the entrance to the room, the only thing illuminated was a bar, the singular bartender, a tall, pale man with slicked back black hair, quietly cleaning a glass and minding his own business. A low murmuring of conversation could be heard from the shadows, but this was hushed as a wall near the bar flashed to life, revealing a large screen, the emblem that was forever present throughout the complex shining on.

“Welcome, competitors,” spoke a monotone, feminine voice, “to the Gilded Gauntlet. Today we shall review the current standings, as well as current contracts.”

The screen shifted, moving the emblem to the upper right corner as a table faded into view, a series of names appeared alongside a variety of statistics; contracts completed, time taken, status of target and total points earned.

“Current board leader is Red Maelstrom,” spoke the voice. From the darkness, the audience began the whisper again, in a tone that betrayed a lack of surprise, a result that had been presented numerous times before, no doubt. The screen shifted once again, this time to a list of individuals of various code names. The crowd hushed once more as the animations changed, a large quantity of this list being overlaid with the text ‘COMPLETE’, leaving only two unchanged.

“Colonel Lauton Swint of the Malta Organisation has evaded termination for the requisite six months. Contract still stands. Current contract holder is Squall Rider,” the voice continued, bringing up the image of a lithe, blonde man in a form fitting black and blue leotard and pieces of gold trimmed armour, “does the contract holder wish to continue the hunt?”

“Yes,” responded a tenor male voice, harbouring a hint of agitation within the tones of his Grecian accent, “Swint has been hiding within this little bunker on the West coast since before the contract began. Target is hiding, and inaccessible, but I will not throw in the towel.”

“Acknowledged,” the feminine voice responded, the screen adjusting to move the image of Squall Rider and the name of Colonel Lauton Swint out of sight before moving up another name, as well as the image of a rail thin woman in a practical, all black attire that completely hid their identity, “Gladitoria, independent metahuman, no known moral affiliation has evaded termination for the requisite six months. Contract still stands. Current contract holder is Maria De Lucio. Does the contract holder wish to continue the hunt?”

“Negative,” the delicate soprano of an Italian woman echoed from the darkness, “Gladitoria is a threat level fifty metahuman. I have lost too many private resources attempting to slay her. I throw in the towel.”

“Acknowldged,” the graphics changed again, moving the image of Maria off screen and bringing up the details of a purple-skinned, broadly built female humanoid in ostentatious, almost roman armour, “Gladitoria is an extra terrestrial of unknown origin. Age is unknown. Combat classification is Tanker. Known powers include improved physical strength, durability and the generation of volatile electrical current. Additional data will be provided by the previous contract holder shortly.”

“Level fifty, you say?” asked another voice from the darkness.

“Yes, fifty,” Maria began, somewhat indignant, “they possess a level of raw power and durability that would easily be a match with other metas on that level, and she is likely immune to most of my methods.”

“Chrome Beast takes the contract,” snarled a deep, rough Scottish tone, “this looks like somethin’ I’d enjoy.”

There were a series of heavy thuds and pneumatic hisses as a tall, wide and vicious being of twisted metal and abused flesh stomped out of the darkness. He turned only briefly to catch what appeared to be a golden hexagonal coin, thrown from the darkness to him.

“Acknowledged. The timer has been reset, the board has been rebalanced,” spoke the automated voice. Chrome Beast smiled, the light reflecting off vicious plated fangs.

“Thank ye, lass. Barkeep, call upstairs, I’ll be takin’ the teleporter to Glasgow to prepare.”

The bartender gave a slow solemn nod as he put the glass down temporarily and turned to use a phone on the wall behind him. Without much more of a word, Chrome Beast walked slowly and casually out of the bar and through the heavy metal door, the sounds of his steps muted the moment it closed behind him.

“Outstanding and completed contracts have been arranged. Moving on to new contracts.”

The graphics on the screen faded away, leaving only the cyan backdrop, before shifting to display a long list of names. The top one expanded to reveal news information, videos and data gathered on a male humanoid, dressed in knight’s armour.

“First in our ‘New and Trending’ catalogue, we have the Knight Warden. Approximate age is 15-19. Combat classification is Brute. Known powers include improved strength, durability, flight, heightened senses, and other powers derived from an unknown, magic based source. Limitation on power is unknown.”

The gathered crowd murmured in contemplation, a mix of intrigue and discomfort.

“A kid?” asked one, deeper voice from the darkness, “how could a kid be a valued target?”

“The Knight Warden has been placed on the list as a request from a member of the Family crime syndicate in Paragon City. Additionally, information gathered through media sources indicate that the Knight Warden has taken part in a number of high level missions alongside powerful heroes. Most notably, Knight Warden was involved with the Praetorian derived threat known as Metallix near one year prior.”

The screen shifted again, news reports and articles from various papers covering the invasion a year ago, the attack by radioactive clockwork in Steel Canyon under cover of Arachnos flyer, the expansion of the New Praetorians Initiative and murmurings of things happening in Last Bastion. Further hushed discussion took place.

“I think I heard about this one,” spoke a delicate feminine voice from another corner, “word among the gang bangers in Paragon says he can’t be hurt.”

“The white knight motif is a bit on the nose,” mentioned a third, “Let me guess; teenager out of time?”

“Nah, he’s from our time, that’s for certain. I got a friend or two who’ve been in the same room with him; kid’s a wuss. Can’t stop stammering as he talks,” the fourth voice scoffed, dripping in disapproval, “he’s just a scared kid whose little bubble don’t give him any comfort.”

“Heart’s in the right place, though,” said another. They raised an arm, the silhouette barely visible in the glow of the screen and waved their hand. The articles on the screen shifted to the right, more news articles and social media posts about less combat focussed affairs; rescues from burning buildings, feeding the homeless, charity work a plenty, “give him a spine and we got ourselves a regular Big Blue Boyscout.”

“So, we give him a couple years, see if he goes all Truth, Justice and Freedom and kill him then for extra points? I kinda like that idea.” The comment caused more mumbles among the gathered few, growing enthusiasm to let the young hero simmer reaching their apex.

“Speed Reaper takes the contract.”

The interjection caused the discussions to hush. The screen immediately shifted once more, collecting all the data, providing a singular image of the Knight Warden, one where he is seen fighting a hydra monster during a rave and placing next to it the profile image of a male figure in a skin-tight, aerodynamic suit of blacks and golds.

“Seriously, Speed?” The first voice snarled. Standing from his seat, the supposed ‘Speed Reaper’ emerged from the darkness to approach the barkeep in the light. He was a thinner, lankier man with gelled back blonde hair, and a long face with tired, sunken eyes.

“This is one of the first teen heroes to be put on our little hit list, not counting Kid Hammerstein back in ’14,” he said, “there’s a lot of question marks around this one. That, and if people say this kid can’t be hurt, I wanna see just how true that is.”

“Why am I not surprised you’d resort to murdering minors for points?” grumbled the fourth voice. The assassin reached forwards to take the golden coin handed to him by the bartender. He turned to the crowd shrouded in darkness, tired eyes looking into the abyss as he smiled to himself.

“Hey, he’s on the list,” began the Speed Reaper, tumbling the coin through his fingers as he turned to leave, “’Sides, not like any of you could beat my time. Pietro, send word upstairs, I’ll be taking the teleporter to Prague and flying to America that way.”

The bartender, ever professional, gave a slow nod and ducked away to find a phone. The assassin turned to smile again at the crowd in the shadows before wordlessly walking away. As he did, the screen began to shift again to the next potential contract.

Marked

Steel Canyon, February 12th, 6:08pom

Knight Warden peered through the thick smog of the burning building, a dense, oppressive wall of darkness. He had just pulled the last civilian out of the fire, but he had to make sure; his hearing still wasn’t under enough control, and he couldn’t rely on it to be absolutely certain.

On what was an otherwise pleasant afternoon, the young hero had been the first on hand to tend to a sudden and violent building fire. With no one else on the scene, his hands were tied when an alert sounded on his communicator about an attack by the Outcasts on the opposite side of Steel Canyon. With no other recourse, he had decided to call his friends for assistance, offering to pay for food after it was done. He knew his friends were better fighters than him, and were more than capable of handling a group of Outcasts.

It was emergencies like these he knew he could handle. A building couldn’t fight back, at least, not that he’d seen yet, and the goal had always been the same: find people and get them outside. It may have held its own risks beyond the charity work and relief efforts, but at least he knew that he could survive it, and thus, could focus entirely on the safety of those caught inside.

With his sight not being enough to pierce the smoke, and his hearing unreliable, Knight Warden was forced to use his speed to check each floor, one room at a time.

Descending to the lowest floor of the building, the young hero planted his feet on the hard stone and looked around again. It seemed the largest part of this floor was taken up by a large hall, perhaps being intended as another entrance to the building, or possibly a conference hall. Knight Warden thanked his lucky stars most of the building was made from reinforced stone, and wasn’t likely to collapse any time soon.

“Hello? Anyone there?” he called out, as loud as he could. He paused a moment to allow for any kind of response, though received nothing but the rumble of flames all around him. He shook his head, taking a moment to contact the others, raising a hand to tap the communicator in his ear.

“H-hey, this is Knight Warden. How are things on your end?” he asked.

The voice of Dani came through the comms

"Well Morgan, we got some... Power Boosters here," she said. Despite being the only one there, Knight Warden gave a nod, smiling a bit under his mask. He knew he could count on her.

“O-OK. I’m just doing a last swe-”

He was cut off as he was struck across the face. The unseen force forced him downwards, impacting hard with the stone floor. Before he could react, he was struck again, this time in the chest, which pushed him further down. These strikes, made with such speed and power that the young hero couldn’t even see what was attacking him, kept striking in the same spot, over and over again, forcing him further down through the floor. The dense smog replaced by dark stone as he tumbled further and further into the earth. Before long, the stone behind him gave way to thin air, and with a splash, Knight Warden came to a stop in the vile and labyrinthine network of sewer tunnels beneath Paragon.

Taking a moment to realise the onslaught had stopped, he forced himself into the air and righted himself, hastily looking in every direction. Physically, he couldn’t feel any pain, but whether that was because of a rush of adrenaline or fear, he didn’t know, his mind still boggling over being forcibly moved somewhere completely different.

Subconsciously, he moved his hand to up tap his communicator again.

“Looking for these?” asked a voice from behind him. Turning around, the young hero spotted a man standing some distance away, dressed in a skin-tight suit with an aerodynamic helmet to conceal his face. The outfit was coloured mostly black with gold accents. The newcomer held up their hand, and between his fingers showed Knight Warden’s communicator and mediporter device.

“Wait, how did-”

“Sorry kid, can’t have any interruptions,” the man said, shaking his head. For a moment, the hand that held the devices shook, becoming a blur, the two devices held between his fingers rapidly falling apart and bursting in a shower of scrap and sparks, “it’s just gonna be you and me for a little while. Like, a minute, tops. You’re pretty tough, most metas I tangle with don’t survive the first hit, let alone the following hundred or so.”

“Who are you?” Knight Warden asked, voice trembling as he realised all too quickly that, as of this moment he was alone.

“Not really the type to give last requests. I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

With that statement, the man was gone, simply vanishing with in that instant with another, powerful strike ringing out like thunder as Knight Warden bent double, launched down the tunnel and slamming hard into the wall a few hundred feet away. With no time to rest, the attacker was upon him again, countless attacks launched within the span of seconds as Knight Warden was pummelled against the stained brickwork. Each attack hit with too much force and with such speed, it felt nigh impossible to counter act it.

The attacks shifted into their direction and soon he was being dragged at high velocity through the tunnels, bounced from wall to wall like some radiant pinball, and while he felt no pain from the attacks themselves, he felt helpless to fight back, unable to concentrate on where he was and what was around him to even begin to think of how to deal with the guy.

Mercifully there was another pause, the momentum carrying Knight Warden forward as he tumbled through the sewers, clattering to a stop a little ways further down.

“And now I’ve run out of patience,” stated the attacker, once more slow enough to be visible, “what the hell are you made of, kid?”

The young hero slowly got to his feet, trying his hardest to not let terror enter his mind. The assassin was a speedster, that much was obvious, but the suit and mannerisms wasn’t like anything he’d dealt with recently. Where’d he come from? Was he working for the Family?

“I… I d-don’t know what you mean,” he responded. He had to focus, to keep his bearings. Even if he planned to flee, he needed to figure out a way to counteract this guy’s speed advantage.

“Nobody has lived this long. No one. Wanna know why?” the man asked. He held up his hand, which turned into a blur once more, “I can vibrate my molecules to speeds beyond human comprehension. Best part is that most things I touch can’t keep their stability because of it. Stone, metal, flesh. No matter how tough, if it’s physical, it will break down.”

In a flash his arm was outstretched. Nearby, an errant piece of forgotten machinery, once lost to the maze of the Paragon Sewer network, fell cleanly in two pieces.

“Molecular Disassembly. Basic. Fucking. Science. And then there’s you.”

In that moment, once again the speedster was upon him, forcing the young hero against the wall with one arm, the other hand made flat as it vibrated and was forced towards his midsection like a knife, only for the hand to go no further as it whined like a buzz saw against the pristine chainmail.

“This shouldn’t be happening. What gives?” the assassin’s question held the tone of someone who was greatly offended by the Knight Warden’s defiance. While the young hero couldn’t see his attacker’s eyes behind the helmet, he could feel the murderous contempt. What might have started as a case of boredom and overconfidence had changed into a petty hatred that radiated off of him; he had taken the young hero’s survival personally, “Why won’t you stop screwing around and just die!?”

Knight Warden was the first to react this time, the stationary position they were in giving him the opening he needed to raise both his arms and forcibly push the assassin away, who hurtled through the air a fair distance. With no time to dwell, the young hero decided the best thing to do was flee before his attacker figured out a way to actually hurt him. Fully giving in to his flight response, he turned toward the next tunnel and took flight at top speed; if he could get back to the surface and into the sky, he might just be able to lose him.

He couldn’t count the number of tunnels he fled through, the turns he made, at least not until it came to an abrupt end. With one more strike, Knight Warden was launched down another tunnel, his attacker having caught up to him. He crashed into an old regulator device, bounding off of it and falling to the vile sewage below. Standing, he realised all too soon that he wasn’t alone in this room either, as the putrid waters around him rose, coalescing into rotund and repulsive slime creatures; he was launched into a Hydra nest.

The assassin stood at the entrance to the room, assessing what to do next. He turned his head to the side briefly before sighing.

“Great. Now I’m out of time,” he snarled. He turned his attention to the Knight Warden, whose own attention was focussed on the hydra creatures lumbering towards him, “This isn’t over kid. I’ll kill you one way or another. Just consider yourself lucky for now.”

With that, he vanished, leaving the Knight Warden alone with the extra-dimensional beasts. His attempt to flee didn’t work, he couldn’t fight back against the speedster, he couldn’t reach his friends. The combined terror of the situation caused his legs to lock up, rooted to the ground and preventing any further escape as the creatures loomed towards him.

Marked AE

While Morgan had been dealing with the fire, a group of Morgan's friends and fellow students tended to the Outcast attack on the other side of Steel Canyon. As Morgan lost communication, the group had moved to clear the current threat and rushed to assist their friend as best they could. The followed the signs of conflict down into the sewers and rescued Morgan from the Hydra. With no communicator or mediporter, Morgan resolved to take a break from heroing until the mediporter could be replaced. He resolved to spend as much time with Ashley (Screaming Banshee) as he could while he would play civilian and recover from the trauma of the attack.

News Broadcast 17th February 2021

Welcome to Paragon City news, I’m your anchor Felicity Scarborough

A fire in the suburban area of Founder’s Falls has claimed the lives of two Paragon City citizens. Authorities confirmed this morning that Andrew and Sarah Denvers had been killed in a fire that consumed their home in the Pendragon Lane area of Founder’s Falls.

The Denvers had moved to Paragon from Ireland in two thousand and four. Andrew had been promoted to Chief of the Founder’s Falls fire department in two thousand and fourteen, while Sarah had a celebrated career as an award winning author, with her latest work, an urban fantasy crime story known as Mire Lane, had made the top twenty best sellers within the United States.

Their son, Morgan, has been confirmed alive and safe by authorities and has been kept from comment due to matters of privacy.

Initial investigations of the scene have determined that the fire was caused by an electrical fault. Detective Lucas Braun of the Founder’s Falls police department says that it’s a tragic accident.

“This isn’t the first time one of these cookie cutter homes had a fault with them, and a full investigation and audit will be performed on the other houses within this district to ensure the same doesn’t happen to them. It’s a damn shame, though, and it just proves that no matter how super this city can be, accidents can happen. We all need to be well and truly careful on our best days.”

Solicitors of the Denver family have request ed privacy at this time.

Revenge

Founders Falls, February 12th, 7:17pm

It wasn’t often that Leo would grace the halls of Founder’s Falls premiere yacht club, but it did contain a notable portion of Paragon’s high society, and even if he wasn’t one to indulge the egos of those who would invest so heavily in their floating vanity projects, they did hold a lot of sway and a lot of secrets. This particular visit was less than fruitful, but at the very least the buffest was good and the patrons as gulliable or cowardly as their wallets were full.

Leo’s mind, however, was elsewhere. He had spent the day anxiously awaiting any form of news that the Knight Warden would wind up dead, and his investment in the Gilded Gauntlet was not one to be taken lightly either. From what he knew of the group, they were strictly competitive, and ending a contract had always been on their terms. The benefit for this was that for the most part, their assassins would normally pursue their quarry with more fervour than those paid independently; the reputation lost from giving in or even dying meant much more for them than other, run-of-the-mill killers for hire. This fervour, however often meant that he had no control over the assassin sent, nor the methods they would use, so anything he might do to change the situation, even if it was to his dissatisfaction, would burn bridges.

He frowned, stopping briefly on the sidewalk, glancing at the frigid canal he was walking by. How could a kid cause this much of a problem? At what point in his lifetime did it become a possibility to hire a clandestine assassin’s guild to hunt down a teenager at the price of half a million dollars?

The consigliere grit his teeth and closed his eyes. He had hoped that the Gauntlet would make do on their work by now, but still no word the previous few days. Already he had to explain to the Don, numerous times that there was still no progress, and each time he could feel Marco’s patience wearing thin. Something needed to be done, and soon.

A chance look into the sky, however caused his heart to stop briefly. Passing overhead, resplendent against the cold night sky was his current bane. For the briefest of moments he faltered, wondering if perhaps his current efforts had lead the young hero right to him, but was relieved to see him flying away. It was an odd notion, that this particular hero had made his life so difficult recently, but only now was he seeing him in person.

He watched him fly by, a curiosity taking him. The Knight Warden seemed to be moving slower than he would have expected, almost as if he were cautious not to hit anything. The way he flew, he seemed to be descending, likely coming in to land. Leo waited a moment, watching the young hero disappear around a corner, and after weighing his options, decided to follow his quarry; perhaps observing him a little would yield some results.

The alley he turned down was dark and empty, situated between two buildings separated by only a few feet. The consigliere hesitated to carry on, holding back for a few moments to see if anything might happen. In Leo’s mind, he had a stereotypical perception of a teenager, especially for a hero whose costume was bright and shiny. Perhaps there was a notion that the Knight Warden would be more verbose as a person, ready to show off at a moment’s notice, but as far as all public records were concerned, the identity of the Knight Warden was unknown, and he rarely spoke to people, let alone on camera. He was odd, to say the least.

After a few more moments, there was a brief flash of light from the alley, and after more of a pause emerged someone else. The young man was tall, almost six foot in height, but was young. His hair a fiery red, he hid his face behind a pair of glasses and wore a brown jacket and grey jeans, muted somewhat, as if trying his best not to draw attention. Leo watched the young man as he stopped at the mouth of the alley, glanced in either direction and then walked on. Operating on a hunch that was already building in his mind, the consigliere took his phone from his pocket and snapped a picture of the guy, before waiting for him to walk away and out of sight.

That couldn’t be him, could it? The kid was scrawny, terrified of his surroundings, so completely mundane and unimpressive compared to the radiant display of the Knight Warden. He felt his face twist into a scowl; it was bad enough that his business was being ruined by a teenager, but this one looked like he was barely comfortable leaving his home. Leo had to confirm it, before he could let his anger be justified. He stormed over to the alleyway and walked down it, looking for any sign of a hiding spot or the glimmer of white flaming eyes. What he found was a dead end. No door, no open window, no light or fire escape even. By any and all logic, the only one who it could be now was that kid.

Leo grit his teeth. How dare such a pathetic child co0mmand so much power, how DARE he be foiled by someone who looked too weak to fit in with the world. Before his rage boiled over too much, however, an idea struck him.

Secret identity heroes in this city are usually in it for one of two reasons. One would be that they don’t want to get a license and are trying their best to avoid the fees, or two, they fell into the same cliché as many secret heroes do, which is doing it to protect their loved ones. Leo already knew that the Knight Warden was a licensed hero whose public record had been specifically adjusted, so the only explanation was that the Knight Warden had loved ones he cared about.

He had a weakness.

Leo’s scowl turned into a smile. While a teenager held more power than most metas in the city could hope to have, who’s to say that teenager couldn’t be controlled? Suddenly killing the Knight Warden wasn’t as enticing a prospect as controlling him. The Giarnellis had a number of projects on their horizon, and if they could be pushed along slightly with the Knight Warden in their employ, all the better.

Leo took a deep breath and allowed the smile to continue. He put away his phone and strolled out of the alleyway. He had some information to collect, plans to formulate. He contemplated telling his dear cousin Marco about the prospect of a new acquisition but the further information spreads, the less valuable it becomes. No, no, this little tidbit would be Leo’s and Leo’s alone; none may have control over the Knight Warden but him.

............................................................

Pendragon Lane, Founders Falls, February 15th, 1:36pm

Sarah heaved a sigh, eyes fixed on the screen before her, the cursor blinking at her on a blank word document, a sight that had been with her for a slow, agitating ten minutes now, and had done the past few days she attempted to write something, anything down, but annoyingly, nothing had come to her. Forty three years old, almost as many books under her belt and she had to face the possibility that for the first time, she was out of ideas.

That was something that scared her a little. While she could probably retire safely and live out the rest of her days a moderately well-known and appreciated author in a variety of fields, it wasn’t the money that had drawn her to the act of writing, nor the fame, at least not anymore; the mortgage was paid off years ago, the family had no intention of moving anywhere and, to sound slightly selfish, her son’s lack of need to eat had saved quite a bit of money on that front as it was, though she always made sure there were at least two meals spare in case that stopped working one day.

“Ah, shite,” she muttered, shoulders sagging as no new ideas came to mind. Seventeen years in the capital of metahumanity and nothing new to use?

Mire Lane had been her first foray into Urban Fantasy, and while she could always lean on the well-practiced genre of crime, she didn’t know what she could do to make something new and interesting without making this new world of hers feel bloated. Perhaps, she mused, she should read it over again, lurk into the forums and spy some fan theories, if there were any that is.

As she pushed herself up from her seat, the sound of the doorbell rang out throughout the house. Pausing a moment to consider who it might be, she made her way downstairs and towards the front door, where she spied Andrew already answering it. Most of the people in Pendragon Lane kept to their own business, though gossip was something that was present for the most part. It wasn’t terribly neighbourly, so to speak, and since neither she nor Andrew were expecting any packages that day, she had to wonder who would be at their door.

The answer was a tall, slim looking gentleman with a long face to match, a trimmed, well-kept moustache on his upper lip and a burgundy fedora hat. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his long black coat. Sarah noted that he couldn’t look more like a stereotypical mobster if he tried, but the core issue was that in Paragon, that was something to actually be worried about.

“Mister and Missus Denvers,” the man began, not even giving Andrew the chance to say hello, “it’s a pleasure. My name is Leo Giarnelli. I am unsure if you’ve heard of me, but I’d like to talk to you about your son.”

“And what exactly is it you want to talk about?” Andrew began, shifting his position in the door to block the opening with his body and hook a foot behind the door to keep it opening any further, “our son hasn’t told us about any ‘Leo’.”

“Ah, well, we haven’t met, but your boy has been rather active lately. I mean, he is the Knight Warden, yes?”

The question left a heavy pause in the air. Sarah watched as Mr. Giarnelli slowly smiled. There was an odd quality to his face, this uncanny feeling that he wasn’t entirely real; almost eerily symmetrical, blemish free, the light catching his skin that made it seem almost... rubbery?

“I’ll get to the point,” Leo continued after the pause, the maintained smile somehow making the intimidating tone of his voice more jarring, “your kid has been making a dent in my business and the investors aren’t happy when someone in a costume wastes good product. Now, be thankful of your lucky stars that right now, I’m the only one in the Family who knows Morgan Denvers is the Knight Warden, but I’m expecting some level of compensation for my silence.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes, refusing to move.

“What is it that you want,” he said in a low, aggressive tone.

“I want your son to perform a few tasks for me. Errands that can help repay the damage done by his actions,” Giarnelli tilted his head to the side, “until such a time as h-”

“No,” Sarah declared, folding her arms. Leo’s eyes snapped from her husband to her.

“I don’t think you underst-”

“I notice that you came while our son was out for the day,” she continued, “I don’t know what you hoped to accomplish, trying to blackmail a boy when they aren’t here. Maybe you’d be frightened that the person who can lift a city block over his head would take it badly?”

“And I suppose you’d be wanting us to convince him on your behalf?” Andrew added, “because we’re just frail normal people who’d give in to threats of violence?”

There was a pause as Leo glanced at the two of them, contemplating what to say next.

“You heard my wife, the answer’s no. Now get offa our property.”

The smile began to fade. Leo stood straight and pulled at the lapels of his coat.

“A shame,” he said, “I was hoping this would be cordial, but I can see now th-”

He couldn’t finish before Andrew took the initiative and slammed the door in Giarnelli’s face. He sighed as he turned to his wife, the look of anger giving way to concern. Sarah returned the look, feeling a growing pit of despair in her stomach. In moments of crisis, however, it was important to keep a level head.

“We need to call the FBSA,” she said, “tell them what’s going on, see what can be done about Morgan.”

“Not calling the police?” Andrew asked

“If these people are as bad as Morgan makes them out to be, the police won’t be of any help,” Sarah replied, taking the phone from her pocket. Before she could begin dialling, she was embraced by her husband, holding her tight.

“We’ll be OK, love,” he whispered. The author relented, and held Andrew in return, sighing a little.

“He shouldn’t be doing this,” Sarah was quiet, shaking her head, “He’s just a little boy.”

“It’s not like we could have stopped him if we tried,” Andrew’s response gave little comfort, “he’s a good lad who just wants to help. He wouldn’t have been happy stayin’ in all the time.”

“Do you think we should tell him?” she asked, breaking away a little to look her husband in the eyes, “it’d crush him if he found out.”

Andrew gave the most comforting smile he could manage before shaking his head.

“No, I don’t think so, not yet at least. Let’s see what the FBSA thinks, aye?” he brushed a hand through Sarah’s hair, “they’ll know how to handle this, it’s their job. Besides, no need to ruin Morgan’s weekend. He’s been havin’ a nice time with Ashley. We’ll tell him soon. Maybe after his birthday?”

Sarah sighed again, unsure if it was the right call, even with how much she trusted him, but she was hard pressed to come up with a better plan. Giving a nod, she pulled away from her husband and began to dial.

................................................

Pendragon Lane, Founders Falls, February 16th, 9:42pm

Morgan was never sure if he could get used to the walk home, now that he had to go about it as if he had no powers. Honestly, there was a lot he couldn’t truly get used to with such prolonged normalcy, even with something as benign and self-serving as being able to fly no longer permitted to him. Perhaps the hardest part was knowing that they were still there, still accessible, but having to make absolutely sure he didn’t use them. Even if he was still a newer, inexperienced hero, the costume was a no go. Thus, just to make sure he was extra careful, he’d take the Green Line to the tram station in his little suburban community and would walk the rest of the way.

Because most residents would usually make their way to Talos Island for a night out, as well as the general feel of a gated community, the streets that night were quiet. As Morgan would walk down the pathways and sidewalks of Pendragon Lane, the only sound that could be heard was his footsteps and the gentle buzzing of the street lamps, at least as far as a normal person could hear.

The ever present background noise of Paragon and beyond was quite possibly the worst part of it all.

While he had gotten better at tuning it out, the general chaos of the metroplex could still be heard on the edges of his hearing, and he could tell, in some fashion that the screams, shouts and general din of fear and pain was still in there, somewhere, and now more than ever he was powerless to stop it.

He stopped briefly on the street corner, closing his eyes as he tried to pull such thoughts out of his mind. He took in a deep breath and sighed; Ash had treated him to such a nice day and he was allowing himself to be lost in negativity. Shaking his head, he turned to continue down the street.

He stopped as the dull thud of an explosion sounded a distance away. He paused a moment to look in the direction it came from, and his heart sank as he realised where it might have come from.

He wasn’t sure how long it took him to get back to the house. He couldn’t be sure if he ran at full speed and risked his identity being revealed to his neighbours, or if he was just on an adrenaline high. It didn’t seem to matter anymore when he arrived.

What was once his home was now a column of twisting, raging flame, illuminating the street in an oppressive orange glow. He couldn’t comprehend it, in truth, it all felt like some hideous nightmare. What could he do? Where were his parents? He was trapped in denial, unable to look away from the pyre, despite the horror that it was in his mind.

His stupor was broken as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, hoping to high heaven his mother or father were the ones to call, only to see a number he didn’t recognise. He stared at it for a long time, before answering it. He didn’t know why, maybe there was a part of him that thought whoever was on the other end would tell him it was all a dream, tell him he was somehow asleep and that his mom and dad were OK, that he still had a home.

“Ah, Morgan,” the voice on the other end was a tenor, dripping with confidence, “I’m glad I caught ya. Listen, kid, I am so very sorry for your loss.”

His heart skipped a beat, his stomach sank. Who was this guy?

“E-excuse me?” the young man’s voice was strained, quiet, barely audiable above the roar of the flames.

“I know that it’s never easy to lose loved ones,” the voice continued, “it’s kinda tragic, in all honesty. I tried to tell them, I did, but they wouldn’t have it. Such accidents are a horrifying thing to behold, but so easily avoidable. If they just listened, hm?”

He was taunting him. Even with grief and pain wrapping around his mind, Morgan could tell the man who had called him was gloating over the fact that this was happening.

“I...”

“Sh, sh...” the man interrupted, “I know it’s painful. I just want to make sure that this doesn’t happen again, right? If there’s one thing that can be said about Leo Giarnelli? It’s that he’s thorough. So, I’m gonna give you your space, give you the time you need, right? I’m gonna let you have the time you need to recover from this mishap, and maybe, just maybe, we can work out away that your loved ones can be spared the same fate.”

There was a pause. Morgan could hear on the other end of the line music begin to play in the background.

“Oh, and kid?” Leo began, the smug, wretched grin audible through his tone, “happy birthday.”

He let the line hang, the crooning voice of Sinatra commencing his rendition of ‘It was a very good year’ breaking through. Still partially stunned, the young man couldn’t perceive the fire trucks screeching to a halt behind him on the street. Moments later, unable to deny the truth for much longer, Morgan Denvers dropped his phone, collapsed to his knees and wailed before the smoldering bonfire that was once his life.

Reunion

???, 19th of March, 7:32pm

Calhoun was not in the best of moods. Granted, the aging government agent was rarely in a state of being anyone would consider positive; health problems, work stress and concern for empowered minors had ultimately tempered the ever present frown on his face into a permanent, default expression. Truly, he was too old for this, even if he was only in his sixties and had spent the prior two decades behind a desk. He wondered if being a field agent again would have been easier, as at the very least he’d be permitted to travel. So, when one could quantify that Senior FBSA Agent David Calhoun was in a sour mood, comparatively speaking it was quite bad.

The car ride over was relatively quiet. Previously, the agent had hosted a brief and small meeting among the friends of Morgan Denvers, Morgan himself and some of the staff at the school to discuss matters relating to the recently unfortunate circumstance surrounding Morgan’s parents. Through a combination of evidence accrued by the FBSA as well as some independent investigations, it had been determined that Leo ‘One-Two’ Giarnelli of the Family had attempted to blackmail the Denvers before burning their house down. Giarnelli, seemingly had uncovered the identity of the Knight Warden and wanted to capitalise on it, perhaps pressgang the poor kid into his service. This, combined with the scale of corruption that had taken root in the PPD’s Arson desk had prompted a need for action and he had hoped to enlist those closest to Morgan into, as he called it, a government sting operation.

John was reliable, as always. Calhoun felt a kind of pang of guilt when looking over his notes. He certainly had the enthusiasm and drive to be a cape, and much like Morgan had started younger than the agent would have been comfortable with. With John, however there was the saddening part that the short falls of his own organisation, and the country at large had been entrenched into making John who he was today. Morgan was a kid of fortune, stumbling into more fortune wanting to make the best of what he could but being ill-equipped emotionally to handle it, while John was someone who had been hit by tragedy before and becoming much stronger because of or in spite of it. Calhoun could simply be thankful John was such a fine young man, and even better had been keeping an eye out for Morgan in his own way, having performed most of the independent investigations into the PPD’s corruption surrounding the arson case.

The plan was simple, on paper. Leo, much like other members of the Family, had veritable storage rooms filled with evidence that could be used to make an arrest, but in the game that was the judicial system, the Family had expertly latched onto whatever loop hole they could find and rule they could exploit. Any arrest made against Leo was going to fail at one stage or another, and even if it stuck and Leo spent the rest of his life in prison, it could make little difference if he could continue to co-ordinate Family affairs all while the state paid for his accommodation. So long as he had the backing of the group, it would be a wasted arrest and a batch of evidence lost, and as such, they had to find something that would separate him from his support network. Worst still, Morgan would be made to suffer for it. Calhoun had to hope that whatever came next would be in their favour.

As the sleek, black sedan pulled to a stop in-front of the warehouse, Calhoun took a moment to examine his surroundings in a practiced manner. He could see the area on the surface was empty, but his trained eye could note the small discrepancies that were the tell-tale signs of concealed agents in waiting. Good, he mused, nothing’s gone wrong just yet.

Stepping out of the car once more, he took another glance around before moving to the passenger door behind him, opening it and allowing the tired, unkempt form of Morgan Denvers out, followed by the rebelliously dressed Ashley Reed. The two had sat in the back of the sedan, making quiet small talk as they held hands, Calhoun noting that Ashley had been doing her best to elevate Morgan’s spirits as best she could, with varying degrees of success, and given the fact that, as it turns out, the two of them were in love, the agent felt that Miss Reed was the closest person Morgan had at this juncture, and short of acquiescing to requests from distant relatives to have him ‘return’ to Ireland, it was important that she be here for the crucial aspect of helping take care of the kid.

That was going to be another problem. Morgan’s identity of the Knight Warden was, surprisingly a still close knit secret, with only a small selection of city residents and even specifically cleared employees of the FBSA in the know. As such, given Morgan’s family in Ireland had no idea about his heroic habits, it was going to become harder and harder to justify why the orphaned 17 year old, with no stateside legal guardian or publically known boarding school attendance, couldn’t go home to biological relatives.

Calhoun led the teens to the entrance of the warehouse, opening the unlocked door and usherin them inside, before moving in to close the door behind them. It was dimly lit within the building, and just as empty, although the unmistakable feeling of being watched persisted. Footsteps echoed as the trio progressed through the building until coming to a larger area, where another two individuals were seen; a tall, thin woman with long raven black hair and a broadly built and athletic seeming man with shock of fiery red hair. There was a pause as Morgan stopped in his tracks, as if he had seen a veritable ghost, before losing whatever composure he had left and rushing forwards, breaking down in tears as he embraced his parents and sobbed the words ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. Sarah and Andrew Denvers sadly embraced their son, doing their best to comfort him.

Calhoun watched the scene with a sense of melancholy. When Sarah called the FBSA to inform them of Leo’s initial threat, they were alerted to remain vigilant and ready, that spreading this information too widely could result in far worse consequences. Thankfully, an inside-man from the FBI had tipped them off to Leo making an anonymous call to torch the Denver household for failing to pay out when requested, and that they held information too dangerous for them to live. A few calls later, and the Denvers were safe, while the world, Leo especially believed they were well and truly dead. Still, as joyous as it should have been for them in this moment, it was only the start. Morgan was going to have to go through some crash course training on preventing mind-reading while his parents, to remain safe were to be taken to an undisclosed location and placed into witness protection, at least until Leo Giarnelli was dealt with. For good measure, the family horse, Shaft (a gift from one Danielle Bjornsdottir), would go with them to add some level of cover. The agent thought perhaps their temporary identities would be as former jockeys or simply a well-to-do couple in early retirement and one bad investment.

In any case, Calhoun had hoped that for the next stages of the operation, it would be easier for Morgan, emotionally battered as he was to fulfil his role should he know his parents were safe and taken care of. There was no telling how long the kid would need to play along with Leo’s demands, if he made any but it would be key to finally taking him down.

Social Media Buzz 22nd March 2021

Talos Island, The Silent Crow club, March 22nd 2021, 9:27pm

The subtle glow of the TV monitor was the sole illumination in the room, the comfy office left dark as its only occupant watched the news that evening. Leo Giarnelli lounged in the expensive leather chair as his eyes look forward, absorbing each and every detail on the screen. The news ran through its gamut of usual stories, both local and global. As the major headlines came and went, minor stories would file through, to fill the gaps in the 24 hour news cycle to keep the information from becoming redundant.

Leo glanced down at his phone, tapping the screen with his thumb, causing it to light up, showing an ever scrolling social media feed. As he reviewed the information, he looked up to view the news reel again. A slight smile manifested in his lips as he found the confirmation he was looking for that evening. The images of a young hero, adorned in brilliant, white knightly garb.

The Knight Warden was back.

Truthfully, it never occurred to the consigliere that the presence of the kid hero would be just as welcome a sight as no sight at all. Dear Morgan, however, was a unique opportunity. If he never showed his face again, then that was that, but if he put on the costume again then he might still be an asset to be used. No one who is unmoved or stalwart to the cause of justice, even in the face of losing their family, would disappear off the face of the Earth for a month like that. Would Morgan, timid as he was and spotless in his record, ever to throw off the shackles of compassion in favour of vengeance, then Leo would be able to apply the appropriate consequences to once again tame, exile or even slay the boy.

There were a number of avenues that could be used. The Knight Warden wasn’t a subtle individual, and they weren’t keen on outright murder. What little reputation the boy had was that of a compassionate, diplomatic individual; any sudden change in ethics or personality would warrant investigation. No, the Knight Warden’s uses would have to come from other avenues, and thankfully for Leo, he had just the right idea of what to do.

Picking up his phone, he tapped a few more times on the screen, before lifting the phone to his ear and allowing his smile to grow wider.

“Morgan? It’s Leo. Welcome back to the world. Now, about that thing we discussed before.”

Back in Action

???, Baumton, April 6th 2021, 4:02pm

It was loud.

His senses overloaded, the smell of spent gunpower mixed with ionised air while the horrid din of high calibre suppression fire accompanied the metallic ting of ricochet and crumbling of stone. Back against the wall, the Knight Warden tried and failed for the fifth time to brace himself to move in as the two Council super soldiers steadfastly refused to relent with their miniguns, the third pausing only to replace the clip in his energy rifle. He could just do it, the young hero thought, gritting his teeth and mentally shouting at himself to just round the corner and advance. Those weapons had hit him plenty of times before, and none of them could ever get past his durability.

And yet, in spite of this demand to move, he couldn’t. His legs were locked in place, his heart pounded in his chest. He could have just run, called Calhoun, made his retirement official and never have to deal with this again. Why did he agree to do this? Perhaps, in a way, deep down he knew he couldn’t simply let Leo win like this, but it had become so much harder. He felt the pang of doubt pull at him again. He’s be doing good, sure, but he knew what he was doing was advancing whatever agenda Leo had in mind. Was it really doing good when it knowingly benefitted someone cruel and selfish like Leo Giarnelli?

He closed his eyes, taking in one more breath. He could do this, he thought, if not for himself but for his friends, for those who would never back down from this fight themselves. The guilt came back, but this time for a different reason, for the feeling that he wasn’t even trying to solve this problem on his own. Shaking his head, he opened his eyes once more, and with one final push, turned the corner and charged.

The bullets struck him like a violent rainstorm, clattering off of his armour and embedding themselves into the rock of the tunnels. He closed fast, arms out wide, using his weight and speed to slam into the two soldiers, knocking them flat, both letting out a wheeze of pain. The third levelled his rifle, but acting on instinct, the Knight Warden reached out with both hands and grabbed the gun, squeezing tightly, the weapon crumpling like paper before erupting in a small fireball as the volatile systems within were compromised. Tossing the burning wreckage aside, the young hero thrust out a palm, pushing the last Council trooper against the tunnel wall and knocking him out too. It soon fell quiet, though only briefly, as alarms echoed through the tunnels. Already, Knight Warden could hear the sound of heavy footsteps from all directions.

Another deep breath. There was no stopping now, he thought.

.......................................................................................

Welcome to the paragon city news, I’m your anchor Felicity Scarborough.

Recent absentee hero the Knight Warden has made a recent return to the heroic scene this week after single-handedly finding and dismantling a Council base within the Baumton district of Paragon City.

Baumton, once home to the original headquarters of the Freedom Phalanx, was previously destroyed. The area, now too dangerous for many civilians to venture without permit, has been known to harbour a number of criminal groups, most notably the Council. Operations performed by the Council in this area have also been known to utilise former Praetorian technology.

Reports state that the Knight Warden arrived in the area at roughly 3:57pm this afternoon and located the Council facility. Longbow, who soon moved in to secure the facility, have yet to release any details regarding the facility specifically, and have issued no official comment. Previous indications present the site in question, however, as one of few locations in which the Council had worked alongside Praetorian group the 'Unified People's Army', albeit briefly.

The Knight Warden, also unreachable for comment, had previously been seen performing small services in Atlas Park and Steel Canyon, occasionally accompanying other heroes in certain tasks, though this marks the first time since the Knight Warden's return that the hero had performed a solo mission in this capacity.

.......................................................................................

A secure message from the FBSA is sent out to all those who might be working on the sting operation regarding Morgan Denvers.

“Calhoun here. We just got a development in the case. Leo Giarnelli has since made contact with Morgan, and has laid the groundwork for continued work for the Knight Warden. Thankfully, Leo isn’t too stupid. He’s recognised that Morgan’s identity as the Knight Warden isn’t suited for stealth work, and any major, noticeable change in his demeanour will no doubt start more external investigations which will compromise his situation. Judging by implications held in the call, Morgan’s going to get some ‘anonymous tips’ about criminal hideouts in Paragon. Morgan’s already dealt with a small Council base in Baumton, thankfully nothing within it was beyond the kid’s capabilities. I’d like to think he’ll just be pointing Morgan towards rival organisations in order to expand territory, but I just want to be sure. Keep an eye on recent developments like this.”