The Prodigal Son Returns

[Twilight]

Part 1

"Just one more shot, I swear to God," the pudgy frat boy pleaded to me as he handed his silvery Leone digitial camera to a stout boy sporting a matching fraternity hoodie sweater. The pudgy boy put his arm over my shoulder and grinned a crooked smile as I pretended to enjoy the moment. The stout frat boy handed the silvery camera back and Pudgy scrolled through his new digital pictures. "Ah. These are perfect," the pudgy boy said as he let out a deep sigh. "I'm going to put these on Myspace."

"You do that," I replied sarcastically as I began to head out.

"Hey," began Pudgy. "You know, you saved my cousin from Skulls once. I don't think I can thank you enough for that."

"Kyle," the stout boy whispered. "I actually think that was Inkblaster."

"Oh, right. Inkblaster. You know," Kyle continuted. "You're still cool in my book, Twilight." Kyle flashed me a wide grin, and turned and headed in the other direction consorting excitedly with his frat pal.

I exhaled and continued down the path to my apartment. Twilight. That's what they used to call me, anyway. Now, I'm just Luke Marshall, college student. Not too long ago, I used to be more.

Once upon a time, I used to protect Paragon City alongside my team, The Underground. Armed with the magic gauntlets my Grandfather passed to me before he died, I fought for liberty, justice and all of that good stuff. About two years ago, all of that was lost. While fighting the villain group the Circle of Thorns, I was cut down in an explosion triggered by the cultists that caused my gauntlets to stop functioning permanantly. I was rescued by my teammates Horntail and Rottweiler, and we all narrowly escaped with our lives.

After being unable to regain the power in my gauntlets, I was unwillingly advised to leave the Underground for my own safety while my teammates carried out the duties of keeping the city safe.

I left Paragon to hide from my enemies, and to start a new life of normalcy. For two years, I've lived out of contact with the superhero community. That was until I started hearing the voice again.

We need to talk...Come see me at once.

The voice belonged to none other than my Grandfather, who before he died, encased his essence in his magical gauntlets so in the event that I should need to speak to him, I was able to. Despite my gauntlets being powerless, Grandpa's essence was on a different magical frequency, which was not affected by the gauntlets' loss in power.

I hurried along the winding path to my apartment building and sprinted the four-story flight upstairs to my flat. I threw open the door, and went straight for my shoe closet where my secret compartment was located. I spun the dial on my thermostat to 180 degrees, pulled the knob back and pushed it back in until it made a loud click. The back wall of my shoe closet slid open, revealing the shelves containing my superhero gear. I put on my gauntlets and was immediately transported to what I like to call 'The Twilight Zone.' The Twilight Zone is a nether region inside the gauntlets where I can talk to Grandpa any time I want. What's really cool, is I can make the Twilight Zone take any shape or form that's necessary. If I needed to meet Grandpa in an Ice Cream parlor, all I had to do was think about it. This time, we met in Grandpa's family room, where he decided to hand the gauntlets down to me.

"You're late," Grandpa said as he looked up from his newspaper, as if he had been waiting for me for a long time. "Sorry, Gramps. I got held up," I said as I sat in the couch adjacent to him. "So, what's up?"

"Luke, the power has returned."

It took a while what Grandpa just said to really embed itself into my thick skull, but when it did, it echoed.

The Power has returned.

"I don't know why, and I don't know how, but what wasn't there before is there now. I can feel the influx of the charm's energy. I need you to bridge my essence with the gauntlet's charm, so I can jump start it."

I closed my eyes and concentrated.

"Focus, Luke. You can do this," Grandpa instructed.

I opened my eyes and returned to my apartment and immediately felt a surge of power throughout my body. The familiar blueish glow of the magical energy began to flow from the gauntlets as the power returned.

The power has returned.

[Twilight]

Part 2

"Passcode Incorrect, please reenter the correct passcode and hit ENTER."

Blip blip..blip....blip..blip blip...BEEP!

"Passcode Incorrect, please reenter the correct passcode on the numeric keypad and hit ENTER."

I took a deep sigh and proceeded to follow the unsympathetic digital voice of the HQ's security system.

Blip blip blip...blip blip...blip...BEEP!

"Passcode Incorrect, please reenter the correct passcode on the numeric keypad and hit ENTER."

Upon my return to Paragon, my first instinct was to get in touch with my teammates, The Underground. My memory of the sewer network was hazy at best, and took me over five hours to find the south gate, only to discover that my passcode wasn't working anymore.

"Passcode Incorrect, please reenter the correct passcode on the numeric keypad and hit ENTER."

I groaned, and slammed my forehead on the keypad in frustration.

"Passcode Accepted. Welcome, Banshee."

I stared in disbelief and stood back as the discreet door in the sewer wall slid open, revealing a winding staircase that led to the main elevator shaft. I quickly stepped inside just as the door slid shut behind me. I worked my way down to the Great Hall which was nearly completely dark on exception of a few flourescent lights, and realized something. It was quiet. A little too quiet for a team this rambunctious.

"Hello?"

"Hello??" I yelled loud enough to hear only my own voice echoing throughout the station.

I searched the living quarters for any kind of evidence of anyone at all. Sheets thrown over most of Ketic's lab desks, and the main generator having been shut down were both clues that nobody had been around for a while. Not even Fang, the team's vicious guard marsupial-type creature was home. I made my way back to my old railcar after starting up the generator again and settled in. There was a low "bip bip" coming from the monitor room, so I made my way over to investigate. As I entered, I removed the sheets covering all of the equipment and noticed a single illuminated button at the top of the switchboard. Without hesitation, I pressed it and almost immediately the main screen lit up.

THERE IS A NEW MESSAGE AWAITING: TWILIGHT
Would you like to view it now?

Half expecting one of my teammates on screen, I was disappointed to find instead a man in his 40's with a short buzz-cut with greying black hair wearing a matching black suit and sunglasses.

"Greetings, Twilight. I am Malcom Quartersmith. I speak on behalf of my employer, the distinguished Sebastian Kain who is extremely interested in arranging a meeting with you. I have already arranged for your transportation. A black Cadillac will pick you up at 5:00 tomorrow afternoon at Freedom Plaza. Do not be late."

END OF MESSAGE

[Twilight]

Part 3

I arrived at Freedom Plaza at exactly 4:45. In normal circumstances, I would never have even considered meeting a guy like Sebastian Kain. Sebastian Kain isn't a bad guy, but he wasn't a good guy either. If being good meant turning a profit, he'd be Lavar Burton. This time however, I had questions that needed answering, and the fact that Kain knew exactly how to contact me was more than coincidential. This guy had information worth knowing, so I showed up 20 minutes early.

At exactly 5:00, a black Cadillac with dark window tints arrived, and as promised, took me directly to Kain's manor outside of Founder's Falls aptly named The Silver Dragon. They say you can tell a lot about a person by the look of his house. If I had to describe what kind of man Sebastian Kain was based on the look of his house, using only one word, I'd say he was a giant. The enormous mansion sat alone on a hill overlooking the suburb of Founder's Falls. It was a proud and powerful home, just like the man who lived inside of it.

I was shown into one of 32 rooms in the mansion, which was made out to be a sitting room of sorts. There were seven matching leather armchairs, a table with a wooden cigar box resting next to the chair marked with a dragon symbol, and the letters "SK" engraved on the head rest. I stood in front of the fire burning fiercely in the fireplace, and stared at the painting that rested above the mantlepiece of Sebastian Kain's powerful portrait. The image of the man alone made me feel miniscule, and insignificant.

"Are you an admirer of art, Mr. Marshall?" asked Sebastian shutting the door behind him. "Because I'd like to think that even though many of us may not be intrigued by art, we can still appreciate the beauty and mystery of it, despite not knowing its true intention or meaning," he continued, moving toward the painting without taking his eyes off of it.

"Please, have a seat," he offered, extending his arm to the chair next to the chair obviously designated for him. I sat down, trying not to get too comfortable and folded my hands in my lap. I looked up at Sebastian, who's face was illuminated only by the flicker of the fire in the fireplace.

"So, Twilight," Sebastian paused, enjoying my obvious uneasiness. "You must be wondering why I've called you here. You see, I know what you seek, and I can help you. I'm a very influential man in this city, and what good would it be if I can't even help the people who've protected my assests from crime all these years? I owe a great debt to you and the Undeground, Mr. Marshall. You have all done this city a great service. Regrettably, I don't know where they are, exactly. But if you like, I can recommend someone who may be of service. He's the best at tracking down information, but unfortunately doesn't come cheap."

"Mr. Kain, I haven't got any money. I don't think I can afford an informant right now..."

"Nonsense! Though my abilities aren't limited to writing checks, I most certainly am quite adept at doing so," Sebastian said, already scribbling on a blank check. He stood up and offered the check to me. "Please, take it Mr. Marshall. Its the least I can do after all you and the Underground have risked all these years. My informant already awaits you outside the gates of my manor. Do not worry about his fee, everything is already taken care of."

Though slightly confused, and a bit disappointed at not having been able to ask any questions of my own, I thanked SK and made my way out of the manor to the black van that awaited me just outside the gates.

Meanwhile...

"This is Norbert."

"Norbert. I want you to follow a suspicious-looking black van in Founder's Falls. License plate number five, two, three, dash, eighty four, niner. Don't let them out of your sight."

"It's the boy, isn't it?

"Yes. Do not let him out of your sight. I'll be in touch."

"Yes sir, Mr. Glaurung."

[Twilight]

Part 4
Featuring Guest Writer JoeSchmoe

"I don't get it," I said as I opened the side door of the black van that belonged to none other than my old friend, premiere informant Joe Schmoe. "You're without a doubt the most profitable informant in this town, and you still drive around in this hearse." Joe turned spun around from the driver seat. He grabbed his signature yellow legal pad and pen and scribbled quickly.

"It serves its purpose."
Despite being mute, Joe never failed to come off rude, but that is just his way. Joe forced a smile, and shook my hand. "We're going. There's someone you need to meet." Joe turned the ignition, and the engine instantly roared to life.

"Hey listen, I know you're being paid by the hour here, which is why we should probably stick to my agenda," I said, climbing into the passenger seat.

"Don't need the money. Could have hacked his bank accounts if needed. I have my reasons." Joe set his pen and pad down on the dashboard, and steered away from SK's manor.

"Where are we going, anyway?" I asked as I fastened my seat belt in retaliation of Joe's unforgiving driving.

Joe rolled his eyes, and grabbed his pad and pen with one hand on the wheel and scribbled. "How well do you know Cyclone Girl?"

I shrugged. "Not that well, I guess. I know she joined the Underground shortly after I had left town, so we never really worked together much."

I stared out the window at the people on the street, wondering how well everyone got along without Twilight. I drifted off not noticing that we were now driving through the run down streets of King's Row.

Joe stopped the van in front of a dilapitated old warehouse that from the looks of, was years overdue for a wrecking ball.

"This is it," Joe scribbled.

I threw open the van's passenger side door, and stepped out. The musty aroma of the old factory filled my lungs as I took a deep breath of King's Row oxygen.

"Oh, I probably should warn you. She might be a bit...shocking at first."

[Charon]

Part 5
Guest Written by Charon

Joe drove away, leaving me on the sidewalk staring at three identical warehouses. Which was it? For a guy who knew everything Joe was incredibly vague, and frankly, somewhat annoying.

So, I stepped forward and headed for the warehouses, I figured I was just going to have to try my luck with one or the other. So, not really knowing what the hell I was doing I headed towards the one directly in front of me. Now, the problem with this selection was, there didn’t seem to be a door as such. There was a place where a door used to be, which was now boarded up with all manor of metal and wood. Now, not being one to give up particularly quickly, I went up and rapped my fist on it. I figured I may as well try in case I wasted my time at the other two just to find out Cyclone Girl was some kind of unshaven hermit who liked to live in boarded up abandoned factories.

Not that I really expected an answer, but none came. I just heard the echo on the inside of the warehouse, and a slight movement. Movement was a good thing as far as I was concerned. Joe had said she was shocking, so I was already expecting something a little crazy anyway. But either way, Cyclone Girl, if it was even her, wasn’t going to answer the would-be door. So, I figured I’d just have to find my way in and explain later, if I didn’t die in the process.

I headed around the side of the warehouse. I could have just blasted my way through the metal and stuff, but that would have been altogether too easy. And anyway, whoever was in there already knew someone had knocked, so it was probably best if I went and found another way in. On my way around the side of the warehouse, I noticed a piece of sheet metal that looked particularly weak. I wouldn’t even need to use one of my blasts to get through that. So, I lowered my shoulder and rammed into it. It kinda hurt, and I realized I’d underestimated the strength of the metal, or whatever was piled behind it. But, I’d put my mind to something, and I wasn’t prepared to use my gloves if I’d resolved to do it on my own. So, I took a few steps back, and with a significant run up launched into the metal sheet.

This time it gave way, but a little too easily. I flew through the gap and into total darkness. The floor gave way beneath my feet, I didn’t know if it was a hole or a trap door that someone had just opened, but seconds later I was falling at least fifteen feet, and I hit the floor, which happened to be concrete and particularly painful, with a thud.

Something hit me not long after that. I was a bit hesitant to use my gloves, because I didn’t know exactly what I was going to be fighting, and besides they were in my backpack which had fallen somewhere away from me, and since it was pitch black I was going to have a problem if I tried to scramble for them in the dark. So, all I could do was rely on what fighting prowess I had. Which, to be fair, wasn’t a lot but it was enough to get me by. After all, I used to be, and I guess I was now again, a superhero. Everyone in the business had to know how to handle themselves in a fist fight in case some villain invented an evil power removing ray.

So, I swung my fist in the darkness. It hit something, probably somewhere in the midsection, but I have to admit it wasn’t a particularly good punch. I let fly very half-heartedly, since I wasn’t sure if I was even going to hit anything. My punch was replied too with a swift kick to the legs. It was a very poor kick, and it barely connected, so I could only assume that the person I was fighting was also fighting blind. The kick was enough to send me reeling backwards however, and I skidded to the floor, where my head collided with something that slid backwards slightly.

I put my hands behind my head and realized I had my hands on a wooden crate. It didn’t have anything in it and wasn’t particularly heavy, and seemed like just the thing I needed. I flung it in the direction the kick had come from, and not half a second later I heard the box splinter and a body hit the ground.

It didn’t stay down for long though. There was a scrambling as whoever it was got to their feet, and a sound of wood against plaster as he grabbed something from the wall. Next thing I knew, I got hit in the head with what seemed like a stick, and I fell backwards and hit the wall, and found something sticking in my back. Suddenly, I realized I was leaning on the light switch.

I quickly flicked it on and looked around me. I was standing in a dusty basement. On the wall there was a rack, which held five wooden staves sitting in it. One was missing. The rest of the room was just filled with punching bags, dummies and crates. It was the lowest budget training room I had ever seen in my life. However, I was slightly unnerved by the fact that apparently whoever had attacked me was nowhere in sight. However, I could see my backpack sprawled somewhere over by one of the battle worn dummies.

I didn’t have time to fetch it however, because behind me I heard the whiz of air as a wooden object flew through it. I ducked just in time for the plaster from the wall to fall on the back of my head. I dived across the floor before the onslaught could continue and grabbed for my backpack. I was busy trying to get my gloves out of it while I looked up and saw some unshaven, rough looking guy in a wife beater heading for me with a staff in hand, raised for combat.

By the time he got close enough to attack, I had my gloves on, and pointed at him. I didn’t care who this guy was; if he tried to attack me again I was going to blast his ass back to whatever street corner he slept on.

“How did you find me?” He asked, advancing.

“Purely by accident, I assure you.” I replied. It was only the truth.

“Do you know who I am?” He asked in a monotone voice. I could barely even tell if it was a question, his voice didn’t change throughout the entire sentence. As he got closer I realized he stank of whiskey. This guy was pretty quick on his toes even when smashed.

“I have no idea. Donatello? Is that you?” I asked, still poised for combat, however he’d stopped coming forward so perhaps he was thinking twice about trying to beat my brains out of my head with his stick.

“Hm.” He replied.

I could see this was going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.