Mordillo Island, East China Sea

The Syrian superhuman known as Batal looked down on the meditating Kamau with a sneer, wondering just what could have possessed this young man to calmly sit down on the battlefield like he were on some school trip.

“What do you think you’re doing, praying?”

“After a fashion, I suppose.”

Batal observed the number of religious icons on Kamau’s necklace, and the iron chain wrapped around Kamau’s right wrist, “You might have better luck if you made a choice in your God and set down your weapons.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you going to hand over your bracelet?”

Kamau looked at it, then to Batal, “No, no I think that would defeat the point of the exercise. You may try to remove it from me by force, or find another target. The choice is yours. That is more than was given to me.”

“What do you hope to accomplish by sitting here then, boy?”

Kamau looked up at Syrian hero, “Simply hoping that fate will put me on a path of absolution.”

“The battle field the wrong place to look for redemption,” Batal pulled his fist back, “there are no clerics to be found here, boy, only warriors!”

Batal’s fist missed Kamau’s head by inches as the other man sunk into the ground like a drop of water into the ocean.

“Idiots as well…”

Batal scanned the area frantically, looking for where Kamau might have escaped to. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“…because you should have first learned why I need absolution…before you attacked. But since you insisted on this battle…”

Kamau arose from the ground behind Batal like a vampire rising from his crypt, as silent as the night. He held a diamond trench knife in each hand. Lunging forward but silent as the wind itself, Kamau slashed an ‘X’ across Batal’s back.

“I will simply demonstrate for you.”

---

Guy Smith tried to force his unresponsive muscles into action as Shiva drew closer and closer. Shiva moved with deliberate slowness, enjoying the look of fear in her prey’s eyes as she advanced. She savored looks like that almost as much as she savored the kill itself.

But before Shiva could get too close to gut her victim, she felt something connect with her stomach hard. Pitched backwards, Shiva rolled with the hit and rolled to her feet in a smooth motion.

“Would you tell me why you’re so interested in returning to prison?”

She looked up to see a woman, six feet tall, dressed in a tight, black uniform that while form fitting, wasn’t skin tight either. Her raven hair was made up in a bun, with two braids on each side of her face.

“What’s it matter to you?”

“Professional curiosity,” she answered calmly.

“You should have learned the lesson cats teach,” Shiva gripped her katars, “as in ‘curiosity killed the…!”

Shiva lunged forward, but her foe moved with impossible speed and before Shiva’s battle hardened reflexes even registered the slap, Shiva was sent sprawling backwards on her rear.

“People often forget the end of that saying, as in ‘satisfaction brought it back’.”

“What do you want?” Shiva wiped some blood from her cheek.

“My chosen codename is Persona Grata,” answered Shiva’s foe, “and I’m simply here to prevent you from making a mistake.”

Shiva scowled, and disappeared. Persona Grata didn’t waste her time looking around for where her quarry might appear. Instead, she calmly waited until she felt Shiva’s hands on her face. Persona Grata casually grabbed Shiva’s wrists and flipped her over her head and towards the ground. Like before, Shiva corrected herself in midair, but the look on her face was one of pure murder.

“I swear I will strangle you with your own intestines!”

“Unlikely for several reasons,” Persona Grata bent down and removed Orphan’s bracelet from his wrist.

“First, I don’t fear your poison touch. That gives me an advantage you’re not used to dealing with. Second, I can activate the nanites in your bloodstream at will. For the third reason…”
Persona pointed over Shiva’s shoulder. Against her better judgment, the Indian killer looked over her shoulder, and saw a mountain of a man, dressed in all black with a stock of red hair and large mustache.

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” asked the man calmly. Shiva took one look into the man’s eyes, and saw someone whose lack of apprehension for life matched her own.

“His name is Bullet, and he’s been a black ops killer before you ever held your first knife. Even if you did manage to beat me, he would pick you off without breaking a sweat,” Persona Grata tossed Shiva Orphan’s bracelet, “but if you leave now, you may get an opportunity to kill me in the future.”

Shiva snatched the bracelet out of the air and smirked, “I do prefer my kills to be more intimate. Consider it a date.”

Bullet sighed as he watched both Shiva and Orphan teleported away, leaving only him and Persona Grata remaining on the battlefield.

“I was aiming for the psycho bitch, not you,” Bullet’s tone carried hints of guilt, though his body was coiled for action.

“I know, Agent Bullet, and I don’t take offense. Now then, shall we?”

---

“Medical bay reports that they have Orphan stabilized,” Union Jack reported to Chapman.

“Good. Hate to give that bastard Magneto reason to get up in our business,” said Chapman.

“Terribly convenient that Orphan ran into a foe whose powers exploited his,” Sabra observed calmly, “who then in turn ran into someone immune to her powers.”

Chapman just shrugged, with a jackal’s grin across his face, “If Magneto wants to send me a spy, he should be more subtle about it. We had one bastard from Genosha already, that was enough for me.”

---

“…damn it,” Gauntlet wasn’t the most experienced hero in America, but he liked to think that his military training helped offset the lack of experience he had working the WMD attached to his left arm. Basic training helped him keep his cool under fire, and the special training he received when this alien gauntlet fused itself onto his arm was something he would have given his right eye for. Right now though, every instinct that the army and his life had cultivated was telling him one thing.

They screwed up. Big time.

One of the most important things about any combat situation was to know the terrain. If you happened to be at the bottom of a hill when your enemy was at the top, you were dog food.

Gauntlet, along with his impromptu partner, American Eagle, had realized that they were being shadowed about five minutes ago. Rather than fight their enemy in the thick jungle, the two of them went looking for the first clearing they could find, and found one easily.

Unfortunately, it was in actuality a cliff face, with a large pond below it. The clearing was only about thirty feet wide, not nearly enough open area to draw their pursuers out. Jumping down was out of the question, not only was Gauntlet unable to swim with the weapon on his arm, the water would slow them down enough to make them even easier pickings.

“Here they come,” American Eagle warned his friend, “one flier, followed by men on the ground. You take the flier and I’ll take ground.”

“That plan sounds as good as any,” Gauntlet began to will energy through his alien weapon.

The two didn’t have to wait long for the attack. A woman in blue and white flew overhead while a large behemoth with a fin on his back stomped through the brush.

American Eagle scowled. He was positive these two hadn’t been tracking them several minutes ago, and he hated being suckered. But he put those thoughts aside to deal with the immediate threat.

Jason took one look at his foe, eight feet tall wearing a shark skin patterned uniform with a large fin on his back, and braced himself for a fight. Even if he was stronger than this guy, his foe had a good three feet on him in height plus considerable bulk.

“You look stressed,” commented his foe, “a good fight will calm you down.”

“Yeah, somehow I can’t see that helping,” American Eagle stepped forward and landed a good, solid punch on his foe’s solar plexus. Though he placed a good portion of his muscle behind the blow, his enemy barely budged.

“Good one! This’ll make a great fight.”

---

Several yards away, Amy Chen, Douglas Powell and Crippler, elite members of Silver Sable’s world respected Wild Pack, chuckled under their breath a little as they watched Gauntlet and American Eagle’s plight.

“Bet them two thought they had someone else tailin’ them!” Powell slapped his knee, howling in laughter, “the looks on their faces…!”

“Glad you found my plan amusing,” Amy Chen said evenly, “but this isn’t over. We need to insure that Lightbright and Fin bring the two down. Our bonuses depend upon it.”

“We got the gas grenades prepped and some extra firepower,” Crippler held up a small bag that carried a half dozen exotic weapons, “we’re good to go, if our muscle cops out.”

Suddenly, Chen felt a tingle down her spine, battle honed instincts telling her that something was amiss.

Crippler felt it too, ironically only seconds before steel toed boots crashed into his backside and sent him sprawling to the ground.

“That Chapman fella ain’t say a thing about blocking the signal,” Commando stood before the three highly paid mercenaries, a cigar clenched between his teeth. Though the man had entered the jungle with more firepower, he didn’t have a weapon drawn on any of them. Whether that was because he didn’t see guns as non lethal weapons or because he wanted to get his hands dirty was anyone’s guess.

All they knew, was that Commando, who had a file filled with dozens of compelling reasons why he shouldn’t be engaged in close combat, was less than eight feet away and grinning like a madman.

“Ah hell,” Powell’s hand went to his customized .44 magnum. Commando was only three yards away, but by the time Powell had his gun out Commando had crossed the distance between them. The brightly colored soldier grabbed Powell’s gun out of his hand and smacked him across the face with it twice, more than enough to knock him senseless, but not unconscious.

Commando grabbed the man in a head lock, just as Crippler recovered and lunged at him. Commando lashed out with a kick that connected with just below Crippler’s ribs, while at the same he pummeled Powell’s face with his free hand.

Dropping his unconscious foe, Commando then swung his right fist backwards. His fist connected with Amy Chen’s crossed arms, as she tried to deflect the blow, but Commando’s haymaker was still more than enough to stun her even through the block.

Chen staggered just enough for Commando to grab her collar. He swung her one hundred and eight degrees into Crippler, the back of her skull colliding with his face and knocked out like a light.

“This barely qualifies as foreplay,” Crippler wiped the blood from his face and pushed his unconscious teammate aside, “that all you got?”

“Come find out, cupcake.”

Crippler stomped forward, ducked under an elbow…only for his jaw to collide into a devastating uppercut that fractured his jaw and was more than enough to surpass even his pain threshold.

---

American Eagle connected with another solid hit to his foe’s stomach, but to his dismay saw Fin barely grunt in discomfort. It seemed that no matter how many blows Eagle landed, Fin could take them and more. His massive, incredible bulk wasn’t just for show.

American Eagle scuffled back, just out of arms length and desperate for a plan. Though he was hardly a small man, his foe The Fin was only one size smaller than the Hulk and felt only two sizes weaker.

“You’re a good fighter,” Fin remarked casually. The large man was a brawler by nature, and didn’t even seem offended by Eagle’s hits. Jason really didn’t know what to make of that.

American Eagle accessed his foe again. The lack of malice in Fin meant it would be hard, if not impossible to goad him into making mistakes, and the man’s size and muscles…

A light suddenly went off in American Eagle’s head. With a cocky grinned on his face, the hero charged forward right at his enemy, and at the last moment slid to the ground and slipped between Fin’s giant legs.

Fin barely had any time to register that American Eagle was behind him before the hero leapt up and wrapped his arms around Fin’s neck, and then began to squeeze.

The Fin was easily bigger and stronger than American Eagle. But unlike American Eagle, the Fin’s giant body lacked the range of motion most people took for granted. With arms as thick as tree trunks, literally, The Fin simply couldn’t reach his back to pluck American Eagle off. The giant was lucky if he could even touch his own elbows!

Fin slammed his back into the nearest tree, but American Eagle’s skin was as tough as steel. He weathered the crash of wood against his body without complaint, his grip around Fin’s throat never wavering. Eagle began to smile as Fin fell to one knee, his powerful body obviously unable to sustain itself long without oxygen.

---

Gauntlet, however, didn’t share his partner’s luck. His enemy, Lightbright, besides being gifted with flight (and the dumbest name Gauntlet could think of) could shoot energy beams out of both her hands and eyes. Combined, Joe couldn’t think of better powers for strafing an enemy while keeping out of reach.

Gauntlet’s weapon hardly lacked for range, but compared to Lightbright’s speed, Gauntlet’s energy hand was next to useless.

Lightbright flew through the air with more grace than a bird, releasing bursts of energy that came within several feet. The earth near Joe’s feet exploded, throwing up grass and dirt and making it even harder for the army hero to fight back.

“Yo, hand job!”

Gauntlet squinted through the debris, and saw Commando, only several yards brandishing his modified M4 carbine. Gauntlet swallowed hard, knowing that he didn’t have anywhere near the experience needed to take out both his foes.

Well, I tried my damndest, he shrugged to himself.

“Catch her! Gonna graze her skull!”

Commando took aim at Lightbright, and Gauntlet found himself too stunned to move for a split second. This entire exercise was supposed to be non lethal, and no matter how good this Commando thought he was, simply grazing the skull of someone who was a hundred feat in the air and in constant motion was next to impossible. The variables were just too many, from Lightbright’s momentum, to wind resistance and experienced snipers only knew what else.

But in the time it took Gauntlet to form a verbal objection to Commando’s plan of action, the man had already taken his shot.

Gauntlet watched in horror as Lightbright’s head jerked back, and she fell from the sky like a stone. A trained soldier, his instincts took over immediately, creating a giant energy hand that caught the mercenary before she fell too far.

Gauntlet gently lowered her to the ground and, to his relief, only saw a gash on the woman’s head. To Gauntlet’s complete shock, Commando’s shot had been perfectly, merely grazing the African mutant enough to knock her without killing her.

“…crazy bastard,” muttered Gauntlet.

“Hey, cue ball! How about you return the favor?”

Gauntlet turned his head to see Commando taking fire, pinned behind a fallen tree that was being chewed by a duel laser guns, wielded by the Arab heroine, Firearm.

“Get involved and I put you down next!” Firearm yelled at Gauntlet.

Commando popped up and squeezed off several shots at his enemy. They were perfectly aimed at her mid section (survivable with medical care), but seemed to bounce off an invisible barrier.

Firearm did nothing but smirk. Unlike American superhumans who seemed to love declaring their abilities to their enemies, she felt no need to inform the man that she possessed an additional power of slowing time. And by using that power on the air surrounding her, she could create an impregnable force field.

Gauntlet observed the bullets bouncing off Firearm’s shield, and rather than waste time testing its strength, he had another idea. Gauntlet sent his hard energy into the earth, and in his mind’s eye, began to direct it through the dirt. When he estimated that it was directly below Firearm, Gauntlet winked at her, and willed his energy skyward.

A column of light seemed to consume Firearm for a moment, but the energy dissipated to reveal a smoking, but still alive, unconscious Janissary.

“Nice shootin’,” Commando stood up and strolled over to his fellow soldier, “guess that makes us about even.”

Gauntlet examined Commando for a second, looking for something, anything, that might justify acting on his clan destine orders to eliminate the other man from competition. Unfortunately, nothing was forth coming.

“Everything alright?” asked American Eagle as he stepped through the brush, stealing a glance at Commando and then looking back to Gauntlet.

Gauntlet paused for a second, and then said, “Yeah, we cool here. We all got bracelets, now all that’s left to do is wait.”

---

Sabra watched as Kamau slashed Batal across the chest for the second time, and smiled to herself. The cut wasn’t deep, but it was more than enough to draw blood.

“Hmm, I think I may have to request a copy of this for myself,” Sabra commented as she watched the two superhumans duke it out.

“Don’t get too blood thirty,” Union Jack warned.

“If you knew the operations Batal has been a part of, you would be cheering alongside me,” retorted Sabra, “I am curious though. The records state that Kamau is a geomorph. Why doesn’t he simply change shape, like Sandman or Quicksand?”

“He can’t,” Chapman answered, “our boy here can’t change his shape. He’s like Iceman used to be, is the closest example I can think of. He absorb rock and silica into his body to make his skin rock hard, control it, but can’t change his shape with it.”

“Then how’d he dodge that punch?”

“Apparently, he can move through rock like water,” Chapman replied, “now, do you mind? We’re supposed to be evaluating this bloke.”

“Had we been given the same files as the mercenaries, we wouldn’t need to ask these questions,” Sabra countered.

“I wanted an objective analysis. Now be quiet and analyze!”

---

Batal, gifted with steel hard skin and super strength, gritted his teeth as a diamond blade slashed his skin, drawing a thin line of blood. Ever since the Syrian government had enhanced him and made him their national hero, Batal had rarely known fear or pain. But now as he fought Kamau, Batal was relearning them both, with interest.

His foe moved with speed, strength and precision. Kamau cartwheeled at his enemy, the heel of his left heel smashing across the Syrian’s mouth. As he landed, the African Warrior used his momentum and swung his right hand, armed with a diamond blade, slashing across Batal’s chest.

Batal gritted his teeth, as his mind attempted to tell his panicking heart that the cut wasn’t nearly as bad as it felt. The slice was by no means a paper cut, but at the same time, Kamau didn’t have enough strength to drive his blades in deep enough.

Batal shunted the pain to the back of his mind and lunged forward to tackle his enemy, but as he came forward, Kamau swung his right below into Batal’s jaw. The Syrian stumbled backwards until his back was lined against a stone boulder…that definitely hadn’t been there ten minutes before.

Batal looked over his shoulder as a matter of reflex and when he turned his head back around, he just barely saw Kamau’s foot before it slammed into his face and sent his head bouncing back against the rock. His vision swimming, Batal never had a chance to block the follow up blow to his stomach.

Batal pitched forward, barely able to keep the contents of his stomach secured. Kamau grabbed him by the shoulder and hair, and swung him around, face first into the wall of stone. Batal’s head went neck deep into the stone…and his body went limp.

Kamau took a step back, his heart pounding and a blanket of sweat dripped off his body, but barely any of it was from exhaustion.

“Come out!” Kamau roared, “I know you’re out there!”

Battlestar, former partner of U.S. Agent and the cyborg Coldblood 7 stepped into the clearing, both with weapons in hand and bodies primed for battle.

Kamau looked from one to the other, held his hands up, and concentrated. Coldblood 7 sank six inches into the ground and then sped backwards as if he were on an escalator.

With one combatant dealt with, at least for the moment, Kamau turned his attention towards Battlestar.

Kamau focused his mind, and began to slide towards Battlestar as if the ground were made of ice. He lashed out with his right, and willed the chain around it to unravel and shoot towards the Patriotic hero like a bullet.

Battlestar brought his shield up to block the chain, which ricocheted off the shield and fell to the ground. Battlestar rushed forward to meet Kamau’s charge, stepping over the chain with his shield and fists at the ready.

Battlestar was only seconds away from his foe when the chain came alive and swept towards him from the back. Battlestar stumbled backwards as the chain struck the back of his knees like a log. Battlestar fell backwards just as Kamau’s foot collided with his chin. Propelled by Kamau’s foot, the back of Battlestar’s skull collided with the ground hard and he instantly blacked out.

Kamau spun around just in time to take a left cross across the jaw from Coldblood 7. The cyborg, to his credit, moved faster than any man and had more than enough strength to make Kamau see stars.

But unfortunately for the cyborg, the African Warrior’s instincts were forged in the fires of a hundred battles. Even as his brain was still registering the pain in his jaw, his right arm, with chain connected, was swinging down upon Coldblood. The chain fell across Coldblood’s shoulders, and Kamau snatched the other side with his free hand.

Kamau pulled down on the chain while leaping forward, both of his knees crashing into Coldblood’s steel chest with enough force to demolish a car. As soon as his feet touched the earth again, Kamau swung his entire weight forward and elbowed Coldblood in the face, denting the high density steel that protected his skull and knocked the cyborg off line.

Kamau took a moment to catch his breath, and then asked, “Are you looking for the honor of single combat, or a coward?”

Thomas Fireheart, known and feared by the name Puma, crooked his head to the side.

“Neither, actually. Unlike my associates, I rely upon speed and agility, and something that’s hampered in a group,” Puma held his claws out for Kamau to see, “I should warn you, my claws are stronger than they look. And I promise you that you are not quick enough to catch me with your knives.”

“That may be,” Puma watched as a sword made of glass seemed to grow in Kamau’s right hand, connected to the chain that covered his wrist. He pointed the sword at Puma with an air of calm confidence, “luckily, this sword is stronger than it appears and has far greater distance than your claws. Lets finish this business.”

Kamau used his powers to give the ground beneath him the texture of ice, and sped forward. Puma, not to be outdone, ran towards his enemy. Seconds away from collision, Kamau swung his swords at his foe’s stomach, hoping to drive him backwards.

Unfortunately, Puma effortless cart-wheeled over the glass blade and the claws on his foot slashed across Kamau’s, his concentration broken, snapped to a sudden stop.

Puma landed in a crouch, and lunged at Kamau again, this time raking his claws against Kamau’s back. The African Warrior cried out in pain, swung his sword at Puma, who ducked and slashed him again for his troubles.

Pain wracking his entire body and unable to hit his target, Kamau leapt forward to the ground, and sank as if it were water.

Puma froze where he stood. He’d seen this trick once already, when his opponent had dealt with Batal. So rather than waste time looking for someone he’d never find, Puma instead listened to all his enhanced senses.

Kamau breached the earth with the force of a rocket, his sword aimed at Puma’s chest. Thomas Fireheart flipped backwards only seconds before his foe breached the earth. Landing on his feet, Puma held his claws out defensively and looked towards Kamau with worry.

“We need to get you to a doctor immediately! The dirt in your wounds…”

“Means nothing to me,” Kamau concentrated, and grunted in pain. Puma watched in amazement as the warrior absorbed the thick cover of dirt that covered him. Slowly, the wounds Puma had inflicted closed as the dirty that covered Kamau slowly disappeared. After several seconds, the wounds were closed, and Kamau was breathing hard, sweat dripping off his chin, “but everything to you.”

“Impressive,” Puma commented, “but hard work, from what I hear. And now I know how to defeat you without worrying about scarring you for life.”

Kamau said nothing. He simply held his arms at his side, and willed the rocks to him. They came to him like metal to a magnet and before Puma realized what had happened, Kamau’s arms were covered in rocks of all different shapes and sizes, rocks that seemed to meld into one another like wax in a lava lamp.

Puma watched in a mixture of fear and awe before he realized that he needed to attack, regain the initiative, if he wanted to win this thing. And The Puma was no quitter.

Kamau, however, had no intention of being on the defensive any longer. He raised his left hand, and willed blades of rock and stone to shoot forward with the force of bullets. Puma dodged to the left…and ran into a fist of rock that hit his chest with the force of a cannonball. Puma barely had time to gasp before darkness took him.

Kamau breathed a sigh of relief…and then took a single step to his left, just barely avoiding Batal’s angry lunge.

“I won’t be defeated by trash again!” Batal snarled as he spun around, fists clenched.

Batal charged at Kamau like a bloodthirsty bull and once again Kamau side stepped easily. But before Batal could spin around again, Kamau flung his chain over Batal’s shoulders and began twisting.

“You should have stayed down!” Kamau hissed as he stightened the chain around Batal’s throat. To his horror, the Syrian found that the earth beneath his feet had turned into quicksand, “this was only meant as a mock battle, but since you wanted real combat, have a taste!”

Batal gagged and clawed at the chain, struggling for breath. But the metal was stronger than it appeared, as was Kamau. Batal felt a chill run down his spine, as he realized that the first time they fought, Kamau held back.

“That is enough,” Kamau heard the click of a hammer, and saw Silver Sable standing ten feet away, pistol raised and aimed directly at his head, “you’ve already won. Let him go and leave.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Don’t think I’m fool enough to aim a weapon that wouldn’t be effective against you,” Silver Sable warned, “stand down now. Or stay and fight, if you were lying about desiring absolution.”

Kamau could barely hear Silver Sable over the pounding of his heart, but he could still hear enough. He released Batal, and without a word gathered up the bracelets of his foes.

Silver Sable watched him the entire time, and breathed a sigh of relief when the mutant melted into the ground.

Silver Sable holster her weapon, and surveyed the battle field littered with superhumans. The power and skill it took to accomplish this impressed her on a professional level, but concerned her as well. Skill and sanity didn’t always go hand in hand and God help anyone who had to reign that man in if he went too far.

“I hope Chapman knows what he’s doing.”

---

“You do know what you’re doing, right Chapman?” Sabra asked, having just finished watching Kamau’s battle.

“The bloke won, didn’t he?”

“An’ he nearly killed Batal,” Union Jack retorted, “he had a mad look on his face too. I’ve seen that look before, and never on someone I’d turn my back on.”

“I don’t think you’re…”

“That entire fight, only once did he use his powers instead of his fists,” snapped Union Jack, “he wanted to take them down with his fists. No other thought ever occurred to him.”

“Kamau had a rough upbringing,” Chapman defended, “but he’s not a lost cause. Silver Sable brought him back from the edge with just a few choice words. Does that say Sabretooth to you?”

“I’ll concede the point for now,” said Sabra, “still, I have to wonder why your criteria for possible members was limited to two different spectrums, heroes or sociopaths. Heroes I naturally understand, and I know our options were limited. But shouldn’t we have considered perhaps mercenaries or vigilantes? On an operational level, people like Kamau, Guishen and Shiva make me nervous.”

“We hire mercenaries, we’re just waiting for the day until they get a higher bid,” Chapman explained, “as for vigilantes…well, I just don’t care for their tendency to defy authority combined with their willingness to sacrifice themselves. I know I’m playing with fire here, but at least we know where we stand with the wackjobs.”

“On the edge of a cliff?” offered Union Jack.

“Perhaps,” Chapman conceded, “but you know it, they know it and the situation can only improve from there. Now, who’s left?”

“Nearly everyone else has been eliminated or finished the exercise. I think Persona Grata is the only one left.”

Union Jack rubbed the back of his next, concerned about the safety of his friend. She had only been on a few field operations before and he honestly didn’t know if she was built for an exercise like this.

---

Persona Grata tilted her head slightly, just narrowly dodging the cinder block sized fist that was aimed at her head. With a step to her right, she avoided the second punch and then effortlessly leaped over Bullet as he tried to bum rush her.

“So tell me Bullet, how is Lance?” asked Persona.

“So-so,” Bullet sighed as he turned around, “that specialist you referred me to did some good work, but he couldn’t fix ‘em.”

“I’m sorry,” Persona said sincerely, “I’m curious, do the other nations participating in this know that a black ops United States agent is evaluating their heroes?”

“Well honestly, they actually don’t care,” Bullet hefted a fallen tree trunk with both hands, “I ain’t the only one here, see? Not a soul here’s got a secret that everyone don’t already know about. Well, except maybe that Shiva wackjob.”

Bullet swung the tree trunk at Persona Grata, who leaned back to avoid it easily.

“And could you at least insult me some, or push my buttons? I feel bad enough about this as is,” Bullet remarked, “feel like I’m beating up on a school teacher.”

Persona Grata smiled…and then seemed to disappear.

“Oh damn, I did ask for it, didn’t I?” Bullet groused, a second or two before he felt the first punch across the face. Bullet, unable to see his target, brought his wrists up and defended his face against the onslaught. The blows came from everywhere, and the best Bullet could do in a situation like this was protect his head and try to pick up on the patterns of blows.

To his surprise though, Bullet felt the barrage suddenly stop. Persona Grata reappeared, balanced on a tree branch about ten feet up and three yards away.

For a moment, Bullet wondered what made her stop. She might have addressed him respectfully, but he knew she didn’t regard his profession with too much respect. Then he looked at his wrist.

“Oh yeah.”

His bracelet, the one he was supposed to keep away from the ‘enemy’ was gone, and he saw it dangling from Persona’s wrist.

“Not my color, but given the circumstances, I think it looks good on me. I’ll see you later, Agent Bullet. Give my best to your son, please.”

Persona Grata then disappeared. Bullet shrugged and began to stroll to the extraction point. He wasn’t a man who liked losing, but losing to Persona Grata was an easy pill to swallow, considering both her polite demeanor and abilities. It felt more like losing a hand of poker than losing an actual fight.

---

American Eagle paced the temporary compound, trying process the day’s events. Up until now, Jason hadn’t really thought about really joining Excalibur. But up until now, that possibility seemed a distance away, not worth reflecting on.

But now that he was one of the final candidates, Jason Strongbow found he couldn’t ignore the idea anymore. On the one hand, the idea of saving people the world over had a very nice, romantic appeal to it. American Eagle wasn’t in this business for the glory, what little there was, but that was just a nice bonus as far as he was concerned.

But he wasn’t sure if he liked his would be teammates. Gauntlet and Persona Grata were fine people, but the remaining super humans (he refused to call any of them heroes) made him edgy.

American Eagle had barely decided to sleep on the matter, when he heard a slight –hum-.

In addition to steel hard skin and super strength, American Eagle was gifted with enhanced senses. Though they were by no means as powerful enough to say, track someone by scent, they were enough to let him see, smell and hear what most never could.

American Eagle turned his head in the direction he’d heard the noise…and saw a man in a yellow uniform that vaguely resembled that of a Bee-keeper and carrying a pistol that looked as if it were stolen from the set of Start Trek.

“A.I.M!” American Eagle instinctively reached for the crossbow he used. Armed with vibranium arrows, it was a deadly weapon.

And unfortunately, he’d left it in the barracks. His split second confusion and hesitation gave his enemy enough to fire his weapon. American Eagle flew backwards, and roared in pain as energy seemed to lance through every cell in his body.

“We’re not A.I.M!” The man declared angrily, “We are RAID! Radical Advanced Ideas in Destruction! And you and your friends, are ours now!”

To be concluded…

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Next Issue: Our heroes and sociopaths are captured by RAID! It’s a battle for survival, but not everything is as it appears…

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This arc’s been pretty popular with Anthony Crute, writer of our excellent Dr. Samson series. I forgot to add his letter in the last issue, so I got two of them ready to go!

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>This title made me smile :) (see)

*pulls out mission accomplished banner*

>What a great issue of this mostly new, all exciting Excalibur team.

Revamps are always fun, I think

>I'll admit when I first came to the site before I even read any issues I thought about putting in a pitch to be the next writer on this title and you did here what I had in mind.

I steal dreams. It’s a skill

>I love issues where were introduced to so many interesting and new characters and then watching them grow (so looking forward to the training).

As you can see from this issue, no all of them stuck around, but the ones who do…oh boy!

>The new characters all seem really interesting and it's great to see American Eagle and you taking Ellis characterization and running with it.

Hey, if it’s not broken…

>There are a lot of Antiheroes on the title yes? Interesting is this a shape of things to come? Less Spandex and more Authority like?

We’re heading somewhere between Ultimates and spandex, a nice middle road.

>You know the one thing which would have made this even better? The thing I had in my head should I pitch when the team is suprised by the newest member forced on them from the member state (and one of the big six thus having special powers) Greece: Everyone's favorite (definitely mine) Avenger HERCULES!

Herc would be cool, but we have one Greek powerhouse already ;)

>Looking forward to the next issue.

Here’s Crute again!

>Hi

>I'm here to give you some more feedback.

Sweet!

>I think in the last two issues you've taken Excalibur to one of my favourite series.

Go me!

>Once I get to know the characters a little more so I know what the hell is going on with each of them then I'm sure I'm going to like it even more.

Hope so!

>This is an 'inventive' way to get a team together, try outs in such a way, I wonder how legal it is?

It’s as legal as Chapman says it is ;). The heroes had their permission slips signed and everything!

>Junta's fight was great.

It was fun to write. Brains vs. more brains!

>The thing I'm liking is that already there are other things going on. Most (probably me too) would just have a straight forward recruitment and then launch into missions and build the stories but already out of nowhere with almost nothing known about them we've got assasination attempts and the like.

Thanks. I wanted to do a traditional recruitment arc, but with a swerve I think it worked!

>All you need now is some vampires for Joey to kill :)

In due time, trust me ;)

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