Woodrow Wallace, general, US Army, looked up from his desk to see one of the younger members of ACTION’s Data Analysis Division. She wore Army dress, which made him happy to see. Too often he had to deal with civilian fools in his job as Army liaison to the anti-terrorist watch group.

The girl waved a print out in front of her as she entered the office. She was a spunky one. He didn’t like spunk. Of course, he didn’t much like women in this man’s army either.

Wallace stood up from behind his desk and stomped over to meet her in the middle of the room. He yanked the paper out of the analyst’s hands. “What is this, Lieutenant—” His eyes traveled down to the young woman’s chest and her name badge. They lingered for a second too long on the visible curve even beneath her uniform. “Leary, is it?”

“Lieutenant Rhiannon Leary, yes, sir.” She leaned in to point at a pair of line graphs on the middle of the page. “This is the readout of the area Atoman reappeared in upon the mystery-men’s arrival. We went back in our records and cross referenced it to all known radiation levels related to metahuman activity over the last sixty years.”

Her hand traveled down to the next graph on the page. “We found one perfect match.”

“And?”

“It matches the readings brought back by the Agents of ACTION after something called the Robert Hinkle incident, sir.”

Wallace gritted his teeth. If this Atoman hadn’t present problem enough before. “Are you saying Hinkle and Atoman are somehow linked, sir?”

“It could just be coincidence, sir. But we never before have found a perfect match like this in all our years of monitoring metahumans activity.”

Wallace scratched at the slight layer of stubble that had grown on his chin since his morning shave. He remembered the Hinkle incident like it was yesterday. He lost a lot of friends that day. The fight with that monstrous robot…

“Staton!” A blond-haired man in his mid-thirties rushed over at the sound of his name. Major Staton had been Wallace’s second-in-command for nearly a decade now. He was a good man, and Wallace knew his second exceeded the general’s own skills on many an occasion. He didn’t mind. He knew when to delegate. “I want all teams available on surveillance ASAP. We are going to find this Atoman bastard, and we’re going to find him now.”

Wallace turned back to the analyst. “How soon can we find a way to track this energy signature, Lieutenant Leary?”

“I will need to consult ACTION’s tech division, but I think we should be able to set up tracking devices within twenty-four hours.”

“Excellent. Get on it then. Lieutenant, Captain, you’re both dismissed.”

They nodded, turned, and left the office.

Wallace walked back to his desk and sat down in to his patent leather chair. The chair once belonged to Dwight D. Eisenhower and he treated it with the respect any historical artifact deserved. It helped that it was comfortable. It molded to his body as he leaned back and sunk deep in to it. He let out a calming breath just as the damn base doctor was always telling him to do in “times of stress”. Weak kneed bastard didn’t know what stress was.

He shook his head. The Atoman situation was more than either ACTION or the United States Army could handle. He knew it, they knew it, everyone knew it. The powers that be would never approve a capture without metahumans support.

He buzzed his secretary.

“Yes, sir,” she said over the intercom.

“Get me Flag Man, Ms. Bennett. I have something I would like to discuss with him.”

*****

Subject Name: The Dart

Chance: It says here you are an actual Roman Centurion transported in to the twentieth century. Is that correct?

The Dart: Indeed. A sorcerer’s spell trapped me for eighteen hundred years. I only awoke after Ace inadvertently activated a counter-spell. I found I could suddenly fly as well as having my strength and stamina enhanced. I promptly took ace under my wing and began his training as a fellow Centurion.

Chance: That's quite the story. (pause) And what exactly is your relationship with Ace? You seem very close.

The Dart: The boy was without any family. I took him under my wing, fought to train him as a true warrior, an ally in all things, ready to wage war at the behest of the American Empire. We live together, eat together, sleep together, fight together.

Chance: Yes, I see. And what do you mean by sleep together?

The Dart: We are together in very situation. We share a bed. Ace services all my needs as a true companion would do for me on the battle field.

Chance: Are you saying that Ace performs sexual favors for you?

The Dart: He satisfies my needs. Was I not clear in this?

Chance: He's only seventeen! For god's sake, he was eleven when he freed you.

The Dart: I do not understand your anger in this. Please explain.

Chance: It's illegal and it's... it's sick! You molested a child. You're a monster!

The Dart: I care for the boy! It is my right—

Chance: This isn't goddamn Rome. You're a criminal.

(Tape ends with the sounds of struggle and security entering the room.)

*****

ACTION Base 7, location undisclosed
May 17, 2008, 10: 21 a.m.

“Damn it! Why won’t you work?” Lightning Girl slammed her hands down in frustration, just barely missing keyboard. “A typewriter! A typewriter I could work!”

She kicked the computer tower and a jolt of electricity raced in to the machine. Sparks flew as the circuits overloaded. “Woops! Damn it all!”

“Problems?” Black Owl walked to Lightning Girl’s side. Unlike the other heroes, Douglas Danville didn’t much care for his costumed identity. He wore a shirt and pair of slacks provided by the agents rather than his regular gear.

“These people say these things are supposed to make life easier, but they just seem to make my life miserable.”

Danville looked at the computer or rather the slight trail of smoke rising from it. “I don’t think this thing’s going to do much of anything anymore.” He patted the young blonde on the shoulder. “But don’t worry too much about it. After sixty years you can’t help but have a few adjustments.”

“I know. It’s just—” The computer made a snapping noise, then a hiss, and more smoke poured from inside. “—difficult.”

A volleyball smashed down on to the keyboard in front of Lightning Girl. A second later, a furry black streak bounded towards them.

“Blackout, be careful!”

As he bounded in to the room, Blackout stopped just short of hitting Lightning Girl and Danville. “Sorry,” he said. His tone was that of a young boy, and he shuffled his feet as he spoke.

Lightning Girl grabbed the ball and tossed it back to the child-like creature. “It’s all right. Just be more careful next time, okay?”

“Yes. Careful, I will.” Blackout scurried off, volleyball bouncing in front of him.

Douglas shook his head. “He used to be one of the world’s greatest minds, you know.”

Lightning Girl nodded. “I hope these people can help him. More than they can with me and these computer things at least.”

“He’ll be all right. They will take good care of him. Even if they can’t cure him, he will at least have a home here.”

“More than the rest of us have got anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“My life, my job, all of it is sixty years gone. My old crime-fighting partner Lash Lightning is nowhere to be found, and I have no chance in hell of going back to work in journalism without a whole new degree. And with all the metahumans out there, it sure doesn’t look like the world has much need for Lightning Girl anymore.”

“We’ve all got the same problems. Wallowing in our own misery only makes it worse.”

“Easy for you to say, Doug.”

“Is it? I left a pregnant wife sixty years ago, a million dollar business. Life isn’t easy for any of us, but it is what you make of it that counts. We will all survive this somehow, and find new callings in this century.”

Lightning Girl looked down at her hands as she slowly rubbed them together. Sparks of electricity shot between them as she continued with the nervous habit. “I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can believe that.”

“IT’s all right. Like I said, we all have our old lives to haunt us. And we all have to deal with them in our own way. It’s up to all of us to make something with the new future we have.”

Douglas walked away. He had said all he had to say. Lightning Girl rose from her seat and went to find the nearest acclimation assistant. It looked like she would need a new computer.

*****

Subject Name: Black Owl

Chance: So, Mr. Danville, of all the transported heroes, you are the only one we haven’t been able to uncover much of anything on. You were active for much of forty-five through forty-seven, but before that your career seems to be a mystery. Yet you tell us you started your career in 1941?

Black Owl: I was good at covering my tracks. I needed to be. I didn’t want anyone thinking playboy millionaire Douglas Danville was actually Black Owl. I worked by night and did my best to stay out of the papers. When reporters or police did catch a drift of my activity, I would grease their pockets to keep them quiet.

Chance: So what happened in forty-five to change your mind?

Black Owl: Nothing. I retired in 1945. I passed the costume over to a man named Walt Waters. Walt’s boys were already working to stop Fifth Column activity as a pair of kid costumed adventurers, and the costume allowed him to accompany them on their adventures.

Chance: Why did you give it up?

Black Owl: Because I was getting married. Theodora Todd, the love of my life. I gave up the costume in early forty-five, and the wedding was on the thirtieth of March.

Chance: If you had given up your costume, why were you back in it in Brazil?

Black Owl: Doctor Frost tried to find Walt first, but he was gone. So he came to me, simple as that. The Black Owl was needed, so I left. (pause) Terri was three months pregnant at the time.

Chance: I’m sorry.

Black Owl: Not as sorry as I am.

Chance: We looked in to your wife’s whereabouts. She was surprisingly easy to find, as she never remarried. She turned your company in to a massive corporation, Mister Danville. You’re a very rich man.

Black Owl: That’s little comfort. I—

Chance: She’s still alive, Douglas.

Black Owl: What?

Chance: Your wife is still alive. She’s in her late eighties now, but she’s still with us.

Black Owl: Oh, God, I hadn’t dreamed!

Chance: So I take it you want us to make contact with her?

Black Owl: I want it more than anything else in this world.

Chance: It may take a few days, so I ask for your patience. But we’ll get you back in touch, whatever it takes.

Black Owl: Thank you. (sobbing) Thank you.

*****

ACTION Base 7, location undisclosed
May 17, 2008, 9:49 p.m.

Two guards stood at the end of the corridor, one to each side of a solid steel door. Each casually held an automatic rifle, one down at his side, the other just hanging in front of him from his neck. The both leaned in close to each other as they chatted.

“What’s this guy in here for, anyway? I thought these dudes were heroes?”

“You didn’t hear? Apparently this guy’s got a thing for little kids.”

“They charge him with anything?”

“Not yet. All kinds of problems. The statutes of limitation ran out years ago. And the kids technically seventy something now.”

“That’s messed up.”

“I know, right! It—”

A pair of booted feet smashed in to the guard’s face. The blow shoved him hard back in to the wall, and he slumped to the floor unconscious. The other guard scrambled to raise his weapon. A blade sliced out and through the gun’s barrel. The sword tilted just an inch before it struck the guard in the head. The flat of the blade bloodied his skull, but he would live. His attacker twisted and brought his foot up in a roundhouse kick. The blow caught the guard on the side of the skull. He dropped to the ground like a rock.

Ace Barlow had heard quite enough from these men. How dare they say that about Gaius? He just couldn’t understand what was wrong with these damn fools in this wretched facility. He loved Gaius, and he loved being Ace the Amazing Boy, companion to the Dart. Couldn’t they see that?

He bent down and rifled around the guard’s belt pouches for several seconds before he found the keys. He yanked them free and quickly opened the door.

Light flooded the room to show him the haggard form of the Dart. His mentor squinted at the sudden brightness. “Who?”

“It’s me, sir. We got to get you out of here.”

Dart stood upright. He reached out a hand as he struggled to make his eyes adjust. “Come on then, boy. Let us be off.”

“Neither one of you is going anywhere!”

Dart and Ace turned to see another of the heroes at the end of the hall. He wore a pair of red trousers and a ridiculously colorful shirt with a flame embroidered around the torso. Ace recognized him from Brazil. Fire Eater was his name.

“I don’t care why you want to let this freak out, Ace, especially after what he did to you. But I’m not letting either one of you go.”

“You can’t stop us,” Dart said. “You’re weak, boy. Without your mouth, you cannot even unleash your flame.”

“That’s all I nee—”

Dart flew forward and struck Fire Eater across the jaw. Ace could hear the audible crack as the bones were dislocated.

“Please stop fighting!” Ace’s words fell on deaf ears. Fire Eater forced his mouth open and a fiery burst nearly singed dart.

“Stop!” Ace charged forward and tackled Fire Eater. Fire Eater crashed hard to the floor.

Dart retrieved his broad sword. He brought the blade down and cut deep in to Fire Eater’s side, just below the rib cage. He stopped just short of the lungs. Fire Eater gasped anyway as super-heated blood flowed from the wound and bubbled away.

Dart casually wiped the blood on his sword off on Fire Eater’s pants leg. “The wound will not kill you, but it will stop your pursuit. I could have just as easily slain you. Let this be a lesson to all those who wish to challenge the Dart!”

Dart turned and grabbed Ace by the shoulder. “Let’s go, Amazing Boy. These fools don’t understand us, so it’s best we disappear.”

Ace nodded as he looked down at the bleeding form of Fire Eater.

By the time security and the other heroes found the injured hero and the guards, Dart and Ace were long gone.

*****