It is a hot blistering day in late August. Some people find comfort in their own homes in front of a huge fan, while still others are gutsy enough to relax in a public place. This ex-football star is one of the latter resting in a bar somewhere in midtown Manhattan.

Recently, he betrayed his friends and was therefore abandoned. He pathetically copes with this loss in the form of alcoholic beverages.

“I’ll have another round o’ Martinis, Bobster,” sputters the drunk.

The bartender of course replies, “Sure, man. But mind me asking, what happened, Jack-o? I mean, you were famous. You made millions of dollars yearly in your football career. An’ then, pphhttt. It was gone. What has become of you?”

“None of your freakin’ business, jerkhole!”

Suddenly, a newscast flashed on the TV directly above him, catches his attention and inquisitive curiosity. He views a man sorting some papers, while behind in a newsreel of this man’s former friends, the first paranormal detective agency, fighting some terrorists in La Guardia Airport.

Clearing his throat, the reporter finally speaks, “This is a special report. It has just been known that a group of paranormal mystics have made themselves public. They are called the New Hex Squad and they want the National Security Council’s blood.”

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. October 15, 1991. At a local CIA office building, a meeting is being progressed. All of the board members are trained killers. They are the best at what they do. But what they do best isn’t very nice. The speaker is Edmund Harrison. And the topic is paranormals.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your complete and undivided attention. The topic of today’s discussion is the uprising of a new breed of paranormals. I think this so-called “uprising” started about two months ago with the PENTAGRAM EFFECT! This was an unforntunate cosmic catastrophe that bombarded the planet with unknown energies which mutated some people. A few of these ‘ mystics’ developed their powers almost immediately but still others will not mutate for a couple of months or at least a year. We recently changed the format of the Central Intelligence Agency so that we have ourselves a paranormal recruitment program. So far we have five superhuman agents. Some of them were, at first, resistant to the program but now fully realize that the world outside their windows has greatly changed and there is nothing that we can do to reverse this effect.”

“I strongly disagree, Mr. Harrison,” exclaims another board member, Joseph Bennett. “I do not think that these ‘mystics’ are a threat to our society. If we just leave them alone, I think that the problem will disappear.”

“What?!? How can you say that, Mr. Bennett?”

But before Joseph Bennett can make an appropriate reply, a coming  night guard enters the meeting room with dire news.

“These two women—Spitfire and Glitter—are the most important members of the paranormal sect. They hold the core of the group. If we can possess them, our natural power would increase a thousandfold. And I think our best recourse is to capture them.”

“I disagree, sir. Well, I think we should talk to these people instead of hunting them down. Capturing would only make them more hostile.”

Mark Hazard, the mercenary called the Merc, was called into Former President Voigt’s Oval Office for a very important mission. He hadn’t known what this meeting was all about he was going to find out. Mark slung his rifle over his shoulder, the bandolier around his chest, and saluted the President.

“At ease, soldier,’ President Voigt said. “Want some jellybeans, before I give you your mission?”

“No, thank you. Too many calories. Y’know, I’m watching my weight. Like to keep in shape. That’s why I work out every day. But what is this mission you called me in for?’ Mark Hazzard said this all in one breath.

“It has come to my attention through Vice President George Bush that the White Event was caused by someone called the Old Man who has gained a power called the Star Brand, a tattoo that gives its wearer unlimited power. Now, he has transferred that power to an auto mechanic named Ken Connell. He is going to cause the Black Event, which should destroy Pittsburgh. I need that man dead. Do you hear me, dead?!”

“I read you loud and clear. Over and out.”

Travis Juarez’s Journal: In my ranch house in Strausberg, just outside of Bartonsville, Pennsylvania, we did our homework. My lab partner was Jessica Weiner, a freshman at our school. I was a junior. The only reason that we were in the same Lab Biology class is that she is a genius and I was left back. Usually, only sophomores are in Lab Bio, so we both kind of don’t belong here.

Our project was to dissect a normal frog and label each of its organs. I hated Biology in general, and she was grossed out by dissecting frogs. I decided to call up my remaining courage and make the first incision.

“Okay, Jessica,” I said to her, softly. “Here goes nothin’.”

She bent down, looking over my shoulder, as I thrust the knife into the frog’s belly. I then opened the belly and she cringed when she saw the various organs within.

“Oh My God! Just gross me out, okay?” was her reply. She was smart, but she was also a valley girl.

As she continued to cringe and complain, I used the knife to let loose the frog’s lungs. Unfortunately, what came out, instead, was a flying gob of blood. It seemed to soar in the air until it splattered all over her face. The cringing, then, just began.

Panicking, I grabbed a towel and rubbed it all over her smooth face. In seconds, it was off and as I looked below, I saw a bit of it was all over her shirt.

“Don’t worry about the stain, though,” I told her. “You can go to my room and use one of my shirts. It’s down the hall to the left.”

As she walked away, I admired her with a passion that I didn’t think I had. It was, like the cliché, love at first sight.

Minutes later she returned, wearing one of my t-shirts. It had the rock group, Skid Row, on it and she looked absolutely beautiful in it. I was speechless.

The rest of the project went well. There were no more foul ups.

The next day at school, we handed in our project. We expect an ‘A’. We deserved it. After Geometry, right after Bio, I was walking down the hall. I was musing about what I was going to do this weekend. I planned to go to a comic book convention in New York, the Big Apple.

My musings were cut short as a soft voice filled my ears; “Hello, Travis.”

I turned around and saw her. Emily Director. A freshman who had some kind of weird crush on me. I wasn’t in the least interested in her.

I waved, said “Hello” back and walked away. Unfortunately, I wasn’t looking where I was going, so I naturally bumped into someone. This ‘someone’ wsa the school bully, Butch Thompson. He was six-foot-two and all muscle. I looked up at him and he smiled at me.

‘How dare you bump into the same space as me, dork??” he asked, slamming his arms on my shoulders. “Do you know what that means?”

I gulped for air, started to shake and backed off.

“I’m sorry, Travis, but that means that you will have to be hurt. Badly!”

I gulped again and closed my eyes, as he punched me in the mouth. I immediately fell down and I clutched my lip. It was bleeding profusely and I was mad. I wanted to really hurt him with my red prism ring, but I hadn’t the time nor the strength. If only I was strong and tough enough.

Emily, watching the whole thing, rushed to my side, clutching my body, like I was a baby.

She looked up and peered right into Butch’s eyes.

“Who do you think you are,” she yelled at him, standing up,” to pick on someone, smaller than you?!?”

“Emily, don’t—“ I protested.

“I get them, while I can, babe.”

“I am not your ‘babe’, Butch.”

“Prove it.”

Mad as can be, Emily hurled a sloppy punch, but Butch blocked it with comparative ease. Then, he raised his leg in the air and slammed it against her right knee, which was bent at the time.

As I heard the bones in her knee crack like fingernails scraping against a blackboard, my heart and stomach jumped. I felt nausea and then, it got worse.

I started to sweat, as I heard her scream that soon followed the cracking of her knee.

But before I could even jump to an attack, reveal my powers as Red Prism, Jonathan Cain crashed through the school window, scooped me up, and flew away. As I soared in the air towards the Clinic, all I could see was the Principal carting Butch to his office and Emily to the nurse.

“You know that you just blew my secret identity to smithereens,” I said to Cain.‘No time squabbling. We have a meeting to attend to.”

Manhattan, the next day. Dave Landers is spending a lazy day with his sweetheart/ girlfriend Stephanie Harrington. They are in the middle of enjoying a good, long, lingering kiss. As they neck to their heart’s content, Stephanie’s natural glitter energy surrounds her and him with golden energies, making it more glorious a sight to behold.

Suddenly, Jack Magniconte crashed through the front door, separating the two lovebirds as they were kissing. David wanted to know what Jack wanted with them and why he entered so suddenly, and if Kickers would be footing the bill.

Jack, with panic in his eyes and on the expression in his face, said, “Rodstvow has just assembled a new Hex Squad. This time instead of being paranormals, they are of magical origin. We shall be on our guard.”

“Oh, no, I better warn the others and I also better tell Judge Justice,” Dave Landers responded sternly.

This could be the beginning of a new chapter in their lives.