From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe

Prologue: And So It Begins Again...

John Blake, the legendary and phenomenal Human Miracle, hovered above the small warehouse in Skyway City. The police band had informed him that there was strange activity in the neighborhood, something along the lines of fleets of moving vans coming and going. This would seem strange to a normal person but upon investigation, the officer who called it in saw that the warehouse was still up for rent. That’s when he called for cape backup. Knowing a smuggling operation when he heard one; HM left the Lions’ Den, his club, to investigate.

He’d been floating for several minutes now and saw multiple men patrolling the perimeter. They were easily the ones up to no good, and it was obvious because they were carrying automatic weapons. Several had Uzis, some AK-47s, and a couple had MP-5s. Those were not the sort of things one would see here in Skyway, and that was proof enough that there was major weapons smuggling going on here.

“Merlin, you listening?” He addressed the computer AI that he had built into his home and his Nautilus-armor.

“Constantly, sir” the synthesized voice chimed in.

“Access my Longbow clearance channel and inform them I am about to engage hostiles with heavy automatic weapons. Possibly large in number.” He squinted and frowned slightly. “Tell them there are heavy explosives here too.” His eyes followed the group of men carry RPG launchers beneath their arms into the back entrance of the warehouse.

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Tell E’mi I’ll be home later than expected this evening.”

“Ah, of course sir. Good hunting.”

“Thank you Merlin.” Gliding down on three patrollers, he readied himself for the coming fight. As the men turned a corner into a secluded area to smoke, he delivered a swift blow, knocking the leader out. The other two, dumbfounded, raised their weapons. John grabbed the firearms and pulled the men into a clothes-line with his arms. Hitting them in their throats, the men fell to the concrete, gasping and wheezing.

Grinning to himself, he moved stealthily to the nearby door. Trying the knob, he found it to be unlocked. Opening it slightly, he checked for any other men. Seeing none, he entered the warehouse. He stopped in his tracks at the enormity of what he saw. Rows upon rows of weapons lined the first floor of the warehouse, like soldiers standing at attention. These, were much more advanced than the ones the guards outside were carrying and were certainly military issue, the kind that the Council and 5th Colum were likely to get a hold of.

The warehouse itself was dimly lit, apparently as to not draw attention. Men scurried about here and there to check ammunition caches and take inventory of certain types of weapons. Moving behind a weapons rack, he began to follow one worker with a clipboard, meandering lazily through the aisles. Catching up with him before he rounded the corner HM grabbed his collar and clapped a hand over his mouth to stop him from shouting. He struggled at first, but John ran his head into the wall to knock him out. He wasn’t going to take any chances in here, too many men with too many weapons.

He peeked around the corner and saw several men setting up a portable generator for a bank of computers they had lined up. Wondering what they were for he waited to see if he could hear anything. With all the noise however, he didn’t catch a thing.

Feeling that it was about time to make his presence known, he aimed for the generator and let fly a bolt of energy. It struck the generator and blasted it to bits. The men around it flew in all directions, some unconscious and others badly wounded. Running forward, an assailant jumped out from behind the racks and tackled HM to the ground.

“Hey! Play nice.” Letting the energy flow through him, he released it from his body making a concussive shockwave, which flung the man backwards and into the weapon racks, toppling them like dominos. Brushing himself off, he went to make sure the man was still alive. Tossing weapons aside, he found the man and pulled him out from under an ammunitions crate. He was alive, but his clothing was the most interesting thing about him.

He was clad in robes that looked like they were made by the Circle of Thorns, but they were all black except for a small symbol over his left breast. John’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the clandestine symbol of the Brotherhood of the Sightless Eye, the All Seeing Eye. Tracing it with his gloved hands, questions raced through his mind. The cocking of guns brought him out of his reverie however. Turning around slowly he faced about two dozen men, dressed identically to the man at his feet.

"Primoris Frater, we did not expect to see you here.” One man removed his hood and stepped forward with a smile on his lips. Despite his calm demeanor he was still toatting an Uzi which he had a tight grip on. HM scowled at them all and tried to play it as if he didn’t hear what the man had addressed him as.

"Sorry, I’ve been called a lot of things, but never that before.” He moved to meet the man halfway. “Let’s all take a deep breath and put the boom-sticks down eh? I don’t want to hurt you like I did your friend there” he jerked his thumb towards the unconscious man behind him. Scanning the group behind the apparent leader he was now face to face with, he saw that many of them were exchanging nervous glances with each other. Clearly they did not want the same treatment and their lack of training with the weapons showed in how some of them were holding them.

“Please Primoris Frater, we know who you are. We are the faithful servants of Primoris Abbas, the First Father. Count Blake.” John’s blood ran cold at the mention of his father. “And, we have strict orders to keep you from stalling our work here.” The man raised his Uzi to John’s face. HM grinned and swiftly ducked under his arm, charging into his chest and grabbing his wrist. Holding the man thusly, he twisted his hand and snapped the wrist holding the gun. The leader howled in pain and fell to his knees.

“Empty threats. Alright chuckle bunnies, which one of you wants to take a crack at killing an immortal?” John spread his arms wide and some of the men fired their weapons. The bullets, which would not have harmed him anyway, were stopped by the armor he wore and he strode into the hail of ordinance. He was five feet in front of the group before they started to reload. “Really? You’re really gonna try that again? After what you just saw?” He rolled his eyes and sighed. Sweeping his arm out, he let loose a torrential wave of energy that knocked them all on their backsides. “My father is really scraping the bottom of the barrel here.”

One of the men leapt to his feet and charged at the Human Miracle. Remembering his Pankration training, he flipped the man on his back and readied himself for the next wave of assaults from his fellows. It was a “How-to Video” for heroes on how to tackle multiple enemies. Men were thrown far, smote down with energy fists, and blown back by energy bolts. It only took five minutes for the fight to conclude, and Blake dusted off his hands as he strolled back to the leader, still clutching his wrist.

“Alright friend, c’mere.” He knelt down and pried the injured man’s wrist from his grip. “Looks like a clean break, it should heal fine in a few months.” But, something was wrong, the man was laughing.

“Oh Primoris Frater you were brilliant! You were magnificent!” He laughed in awe of John’s fight beforehand and John scowled at him again. He had had it with the charade now, he was done pretending. If this man wanted to see the man he wanted, he’d get him. Letting the barriers he had built up in his mind fall free, his suit changed from white and gold, to black and red. His eyes burned with a deep fire and energy lanced up his body like lighting snakes.

“What is my father planning you sycophantic lapdog?” This was not the hero the papers saw, nor his friends, this was the leader of the secret society who had sworn an oath to protect mankind, whatever the costs. Still, the man laughed. Now though, it was more of an awestruck giggle. Tears welled in his eyes as he stared into John’s.

“You’ve…you’ve amalgamated your personalities. It’s marvelous.” His voice was faint but reverent. This was not the desired affect that John was going for and decided it was time for the big guns. Relaxing himself more, the shadows in the room began to flow across the floor to his figure. They crawled up his body, engulfing him, and some making a cloak and hood. Now all the only things that were distinguishable about him were his pure white eyes peering from beneath the dark hood. He was a walking silhouette, the dreaded Fiend.

“What is my father planning?” John’s voice was no long smooth and regal. It rumbled like gravel, and echoed like a canyon would. This achieved the desired effect. The man trembled in his hands and seemed to be caught between adoration and outright blatant fear. It amused John and he brought his victim close to his non-existent face. “Where is he?”

“In—In hiding…” The man’s voice was a small croak, barely audible.

“Where?”

“I can’t. I-I can’t. He’ll k-kill me.”

“And you don’t think I won’t?” This made the man quake even more and HM could smell a faint but distinct aroma of urine now. The man’s head lolled back as he fainted from shock and Blake growled hungrily. He wanted answers, but this man was not the one to ask.

He was once more brought out of his reverie by a different noise, the sound of a helicopter. Longbow had arrived and he returned to his normal form. Turning around to leave and greet the public servants, he was once again stopped in his tracks. There, along the entire wall, was an enormous black and red banner. The Brotherhood symbol was plastered to it and a there was writing beneath the symbol, “We are the Eye’s eyes.” The Longbow troops were inside the building now and he knew he had to keep this from them, to keep it all from happening again. Raising a fist, he let loose a burst of energy the burned the banner, disintegrating it entirely. By the time it was all gone, the Longbow men and women had entered the room and saluted the Human Miracle.

“At ease. Here are the men yer looking for. They were smuggling military grade weapons. The symbol on their cloaks is some stupid thing from the Internet. I’ll get to work on it. Book them.” With that, the Human Miracle left without another word, his mind preoccupied on other matters.

Chapter 1: The Second Coming

Opening the sliding glass door to his penthouse on the upper levels of the famous club, The Lions’ Den, John Blake strode from the balcony into his living room. He had taken the long way home from the bust in the warehouse; needing time to think on what had happened with the Eye’s Eyes men. It was not the first time he had encountered them, at least not in this timeline. That was troubling him the most. After time had rewound the events of the horrific War of the Eye, he had begun to experience a sort of déjà vu of certain events that had already happened to him. They had not happened exactly as they had before, especially since his father and the Exile, Donald Jones III, and the other members of the Brotherhood remembered the events of the war as well.

This being the case, he had been trying his hardest to stop the previous events from occurring again. Trying to prevent the future from happening was the most tasking job he had ever encountered and quite frankly, he was exhausted. The sky outside had grown darker with twilight, and the internal lights of the penthouse turned on at his presence. Merlin was obviously aware of him now and his personal settings for the house were being uploaded.

“Welcome home, sir. I did as you instructed and informed your wife you would be late tonight. She expressed heightened levels of agitation, as usual. Shall I see what is on the television for you, sir?” The omnipresent computerized voice sounded all around him as he stepped to the lower level of the living room, which had a couch, coffee tables, a fire-pit in the middle, and a flat screen T.V. on the wall to the north of the elevator doors. Plopping on his couch, still in his Nautilus armor, he put his feet up on a coffee table in front of him and exhaled loudly.

“No thank you Merlin.” He looked around the richly furnished room and sighed appreciatively. It had been refurnished since he got married and there were numerous paintings now, and some selected sculptures around the large room. It had to be somewhere between 120 meters by 150 meters, it was an entire level of an apartment complex with all the walls knocked out after all. A grand piano sat in one corner of the room where he often played, while his wife cooked in the open kitchen a few feet away. The two traded nights to cook and clean which meant he always got a healthy dose of real food when he didn’t cook pasta each night it was his turn.

Glancing to his right, he saw a large decanter of whiskey that he had begun to favor as of late and took the stopper off. Finding a glass from the set on the table the whiskey resided on, he poured. Eyeing the amber liquid with a slight grin, he sipped it in appreciation. Leaning his head back, he rubbed his eyes with his gloved hand.

“Rough day at the office, sir?” Merlin’s voice chirped from the ceiling above him, as to not be overwhelming. His behavioral studies program must have become accustomed to John finally, knowing how to approach him when he was in certain states.

“How’d you guess?”

“Your elevated stress levels tend to shift your preference of drink from wines to Irish whiskey.” The program was working indeed. His stress levels were very “elevated.” Chuckling, John rose from the couch and strode to a large floor-to-ceiling bookshelf next to the elevator doors which lead down to the club. Even from the door he could hear the music of the Members Only section and he smiled to himself at his successful hobby.

Perusing the bookshelf, he ran his fingers along the spines of various tomes and albums. Finally resting his finger on a black leather-bound book, he slid it out carefully. It was his diary that the Brotherhood had given to him as a wedding present. The book had an unlimited amount of pages within its small physical form, similar to the one his father possessed which gathered dust on the podium in the Brotherhood headquarters now.

Settling back down on the couch, he began to flip through the pages. He had filled several pages out, some about work, others about the marriage and the wedding. Finally he reached the section marked with old bookmarks at the beginning and end. The large heading read “The War of the Eye,” and he sipped from the glass again as he began to read…

November 31, 2008

2 Years Pre War

“I can’t remember a time when we had it easy. I mean, we never had it easy, being who we were. In retrospect though, the enemies have never been so much fun and the problems so straightforward. Burn enough of them to stop them from winning, and keep enough gas around so you don’t stop.” – General “Sgt.” Carlin, Third Debriefing to Global Alliance Forces after the Battle of Tokyo

John strode through the Members Only section at a brisk pace to the elevator leading to his penthouse. Calling an abrupt end to the staff meeting he had been attending for the last three hours, he was not too broken up about leaving, knowing that his boys could handle anything to do with the club with E’mi there. But it was not the fact that he was leaving that was bothering him. Indeed he left often for hero duties and Rikti invasion forces. It was the burning red glow from the mark of the Brotherhood on his left hand that unnerved him. He had not scheduled a meeting today, which meant that this was an emergency.

As the elevator slowed to a halt, he strode through the doors as they opened and walked to the nearest door. A closet, some ten feet away from the elevator caught his attention and he marched in its direction. The only way to get to the inner sanctum of the Brotherhood was to open a door, any door really, and call upon the magic within the mark to open a hidden portal. Grasping the handle firmly, he swung the portal open to reveal not a closet full of coats and jackets, but one of the most sought after wonders of the world.

As his eyes adjusted to the perpetual morning sunlight within the Library of the Eye that flooded from the windows, he approached the podium some fifty feet in front of him. The Library had many names. Some called it the Library of Alexandria, which was a common misconception. Others referred to it as the Birthplace of Knowledge, or The Enclave. John had always referred to it as the Library of the Eye, which was the more familiar term to those within the Brotherhood. In reality, that was what it was, an enormous library with seemingly no end to the eastern and western branches. If one looked in either direction, books would stretch on for miles, with hundreds of sub-branches and sections within sections. A copy of every book ever made sat on shelves in every language imaginable, providing reading for anyone of any nationality.

John ascended the three stairs to the podium where his father’s journal sat, untouched for the last few years. The light that illuminated the Library came from stained glass windows, enchanted of course, which were versions of the most famous stained glass windows the world over. The closest one to the ground floor was the Rose Window in Notre Dame. If one looked through the window, he could see into the cathedral or church that it resided in reality. Closing his eyes he could focus and hear various animal noises such as birds, primates, and the occasional lion. This was where he was at peace. This was his domain which he ruled.

He knew they had arrived because he felt their presence before he saw them. Raphiel Gambino, his cousin, was the first to show himself. The self-proclaimed King of Port Oakes sauntered into the clearing littered with tables and chair which expanded before the altar. Nodding to his only blood relative in the Brotherhood, John registered three more figures in the shadows. Alejandro, the large wolf-man hunter of Arachnos, Thierry the sonic demolisher able to mimic any sound 10 times its normal volume, and Joseph who controlled flame and ice from within his own body. The three had joined Arachnos to try and destabilize it from within, but had not produced any results so far. They had paid for their mission in the form of horrific experiments, which gave them their fantastic powers, to convince Arachnos they were truly loyal.

George slunk from the shadows next, plopping in a plush arm chair and propping his feet up. The lone-wolf tracker tipping his hat in acknowledgement to his leader. John grinned at him and turned his head at the sound of metallic feet stomping through the carpeted floor of the Library. Harold Album, the brilliant scientist cyborg, clumsily maneuvered with his large metallic body. Giving a half bow to the others, he stood stoically in the rear of the assembly. The last, and most unsurprisingly so, was Ivan Medvedev. Living the voluntary life of a transient in Kings Row had made him hard, harder than his life in the Russian army for the Romanovs. Dragging his feet to a table, he sat on its edge and waited for the meeting to start.

“Since I didn’t call this, I’ll let whoever did start us off.” John’s voice rang out to the group of men, his Latin a little rusty. His opening statement obviously discomforted his Brothers since they knew now the meeting was of more importance than they had previously thought.

“Thank you Primoris Frater.” Raphiel spoke unexpectedly and the group turned to face him. Speaking swiftly in Italian, he explained his reasons for the emergency meeting. “I’ve had reports from my soldiers and several capos that the Exile has been moving in on some warehouses in Port Oakes. I investigated with a few men and saw that he had several artifacts in his possession that I feel we should have.” He puffed on his cigar, seeming to prepare himself for what was next. “He had The Book.” At first it didn’t register what he had meant, but the realization of what he had just said struck several of the members.

The Book, as they referred to it, was Count Blake’s personal book of magics. It had hidden things in it that had driven men mad at the mere scanning of it. Supposedly possessing magical properties itself, the book could only be held and used by those whom it deemed worthy. It was indeed something that Donald Jones had come into possession of the book, especially since he had not had contact with dark magic since his expulsion from the Brotherhood all those decades ago for attempting to sell their secrets.

“You give the Exile too much credit.” Joseph said, scoffing in German. “I do not think that he could find it, let alone be counted worthy by that wretched thing.” Raphiel nodded, as well as a few other Brothers.

“What makes ya so sure it’s The Book?” George inquired from his seat, catching a few off their guards. Raphiel looked at his feet and threw down the cigar, extinguishing it with his feet.

“One of the men I had with me said he experienced a waking nightmare.” A hush fell over the assembly, and the animal noises of the Library could be heard in the distance. That was the only symptom that could identify the book. If the book found someone who was not worthy in its presence, it would assault their mind with horrific images, driving them mad. After a few minutes, the Brothers looked to John, wondering what action they should take.

“We go. Now.” John’s reply was simple, but filled with dreadful purpose.

“The problem we face is that we have an enemy vast in number and vast in intelligence. The combination alone makes a lesser man shudder. But those who are like me find this a unique opportunity to test ourselves in the most trying of times.”

-Lord Recluse, Personal Memoirs

This is George. They’ve got several men patrolling the parameter, all armed ta the teeth. It looks like the Exile’s business is very lucrative. The mental strategies they had been working on during their journey were already in motion. George had finished scouting the area, and Ivan was already moving in to take out the guards at the front entrance. Joseph, Alejandro, and Thierry were positioned on the roof and prepared to make the attack look like an Arachnos raid if the occasion called for it. John, Raphiel, and Harold stood on a rooftop across the street and surveyed the action.

Ivan played his part well, begging for change from the guards at the gate and smashing their heads in with his incalculable strength. With their deaths, the rest of the group was free to move in as George eliminated the rest of the guards on the parameter. John, blasting the doors of the warehouse open, took the men behind it by surprise and crushed them under the heavy weight. Harold strode through the hail of bullets that greeted them. His metal body shielded his oh so precious brain as he released the radiation held within in his figure, disintegrating some of the men with the levels of concentrated radiation.

The men they fought were all garbed in the semi-military uniforms of the Jones Enterprises soldiers. They had considerable training in combat and firearms, but it was not enough to fight the wave of experience that assaulted them. Their foes were smarter, faster, more powerful, and most importantly: immortal.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. Men were slain left and right by all members of the Brotherhood. The military grade weapons did not harm them due to the magic of the Fountain of Youth that gave them their longevity and invincibility. John had not killed in a long time, but the feeling was good. It was familiar to him and made him feel as if it were the old days, the bad days. A dark feeling welled up inside as Giovanni and the Fiend hungered for more blood in his mind.

The team finally cut a swathe through the men of Jones Enterprises to reach their leader. Donald stood before a ring of men all clothed in robes, chanting in Latin. Holding a large staff above his head, he began to thrust it down into a small red circle on the floor before him. He did indeed have the dreaded Book of the Count in his opposite hand, and was not surprised to see the other Brothers.

He was a tall man of Scottish descent. Fire-red hair cropped in a Princeton hair-cut served as more evidence of his nationality. The starburst mark above his left eye, The Mark of the Highlands, glowed a light blue, showing that he was protecting himself with his own magic. He had no special abilities like the others, but had knowledge of magics and combat that the others did. He also had his own personal “rent-an-army” business.

“Ah see tha welcome wagon has arrived.” His accent, hard to understand to some, gave him a sound that was permanently angry. “I knew tha Raphi wouldn’ keep this ta himsel’. ‘S a shame that none of ya shared ma dream, we coulda done well togetha…” Lowering the staff somewhat, he turned to face the attacking force. “Ah’m a little disappointed that you chose to blast yer way in here. I paid a lot for those men ya killed. It’ll take me months ta replace them.”

“You shame us with your possession of that book Exile.” John’s voice was that of disappointed resignation and exhaustion. The killing wore him out, and his armor was covered with blood. Donald cringed at the word “Exile” and his face twisted to one of absolute anger.

“Ah have ah name ya git!” The staff was now lowered all the way in his anger. The men in the circle began to slowly disperse, reaching for weapons within their robes. John noticed that the men who made up the circle all wore long black robes, with the symbol of the Brotherhood of the Sightless Eye above their breast. Disgust welled inside of John, and it must have showed on his face as Donald grinned.

Alejandro, circle around them to flank them from the rear. George, we’ll cause a distraction for you to get in the rafters to fire from above. We do not want to kill Donald. Just disrupt the ceremony.

“You have no name to us Exile.” John raised a fist and shot a bolt of energy into the crowd of men. Donald roared in rage and picked up a nearby Uzi and fired a few rounds in futility at his former Brothers. Alejandro, however, had already darted behind the men and was in the process of maiming a few. George had teleported using the Mantle of the Nightstalker to reach the rafters. Knocking several arrows, he let them fly and hit a collection of the men protecting Donald.

“Complete tha ritual! We must succeed!” Donald grabbed the men he knew would sacrifice themselves for him and thrust them into a circle again. Beginning the chant anew, the circle began to flare with internal red fire.

“We gotta stop’im!” Raphial shouted as he fired his duel magnums at the men trying to fend off the Brothers. John knew what had to be done and flew straight for Donald. Roaring with rage and determination, he raised a fist to slam it into Donald’s jaw. He could feel the magic welling up inside the warehouse, thick like a fog. The smell was intoxicating and brought memories of the old days again.

But just as suddenly as it had arisen, it died. John hesitated for a moment as his senses registered the drastic change in the atmosphere. His ears told him that the sounds of battle had died away. It was then that John realized he was floating in mid-air before Donald, who was smiling wickedly. Wondering what caused such a change in his opponent’s demeanor, he investigated why he was not flying under his own power.

A cold bolt of fear ran through his spin as his vision traveled down his own body, to the hand that gripped him tightly by the ankle. The man who held him was clothed in a black trench coat with a suit underneath. The symbol of the Brotherhood was above his breast as well, and the full moon glasses on his face rested on the bridge of his nose. He had a wry smile on his lips as he surveyed the look on his son’s face that was one of pure terror.

“Hello, son.”

“I have learned to live by one rule my entire life. No matter how big you are or how much power you have, you will always get scared by something.” –Justin “Manticore” Sinclair, Of Heroism and Riches, Personal Memoirs

John finished the decanter of whiskey as he read the passage of the fateful day his father returned. Rubbing his tired eyes, he placed his glass down with a slight clatter. His hand shook as he placed it on the top of the book, his nerves needing a little more than just whiskey to settle them.

“Hon?” The voice was like a small bird’s chirp after the clamor of a storm, innocent and pure. E’mi had entered the penthouse from the elevator and spotted her husband. “When did you get home? And you’re still in your work clothes?” She looked concerned, her eyes displaying the affection of a lover and companion.

“Only a little while ago.” The clock on the wall read 12:30 A.M. and he hoped she wouldn’t ask Merlin later for the truth. “Needed to unwind so I decided to read something.” He threw the book onto the couch and walked over to his loving wife. He put his arms around her and drew her close.

“You decided to unwind with THAT thing?” she asked skeptically. She knew all about the war as John had allowed her to read the journal. She didn’t think it was good for him to read it because it put him into such a state of unrest that affected her as well.

“I was just browsing through it.” Kissing her forehead he returned to the couch and picked up the book. Taking it back to the bookcase, he put it back in its proper place. Finishing this, he gestured to the journal and said, “See, back on the shelf where it belongs.” Kissing her forehead once more, he looked into her eyes. “I need to go to my lab to put the suit back ok? I’ll be back.”

Watching him leave, E’mi waited until the elevator doors closed behind him. Turning to the bookcase, she retrieved the hated book and looked to see where John had marked his place. Reading a few lines, she frowned and returned it back to its position, a cloud of unease over her mind.

Chapter 2: The Calm...

December 27, 2008

363 Days Pre War

“When somethin’ ya shoulda done comes back to bite you in the ass, you know it’s yer fault.”

-Don Raphiel Gambino

“Sir, you have a call from a Mr. Holiday. Records show he is a common correspondence of yours. Will you take the call, or shall I say that you are out?” The computerized voice of Merlin, the central intelligence of the laboratory, suit, and home of the hero John Blake broached the low hum of the large lab. John Blake, the Human Miracle, looked up from his workbench and thought for a moment. It had been a while since Michael had called him and not come to see him. The method of communication indicated that Michael was on the job, or in transit and the matter was urgent.

“Put him on.” Turning back to his suit, he waited to hear the familiar voice of his good friend. As he began to repair the bullet holes made by Outcast goons the crackle of white noise came over the loudspeaker in the lab.

“John? Did you just try to bump me over the phone?” The voice was agitated, but friendly. John chuckled and put down his tools. Flattening out the plan he had made recently on strengthening the suit’s integrity, he sighed loudly so his friend could hear.

“Of course not, Mike. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’ve been getting a lot of business lately. More than usual this time of year. Not many people seem to have a problem with Christmas magic as they do Halloween magic, you see?” A chuckle floated from the speaker to John and he shook his head. “But it’s the jobs that are worrying me. Lots of magical items being jacked from mystic shops. The attempted break-in at the M.A.G.I. vault, even some stuff from the Midnight Club was taken without proper authorization.” This statement made John sit up and actually stop his work. He had heard of the M.A.G.I. break-in scandal since it had dominated the news stations in Paragon for the last two days.

Apparently, an employee of M.A.G.I. had tried to forcibly tear open the vault door with magic. Azuria, being the only one who had access to the vault, had placed powerful spells to protect the contents within, thus thwarting the would-be thief. However, the sheer enormity of the security breach and the alarming time in which it took place, Christmas Day, was a source of much investigation. The fact that Holiday had been called in personally meant that the matter was definitely serious and the city was trying to cover all of its bases.

The Midnight Club information was troubling. With such high security and thousands of people around the club at all times, how could someone just leave with something without anyone noticing? John decided he would help Michael investigate this when he was done in the lab. Standing up and wiping his hands off with a rag John moved to his mainframe computer to look up some information on the cases in question.

“That’s some pretty heavy stuff Mike. How’re you doing?” Punching in some dates and certain papers that would have covered the crimes, John began to skim some of the info to see if he could find any outside connections that the police or Mike hadn’t found. A few news articles popped up, the obvious Paragon Times and CNN article online, but nothing out of the ordinary. He had trouble focusing as Michael spoke again.

“Eh, good and bad. It’s a big case and frankly I’m a little worried. I’m a paranormal investigator, John, not a hero with resources like you.” Mike chuckled on the opposite line and John smiled. “But, that’s not why I called, big guy.” John’s eyebrows raised and he looked at the speaker as if it was Holiday himself. “I take it you’ve seen them?”

“Seen what?” There was a pause on the other end as a door closed and locks were put in place. Mike must be at home or his office, John thought.

“The symbols, John. They’re friggin’ everywhere.” Now John knew what he meant. Turning to his computer he closed all of the articles and then opened a file marked “Art Appreciation.” The file opened and pictures taken of crime scenes floated across the screen. The reason these pictures were marked under a password encryption and Merlin protection was for one connection between all of the pictures. Each symbol, whether it was on a door of a homicide or plastered to a wall of an alley, were all the insignia of the Brotherhood of the Sightless Eye. The red spray paint, the common medium for each mark, was reminiscent of the color the mark turned when a meeting or a call to arms was scheduled.

“Ah, those.” John could hear Mike sigh wearily and the creek of a wooden swivel chair could be heard as he apparently sat down.

“You know I have to ask, John.” He could hear the strain in his friend’s voice. John nodded as he surveyed the pictures which flowed and meandered across the screen.

“I know.” Michael knew of the Brotherhood since he was one of the first non-members that John ever told. He was very “in-the-know” when it came to Brotherhood situations. The Brothers even voted to send him an invitation to join, after a recommendation by John personally.

“Just…Please, tell me it’s not you.” The pause that followed was cold, but expected. After escaping his father’s clutches following his resurrection, too easily as George insisted, the Eye’s Eyes had been ridiculously active. At first the crimes were small: a robbery here and a disappearance there. A week ago, however, the crimes began to escalate. Several homes where gruesome murders had taken place sported the sign like a bad rash, angry and hard to get out of mind. Suddenly, a new picture floated onto the screen and John recognized the vault at M.A.G.I. and wiped the sweat from his brow as he observed the insignia splattered hastily across the vault door.

“John?”

“It’s not me.” A sigh could be heard and John leaned back in his seat, making a steeple with his fingers.

“Brotherhood thing?”

“Brotherhood thing.” A knowing chuckle tripped out of the speaker.

“You wanna let me in on this or…?” John couldn’t leave Mike grasping at straws, but couldn’t involve him in this either. The situation had become increasingly more complicated, that much was clear. Homicides were expected from radicals, but attempted thefts of powerful magical items were a step in a bad direction. This meant his father had raised the minimum and was playing all the seats with an ace up his sleeve, as George would say. John would say that his father was mobilizing for something. An attack? Did he intend to blackmail the world for the magic items in question? Had he been recruiting and the victims of the homicides refused? Were the murders linked in some way the police couldn’t find? What was in the vault that his father wanted so badly?

“HM?”

“It’s being handled.” An awkward silence followed this. He knew he had caught his friend off his guard and was trying to figure out why he was being given a blindfold.

“Alright.” His reply was apprehensive, and harbored a slight tone of offense. “I’ll call you later, when I have some leads.”

“Ok Michael. Stop by for dinner sometime.”

“Sure. See ya.” The line went dead as he hung up and the sounds of computerized atmosphere from machines and mainframes filled the silence. The Human Miracle continued to stare at the photos for a long while.

February 27, 2008

302 Days Pre War

“It just goes from bad to worse once you refuse to acknowledge the problem at its emergence.”

-Professor Renegade, Personal Observations

The sound of the bank’s alarm overbearingly loud, yet appropriate for the situation. Scanning the room from side to side, John tried to identify the threat as quickly as possible. A few panicked civilians pointed the in direction of the vault as they saw the hero. John acknowledged them, pausing quickly to see if any of them were seriously injured, then sprinted off in the direction indicated.

Smoke filled the passage and he coughed a little. Racking his brain, he attempted to figure out who would have enough power to break into the main bank of Atlas Park. Several small-time villains were at the top of his list, along with Outcasts, Hellions, and anyone in possession of explosives. The flashing red lights illuminated then hid the bodies of guards who were either unconscious, or sadly, worse. Some had bullet-riddled bodies while others had been executed.

The closer he got to the vault the thicker the smoke became. Letting energy begin to flow to his fists he slowed his pace to ready himself for a surprise attack. If this was the work of someone like the Council then there were sure to be guards posted along the route to the central operation. The brown uniform of the security captain caught John’s attention, and he knelt down to tend to the wounded man.

The captain sported a shoulder wound that was bleeding steadily and John used his personal teleporter to retrieve a med-kit. Beginning to patch the man up, HM’s patient suddenly came to life. The captain’s eyes were wide with fear.

“They came with guns…So many of them…They were too fast…We never had a chance…” John sedated the man and ceased his bleeding. Now prepared for the worst HM readied himself. Sprinting toward the large wall of smoke that obscured the vault chamber, John let the energy flow freely through his entire body. What greeted him was an altogether different situation than he envisioned from the start.

Several Hellions stood before the open vault door in varying states of confusion. Looking to each other in a puzzled manner, then back to the vault, it seemed as though they were just as puzzled as John was. Several moments passed as John observed them until one Hellion finally turned to see the hero standing behind them. His yelp of fear roused his comrades and a couple raised their weapons while the rest cowered in fear. One, however, threw his arms up in disgust.

“Aw c’mon man!” He looked at John with exasperation, then to his conspirators in an “I told you so” fashion. “This is redic! First we get here an’ there’s no money. Now we’re gonna get the crap kicked out of us by a cape!” John, still in fighting stance, narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“Come again?” John lowered his raised fists but didn’t let his guard down completely.

“It’s like this, yo. We come in here to see what all the noise was about, right? And as soon as we get in, we see these damn Circle o’ Thorns boys runnin’ out with guns and cash. We figure they couldn’t take it all so we come in here and find this mess.” The other Hellions nodded. John looked at them all, still a little confused and somewhat amused.

“So, this place was robbed before you got here?”

“Fo’ reals.”

“By Circle of Thorns mages, with guns?” The group nodded again in affirmation. “Alright. Get outta my sight.” The Hellions looked utterly confused by this. They obviously expected a horrible beat down. “Before I change my mind!” Not needing to be told twice, the Hellions sprinted from the hero’s presence and headed for the door. John strode forward to the vault, seeing something he had not noticed before. As he stepped into the vault itself, John examined the mark which was plastered on the central wall of the vault interior.

The angry red eye, the now obvious calling card of the Eye’s Eyes, stared back at him. He snarled and kicked the empty money cart aside, sending it crashing into the wall beside him. The gaze of the All Seeing Eye unnerved him when it was being used by those clods, and a chill crawled up his spine. He retreated from the vault, greeting the police officers who had just arrived to respond all too late to the robbery.

April 27, 2008

241 Days Pre War

“When you underestimate your enemy, he will continually surprise you.”

–Statesman, New Hero’s Field Guide

As the crowd cried in desperation and defeat, John smiled to himself. He had been watching the Legion and affiliate members’ card game for about an hour now, and George was winning by a land slide. The players he was against, Freedom’s Arch Mage, Sgt. Carlin, Primal Thing, and Paladin, all grumbled as George whooped in triumph. John could tell the bounty hunter was smiling beneath the Mask of the Reaper as he raked in the chips; it was obvious even out of the corner of John’s eye as he tried to continue reading. George didn’t cheat at cards with the mask, he didn’t need to. With more time than most to perfect the craft, George had become one of the greatest players in the history of the game itself.

How many times is that?” Carlin removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair.

“Fourteen times in a row,” Primal Thing said from behind the hand covering his face.

“Perhaps I am still not good at ‘Texas Hold’em?’” Paladin looked at the others innocently, having not played many card games before this. Ray shook his head and patted Paladin on the shoulder.

“Trust me, big fella. It’s not you.” George began to deal again and the others groaned. The falling cards landed gracefully in front of the victims.

“No mas!” Carlin stood up and headed quickly for the bar. The others agreed and refused to play another hand.

“I haven’t got any money left tonight, George.” Primal Thing pushed the cards back in disgust towards the dealer who shuffled them back into the deck.

“C’mon now! I was gon’ give ya a chance ta win yer money back!” George’s offer fell on deaf ears as the players retreated from the card shark. “Ya just can’ find good competition these days.” John turned the page of his book and shook his head at George who began to play solitaire.

The somewhat jovial atmosphere was shattered as Gold Cop, Electric Knight, Imitation, and other members of S.T.O.R.M. entered the recreational room of the Legion base. Their raised voices indicated their mission had not gone well. Sampson threw himself into a chair while Imitation made a bee-line for the bar. EK sat down beside John and nodded to George.

“Rough night?” John placed his book down to give EK his undivided attention.

“I’ll say. These nut jobs ambushed us on our way to check out a distress signal in Independence Port.” Electric Knight rubbed his temples and George continued to play, surreptitiously listening.

“You didn’t know who they were?” John asked. S.T.O.R.M. had an unlimited supply of information due to LISA, Professor Renegade’s AI computer. John had modeled Merlin off of LISA’s design, but he was much less sophisticated. The fact that the crew had not know anything about their assailants was somewhat puzzling to John.

“Nah. Wackos in hoods with automatic weapons. Called themselves the Eye’s Eyes or something.” George paused his game for the merest fraction of a second and John raised his eyebrows in mock surprise at EK’s matter-of-fact response.

“Really? That’s…strange.”

“I think they set up that distress signal really. How else would they be able to ambush us in the exact location the signal originated from? The only other explanation could be that they were the cause of the distress signal and dealt with whoever sent it out in the first place.” Imitation’s raised voice penetrated the din of voices and this time, John and George both shared a hidden look of concern.

September 1, 2008

113 Days Pre War

“Mother nature is the greatest gauge for telling you when something isn’t on the up and up.”

–Sister Psyche

“It’s--it’s snowing!”

“Well we do live in Rhode Island, honey.” John grinned at his own joke from behind the newspaper he was currently reading. His wife looked at him exasperatedly and snatched the paper from his hands. Her frown told him this was serious and he obliged her by looking where she was pointed. There was indeed snow outside their windows, a lot of snow in fact. John would have even ventured a guess as to say that it was more snow than would normally be seen this time of year. The amount confused him for a moment as his internal clock told him that it must be mid-December. “That’s lovely. Now when I fly I’ll be twice as cold.”

“A LOT of snow. On the first of September? It’s not even winter yet, John.” It took a few moments for her words to register with him. He strode to the window and opened it. Snow assaulted his face. He closed it quickly, the cold biting at his extremities beneath his robe. John looked back to his wife, then to the window again. Rubbing his cheeks, he strode to the fire-pit and began to light a sufficient fire to warm his body from the sudden system shock. John finally got a blaze going and then looked up to his ceiling to address his computerized assistant.

“Merlin!”

“At your service, sir.”

“Pull up all weather charts available without accessing the government files and categorize all abnormalities closest to home.” He waited a moment for the computer to process the data.

“Would you like the list alphabetized, sir?” John cocked an eyebrow.

“There’s that many?” A list appeared n the window in front of him due to miniscule electrical wiring that he installed during construction. John’s large stride carried him over to the window and he examined the names and weather occurrences. The scroll bar had to be smaller than a millimeter and the countries listed seemed to span the globe.

“According to global meteorological databanks, every country is experiencing some sort of obscure weather. There is even a hail storm in the Gobi Desert. Would you like to view it on the television, sir?” E’mi looked to John and then to the list in front of him.

“What is going on, John?” Her voice was confused, and a hint of fright could be heard underneath. He couldn’t begrudge her for this though. He was downright baffled.

December 1, 2008

24 Days Pre War

“Once it gets personal, it’s already too late.”

-Synapse

Michael Holiday whistled as he carried his groceries to stairwell of his apartment building. The snow that had landed on him outside fell off of his hat and jacket as he trudged up the stairs, the brown bags in his arms weighing him down. The peculiar weather around the world had continued for months now, and frankly, he was sick of it. It was not just the weather that was bothering him, however. His phone had been ringing off-the-hook lately with hundreds of calls from bamboozled citizens who had experienced some sort of mini-weather within their home. Thunderstorms in bathrooms or blizzards in kitchens, the list went from inconvenient to positively dangerous. His workload had doubled since Halloween, which was around the time weather had started appearing in people’s homes.

Reaching the landing for his floor, he placed his parcels down. Opening the door then propping it opened with his foot he hopped inside, jostling the groceries in his arms. A Christmas tune popped into his head and he began to whistle it merrily as he approached his door. The faint smell of home cooking wafted from one of his neighbor’s apartments and he turned his head to see if he could locate the smell. Having no luck, but still determined, he reached his door with his eyes still wandering to either side of the hall. Placing the bags down on the floor, he fumbled for his keys buried within his jacket. The object of his search fell out of his pocket and he groaned mid-tune as they plummeted to the grocery bag below him. Cursing his inattentiveness and his neighbor’s good cooking, he began to search for his keys.

Retrieving them from the depths of the brown bag, he finally looked at his front door for the first time. His grip slackened in shock and his keys fell once again to the bags below. The lock had been broken clean off of the wooden door which rested loosely on its hinges. The doorknob had even been severed and lay several feet from its original position. What really caught his attention, however, was the large image spray painted on his door, the symbol that had haunted him for almost a year now. The symbol which had been the link to all the unsolved cases, all the disappearances, and the jobs he had to drop because his employers ran out of money to pay for his investigations. The large red eye glared at him coldly and a sense of anger flooded through his entire being.

Holiday thrust his hand into his pocket and retrieved his phone hastily. Pressing the speed-dial hard, he waited for the line to connect. Several rings later, his call was answered. Holiday cut the voice off before it even had time to greet him.

“John. We need to talk, NOW.”

Present Day

“When looking back on my life, I can honestly say that I have walked two distinctly different paths. The one of a man determined to do well and give back to the world, and the path of a tool wielded in absolute determination toward the domination of mankind. I cannot tell whether this has given me insight into the lives of other men, thus enlightening me and creating empathetic feelings, or it has hindered my development in a specific direction. Whatever the case may be, I cannot change this fact, nor do I wish to.”

-John Blake, Personal Reflections

“So that’s ten cases of wine, plus the thirty cases of vodka you asked me to order last week which just arrived. That sound about right, boss?” The voice of Charles Turner brought John Blake back to reality. Charles had come to do his weekly liquor report for the club and John had been in his study. What he was doing, was reading his journal about the War. Feigning interest in the routine report, John had slowly become more and more engrossed in his own accounts of the events of that timeline.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. Run that by me one more time.” Charles did as instructed and John agreed that all was in order. Charles was a good floor manager for the club John owned and was glad to have him at his side. It was a shame that he was a civilian, or John might have told him about the War to warn him. Upon further thought, John felt that it would do more harm than good to Charles.

“Interesting book, boss?” Charles put his papers together and pointed to John’s diary with his pen, which he then stuck behind his ear.

“Real page turner.” John smiled at his friend who nodded in interest.

“Mind if I borrow it sometime? I’ve been looking for a good book ever since I finished that Harry Potter series.” John chuckled and stood to see his best employee out.

“Maybe in a little while. I’m getting to the good part soon.” Charles nodded and said goodnight as he headed for the elevator. Good man, John thought, he’s a good man. It almost saddened him to see Charlie disappear behind the steel doors of the elevator. It would have done John some good to talk to someone not related to the hero business at all. Sadly, he didn’t have the luxury of getting the things he wanted often. When he did though, he made sure that he would never lose them. As this train of through meandered through his mind, E’mi appeared from the bedroom and smiled to him.

“Hungry for some dinner?”

“Starved, babe.” As he watched his beautiful wife disappear behind the refrigerator door, John made a mental vow. Not this time. I won’t lose her this time.