NARCOLEPTIC DOGS PRESS, IN ASSOCIATION WITH COHERENT COMICS UNINCORPORATED, PRESENTS... WARDEN: AN ASH UNIVERSE COMIC (ASH property of Dave Van Domelen. Warden property of Matt Rossi and Dave Van Domelen. All Rights Reserved. Copyright Matt Rossi 1999) ISSUE NUMBER 10: KING OF SHADOWS Part one of Warden: Year Two (Adult content, language and situations - Please be advised.) [COVER: The naked back of a well muscled man is in the foreground, in a circle of light. Facing off against it is a long-haired Warden in a short leather Aviator's jacket, holding two tonfa. In the darkness, several dozen forms mostly hidden by the gloom hold various weapons, many of which are reflecting the scene from different angles.] "All men live in suffering, I know as few can know, Whether they take the upper road Or stay content on the low -- William Butler Yeats, THE WILD OLD WICKED MAN 7 January 2024, 1:23 PM Crime's a funny business (not ha-ha funny, unless you count the ten year career of the Chuckler, cut down just as he mastered the exploding pun in 1998), but despite all the violence and concealment necessary to conduct it, it is more or less a profit-minded enterprise. Money, and the promise of more to come, are the lingua franca of the whole sordid spectacle. And in New York, it generates huge dividends, even with the efforts of a certain vigilante factored in. That's why, in an office suite in the World Building (the name was changed from Chrysler sometime in the second decade of the new millennium, when it was hoped the United World would make its home there), several of New York's greatest 'entrepreneurs' are waiting. Some patiently. Some not. "How longre allaus sattin' ere?" Mountain, the hulking (and badly mauled in the recent fracas in Times Square) warlord of the new Fifth Avenue Snakeaters, snarled from his plush chair, specially reinforced to support his vast bulk. Even here, hundreds of feet above the bedrock he drew his power from, he was seven and a half feet of solid muscle. He looked around the table at the assembled dignitaries of the Underworld assembled. Dr. Jacky, the top-hat wearing boccor who ran the Boys of Pain, smiled at his old rival, his teeth recently replaced with silver crowns each embossed with the name of a different Loa he owed service to. That made for thirty-two Loa. Cockatrice and Bathory, the femme' fatales who were the queens of the Snow Leopards, NYC's largest and most feared Paragang, lounged almost casually. As always, Cockatrice was wearing white fur and dark, arctic blue leather in skintight Parisian styles, whereas Bathory...wasn't wearing much of anything at all, really, just catlike fur and a few strategically placed patches of cloth. The rumor was the two women were lovers, but Mountain didn't even think they *liked* each other. Varru'Ke, second in command of the dreaded Onyx Eye tong, was cleaning her nails with a savagely serrated blade. It was rumored that her father was back in the motherland, recruiting recently freed Paranormal talent. Sister Christian, the heavily altered leader of the Cyber-Nostra, somehow looked least human of all assembled. Christian was a surreal vision in a flowing silk habit the color of polished onyx and tight blue leather wrappings on her calloused hands. Her eyes were obviously of Pranir make, with a targeting crosshair for a pupil in the right socket and a gleaming yellow pupil in the left. Her temples were covered by a metal band that ran across her forehead, covered with gleaming lights that blinked in seemingly random patterns. In short, it was one hell of a dangerous room to be in. "Not that long, my enormous friend." The voice came from the new arrival, the saturnine man in the impeccably tailored charcoal grey suit who was walking into the room. "I just wanted to be sure that no... eavesdroppers...were about." "Yah mean the Blind Ghost?" Dr. Jacky, who was never the most tactful person, spit at the corner. "If'n I and I can't sniff 'em wit me friends, what makes ye so certain?" "Well, other than the fact that I've got tens of millions of dollars worth of automated security on this building, nothing, really. It doesn't really matter if he *is* somehow spying on us, but I thought it bad form not to make the attempt. You have to at least follow the form to prove you're serious." The speaker sat his perfectly muscled body...while nowhere near as grossly muscled as Mountain, his own chiseled and ripped form seemed to epitomize power and precision in an aesthetic package...down at the head of the table. "And I am certainly that." "I hope you'll forgive a little skepticism," Cockatrice began making ice trails on the table with her finger. "But we've been here in New York for a while now, while you..." "Cockatrice, please. Let's not play that game. I know who you all are...and you all know me by reputation, at least. You know that with one well-placed word, I can replace every single *ounce* of Pranir drugs and technology lost in that recent warehouse fire...making both your group and Sister Christian very, very happy. You know that in ten minutes, I can have made available Khadamnite reality sims, new distribution networks, hundreds of secure laundering routes for the cleansing of ill-gotten gains...more or less everything a burgeoning criminal enterprise needs." He leaned back in his chair and regarded them. They were listening now, all of them; even the musclebound Mountain and nearly-psychotic Sister Christian. "You aren't fools...mostly. You know the potential this city has...in a very short time, it could become the greatest nexus for illicit trade and forbidden activities on the North American Continent; it is located right on the East Coast, with easy access to Khadam, South America, Britain...you name it. It has an overworked police department, a reputation as a haunted, desolate cesspool than the rest of the Combine would rather pave over and forget than spend a second thinking about...in short, it's paradise." "Except for Warden," Varru'Ke spoke up, her face in shadow. "The eyeless face is most determined, a powerful adversary. You would do well not to forget that." "I'm forgetting nothing; indeed, Warden is exactly why I came here. As good as things can be in New York, I'm not the kind of man who likes easy pickings. I enjoy a challenge. Warden is exactly that to me." He smiled, and his eyes seemed to grow black. "But, as much as I may emotionally relish the contest to come, let me point out to you the advantages we possess. Warden is *one man*. His powers and abilities are counterable. His allies are few, and none possess the power to aid him directly. It has been your own disunity that has allowed him to stifle you." "You talk." Mountain growled. "Do any'else?" "Is this the part of the discussion where you decide to get it into your head that I'm nothing but hot air, and we fight? Because, let me assure you, I'll win." "You talk. Prove it." Mountain stood up, his chest heaving in the glaring yellow light of the dome lamps. The newcomer arched one immaculate eyebrow and slid to his feet so quickly that the rest of those in the room, even those who *should* have seen it, weren't sure they did. He took off his jacket with deft hands and handed it to an attendant, then strode forward. "Please, everyone, if you'd move to the far end of the room...this will only take a moment." As they did so, Mountain approached the newcomer. He came to about Mountain's chest, giving away a foot in height and nearly two hundred pounds of muscle. And he was smiling. "Last chance. I'll let you live, Mountain." The giant slammed both hands down in an overhead clubbing strike. It smashed directly through the table, cracking the floor and filling the room with the sound. It did not, however connect with the newcomer. He had somehow stepped to the side, and as Mountain scanned the floor for his pulped opponent, a whiplash kick hit the giant squarely in the soft, pulpy tissue directly below his right ear, dislodging his windpipe and tearing muscle away from bone. Screeching, Mountain lumbered upright and swung a left arm wildly while clutching his neck with his left. He missed again. "Did it occur to you, Mountain, that I expected this? That I knew that I'd have to prove myself to these people, and that was why I scheduled this meeting in such surroundings as would prevent you from drawing your full strength?" Another handy sidestep, and the newcomer swept in under Mountain's guard and smashed a fist into his left kidney, handily avoiding the ribcage and abdominal muscles. Another blow, a left fist, destroyed Mountain's *right* kidney and portions of his liver. The fight continued on for another five minutes, in which time Mountain never laid a hand on his opponent, while the inverse was hardly true. It was brutal, deadly ballet, and Mountain was slowly, methodically and casually beaten to death in front of the heads of New York City's leading criminal groups. "Well," Rex Umbrae finally said, as Mountain fell upon the shattered table and hissed out his last breath from a crushed trachea. "That was diverting. Please, everyone, don't feel that I was playing with you all before...everything I said, I meant. There's profit enough for us all, and with me as your unifying principle, this city can become the greatest free market outside of Khadam itself. I hope you'll join me." The remaining crime lords of NYC considered his offer. Bathory looked down at Mountain's ruined body, then back up at Umbrae. "I think I'm speaking for Cockatrice when I say the Snow Leopards are in." Dr. Jacky walked up to Mountain's corpse, looked down at it. "Hell, I be in jus' for *that*." "As you know," Varru'Ke stood and walked to the door. "I am a representative only. But I will tell my father what I have seen. *All* that I have seen." She strode out the door. "We're motoring." Sister Christian, who was already philosophically inclined to join, spoke up from the corner. Umbrae smiled. And signaled his attendants to begin cleaning out the room. 9 January 2024, 3:28 PM "Do you two have any idea who that was on the phone?" The Police Commissioner of New York, a small birdlike woman named Holly Millea, looked up from her seat at her desk at Captain Harris Wu and Detective John Kelly. "No, Ma'am." Wu, a man much better at playing the game than Kelly, spoke up. "That was, as per usual these days, the Mayor. Do you know what that pain in my lower regions is going on about?" She waited, but neither of them spoke. After a few seconds, she sighed and continued one with her rant. It was hard to work up a good head of steam with these two. "He was upset about Warden. Again." They still didn't say anything. "What is *with* you two? I've seen you breathing, so I know you're awake in there." "Commish, the fact is, as long as there are so many cops on the force who approve of Warden's actions, I've got zero chance of catching him," Kelly finally broke, the strain of holding it in too much for him. "Really." Commissioner Millea looked over at Wu. "And your feeling is?" "I'm a cop. If I get a chance to catch him, I'll catch him." "That doesn't answer my question." "Commish, I'm a human being. I owe the guy my life. The whole *city* might very well owe him, if not its life then something. I'd be lying if I said I don't sympathize with him, or approve of a lot of what he's doing." Wu looked over at Kelly. "I see John's POV, and the Mayor is technically correct when he says Warden is a vigilante and needs to be stopped. But there are *ways* of controlling him that aren't the same as setting up huge task forces and trying to trap him." "Oh, God Harry, not *this* again," Kelly groaned. "Detective, you can bitch about his idea *after* I've heard it. Go on, Captain." "Before the Turn, in the seventies and eighties, a lot of the city governments and PD's worked *with* the Paranormal vigilantes. Boston had Professor Shade, Salt Lake City with the Angleman, and New York had so many that we actually had the Paranormal Liaison Department, with a good ten cops working to keep some *thirty* Paranormals in line with the law. Smoke, Black Opal, The Darkling, Sproinger, Pain Miser...even with our situation being what it is, Paracrime in New York now equals what it was in 1989, when the population was eight times the size it is now. So I say, why not bring back the Liaison Department?" "This is the stupidest..." "Look, John, you've been chasing this guy for a whole year and gotten *nowhere*. I say, we make him a deal. Tell him that if he works with us, within our rules, we'll give him the backup he doesn't have now and cover his ass when things get dicey. That way, we've got our own Para to take on the 'gangers, one who's combat-savvy and proved himself over and over again. And we won't even have to *pay* him," Wu aimed that last bit directly across the desk. "I like that last part." Millea was sitting down, her feet up on some folders. "Of course, selling this to that overfed jackass downtown might not be so easy..." "Why bother?" Kelly spoke without thinking, his disdain overwhelming his common sense. "At least at first, you could always just *do* it and then if it works out, present it to the Mayor as a fait accompli." "That's a good idea!" Millea pounded her hand on the desk. "And since you've been dealing with him all along, *you're* the natural choice for this new department! Pick out some personnel and get to work on this...I want results in a few days, gentlemen. Hop to it!" As they walked out into the hall, Harris tried to avoid looking Kelly in the eye. "Uhm...if it helps out any, I really didn't think she'd go for it..." "Well, the damage is done. And since I need *personnel* for this insane idea of yours..." "You wouldn't." "I think you'd be surprised what I'd do, Harris." Kelly's smile wasn't even in the same region as his eyes. "So, now that we're the Liaison Department, exactly how do you suggest we go about Liaising?" 11 January 2024, 4:02 PM Thomas climbed in the window of the apartment he shared with Jimmy Willot, exhausted by his day. It had taken him an hour to get out of the Malfeas apartment, and he'd had to promise *repeatedly* that he'd stop by and visit. It was an odd feeling to know, intellectually, that these people were his parents and yet not know them at all. And the desperate emotion practically *pouring* off of them made him feel itchy and afraid. He wasn't sure if he'd visit them again after the promised one. The apartment was empty, as he'd hoped it would be and sensed it was. Jimmy was off with Beth and Maddy, he could deduce from the smell of perfumes mingling in the air. The hum of the kitchen light was silent, and the hiss of the heat in the radiators also silent. He was alone. He walked into his room and undressed, leaving his jeans on. The cold in the room made his muscles tremble as he released his iron control of his body...it was the most exhausting part of being Warden, the constant maintenance of his accelerated reflexes and healing, the strain on his metabolic rate alone was enormous. Add in the bursts of superhuman strength necessary to make leaps like he was often called to, and there was a significant drain on him. Now, at least for a few moments, he could rest. He was asleep before he even came into contact with his bed. Several hours later, a loud ultrasonic tone woke him. It was in a range above that which even most *dogs* would respond to. Warden responded in Thomas before he even knew quite what it was he was doing, rolling to his feet with the hook sword in place, ready to strike. It was a few seconds before he realized he wasn't under attack. _I am more tired than I realized. Perhaps I should have rested more after Atlas._ Another few seconds passed before he understood that the ultrasonic tone wasn't ebbing, but instead pulsating. The volume remained steady, but the pitch kept warbling up and down, not very much, just enough to increase the chances of reaching into a range specific only to a few creatures on Earth. Certain breeds of dogs and cats (and Warden could hear them as well, as they began barking and hissing) the Norwegian Rat (which, in the canyons of NYC, were skittering and chittering in an attempt to understand their current dilemma) and himself. Someone wanted Warden's attention. And they had it. He dressed hurriedly, throwing on a pair of workboots to protect his feet from the January night and a long-sleeved T-shirt from his workout outfit. His long black coat was in a pile on the far side of the room, and he didn't bother to get it for some reason, instead putting on the leather jacket Beth Willot had given him for Christmas. She was on his mind frequently as of late, and he was afraid to ask himself why, but he liked the idea of wearing something she'd given him. Because his main weapons wouldn't fit under it, Warden was forced to compromise, choosing instead a pair of tonfa that he'd also received for Christmas (from Jimmy) and strapping a tight black leather gauntlet with studs along the forearm and back of the fist he'd gotten from Madelyn Chin. For a second he smiled. How odd that for a day that supposedly celebrated the birth of a peacemaker, he'd gotten weapons from his best friends. Then he ran out of the room and jumped out the window, remembering to return and close it only afterwards. 11 January 2024, 9:17 PM "I do *not* believe I'm standing on top of a precinct house with a siren *I can't hear* going full blast. I simply do not believe it." John Kelly looked daggers as Harris Wu kept fiddling with the old Air Raid siren he'd spent the day modifying. "You know, I could be at home with Andrea..." "I was always intending to ask you how that works. Doesn't it ever intimidate you that she's got that whole precognitive thing happening?" "She's not a precog...she just gets hunches." "Well, haven"t you ever been tempted to take a trip to Atlantic City with her and see what kind of hunches she gets?" "First off, she's way too ethical to *do* that, and second, it's a crime to use psychic powers to influence a game of chance in New Jersey." Kelly blew into his hands to warm them and looked out over the skyline of the city. "How much longer before he hears that, you think?" "That depends," the deep voice that came from behind them both made Kelly jerk in his overcoat, "on who you intend to hear it. I have been aware of it for an hour." Kelly and Wu turned and looked at the man standing on top of the staircase leading down into the Precinct House. No bandana, no tabi and no long coat, no giant sword or Indian punch dagger...but the face was obviously that of Thomas Malfeas, as was the voice. "A new look for you. Updating for the new year?" "I am not interested in being clever with you, Detective Kelly. Hello, Captain Wu. Could you please turn that off now? It is a very ugly sound, and you are stirring up the neighborhood rats." "Oh...uh, sure." Wu flipped it off. "Now. You wanted my attention, and I've surveyed the area, so I know this isn't a trap...or at least, if it is, it's a subtle one. Why?" "Well, it's simple." Kelly swallowed, not quite believing what he was about to say. "We want to offer you a deal." 12 January 2024, 10:07 PM Umbrae sat at his desk and worked his papers, organizing his plans for the future. When all was done to his satisfaction, he sat up and looked them over. "Andrew? Could you come here a moment, please?" His chief lieutenant came into the room, a dark man of Sicilain descent. He was humming a tune lightly. "Yes, sir?" "Could you look these papers over?" "Of course, sir." Andrew did as he was bid, looking over each document in turn. As he did, Umbrae sat back in his chair with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. After ten minutes, Andrew looked at him with a stunned shock on his face. "You can do all of this?" "Oh, yes." Umbrae stood up. "By the way, the real Andrew couldn't possibly comprehend what's on those papers." "Really." Andrew straightened up. "How did you know?" "Well, you're obviously still Andrew physically...I ran a blood test yesterday. And you're quite good, whoever you are. It was the *humming* that first got me thinking. I'd heard rumors about that in Khadam." "So you did." 'Andrew' looked around. "I don't see any guards coming in here." "That's because there are none. I assume you must want something from me. Now, depending on what that something is, there may be room for discussion. If there isn't...I'm quite capable of killing Andrew, no matter *who* is in his body." "How do you know I won't do the same to you?" "It depends. I assume I'm strong-willed enough to resist you long enough to trigger the explosives I have secreted throughout this building. That being the case, you'll have lost a great deal without gaining anything*. Including Cockatrice." Umbrae smiled again, even more smug-looking. "You noticed my activities." "Not at first. I have to admit, you are *very* good. And I am not looking forward to dying when I've just barely started my ascent. So why don't we make that deal I mentioned? You tell me what you want, and from there, negotiations can begin. We can all be happy." "You don't know that." "True. But if you wanted the ice-witch dead...there have been opportunities. You want something else first. And I may be able to make that happen." 13 January 2024, 10:29 PM "They offered you *what*, exactly?" Jimmy sat in the kitchen of Madelyn's apartment, where he, Beth and Maddie had stopped for coffee and where Warden had found them talking. "For now, very little. Mainly unofficial sanction. If I 'play by their rules' they will look the other way..." "*There's* an offer. They've mostly been doing that anyway!" Beth Willot spoke up from the corner of the room. "Besides, it's blatantly illegal..." "Beth, I don't think they *care*." Thomas dialed down the Warden aspect of his presentation, softening his voice and allowing his posture to slacken. "And they weren't lying to me, that much I'm sure of. Their pulses were rock steady, their minds unshielded." "Thomas, you can't be..." "Why not?" He shifted his posture so that his face was pointed at her. For a second that kept him from thinking entirely clearly, as a blast of scent from her scrambled what he was planning on saying, and the heat from her body landed on his skin and made him quiver. It took him a second to regain himself. "I might as well accept their aid to do what I'm going to do anyway." They all looked at him. After a few seconds, Maddie spoke up. "Could you two leave Thomas and me alone? I think I need a few words with him." After Beth and Jimmy left (during which the strangest feeling of lonliness crept over Thomas...he felt like he could actually feel her gaze sliding across his body, and felt like he liked the attention) Maddie sat there for a moment and looked out the window. "My family and I have a perspective on this kind of thing that Jimmy and Beth just aren't capable of, Thomas. By now, you've been doing without the Mentor for quite some time, haven't you?" "Yes." Thomas almost told Maddie what he read in Kelly's mind on that subject, the fact that Christine Simon was in MetaPsych custody. It had shaken him, and he wasn't sure they hadn't seen it. It had made his decision harder. "Why?" "What do you mean?" "Why do it? You risk your life for little to no gain, no one thanks you, and every day you could end up dead. You don't have a group of specially-powered friends to aid you, no one to call if you get in over your head...even if you *take* the NYPD's deal, none of them can really come to your rescue. In fact, the reason they're making the offer is so that *you* can come to *their* rescue when things get dicey." He could trace the contours of her face from where he stood. "So why do it? Do you know?" "I..." He clicked his mouth shut with an audible effort. "I *do*. Have you ever heard of Black Opal?" "Yes." Tonight, in fact; he had been one of the last century's examples, someone Harris Wu had mentioned when making his pitch. "He was my grandfather. For two decades, from 1976 to 1998, he fought crime. He never had a support system either, except for my grandmother and my father. The NYPD offered him the same deal they're offering you...in fact, he was the first person they offered it to." She turned her face towards the wall. "He bitched about the unfairness of it, he railed that he deserved better, and then he took it. And he told me why, when I asked him about it...I was very young, six, when *that* happened and he died. Just before it all happened. Do you know what he told me?" "No." "You're being polite, then. Thank you. It makes for better storytelling when your audience doesn't read your mind." A thin smile cut across her face. "He looked down at me...he was in full costume...and said, 'If those of us who can do these things stand back and live as prudence and sensibility suggest...the only ones who ever acted would be the villains. And I can't allow that.' And then he kissed me on the head and walked out the door and died." "I..." "Please, Thomas, don't be sorry. I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad. In many ways, my grandfather was very lucky; he died before July. And he died doing what he thought was the right thing. When I was young, I was angry, but I'm not now. I don't know if you know why you do it yet, but until you decide to stop, I'll support you in it. I think the Black Opal would approve." He didn't say anything. But he almost smiled. And Madelyn took that as a sign. Afterwards, as Jimmy and Maddie cuddled near the fire, Beth found herself staring at Thomas, who was standing with his face out the window. You couldn't say he was staring at the stars...they were meaningless to him...but he was experiencing the city. In his way. Why was this so hard for her? Since she'd met Thomas her life had gone down paths she didn't understand. As it was, her loyalties had been stretched between her brother and his friend...and the Academy. What then? Was she going to permit this lunacy to continue any further? That was hard to say. It was made harder by Thomas's continued growth...as he became more and more of a man, rather than a newborn in a man's body, he became more of a problem. He had a sense of humor now, for instance; he tended to find comedy in the smallest aspects of life. Shaving in particular seemed to be one of the tasks that brought him to the verge of laughter, especially since he needed another person to come into the room and stare at him when he did it, so that he could look through their eyes. She still remembered the time he'd asked her to do it. It had taken two hours. She'd enjoyed them. That was the other problem. Lately, she and Thomas kept orbiting each other. She was taking off weekends and flying out to Manhattan to visit him. She'd bought him that jacket for Christmas hoping he'd wear it...and when he did, she felt a rush of triumph, as if it signified something. But what did she want it to signify? "Tom?" "Beth." He turned his head slightly, and she looked at his face. It had been a year since she'd met him...in that time, she'd long since gotten over the shock of seeing skin where one expected eyes. It was hardly a *gruesome* thing, just odd and disquieting. And the rest of him.... "I know you don't approve of what I'm doing. I'm sorry about that." "Really?" _Oh, that sounded smart, Beth._ "Yes, of course. You and Jimmy have been there for me, and I appreciate it." "Oh." He cocked his head at that, listening to what she said, and how she said it. "I've offended you." "No, you haven't...not exactly that, anyway." "Well, I've said *something* wrong. I can hear that much." "I suppose you can. Which makes talking to you pretty hard sometimes, Tommy. Most people can't pull voice-stress analysis during a chat." She found herself looking past him at the sky, trying to get herself to make sense. "I'm sorry, Tom. I don't mean to be snappish. It isn't like I didn't expect you to keep up the good fight or anything. That's not even what's bothering me..." "You set my nerves on edge when I smell you." She stopped talking, caught off guard. He kept his face turned slightly on edge and continued, swallowing convulsively. "I can tell your heartbeat out of a hundred thousand. I know exactly what you smell like, and when I smell it I feel myself lose control of my heart-rate. You make me nervous. I have spent whole days afraid I would offend you and you would decide never to talk to me again. I have actually inhaled air where you have been so that I would know what you taste like." Another convulsive swallow. "In short, I have no idea what I am doing where you are concerned." "Wow." "I thought you should know. I am not sure why. But when you came over here, I finally noticed that *your* pulse rate shot up, and you began to sweat lightly...there is a smell coming from you that does not come from you when you talk to Jimmy...I let my hope convince me to..." She kissed him. It seemed to be the only way to get him to shut up and get on with it. At first he was awkward and stiff, not knowing what to do but wanting to do it, and then he began to learn how from her. Jimmy looked over from the fireplace. "I wondered how long it would take them to get to that." "How long did you figure?" Maddy smiled up at him. "The way they were dancing about it, a couple of years. But I'm glad I was wrong." Over at the window, they were coming up for air. "Wow." Thomas brushed her lips with his fingers. "I didn't know you were going to do that." "Me neither." She smiled. "I'm glad to see you can quick-learn more than just how to hit people, Tom." He didn't say anything to that. Instead, he just dropped his head and kissed her again. He wanted to keep practicing. 29 January 2024 9:26 PM Jess Dumont never wanted to see Park Avenue again. She never wanted to talk with Hooks again, either. Now she was doing both, and was rather unhappy about it. "Look, I'm just looking for my sister. Help me out, Hooks." "And what's in it for me, Scry? You took off a long time ago now. Things are different in NYC. A whole new order, you might say, if you were so inclined. There are people who'd be very pissed with me for talking to you at all." "Who?" Jess was afraid of the answer. "Cockatrice, for one. She's risen high since you left...heard of the Snow Leopards? Her and Bathory control 'em. One of the toughest gangs in the city. She'd have my head for a snowcone if she thought I peached to you." Hooks snorted, his whole face looking remarkably like the head of a naked mole rat. "Not to mention that the Snakeaters ain't thrilled with you either." "Hooks, I don't remember you being so nasty. Maybe that was all the Jaz I was on, but you used to have a soul." J ess stared the beady-eyed Paragang informer down. "All I'm asking..." "Don't mean spit, Tezzik." The two of them turned in horror to see the crouched bodies of the Fifth Avenue Snakeaters surrounding them. The Paragang had seen better days, but there were still twelve angry looking members in a ring, led by Paul Marko, the shape-changer who'd assumed command after Mountain's death. The same Paul Marko who'd been left holding the bag when Scry'd decided to give up the Organlegger trade. "Hooks." Marko took an intermediary form combining elements of his human form with that of a Monitor Lizard. "Take off. Jess and I have words to share." The inforunner was ten steps down Park Ave before the word share was past Marko's scaly lips. The lizard-man turned his head to stare directly at Dumont. "Didn't see *this* coming, did you?" "Perhaps she did." The voice came from above, as it so often does. "And she decided she wanted to watch." The black coat unfurled as he dropped from the ledge thirty feet above them, landing directly in front of Dumont. An old 20th Century Police tonfa, made of black metal and longer than a forearm, was in his right hand. A steel-studded nunchaku was drawn back into the crook of his left arm. "Now, do you really want to dance with me, Marko?" "Yessssss." The tongue darted out as Marko began shifting more towards the lizard body, becoming a full-grown bull Komodo Dragon. The rest of the Snakeaters didn't bother to rush Warden...it was an old dance. The more you sent against him, the easier it was for him to make you hit your own boys. Warden smiled as Marko leapt forward. He whirled the nunchaku forward, smashing them down onto the reptile's snout. Bone shattered with the impact, and then the thin body of the man whirled up into the air, flipping over the monster lizard and allowing it to pile into the wall. Marko bellowed, lashed out with his tail. Warden blocked with the tonfa. Marko thrashed his snout to clear the fog from his eyes and snapped around at speeds most people would have a hard time reacting to. Warden wedged the tonfa into the lizard snout and twisted sharply to the right while amplifying the creature's sense of touch. The neck was forced to twist, the beast that was a man forced to roll over onto his back. Warden was on top of it, his foot pressing the head to the ground, and his now tonfa-less hand gripping the haft of a familiar sight to the Snakeaters...a hook sword. The razor-sharp handguard was pressed right up against Marko's neck. "Change back. And do it slow. Or bleed. Neck wounds can be quite messy." Marko did as he was told. As soon as he was human again, Warden dragged him to his feet. "I'm tired of doing this. The Snakeaters keep getting up, and I keep smashing you down. I think it's time to end it." Warden kept the hook sword pressed firmly to Marko's neck. "Where's Mountain? I'd think he'd have recovered from that stomping by now." "He dead." Kelli, one of the few women ever to run with the Snakeaters, spoke up from the dejected crowd. "Really." Warden would have blinked if he could have. "Marko here?" "What you think? Na. Mountain'd broken him in half. He just gimbled the zak when Mountain's meat showed up." Kelli stepped out from the gang, ignoring the stares she got from various Snakeaters. "New guy kakked him. Calls himself Rex." "Rex?" Warden 'looked' at Kelli. "Where is this Rex?" "Dunno. Only the tops knew. E'en Marko don' know." "Is that true, Lizard?" Warden shook him, at the same time opening himself to the surface thoughts of the shapeshifter. Marko stayed silent, but he thought the confirmation to Kelli's statement. "Well, that *is* interesting. Thank you, Marko. You all can go now. I'll find you later." With that, he kicked Marko in the ass and pulled the hook sword away from his throat, sending him sprawling onto the ground. The gang leader turned and snarled, but a smirk from Warden, accentuated with the hook sword turning lazy circles in the air, convinced Marko that the better part of valor was the correct response. As the Snakeaters departed, Warden waited to ensure they were far enough away that he could respond in time if they tried anything, and then turned to 'face' Jess Dumont, who was trying to inch away unnoticed. "Nice try. No dice, Dumont. Or should I call you 'Scry' again?" "Look...well, poor choice of words, but I'm not here for trouble." "Yes you are. But I did overhear your conversation with Hooks, so at least it's not the kind of trouble I routinely get in the way of." Warden bent down and picked up his tonfa, wiping the blood off of it onto a pile of rags near the alley wall. "Why don't you explain? I might be able to help you." She stood there for a moment, staring unbelievingly at him. "You? Help me?" "As long as you actually *are* just looking for your sister. Believe it or not. And besides, nobody *else* is offering you any assistance. You might as well take mine." 29 January 2024 10:27 PM In a room in one of the more expensive hotels in New York, a woman in a wheelchair sat. Her legs were encased in a refridgeration unit. That's because they were made of solid ice. It was not easy smuggling herself out of the home her sister had placed her in, but it wasn't impossible, either. It was all a matter of knowing what strings to pull. She knew those strings better than anyone. For instance, at the moment she was pulling on several of them. Half-way across the world, one of her puppets was taking actions. Soon that puppet would appear, along with allies, and it would act. The actions were circumlocutory. She had nothing against the eyeless face per se. *But she would walk again*. It would happen. If it required the death of one man, or a dozen, or a hundred, or a thousand...it did not matter. All Rex knew was that the secret of Cockatrice's transformations was important to the mind controlling Andrew. Until she had what she wanted, that was all he *would* know. And, even though Umbrae knew that Andrew's mind was not his own, he had not removed the man. The usefulness of the newer, more intelligent Andrew hadn't been lost on him. So she maintained a puppet inside his organization, and she would make more. Until she had what she wanted. Then she would let hell itself loose upon the bitch that had turned her legs to ice. 30 January 2024 4:43 PM It was a tiring day. Jess watched as Warden applied his own brand of 'persuasion' to the various members of various Paragangs he found. The Organlegger Barnes (once her main competition in the trade of sniffing out the Universal Donors) gave up that he'd heard some rumors about a high-tech freezing unit being stolen from Sister's of Mercy Hospital in Brooklyn, after Warden hung him from a rooftop by his neck for a few minutes while kicking his vertigo up several notches. From there, they moved on to Gimble, the freelance gadgeteer. If not for her hideous, insectoid appearance, she may have ended up as one of those famous gadget heroes, with her brilliant mind and intuitive knack for inventing. The best part about Gimble was that her Paranormal gift led to the development of advanced, but non-Supertech, devices, allowing them to be used by *anyone*. Warden didn't have it in him to threaten Gimble. Instead, in exchange for the information that an anonymous client had paid him a rather obscene sum to fit the freezing unit to a hover wheelchair, Warden deadened the agonizing pain the insect woman felt every day as her shell peeled. Then Warden tried the old-fashioned way, dropping in on Dr. Jacky's Boys of Pain at their Greenwich Village hideout. They weren't there. Warden began to feel uneasy. They ended up at a small chinese restaurant a block from the dojo. "So...what now?" Jess picked at her noodles. "Apparently, whoever your sister is involved with is powerful. Perhaps this Rex person. I need to go higher up." "How much higher up?" "Well, I can't *find* Dr. Jacky...which is odd, I've never had a hard time finding him before...so that leaves the Snow Leopards, the Onyx Eye Tong, the Cyber-Nostra, or perhaps Satan's Eyes, if they're still around." Warden sipped his tea and considered. "The Rust Brothers are too new and haven't gotten enough of a footing to be worth it. I think the Cyber-Nostra are the best bet. They're the ones hurting the most after the warehouse explosion." "I heard about that. Even saw some of Times Square on the vids." Jess looked about the restaurant. "Aren't you afraid you're getting too much attention?" "Attention?" He put his tea down. "No. I hadn't even considered it. What difference does that make?" "Well, now people know you're real and all...makes you more of a target." She fell silent, feeling somewhat awkward. "Uhm, I kinda feel odd talking about this with you considering who I used to be and all...you should ignore me." "No. I shouldn't." He looked disturbed...it was hard to tell, with him having no eyes and all, but the look was there in the set of his jaw. "I never thought about the situation of them hunting for me...." He stood up suddenly. "You should go back to your hotel." "Hey, what about..." "I will continue to look for your sister. But I can move faster without you than I can with you. Your time is best spent using your abilities to attempt gaining some kind of clue as to her whereabouts." She looked at him for a few seconds, wishing he had eyes so she could attempt to stare him down. That wasn't going to happen. "All right. You'll let me know if you find her?" "No, I'll keep it from you just to be cruel. Of course I'll tell you. It's *your* sister." 30 January 2024 6:12 PM "Warden's been all over the city." Rex Umbrae put down the phone and turned to 'Andrew.' "He's been asking about some crippled woman." "Has he?" Andrew kept his voice deliberately neutral. "Yes. I don't know why, exactly, and it isn't really important. What *is* important is that we can move on him. Are your 'friends' in place?" "Yes." "Good. Have them waiting at this address." Umbrae slid a piece of paper across the desk. "Tell them that the Boys of Pain will be waiting for them, and will act as they direct." 'Andrew' picked up the paper. "And then I get what I want?" "Absolutely." 30 January 2024 8:29 PM Warden was outside the Cyber-Nostra hangout near the old Brookyln South Fire House...which had been transformed into a fountain of fire by Loge, the Norse Fire Spirit, and now was gone from this world...when he began to notice odd things. Smells, for one. Warden's memory for smells was amazing...it had to be. Being unable to see the details of a person's appearance, all he had to judge people was their smell and the sound of their voice. As a result, he'd gotten quite good at remembering such details. The smells that were bothering him now were painfully familiar...he'd smelled them not five hours before, when he'd dropped in on the Boys of Pain hideout. What would the Boys of Pain be doing in a Cyber-Nostra neighborhood? Then there was sound. Or, more honestly, the lack of it. Brooklyn was a sparsely-populated Italian ethnic neighborhood on its way up again...it should have been reasonably quiet, as most of the people who live there were not interested in crime or trouble, merely in living quiet lives. What it should not have been was hushed. Warden knew something was going on...but, being Warden, did not let that keep him from the Cyber-Nostra hangout. After a few minutes, spent mostly scanning the inside of the place with every sense he had, he slid inside via a roof access that was obviously intended as a last-ditch escape hatch. The inside of the place, an old Sports Network store that was quite empty now, was hollow and cavernous to his echolocation. He descended slowly. This didn't make any sense at all. First the Boys of Pain, then the Cyber-Nostra...where was everybody? Then there was an odd *twisting* sensation, as his senses distorted on him and a strange, nauseated feeling of vertigo fell in on him...space itself was falling in on him...what the hell was that? He was now *not* alone. Instead, the Boys of Pain, the Cyber-Nostra, and three new people were all in the warehouse with him. One of those people was standing with the metal of the catwalk dividing her body in half, and the sound was passing through that body a lot more than it should have been. One of the entirely new people, who was possessed of one of the most *irritating* voices Warden had ever heard, cackled down at him. "Dude, you are *so* busted!" Then the floor somehow turned very slippery, and despite Warden's coordination being what it was, he slipped. That was the cue for the Boys of Pain to rush him. =========================================================================== NEXT ISSUE: Things get worse. A lot, lot worse. Oh, they get so worse. It isn't really even worth thinking about just how worse things are gonna get. We're talking really, really bad. Ouch. Get some bactine on that vigilante. A lot, lot worse. =========================================================================== WRITER'S NOTES: Or, how I learned to stop worrying and steal titles from old novels. Here we are. Issue number ten. The big time. El Grande Momento. Double-digits, even. Kinda hard to believe I started this thing back in 1994, isn't it? Ah, my carefree college days. When I was as lonely, alienated and depressed as I am now, just better at it. Anyway, this is the beginning of the second story arc in Warden...the big, bouncing, universe-involving Year Two, a blatant rip-off of every single noir street-level superhero comic I can think of, original only in the sheer width and breadth of my poaching. I'll be praying that the cross-pollenisation alone will be massive enough to create something original, because otherwise I'm screwed. Anyway, the next few issues (I refuse to say how many, because I don't *know* how many...Frank Miller would likely do it in six, but I ain't Frank) will be the story of Warden's assimilation into New York, and his own taking in of his new life. Expect lots of violence to come, but I couldn't resist giving the guy a break after last issue. Okay, so it was a *small* break. It was a break. Editor's Notes: Just a side note on something I tried to work into dialogue (but it sat there like a dead carp). While NYC had load of paranormal and even normal vigilantes, it had almost no supernormals on the level of ASH or EUROPA. This is, in part, why the city was so popular with the Norse gods during the Godmarket...no one powerful enough to really get in the way until the Aesir were entrenched. UPDATE: This version of the issue has been modified slightly from what was originally posted and placed on the web. A continuity problem came to my attention, and the simplest solution was to extend the events of this issue over several weeks. Also, in editing this issue, I originally "corrected" something that wasn't an error. The Yeats quote at the top includes the openquote but not the closequote, as Badger later pointed out to me.