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CORNET LABS
THE NIGHT OF THE ACCIDENT
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“SOMETHING’S WRONG! THE REACTOR IS OVER HEATING!”

“Stacey’s scream filled the control room, piercing above the alarms.”

Thomas Jacobs, Stacey Meriwether, and Gary Straub went into emergency mode, dashing among the control panels on their side of the room. The translucent panel separating them from the other room alternated in flashes of white and blue light. Contained in the room beyond, the rumble from the reaction chamber continued to increase in volume. The seams of the chamber, shaped like a sphere in the middle of a vertical cylinder with a number of pipes and cables tethering it to the walls and floor, began to bulge.

Polished steel, the body was comprised of several 5-inch thick pieces, riveted together to house the electronics and fission reactors in the top and bottom ends. The center of the chamber was where the action would take place, it’s face to the control room was the windowed access hatch. At that moment, an amazing show of convulsing and coalescing energy was taking place, sparks and arcs of manufactured cosmic power dancing into existence.

“If this thing goes,” Straub cried, frantically trying to adjust the external controls. “It’ll take out the whole building!”

“We hadn’t tried to generate much, just a few molecules to test the theory. Now these few infinitesimal specks threatened to multiply into ounces, enough to wipe Maretropolis from the surface of the Earth. The military overseers had been worried about the dangers of trying to create dark matter in a laboratory, and we had so arrogantly assured them of our safety. The future of space travel required a more capable fuel, and we had wanted to be the ones to create it.”

“Thomas look!”

“Stacey, beautiful as ever even when she’s terrified, was pointing to a video feed of the rear entrance to the chamber room, replaying moments right after the fission reactors started to malfunction.”

“There was someone in the back.” She said, stunned. “There was someone trying to sabotage the rear containment valve!”

“We had been warned about potential spies and agents of hostile governments attempting to interfere in the experiment, steal the research. But we never thought they’d resort to something like this. I watched the hooded figure do something out of sight, get real angry, then escape out of the back door.”

“The release is jammed…” Jacobs realized.

“I’ve cut off the power to the generators, but the process is already underway, unless we can get the rear valve working again, it’ll push all excess energy to the forward hatch!”

“Straub was panicked, but his mind was used to that. His hands moved across the controls like a madman, only interrupted by brief seconds of him using his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his forehead.”

“Thomas…” While Jacobs was making his own adjustments to his side of the control panel, Stacey approached him, her hands shaking.

“Thomas, if we can’t control the gestation… I just, I just wanted to tell you-”

“Tell me about it afterwards Stacey.” He told her, turning to grab her by the shoulders and stare into her watering brown eyes. “Right now we have an explosion to prevent.”

“No matter what we tried in the booth, nothing seemed to stabilize the metastasization of the dark matter. It was coming into being, and without the rear containment valve, the energy produced by its generation would be compressed until it blew the chamber. And us along with it.
With the seconds ticking by I realized the only way to fix the problem was to enter the chamber and manually open the rear valve.”

“Nothing else is working…” looking at the volatile generation chamber, Jacobs steeled his resolve. “I’ve got to go in.”

“Are you out of your mind man!” Straub took the lapels of Thomas’ lab coat by the fistful, pushing him against the wall. “The radiation will fry you!”

But Jacobs‘ fixed his friend with resigned calmness, laying his hands across Gary’s forearms. “I’ll wear the suit.”

“We had been so eager. Far ahead of any time a testable engine could be built, we designed a suit for the pilot to wear. It would shield the wearer from any ambient radiation produced by the dark energy.

In short order I was dressed, Gary and Stacey helping me into the skin-tight body suit. It may have been immodest, and I may not have filled it out as well as I’d have liked, at least we had given it a stylish color scheme.

“Are you sure about this?”

“It wasn’t lost on either one of us that this was the last time I might see her. In fact, even if were successful, I’d still be exposed to lethal dosages of radiation, which would claim me eventually.
But it had to be done.”

“It’s either this, or something much worse.” Thomas told her, pulling the mask up over his face, leaving only the mouth, eyes, and crown of his head uncovered. “So I’m about as sure of this as anything in my life.”

“Then you’ll need these.” She said, holding a pair of protective goggles in her hands. “Gotta protect those steel-grays of yours.”

“When she placed the goggles over my face, it was the last time her skin touched mine. I remember it being so warm and soft. Passion overcame me, and I pulled her in for a kiss.

Entering the chamber room was like stepping over an event horizon, the point of no return. The door locking behind me, I could feel the heat coming of the chamber, and I knew I was being inundated with radioactive particles. I might as well have put my head in a microwave and set it for 10 minutes on high.

Carrying the tool bag with me, I hurried to the rear of the chamber where, to my horror, saw that the control handle on the rear release valve had been welded in place. This was haw the saboteur had defeated the fail-safes. Whoever it was hadn’t managed to tamper with the control handle on the emergency vent though, a pipe just above that would release the excess energy into the room instead of the containment cells. This was the way.

With no other choice, I opened the emergency vent.”

“THOMAS WHAT ARE YOU DOING!”

“I heard Straub screaming, knowing full well the consequences of releasing the excess into the room. I had effectively just created a whole room of artificial cosmic energy, still horrible, but not as catastrophic as an explosion. I just had to hope the room’s seal held out.”

“Oh my god…”

“Stacey was staring at data display, where we would find out if our dream had come true, to produce dark matter. She was fixated on it for some reason.”

“Thomas…” She called out, “The dark energy, it’s… it’s working!”

“Well, at least we had proven the science correct. Hopefully the next team to pick this up would all survive.
Since the damage had already been done I decided to see the process for myself. Kneeling down, I gazed into the hatch window, and watched our attempt to play god come to fruition.”

A series of flashes from the chamber caused a new surge of activity from the data controls.

Gary gasped, “It’s not stopping! It’s generating exponentially!”

“When I heard that, I realized the precious seconds that existed between the levels of disaster.

I opened the hatch, interrupting the process, and reached inside. The last thing I remember seeing before my world ceased to exist was the name of the project we had stenciled onto the hull. Our mission not for man to explore the stars at the speed of light, but, at the speed of darkness.

Project: Shadowbolt.”

The laboratory was consumed in an instantaneous explosion, and so with it, the building.

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WEEKS LATER
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“But death refused to claim me. By the time I woke up, I had not imagined the world I would come back to would be as dark as the particle I had once tried to father. Rising from the dirt, I looked around to see myself standing in a crater, knowing in my bones it was the epicenter of something terrible.
For a while I didn’t even know my own name, I just knew it hurt to be in the light. So I was relegated to living in the darkened crevices of the city where I survived like an animal, scrounging for food, sheltering in shadows, and keeping away from people. In all that time, I watched. I observed how the underbelly of Maretropolis really turns, how the criminal and the abhorrent preyed on the innocent and the beautiful.
It wasn’t until years later, when I overheard some mobsters talking about how they knew someone who knew something about what happened that night in the lab. By sheer chance, they had entered the same public bathroom I was in at the time to wash my face. With no way out before they came in and turned the lights back on, I ducked into one of the stalls and pulled my legs up. They went to the urinals and began chatting, the usual stuff about how they had strong-armed honest people, which cop they had paid off this week, how much they made by turning teenagers into addicts. I had grown so jaded by then, I just didn’t care.”

“You hear about that kid? The one from the west end boys?” One of the men in cheap suits asked, tilting his head laterally. “Heard he got roughed-up pretty good by some Ponezetti crew.”

“Oh yeah.. He-he.. Always running his mouth.” His partner chuckled. “That kid never does know when to take no for an answer. You hear he started bragging about that uh… Cornet Labs accident?”

“The mention of the lab brought back a flood of memories all at once. It was almost too much to handle, but I was able to remember, remember what happened that night.”

Zipping up their pants, one of the men shook his head. “Saying he was behind it. Now why would anyone wanna brag about that? No money in blowing up labs.”

“What happened once my mind calmed isn’t exactly clear. I just remember the rage. The stall door was kicked off its hinges, I grabbed it and hurled it like a spear at one of them. I think I heard his ribs shatter, I’m not sure.
When the other one pulled his gun out of his jacket, I moved, then my hands were around his throat, then I… I…”

=========
NOW
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“Dominick Stallionato, you tried to kill me.”

“The hell are you talking about!” The old man growled, feeling the uneven surface of his SUVs underbelly dig into his shoulders. “I ain’t never tried to kill anybody, I got it done.”

“One of your lackeys.” His grip tightening, twisting the aged mobster’s lapel, Shadowbolt bared his teeth. “You gave one of your miserable underlings the order to sabotage Cornet Labs. Your man, your order, your hand at work. What was his name?”

Genuinely perplexed, Stallionato returned the sneer and shook his head. “Kid, I don’t know what you heard, or what lies you been sold, but I ain’t never given anybody such a stupid order, as blowing-up some science lab!”

“YOU’RE LYNG!” Shadowbolt raged, lifting Dominick off his feet. “Tell me his name or I’ll pop your head off like a dandelion!”

Through the fog of anxiety and indignant anger, A thought cut its way through the years of Dominick’s faded memories, one recalled by the accusation.

“Wait… There was a rumor floating round, about some kid in my turf, but he was full of shit, nobody ever believed him.”

Lowering the Don to put their eyes on an equal plane, Shadowbolt asked one last time in a voice that could chill the devil.

“What, was his name?”

“Shadowbolt!” Standing behind them both, Mane-iac poised herself, ready for anything.

“Put him down!” She commanded. “You’re coming with me!”

Before he could respond, Police sirens and squealing tires came around the block. The window for answers was closing, and Shadowbolt knew it.

“The lady…” Stallionato whispered, “Or the tiger?”

Shadowbolt turned his head to Mane-iac, growling in frustration.
“I’m not finished with you.” He told Dominick.

Throwing the old man over his shoulder, Shadowbolt darted out from between the two sides, heading into a row of quiet industrial buildings. Just as fast, Mane-iac was after him.

Encumbered by the weight, he wasn’t as fast as he usually was, but he was still able to keep pace ahead of her.

“Oh no you don’t!” Throwing tendrils of hair up around streetlights, Mane-iac slung herself forward, arms outstretched. But he maneuvered out of the way just in time, dodging her by inches.

The chase continued, even as it left the street when he leaped from the top of a car, onto a low roof, and into the window of an adjacent manufacturing plant. Entering the room, he immediately saw the tall metal cabinet next to the window. With one arm he reached back and yanked it off-kilter to block the way.

“Damn!” Making the split decision, Mane-iac opted to head higher.

Coming to a stop on a catwalk above the plant floor, overlooking a number of machines and stacks of crates, Shadowbolt took Stallionato and put his back against the railing.

“His name! Who sabotaged the lab!”

“Go to hell.” Dominick said, sticking his chin out in a final act of defiant courage.

Pulling his arm back to deliver a punch to the old man’s ribs, the sound of scampering from above distracted Shadowbolt.

Taking his chance, Stallionato gripped the combat knife stuck in his belt line, drew it out, and stabbed it into Shadowbolt’s left breast to the hilt.

“AHH!” Seeing the handle sticking out of his chest, the flash of anger blinded his senses. Shadowbolt drove his fist into Dominick Stallionato’s sternum, crushing his ribcage like an empty eggshell. The dying mobster coughed-up a spray of blood onto his killer’s face, collapsing.

“Noooooo!” His best chance to find out who had destroyed the lab taking his knowledge to the grave with him, Shadowbolt cursed himself. He pulled the knife from his flesh and threw it away with such force it was embedded in the concrete wall.

Mane-iac dropped down from above, aghast to see what he had done.
“I don’t care what your cause is, Thomas Jacobs, that’s the last man you kill.”

Facing the one who had interrupted him just when he was about to get the name, who now set herself to deny him his revenge, Shadowbolt turned on her with a cold fury.

“I’ve still got one or two left in me.”

She was ready when he charged, ducking around his lunging fist and coming back with a left hook to the inside of his knee, followed by a right into his solar plexus. He buckled, but it wasn’t enough to throw him off.

He grabbed one of the tails of her scarf, using it to drag her to the side and against the railing. With her back against the bar, he seized her throat in his hand, pressing forward, trying to bend her whole body.

“I told you to stay out of this!” Shadowbolt growled, her hands grabbing onto his arms. “I told you to walk away!”

Staring back into his face, Mica could almost see the eyes behind the goggles. “Like hell!” She choked out.

Purple tendrils wrapped around Shadowbolt’s ankles, and pulled upwards, heaving both of them over the railing and out of sight.

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Close by, A man sitting in shadows watched the fight play on one of several monitors surrounding him. He watched the pair tumble over the handrail with a light gasp of fascination. The shine of the screen’s light reflecting in a stripe across the lenses of his glasses.

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Mane-iac and Shadowbolt crashed onto the barren concrete floor, she saving them both from injury by taking the brunt of the impact with a curved construct of her hair. They rolled to the side, still gripping one another like animals locked in combat for survival. As he reasserted his grip around her throat, she reached over and drove the palm of her hand into his jaw repeatedly. She knew it wouldn’t be enough to seriously harm him, but it was a sufficient tactic to keep him distracted from the tendril of hair creeping behind his back.

The vine wrapped itself around Shadowbolt’s neck, a sister around his left shoulder, and both worked in tandem to pry him off and fling him into a steel support beam for the catwalk above. He hit the strut hard enough to curve the metal, a grunt of pain escaping him. Mane-iac shot to her feet, rushing over to hopefully incapacitate him at the first opportunity. She leaped forward, aiming a boot for his chin, but he saw the blow coming in time and ducked to the side.

She struck the beam, and for a split second her momentum allowed her to stand on the vertical surface. It was enough time for Shadowbolt to counter attack. He seized the leg, placing the back of her shin on his shoulder, and yanked her to the ground. Immediately he swung her in a tight arc, warping her right side around the beam, shattering one of her ribs.

“Ahh!” The sharp stab of pain shooting across her midsection became her whole world, the fact that her impact-dulling armor had prevented much worse damage was something she was too preoccupied to be thankful for.

Not finished, Shadowbolt grabbed her arm, and with both limbs tossed her into the painted cinderblock wall. Mane-iac hit the bricks with a thud, face clenched as she started to slide down. At the sound of his footsteps, she reflexively lashed out with angry, snapping strands, aiming just to keep him at bay for a few moments longer.

The tactic worked, and by the time he managed to weave his way through the tendrils of hair that jabbed and beat, she was ready. When he went to land a punch, she caught the arm in a standing scarf hold and leveraged him against the wall with a pivot of her legs. Mane-iac put a knee into up into his lower ribcage, trying her damdest to snap one of his ribs in turn. She fed two into his side before she felt something give way, and put in a third to the liver for good measure.

Shadowbolt muscled free of her hold, pushing her face away with the edge of his hand against her nose. She knocked it away, and teed off with a series of rights and lefts to his jaw, throat, breadbox, and cheeks. He tried to counter, but she easily deflected his wild swing, and laid another salvo into his head, finishing it with an elbow across the mandible. He staggered, coughing up a gob of blood that splattered on the floor.

Teeth grinding and battle fury coursing through her veins, Mane-iac didn’t see a chance for de-escalation, rather she saw an opportunity to deliver a finishing blow. She threw her head back, then whipped it forward, morphing her hair into a battering ram. The blunt end of the purple instrument struck Shadowbolt in the chest, and hammered him through the wall in a burst of concrete bits and dust.

The room on the other side was filled with abandoned construction equipment and material, the result of a retrofitting attempt the previous year. Long settled dust and cobwebs were pitched into chaos when Shadowbolt came crashing into the room and demolished a stack of cinderblocks.

Mane-iac stepped through the rough opened they’d created, casting her hat aside, focused solely on rendering her foe a sack of disjointed bones and organs. She grasped a handful of his hair to drag his face up, drawing her leg back for another knee strike. But he gripped her arm, and propelled himself upwards at an angle to smash the crown of his skull into her nose and top row of teeth. A gush of crimson and cry of agony was the sign of his success as she stumbled back, eyes watering and world spinning.

Shadowbolt managed to get a hold of a tendril of flailing hair, and he yanked on it, pulling her directly into his lunging fist. The knuckles buried themselves into her gut, doubling her over before he slipped his arm around her neck. He squeezed her in the front face-lock like an orange, lifting her off her feet until she was almost upside-down. Purple hair became an angry kraken, lashing out at anything within reach, striking bricks into a million pieces.

A path of clarity broke through her fury, hundreds of hours of training snapping back to the fore. Mane-iac dug her hands into her belt, slotting her fingers into the knuckle dusters. Now sporting a bit more armament, and none too soon as the choke hold on her throat threatened had cut off her breath. Mica regained control of her wild hair, sending it to coil itself around Shadowbolt’s face. He simply couldn’t maintain his grip as his neck was bent backwards, and released her.

Mane-iac fell to the debris covered floor, sucking in lung-fulls of glorious oxygen. For a split second it reminded her of some deep-water diving she had done, training her lungs to stay down longer and longer before needing to surface. Sometimes preparation came in handy in the oddest places.

Shadowbolt continued to wrestle with her super-strands, experimental science giving his muscles the ability to pry them off. He spun in place to undo the coil, taking the length of it in both hands, fighting it for dominance. Mane-iac lunged through the midst’s of her hair, knuckle dusters leading the way. At the last moment, Shadowbolt turned his back to her, dragging the length of her locks with him, taking her off balance and careening into a rusty wheelbarrow. Mica and the cart toppled over one another, loudly, colliding into several upright wooden planks.

In the mess, the weapon on her right hand was jostled off. She tried to get her feet under herself as quickly as possible, but a boot to the ear put her back down. Insensible, Mica once more struggled to stand, reaching out and finding something to grab with her left hand, Shadowbolt. He grabbed the hand, holding it in place, and brought down a hammer fist over the knuckles, using the metal bracers to break two of her phalanges.

“AHHH-HUUUUUH!” She shrieked, curling her body into a fetal position to protect her injured appendage. What Shadowbolt didn’t see as he huffed for breath, was the smoke pellet she was removing from her belt. In the blink of an eye, she struck her hand out and smashed the orb on the floor, releasing the contents to expand and fill the space with a choking grey fume.

The sudden shroud forced Shadowbolt back, covering his mouth and teetering away to find clear air. Seconds passed as he coughed and spat out the chemical residue, the finer material of the smoke bomb leaving a thin layer over the lenses of his goggles. He had a lot of difficulty defending himself when Mane-iac emerged from the mist with her collapsible baton raised. She kicked half a red brick to initiate a distraction, it shot up and hit him leg, causing him to lean down reflexively.

She swung for the exposed area on the back of his skull, just grazing the top of his crown when he reacted. Nonetheless, the glancing blow torn his skin, lacerating three inches of the uncovered portion of his head. Mica’s training took over her attack, striking next with a back blow as he stood erect to avoid a direct impact to the face. Her footwork danced through the assault, one leg spinning around for a roundhouse that was battered away with a forearm, only for Mane-iac to use her hair as a backstop, and suspend her at an angle.

The technique caught him by surprise, and she capitalized, drilling a dropkick into his chest that projected him into a partially demolished section of concrete wall. Shadowbolt’s hand caught a length of rebar sticking out from the jagged masonry, tearing out a two-foot branch of metal. Mica was again pressing the advantage, this time her baton was met by the steel rod as he rose to his feet, the impact of the two colliding enough that blood from his head wound and her broken face were pitched forward, coating both weapons in droplets.

“What happened to you Thomas?” Mane-iac asked him face to face. From behind re-enforced safety glass and custom-weave mesh, their eyes locked on each other. “What turns a man like you into a murderer!?”

“Thomas Jacobs died saving Manehattan, the price of trying to play god!” Shadowbolt curled his lip back, blood staining his bared teeth. A flash of memory over what happened in the lab that night almost enough to bring him to tears. “NOW THERE’S JUST ME!”

With a shoved he pushed her away, putting a few steps between them. Maybe it was the battle-lust, maybe it was the pain wracking her body, but it was only now Mica took stock of the wall on the right side of the room, the one with more than a few good cracks in it below the window to the outside.

Shadowbolt swung, the length of the rebar forcing her to sidestep and guide it away with her shorter baton. She used her weapon to maneuver his, leading it in a loop that allowed her to step around his side in twirl. He stumbled, giving her a precious second to reach the transmitter on her belt. Mica’s fingers were still throbbing and refusing fine dexterity, so she jammed the knuckle of her pinkie finger on the little button. Now she had had to make sure he would stay put.

Though her left hand was only partially functional, it could still grip. As Shadowbolt again swiped his rebar, she lured his attack in before tossing her baton from her right into the left. Her counter was a combination, edging her good hand along his arm, redirecting his momentum as she drove the butt of her nightstick into his shoulder blade and pushing him.

Mane-iac knew she would only have one shot at this, so in spite of the pain and adrenaline, she bent her mind to focus. She drew her blowpipe from its sheath on her belt, a tranquilizer dart preloaded as it always was. The pipe was already in her lips, a breath being funneled through it when Shadowbolt turned around. The dart’s aim was true, puncturing his skin in the small sliver of space between his mouth and the side of the mask. Mica didn’t want to chance that the suit was able to protect him, so she aimed for exposed skin.

He recoiled and raged, swatting the barb out of his skin. In truth she didn’t know how effective the dosage would be, no telling what kind of factors at play that might diminish the effects or even render him immune. But she didn’t need it to knock him out, she just needed him slowed down. Whatever was in his system, she couldn’t let him burn off.

So she moved in close, raising her baton in challenge. Shadowbolt brought his rebar down, intent to break her weapon in half. The two rods skimmed one another, Mica allowing the force of his blow be directed to the side. That was when she reached up and wrapped her fingers around his jaw, shoving his head back. She powered her legs forward, at the same time interlocking her left arm around his right. She just needed to keep him in place.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied the window, and the growing light from the other side.

Shadowbolt brought his free arm in a haymaker arc, laying the palm of his hand upside her face, crushing her ear and rattling her balance. The blow legitimately disoriented her, knees losing their resolve, equilibrium no longer under her control. Any other time she might think herself vulnerable, even worried about being in such a defenseless state. But not this time.

Sensing an imminent victory, Shadowbolt grabbed a length of her hair peeling it back until he could stare down at her face.

“Sorry…” Mica muttered. “But I gotta go.”

“What?” The confusion was apparent on Shadowbolt’s face behind the mask and goggles. She took a small joy in his reaction.

A bright light from the outside beamed through the small window, drawing Shadowbolt’s attention, the roar of the engine rapidly approaching.

“My ride’s here.”

The Black Beauty smashed through the wall, high-beams bathing him head to toe. He covered his face in the half-a-heartbeat, it was all he could do as his enhanced reflexes were retarded by the light particles. Robbed of the ability to dodge the impact, the vehicle’s grill plowed into his body, sweeping him away as he was bent over the hood. The car had come within inches of
Mane-iac’s nose. They struck the wall on the opposite side and into a larger space.

Three walls of the room demolished, Mica wondered if the ceiling would not collapse as she knelt in place. Using her sleeve to wipe off a trickle of blood off her face, she agonizingly rose to her feet, having to create a third leg with her hair to keep her from sprawling. She ambled to next room, stooping down with a pained groan to pick-up her hat, flopping it onto her crown without ceremony. The loose knuckleduster was also recovered, placing the pair of them and the blowpipe in their respective compartments. Mica retained the nightstick in her functional hand.

“Give me Matter-Horn any day…” She grumbled.

Stepping through the jagged entrance, she saw that Black Beauty had come to a stop, engine idling as its receiver transponder told it that it had reached its destination. The room itself was huge, another storage hanger filled with stacks of grime layered cargo crates, shipping conexs, and other objects under large plastic sheets. As Mane-iac rounded the side of her car, she placed a hand on the roof, leaning on it to give her excruciating ribs a break.

Shadowbolt’s arm slapped down on the floor, entering her vision from beyond the car’s bumper, clawing like a zombie from the grave.

“Oh for the love of Faust…” Mica dropped her head to the roof in frustration. Her laborious task before her, she tightened her fingers on the baton. He pulled himself across the floor, a slimy tendon of lifeblood and mucus extending from his mouth. His left goggle was shattered, the right a crack down the center. The sound of her footstep caused his head to turn in her direction with a slight wobble. He emitted a guttural cough in spite of his apparent defeat.

Mica raised the baton shakily over her head, glad to finally end this feud.

The overhead lights in the room directly above her illuminated before the blow could fall, leaving her too stunned to do anything else but stand in confused silence. Shadowbolt surrendered one final grunt and lost consciousness.

“Absolutely incredible!” Came a voice not far away. “Such brutality!”

The sound of several guns being cocked snapped Mane-iac to look around, armed men emerging from the stacks and rows, automatic weapons leveled in her direction.

“I’m sure your strange friend from Christmas would have loved a chance to join in the activities!”

The voice was coming from somewhere above her. But as she scanned what she now saw were a network of catwalks crisscrossing the second tier of the room, something else dawned on her.

“I know that voice! It’s the man from the tablet! The one who was orchestrating the robberies and trying to broker a deal with the mobs!”

“Who are you?!” She called out, posturing to defend herself from the thugs who continued to tighten the circle. “What do you want?”

“Like I said before, all I want is a little recognition.” Noises on the walkway indicated someone moving into position. “By the way, each of my men are equipped with armor-piercing rounds. I admit I’m unsure if your hair can protect you from them, but I am very curious to find out should the need arise.”

Mica regarded the men warily, considering if any of them looked like they had an itchy trigger finger.

“Regrettably, I, am a nobody.”

Something fell from the scaffolding above and landed atop one of the taller objects just outside the illuminated area. Instead of landing on it with a thud, the top of the dark monument pressed down.

A cloud of vapor was projected from the mysterious aperture, covering Mane-iac. She reflexively reached to pull her scarf over her mouth and nose, but found her movement arrested as soon has her fingers pinched the cloth. Her whole body became frozen in place, as immobile as a statue, every strand of hair suspended.

Whoever it was that had leapt from above made their way to the floor, working from one surface to another. Mica could still see the movement out of the corner of her eye, the figure reaching the ground and standing calmly in the shadows.

“You see Mane-iac, I tried to be somebody, somebody great, somebody like you.”

Mica thought it might be an effect of whatever gas she had been dosed with, or just a product of straining her vision to get a better look at him, but she could swear that something was very odd about her captor.

“Well, not quite like you.” He continued. “I tried to be like the Malice -Mares.”

“The Malice-Mares are involved in this somehow? Why am I not surprised.”

“But I’m just a man you know. I don’t have any superpowers, I didn’t have any fancy gadgets, nothing. Just plain old me. Oh sure I have an intellect worthy of historical record, but they didn’t care, they just wanted power. No matter how I appealed to them, they rejected me, scorned me.

You know what they called me? Hmm? They called me useless, they called me dull…”

Sharp footsteps came around from Mica’s side, and came to stand within arm's reach in front of her. He was not what she expected.

“They said I was… ‘Humdrum’.”

Glaring up at Mane-iac, was a diminutive man, no taller than five-feet, avocado green skin, and light brown hair. He was dressed in clean black slacks and a pristine white suit jacket over a grey shirt. Glasses so thick they could be used for a telescope distorted his eyes, making the roan irises pop out at you.

“Can you believe that?” He spat, anger and heartache setting the muscles in his face to twitch. “Humdrum! Me!”

“Oh my god…. I know this guy! Horace Billetino, black sheep and general embarrassment of the extended Stallionato family. The product of the questionable breeding of a bottom-feeding soldier. Despite his dwarfism, he tried to use his brain to rise through the ranks of the family. But the idea of him being anywhere near the actual movers and shakers got quashed at every turn. Bad optics for the prestige of the organization.

Even with his shortcomings, he’s managed to garner a reputation all his own. Years of ridicule and exclusion gave him a nasty temper and a cruel streak you could race cars on. The nickname they gave him wasn’t one he enjoyed, in fact, mentioning it was known to set him off. I suppose I would too, if my nickname was ‘the baby dragon’.”

From out of her vision, Shadowbolt moaned. “He must be coming around, but the light is too much for him!”

“Ah… And our volatile friend here. In possession of great power, that should have BEEN MINE!”

The pint-sized fiend turned his back to her, clasping his hands behind.

“I have no-one with whom I can relate, Mane-iac, do you mind if I share a little story with you? You aren’t going anywhere are you?”

A small chuckle preceded a sigh.

“Since the Malice-Mares would not have me for lack of powers, I decided that I would simply acquire them. Industrial accidents, I find, have a surprisingly high rate of turning the average person into something more.”

He turned to Mica with a sly grin. “As I surmise you are familiar with. But…” Raising a finger, Horace pressed another hand to his chest for a dramatic pause. “It just so happened, that I was able to learn about a nearby facility hosting a new energy project. It was a simply matter of bribery to learn more about what they were doing. You’d be surprised how talkative a security guard can be when you put a suitcase of money and a gun in front of him, and ask him to pick one.”

“So I set about to expose myself to the powers generate by the dark matter experiment. Either I would die a death unlike any other in the history of the world, or I would be transformed. Hopefully, into something great. Then the Malice-Mares could no longer dismiss mundane little me.”

He turned his heel on a dime and strode over to the fallen Shadowbolt, looming over him, his lips twitching, hands tightening behind his back.

“I made sure the chamber would vent the cosmic radiation, so that I could soak it in, every cell, every molecule and atom of my being transformed by it. But there was a complication I failed to foresee. You see…”

Billetino twisted his neck, remembering his disaster. “I was too short to reach the control handle, too short to reach my destiny.”

He held his hand in front of himself, examining it, and clenching it into a fist.

“Then he stole it from me. Took the power that should have been mine. And what has he done with it?”

He scowled, and in a flash, kicked Shadowbolt in the ribs. “Huh! Live in the gutter!” Another kick. “Waste his time with common street scum!” Another kick. “Treat his incredible gift like a curse!”

The flare of wrath sated, he stepped back, hyperventilating breath slowing down until it whistled softly through his teeth.

But… If I can’t have amazing power, I can take it away from those who do.”

Mica strained to move, whatever the spray was still held her immobile. She could though, feel its potency slipping when her mouth could move ever so slightly.

“Just a little more!…. Come on!”

“I was experimenting with some kind of chemical enhancement, when I stumbled upon this peculiar formula.”

Extracting a remote control from his jacket, the Horace pressed a button. The room responded, reams of lights flickering on throughout the breadth of the increasingly revealed space. In front of Mane-iac, where the little man had released the paralyzing mist, now stood what appeared to be a giant aerosol can.

“I call it the ‘Hairspray Ray of Doom!’, for now at least. Capable of rendering even the greatest superheroes-”

He strode over, bending over to smile smugly a few inches from her.
“-or heroines, completely powerless. Just like me.”

Albeit hidden behind her mask, Mica glared at him. “Youu.. Wonnn’t… get away..”

Before she could finish her sentence, he moved in uncomfortably close to her, inspecting her face like a scientist would a newly discovered insect species.

“Huh… It seems the formula requires some modification.”

Billetino gestured casually to one of his men, waving towards the oversized hairspray container.

“If you would be so kind.”

“You got it boss.” The unnamed henchman slung his automatic over his shoulder, secured a ladder resting against one of the high shelves, and swung it over onto the aerosol canister. Ascending it, he pressed the top down, once more releasing a jet of the lavender chemical compound that the small man made sure to step aside from.

Mane-iac felt her features harden once more, and would have cursed if she had the ability.
“When I get my hands on this grubby little creep!”

“For my safety and yours, I’ll just take this for now.” Horace fumbled his fingers around the buckle of Mane-iac’s belt, and after a few grunts of frustration, found the release.

“Wouldn’t want you playing with any of your toys now would I? And what’s this?” He tossed the belt aside and grabbed her by the left arm, wrenching it down for him to get a closer look at the slight but noticeable pad on the inside of her forearm. Mica had already skated by on one stroke of good fortune, and as she watched the strange little man fiddle with her wrist panel, she really hoped fate could spare her one more tonight.

“Oh please, oh please let him be stupid enough, please let him press the right button!”

“Interesting device you have here.” He complimented, running his gaze over the array of features. Circuitry embedded into the fabric displayed a series of small inlaid buttons.

“I wonder what these do…”

The more he stared at them, the harder Mica screamed in her mind for him to press the one closest to her elbow. His fingers wiggled, hovering above the slim device like someone tantalized.

“Come on!”

But he retracted his arms and seemed to lose interest for a moment. “Tell me Mane-iac, does one of these blow something up?”

“Press it and find out!”

“Perhaps we’ll find out later.” Billetino snapped his fingers, two of the men responding to the summons.

“Take the lady to my lab, I’ve got a few tests I’d like to run.”

One of the men paused to stare and point his thumb at the still comatose body of Shadowbolt. “Uh, Boss, what about this one?”

“Leave him, he’s not going anywhere in his condition.” The dwarf in charge ordered, beginning to walk away.

“Whatevah’ you say Boss.” One of the men went and took Mane-iac’s asymmetrical mass of hair in both hands, leaning her forward as if they were about to move a couch. The other, decided to hold onto her by the arms.

Horace stopped in place, “Oh, and be careful not to-”

As soon as the thug’s hands wrapped around her forearm, he felt the slim button depress.

The lights throughout the entire complex died, leaving them all in darkness that was only pierced by the faint moonlight streaming in from the various windows along the higher levels of the walls.

“……. Oh dear god.” The small man muttered to himself, his crew asking among themselves what could have happened. As fast as his trembling little hands could move, he took a penlight out of his pocket. He shone it in his immediate area. “Of all the bumbling idiots in Maretropolis to hire!”

His light swept over to Mane-iac, who remained statuesque in between the perplexed goons. Then, carefully so as not to miss anything, he moved his light over to where Shadowbolt had been laying, a silent prayer on his lips. When the spot was illuminated, there was nothing to be found but a small puddle of blood and a number of red smears.

The gulp in his throat was audible. Slowly, he started to back away. A sound, a terrible crunching sound, froze him in place temporarily. He listened intently for anything else but nothing came. The urge to flight compelled him once more to chance a stealthy escape. Memory of how things were positioned in the room might have saved him some trouble, but a pervasive fear dampened his better senses. His leg collided into the corner of a wooden crate, making a very loud, very attention-grabbing noise.

Small man clasped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from yelping, biting the flesh of his palm.

A skittering clatter came closer and closer to him, until he felt something bump against the heel of his shoe. Mouth still covered, he pointed his light down, and saw one of his men’s rifles laying there.

“Hang on, hang on.” Someone complained. “I got a light.” Elsewhere in the room, another goon thumped his own flashlight against his hand, the light flickering. A steady connection was finally made, and the beam filled out. The first thing he saw when he pointed the light ahead of him, was the bloodied, snarling face of Shadowbolt. A scream, and the struggle was over.

“Hey!” One man called out, feeling his way along a row of covered boxes. He carried a shotgun, the upper and lower receivers shaking. “Anybody there?”

The two men who had been about to move Mane-iac stayed put, huddling close to her as if proximity to her offered some kind of safety. Two loud shots went off somewhere in the room, followed by a cry of pain that was cut short.

“What do we do?” one of them asked the other.

“I don’t know!” His partner said.

Mica flexed her hand, then balled it up. A thought flashed into her mind about how the spray worked, but she put it aside for the time being. Though the room was nearly pitch black, her double irises could still see far better than any of the criminal hirelings. Straining her muscles and willpower, she felt the rigidity of the chemical’s hold on her break apart.

When her body and hair broke free, the effort of having to keep herself upright despite the still-throbbing injuries sent her sprawling belly-first to the floor. The men reacted with surprise, both of them turning to stare at what they could barely see was empty space. Taking the advantage, Mica wrapped her coils around the legs of the man behind her, and yanked them out from under him. Simultaneously, she smashed her baton into the knee of the one who had grabbed onto her arms, deriving a surprisingly high-pitched cry of agony from him.

Swinging her coils, she sent the first man sailing into the body of the massive canister, the blow to the back of his head knocking him out. The second man fell to his side, clutching his folded leg. Mane-iac sprang forward on all fours to bring her nightstick across his cheek, putting a short-term end to his suffering. Her immediate problems solved, she took a few hard breaths before climbing back to her feet.

She was buckling her belt back around her waist when something in the shadows moved. It was barely above a whisper, but she heard the sound of someone stepping very lightly. It was too soft a patter to be the dense Shadowbolt, and she grit her teeth in conclusion.
“I probably should be going after Shadowbolt right now… but I really don’t like this guy.”

Without warning a burst of gunfire tore through the aisles, forcing her to dash for cover behind a low section of shelving occupied by crates she hoped were filled with things heavy and solid. The shots continued for another three seconds until the unmistakable smack of fist on flesh put an end to it.
“I don’t know how he can keep going like this, but he sure is handy in a pinch.”

A exit on the far end of the room swung open, the door clanging against the wall with a bang. Mica rushed to pursue as best she could, but when she took a few steps and reached her hand out for support, she touched the cylindrical body of the Hairspray Ray of Doom. She hesitated as an idea took shape.

Shadowbolt too was alerted by the loud escape, letting go of the guy he was holding up by the collar of his shirt, staring over to where the clamor had come from. Years of pent-up revenge welled within him, knowing he had found his quarry at long last. While he may have been incapacitated during the man’s egotistical monologue, he heard everything.

The small man ran out into the industrial yard, perspiration beginning to drench his hair, his heart ready to erupt through his sternum. He sprinted on his little legs over the dirt and patches of loose gravel, towards his car parked just at the edge of the road that ran split down the middle. It wasn’t a flashy car, or even a pretty nice car by any means. Like him it was small, remarkable only in its banal, aged red paint job, and being a sedan that should have been consigned to the junkyard two decades ago.

Dawn was rising, its fingers reaching across the yard. A cloud of exhalation trailed him like smoke from a coal-powered locomotive as he made his way. His foot slipped on a rock, and he belly-flopped into the ground. “HUFF!” Something in his chest felt wrong, and when he tried to push himself up, he found breathing had become difficult.

The crunch of gravel behind him put a whole new sinking feeling in his heart. Horace spun onto his back, and saw Shadowbolt stalking him, the glimmer of the sun reflecting off his broken goggles. A light snow had begun to descend on Maretropolis, tiny flakes of frost sticking out against the dried blood it settled on. Horace could only stare up at him in terror, a hard wheeze from his lungs increasing in pace.

“Gary Straub.” Shadowbolt said, a piece of glass falling out of the goggle’s left lens.

“Thomas Jacobs.” He took a step forward.

“Stacey Meriwether.” Shadowbolt’s expression darkened to a degree, the small man thought he might turn into an actual shadow. Then he reached down to take his target by the ankle.

“Don‘t kill him!”

Holding the Hairspray Ray of Doom in the coils of her hair, Mane-iac hugged an elbow to the left side of her torso. Instead of a an accusing finger or a challenging fist, instead she held out her hand, trying to reach out to him.

“He’ll answer for his crimes! Everyone will know what he’s done!”

Shadowbolt looked to her, then glanced to the squirming Billetino in his grasp. “Yeah… in the obituaries.”

“You said Thomas Jacobs died saving Maretropolis!” Mica said, calming her voice. “I don’t believe you when you say there’s nothing left of him in you, I don’t think a hero died that night.”

“I didn’t know if I believed the words coming out of my mouth, but there had to be something left of a good man in that suit. Otherwise, why would he be so enraged by the injustice of corruption? Of perversion? Preying on the innocent?

I’m not sure why I didn’t just freeze them both right there. Maybe I was just in the moment, maybe I wanted him to choose the right path, instead of me choosing it for him.”

Shadowbolt’s eye twitched, a frustrated snort as he processed what she had said. Part of him wanted to tear the little man apart, another part, albeit one with a lower volume, told him to stop this madness.

“Thomas died… and I… don’t know what came back.”

“I can help you Shadowbolt, help you understand what happened to you. But it starts with putting him down. If you stay on this path of violence, it’ll destroy whatever’s left of the hero inside you. And it’ll leave only a monster in its place.”
“I seemed to be getting through to him. His arm began to lower.”

“What if I am a monster?” Shadowbolt’s free hand tightened. “What if there’s nothing left to be helped?”

“I think that’s up to you. Do you want to be a man? Or do you want to be a monster?”

Billetino was hauled up, his breath sounding like a struggling asthmatic, waiting with spellbound dread for a single blow to end his life. Shadowbolt stared hard into his eyes, lips pinched, a deep-throated growl building.

With a swing of his arm, Shadowbolt tossed Horace into the door of his car. “WHAAA-GHUK!” The baby dragon smacked off the metal, falling into his face. Dislodged by the hit, the lock came apart and the door drifted open with a creak.

Shadowbolt stood in place, his head tilted down in contemplation. “Whatever I am, Mane-iac, I know I’m done spilling blood on account of that little bastard.”

Mane-iac eased the pressure on the head of the can, setting the whole thing down as a show of trust.

“You know I gotta take you off the streets now.” She told him.

“Yeah, I figured.” As he faced her, she could see the part of his eye revealed by the missing part of the lens.

“I don’t quite know how I could describe what I saw. I think it must be like what astronomers think the event horizon of a black hole must look like.”

“Whoa.”

“You think the police will know what to do with him?” Shadowbolt asked. “Maybe they have a dog cage they can keep him in.”

“I have friends on the force, plus, I’m sure the police would be more than happy to get a pair of cuffs on the notorious “baby dragon” of the Stallionato family.”

Just as Mane-iac took a step, looking to where Billetino had been crumpled, she now realized that he was pointing a pistol directly at her.

“I don’t… like that name!” Horace spat, leaning back on an elbow. A trail of blood coming from his nose, glasses bent. Right behind him, the open driver’s side door.

“He must have grabbed it while we were talking, had it tucked in beside the seat. The weapon looked like a custom job, large caliber, frame built to accommodate his small hands. Had to assume it was packed with the same armor-piercing rounds he gave his men. I don’t think my hair or my suit would stop the bullet.”

“Is your suit bulletproof?” Shadowbolt muttered to her out the side of his mouth.

“No, is yours?”

“No.”

“Billetino was nervous, I could tell by the way the muzzle wobbled, that and he was clearly suffering some kind of internal injury and the blow to the head. A steady shot is always preferable to a shaky one, easier to gauge, to counter. You get one who can’t keep his hand still, that bullet is on a hair trigger, gotta be careful not to startle-”

Shadowbolt took a sudden side step, placing his body between Mane-iac and Billetino. The shot was instantaneous, Horace recoiling like a scared cat from the movement, his finger tightening around the trigger. Before he even realized it, the bullet was already gone. It struck Shadowbolt in the upper left of his chest, throwing him into a spiraling pitch to the ground.

Billetino stared in shock at what he had done, jaw hanging slack, the gun going limp in his hand.

“In the moment, I was more bewildered than worried, and the time it took for him to go down seemed to pass in slow motion.”

“SHADOWBOLT!” Mane-iac started to kneel, but instead, she made her way to the still stunned diminutive gangster. He was transfixed, not batting an eye when she reached his side. Very carefully, she took the gun from him with as much ease as if it had been dangling from a hook, unloaded the magazine, and operated the slide to eject the next chambered round.

“I’ve never shot anybody before…” He said in his daze. “never… killed.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m not sure he can be.”

Horace Billetino blearily craned his neck to the side, gazing up to her like a frightened child.

“So what happens now?”

“Now…” Mica dropped the gun and pulled back her right arm. “I knock you out.”

He made no effort to avoid the punch, and his last conscious image was the darkened crevices of her fist.

================
TWO DAYS LATER
================

“…The first officer on the scene, Detective Steven Langoud, described what he saw.”

“It was the craziest crap I ever seen in my life! I-i-i-it was like the set of some action flick, buildings busted up, bodies all over the place. Mane-iac and Shadowbolt musta went through hell fighting all them guys.”

“I admit, part of me just couldn’t help myself.”

Sitting in the firelight of her polished den, a recovering Mica Hackett held her cup of coffee with both hands, sitting cross-legged on her couch, nestled in her fuzzy robe. She took a sip and cocked her eyes up to the television screen, where the comically befuddled Maretropolis detective played the fool in the footage shot the other night.

“It’s a good thing someone like the Mane-iac was there, otherwise things could have been a lot worse.”

“I always got a kick whenever he had to play dumb. He may not be a singer, but damn if he doesn’t deserve an award for that act of his.”

=================

In the parking garage of the Maretropolis 46th police precinct, Langoud tossed the crinkled paper bag of leftover pastries into the passenger seat of his Coltler Manehattan. Sliding into the seat with an audible degree of effort, he shut the door, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and leaned his neck back.

“Another day, another stale doughnut.”

He chanced a sidelong glance into his rearview mirror, and was surprised to see a bright purple ribbon shining in the back seat. Langoud twisted around, and found himself looking at a box for a brand-new coffee machine, an expensive looking one at that. Taped to the side, a bag of Prench Vanilla coffee, his favorite.

Steven smiled. “I knew she liked me.”

=======================================================

Mica’s phone buzzed, she picked it up in a tendril to see a new message from Gigan. ‘Wish you were here!’ the text said, accompanied by a picture of him wearing a Metallicolt shirt, and posing with the lead singer, James Hoofield. They were both giving the camera the two-fingered rock-on gesture with outstretched tongues. Mica rolled her eyes with a grin. Then another message appeared; ‘So who’s this Shadowbolt guy?’.

“Hmm, I’ll text him back later.”.

The graphic behind the news women changed, now showing the picture of Horace Billetino being escorted in handcuffs, surrounded by police.

“In related news, known criminal Horace “Baby Dragon” Billetino appeared before a judge today, pleading guilty to charges ranging from racketeering, unlawful imprisonment, weapons trafficking, and grand larceny. There are also unconfirmed reports that investigators are looking to file charges stemming from the Cornet Labs explosion four years ago.

“Luckily, the security guard that survived the explosion was perfectly willing to turn himself into the Attorney’s office. It was a simple matter of jostling his conscious.

The major families are going to be dealing with the power vacuum for months. You never see people get so ruthless and vindictive then when their divvying up the inheritance. Though I am concerned on who might emerge as the new leadership, something to keep my eye on.”

============================================
BALKHAM ASYLUM
============================================

“STEP FORWARD INMATE!”

The re-enforced door slammed behind Horace Billetino, causing him to jump from the sound. Wearing an orange jumpsuit and beige slippers, he held his bed sheets in front of him. The little man was terrified, swallowing a lump of fear as he turned to face down the hall. Shaking like a Chihuahua in November, it took the nudging of the guard behind him to get his feet moving once more.

“Welcome to the big house little man!” Another inmate called out from his cell.

“They put some toddler clothes on you?”

“You gonna need a stepstool for the showers!”

Horace continued down the hall, keeping his face straight.

“In here.” The guard said, pointing to a hallway breaking off to the left. “Single cells for inmates requiring ‘special circumstances’.”

The hall was quiet, no jeering denizens leering out from between bars, no noise. Just a row of cells along the right side.

“You’re at the end.”

His destination before him, Horace began the final march. But as he passed the first cell, he heard a voice that seemed very out of place.

“Valiant try darling, too bad it didn’t work out.”

Horace looked over to see Radiance in the cell, dressed in similar attire, giving him a coy smile as he walked.

“Ya got a lot of spunk kid.” Mistress Mare-velous complimented from the next cell.

“What was Shadowbolt like? Was he scary?” Bound by a number of restraints, Fili-Second grinned like a jester before bouncing around her cell like a rubber ball and laughing.

“Lotta brains in a such a small package, coulda used the muscle to back it up.” Saddle Ranger said, leaning against the bars.

As he passed Zapp, the woman looked at him like a cat would to a mouse. “And they call you the baby dragon huh? Well played.”

Two cells remained, and he knew who must be in the next, who would be his new neighbor.

“Looks like I underestimated you kid.” Masked Matter-Horn said, standing in the center of her cell door with a satisfied smirk. “You’re not so Humdrum after all.”

Horace entered his cell, feeling overwhelmed by the kudos of the Malice Mares. The cell door slammed shut as he stood transfixed by his new circumstances.

“Let me know if there’s anything else we can get you.”

He thought about it for a moment. “I want a cape.”

=================================================

“As for the mysterious Shadowbolt…” Mica’s attention focused hard on the broadcast, the screen taken up by a picture of a figure under a white sheet carried on a gurney. Coroner’s office personnel rushing it into the back of an ambulance.

“There is still no word on his condition, or current whereabouts.”

==============================
CLASSIFIED MEDICAL FACILITY
==============================

“Are we sure about what he remembers?”

“Can the experiment be duplicated?”

A number of men and women, scientists, occupied a darkened room. In front of them was a one-way mirror to a lighted cell.

Cables, tubes, and chains hung from the ceiling, in the center, Shadowbolt was restrained. His cell was a combination hospice and prison, nurturing him back to full health while making sure he could not escape. The chains were attached to a straightjacket, specially made of industrially durable elastic materials. A breathing mask covered his mouth, and a white band covered his eyes. He breathed in a steady rhythm, the mask providing air, the cables monitoring his vitals.

“I wonder if he remembers the time between his death and his resurrection.” A single man among them, taller, older gentleman, with the image of the cell reflecting in his glasses. He wore a plain black suit, thin tie, and stood with his hands behind his back. “Just imagine what we could learn from him.”

A door to the rear of the room opened, a new group of people entered. The first was a man in uniform, an Army Colonel, followed by a handful of soldiers. The Colonel came to stand beside the tall man, likewise peering into the room beyond.

“How soon until he can be moved?”

Inside the chamber, Shadowbolt’s head jolted.

===============================================

Mica used the remote to shut the television off, taking a deep breath as she listened to the fire. A passing winter wind rattled a window, but she didn’t mind, closing her eyes and letting her head rest on the back of the couch.

“Shadowbolt disappeared hours after I left him to the paramedics, removed from all paper trails, taken off the grid.

In the end, it turns out Shadowbolt wasn’t my enemy, and I wasn’t his. Thomas Jacobs was a man lashing out in pain and anger, trying to right a wrong, and see the guilty punished. He was a symptom of what happens in the absence of justice, when revenge is the only recourse one has left. He is what I’m ultimately trying to prevent.

I’ll find him someday. I saw the humanity that was still left in him, I believe that he can still do great things, as he once hoped to do.”

A cell phone on the table in front of her began to buzz once more, this time an alert that somewhere in Maretropolis, the wicked were not at rest. Mica downed the last of her coffee, and got off the couch. She approached the bookcase, using the tendrils of hair to pull on several books at once, triggering the secret doorway to open. She paused for a moment, struck by the dark precipice she was about to enter into as she stood in the firelight.

I know that he can find that balance, between the light of justice, and the shadow of vengeance.”

Roll end credits music!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MpFVmbV9R90

Author's Notes:

Thanks for coming back for the finale of Mane-iac: Shadow of Vengeance! I hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks once again to Tarbtano for helping me create this and keep me on track t make sure everything was kosher. He's literally the only one who can give the stamp of canon-approval.

Will there be a sequel? I don't know. Me and Tarb did throw some ideas around, but ultimately it's up to you all, so let me know if you want to see Mane-iac, Mirror!Gigan, and Shadowbolt again.