Centurion

Chapter 4: The More Things Change...

“Oh, my giddy aunt! Well, that was just a brilliant display, my love!”

Kirby found he couldn’t quite look Caroline in the eye, preferring instead to lower his gaze to the floor as she railed at him in the confines of the boardroom. Despite his vast reserves of mystic power, Mr. Magus also found that he could not quite bring himself to raise his head while she berated them.

Von Erik found it ironic. He could weave spells that enabled him to fly and teleport halfway around the world. He’d even been to another dimension in the past day. Daniel, meanwhile, utilized semi-sentient nanites to render himself virtually invincible, but neither of them could look this woman in the eye while her anger was in full bloom.

“You’ve threatened it before, I know, but I imagined that you were just blowing off steam! I didn’t think you would really have the balls to suggest it to the director of A.P.E.X.! What are you thinking, Daniel? We’ve done excellent work in conjunction with the CIA! You’ve helped topple governments that slaughtered millions in the killing fields! You’ve brought down terrorists hiding behind the façade of legitimacy! You answer to the president, for God’s sake!”

Kirby looked up, finally meeting her gaze, though just barely. “Can I talk now?”

She threw her hands up in frustration. “Yes, I’d say now is the time!”

Daniel rose to his feet and began to pace in circles around the table as he defended himself. “First off, you say I answer to the president? Hell, I voted for the other guy… twice! I’m more concerned about letting the people I saw in Times Square down than I am some third generation billionaire oilman sitting at a desk in The White House!”

He stabbed a finger accusingly in the direction of the ‘Hub’ where Reeves had disappeared. “I put my life on the line out there! What has that idiot done lately?”

“Let’s see,” Caroline shot back, counting off the items on the fingers of her right hand. “He’s gone undercover twice in war torn countries in Africa to get first hand intel for you so you can take down those dictators. He’s done two tours of duty in Iraq where he was decorated for bravery more times than I can count, leaving his four year old daughter behind with her grandmother both times after his wife died. He has worked countless hours behind the scenes here at A.P.E.X. until the wee hours of the morning and he volunteered for the same dangerous nanite injection that made you Centurion.”

There was a moment of silence as Kirby turned his back on Caroline and looked to Mr. Magus with a look on his face as if asking whether all she’d just said was, in fact, true. Magus nodded ever so slightly as he rolled his eyes.

“Well… what’s he done besides all that?” Kirby asked in frustration.

“This isn’t about Max and I, is it?” Caroline asked, her tone heavy laden with disbelief. “We’ve been over this territory before, Daniel. If that’s what this is about then I have to say, I’m more than a little disappointed in you. If you’re still jealous and you still don’t trust me with him then we have a serious problem, you and I. Think about what you really want and why you really want it and when you’re done, let me know.”

Having said her piece, Caroline gathered her files and stormed out of the briefing room. Kirby wanted to do something… to say something… but he couldn’t find his voice. Watching her walk away from him once again was too hard to bear. Finally, his anger brewing like a storm cloud within, he gripped Magus by the arm and dragged him to his feet.

“Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Mr. Magus asked in bewilderment.

“I need to get my bearings. Tell me they still have Romita’s Pizzeria in this reality.”

“Sure. It’s just a few blocks away.”

“That’s all I need to know.”

Together, they made their way to the elevator banks and down to street level. They exited the building through heavy security doors and passed dozens of hulking plainclothes security guards before entering the bustling city streets. Right now, Daniel had only one thing on his mind, and that was pizza and a Coke.

Journal Entry #428:

As I suspected, the duo made their way to A.P.E.X. I saw them land on the roof, but they didn’t stay long. I’d imagine that the animosity between Reeves and Kirby continues and was no doubt exacerbated by Centurion’s unauthorized appearance in Times Square.

Reeves shouldn’t have been surprised. That’s the kind of man Kirby is, even though he’s been somehow changed by the disaster in Times Square. I predict they’ll visit one of Daniel’s favorite restaurants as they regroup. I will continue to shadow them and learn what I can, but the time may have come when closer inspection is required, and for that I’ll have to reintroduce myself to them.

Yes, this Centurion is without a doubt Daniel Kirby, but what has changed him ever so slightly? I can’t be sure without further evidence and closer inspection. I can learn only so much from a distance.

The streets of Manhattan were alive, as they always were, with a mass of humanity. No one seemed to take notice of the caped magician or Daniel Kirby, however, which he thought strange, even for New York.

“Why don’t they notice us, me or you? I’m Centurion and you’re wearing a cape, after all.”

Magus smiled knowingly. “Your identity isn’t publicly known. You don’t wear a mask, per se, but that nanite armor obscures your features just enough so that people don’t make the connection. As for me, I’m casting a spell that makes me look like I’m wearing a typical business suit, not a cape. We’re just two average Joes on the street like anyone else.”

Within moments they found themselves at Romita’s Pizza, a small but incredibly busy ‘hole in the wall’ that was often regarded as serving up the best Italian food in the city, if not the east coast. Many, if not all, pizza places in the city made that claim sooner or later, but Daniel believed Romita’s to be the true inheritor to that claim. He often made a trip into the city specifically to get some.

With Magus by his side, they stood in line silently as Kirby fumed. Once they reached the head of the line, he ordered a large pepperoni and extra cheese with Italian sausage, hot peppers, pineapple and red onions with two cans of Coke.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a spell to cure diarrhea,” Mr. Magus whispered with a sardonic tone.

“You’re an actual doctor, too, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid the best magic I can prescribe is Pepto-Bismol.”

“That’ll do. Let’s eat.”

Kirby paid for the pizza and they took it outside, preferring to sit at one of the many café style tables on the sidewalk rather than inside the always crowded and insidiously minuscule indoor seating area. In this way, the noise of passersby and passing vehicles would mask their conversation and allow them to speak freely. Kirby tore the pizza box open greedily and spoke through a mouth full of food.

“So why didn’t you tell me about that idiot’s background?”

“I did tell you that he was, essentially, a good man who’d served his country well. What did you think that meant, that he donated his time to his local church twice a month? Which he does do, by the way. He’s a good man whose only flaw is to love the same woman you do. You have the same flaw as your predecessor. Both you and he are like oil and water when it comes to Max Reeves.”

Kirby took another mouthful of food and sat back in his plastic deck chair, massaging his temples. His head was reeling from all the changes in his life and he clung to the familiar, such as the simple joys of a pizza at Romita’s. He was heartened by the sight of the familiar owners, Johnny and Johnny Jr., spinning the pizza pies in the air with a debonair flair.

“For the record,” Von Erik continued. “You may be right. I agree with you for the most part. For whatever reason, A.P.E.X. seems to be tying our hands more and more with red tape in the past year. Your predecessor voiced his concerns as well, often and loudly. We’ve discussed taking the organization solo, answerable to no government, but that isn’t as easy as it sounds. To do what we do, we’d need funding, the kind of money only the government has. How do we run a headquarters like we have without the money to keep that up?”

Kirby shook his head as he swallowed his food, savoring the taste before responding. “This is America, Douglas. We pull up our socks and work the old fashioned way. We use my apartment as a headquarters if we have to.”

Von Erik snorted. “Who do you think pays for that fancy apartment of yours, Daniel, not to mention the 2009 ZR1 Chevrolet Corvette LS9 in the basement garage, or the silver Volkswagen Touareg parked next to it? You have no job other than being Centurion. How else could you have those toys? Those are the same people who will help us track down new members and train them. They give us the prototype stealth jet the team uses from time to time. They pass on intel to us that we can use to make the world a better place.”

Daniel cracked the tab on a can of Coke and took a long drink as he composed his thoughts before continuing.

“So we get private investors.”

“Then you’ll answer to them as surely as you answer to the president now.”

Kirby swore. He was growing increasingly frustrated and it showed. Von Erik could see the vein on Daniel’s head throbbing.

“I don’t think this food is agreeing with your state of mind. I don’t think the sausage is being kind to your innards. Your blood pressure is higher than I’d like and your stomach is churning like a cement mixer.”

“So what does this mean?” Daniel retorted, seemingly uninterested in Von Erik’s appraisal of his gastrointestinal health or whether he came to his diagnosis through magic or doctor’s training. “I can’t save people or do my job unless I have someone to bankroll me? What a disgusting world we live in! Where’s Bill Gates? He has a foundation doesn’t he? Ask him for the money!”

“I think he has it earmarked for more peaceful ventures,” Von Erik replied with a smile. He admired his friend’s dedication to doing things the right way, no matter what. He continued. “Look, I agree with you in principal. When we ultimately answer to politicians we find ourselves in danger of being used to further their goals, which are rarely, if ever these days, in the public’s best interests and more in the interest of getting reelected. Like I said, I agree with you, but it’s your way of dealing with guys like Reeves that doesn’t help us. He really is a good man and we can use him if you’d just put aside your personal differences with him. Part of what we do is also diplomacy. It’s not just punching people’s lights out in a fight. There’s a real world to consider here.”

Kirby’s thoughts drifted away like dust in the wind as images of Caroline once again filled his mind’s eye. He’d only been reunited with her for twenty-four hours and she was already angry with him. That didn’t bode well. He’d have to do better or he’d screw things up with her again like he did in his original reality.

The thought of them breaking up once more nearly killed him… and he couldn’t shake the thought of her driving away in tears only to end up in a fatal car accident. Was he simply fated to lose her, no matter what reality he was in? He reached into his pocket and produced an 8800 model Blackberry and called up Caroline’s phone number from the directory. She answered within two rings.

“I see you’re enjoying a pizza with Douglas,” She answered tersely.

“And I see the GPS locator in this thing is working perfectly,” He responded with a genial tone. “Look, I’m sorry I lost my temper, okay? It’s been….” He paused as he searched for the right words. “It’s been a wild couple of days. I nearly died. I’m seeing the world in a different light. Can’t you try and see my point of view here?”

There was a long silence on the end of the line. When she spoke again there was tenderness in her voice that was that not present only a moment ago.

“I suppose I can. You came awfully close to dying yesterday, which must be a disturbing feeling for someone who can make himself practically invulnerable.”

“For anyone, honey,” He added as a smile crept into his handsome features.

“Yeah, I agree. So you almost die yesterday and then the first thing you do when you show up at work the next day is have everyone yell at you. It doesn’t take a psychologist to see how that would get your fur up. I know you better than anyone and that’s definitely how I’d have predicted you’d react.”

“So we’re cool?”

“Of course we are.”

Kirby grimaced as he broached the next topic. “Douglas and I have been talking, though. We’re serious about looking into taking A.P.E.X. and the team solo, completely cutting our ties with all governments. I hope that doesn’t put me back in the doghouse.”

The smile on her face was readily apparent through the tone in her voice. “No, it doesn’t put you back in the doghouse. I nearly lost you yesterday. I didn’t give up when Max told me you were dead and I won’t give up on you now. I think Max may be ready to listen to you on that point, too. He’s been holed up in The Hub since the meeting on the telephone.”

He sighed audibly with relief. “Great. We’re going to talk some more here and I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Sounds good. Come back soon.”

They closed the line and Kirby looked to Von Erik with a satisfied smile. He poured himself a can of Coke into a plastic cup and hoisted it into the air in a toast to his friend. “I don’t know if you had a nickname in your old life or not, but we always called you ‘The King’. It’s moments like this that I remember exactly why.”

It was at that moment that a scream pierced the busy throng of citizens milling about the streets of New York, catching their ear. It was a woman’s voice and it came from not too far away. Both Kirby and Von Erik leapt to their feet and turned the corner as they witnessed a gun toting man in his early twenties dart toward them. The elderly, gray haired woman nearly thirty feet behind him was screaming and crying on the pavement, a purple bruise already forming on her forehead as she called after him.

“Stop him! He has my purse!”

The purse-snatcher was in excellent physical condition and clearly had long powerful legs that allowed him to sprint away from the scene of the crime at a startling speed. The gun in his hand assured that most civilians, unwilling to involve themselves in a stranger’s bad luck, stepped aside to let him through as he bellowed at them.

“Get the fuck out of the way!”

“You want me to get this?” Mr. Magus asked nonchalantly.

“No, I’ve got it,” Kirby relied as he wiped some pizza remnants from the corner of his mouth.

The mugger, whose eyes remained focused on an alley just beyond Kirby’s position on the street, rushed past the mass of humanity, all of whom were only too glad to step out of his way. Kirby stepped back as well, but his body remained tensed, his muscles coiled and ready for action.

As the mugger raced by, Daniel summoned the nanites from within, but only those from his right forearm. His arm shot out, fully extended, as the criminal reached his position. There was a loud ‘clang’ as his chest impacted with Kirby’s armored forearm and he fell instantly to the ground with the wind knocked from him. Before anyone realized what was happening, the nanites disappeared once more through the pores of his skin and he looked like a normal man once more.

“Nicely done,” Magus said with an appreciative clasp on his new friend’s shoulder. “You’re adapting quickly to the nanites.”

“Thanks.”

The two men disappeared into the crowd, Kirby with his pizza box under his arm and Von Erik with a newfound appreciation for his companion as a policeman ran with handcuffs in hand to the fallen criminal’s position. He’d heard the call for help, but was too far away to catch up. If not for the mugger’s clumsiness, he’d have surely made a clean getaway. No one knew that Centurion was in their midst and no one ever would.

As they strolled through the crowd on the streets on their way back to A.P.E.X., Von Erik mulled over his companion’s ideas. He wasn’t exaggerating when he’d told Daniel that the organization was exerting more and more control over Centurion and The Legion. Kirby’s predecessor was growing increasingly frustrated with the situation as well. He’d talked about cutting all government ties but it seemed like a delusional dream. They couldn’t exist without funding and that meant occasionally working with other organizations.

It was something he’d have to mull over. One thing was for sure. No one was going to miraculously hand them money out of the blue, not without some serious strings attached to the purse. Of that much he was positive. He noticed that Kirby’s mouth was down turned into a frown and he was staring at his shoes while he walked.

“Something else on your mind?”

They took several paces before Kirby finally answered. “It just occurred to me that not only do we not have any money, we also don’t have a team. You said it yourself back at A.P.E.X. Those people: Quake, Nemesis, Braveheart, Sleuth, they’re all dead. It’s just you and me.”

On this one point, at least, Von Erik had some good news to report. From his pocket he produced his own Blackberry and called up some images and files from the A.P.E.X. server.

“We’ve been planning for the future. There was some talk of setting up a west coast team or at the very least having some reserves. To that end, we’ve located some very powerful and talented individuals who could probably fill our ranks.”

He passed the Blackberry to Daniel, who perused the images and files. The first image was one of a twenty-something young man with long, shoulder-length black hair and boyish but strong, athletic features. He was clad in some type of form fitting black suit with a silver design on the chest that matched the color of his gloves and boots.

“Meet Adrian Aparo, code named ‘Morning Star’.”

Daniel examined the photograph and read the file even as Von Erik continued speaking. Even from his file photograph, the boy appeared to be younger than his years. There was a certain naivety that belied a truly innocent soul and a fresh, scrubbed look about him that made one think of a boy scout. Despite the costume, he didn’t look like he could hurt a fly.

“When he was eight years old, a group of home invaders broke into his house in Boston. The criminals were strung out and looking for violence and sadistic pleasure, not money. They wanted nothing more than to terrorize everyone in the home.”

Kirby could only imagine the horror.

“The men planned on raping Aparo’s sister and mother multiple times. The anxiety and fear caused by this triggered the mutations hiding in his DNA. He killed all three men instantly by unleashing his powers, which include moving very close to the speed of light and the ability to control light itself. He learned to create realistic illusions by bending light rays, create a kind of force field and even fly for short bursts, but his primary power is his tremendous speed. He collapsed those men’s skulls by hitting them countless times in the space of a heartbeat. We believe he gains his power from light itself. His body processes it in strange ways.”

Daniel nodded appreciatively. There was no such being in his former reality. This was the stuff comic book heroes were made of.

“There is a problem, though.” A look of annoyance crept over Von Erik’s features. There was always a problem lately. “The boy is, at heart, a pacifist. He wouldn’t knowingly harm anyone and has been repulsed by violence ever since that event. He entered a monastery the moment he was of legal age and practices mediation daily. When forced to use his powers he uses them in the most efficient, but most non-violent manner possible. The good news is that he’s an admirer of Centurion’s and trusts you and your judgment. He would no doubt follow you and be on the team, but you have to understand, he’s a very fragile and innocent soul. He would resist harming others and he would never participate in any venture that he felt was unnecessarily violent.”

Kirby rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So we’ll have to be careful about how we approach him and what we use him for. He’d have been useful for crowd control during the Times Square massacre.”

Von Erik nodded in agreement as Daniel brought up the next file and photograph. This one depicted a very tall, lean black man that reminded Kirby somewhat of actor Will Smith. He was clad in a rather garish but colorful red and silver suit with what appeared to be a stylized yellow sun going nova on his suit.

“This man is Leslie ‘Les’ Calloway.”

“I know him… or at least I know his face and name. Wasn’t he an astronaut or something? He died in orbit around Earth. Some kind of collision in space, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe in your reality,” Von Erik corrected. “In mine, he survived the accident in space when his shuttle collided with some kind of as yet unidentified alien space debris. It may have killed your Les Calloway, but it endowed ours with special abilities. He exhibits complete control over any molecules he touches. That means he can restructure anything he touches into anything he desires. He could be the world's most powerful individual, even more so than you, but he’s scared to death of his own power, as he feels every time he uses it he becomes less human. He would have been our first choice to take over the team if you died but he doesn’t have the confidence to lead. Once, he was the star of NASA’s space program, their youngest astronaut ever. He just needs to rediscover himself and this could be his only shot to regain his sense of lost humanity. We call him ‘Nuclear Inferno’, or sometimes just ‘Inferno’ for short.”

Kirby shook his head. “First, a pacifist and now a guy afraid to use his powers. Sounds great. What else do you have, a retired Sunday School teacher?” He asked as he went about perusing the next file.

The next file portrayed a woman clad in a sleek, high-tech looking black and red bodysuit. She was an excellent physical specimen, well muscled and sleek, though only the lower half of her face was visible as she wore a facemask that obscured her features. A long, black ponytail fell down her back life a glossy bullwhip. She wore several guns, all with silencers attached, and bladed weapons in holsters on her thighs and across her body. The only other exposed skin was on her arms, which appeared to be made of metal.

“This lady is Tori Duani, code named ‘Stiletto’. She is anything but a Sunday school teacher. In fact, she’s a former member of the Israel Defense Forces, or IDF, recently transferred to A.P.E.X. as a volunteer test subject of sorts. She’s been outfitted with bionic implants, including artificial arms, a bionic eye and ears. She’s also proficient with most every hand held weapon you could name and a master infiltrator.”

“And I’m guessing she’s got some kind of personality defect, like the rest?” Kirby chuckled.

“I don’t know if you’d call it a defect, but she’s usually quick to leap into action without looking, too quick, if you want the truth. She’s hot headed and prone to finding a violent resolution first, rather than as a last resort. She’s also often more violent than she needs to be. Nemesis, her predecessor, was a lot like that. My biggest worry is that she won’t work well with the rest, especially Morning Star.”

Before they knew it, they were back at A.P.E.X. headquarters and looking up at the towering building before them.

“I guess we better get back inside. There’s a lot of work to do. We have to gather up these folks and get them in one room together. Even then, we’re still a man short, aren’t we? The number of people on the team we’re making is one less than the Legion that preceded us.”

Von Erik nodded. “True, but it can’t be helped. That’s the extent of the roster for now.”

At that moment, a figure stepped out from the milling crowd and addressed them with a crisp, terse tone.

“Then perhaps it’s time I stepped forward to help fill out the ranks, my friends.”

Von Erik’s jaw dropped as he eyed the figure.

He was an older man, perhaps in his mid-forty’s with a widow’s peak hairline and hawk-like nose, a strong, angular jaw and lean frame. He was clad in his distinctive trench coat and wide brimmed fedora. The stranger was smoking a pipe and wore what he considered to be a trademarked royal blue tie that featured his likeness in silhouette. He looked like a cross between Sidney Paget’s illustrations of Sherlock Holmes from the classic Strand magazine and a 30’s hard-boiled detective. His face was vaguely familiar to Kirby, but he couldn’t quite place him. Von Erik, however, appeared genuinely shocked to see this man.

“Geoff Grissom? It can’t be you!”

“I’m harder to kill than you’d imagine, my friend.” The stranger shot back with a daring look in his eye and a mischievous wink. It was then that Kirby finally recognized the stranger. He’d seen a brief glimpse of the man when Mr. Magus had shown him the fight in Times Square back in his apartment in his old reality. This was the most brilliant, but least physically powerful member of the original team. This was a man who was supposedly incinerated by the Times Square blast.

This man was The Sleuth.

Daniel thought Douglas Von Erik to be a rather restrained man, conservative with his displays of emotion, for the most part. He was taken aback as Von Erik reached out and embraced the newcomer tightly, a wide smile blossoming on his distinguished features.

“How? How did you survive?” This was the obvious question. As Daniel understood it, Sleuth possessed no superhuman powers or abilities. His only tool was a high tech piece of gadgetry that resembled a hand held magnifying glass, in tribute to his idol, Sherlock Holmes. A.P.E.X. scientists had, in fact, outfitted the magnifying glass with a variety of hidden abilities, including the abilities to scan in a wide array of spectrums, record data and analyze it (projecting the results in a holographic form from an emitter in the glass itself, the ability to access several supercomputers worth of encyclopedic data and a myriad of other useful, but strictly non-combative, abilities. Sleuth tapped his index finger on his right temple.

“I use this thing for more than holding my hat, old friend. I suspected we were being led into a trap, as did we all at the time. But what could we do about it? We still had to answer the call of duty. As our friend Daniel battled Phobos, I saw the look on our old friend Quake’s face as he detected the bomb underneath the streets. I summarized that something was amiss and then I noticed that Phobos was wearing some kind of personal force field. It was then that I leapt behind him and was shielded from the blast by his body and his protective shielding. Still, the concussive force blew me well across the street and into an alley. I was knocked senseless for a moment when I hit my head on the edge of a dumpster. When I regained my wits, Times Square was destroyed and most of the team was dead.”

At that point, Sleuth turned to Kirby and extended his arms. “And what about you, Daniel? Don’t you have a warm embrace for your old friend, Sleuth?”

Kirby nodded and smiled. The man seemed harmless enough. “Sure. It’s great to see you alive and well.”

The two men embraced heartily as the man called Sleuth reminisced.

“You’re not wearing your gun, Daniel. It was a SIG SAUER P226, if I remember correctly. It’s unusual for you not to wear your sidearm when in your civilian guise. You always claimed it was a throwback to your days as an operative. Why did you abandon it?”

“Yeah,” Daniel replied, shocked that the detective could discern that he wasn’t wearing his gun just from a brief embrace. He truly was a canny individual. “Nearly dying in an explosion can change the way you look at things, especially guns.”

Sleuth nodded. “I suppose I’m not surprised. I could have sworn you’d died in the blast, Daniel. This was even closer than that time in Afghanistan. Remember that?”

Unsure of how to respond, Daniel nodded but decided that he should remain as vague as possible. “Yeah. That was… close.”

Just as suddenly as the embrace began, it ended as Sleuth pulled away and eyed Kirby quizzically. “That’s very interesting, Daniel, because we’ve never had a mission in Afghanistan.”

Kirby looked to Von Erik for guidance, but Mr. Magus was shaking his head and looking distraught. Daniel’s eyes met Sleuth’s and he could tell that this man’s mind worked several steps ahead of the average human male. His eyes were quick, darting this way and that and all encompassing. It was clear to Daniel that nothing escaped Sleuth’s notice. He could only hope to bluff his way through now. He snapped his fingers and managed to look confused, which wasn’t extremely difficult considering the circumstances.

“Right, it wasn’t Afghanistan… it was… ummmm…”

Sleuth shook his head as if confused. “Who are you?”

“What are you talking about? I’m the same Daniel Kirby you’ve always known.”

Sleuth produced a small, coiled notebook from his right pocket. In it were the many journal entries he’d made since he began observing them. “I’ve been watching you since the Times Square incident, Daniel. I saw you in Fordham and I saw you when you stopped that Taxi from running over those people downtown. You’re the same… but you’re also slightly… off. I can’t put my finger on exactly how, but I’m sure there’s something different about you.”

At this point, Magus stepped between them and smiled genially while promising himself that he’d have to secretly email Daniel a copy of all their personnel files and team history to go over before tomorrow morning.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Maxwell, Geoff. Daniel was nearly blown to pieces by the explosion and when I did an emergency teleporting spell, we ended up on Kanchenjunga. What I didn’t tell Max is that none of us, except for myself, are used to that kind of teleporting distance. It appears to have, for lack of a better term, ‘swiss-cheesed’ Daniel’s memories a bit. I’m sure they’ll reemerge, given time. I’d appreciate it if you’d not tell Max about it. Daniel is eager to get back into action and as team physician I believe that’s what’s best for him.”

The one called Sleuth never took his eyes from Daniel’s. Kirby felt as if this man was staring straight into the depths of his brainpan. They wouldn’t be able to hide any secrets from him for too long. Thankfully, Von Erik was adept at weaving little white lies on his feet because Daniel felt that within moments of being interrogated by this newcomer, he’d crack like an egg on the sidewalk. Something about Sleuth, his bearing and his demeanor, belied a brilliant mind and an intellectual persona second to none. Sleuth rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he stared continually into Kirby’s eyes.

“Yes, I suppose that would explain the differences I’ve noticed. He’s clearly Daniel and after witnessing the events in Times Square he’s clearly Centurion. It’s my understanding that no one else could control the nanites as you do. Your magic is something I’ve little knowledge of, Douglas, so I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it, won’t I?”

Why did that sound to Daniel like Sleuth would do nothing of the kind?

“You’ve known Daniel for some time, Geoff. What do your unmatchable powers of observation tell you? Have I somehow replaced Daniel with, oh, I don’t know, a copy or clone?” Magus asked, a slight dare in his tone. Kirby felt his knees wobble slightly as he tried to restrain a look of terror. He felt as if any sign, whether a facial tick or some other miniscule body language that normal people would never pick up on, might give away their secret. And to have Von Erik virtually daring a man like Sleuth to hypothesize that he was from another reality was a gamble he’d never have taken if given the choice. Finally, Sleuth nodded.

“No, the man I’ve observed is definitely our Daniel, our Centurion. Your explanation makes the best sense... Ockham’s razor, I suppose.”

Still, Kirby remained unconvinced of Sleuth’s acceptance of Von Erik’s version of the story. He’d have to keep on his toes around this master detective. Perhaps the best way to keep the attention away from him would be to put Sleuth on his toes.

“Now that the inquisition is over, I have a question that’s almost as good, Sleuth. Why the hell have you been following me around? Why didn’t you report back to A.P.E.X.?”

Magus allowed himself a quick, sly smile as he recognized the tactic of switching from offense to defense as Sleuth visibly went on the defensive.

“After the battle I began to wonder if perhaps there was a mole in A.P.E.X. Like you, I’ve never much trusted our government overlords. We were lured into that trap too easily. I decided it would be more useful if I played dead for a while and investigated the incident. My investigations led me to you as the prime suspect because you lived when you should have died. I see now that I was incorrect.”

Kirby favored him with a look of disgust. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Just at that moment, Kirby’s Blackberry rang. When he answered, Reeves was on the other end of the line.

“Your GPS indicates that you’re just downstairs. Get up here… now.”

The tone in Reeves’ voice clearly indicated that something dire was in the works and now was not the time to continue mocking his penchant for two wheeled scooters. With Sleuth in tow, the trio entered the A.P.E.X. building and took the elevator to the briefing room once more. The tone on the entire floor had changed. Men and women kept a close eye on computer monitors, their backs hunched and their movements tense and purposeful. Their conversations into cell phones and headsets muted and terse. Caroline awaited their arrival and ushered them all into the briefing room. She eyed Sleuth with a particularly shocked demeanor.

“We’ll explain later, Caroline,” Von Erik said in answer to her unspoken question. “What’s the emergency?”

“This way. It seems Mars has a new henchman and we have him on screen right now.”

They made their way to the briefing room where Reeves awaited them. As they entered they could hear an authoritative voice coming over the surround sound speakers and they witnessed a man in fire engine red armor from head to toe on the monitors, blasting fireballs and aiming some kind of wrist mounted canon at passersby.

“This freak just showed up on Wall Street two minutes ago,” Said Reeves as he produced a tiny remote control and pressed a button as some recorded video began to playback.

The video portrayed the armored individual, somewhere in what could easily be recognized by any New Yorker as the heart of Wall Street, addressing a news camera on the scene. His voice was electronically filtered, but anyone could easily discern the raw, naked aggression in his tone.

“For decades, this symbol of oppression has stood untouched by the hand of the truly powerful. Now, you will grow weak in the knees and tremble before the might of Vulcan: God Of Fire. Wall Street will burn unless you surrender twenty million dollars to me within the next fifteen minutes. It’s a mere drop in the bucket compared to what you make raping the world and the lower classes. Now, you will share the wealth with me!”

“Vulcan.” Sleuth was the first to chime in. “The Roman god of fire, sometimes the beneficial type of fire, but more often than not… the hindering kind that burns and kills and… well, you know. It certainly sounds like the kind of person someone like Mars would utilize. I don’t see any point to this action, however. Whoever Mars is, he’s got the kind of money to outfit some of his men with personal force fields like the kind we saw in Times Square. I don’t think he’d need it.”

“Do we have anything on this individual? Anything in the files or any intel from the CIA?” Kirby asked.

“Not a thing,” Caroline replied as she leafed through some file folders. Von Erik was thankful that she didn’t bring up his inclusion of the CIA intel after Daniel so completely berated The Legion’s association with them only an hour or so earlier. “I’ve had my people trawl through every applicable database, including civilian ones. Whoever this guy is we have no intel on him. Clearly, his identity is hidden behind the helmet he’s wearing, so no help there. He is, however, wearing a highly advanced armor that produces an amazing amount of heat that emanates from wrist mounted canons and bursts of flame as well.”

“SWAT teams?” Sleuth asked.

“Already engaged. They had to pull back due to the amount of casualties. This guy’s out of their league.”

“All righty then,” Kirby said as he slapped his hands on the desk. “Let’s go kick beaucoup ass.”

Kirby was in the process of getting out of his chair as Sleuth sat forward and grabbed his wrist with a quickness that made Daniel think the detective’s chair was wired with electric shocks. His wiry frame was surprisingly strong.

“One moment there, fearless leader,” He said in a cautionary tone. “There has to be more to it than this. The name ‘Vulcan’ is a clear tie to Mars. It couldn’t be clearer if this idiot was wearing a sign. If Mars is involved, than there has to be some kind of strategy involved other than scamming Wall Street for some money.”

Magus leaned forward, his brow furrowed and his expression thoughtful. “Perhaps so, or perhaps this was set in motion before Mars realized that Centurion is alive and well. Perhaps it’s just Mars flexing his muscles now that he thinks Centurion is dead. We only made our public return about an hour and a half ago. Maybe he sent this Vulcan character out on his mission to terrorize the public and make a little cash before we appeared in Times Square this morning.”

Sleuth nodded. “Possibly, but I doubt it. Mars has proven himself a master tactician. I suspect there’s another game being played here. It could be another trap meant to kill us all.”

“If it was a trap meant to kill the Legion he’d have used Phobos and Deimos,” Caroline interjected.

Daniel wrenched his hand free of Sleuth’s grip and stood, bristling with impatience. “I don’t think we have a choice, people. There are bad men out there that need dealing with and half the country still thinks my return is a hoax or mass delusion. We’ll deal with the motive later. Right now…”

He paused as the nanites, summoned by his mental command, emerged from his pores and poured over him like molten metal, taking their familiar shape as they coated his body and formed a nearly indestructible cocoon.

“The world needs some big damn heroes to step up to the plate. Right now, that’s us.”

“Do you at least have a plan?” Reeves asked, finally speaking up as the trio of Mr. Magus and Sleuth followed in Centurion’s wake out the door of the briefing room. Centurion turned and eyed his superior officer, giving him the thumbs up and smiling.

“Sure I do. I’m going to hit him really, really hard.”

Screams echoed across the financial district as SWAT armor actually melted from the scorching blaze that emanated from the weapon mounted on Vulcan’s forearm. He’d called out to reporters that he had named the intense heat-emanating blaster. He called it ‘The Forge’.

The elaborate marble façade of the NYSE turned black in spots as the blaster caressed its face. Two innocent stockbrokers had already been nearly incinerated by the blaster and as the SWAT teams moved in once again, desperate to be rid of the rampaging villain, they too were assaulted by an unnatural kind of heat that reduced their shields to slag and their fire resistant armor to a near liquid state.

Desperate to be rid of the melting armor, one policeman in particular panicked and began to remove his helmet, throwing his shield to the ground. The armored villain calling himself Vulcan, standing atop the rooftop edge directly across the street from the stock exchange building, eyed the exposed policeman and used his onboard targeting computers to lock onto his next victim’s head. They’d pay him his money once he incinerated the head right off the neck of one of New York’s finest.

Even as his fellow police officers bravely stepped in the path of their fallen comrade in a vain attempt to save his life, news helicopters circled overhead, their telescopic lenses capturing every moment of the terror in high-def. Innocent citizens could be seen in nearby windows, begging to be rescued from the combat zone by the very policemen who were about to die or cowering in terror within.

The villain known as Vulcan took aim and pressed the hidden stud on his gauntlet that activated the heat beam he had terrorized Wall Street with. Within seconds, scores of innocents would be dead, burned to death in his unforgettable rampage. With the events of the past twenty-four hours still fresh in the minds of New Yorkers: the destruction of large parts of Times Square, the seeming death and return of Centurion and now a rampaging villain in the style of Phobos and Deimos, news organizations were beginning to ponder the question: was New York under siege? If so, who would save them?

The answer was as plain as the silver and gold individual that leapt into the path of the heat beam deflected the weapon away from the policemen and into the sky.

Centurion.

With his features hidden behind his armored mask, no one could see the look of surprise on Vulcan’s face, but it was clear enough in his voice, even though it too was electronically filtered.

“My God…” Vulcan stuttered. “I thought you were…”

“Dead?” Centurion interjected. “I get that a lot. Don’t you watch the news? I’m back, pal. You really should get yourself an I-Pod and download some news feeds.”

Even with the protection afforded by the nanites, the constant, intense, blazing heat that assaulted Centurion was becoming too much even for him. Kirby felt as if he were cooking inside his metal shell. Mentally, he commanded the nanites and they responded instantly, increasing his strength exponentially as he reached out and grabbed Vulcan by the wrist, aiming his weapon into the sky.

“Be careful, Centurion!” A voice called out from behind them. It was Mr. Magus floating into view, levitating the injured police officers and other bystanders out of harm’s way as he saw to their wounds with various spells and incantations. “There are news helicopters up there!”

“I know!” Centurion shouted back. “Let’s hope they know better than to get in too close for a scoop!”

The reality was, however, that Centurion had forgotten about the presence of the news helicopters as the beam swept the sky. He’d clearly need more training in fighting crime as soon as time allowed… if it ever did allow. He did not want his inexperience to be responsible for the deaths of innocent bystanders.

Vulcan emitted a sinister laugh as he ramped up the power of his armor’s exoskeleton and began to fight back. Before long, he was actually managing to make Centurion’s grip loosen somewhat and the heat beam sliced back and forth across the air as they wrestled for control. Centurion’s strength was nearly unmatched, but the nanites needed to be commanded to increase their power output and he wasn’t used to giving them mental instructions while fighting for his life.

“Magus! Get everyone outta here!” Centurion commanded. Mr. Magus made no vocal reply and instead used his powers to move everyone who was out in the open to a safe distance within moments.

“Are you impressed by my armor, Centurion?” Vulcan asked with a laugh devoid of mirth. “It’s been designed to test even you! Who knows? Given time, I might even wear you down and get the better of you! I’d cook you inside that armor of yours like a microwave dinner!”

Centurion smirked. “I doubt that, pal, but even if you were capable of overpowering me, you wouldn’t get the chance to turn that beam of yours on.”

“Oh? Why is that?” Vulcan increased his exoskeleton’s power to maximum, nearly overloading the power and cooling systems as he did so. Centurion was impossibly strong when he was in armored form, far more so than Vulcan, but he was having trouble getting the nanites to respond to his commands as his brain multi-tasked. Vulcan might still win if he diverted all power, including that devoted to the heat ray, to his exoskeleton, or so he thought before Centurion played his final, winning card.

“You won’t get the chance because my job isn’t to beat you up. I’m just to distract you.” Centurion nodded in the direction behind Vulcan. “It’s his job to shut you down.”

Stepping out into plain view was the detective, Sleuth, who produced a black device shaped like a round disc, about the size of a Frisbee, which he slapped on Vulcan’s back. Instantly, the armored villain froze.

“That’s the latest in CIA technology, dipstick,” Centurion said as he released his grip on Vulcan’s now motionless wrist. “It’s basically a fancy E.M.P., and we just shut you down with it.”

Frozen and unable to move as his power indicators and all heads up displays went dark, the villain known as Vulcan fell to the ground, immobile in his armor, once his weapon, now his jailer… or perhaps his tomb.

“Mint,” Centurion said with a smile.

All around him, policemen, rescue workers and civilians once again unleashed a wave of cheers as a tear of pride filled his eye. Sleuth, once again by his side, wore an equally impressive scowl.

“What’s eating you?”

“This was far too easy, or perhaps you didn’t notice. There was a higher purpose here, but I’m afraid I can’t divine what it is.”

Centurion was forced to agree. This was too easy. Either whoever created Vulcan’s armor thought Centurion and The Legion were dead and no one would be left to oppose him, or some other reasoning was at work. Still, they were left with no choice but to act. Innocent lives were at risk. Centurion reached down and picked up the frozen armored villain with ease as they made their way off the rooftop.

“We did what we had to do, Sleuth. Whatever the fallout is, we’ll deal with it. Right now all I want to do is finish my pizza, kiss my girlfriend and drop this idiot off with the police.”

From his office suite not far away, Robert Royce eyed the CNN news feed on his television screen with great interest. Sitting with his feet up on a stool to Royce’s immediate left was Phobos. Deimos, as always, paced with nervous energy back and forth beyond that.

“You’re out one armor, boss man.”

Royce sneered. “It’s a prototype. I have an amped up Mark II Vulcan Armor ready to go. All I need is a willing individual to wear it. This little encounter ended exactly as I suspected it would. Thanks to our plant at A.P.E.X. I’m aware of Centurion’s survival, but what I didn’t know was how many more from The Legion had survived our trap. By sending that dispensable idiot into the fray with the prototype armor I managed to field test the weapon and discover a primary weakness, not to mention finding out how many more Legion members were lurking in the shadows. I admit I’m surprised to see Sleuth among the living, though. He’s clearly tougher than I’d imagined.”

At this point, Deimos, who appeared to be nearly bursting with unspent nervous energy, turned toward them and spoke in a flurry.

“I don’t get this! If we knew where they were going to be and fighting some paper tiger you just set up, why didn’t Phobos and I rush in there and stab them in the back? Why not just wipe them out with a nuke to the back of the head once again?”

“Because that didn’t work, dummy,” Phobos shouted.

“But it would be fun!” Deimos shouted back.

“Enough, both of you!” Royce barked. Immediately, both men fell silent. “Clearly, that plan didn’t work. I thought we’d wiped The Legion from the face of the Earth, but I was uncharacteristically wrong. I won’t follow the same failed plan twice and expect it to work. That’s the definition of insanity. Instead, I have something more insidious planned.”

With that said, he picked up the phone and dialed a number. It was Maxwell Reeves’ voice that answered on the other end.

“It’s me, Max. Thank you for your input on the comings and goings at A.P.E.X. Your daughter gets a stay of execution… for now. She’s such a sweet thing. She has Down Syndrome doesn’t she? It’d be a real shame if I sent Phobos… or even worse if I sent Deimos to have a little conversation with her. Down Syndrome children have such sweet faces. She wouldn’t be much to look at when Deimos was done with her.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Deimos chuckled as he thought he could hear Reeves sobbing slightly.

“Now, Mr. Reeves, go ahead with the plan as I laid it out to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes… I do.”

“Excellent. Talk to you soon.” Royce closed the connection and rose to his full height. He straightened his jacket and plucked a new cigar from the humidor on his desk.

“Gentlemen, I have an appointment. Feel free to make use of the bar or watch TV. The Playstation is somewhere under my desk, as well. Just make sure you leave through my private exit. I’ll have more work for you very soon.”

Royce was about to exit the office when Phobos called out after him, his voice a deep timbre resonating from his barrel chest.

“Hey, boss-man! I always wondered just why you have such a hate-on for Centurion. It’s seems pretty god damned personal to me. What gives?”

Royce stopped in his track and turned slowly on his heel, his right eyebrow raised. “That’s my business, young man. Mind your own.”

For the third time today, Centurion and the remnants of The Legion returned to A.P.E.X. headquarters via the helipad as, once again, new reports flooded the airwaves, proclaiming the return of not only Centurion but also several members of the team he led. Where the news feeds only a day ago were mourning the loss of American heroes and predicting doom for a world where no one could stand up to Phobos and Deimos, now they were rejoicing in a second coming of sorts. The fervor was almost fanatical in nature.

This time, Maxwell Reeves did not rush out to greet them on his comical Segue scooter. In fact, he was nowhere to be found. In his stead, Caroline awaited the trio as they touched down. Billy Fleischer, her loyal aide, accompanied her. He was a young boy whose fresh faced scrubbed look made the picture of Adrian Aparo look like a wizened, wind beaten war veteran. The look on her face puzzled Kirby.

“What’s going on?” He asked her.

“I can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing,” She replied, confirming his suspicions. “Come with me, all of you, and stay in your armor and don’t address one another by your real names.”

Intrigued, the trio of heroes took after Caroline as she led them into the briefing room. Maxwell Reeves sat at the table and eyed Centurion with an icy glare. Once more, he held the remote control in his hands and thumbed a button.

“After your diatribe this morning, I decided to look into the idea of getting us some private investment money that might allow you to cut our ties with the government. After your two media friendly reappearances today, someone has stepped forward to take up the slack and allow you to accomplish your goals, Centurion. He’s a true patriot and a very wealthy individual who is willing to donate a lot of money to our organization.”

In response to Reeves’ remote control, a smiling face appeared on the screen that made Daniel Kirby’s blood run cold. This was a man he thought he’d left behind forever, someone who made his former workplace a living hell: a bully and an egomaniac. His smile reminded Daniel of a leering corpse. He was chewing on a cigar in an extremely self-satisfied manner.

“Please allow me to introduce to you our new benefactor, Mr. Robert Royce.”