Island of Riccapoor, South China Sea
October 7, 2008, 4:13 a.m.

Riccapoor sits almost exactly in the center of the South China Sea. Though an important port for Southeast Asia, it suffers behind Hong Kong and Singapore. Different people site many different factors for the disparate nature of Riccapoor’s economy, but most agreed on the island’s volatile political climate as the prime source for the nation’s troubles. The country’s current leader, Prince Temujin, was persistently dogged with rumors of his criminal connections. But his reign paled against the suffering the island fell under the decades before World War II.

The Claw was the terror of all Asia for over a decade. He ruled his island with an iron grip. All were required to worship him not just as leader, but as god. All who stood against him were literally swallowed by their giant god-king. None could stop him, none could fight him. It took the combined efforts of the mystery men Silver Streak and Daredevil to free the people from oppression even as the Second World War lingered.

Now the island nation seemed to Black Owl to be in equally dire straits. As Atoman flew them down over the docks on the south side of the island, he couldn’t help but notice the rampant crime everywhere. Drugs, prostitution, and burglary were all visible from on high. It turned his stomach.

Atoman dropped down towards the earth. It took Black Owl only a second to figure out why. A pair of young men were shoving around a young woman, who couldn’t be any older than eighteen. Her shirt was already torn and their attentions towards her seemed to be clear.

Owl dropped from Atoman’s arms about twelve feet over the would-be rapists. His cape spread out behind him and the pair of twin rods automatically extended, instantly turning them in to an owl-wing shaped glider. He dropped feet first on to an attacker, who went down to the ground underneath him. The wings retracted back in to a cape as he turned to backhand the other miscreant. He followed up with a roundhouse kick to the solar plexus which left his opponent gasping for air on the ground.

Atoman touched the ground beside him. “Effective. Inefficient, but effective.”

“Thanks.”

The woman spouted something at them in Chinese. Black Owl couldn’t make out any of it. “Slower,” he said in her language. “Much slower.”

She looked confused, but started to talk more slowly.

Owl turned to Atoman as he translated. “She says that we should not be here. Costumes are not allowed on Riccapoor. They are outlawed and the punishment is most severe.”

“Why wouldn’t they want costumes on the island?” Atoman said. “I would think they would celebrate Silver Streak and Daredevil’s work to free the island.”

“I don’t know,” Owl said. “It doesn’t make sense, but none of this does. The Claw’s been dead for sixty odd years now. But those wo—”

Owl’s words were cut off by the hands suddenly around his throat. His vision turned to the rescued woman whose hands were choking him. Her eyes were glazed over, her eyes almost solid white. He could see her normal clothes as they morphed in to a familiar costume.

The Lady Foulplay threw him up against the alley wall, before she turned to Atoman. Black Owl felt a sharp stab as his back struck the wall, and his body instantly shuttered. He struggled to regain motor function, but his body refused to respond.

He watched as Atoman and the Foulplay exchanged blows. Each strike seemed to shake the buildings around them. Atoman easily got the better of the woman in sheer strength. She fell to a body blow, and Atoman followed up with a strong shot to the side of the head.

She didn’t move again as Atoman turned to check on Black Owl. But the momentary distraction allowed the others to float to the ground around him. Owl struggled to move still, but could not bring his body to do so.

“Atoman, behind you!”

Atoman turned as the first dozen Foulplays surrounded him. He swung at one and another, but six other blows struck him from the side or behind. He turned to fight back, but other Foulplays were already moving in to strike.

Black Owl could only watch as their numbers overwhelmed even Atoman. He fell beneath their continued blows. He could only see the numerous bodies of two dozen Foulplays as they struck again and again for several minutes. Finally they pulled away.

An unconscious Atoman lay on the alley floor.

Owl could feel his feet again. He was thankful that it was only a stinger and not a more serious injury, but he knew it did him no good. A Foulplay walked his way, grinned, and flicked one finger against the side of his skull.

It felt like a hammer striking his temple. As the world faded around him, he could think only of Terri and whether he would see his wife ever again.

*****

Friar’s Pub, London, England
October 7, 2008, 10:25 p.m.

Russ Crocker sat at the bar and sipped at the Guinness in front of him. He didn’t really care for the drink much, but he wasn’t here to enjoy himself. He was here to try and forget his own ineptitude. After he awoke from the Golden Amazon’s blow, he waited for two full weeks outside the remains of Caer Alder. Watched as repair crews dug through the rubble and searched for any sign of any life inside the damaged building. They found nothing. He found nothing. No sign of life at all.

His allies were gone.

He took another drink of the Guinness.

He just wanted to die himself. First he watched his friend, his mentor, die in his arms because he hadn’t been there in time. He could have saved Flag Man if only he hadn’t left his side. Now all he had left of the man who raised him for the last six years of his life was the strange harness he removed from the dead man’s body. He went from there straight to the aid of Doctor Frost and Ghost Woman. But all he managed to do was send them to who knows where, to who knows what fate.

I’m a failure. I’m a failure as a hero and I’m a failure as a person.

He downed the last of the Guinness and called the bartender over for another. His sorrows weren’t fading. He needed more to drink.

He watched a pair of shapely legs take a seat on the stool next to him. They turned towards him. Russ turned back to his new beer and took another drink.

“I’m sorry, lady. I am not in the mood tonight.”

“Is that any way to act, Mister Crocker?”

Russ turned at the sound of her voice. Her very recognizable voice. He looked in to the large blue eyes of Luna St. Claire. Her raven colored locks fell down to frame her face. Her clothes were also of a more risqué variety: a low-hanging yellow top and a matching short skirt over dark stockings.

“So what brings a boy like you to a dive like this?”

“You! What are you doing here? I went back to New York to find you, but I couldn’t find you, the shop, or anything.”

She shrugged. “I moved on. I do that from time to time.”

“Who are you? What are you?”

She laughed. “I told you already. I’m Luna St. Claire. And I’m just another person trying to make her way in this crazy world, just like you.”

“I don’t believe it,” Russ said. “Maybe I could have believed it the first time at the coffee shop, but now… It’s too much of a coincidence for us to meet in a seedy bar in London.”

The bartender delivered Luna a drink that she hadn’t ordered. She turned and thanked him. “I have a way of knowing things, Russell. It’s a knack of mine. And I happen to know that you needed my help again.”

“So you just show up in a bar in London?”

“That’s where we both happened to be. It happens.”

“So why do I need you? What do you think I need help with?”

She looked down at the Guinness in front of him. “You tell me.”

“I’m a failure. You had me convinced that I could be a hero. I could help people. Instead I’ve only managed to kill my best friend and disappear four others.”

“Did you choose to send Flag Man in to that desert? Or did you try to convince him that pursuing Atoman was a bad idea?”

“How’?”

“Did you warn Doctor Frost of the dangers of Caer Alder? Did you make sure they knew that it wasn’t anything close to a normal house in the English countryside?”

“Yeah, I guess’”

“You cannot change other people’s choices. To rip yourself apart again and again for actions you cannot stop is foolhardy and self-destroying. You did what you could. It may not have been enough, but those are the kinds of things we have to deal with in life. We have to move on and make sure we don’t repeat the mistakes of the past.”

Russ looked at the Guinness in front of him before he turned back to Luna. “You really know how to get the heart of the matter, especially for someone who wasn’t involved with any of this.”

“I am involved with the world. It’s what I do sometimes. I help. Not quite in the same way you do, but I help.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She reached in to the nearly microscopic purse at her side and withdrew an envelope. She placed it on the bar in front of him.

Russ reached down and found it unsealed. He opened it to find a plane ticket and a handful of bills in a currency he didn’t recognize.

He pulled the ticket out and read the destination. Riccapoor. Where the hell is Riccapoor?

“You’re needed there, Russell Crocker. Your allies are in trouble on the island, and they need your help. There’s a baggage claim tag in that envelope as well. When you arrive ask for it at the claims desk. You will find information about their location inside.”

“What makes you think I am going to do any of this?”

“Because I already told you that your friends need your help.” She patted him on the shoulder and smiled. “And you and I both know that you want the chance to succeed this time.”

Russ looked at the envelope. He pocketed it. “I want answers first. I need to know what’s going on here. How do you know all this?”

“There’s more going on than you think, Russell. But you only have two hours until your flight leaves. I suggest you catch a cab to Heathrow before you miss it.”

Luna dropped a five, rose from the bar, and sashayed towards the door.

“Wait!” Russ moved to follow until he heard the bartender yell.

“You gotta pay before you can leave!”

Russ rifled in his pockets and found a ten pound note. He threw it on the bar and pushed his way through the crowd. He stumbled on to the London streets a moment later, but Luna was nowhere to be seen.

He pulled out the envelope and ticket. Studied the location and time of departure. Riccapoor.

He raised his hand to hail a cab.

*****

Wellesley College, Boston, Massachusetts
October 8, 2008, 9:42 a.m.

Isobel Blake thought she was a modern woman back in the forties when she worked as a newswoman. But the girls in the modern world left her in the dust. But she was trying her best to fit in to what passed as clothing. She still wasn’t its biggest fan, but she was getting used to ragged jeans and midriff baring shirts. At least it was more comfortable than her work clothes back in the day.

She found other adjustments a little easier. The classroom work came easily to her. She was becoming more adept at using her personal computer and the excessive reading of history helpful to her continued need to fit in. A couple girls in her class were even willing to take her in as a roommate, and they helped her through her ‘girl from a small town’ story she used to cover up her deficiencies in modern knowledge.

All in all things were going well for her. The college life was wonderful for her acclimation to modern society, and the studying allowed her to easily catch up on her sixty lost years. Her new life was on track.

Until the knock came at her door.

It made her jump in surprise. Static caused the lights to blink. She hadn’t been expecting anyone. Who the heck is coming by at nine in the morning?

She walked over to the door, unlocked it, and swung it open. Her roommates constantly berated her for not checking through the peephole to see who had arrived. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that she had very little worry about any attackers.

But she couldn’t help but be taken aback by the man standing before her.

“Lash?”

He threw back the twisted coif of blond hair that fell down his brown. “Hey, baby. Long time no see.”

“Lash, you’re alive. You’re all right.”

He looked around the doorstep. “You got it. You plan on letting me in or are you just going to leave me out in this wind?”

Isobel stepped aside and Lash Lightning walked in to her apartment. She couldn’t get over the strangeness of it all. She gave up on ever finding her former partner and lover months ago. Now he stood in her living room in blue jeans and a Patriots jacket.

“Lash, the government looked for you for months. Tried to find out if you were still alive, but they found nothing. Nothing at all.”

He nodded. “I retired not long after you disappeared. I just couldn’t go on alone. I’m just plain old Robert Morgan now.”

“But it’s been sixty years!”

“I guess it’s a side effect of the transformation we went through. I haven’t aged a day all these years. I suppose the same will be true for you as well.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her head ached at his words. Could I really be immortal?

She sat down on the love seat and caressed her own forehead. “How did you find me?”

“I have built up a bit of money over the last few decades. It took a team of private detectives, but eventually we tracked you down to Wellesley. Trust me when I say that it took forever. I would have been here months ago if I could have found you.”

“Oh.” She didn’t bring her eyes up to look at him. She only continued to stare at the coffee table in front of her. She didn’t know what to make of any of this.

He bent at his knees to crouch in front of her and the coffee table. “Look, I know this is a lot to take in right now. Why don’t you let me pick you up for dinner tomorrow? We’ll make a night on the town out of it. Just like in the old days.”

She nodded.

“That’s great. I’ll pick you up around seven?”

She nodded.

He reached down and kissed her on the hand. Memories flooded Isobel’s head of the dozens of times he did it in their shared past. Always the gentleman, she thought.

“I will see you tomorrow evening, my love. I hope we will be able to pick up where we left off.”

His grin was broad and she could not help but return it. Lash showed himself to the door. Isobel sat silently on the sofa. Her first class was already well underway. She didn’t move.

She sat for over an hour. An hour of questions, of worries, but mostly of hope. Lash was back. Everything could be all right again.

She closed her eyes and prayed for the best. Prayed again. And again and again and again.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and rose to head to her next class.

*****

Somewhere on Riccapoor
October 8, 2008, 6:57 p.m.

Black Owl awoke to a coughing fit. Her lungs ached, his body ached, in fact, he couldn’t find any inch of his body that didn’t hurt.

He clearly was no longer in the alley. His attackers had moved him in to a secure building and (he assumed) underground. The walls were dank and mildewed. The air smelled of rot and decay. People had died in this dungeon. A lot of people.

He looked around but he couldn’t see very much through the darkness. “Atoman, are you there?”

He heard a rustling on the other side of the room. He resisted the urge to jump at the sudden sound. Instead he stepped closer to get a better view of the noise’s source. He could make out the red and blue costume in tatters over a pair of scarred legs.

“Who are you?”

The other man gave no answer.

“I said who are you?”

Still nothing.

The man came off the wall towards him. Owl could only see alternating streaks of red and blue as the tatters rose past his torso and chest as he hurled away from the wall.

He caught against the chains binding his arms and legs and tumbled down to the floor. But Black Owl could clearly see the figure now.

“Daredevil?”

The bottom half His mask was torn away from his face. His chin was a mass of scars. His lips were cracked and bleeding. His teeth gnashed like an animal as he struggled to break his bonds.

Black Owl heard a creaking sound behind him. He turned as light flooded in to the room through an open door. A figure formed in the shadows and another. Two Asian women, both in the costume of Lady Foulplay, entered the room. A larger masculine figure followed them in to the room.

The scaly yellow skin, sharp pointed ears, and mouth full of fangs offered Black Owl little doubt as to whom he stood face to face. The Claw’s long forked tongue slithered out of his mouth and licked across his fangs.

“It’s been a long time since fool hardy heroes have come to my kingdom. I look forward to a long enjoyable time with you just as I did with the Coward!”

“How? How are you still alive? They killed you sixty years ago.”

The Claw laughed with a serpentine hiss. “I am not easily defeated as you and your friends. The dark arts have blessed me.”

“Why are you doing this? Why torture us?”

“It is my passion, fool. I need no other reason.” The Claw walked closer. As he approached he increased in size to fill the room from floor to ceiling, at least ten feet. He raised his clawed fingers up to stroke Black Owl’s face. Owl shoved him away.

The Claw’s hand came around in a vicious slap. His nails sliced a gout in Owl’s cheek and tore away his mask. The strength of the blow knocked him to one knee. Behind him Daredevil struggled to break free of his bonds.

The Claw swung his foot out from beneath his robes and caught Daredevil in the gut. “Down, Coward! Don’t try to grow a spine now!”

The monstrous overlord turned back to Black Owl. “The Coward fell before me decades ago. I have enjoyed his torture all these years. Turned it in to an exquisite art form. But I think I will get much delight from you as well.”

The two Foulplays grabbed him from behind and held Black Owl fast as the Claw approached.

“Yes, many delights indeed.”