Metropolis: Reborn

backlash

backlash

Two Thousand Club
In the large city of Metropolis, Heroes around the world gathered to pay tribute to one of the greats, Superman. They had come to his home town, the town he swore to protect, the town that he settled down in. His legacy of protecting Earth would not be halted by his death, but be continued through the lifes of the newest heroes to walk the Earth. It has been three years since the death of Superman, and this years festival honoring his life was coming up quickly.


It has been two years since the incident that gave Alex his powers and a year since he became the hero is today. Alex had been flying around the city for a half hour on his usual and daily route of protecting the city, and had yet to catch wind of any law breakers. It was weird seeing how no crime had taken place, but Alex just shrugged it off.


I should probably just head home and wait for the call. Alex thought as he flew straight up into the air.


Stopping just shy of the 1500 foot mark, and just over the Osborne & Lexcorp ltd. building. Grunting slightly at the thought of what was going on in that building, Alex flew past and headed home. He knew that the building was off limits to all wandering eyes, both civilian and Supers, but he kept flying. As he headed towards his house on this wonderful sun shiny day, Alex just pondered on what would be in store for him.
 
Flint pulled up in his truck outside of the Osborne & Lexcorp Ltd. Building. His agency had been trying to pull information together for months of the supposed sales of weapons to Terror units across the world. Yet somehow the paper trail and really any trail always ended up short. His gut feeling told him something was going down tonight, but he just couldnt tell what, and that alone wasnt enough for a warrant of any kind. He was going to have to wait like the rest of everyone. Today was a big event and was sure to draw the attention of everyone.


Tilting his wandering eyes and head back from the window, he leaned back in his seat. His hand reaching up and killing the engine. Everything from the outside world was muffled within his vehicle. Shifting to the side, he turned his attention to his computer display. Typing in a few names, but once again, the information blinked red as classified or pinged with a dull notice from lack of information. A terrorist, widely know for his cruel tactics of using nerve gas on civilians had been tagged inside the country, but as soon as he appeared on radar, he once again disappeared. This was unsettling for Flint.


He sighed. It was going to be a long day.
 
Silas Merlot was on the roof of a particularly tall building,overlooking the perpetually busy central square of the city. Of course,from this height,someone would need enhanced vision to see anything of note down there. Silas,known to the media as the Warhound,had a means to do just that,and was currently scanning the streets below through a fifteen times magnification filter,provided by his suit's visor. "Log. October third,Thirteen-thirty hours. Central square and the surrounding environs are quiet. Proceeding East." Silas turned off the recording,then turned to face the next rooftop.


The man in the suit crouched,and leaned forward,and engaged the jump jets. Plumes of blinding blue energy erupted from the plasma vents on his back,catapulting the tonne-and-change mass across the broad main street to the building across the way. Silas landed on the roof in a predatory crouch,his angular suit throwing disfigured shadows in the post-noon sun. Straightening up,Silas began to run across the rooftops,leaping onto lower rooftops to get down to street level. Silas eventually made his way to ground level,in an alleyway parking lot. Taking care to not land on the vehicles parked like Tetris blocks in the cramped space,Silas removed his helmet and proceeded down the street,as if he were an ordinary man.


In the year since he's become one of the many Supers defending the city of Metropolis,Silas has learned that public transit and walking on street level were far more efficient than leaping from rooftop to rooftop. Sure,he could leap to clear city blocks,but aiming becomes an issue,and nothing would survive his suit landing on it. That,and he recieved a copy of the repair bill from City Hall for the potholes his leaps tend to make: A million dollars,and change,for each one.


Silas knew that the Kryptonian Festival was rapidly approaching,and he was invited to speak as a guest of honor at the proceedings. He knew that Stark would be present,probably to peacock around for whatever reason. Might start a debate,too. Silas sighed at the thought. Tony was one of his biggest influences in the field of powered armour. But,after an incident in Afghanistan involving one of his own weapons,Tony has since withdrawn all government support and ceased all production of weapons. Silas made the first generation CLAWS for the Canadian Armed Forces,something that Tony would never approve of. In fact,he refused to support the project in any way in it's infancy.


Silas was attracting the stares of everyone on the street,but they kept on their way. He had made a public statement in the past about how he doesn't want people talking to him while he was in armour,as he wanted to keep his energies focused on his duties as a public defender. After a short media inferno over the statement,it stuck. His suit whirred and clomped along with each step,and he earned the salutes of several police officers,and the odd soldier,which he returned.


As he passed an alleyway,Silas heard something. Donning his helmet,Silas entered the alleyway. From the corner of his vision,he saw countless phones rise from pockets and handbags. People knew that when the helmet went on,the Warhound was about to go to work. In the alleyway,he saw a young man,probably no older than seventeen,huddled against the wall,facing him. With a quick gesture he silenced the boy,and he didn't give any indication to the Warhound's presence. The aggressor was a much older man,wielding a half-empty bottle of rye in one hand,and a tire iron in the other.


When the distance between the two was about fifteen feet,Silas thundered forward. The sudden noise caused the obviously drunk man to wheel around,and when he saw what was bearing down on him,he blanched,terrified that his actions have attracted a famously lethal Super's attentions. "Log. October third,thirteen-forty-five hours. Interrupted a drunken beating in the alley off of Oscar and Vale." As Silas recorded his log update,the Warhound reached out and tore the tire iron from the drunk's grip. Continuing the motion,Silas roughly shoved the man to the ground behind him,and placed himself between the teen and his tormentor. "Generally,alleyway beatings aren't what I deal with. So you don't get to die,today." Silas did a quick frisking of the man's pockets,and retrieved the wallet. Finding the drunk's driver's license,he had the visor save a snapshot of it before he casually dropped the man's belongings back onto him. "But now,you're on my list. If your name comes up on police chatter,or if I catch you like this again,I will correct that." Silas loomed over the quivering drunk,arms crossed.


"Am I understood?" The drunk nodded wordlessly,and at the Warhound's gesture,the drunk scampered off. Silas looked over his shoulder,and saw that the boy was unhurt. "What was that about?" The boy told him that it was just a random guy who jumped him as he cut across the alley to save time. Silas nodded,and said, "Get home. Tell your family and the police." The kid nodded,and ran off.


Silas stepped out of the alleyway,removing his helmet. "Nothing major. As you were." With his obligations for that particular incident fulfilled,Silas continued his patrol.
 
Just as Alex flew over head, he seen a man scurry out of an alleyway soon to be followed by none other then the Warhound. With a smile upon his face, he changed direction and headed straight for his location. Landing on the ground softly behind Silas, Alex cleared his throat.


"I see that you are still bullying people around." Alex spoke out as he followed behind Silas.


Looking upon the suit, Alex could not help but admire the piece of work. After all, there were not a lot of people on his side that used suits. He was happy that this man had come back, at least for the time being.
 
"Do it...Don't...Coward, you are the same loser you used to be!....Don't listen to him, let him live!"


"SHUT UP!" Simon Dirk (Parasitas) shouted out as he breathed heavily and clenched his fists thight, he looked like a madman right now, shouting to himself as his eyes shifted around as if they were trying to track something only he could see. His breathing erratic and hunching over like a beastial being, ready to throw down as he's being cornered by himself. Granted, he hadn't lost control over his body to the beings sealed within him throug corrupt and unholy contracts, still they were able to influece and play with him, making him lose his mental stability and take the poor lad's soul.


"Please, no, oh god why is this happening, please, let me go!"


The cornered man was pleading for his life, and for good reason too. He had thought to be safe here, having locked himself in his house. Unfortunately no area was inaccessible to Simo---No, to Parasitas---- As the man cried and pleaded, Simon snarled and growled annoyed as his eyes focused upon the man kneeling before him.


"They're too hungy...They need..To feed..."


As he spoke, a putridly yellow-green smoky aura started swirling around him, as the man saw this his jaw dropped and a gutwrenching shriek could be heard before deadly silence befell the area. It didn't take long for a silhouette to appear in the doorway of the house and step outside, clean as a whistle he walked away, further into the ghetto of the city while hoodrats and bangers snuck into the house from the other side, trying to see what happened and to who. What they saw was undoubtedly traumatizing even to the truest OG. Inside the house, there lay a dried out body, sucked from all its blood and essence, with its eyes and tongue missing and a face contorted in the most disturbing and fearstruck mold. Parasitas grinned content as he heard the screams and shouting come from the scene of the 'crime' behind him.


"Mmmmm, it wasn't the best meal but it should do for now..."
 
Couturiére flew through the Skys of Metropolis of where the tops of most buildings reached the skys but lower than the skyscrapers meet the sun past the clouds. It was easy to tell her red and yellow outfit from the other superheroes as hers was currently the only one with patterns, something quite hard to do on Spandex in general as the artificial fabric itself moved and acted more like water the closer to purity it was. At her hips were four large spools of thread; one spool contained pure cotton thread unbleached greige goods, while another spool contained pure silk. The other two spools contained pure metal thread and pure hemp thread. Each one had their use and the metal thread wasn't fully thin like an embroidery metallic thread. No the thread here consisted of strong, multi ply thread that was stronger than upholstery thread. In fact it was closer to twine, but quite strong regardless, and didn't appear to be one of her main weapons. Her Senbon needles were close by too, made of the strong Vibranium metal commonly mined and manufactured in Africa. The Senbon needles, however, were crafted elsewhere by a master smith who could easily make such needles. It wasn't Adamantium but it was close to it in strength, as well as significantly cheaper than the former.


The noise here... it was hard to distinguish who needed help the most or who was doing what. It was very lively and crowded compared to Professor Xavier's School for the Gifted. So far though Couturiére travelled, amazed that depending on angle she was from some of the larger buildings or even a block distance how quiet it could get compared to other angles and spots in the city. Up here though, it was peaceful. However she had a party she had to get to, and for that she had to fly lower. As she flew lower and came close to the residential area of the City, she couldn't help but notice a large crowd. She got close enough to hear some of the whispers, about how horrifically disfigured the victim was and bled dry. From those who saw the body, and who were currently going illegal trespassing, said that the man was missing his eyes and tounge. Apparently whoever caused this also invoked the fear of the local, violent gangs. Couturiére didn't stay long though, for at this point there was nothing she could do now. Instead she could save this information as she travelled to the party. It wasn't long before Couturiére arrived, for Zera took in the sites of it however solemn it was. Superman was a good man, and continues to be missed by man like he will be missed for the ages to come.


Zera wondered if the man had any heirs to succeed him, surely someone in this city had to of been his lady fair for a time. What of Louis Lane? However there were more pressing matters of concern, honoring an honorable man and finding out more of this city and possible free super villians. Zera landed in her costume and as she did so, she began to contort her own costume into something more formal and elegant for the event. Finishing up with her floor length A-Line shoulder-princess seam dress with silk shawl, Zera wandered this event and she went over to help herself to some nourishment. On her plate she placed some crab cakes, a pot sticker or two, some cheese and olives. With her own power she used the thread to poor herself a glass of old fashioned handmade lemonade, opting for that rather than the punch, before controlling the thread to hold her glass for her as she took a bite and went to find herself a seat for the proceedings. Using the thread, which was more like a thick twine and quite hard to break without scissors ((even though Zera could just repair it with her powers)), she took a sip of her cup before setting it down and allowing the twin to roll back on its respected spools. With her fingers, she began playing with the Tablecloth, tracing pictures on it with just her finger out of boredom before returning to eat her food.
 
Silas looked over his shoulder at the source of the voice. It was none other than his fellow public identity hero,Alex Rodgers. "Alex,good to see you." He gestured to beside himself. "Walk and talk. I don't want to bowl anyone over." And it was true. Silas accidentally trampled a man early on in his career. In the suit that followed,Silas took full responsibility,as he wasn't minding where he was going. He covered all of the medical fees personally,and payed the victim and his family a thousand dollars,afterward. Since he was living off of the royalties of the CLAWS,Silas had plenty of money,after all. Though,one wouldn't know it by looking at his home.


It taken a moment for what Alex said to fire off in his head,but when it did,Silas sighed,and shook his head. "You saw that,eh? No,I wasn't bullying the man. He was beating on some kid. Drunk,no doubt. I don't normally do street level crime,but it was along the way,so I figured why not. Didn't kill the guy; it'd be like dropping a nuke on the FLQ." Silently,Silas wondered if Alex would get the Canadian historical reference. "Anyways,he's on my watchlist. If he steps in it again,I'll guarantee his good behavior in the future."





While he spoke to Alex,Silas was oblivious to the bedlam in one of the more run-down parts of the city,only a few blocks away. The noise and density of the city made long-range hearing an impossibility,unless a Super was blessed with enhanced perceptions.
 
Alex smiled as he seen Silas wave him up next to him. Leaping from his spot, he landed into a walking pace next to Silas.


"You always seem to find the great ones before me." Alex spat out just before Silas spoke again.


After mentioning the FLQ comment, Alex cocked his head to the side, Alex could not figure out what he meant. Shaking his head slightly, Alex brought his arms up and positioned himself into a 'i have no idea' stance.


"How about we just take it easy for the time being. We are here for the festival of the kryptonian." Alex spoke out as he patted Silas upon the shoulder.


Taking off in a slight run, he leaped into the air and began to fly. Peeking back, he waved him on.


"Let's get to the festivities. I want to meet all the news crews. Have to get this adorable face out to the world." Alex spoke out as he flew up past the buildings and towards the town square.
 
Zera sat by herself watching the others go about their business and paying their respects to the alien that had become more than an esteemed citizen. Couturiére didn't mingle with the others like she normally would have as she was still reeling with anger the last time Dazzler decided to embarrass her in front of a crowd. This anger, directed at Dazzler, was satiated some with the criminals Couturiére brought to justice. As she looked over the crowd though, Zera couldn't help but notice that some of the female attendants looked a bit in jealousy at Zera's own dress while Zera in turn looked down on their fancy little black dresses or their 'some other designer' outfits which were mostly recycled fashions and nothing new, especially from a distance.


A hundred years ago the designs were long, elegant, beaded, high shoulders and feathers in big hats were all on the rage. From a distance these outfits had design unlike modern day where the fashionable thing for young women seemed to be to wear as little fabric as possible. There was one lady in particular that Zera noticed looking her way. This woman was silently comparing her outfit with Zera's, a big thing among the ladies especially when one desires to be the center of attention and the 'bell of the ball'. Zera decided to get up and take her plate as well as her drink with her and approached this woman. She seemed to be someone of importance as she had some younger females around her vying for her attention. "Excuse me, Madam, but I do think your dress does not fit your station. It may have been made to fit your form and only your form, but whoever designed it lacks in originality, enough so that you are not glowing like one would befit your station." Zera as Couturiére spoke.


"I beg your pardon?!" The woman more demanded than spoke politely. The other girls gave Zera a dissaproving glare and some even let out an almost snake like hiss. "This is a Armani original! I paid $15,000 for this outfit and won't have some charlatan speak of my Haute Couture one of a kind outfit like it's some peasant trash!" The look this woman gave Zera could make many a man or woman cringe in fright, yet Zera continued to look at this woman and remained resolute.


"Your outfit, Madam, can be recreated with any of the conventional Knock Off companies in Cheap prêt-à-porter stores Such as Hall Wart for less than $100. The only thing that makes your outfit marginally unique other than it has made to fit you is that it has at least 10% hand sewing if that while the rest was most likely made on a three thread Overlocking machine, something that all common's man clothing is made from these days. Not to mention the lining used in your jacket appears to be made from high quality polyester, oil Madam, and it appears to just too tight in places that it may cause your skin to chafe in rather uncomfortable areas." Zera spoke flatly. "If you truly felt that your outfit was better than my own, you wouldn't be silently comparing our outfits with your own eyes."


The woman was about to speak again but Zera grabbed the fine cuff of her grey and black Dobby Weave fine suit Jacket. "At least the shell of your Shawl Collar Chinese Frog closure Dobby Weave Jacket appears to be made out of a fine blend of Wool and Rayon, or shall I say Sheep and Melted tree? It does not appear to be made out of Alpaca Wool, which would be far better suited to a lady of your station. Come, for I cannot stand to see a woman wear some good old fashion Black Gold, let alone the feel of such a cheapman's fabric. Yet while I can't change the very material it's made from, at least I can change the appearance of such expensive trash." And with that Couturiére changed the woman's entire outfit as it morphed all around the woman's body. It became something more of a dual toned grey and black long mermaid dress with a much better long sleeved crop coat hemming out just an inch past the woman's breasts. Finally the woman had on a marvelous outfit which caused everyone to turn their heads to look at this woman who was now even more radiantly beautiful than she was.


"I..." The woman began looking herself over. Even her husband, who had been talking with a younger woman, came over and told his wife how beautiful she was and amazing she looked. The woman cried and silently thanked Zera, who smiled and walked back to her table. She was soon joined by some of the girls who wanted their outfits changed to. Instead, Zera gave them each a business card and told them she would consider after the proceedings, providing there was nothing significant that needed to hold her attention.
 
[ @Seika-Caxie , Sorry for taking so long, hope you feel better.]


As much as he wanted to remain there, he did not. There would be other things up and about with the memorial of the greatest superhero ever. Though this did not much phase Flint. People needed to rely more of everyday heros like himself and officers of the lay then of these super heros. They may help in times of need, but he knew the truth. Only a matter of time before these wanna be heroes turned into just vigilantes that thought themselves above the law. His point proven by the canadian in his review mirror.


Turning the ignition, his truck roared to life. Playing with the shifter in the center of the cab, he popped it into first, and headed towards the ceremony.


After time passed, he finally arrived. Shutting the door as he emerged on the scene he was lucky enough to get police parking. One of the things Flint loved beast about being a agent of Homeland Security is the fact he could wear anything. Most the with his lean and toned body he sported a Korean influenced zip up jacket with his gun holster leathers over top. They were also black in color and fitted both his pistols visible. As for pants, they were basically just regular jeans, long enough to bunch a little as his feet with some high end military grade running shoes that, supposedly where more durable then some cheap ass nikes. To polish it all off was his unshaven, ruffian face with a forward spiked mohawk.


Somehow, no matter how ruff and tumble his day, this is the appearance he always had.


As he approached a tabled lot for people to gather and associate to commemorate the late superman, he noticed the ever elegant Couturiére and her entourage of ever jealous super models. Though from the scowls they gave him as he passed, they must of not been pleasant words exchanged amongst them. As the last one left he managed to snag a chair.


Pulling it out then spinning it around, he sat in it cockeyed, with his arms crossed on the table, sleeves up about mid forearm. Looking at the Couturiére , he glanced down at her womanly figure then back up to her eyes as he spoke.


“So the Couturiére pays her homage to the late Superman as well?” He smirked; never trying to be rude, but always coming off as that way.
 
((For the next week or so, I will be without phone or computer. Q_Q


I will be in the process of moving. Go ahead and enjoy the festival until my return. I will let ALAD V be in charge until my return.))
 
Couturiére looked at him then she tilted up her nose and gave him a somewhat scowl mixed with a glare. "You claim to be here for respects for a Hero to our world and yet you come dressed a messy casual? Would this be how you would dress to a Policeman's ball?" She asked him looking him over, "Usually I would be angry and desire to change your appearance without touching you. However, I have more pressing concerns." Couturiére then looked at her small entourage and in exchange to be left alone, she changed their garments for them by touching each and every one of their outfits to something more fanciful. They soon left leaving Couturiére and Flint alone.


"I saw something odd today...something concerning during my flight here. Your local deadly gang, I believe they are called the OG by the authorities and themselves...were allowing themselves to be arrested by the police. Something had scared them to the point they were shaking as the police lead them away. What troubles me is what some of them said who saw the body. A house wide open...OG members inside, and a dead body that lacked any eyes or tongue...or even blood." She spoke to the cop. "Since the mutagen that changed many of us, of the criminals I fought, I've never seen any so scared." She looked at Flint, in his eyes, before looking at the rest of the of the current attendance.


"However...I feel as though I've wasted my breath. It's not like you police would listen anyways..." She trailed off then averted her attention from Flint in favor of the other guests.
 
Location: [REDACTED]





The Captain clomped through the brushed steel hallways,every ten feet a camera lens was trained on his movements. He was summoned to a meeting,or,more likely,a briefing. Someone needed to die,for the greater good. As Adrian crossed the threshold of a massive automatic door,he was greeted by a disembodied voice,as usual. "Captain Victis,thank you for coming." The Captain scoffed. "Who needs to die?" The reply was shocking to Victis,to say the least. "No one. Yet. Instead,Captain,we would like you to deliver a message. You are aware of the Kryptonian Festival,correct?" The Captain gave an affirmative grunt. "Who isn't?" "Indeed. We would like you to speak at the festival. You will go without your usual weapons. Your objective is simple: Turn the people of Metropolis against as many of their champions as possible." The Captain rubbed his chin. "I'm engage on sight for most of them. The Warhound has me on his kill on sight list. Will I be allowed to defend myself?" As the voice replied,the Captain could just imagine his benefactor spreading their arms. "But of course." The Captain nodded,and left the room without another word.


~~~


Location: Metropolis





Silas shook his head as Alex flew off to the festival. "Eye of the beholder,buddy!" With the friendly ribbing aside,Silas began to walk towards the town square. He briefly pondered using his jets to make an entrance,but,once again,he dismissed the notion. Squashed civilians and million dollar potholes are murder on your publicity. The trip to the square was uneventful,to say the least. Maybe the local supercrime elements were paying their dues to the Man of Steel? The thought earned a chuckle from the engineering genius. Probably not. They'll probably make their move at the festival. With that grim thought in mind,Silas picked up the pace,but he didn't break into a run or a jog; He'd make thousand dollar potholes if he did.


The Canadian inventor arrived at the festival grounds to see them abuzz with life. Technicians were doing the final checks on the stage and assorted lights and fireworks,which will be fired off within the hour,and the local civilians seeing the attractions and enjoying the,admittedly,overpriced food and drink. A quick scan of the crowd revealed several Supers already in attendance,causing Silas to wonder just how many will be speaking at the festival. Helmet under his arm,Silas walked through the crowd,smiling and waving,and having the odd chat with people. Although,it was more like answering the same five questions over and over. "Are you really Canadian?" "What powers the suit?" "Why don't you glow in the dark?" "Why don't you say eh?" and his favourite of the bunch, "Why do you always kill your opponent?"


He enjoys the last question because it gives him a chance to explain his stance on things to people who have the brain cells to ask in the first place. But,he knew that half of the time,the people use the answer in their own spin-doctoring anti-Warhound campaigns. What they fail to tell people is that,quite frankly,if Silas didn't move here from Vancouver,Metropolis would have a villain population several orders of magnitude larger than it is at present. He's the man willing to dirty his hands,conscience,and reputation in order to guarantee the safety of the masses. Some people just can't appreciate that.


Briefly,the Warhound wondered just how much he stuck out in the crowd,clocking in at seven feet,wearing a gunmetal gray battlesuit made of angles and points,with his near-completely shaven head resting on the shoulders unhelmeted.
 
Alex snorted at her remark. “Your first mistake is believing a dead man cares for what I wear. Just as I would care not what people wear to my own funeral. Paying my respects is all that matters and I did that the first time they held this event.” His head cocked, and his eyes locked on hers, brows furrowed in seriousness. “Your second mistake is believing I give a shit about a Police Officer’s ball. Those events are about as sickening as the Grammy Awards. Bunch of assholes patting each other on the ass. Crime doesn’t stop, and neither should those that protect the innocent.”


But after venting a little, maybe in too much for the scene, he couldn’t help but be interested about the criminals. She spoke about wasting her breath, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, it was true. These were petty criminals being handled by petty officers. In his position, he never saw the workings of everyday precincts. Having been an agent of federal government and that he was higher up the food chain in homeland security, unless his superiors found it necessary, he was rarly noticed of such happens.


“You're right. While you super heroes deal with everyday criminals, as well as some who are more then average, I don’t” He ran his hand through his hair as his head drooped. It came back up and he continued as he rubbed his neck. “I deal with threats that are dangerous to society from behind the curtain. My job is not as flashy or glamorous as you guys and I rarely get credit for taking out the bad guys, regardless of what you think.” He paused.


It was kind of a sour subject. He understood his role but sometimes it was still hard to not feel useless. These super heroes took all the glory in the public eye. Dealing with bigger things, from behind the curtain, you very rarely say the fruits of your labor, even if they were sweet and succulent. He sighed. He was not happy at all with the tone or matter of this conversation and was stressed because of it. His hands came back down and rested on the table, with his elbows on the top edge of the chair. “It’s everyone working together, even if it seems like there’s a lack of it, that keeps justice in this great city.”
 
"And your mistake is assuming that all of us Super Heroes have always been Super. Are you aware that many of us were born normal people just like you?" Couturiére glared at Alex. "You assume we have it easy; None of us Super Heroes get any money for what we do, all of us work second jobs and pay our taxes and our bills like anyone else. I am one of many not to be born a Super and to be affected by the Exobytes, which gave me powers over skills I already had. Before that I was already a designer and worked in my family's factory. Despite paying our taxes and the Union Salary of the Police, that -still- doesn't make us all that important to be given Justice."


"For instance I had my car broken into in Febuary four years ago, well before I was to be affected by the Exobytes. Despite the crime being caught on our Video Surveillance it still took the police Three Hours to send a person to make a report. They stole my radio, my headlights, some engine parts and my Jumper Cable. In the process of doing so they also pushed out my power panel which controls the lights in one's vehicle. Despite how well off we are, the Police don't like servicing in that particular area and we found out later that our report got tossed out the window. My family also hired a nice woman by the name of Julia Marie Sanchez who does fabulous work on further specializing our company's patterns. One day her ex husband showed up dressed as a technician for repairing some of our Industrial Sewing Machines. He beat that poor woman black and blue and turned on any of us who tried to help her including me. It took the police TWO HOURS to show up to a 911 Domestic call. You know what they did for her? Nothing, until we showed them the tape. We had more than one corrupted cop fired when we took the precinct to court after thoroughly embarrassing them via the use of the Press; the only way to get some of them to even help!" Couturiére's eyes were glaring down contempt and hatred at Alex.


"We Super Heroes do for the people what the police fail to do, protect them and put the bad guys away. We do it for free and we don't sit on our lazy butts in a coffee shop for many an hour while on the clock talking about how bad the public is to them. Meanwhile you police don't even give Justice to I.E.P. kids. You know there are two types? I have a sister in Highschool, has problems communicating and with math yet excels in Science, Biology, Language and Art. Just because she can't talk like someone 'normal' can she's thrown into a group that's ostracised just for being born. There are two types of I.E.P. kids; The first are the spoilt rotten children of parents who never discipline or punish their children and these children often fall into Drugs, Alchohol and are so very violent especially to the Type 2 I.E.P. kids. Type 2 I.E.P. kids are the smart, intelligent children who are either born as they are or have been in an accident which rendered them as they are today. They are brilliant, smart and unlike the mainstream school kids are taught English among other courses that the rest of the general populace should be reminded of English not Street Slang, are smarter than the Cheerleaders/Jocks/Populars yet because they don't communicate in a way you can understand they are harrassed, humilated and if they get assaulted they are given NO JUSTICE and are treated less in value than a Human Corpse. Albert Einstein, Nikoli Tesla, Picasso and a whole slew of other famous inventors other than Thomas Edison were all considered I.E.P. kids type 2 if it existed in their day. Heck do you even know the name Casimir Zeglen? He was an eccentric Priest on the insane side and would of been considered an I.E.P. kid if it existed in that day simply because in the invention of the Bullet Proof Vest he asked people to shoot him. It means an I.E.P. kid designed your bullet resistant armor which all police wear today. What thanks do you give them?" She demanded then continued with, "The only thing you police do is 'EWW THOSE I.E.P. KIDS, WE'RE GOING TO GET COOTIES HELPING THEM!'"


Her anger at him showed through her green eyes and her thread formed snakes that appeared to be hissing at Alex. However a series of pounding thumping footprints turned her attention to a man in big armor who seemed a bit clumsy it getting around. Couturiére turned her attention from Alex and flew away from him -after- transforming back into Super outfit so he couldn't see anything underneath, and came just in front of Silas. She raised her eyebrow at him and her thread snakes returned to the thread and coiled themselves around their respected spools. "You're not even dressed for this party either, fantastic." Couturiére spoke in her frustration as well as really needing to vent" I would ask that you please take care not to burn anything as there is a lot of Polyester around here and being a plastic it's really toxic to burn so I don't want to breath in any obnoxious fumes. Yet if I did so it would only cause an argument with you and there is only so much Ignorance I can deal with in one day from people who I feel should have more common sense. Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go past your mechanically engineered body, which I'm not sure what you are compensating for, and I'm going to go sew." With that Couturiére took some of the Linen napkins that were actually made with 100% Linen coming from the Flax plant and moved to a corner before taking out her needle and twisted some of her twine into fine thread before she began go hand Embroidery said Linen Napkins.
 
Alex landed upon the ground just behind Clinton. Taking in a deep breath, he placed his right hand upon Clinton's left shoulder.


"It is ok. we can't always be great with the ladies. Its more of a numbers game." Alex spoke out, completely misreading the situation.


Alex was one of those, "News hungry, hero types" that was seen more on the news saving the day. he was easily recognized by millions around the world. He was not really one for nicknames, or even a heroes name, thats why he usually just went by his real name. It just made it easier for the people to make checks out to him.


"You will get a catch today. There are plenty of other ladies ready to just let loose and party." Alex spoke out still on the wrong path of things.
 
Flint just sat at listened carefully as she ranted about many things that obviously plagued her childhood; things that he really had no control over as once again she continued with troubles that regular officers that carried every day business. Terrorists and villains to Metro City he was sure wouldn’t be worried by IEP students or bother with them unless they somehow where part of a larger plot. Finally, she had gotten mad enough at him that with a face full of red and steam nearly coming out the ears, she literally flew off instead of walking.


Then Alex showed up shortly after than and Flint listened to him. He laughed, “Maybe so. Either way you better get back to patrolling. Though it feels like this will be another boring day.”


Shrugging it off, he got up, pushing his chair back under the table correctly from how he was sitting. His hands made their way into his jacket pockets and he casually strode over to the statue commemorating the late Superman. As he looked up at it with awe, he mumbled under his breath. “The world really is falling apart in your absence...” And with a sigh he started to leave the crowd of the ceremony to find shelter on the edges away from everyone else, and in the opposite direction of her and them. Even though he was technically one of them, he hated to tell or show it.
 
Lurking in the shadows of the town square Flicker glanced around at the people gathered. The festival would be big no doubt, but she wasn't the short to par take in such events. She found gathering of such to be rather pointless since most celebrate for all the wrong reasons and in the end only soiled the good name of whom or whatever they had gathered there to celebrate. Sighing as she shook her head and stepped farther back into the darkness of the alley just off the main street of town square she pondered the idea of maybe just attending this gathering as just a ordinary member of the masses and not as Flicker. It would make the event more enjoy she thought. No one would stop and ask her questions and she would be free to celebrate as she pleased.
 
"Hey there! I was actually done patrolling today. I was here to enjoy then festival and join the other heroes in honoring Superman." Alex spoke out as he reached out for Clinton but he had already left the table.


"Oh well, I will be off then." He spoke out loud not really directed at anyone.


~~~~


EDGE OF TOWN


~~~~


A shadow lurked from the sun against the being. It was not a normal shadow, but one that seemed to travel far past what it should. This being came to a halt just before the welcoming sign. He took some deep breaths, breathing through his nose as he stared at the sign.


"So, this is how it is now?" The man spoke out as pulled up the kickstand with his heel and started up his chopper.
 
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