. Blackbird & Countinghouse Presents: ( ) CONCLAVE OF SUPER-VILLAINS ( ) I An Academy of Super-Heroes Universe Comic I I copyright 2002 by Tony Pi I #20 - "DEAD KILLING EYE" Part I: First Glance =========================================================================== [The cover is dominated by Cockatrice's face, with her right eye in the dead center. Faint red lines radiate out from her eye, and reflected in her eye is the image of Burnout, flames in hand.] =========================================================================== LAERTES. O heat, dry up my brains! Tears seven times salt Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye! By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May! Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! O heavens! is't possible a young maid's wits Should be as mortal as an old man's life? Hamlet - Act IV, scene 5 ------------------------ - William Shakespeare =========================================================================== CONCLAVE OF SUPER-VILLAINS ROSTER --------------------------------------------------------------------------- BURNOUT III Carol Jackson Brown Flame Control CONFLICTO Eugene Kwan Friction & Viscosity Control MR. STRINGS Tyra Dumont Mind Control TRITON Derek Radner Electrical Generation TERRASTAR Polla Geomancy GLYPH Zephirah Reuben Magical Sigils SPIRAL Anya Kirova Telekinetic Torque KALIBAN ? Monstrous Strength MYRIAD Alpha Rho Fourteen Shapeshifting --------------------------------------------------------------------------- GUEST-STARRING --------------------------------------------------------------------------- BATHORY Unknown Lycanthropy [Snow Leopards] COCKATRICE Trish Catrall Transmuting Gaze [Cyanide Blues] EYE OF HORUS Devlin Marx Anchor Effect [ex-Conclave] HELLHOUND Unknown Mystery Vigilante [Independent] LIGHT ERRANT Petra 'Irrlicht' Hollander Wispform, Hypnosis [Mercenary] SCRY Jessa Dumont Telepathy [ex-Conclave] RASPUTIN Yevgeny Sosnov Illusions [EUROPA] YMIR Erik Qvenhild Cold Projection [EUROPA] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- [November 2, 2024 - Tangiers/Manhattan] Her host body needed fuel, as always. With a mental tug, Tyra Dumont gently lifted Burnout's hand and bade her drink from the glass. The world would dance at her command, but first she needed to fill the hunger her power demanded. Breakfast in Tangiers was an exquisite experience when the finest chefs in the city were yours, she thought as she gazed out the open window. She swirled and savored the orange juice in her mouth, and inhaled the scent of incense burning across the room. Then she turned a fraction of her attention once again across the Atlantic, to resume her pursuit of the King Cheetahs. It took a month to set her trap for Bathory. She had taken control of twenty to begin with, but only six of her puppets remained in the chase, driving Humvees through the streets of New York. It was enough to force the three remaining roadragers where she wanted them to go. Though the Cheetahs were far more maneuverable on their Ihimaera motorcycles, Tyra had the advantage of being able to pull the most reckless stunts without blinking an eye. To her, broken toys were easy to replace, and getting easier all the time. The only body she ever had a strong attachment to was her first, and that one died last time she was in New York. But for her Magene, her mind would have died with her crippled body. Instead, she found a way to live on as 'Mr. Strings' inside her hosts: first Lana Smith, and now the marionette C.J. Brown. She had waged war on the paragangers that she blamed for her death, but she let the woman responsible for condemning her to a wheelchair escape with her life. Cockatrice. Tyra regretted that she had not terminated the bitch when she had the chance. The paraganger had transmuted her legs to ice, and well deserved death. But she wanted Cockatrice to suffer long, just as she had to endure years of torture without the use of her legs. She left Cockatrice in Manhattan while she acclimated to her new body, and became entangled in the games of Rebus and Doublecross. Now that Rebus's schemes had fallen apart, she decided to tend to her old needs, and that meant the death of Cockatrice. But Cockatrice had vanished from public sight about a month ago, shortly after the Conclave of Super-Villains borrowed her freezing gaze for a deadly trap during the attack on Montreal. The 'hum' on the street speculated that Burnout had finally taken her revenge on the leader of the Cyanide Blues in secret, which seemed to explain why Bathory made Embeth Alloun the temporary leader of the Blues. A lie, of course: when Tyra decided for Cockatrice to die, all the world would know how and why. She had originally planned to attend to matters in New York personally, but Tangiers seemed the perfect place to scheme in relative comfort and anonymity while her puppets ferreted out the truth. But there was only one person who would know the truth of Cockatrice's disappearance: Bathory, the feral mistress of the Snow Leopards and the King Cheetahs roadragers, also whispered to be Cockatrice's lover. And Tyra's puppets were close to capturing her and the two remaining Cheetahs in the chase. Her agents had chased them from the Upper West Side down to the docks near Chelsea with total disregard for their personal safety. Tyra had woven a net to steer the Cheetahs into her trap there, and now was the time to spring it. She watched Bathory turn the corner and race directly for the tractor trailer that blocked her path. Tyra forced one of her puppets to floor the accelerator, and slammed the vehicle into the two 'ragers behind Bathory. The motorcycles flipped and the riders flew from their bikes. Bathory didn't look back but tried a stunt move: she swung her legs to the right side of the bike and skidded her motorcycle beneath the trailer on its left, hoping to clear the vehicle. Tyra sliced a piece of Kiwi fruit, and smiled. She had timed it perfectly, thanks to the Cybernostra cyborg she controlled. The trailer had been redesigned to slam down with laser precision as Bathory slid beneath it, letting her bike crash into the reinforced walls. Tyra didn't make any provisions to lessen the impact, knowing that the lithe lycanthrope could absorb more damage than her appearance let on. Bathory was trapped inside. The entire trailer prison was cyberwired to a cyborg of hers sitting in the cab, who controlled all the Technomancer extras she had ordered. She forced Bathory to listen to her slave hum of the Funeral March. "It's been a long time, Bathory. Tell me where she is and I may let you live to see her die." "Burnout. I might have known." Bathory's voice was calm, but her breathing was labored. "Try the sewers. I'm sure you'll be most welcome. You can search all you want, but you won't find her." Tyra tried to wrap her mindstrings around Bathory's, and squeeze the answer out of her, but there was a strange mental fuzz to Bathory's thoughts. Pity. She would have to resort to primitive means of making Bathory talk. "It could have been easier for you," she told her. "You see, this is a Technomancer's idea of a portable dungeon. The latest Khadamite designer drugs for making Vivarium creatures obey. Remote-controlled lasers to perform cutting-edge vivisections. I'm certain that insights from your autopsy would make interesting footnotes in Doctor Sheng's archives." With her borrowed cybersenses, Tyra could hear Bathory test the integrity of the walls and the asphalt. "You and I are the same, Burnout. We are both queens to our minions, who obey our every whim. We are both obsessed with the same woman, but for different reasons altogether. But there is one important difference between us. I understand loyalty, but you know only betrayal." She was trying to delay Tyra, until she can find a way to escape. "Why don't we see how long you last before you betray her?" asked Tyra. "Hallucinogens are always good to open." She issued a mental command to her cyborg, who released the hallucinogenic gas. "Now then. Tell me about our dear old friend, Cockatrice." A wave of nausea washed over Tyra, and as she tried to keep her breakfast down, she found the mindstrings connecting her to her puppets being snipped one by one. Was Bathory doing this? No, the connections to her puppets furthest from the trailer were being severed first. Someone was coming, and had found a way to block her. She forced the Cybernostra soldier to scan the area with his cybernetic eye. A flash of red under a streetlight in the distance resolved into the image of a demon-helmed rider astride a sleek crimson motorcycle. Warden's mysterious replacement, the Hellhound. Tyra had not crossed paths with this new vigilante personally, and knew only what her puppets knew. Hellhound would careen into action where one might expect Warden to, enforcing truce among paragangers or stopping criminal behavior. He was never seen out of body armor or without his helmet, and has gained a reputation for never taking a life. Hellhound had exhibited some telekinetic ability, snatching guns out of 'ganger hands and immobilizing bikes with a wave of the hand. Though not as fluid at hand-to- hand combat as Warden, Hellhound had shown that he could hold his own. Was this erosion of her telepathic control another manifestation of Hellhound's power? Whoever he was, he did have the right idea. Paragangs should be eradicated from the face of New York City. In a different situation, she might even offer to help him. But he was contesting her control over her puppets, and that could not be tolerated. Already she had lost four puppets, and soon he would reach the trailer. She commanded the rest of her puppets to crash kamikaze into the advancing rider. She lost control over these drivers in quick succession, and soon she had only the Cybernostra left. Whatever Hellhound did, he managed to steal her control over her puppets and forced them to come to a safe stop. She cursed, and listened to Bathory's mutterings. Bathory was succumbing to her hallucinations, and seemed to be having a conversation with an invisible partner. Tyra could only pick up a few coherent words. Cold? Ear licked? Holland? "Damn you, Hellhound, I need more time," muttered Tyra. She was about to issue a command to the Cybernostra to trigger the trap's self-destruct mechanism, when the Hellhound seemed to have reached a critical distance from her last pawn and cut her off. Tyra cursed aloud. The burning incense across the room erupted in a fireball in time with her curse, leaving a cloud of ash to drift on the morning breeze. Her powers had been on the increase since the equinox, possibly due to the death of Anchors worldwide. But Tangiers was too far from New York, making it easy for Hellhound to foil her. Next time, she would need to oversee things directly, letting her proximity strengthen her mindstrings. "Next time, Hellhound, I will show you your Hell." * * * * [November 3, 2024 - Atlantic City] "I didn't think you'd come." Devlin Marx put his arms around Jessa Dumont and escorted her into his office at the Majestic Atlantic casino. Jessa felt his touch deprive her of her normally extended awareness, and it made her shiver. "I wasn't going to, at first," She politely extricated herself from his touch, and moved a stack of papers from the chair opposite his desk. "I was afraid we might see Lorenzo's ghost." It had been almost a year since the Conclave of Super-Villains staged Marx's abduction, at the behest of Lorenzo Archangeli, the madman called Rebus. Even though the authorities believed Rebus was gone for good, she couldn't help but wonder if the damage Lorenzo caused could ever be erased. Marx scratched his head, and took the papers from her. He looked very tired to Jessa, a frailer man than a year ago. "I apologize for the mess. It's been a hellish month, dealing with the aftershocks of the genocide." He sighed. "I can't use a euphemism, Jessa. Rebus cleansed the world of Anchors, leaving only a handful of us. Casinos worldwide have shut down for one reason or another, mostly because no one trusts the games of chance without Anchors around. My Conclave is no more. My holdings are ruined. I'm trying to salvage what little I have left, but even most of that I stand to lose. I need your help to rebuild." Jessa sat. "With all due respect, Mr. Marx, I can't help you. I have other commitments now. The clinic in Manhattan...." "Which you built from my advance," reminded Marx. "The money is mine to do as I will." Jessa steepled her fingers. "What would you have me do now? Spy for you? Learn inside information, manipulate others? I am not my sister." Devlin Marx took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his brow with it, and sat down himself. "What are my dreams without my fortune? How can I save the world from itself? Do you know how many Fenris Wolves we had on file? The Ankh Killer was bad. This is catastrophic. How many psychotic talents are now freed to wreak havoc? Take a wild guess." "That's no longer my concern." Jessa had taken the job initially to pay for Tyra's expenses, before her body died. "There's much good to be done in New York City. I intend to continue my work there." "But your sister is still out there. How many minds is she in now? A hundred? A thousand?" Marx reached for her hand. "We can stop her together. You need an Anchor. I need my Scry." Jessa closed her eyes. Tyra *was* still loose, living parasitically within her hosts as the insidious Mr. Strings. She realized things were different, after the equinox: Jessa's powers were growing fast. So were Tyra's. She knew Tyra had to be stopped somehow. Healed...or worse. But did she want to fall back in with Marx? On the one hand, she was afraid she wouldn't be able to stop Tyra all by herself. Yet Marx wanted her to be mercenary again, and she had worked so hard these last few months to make charity and restitution the issue, not for money. "Understand that I sympathize with your goals, Mr. Marx. But you want to buy my help, and I won't sell. I know Tyra's my responsibility, and I've been trying my hardest to repair all the damage she's caused. And I will find a way to help her. Good luck to you." Devlin sighed. "I cannot force you, Jessa. Very well. I will have to seek aid anew. But if you ever reconsider...." He extended his hand. She shook his hand reluctantly, and left him in his empty casino, uncertain of how to save her sister or if she could. She only knew she must try, before even she succumbed to Mr. Strings. * * * * [November 5, 2024 - Atlantic Ocean] The two women leaned against the railing, and watched the icebergs in the distance. "I made one of those, once. Left Jack Flex frozen in its heart. I wonder if he's still floating out there." Cockatrice crinkled her nose and drew her parka tighter around her. "Back then, I wouldn't have minded the cold. Now I hate it." She flicked her cigarette into the frigid waters. "That's a filthy habit, Trish," her companion chastised. "Like I care." "Ever try hypnosis?" asked Petra with feigned innocence. "You could quit in the blink of an eye." "Try it and die." Cockatrice envied Petra her power. She had a way with people. No one on the fishing trawler acknowledged them, or questioned the change of destination. Cockatrice hated Petra too. However, Bathory insisted that she keep a bodyguard. If her enemies knew she lost her powers, she would likely die as soon as she set foot outside their sanctuary. But Cockatrice argued that few would recognize her now, looking for all the world like a brown-haired moll. But Bathory had her way in the end, hiring a mercenary vogue ghoul named Petra 'Irrlicht' Hollander. Or Light Errant, as she called herself in English. She claimed that Berlin ill-suited her, and that her previous employer had unexpectedly left for parts unknown. Bathory said she didn't believe the girl told the whole truth, but Petra had passed Bathory's tests of loyalty and survived no less than three ambushes in the past month. Furthermore, Petra was immune to Bathory's telepathy, and thus unlikely to be a Strings puppet. That alone would have made her Cockatrice's perfect bodyguard. Petra laughed. "How will you make good on your threat?" "It's not me you'll have to deal with. Either Bathory or Burnout will do the job for me. Each considers me their exclusive property, for entirely different reasons. Besides, I haven't had a drag since I first gained my powers." "And you'll start again without them? Ah. One addiction for another." Cockatrice hadn't thought about it that way, but Petra was right. Power was an addiction, and not just her paranormal 'Feuer', as the European might put it. It was the rush of being the leader of the Cyanide Blues, one of the toughest gangs in the deadliest city in the world. She was jonesing for the fear she inspired, and the mage Peregryn had stolen it from her. She hid the loss from her crew, ashamed for weeks, until she resolved to do something about it. "It was easier being blue," she concluded. "And I *will* regain that. Then, I will reduce Peregryn to fine, powdered snow." "Do I have to rescue you from drowning again? I despise the water." Petra shivered at the thought. "What makes you think Reykjavik will be any different? Frigid water's the same, the world over." "I don't know if it will make any difference," answered Cockatrice. "Maybe just the name. Iceland. The place gave me my power ten years ago, it may restore it now. If the harbor doesn't work, I'll try the glacier. Whatever it takes." "Maybe you should just join a polar bear club. Who else would go looking for hypothermia? And what if you lose your sight again? You could live the rest of your life, blind as a bat. Like this guy." The fisherman that Irrlicht referred to tried to get by them, some part of his brain not registering that the two were there. She stuck her foot out and tripped the man. "True. But you're a paraganger. You know it's more than just fun and games. We're on the brink of creating a new type of society, where paranormals replace the weaker flesh." Cockatrice watched the man get up and dust himself off, as smiled foolishly like it was his own incompetence. "We're the future, Petra. We will spread across the world like a killing frost. And I will not be among the weak. Trust me. This is worth the trip." Cockatrice stuck her leg out, setting the man up for another fall. "Even if it kills me." * * * * [November 12, 2024 - Amsterdam] Tyra dangled the reluctant paraganger by his shirt over the canal, letting the fabric smoulder. "This was easier when I could phase my hand and fish through your grey matter. But I can just as easily burn you. Or, let you fall safely into the water, if you'd only tell me what you know about this 'Irrlicht'. Which do you prefer?" Tyra had tried a few more times to catch Bathory. With the surprise factor gone, and Hellhound's interference, she met with no success. Unless she went back to New York and strengthened her mindlinks continuously, she would not get another chance at Bathory. Worse, she was persona non grata in Manhattan, not to mention the North American Combine. If she brought her primary host back to the Poisoned Apple now, she might lose this Burnout body. While she would not weep at C.J.'s death, there was no guarantee that she could find a new host of like power and notoriety. Cultivating a new host would take time. Without further clues, Holland was as good a place as any to search for her prey with her host body. After all, her tendrils reached across the Earth. Surely one of them would uncover Cockatrice's whereabouts. But there was precious little until she overheard a punk kid boast that he ran with Irrlicht, which sounded close enough to 'ear-licked' to catch her interest. The paraganger struggled and shouted in Eurolac. Tyra pulled the right dialect from a puppet of hers to translate. <> "Light Errant?" There was something familiar about the name. Had Derek mentioned it in passing? She made a mental note to check that lead. "I need to see her face," she told him, and reached into his memories. What she discovered was a girlish face, but so distorted by a hypnotic suggestion that the face the vogue ghoul remembered was almost certainly false. "Useless sock puppet." "Let him go, Burnout!" shouted someone in French behind her. "Gladly, Ymir." She let the kid fall into the canal, hoping the EUROPAn agent would stay true to form and rescue the boy. She ran across the bridge, hoping to lose Ymir and then follow up on her new lead. The fool ignored the drowning kid made the mistake of giving chase and trying to freeze her. She leapt aside from the wintry blast, and gritted her teeth against the touch of cold. "Read your dossier, frost boy." She scraped a match against the asphalt, and it burst into flames. She fanned the tiny spark into a conflagration, setting the tar on fire and letting a tongue of flame wreath her as protection. "I. Hate. Ice." She directed the flames towards him, murder in her eyes. People screamed and scattered in all directions. The EUROPAn agent retaliated, sending out a shockwave of cold that countered her heat. He was holding her power at bay, but only at the cost of his full strength. She was feeling her own strength being taxed as well, but she drew additional energy through her mindstrings. Two of her puppets went into seizure; she did not care. All she wanted to do was to eradicate the cold. Melt all the ice in the world. Darts of flame shot past Ymir, burning his arm. He cried, and ran his hand over the burn to draw the heat from his flesh. In that moment, his attention failed, and Tyra laughed. "It's melting time, iceman." But suddenly the image of Ymir split into a dozen duplicates, startling Tyra. Each Ymir fled in different directions, evading her now erratic fires. Disoriented, Tyra was unable to pinpoint the mental signature of the agent. The Ymirs vanished from sight, and phantom sleet obscured her vision. But there was only the splatter of water heard from a nearby fountain, and the sleet did nothing to her flames. The EUROPAn illusionist. "You must also want to die, Rasputin!" shouted Tyra. She closed her eyes and ignored the visual distractions. Track down Rasputin with her mind. She threw out a psychic net, seeking the Russian agent. Humming her off-key songs boosted her sensitivity. She found him quickly, locating his mental trace nineteen metres northeast. She also sensed Ymir, but she was more intrigued by Rasputin. She wrapped threads around his mind, and probed for weaknesses that she could exploit. The most obvious crack in his defenses was a frustration against his own immobility. He was frustrated that he was paralyzed, angry that Triton injured his spine. He wanted to prove that he could still be a field agent, like Ymir. It was the same frustration she suffered because of Cockatrice. The loss of her limbs, the phantom pain. Even the same seed of hate. Except his resentment had not been cultivated into a full-fledged rage. ++I could kill you out of mercy, make you drown yourself in the canal, so you wouldn't have to live like an invalid for the rest of your sorry life,++ she told Rasputin's subconscious. ++I could have been you. But look at what I've become. Stronger than any that walk the earth. Stronger than death.++ The frail mind of Yevgeny Sosnov was too eager to listen to her. She sent an image of Ymir, running away. ++He mocks you always, flaunting his freedom. Challenging your leadership. Why do you need to prove yourself to an inferior? I am not your enemy. Mask my escape, and open your eyes to the pity and disgust that they hide so poorly.++ And thus did Rasputin unknowingly fashion a ghostly double of her. And thus did Ymir believe it real, and gave chase. And thus did Tyra slip away, unnoticed, eager to follow up on her new clue. And thus did Ymir wonder aloud if they might have caught her, if they had been but fast enough. And thus did Rasputin's heart grow darker and become hers. * * * * [November 14, 2024 - Ghat] Tyra maintained a female puppet in Ghat by the name of Rania Saramikkos, a human bounty hunter without powers, who made up for it with her bloodlust. She made it known to those in the Vivarium that Rania was hers and off- limits, and known recently to her teammates as her envoy, should they need to contact her in *dire* emergencies only. And now, she tugged on Rania's string, commanding her to return to CSV headquarters. Using Burnout's codes, Rania bypassed many of the security measures guarding the ruins of the garden maze that would have vaporized, maimed, or otherwise neutralized unauthorized intruders. Through Rania's eyes, Tyra saw that Skyhaven was looking better than it did a month ago, and she hummed in satisfaction. Several figures were examining a monumental chunk of meteorite next to Skyhaven, at the end of a shallow disturbance of the earth that seemed to reach far to the east. She recognized Conflicto, Spiral, Glyph and Triton, but not the other three. One seemed to be a beast straight out of the Vivarium; another was an unusually tall woman wielding a mace that was almost the equal of the AstroSpear, breathing hard; a third shifted shapes constantly. She guessed the last was Myriad or a replacement ooze. She had no idea who the others were. She joined them. "What's this?" she asked Triton. "New armor, new insignia, new members?" Derek grunted. "So, Strings. Finally decided to rejoin us?" "Was I ever really gone?" Let him sweat a little over that. "Over the edge, many times." "How was New York?" asked Conflicto. "Business taken care of?" "Didn't make it in person. Wish Labyrinthe were still with us." There seemed to be something different about Eugene. He didn't exude mischief. *As much mischief*, she corrected herself. "Grow up a bit, did we, Kwan?" He grit his teeth. "Maybe. What's it to you?" "About time," she taunted. "Report. Just the bare essentials. Don't care enough for more." She used the tone even though it galled Derek. She had to remind him that she was second-in-command now. "Sultry's on leave, and Tiara's gone all princessy again," said Conflicto, like an obedient servant. "So it's just us and the new crew. Putting them through a little initiation." He pointed at the beastly creature. "Name's Kaliban, quite a fighter in the Courts. I recruited him, seeing as we need new muscle." "Thy rep precedes thee, maiden fair and bold," said Kaliban. "Let Kaliban become thy vassal true." "Oh, yeah, he goes all Hamlet and crap." He introduced the shifter. "You can see we got a new and improved Myriad at last, though she hasn't picked a primary form yet. I keep suggesting Tiara's shape, but bossman won't go for it." "Not if we want to keep Alpha Rho Fourteen when my wife returns," explained Derek. "And TerraStar...Polla...she's the one who made the earth cough up that meteor and shift here. Ain't she somethin'?" She could sense Eugene's lust towards the warrior woman with very little effort. TerraStar slumped against the mystically reconstituted meteor, exhausted. "Collapsiron made the effort worthwhile." "Well said. It will be difficult to refine it, but we will exploit what we can," said Triton. "For now, we ensure that no one else can." Tyra nodded. "Very well. Can I speak with you in private, Derek?" "Certainly." "I need you to test them," said Derek, as soon as they were inside Skyhaven. "Probe them. Make sure that they do not intend to betray us." "I see that catheter experience still stings," said Tyra, alluding to Derek's misadventure with two former teammates, Tilt and PsiDF/X. "Tomorrow. I need to track down Light Errant." Derek removed his helmet. "Why? Does this have to do with Doublecross?" "No." She looked around. "Did you remove all hard-light equipment?" "Yes. That's why refitting's a bitch. But with Doublecross missing, I am not taking any chances." "I don't blame you." She stepped over to an active console. "But I need you to help me locate his crony. Can you do it?" "Child's play. But how's your luck?" He joined her, and tapped a sequence into the keypad. "I deployed a geosynchronous satellite last month as an early-warning system against light-beings. If there are any in this hemisphere, we can track them by their unique photonic signatures. Mostly they seem to flit about, and I suspect most of them remain in a shielded location or just stay on the other side of the planet. But there's been one in Reykjavik, for the last three days, off and on, pretty regularly." "And you haven't acted on this?" asked Tyra. "It wasn't Bennett Rush," said Derek. "He produces a continuous signature. Given that this signal is sporadic, it's most probably Irrlicht, or maybe Giantstar, Llyr, or whatever he calls himself now." Tyra hummed in delight, examining the data closely. Three days ago, and still in Reykjavik. "What's this here?" "Mount Hekla erupted three days ago, too." "A connection?" "I doubt it, but anything's possible." Tyra used Rania's eyes to examine the satellite shots of the Reykjavik eruption, smiling and humming as she studied them. Derek raised an eyebrow. "What is it?" "You're humming on key." Her borrowed body froze. Someone was riding HER, spying! But who? She tried to trace the source of the psi-tap, but Tyra felt her foe pushing her towards a mnemonic Chernobyl through their mindlink, and memories began to detonate in her head. Grandmother. New York. Life on the streets. Fifth Avenue Snakeat.... ++NO!++ She would not follow that train of thought. Tyra *pushed* back the memories, forcing them upon the sender. Return the pain. Return despair. There was only one person she could even conceive of having that power. ++You!++ she hissed --I'm sorry, Tyra.-- Their willpowers clashed, and the mindstring was too fragile to contain the fallout from their psychic battle. A searing pain ignited within her host's head, fracturing her mind (C.J.'s head) BLACKING OUT (but mr? strings never blanks Her last conscious thought(s) was !WERE! NeURal OveRLOAD out!) synDroMe burn out ? =========================================================================== Next Issue: Is Mr. Strings gone? Will Cockatrice regain her powers? Find out as 'Dead Killing Eye' continues in Part 2: Second Sight! =========================================================================== Author's Notes: The astute eye will note that the CSV ankh has been replaced by Triton's 'twin trident' in the logo at the top of this issue. This change follows naturally after the conclusion of the Anchors subplot and the ascension of Rebus. Many thanks to Marc for introducing Kaliban to the CSV, and Dave for TerraStar. We'll see how they fit into the group soon enough. They almost make up for the loss of Tiara from the team. [Editor's note: See ASH #34 for TerraStar's decision to join the CSV, and ASH #35 for her 'audition'. ASH #35 will be posted some time after CSV #20, however, for those of you reading these as they come out. Don't worry, it's a minor scene and shouldn't result in confused continuity.]