American Eagle himself led the charge.

Charging forward as a red-blue blur, he leapt over the first barricade without fear, ignoring the bullets flying around him. As he leapt, his cape spread wide, making him look like an inhuman bird of prey. The gunmen behind the barricade suddenly became very unsure of themselves, and began to consider changing career paths.

He landed amongst them, and struck. He disarmed the first man, tripped him over, turned and knocked the second man out with the first man’s rifle, the third managed to raise his gun, aiming at the Eagle. Eagle just spun on one foot and knocked the gun out of his hand, he then followed up with a jab in the man’s nose from the butt of the rifle. All three armed mercenaries were down in less than ten seconds.

Gunfire erupted around him, and he jumped back, catching the projectiles on his arms. They ricocheted off harmlessly due to the bronze-coloured bullet-proof metal covering his forearms. He drew some bird-shaped throwing knives from a pouch on his belt, and leapt into action, throwing the knives and striking the shooters hands. He followed up by disarming them, and by knocking them out cold, then stood back and sighed, stealing a glance back at the men catching up to him.

They were odd company for a famous super hero, a private security force known as the Fearless Falcons that he had hired to back him up in this crusade. A collection of former soldiers, both infantry and Special Forces, they were all honourable and loyal men, men who could follow a national hero into a war. Which is exactly what they were doing; helping the American Eagle in his self appointed revenge against those who had killed his apprentice and friend.

*****

Eight months previous...

“Well, that looks rough” Sparrow said dryly, looking to face his partner and mentor.

“No kidding. We knew the Skorpions had got a hold on this town, but I had no idea that there was so many of them.”

The Skorpions were a gang who made their living by selling drugs obtained from South America. They were spreading widely in the recent economic market, hoping to spread their influence. Unfortunately for them, when they reached St. Theodore, they had to deal with the Sons of the Tiger, a gang who had migrated in from South Asia, dealing in everything from counterfeit DVDs, to heroin grown in Vietnam. A turf war immediately sprung up, one that the American Eagle and his crime-fighting partner the Sparrow used to their advantage. Both gangs had become reckless, making them overextend themselves more often than not. Most of the time, they overextended themselves right into custody, a whole wing of the St. Theodore correctional facility dedicated to recent arrivals from the war.

Tonight however, the Skorpions had overextended themselves onto the Tiger’s last nerve. An entire shipment of merchandise from South China had arrived yesterday morning, and the Tiger’s were ready to start selling. A spy in their ranks had informed the Skorpions, and they burnt down the entire warehouse. Thousands, if not millions of dollars of Tiger money up in smoke, causing the inevitable: the turf war was now a real war, and after tonight only one gang would be left standing.

The police had attempted to quell the fighting, but even with all their officers in riot gear, two helicopters and all their SWAT teams, the St. Theodore police department was hopelessly outgunned. The battle had progressed faster than anyone could have foreseen, from a small skirmish with perhaps twenty people participating into all out war in less than two hours. Neither gang had entered enemy territory; instead they had met in the middle of Northbank, the riverside suburb. The police had been unable to get close, with three squad cars being blown up by Molotov cocktails already, and a SWAT van attacked by seemingly suicidal Skorpions.

American Eagle and Sparrow were watching from the top of the city museum, evaluating the situation. The fighting had spread fast, but had centred itself down the main street of Northbank, which during the day would have been full of civilians going about their daily lives, enjoying what is probably the cleanest, greenest part of town. Tonight, two separate gangs were slowly converging on each other, and every now and then someone in the ranks would collapse, a stray bullet catching them.

In fact, there were so many guns firing that even the bulletproof costumes the two heroes wore wouldn’t keep them alive any longer than a police man.

“Guns need to be taken out of the equation” Sparrow said simply.

As was becoming more and more common, the 24 year old was starting to come to the same conclusion as his mentor, and often before the latter could voice these conclusions. It seemed astonishing that he had only been training for two years; almost one whole year less then it took Eagle to get to the same stage.

Two and a half years ago, American Eagle had busted a chop shop operating down in Loeb Flats, the other side of the train tracks. He managed to take them down without much trouble, the mechanics were street brawlers, not trained fighters. He had them cuffed and the police on their way when he was ambushed from behind by a kid with a pipe. If his cowl hadn’t have been reinforced, his skull would have been cracked open. As it were, he was disoriented, giving the kid a slight edge the others didn’t have. Even without it the kid was twice as good as any of the regular punks he met, he had natural talent. Not enough natural talent to stop Eagle from dislocating his wrist and wrapping his feet together with high a tensile steel cable noose.

BJ was the kid brother of Hank the Fixer, the best mechanic in the building. Having just turned 22 he was older than most new recruits in the gangs. Hank may have been a crook, but he loved his brother. He had managed to keep BJ off the gang’s radar, while keeping his job description a secret from his brother.

It was dumb luck that BJ had come around that night to give Hank the good news. He finally got into college; he was gonna be an engineer and make something of himself. Instead, he walked the garage to see his brother and work mates tied up by what he thought was someone pretending to be the American Eagle.

When Eagle had managed to subdue BJ, he heard Hank the Fixer talking to him.

“He’s innocent.”

Eagle spun to look him in the eye.

“The kid. He don’t work here. He’s me brother.”

“Aren’t all these men your brothers?”

“No, he’s my actual brother. He doesn’t have anything to do with all this.”

One of the other fixers looked over at Hank “What the hell are you saying, Hank? You said your brother was in college in Iowa , that he left the day you joined us. Who do you think you are, keeping your brother from the business? The boss ain’t gonna like this one bit.”

“The boss can shove it, Ricky. That lowlife got me, but he ain’t getting BJ until he walks over my cold dead body” he spat on the floor to emphasise his point.

Eagle walked over and knelt down next to Hank and looked him in the eye, his mind racing.

“The cops will be here soon, Hank. They won’t check your story, and I can’t let BJ go because I don’t imagine your friends will be shy in spilling their guts and getting me thrown in jail alongside you.” He stopped and let the words sink into the mechanic, watched as despair filled his eyes. All those years, keeping his brother clean, out of jail, out of reach of the boss, they were all for nothing. BJ would go to prison tonight, and neither of them would make it out alive, most certainly. The boss had strong ideas about loyalty.

Eagle snapped his fingers, getting Hank’s attention. “There is a choice, I could make BJ disappear, send him away from St. Theodore to some friends of mine, out of reach for both the cops and the boss.”

Suddenly hope filled Hank’s eyes. He looked over at his brother, who was staring half-consciously back at him, confusion wracking the boy’s face. Then they all could hear sirens.

“It’s the only way BJ. You go with the Eagle, I’ll find you when I get out. Promise. Go do something with yourself kid. Get a real life, not like me.”

BJ nodded slowly, and Hank said “You will keep in contact with your friends, right? Send BJ messages for me?”

“Of course I will. Just realise, I can’t tell you where BJ is going, not until you’re free. If it does any help, I’ll ask the attorney to go easy on you.”

“Thanks. Look after him, Eagle.”

Eagle nodded and walked over to BJ, when the other mechanic shouted “You can run and hide kid, but your brother gonna pay for what he did. Remember that.”

American Eagle just glared at the mechanic, golden lenses slid down his cowl making the effect much more terrifying. He then walked over to BJ, and handcuffed him. He threw him over his shoulder and left the building.

Three minutes later the cops entered the room.

*****

Two days later, American Eagle received a message from the police station, asking him to come to the station to give a statement about the chop shop arrest, in response to an anomaly.

He had expected the call of course. The greasers in that shop would use the story as a chance to exploit some legal loophole somewhere, maybe get out without a charge.

He entered the Roost, his base of operations and proceeded to dress in full uniform; meticulously clean thanks to a gadget designed by the suit’s creator. It was mostly red, with cape, gloves, boots, and cowl all bright crimson. The torso, arms and legs were blue, with red again for the underarms and inner thighs. The entire suit was made out of Kevlar weaving, making it bulletproof.

Spread across his chest his namesake, a large golden eagle covering his entire upper body. The cowl covered the entire back of his head, reaching over to his face culminating in a reinforced beak like protrusion on his nose. The eye holes in his mask had golden lenses in them which could slide down and cover his eyes, keeping smoke or gas clear from his eyes. While these where incredibly effective, he still needed a pair of multi-purpose goggles in his utility belt, for night vision or thermal imaging.

His utility belt also contained several defensive and offensive devices. Throwing knives, a collapsible taser stick, smoke grenades, hand cuffs and the ‘snare’, a lasso made from tensile steel that could shoot straight from a launcher on his belt, wrap around a culprit’s legs and trip them. Also equipment that enabled him to patrol effectively, such as climbing gear, grappling hook, emergency flares, police scanner.

He loaded all of these into his belt, made sure they were clean, serviceable and had fully charged batteries. Every time American Eagle visited the police, he made sure that his uniform and equipment were in full working order, almost like a soldier in the army.

Having fully prepared himself for his visit, he walked over to a computer terminal and printed all the information he had compiled on the chop shop operation. Eagle then took one last look around the Roost to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything

His eyes took in the two computer terminals, higher quality than most government workers could use; the uniform and equipment room, an equipment room which was practically a walk-in wardrobe with one whole wall taken up by his two identical costumes, and the other two walls by his incredible array of equipment; an elevator that could either lead to the rooftop or a concealed entrance in the maze of subway, service and sewer tunnels beneath the city; and a wall devoted to memories of his actions in St. Theodore.

On this wall there was laminated newspaper articles, photos, and trophies; such as the key to the city, a banner from the Endeavour Festival, his first public appearance, and keepsakes from his most famous opponents, such as Roulette’s black revolver, the electrical technology of 9-Volt, and a set of shruiken from Street Ninja.

Pulling his eyes from those memories, he walked over to the elevator, activating the lockdown as he did so. The lights went out, leaving the dull glow of emergency lighting which would deactivate in four minutes. The computer terminals shut down their user interface, rendering the monitor, mouse and keyboard useless, though continuing their ever vigilant monitoring of internet news and police chatter. The uniform and equipment room doors closed with a dull thud, and the trophy wall was obscured from view by a sheet of frosted bullet proof glass.

American Eagle reached the door just as the emergency lights died plunging the room into complete darkness. Having left the hidden Roost, he was now in the penthouse apartment of Nathan Wagner.

*****

Nathan Wagner was a bit of a mystery to the public eye. He was the officially the third richest man in St. Theodore, quite a feat considering an A-list movie starlet lived three blocks from city hall, and the founder and owner of Nord Industries, Terrence E. Nord himself, had started the multi-million dollar company within a block of Wagner’s apartment.

Wagner’s wealth came from his inherited ownership of the Lord Wagner Foundation, started by his uncle, an eccentric philanthropic millionaire. This involved not only the wealth that accumulated in the time he had run the Foundation, but also a secret trust fund in a Swiss bank account

Although Nathan continued to keep the Foundation running smoothly, he managed to spend most of his time away from it. To ensure that no-one managed to link the Lord Wagner Foundation to the American Eagle, he made all payments for the Roost and equipment with the trust money, but used some investments from the Foundation not for personal wealth, but to replenish the trust, more out of respect than for any financial need.

Secret spending nonetheless, he still managed to stay the third richest man in town, and just managed to be off the Top Ten list, coming in at 16th.

However, to maintain that image he needed a bodyguard and driver. This proved a serious security risk, as to hire an idiot was out of the question, but a competent bodyguard would soon discover his secret life as a famous super-hero.

The problem resolved itself almost accidentally with the hiring of Backstreet.

Backstreet was a former metahuman vigilante, a super-strong and completely indestructible brawler who used to keep the slums safe at night. He was quite a legend among St. Theodore, as the police Vigilante Watch couldn’t catch him with regulation weapons, and when they hired a pyrokinetic bounty hunter, she was sent home crying.

Unfortunately for Backstreet, ‘completely indestructible’ is simply a description for someone who hasn’t met the right opponent.

Backstreet was patrolling the night that the human-Martian hybrid Cannibal attacked. Cannibal had once gone toe to toe with The New Patriots and come out unscathed; one backstreet brawler wasn’t going to stop him. In the fight he tore out Backstreet’s arms, feasted on them and prepared to eat the vigilante’s head before Eldritch, the world’s premier mystical superhero, arrived to banish Cannibal to Limbo.

Wagner met Backstreet about three months later, at a Foundation rehabilitation centre. His entire nervous system was damaged by Cannibal’s saliva, rendering him powerless and blind in one eye. His arms were replaced by the cheapest prosthetics known to man, and he was constantly drunk.

Wagner recognised who he was, and took him to the engineer behind his uniform and gadgets, who gave Backstreet brand new prosthetic arms, years ahead of what a community or even private hospital could provide. Backstreet then became the bodyguard and driver of Nathan Wagner, and the confidant of the American Eagle. Now he would be on babysitting duty, watching BJ without being seen himself, as Eagle went to talk to the police.

*****

Wagner walked over to the room where BJ had stayed the past two days. So far, he hadn’t sent BJ away, awaiting some false papers and tending to the concussion. The kid was sharp, if he had been left to roam free, he would have discovered the secret identity of the American Eagle incredibly fast, even though all of Nathan Wagner’s personal items were hidden safely in the vault in the Roost.

So Wagner had kept a close watch on him yesterday, although BJ had seemed happy enough to simply rest and let his head heal. Today though, the Eagle had to explain to BJ that now the police would want to know the full details of what happened at the chop shop and the location of BJ, so as to use him as either a potential witness or potential culprit.

Eagle’s computer had already downloaded all the information he could find on BJ, and had found no record of foul play at all, not even a childhood shoplifting charge. So, Eagle fully intended to tell the police officers that BJ was safely out of harm’s way, and that his location was to remain confidential.

However, he was having second thoughts about his decision to send BJ away. The kid had shown incredible potential, and could become quite an ally. Of course, his familial ties where less than ideal, and he may even turn against Eagle for putting his brother in jail.

But if his anger was focused against the criminal gangs of St. Theodore, he could be trained in a similar manner to the Eagle, and become his... apprentice, for lack of a better word. Training would also help keep BJ occupied, and by the time his brother was released from prison, he would be able to keep them both safe from the gangs.

So, as Eagle unlocked the door to BJ’s room, he started formulating speeches and questions, to judge the boy’s potential as an apprentice.

*****

Twenty five minutes later, The American Eagle was travelling to the St. Theodore police headquarters using a technique he had learnt in England known as street surfing. Using nothing but a person’s athletic abilities and reflexes, they would negotiate their way through a town utilizing building’s features as shortcuts, platforms and other aids for transportation.

Eagle had an advantage with the shock absorption of his suit, and the padded Kevlar fibres it was made from. He had travelled four city blocks in a minute, faster than anything in St. Theodore, except maybe a cabbie with a tipping customer.

BJ had responded rather well to Eagle, seeming to listen to his brother’s request more than his own anger toward the caped champion. He panicked when he heard that Eagle was going to the police station, thinking the hero had a change of heart and was turning him in, but relaxed when he heard that Eagle was sticking to his story.

“Why not send me off today then?” he had asked.

Wagner remembered pausing, before responding with a rational explanation “They would be looking for you. If we wait, and make them believe you really are gone, they won’t notice you leave town. Besides, I still have some arrangements to make.”

He reached the rooftop of the police building, and dropped down in front of the door, his cape spreading wide and enshrouding him. People exclaimed and pointed, astonished that a six-foot-one man could appear out of thin air.

Suppressing the grin that always came from surprising innocent civilians he entered the police station and looked around.

It was not a particularly busy day, but there was the usual excitement of a police station that was understaffed. Day or night, the waiting room would be full of pickpockets, streetwalkers, and people requesting an officer for a cat in a tree or some man requesting the entire criminal investigation unit for his stolen Cadillac.

They all went quiet when the Eagle entered. Everyone had seen him on TV or from a distance, but to see him in person was another experience entirely. He walked past everyone, heading to the offices of the captain, the man in charge.

*****

Newly promoted Captain Adam Cooper was quite nervous about this interview. Barely a month on the job and he was going to accuse American Eagle of breaking the law.

Cooper wasn’t a vain man by nature. Excluding his moustache, his entire appearance was dictated by functional requirements, so he regularly exercised, had a neat haircut and bathed often. His moustache was the focus of his morning rituals, he spent most of time clipping and shaving, waxing and shaping. But any thoughts of pride about his appearance went out the window when he saw the superhero enter the room.

“Hello Captain. It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is American Eagle. How are you today?” inquired the American Eagle, leaning against the wall opposite to the captain.

“Fine thank you. I am Captain Adam Cooper, succeeding Captain Bowen in the handling of superhuman arrests. Here, take a seat” responded the captain, hoping that by making the hero sit, he could remind himself of his power here.

American Eagle indicated the cape he was wearing “A seat would probably be an inconvenience, sir, I am fine standing here.” A strong, direct statement intended to move the conversation forward, forcing Cooper to reveal his hand early on.

The captain sighed and leaned back in his chair. Now that the pleasantries were over, he had to interrogate the American Eagle, of all the people in the city, about the location of a witness.

“Well, you probably are wondering why you are here” he looked Eagle in the eye and said “or maybe you already know?”

“I assume you have heard accounts from some prisoners that I have broken the rules, as happened last time I was here.”

“Yes, well, I now know why they call him Crazy Pete. Anyway, the point is that we have reason to believe that you are harbouring a witness to the arrest, and a possible co-conspirator of the crimes committed in the chop shop in Loeb Flats two days ago.”

“Really? I do believe that you have been misinformed, Captain. I am not harbouring anyone from the law. I did apprehend a young man at the scene, but he was completely unrelated to the chop shop operations.”

“Maybe so, but he attacked you, didn’t he?” asked the Captain, looking extremely unimpressed that the American Eagle wasn’t going to play ball.

“No, I do not recall any attack or assault beyond the criminals resisting arrest.”

“That’s another thing, Eagle, the officer on the scene said you weren’t with the prisoners when they were found, you were out the back of the shop.”

“Securing the perimeter, sir, and checking for any indication that there were other culprits who fled, and I found none.”

“I see. So you weren’t hiding a semi-concious potential witness, then leaving as soon as possible so the officer couldn’t find said witness.”

“I believe we have covered this, sir. I did not take any witness to the chop-shop with me anywhere.”

“Well, that’s all then. I assume you won’t mind singing a written statement attesting to that, so the jury doesn’t get swayed by any more lies from these greasers.”

“No problem at all captain” replied American Eagle, sensing the conversation come to an unexpected close. He knew all about interrogation theory, having studied the work of some exceptional criminal psychologists and law enforcement agents. The questions he was asked where straightforward and easy to account for, and if the captain had expected the story about the officer on the scene to catch him off guard, then he was sorely mistaken. This entire interrogation was a waste of time.

“It’s interesting though,” said the captain thoughtfully, a tone that sent ice through the costumed hero’s veins, “the other greasers were shouting to the walls about this kid, but the head mechanic, Hank I think his name was, didn’t seem to notice the kid attack you at all, or else he didn’t find it memorable enough to include in his confessions. Makes you wonder, considering the other greasers say it was Hank’s brother there.”

The interrogation was over, but the Captain had barely begun to investigate into the secrets of the American Eagle.

Legacy and all characters contained within ™ and © 2009 David Kachel.
Metahuman Press and all related content ™ and © 2003-2009 Nicholas Ahlhelm unless otherwise noted.
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