Bone Squad: Older

[Blackbat]

Well, hopefully this will be the last transfer of this RP we EVER have to do. Seeing as how Charon did the last big move, it's now my turn.

Posts in Orange-red originally posted by Charon.
Posts in purple originally posted by Psylex/Mahaf.
Posts in blue originally posted by Icelander/BlackBat.
Posts in green originally posted by Joeschmoe/Joe.
Posts in red originally posted by MikeKAY/Makis.
Posts in orange orginally posted by Sable Phoenix.
Posts in light blue originally posted by Xanatos.
Posts in teal orginally posted by Omen.
Posts in Gray originally posted by TheImperial/Carbine.
Posts in brown originally posted by TroubleWolf.
Posts in dark blue originally posted by ArcLight.

Enjoy!

[Blackbat]

BoneSquad: Older

Paragon City, 2024.


“Patrick?” Said a voice, on the other side of the door. The fist smashed against it a few more times, as the voice from outside in the hallway repeated itself. There was then a thud of a foot on the wood. And another; the door smashed open and hung from it’s hinges. The door to the King’s Row apartment crashed open, and the moonlight from outside shone into the doorway. A soft beeping could be heard from the main room of the apartment, as the rough, unshaven man made his way across the main living area, trying to find the source of the noise. He fumbled for the light switch in the dark, but found none. He followed the noise to one side of the apartment, and on the floor, found a telephone. He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear, but all he heard was the manic beeping of a disconnected line on the other end. He put it down, and fumbled around the apartment further. There were signs of a struggle, and the whole room was a mess. He searched over the main rooms, trying to remember what door led to what room; he hadn’t seen Patrick in so long. He hadn’t been expecting the frantic call. He threw open the first door in front of him.

“Patrick!?” the voice called out again, searching the room he had just opened. It was empty, he could see clearly in here, the window shining just enough light for him to search. He stumbled back into the main apartment and almost fell to the floor; he was getting too old for this sort of thing. He scanned the wall for a light switch again, but once more came up short. He swung open the second door, and looked around, again, nothing; a whole room of general junk. On one side of the room, he saw a box with a uniform folded up on top of it, and gauntlets swung carelessly on in the corner, a rusting jet pack propped up against the wall. He didn’t have time for nostalgia. He swung the door shut, and moved on to the next room. When he opened it, all his senses were washed over with the foul feeling of death, the smell, and the taste. He could see nothing; the whole room was in total darkness. He fumbled on the wall, and this time came up with a light switch. He flicked it on.

Third time lucky. The room was completely trashed, there had definitely been a struggle, bullet holes riddled the walls, and blood had been sprayed up one of them. Amongst it all, there, lying slumped in the corner was Patrick Solomon. Otherwise known, as Ice Claw, former member of the team of vigilantes only known to Paragon City as the Bone Squad, in a pool of thick red blood, head slumped on his chest. Robert Black, or Charon as he was more widely known, stood in the door way and surveyed the dead body of one of the only men he had ever met who he could truthfully call his friend. He sighed, and looked around the room once more. He didn’t seem to be able to show the emotion he felt…but that didn’t matter. His eye had caught the wall behind the dead body of Patrick Solomon. Written above him, in large, jagged, black letters, scrawled across the wall, was “FRACTURE.”

[Blackbat]

Charon had decided that who or whatever "Fracture" was had just signed his own death warrant. He had thought about going after the mysterious killer alone, but then thought better of it. He knew that if he had caught Patrick by surprise, chances are that's what Fracture planned to do to Charon, and even worse, the whole team, as well. He finally decided that he would round up the whole team, more to make sure they were still kicking than to ask for their help.

Charon made his way towards the front gate of the institution. He didn't know how his telepathic friend had managed to get himself in here, nor did he care. He leapt the tall fence and landed on the other side of the gate. He looked around at the minimum security institution. There weren't many guards at the institution- with all the problems Paragon City has the last thing it should be worried about is a bunch of civilian loonies. Charon kicked open the door, and walked inside. He looked around. He was standing in the lobby. He looked towards the front desk. Lying there, asleep, was one of the few guards working the shift. Charon walked over and put the guard in a headlock, passing him out. Charon then proceeded to search the filing cabinet. He searched until he found a file with the name Robert Gruden on it- Psylex commonly used this name when he wasn't dealing with hero things. He search the file for Psylex's room number. Before he could find it a loud explosion rocked the building. It knocked Charon to the ground, and as he got up he heard a familiar voice. It was 5th Column. Evidently they had gotten word on the street that Psylex had been put into this institution. Psylex had always taken an interest in the 5th Column, and had stopped them in their crimes on more than one occasion. The leader was giving directions to the soldiers in English.

"Find ze hero and kill him. He izt somevhere on ze secondt floor."

Charon couldn't let another teammate go down. He had to find Psylex before the 5th Column did. He snuck up to the 2nd floor, and hid in the room of an unconscious patient. He was about to make a break for another room, when he heard a familiar voice in his head.

Charon? What are you doing here? It was Psylex. Charon let the words form in his mind.

Rescue you.

Oh really? Said Psylex telepathically.

What room?

23A came the reply. Charon checked what room he was in. 7B. He would have to make his way across the entire building to reach Psylex. He checked the hall, and decided to make a break for the room Psylex was in. He had almost reached the door, when he heard German shouting behind him. In the next instant he heard gunshots. Charon put his shoulder down and broke down the door to Psylex's room. There on the bed, lay Psylex.

"Follow." said Charon.

You're going to have to carry me. They have given me muscle relaxant.

Charon picked up Psylex and threw him over his shoulder.

"5th Column."

I'll take care of them. You just run.

Charon sprinted out the door. He was immediately showered with gunfire.

"Do not let zem get avay! Kill ze heroes! Kill zem!"

"Stop them."

In a matter of seconds the gunshots stopped. Charon turned around to see the soldier pinned against a wall, unable to move.

"New powers?"

Yes, my abilities have evolved since the last time we met old friend. Now run.

Charon made his way towards the nearest exit.

Wait, they took my suit. said Psylex.

"So?"

We have to go get it.

"No time."

There's time.

Charon started to feel Psylex tugging on his brain.

"Alright. Out of my head."

He turned towards the room where Psylex told him his suit was being kept. The tugging in his head subsided. Charon picked up the black suit, and took off back out the doorway. They made their way out of the institution, Charon dodging bullets, and Psylex throwing Nazis this way and that. After what seemed like an eternity, Charon got some relief.

You can stop now, we're no longer in danger.

Charon put Psylex down, and immediately Psylex got to his feet. Charon grumbled.

Well, you had made it halfway already, I didn't want to stop your momentum. said Psylex nonchalantly.

"What did they want?" Charon asked, almost growling.

Old grudge. Psylex replied.

[Blackbat]

Wind. It is truly a mysterious thing, sometimes it almost feels like it’s alive, like it talks to you. Especially at 12 stories up above the ground. Sometimes it can be harsh, sometimes it can be gentle. But in every instance, it is always there. Almost like a long time friend, that never left your side. Right now the wind was as harsh as it had ever been, blowing savagely across his face and body. Threatening to push him off the edge, sometimes he almost wished it would. But not tonight, tonight he had work to do. Icelander sat crouched high above the city streets, high above all the people oblivious that they were being protected. Unaware that they had a guardian looking out for them.

A blood curdling scream filled the air, The strong wind carried it to him like it was only feet away. He rose from his crouch, looked down into the alley and jumped into the abyss. The wind, once again keeping him company all the way down, screaming in his ears to slow down. At the last possible second, he unfolded his body from the tight ball it had been and used the fire escapes and window ledges to slow his decent, until finally he was right above the source of the scream that had awoken him from his thoughts.

A lone woman in her late 20’s was backed up into the dead end of the alley way, with four large men blocking her escape. Three of them had knives, which they were swinging carelessly in an attempt to frighten their prey. The biggest one had the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants.

“You look scared baby, don’t be. Im gonna take real good care of you."

The rest of them laughed at the woman’s frightened expression before they inched closer to her. He had heard enough, with a short sprint he leaped into the air and landed in a crouch in between the woman and her stalkers. Rising to his full height he gave them a chance, a chance that they surely would not have given the woman that they had trapped.

“Leave now, or you don’t leave at all.”

The four thugs flinched and took a few steps back in surprise at his sudden appearance. The leader was the first to regain his composure, he quickly pulled out his gun and prepared to give an answer.

Icelander narrowed his eyes, preparing for the shot that was sure to come. The shot was loud, it cut through the night as if it were cannon fire. The first shot hit the metal garbage dumpster two feet to the left of him. Icelander let loose with a bolt of hardened ice that hit the shooter at the wrist and quickly enveloped his whole hand as well as the gun. The other three stood as if unsure what do next, Icelander made the decision for them, he took two steps forward and delivered a brutal kick to the temple of one of the knife holders, putting him out cold before he even hit the ground.

A sharp elbow and a knee gave the next attacker a broken nose and a fractured jaw. A shin kick and a palm thrust left the last knife welder on the ground unconscious. That just left mister trigger happy. He was busy banging his ice encrusted hand against the wall to no avail. One backhand later and Icelander was standing amongst 4 broken and battered bodies. He heard a sound behind him and turned to find the woman staring up at him, she stepped forward to thank him with a smile of relief on her face, only to be shoved back against the wall and pinned against it.

She looked up at what she thought only moments ago was her hero. Icelander leaned in close while holding her pinned to the wall, so close that he could smell her perfume. She sobbed quietly, thinking that she had escaped one evil only to be taken in by a greater one. She turned her face and closed her eyes.

“Stay off the streets after dark.”

She felt him release her. By the time she opened her eyes he was gone.

______________________________________________

Making his way towards home, Icelander took a moment to think on what his life had become over the last several years. He couldn't help it, he was unable to give up the life. He had tried, honestly tried to leave it all behind and blend in with the normal people. Needless to say, it didn't work. Because of his alien birth, he aged extremely slow, he was in better shape now than when he first started. But his mind was aged and old, he was on the verge of burn out and he knew it.

As he approached his home base, he scanned the nearby rooftops from the safety of the shadows on the adjacent building to be sure that there were no prying eyes. Once satisfied he jumped the short distance to his building.

He climbed in through the skylight in his top floor apartment. Wearily he removed his mask and gloves, then his utility belt. He was about to un-buckle his boots when he noticed something on the floor by the front door. He quickly slipped on his robe, opened the door and looked out into the hallway, it was empty. He quickly closed the door and stared at the note on the floor. He frowned, but finally picked it up.

It was short and sweet.

“The Tower. Charon.”

Even if he hadn’t signed it, anybody that had been around him for longer than 10 minutes could tell that it was exactly what Charon would say. It kind of irked him that Charon knew where he was. If it was that easy, maybe he should relocate. That could wait till later, he slipped his mask and gloves back on, and fastened his utility belt. He took one last look around, and finally slipped back out the skylight and was greeted by the icy wind as he made his way to the old Bone Squad HQ.

[Blackbat]

King’s Row. A desolate wasteland of no-hopers and broken down industry. Some parts of Paragon City had been rebuilt, reformed. But not this one. Founder’s Falls was completely crime free these days, and Galaxy City and Atlas Park weren’t far behind, with only the slightest mutterings of Street Gangs, the old days, and the occasional failed bank job.

But King’s Row was different. It always had been. When the Rikti invaded for the third time in 2016, King’s Row had been almost completely destroyed. These days it was home to the down-and-outers of the city, as well as a new breed of drug trafficking street gangs, know only to the general populace as The Bears; what was rumoured to be the evolution of the Hellions and The Skulls, after they merged in order to survive sometime in 2011.

To make matters worse, somewhere in the dark streets of the city, lurked an amalgam of wretched evil; the merged bodies of Clockwork and Vahzilok stalked the back alleys in the quest to find a new master, someone to tell them what to do with their miserable existences after the death of their masters after they had strived to work together, and ended up being each others demise.

King’s Row was long beyond repair. Some had tried to set up new industry in the zone, as early as 2010, but had failed. Some had tried to use King’s Row as the center of their evil schemes, but frankly no one cared enough about King’s Row to try and stop them anymore; no one but the vigilantes.

The Tower was still there. The roof had been taken off in the third invasion, but it was still mainly in tact. From the top of the tower, Charon looked out. The view was hardly what it used to be, and it wasn’t all that spectacular back in the old days. Desolate industry and abandoned housing completely dominated the skyline, and Charon could hear below the faint mutterings of an out-of-the-way drug deal, as The Bears tried to do a deal with The Family. The Family were still around. As long as there was a business for guns, sex and drugs, The Family were going nowhere. On a normal night, Charon would be striving to stop the drug deals, and anything else going on in the row. But not tonight, this time he was waiting for someone to come to him.

He’s not coming. He voice said directly into Charon’s mind, as he stood in a sort of trance, staring out on the city and remembering what it used to be, what he used to be. Charon didn’t reply for a moment, he just kept staring out of the city, and watched the moon wander across the night sky; he wondered about Wolf, he wondered where he was these days. Eventually, he snapped back into reality, and turned around.

“He’ll be here.” Charon said, and turned, leaning on his staff.

And how can you be sure? Psylex asked, persistently. What if he doesn’t live at that address anymore?

“Been watching him. Seven years.” Charon said, without turning around. He felt Psylex picking at his mind to try and find out what was behind the almost-emotion that was in his voice when he spoke. “Out of my mind.” Charon said, in his usual monotone, any hint of emotion had disappeared.

Seven years? You really do have no life.

“You’ve been in an asylum. For longer.” Charon said, and turned around to Psylex. He stood for a moment and looked directly at the forty something year old man sitting in the corner, and tried to remember what he used to look like 15 years ago. He came up short. He turned around to look at the view, but found himself staring straight into a black and blue mask, and the eyes behind them. Charon didn’t flinch at all.

“How did you find me?” Icelander asked.

“Didn’t have to. Never stopped watching you.” Charon replied.

“You never stopped? I ought to..” Icelander began, but never got to finish.

Enough. Both of them heard echo through their minds. Charon, you still haven’t told me why I’m no longer in a padded room.

“Ice Claw…” Charon began.

“What about him?” Icelander replied, hastily. He didn’t have time for this.

“Is dead.” Charon replied.

Icelander didn’t reply, he just stood there, arms folded, his eyes boring into Charon, he looked him up and down, but didn’t say anything. He knew what Ice Claw had been long before he ever joined the Bone Squad.

What happened? Psylex finally broke the silence.

“Murdered. Found him shot. Several times. Chest, head. Face.” Charon replied, and looked around. “Fracture. Was written on the wall…behind him. He called. Before it happened. I have the disk. Recorded message.”

We left the tower in a hurry. We may still have the player in the lower levels.. Psylex replied, and walked to the dusty stair well and began to walk down it. Slowly, Icelander and Charon did the same. They came to the second level of the tower, where Charon entered a key code, and opened the door in front of them. They now stood in a room that hadn’t been entered in thirteen years. This was the second floor of a warehouse, the only way to enter through a room full of security traps at the bottom of the tower, sealed off from all other directions, including all entrances from the bottom floor. In the dusty room they stood in, a punching bag swung from a chain fixed to the ceiling, covered in dust. Monitor screens on one side of the room filled the walls, they used to display feeds from security cameras all over the city, now they just showed endless black. Placed next to the screens, were some audio machines. All three of the men walked over, and Charon pulled the disk from his utility belt, and put it into the disk player.

“Charon…help me…you have to…help…He’s trying to…Fra…He’s trying to kill…kill me…please…god…he’s…. trying to…” Gunshots were heard on the other end of the telephone. A small shuffle, and then the line went dead.

[Blackbat]

Icelander listened intently long after the last sound was heard from the recording Charon had brought back. In his mind, he mourned the death of a fellow vigilante. But in his line of work, remorse is the last thing that you can let take control of your senses. In fact emotion is the enemy, it taints your views and controls your thought process. In plain terms, it was bad for business. Charon knew this better than most, but he couldn’t fool Icelander, he had heard the faintest sound of emotion creep into his voice at the mentioning of Ice Claw’s death.

It was a natural human reaction, but for people such as us it was one that we couldn’t afford. Having all that in mind, Icelander didn’t listen to the sorrowful sound of Ice Claw’s last words, he didn’t listen to the pleading sound of the soon to be dead man. Icelander was listening to things that normal people would miss, the sounds of worn rubber sole shoes scrapping the surface of the floor, the sound of pants shuffling as someone on the tape readjusted their position, the sound of a semi-automatic gun cocked and a round being chambered. All these slight but very noticeable sounds told him some very interesting things and helped to better explain what had actually happened.

Of course Charon knew these things just as he did, whether he was prepared let himself admit these things was a whole different story. Icelander glanced over at Charon and Psylex to gauge their reaction. Charon was as un-readable as ever, and Psylex looked as if he was inside his own mind trying to decipher his own feelings. Icelander resented Charon in a way; he was always so hard to figure out. It was a weird feeling when someone could say so much with so little words. Charon was a lot older now, not that it was so noticeable right at this moment. He had always suspected that someone was watching him at times when he was on rooftops or in alleyways, but he never thought that Charon would be the one. Or more likely he never thought that Charon would be that good, to follow him and stay unseen.

He also worried if Psylex would pick up on some of these thoughts, just in case he thought up some particularly gruesome experiences that had happened in his life so that if Psylex were to pick up some random thoughts he would avoid doing so in the future after seeing these images.

Charon stopped the tape and popped it out of the player. Then returned it to a pouch in his belt.

“So, what are you planning to do?” asked Icelander

Are you saying you want no part in this? asked the stunned Psylex in return.

There was a long silence as Charon and Psylex stared at Icelander.

“No. Im saying that you both are acting as if we are still a team. We all went our separate ways, remember?” replied Icelander

Even still, we were a team. That means nothing to you? Psylex asked.

Again Icelander remained frustratingly silent.

"I don't need you.” Charon said as he turned his back to walk out.

Icelander stepped forward and pointed at Charon.

“Don’t you turn your back on me Charon. It’s been a long time and I don’t take orders from anyone anymore.” Hissed Icelander.

Charon slowly turned back around, and stared into the cold hard eyes of his former teammate.

"The team is in danger. Don't take orders, you die." Charon said in a monotone voice.

Icelander quickly regained his composure and stepped back.

Someone has it out for former Bone Squad members, whether you like it or not you were one of us. Which means you are in the same boat as the rest of us Says Psylex in a annoyed voice.

“Fine. What do we do?” Icelander asked.

"Going to find Sable Phoenix. Stick together. Stay sharp.” Charon said as he again turned his back and walked out.

Icelander stared after him for a few minutes. He hadn’t changed one bit. He looked over at Psylex.

“Lets go.” Icelander says curtly.

He briskly climbed the stairs to the tower as Psylex followed close behind. Icelander reached the top and walked to the edge of the tower, he spread his arms and jumped back into the night with the early morning wind gently guiding him.

[Blackbat]

Steel Canyon wasn't that far different from Kings Row. It had been destroyed, re-built, then destroyed again. And just like King's Row, it was ignored. While Founder's Falls, Atlas Park, and Galaxy City were fine, Steel Canyon worsened. It seemed all the new heroes stayed in the already safe areas, and all the older ones were on the Rikti home planet, waging battles on their turf. After the third invasion, they were driven back to their planet, and we followed.

Steel Canyon was still waiting for its happy ending. While it always had at least some influence from one or another villain faction, it had become the Troll territory. 20 years ago, they were a laughing stock. "Ate too many green eggs" people had joked. But they were monsters now. They continued taking Superadine. Now a lot of them were the size of houses, could barely speak English anymore. Some couldn't at all. Body limbs bigger then the other, pure brute stength. Whatever buildings were there years ago were now all smashed by the muscle of Trolls. Their brains de-evolved, and all they did now was play catch with the debris, wrestle each other, and defend their territory.

But not too far underground, and just above the underground lair of the Circle of Thorn, lay a bunker where a villain used to live. It went deeper, with many other rooms, but the man who lived there only needs one. The coldest, biggest room it has, where computers, monitors, televisions, and radio feed scanners filled it up with the sounds of buzzing, static, and voices.

By all facts, scientific theories, and nature's laws, Joe should have been either crazy or dead by this time. Most of his whole life had been spent in these surroundings and every hour of the day he had had a cup of coffee to keep him alert. The only sleep he got was in short naps, and the short naps only occurred when there was nothing going on. And that was only once in a blue moon.

So maybe he should have been dead or crazy. Yet he was not for one reason alone. He was stubborn, always had been. It was not from his dedication from his role, the man who saw everything that went on in Paragon. It was from his growing loathing of the criminal underworld. It was the fact that they didn't want him alive, and in some way, waking up from his naps was a winning battle in its self. That is what was keeping him alive, and no science or religion could explain it.

That day though was a different day. Ice Claw was dead. Joe saw through a camera across the street. He didn't see who, but he saw him die. And if Joe reviewed the tape, from different angles, read lips, and search the apartment for clues, he wouldn't be able to solve the case. Because while Joe could do all those things, he doesn't have instinct. Charon did, and that’s probably why they had been paired over those years. A person is born with instincts; no one can learn that.

He finished loading up his gear, and dressed in his Dick Tracy-like trenchcoat and hat. After putting on the shades, he was near un-recognizable from everyone who has never seen him. Near invisible in a city like Paragon.

Joe used to drive in a car, but like most of the people in Paragon, they learn to fly. Part of the ground began to rumble and shake, pebbles hopped up and down, the creak of metal gears started to churn. A nearby Troll ran from the noise to alert his friends, but he probably forgot where it came from, or if he even heard a noise at all. Soon the hatch completely opened, and Joe's helicopter took flight. As soon as the hatch closed again, the Troll slowly scampered back to see if anything was there, and there was nothing at all. And the simple Troll decided there was nothing there to begin with, as he scavenged for his next meal.

____________________

After parking the heli on the roof, Joe took several flights of stairs down to Ice's level. The building was dead, Ice was the only one who lived in the whole place. This could not have been a random killing. Charon would know that too. The door was already open a crack. He went to go through the door, but a gun that was slammed into his face from the inside stopped him in his tracks.

[Blackbat]

Inside the ransacked apartment of the late hero stood Makis, his face scarred and worn by age with his eyes as always masked by pitch black shades. Dressed in his old clothes; sky camouflage fatigues, bullet-proof vest in the old Bone Squad colors, and a full length black trench coat, Makis may still have looked the same if not for his slightly greying hair, a few newer scars and a cold emotionless face that looked as though it should have belonged to Charon. A stark contrast to the sly smirk he used to have that usually meant that he knew something you didn't. In each of his hands was a .50 Dessert Eagle pistol shoved into the face of a very rattled Joe.

"Where's Charon" He said in a voice that was so empty of emotion that it to may have belonged to Charon.

Joe pulled a pad from his back and searched for something.

"Quickly!" Screamed Makis, un aware of the fact that Joe was mute. Joe was fumbling with a pen.

On the paper was written He has re grouped the Bone Squad.

"Who is Fracture?"

Don't know. Charon might. Here to investigate. And I'm mute, asshole.

With this Makis just gave him a look, and pushed the desert eagle further into his face, before thinking better of it, and pushed him aside and ran down the stairs and out of the apartment, leaving Joe utterly rattled and bewildered. He walked around the building down a alley way and pulled a few empty garbage bags off of a "crotch rocket" motorcycle. He lept on, started it and roared out into the street ignoring street criminals who's attention was attracted by the screaming motor bike.

Makis rode all the way back to the Tower knowing full well that he was already to late to catch Charon. He strode purposefully into the old building to the second floor, through the coded door, up to the audio player. As he had seen on the ride over, the tape had already been taken by Charon. He swung around drawing one of his pistols and fired five shots into the punching bag hanging from the ceiling, making a M pattern. If they returned they would know that he had been there.

He had to find someone, someone that could answer his questions. Patrick had been killed before the apartment was ransacked, Fracture must have been looking for something, but what? He left his name purposefully knowing full well that the rest of the old Bone Squad would be looking for him. Was this some kind of trap, trying to lure them all into fallowing him? Makis' power could not answer these questions for him. His future was for once in a very long time, relatively uncertain. One thing was clear to him, he had to find the other members. He knew that Charon would be searching for him and the rest of the team. If he finds Sable Phoenix, he finds Charon.

[Blackbat]

Psylex's Log.


The past few days' events have been unusual to say the least. I had been extricated from the asylum(where I had been held for years) by Charon. I hadn't any idea at the time why he had went through the trouble of getting me out of there, and to tell you the truth I wish he hadn't. It wasn't all that horrible in there. I had food, shelter, clothing, and the occasional checkers game with one of the mentally retarded. The best part about it, though, was the fact that I didn't have any "heroing" to do at all. I could live my life out peacfully, without having to worry about who's getting their purses stolen. I guess it was for the best, though. Charon took me to the old Bone Squad headquarters, where we met Icelander. Charon told us that an old Bone Squad member, Ice Claw, had been killed by a faceless assassin going by the alias of Fracture. I haven't any idea who Fracture is, although a search of Charon's mind yielded a few suspects. My search through Icelander's mind was cut short, evidently he had felt my searching, as he started thinking some horribly gruesome thoughts. I'll have to search the rest of his memory at a later time. For now, I'm left wondering who Fracture might be, as we go in search of another former Bone Squad member, Sable Phoenix.

[Blackbat]

The deep mist of Dark Astoria slid and curled around the desolate buildings like some great phantasmal beast padding silently through the jungle, smudging the view of few functioning lights on the streets below into faint yellow blotches, just as it had for twenty years. The unqiet spirits of the dead still walked mutely through the streets, perpetually unaware of their fate, as they had also done for twenty years. In all likelihood they were doomed to do so for the rest of time. Some five years ago, after Dark Astoria had been scoured clean of the Banished Pantheon, MAGI personell had attempted to undo the dark magics that bound these souls to their fate, and had failed. No further attempts had been made. Paige MacKenzie, the Sable Phoenix, savior of Dark Astoria, still found herself at the edge of tears whenever she was confronted with them.

She crouched silent on the corner of an office building balcony with her red hair draping over her eyes, clad only in a simple black leather bodysuit -- she had long since abandoned a mask and any pretense of a life outside that of an envoy of the phoenix -- feeling rather than seeing the apparitions passing beneath her, feeling with the abilities of the unfathomably ancient entity that flowed within her like her own blood and breath. It too mourned for them, calling to them in every quiet moment and never receiving a response. Paige had often wondered why they compelled themselves to stay here; a twisted notion of penance, she supposed, for their inability to help the lost souls. They had routed the dark forces from the zone, but remedying the evil those forces had wrought proved beyond them. A brief attempt had been made to reclaim the zone after its scouring, but no one would bear the constant frigid compansionship of the ghosts, and now the Sable Phoenix had possessed the desolation as her lair and the merest sight of her burning wings was enough to rout all but the strongest forces of the Banished Pantheon. Dark Astoria was still haunted, but now by flame rather than shadow.

Aaaaahhh...

The nearly exultant sigh was little more than a quite breeze in her mind, as the phoenix detected the vague tremor of an approaching darkness trying in vain to remain stealthy and unnoticed.

They come yet again.

"You'd think they would learn," she muttered in response, the faintest of grins tugging at the corners of her mouth. For some reason the Banished Pantheon still attempted almost constant raids into Dark Astoria. Perhaps the lure of so many unquiet souls was simply too strong. Perhaps they were after something darker, something still undiscovered that they had been forced to abandon in their hasty retreat from the zone. Perhaps it was nothing but plain stubborn pride. By this time, she didn't care.

She stood and stretched, feeling the phoenix blaze inside her, feeling the flame spring to life over her skin and engulf her in a roaring, blinding halo, melting the very rooftop under her feet. She spread her arms and the phoenix swept the flame out into gigantic wings around her, and their minds flowed until they were scarcely two beings any longer as they soared into the mist-shrouded gloom.

---

The Pantheon had already managed to set up one of their bonfires by the time the Sable Phoenix reached them, and the posessed shells of the Shamen were already dancing about it in the midst of their vanguard of dry, shambling corpses, chanting incantations that the phoenix recognized from eons ago. A simple soul-scavenging. She swept down towards the Pantheon almost before the posessed corpses realized she was upon them. The dry husks twisted and burned and were scattered like dead leaves in the phoenix's roaring flame. The Shamen summoned stormwinds that scarcely buffeted her as she passed by and consumed them. Within seconds the Sable Phoenix hovered above nothing but smoking embers.

The only warning was the sudden oppressing weight of sadness and avarice that threatened to overwhelm her just before the attack came. The muted beating of tiki drums followed the floating mask spirits as they appeared glowing in the mist, hurling terribly pure sorrow and pain and desire, and lumbering behind them came the hulking forms of the animated wooden Totems. A trap!

The Sable Phoenix shouted in rage, and the screams of eagles rang in her voice as she blazed into the Pantheon's formation. Embers rained from the sky and the masks were hurled to the ground charred and smoking. The Totems swung their barbed limbs at her only to have them consumed by the heat before they could impact. "They are not yours!" she shouted, more in the phoenix's voice than her own, as she hurled flame into the leering carved faces. "Your evil does not belong in this world!" The Totems came on, mindlessly intent on the destruction of their bane even as they were charred into coals, until nothing was left but a mountain of ash under the Sable Phoenix's feet.

Paige crumpled, spent, to her hands and knees, and remained there in the ashes, blazing in the phoenix's flame. She surrendered herself to the phoenix's warm embrace as it healed the injuries, mental and physical, that the Pantheon had inflicted. She was unaware of how much time passed in that state, but the feeling of another presence at the edge of the phoenix's perception brought her back to her surroundings. Harken, said the phoenix in her mind. Suddenly alert, she concentrated, wary of new danger... but this was a familiar presence; familiar and welcome. She stood and spread her wings of fire and soared blazing into the darkness.

There were three figures standing in the shadows of the delapidated security checkpoint when she arrived at the Talos Island forcefield wall, wariness radiating from every line of their tense stances. All of them were familiar, but the one in the center was the one which commanded her attention.

Charon.

Of all the Bone Squad members, they had remained the closest over the years; Paige's loyalty had always been to Charon himself more than the team, and despite the inevitable divergence of their goals and methods, they had assisted each other almost constantly since the team's dissolution. The Sable Phoenix knew Charon more intimately than any other person alive.

She alighted on the ground in front of the trio, willing the blinding flame back inside her, and her fine-boned half-Japanese features were lit with a smile that found them all too rarely these days as she walked up to Charon. "Hello, Robert," she said warmly, and hugged him, pressing the side of her face to his chest. It was like embracing a stone statue, but she had long since learned to expect no less; she knew it embarrased him, but she had long since decided not to let that deter her from expressing her feelings either. She stepped back and gazed up into Charon's masked face; he was not even looking back at her, instead staring over her head at the transparent forms of the ghosts walking past, refusing to acknowledge her actions.

She took in the stoic forms behind Charon; Psylex, from whom she could sense amusement radiating, and surprisingly, Icelander, hard-bitten and silent as always. Psylex she had... liked, for lack of a better word, but she was surprised to see Icelander. She had never cared for him; he was the only person she knew of who could match Charon in his hard, chilling aura of aloofness.

"Hi there, guys," she said in the faint Irish brogue that the years had failed to completely erase. Her smile lessened only slightly. "What brings you all together again?"

"Came to find you," Charon grunted, harshly, before anyone else could respond. He still did not look at her as he spoke. "Want your..." He paused, seeming to mull something over for a moment, then continued, sounding like he was grating his speech between his teeth, "Need your help."

Paige's smile widened again at the memory that phrase recalled, then was replaced by seriousness at the obvious urgency of the situation. "Why?" she asked, slipping easily back into the monosyllabic mode of communication they had naturally developed over the years.

"Ice Claw is dead. Murdered. Shot. Multiple times. Name Fracture... written on the wall."

The sheer number of words Charon had just strung together conveyed the emotion of that statement to her more heavily than anything else. She was stunned; the phoenix was mildly puzzled. What is the relevance of this? it asked in her mind.

We think... well, Charon thinks that this Fracture will come after the rest of us too, came the mental phrase from Psylex, obviously in response to the phoenix's query. Paige had never gotten used to his ability to eavesdrop on their conversations, and she found it still irritated her. Psylex paused, probably sensing her annoyance, then continued, Seems that we're going to get the old gang back together to find the fellow. Safety in numbers and so on. Icelander snorted quietly at that.

Paige felt the phoenix swell inside her, and flames licked from her eyes as she spoke with the eagle's voice, "Let this foolish mortal approach us. He is no danger to us. Not even his bones shall remain when we finish with him."

Charon finally looked at her, his gaze harder than stone. He had grown used to the phoenix, as this manner of manifestation had become common over the years, but she knew he had never liked it. "Don't know if he'll come after you. Want your firepower. Aren't going to wait... for him. To find us. Find him first. With or without you." It was almost a challenge.

Paige's loyalty to Charon was the foremost thing in her mind at that moment. She knew that this Fracture could hardly be a threat to her, as the years with the phoenix inside her had transformed her into an immortal for all intents and purposes. But she would not stand by and do nothing if he was a threat to the former Bone Squad members, especially Charon. Ice Claw had been tough. Very tough. If Fracture could kill him, he could probably kill Charon as well. The very thought was painful.

The eagle was still in Paige's voice as she replied. "We're in. Just tell us where to go."