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In our world, when his son and his friends rejected the Utopia he'd built, a grief-stricken Rick Lucas recognized the error of his ways and fled into the multiverse in shame. But in a world perilously close to this one, when his son and his allies attempted to overthrow the worldwide dictatorship he'd constructed in order to put the Lucas family in command of the world, a bitter, vengeful Rick Lucas fled into the multiverse to plot revenge on his wastrel son and his callow gang of hooligans at the Syndicate Academy Two Weeks After the Events of 'A Trip Between Two Worlds' Duncan Summers listened as a rather battered Psyche told her story, the young telepath recovering far better than most students would have after the experience she'd had. Erin's sudden nighttime assault had nearly killed the sleeping Alex, only Psyche's incredible mental speed letting her reach into Erin's mind and shut down her attacker. It had only taken him a few minutes of evaluation to confirm what Nurse Joy and Ms. Harcourt had already told him: this Erin White, with the blood under her fingernails and haggard face, even in psychically-induced sleep maintained by the best psychics at the school, was not the Erin White of their world. And that particular disease seemed to be catching. Luckily, the school was prepared for that. Though dopplegangers of Kid Cthulu, Rift, Midnight II, and Edge had all appeared in bursts of magical energy around campus, the new inter-universal security system that Mrs. Harcourt had installed in previous weeks had worked like a charm. Though the dopplegangers had unfortunately escaped from campus, he was completely confident that Young Freedom, the Alterni-Teens, and the Next-Gen would track down the warped, morally inverted doubles of his students. It's a good thing we're prepared for incursions, thought Summers, bending down to pet the unhappy cat curling his orange tail around the headmaster's cane. If we were oriented towards offense rather than defense, who knows how long they could have kept up the imposture? -- Mark Lucas rarely had particularly elaborate dreams. Indeed, usually he didn't remember anything about them. Tonight, though, his REM visions were exceptionally unsettling. He was confronted by a vision of his father: not the father he knew, but a grim, furious version of Rick Lucas with a goatee and eyepatch, wearing a black and red leather uniform as he confronted his son. His 'father' informed him that he and his friends were being tested, tested to see if good really was better than evil, if courage was a stronger talent than cleverness. He wasn't alone, he realized: Erin, Trevor, Blake, and Warren were all there too, each as paralyzed and mute as he was in the dreamscape! Before he could respond, he was suddenly plummeting into a deep black void... -- Mark woke up in bed, starting awake with a cry, and then nearly fell out of bed entirely when he realized he wasn't alone in his room. Or his bed. "Dreaming about that witch again?" asked Daisy Gibbons. The beautiful blonde prom queen yawned and stretched, giving Mark a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Don't worry, Pathos and Assault aren't going to harsh your buzz today, not unless those Loonies get their heads handed to them ahead of schedule. Are you getting up?" "Uh...yes?" Mark looked around wildly, staying in control of himself by sheer force of will. Don't panic. Figure out what's going on. Daisy wasn't actually naked, thank God, but she was in a skimpy harem-girl outfit that didn't look like comfortable pajamas. She had scars on her body that looked new, some on her stomach and some on her back, where a large S-brand was clearly visible. A more thoughtful man might have panicked, but Mark was all about rolling with what was going on. "All right," allowed Daisy, her bare shoulders relaxing as she slid out of the king-sized bed and headed for the kitchen. When the hell did I get a kitchenette!?! thought Mark as Daisy went in, the door she opened showing that Mark and Mike's dorm room had been transformed into a suite as big as a luxury hotel's. "Bacon and eggs as usual, and..." She stuck her head back in the room and gave Mark a stare. "When did you shave off your beard?" she asked him. "I'm trying something new," Mark improvised as he sat up, trying to figure out where his pants were. Surely all this black leather couldn't be his. "Do you like it?" he asked her, giving her a half-smile. "I like anything you do," Daisy told him without hesitation, something behind her eyes closing off as she stuck her head back in the kitchen. Something in her eyes even got through to Mark, and he felt a little sick. Oh God, did I actually go to Hell this time? C'mon, none of it was illegal and everyone had fun! When Daisy was gone, Mark started looking for his clothes in a hurry, and his commlink to go with it. Last time he'd gone to Hell, his friends had come to rescue him. If that dream had been a reality...well, he owed them all his life already.

Simultaneously with the moment Young Freedom met Talos... Earth-Prime Detention It all happened shockingly fast. One minute they were all in their cells in this bizarre , soft little freakshow of a world, cooling their heels or raging over their imprisonment, bound by unbreakable snare, nullifying fields, or simply encapsulated in unfamiliar bodies that didn't do exactly what they wanted. A moment later, with a crack of light and noise, the electronic doors on every cell shorted out, and automatically rolled up. Outside the doors, in the corridor that connected them all, stood their fierce, fearless leader of the Young Imperial, a cocky smile on his goateed face, the unconscious body of a young woman face down at his feet, blood leaking from her covered nose and mouth. "GENTLEMEN!" Hex gave a terrible, evil laugh. "It seems that I have...gotten lucky with this one. Bwahahahaha! Come, let us make our escape and return to the land of civilization. Once, that is, we retrieve our other friend. The one who the poor, poor little Lor girl here was keeping sedated."

In the universe next door, On Anti-Earth, Claremont Academy is known simply as "The Academy." (When you say that name in Empire City, everyone knows what you're talking about.) The students there are petty godlings drunk on power, young superhumans taught to believe that they are the natural masters of humanity and that the unfortunate regular people of Empire City and the world are there as their pawns and slaves. (However, the Academy doesn't actually discriminate against well-trained young killers, as seen in their most famous recent graduate Tyranny Syndicate member Black Bowman.) Cruel students are encouraged in their cruelty by their harsh taskmasters, decency and humanity discouraged by positive example and negative punishment. Compassion for the weak is a terrible embarrassment liable to fetch you a beating, or worse, from older 'cadets' or your teachers, most of them minor Syndicate members bitterly jealous of their usually more powerful students. The bold student can retaliate against a particularly brutal teacher, but falling beneath the watchful gaze of the drunken, lecherous Fletcher Beaumont II would be a mistake for even the most powerful student. Disobeying the orders of those higher in the Syndicate is a crime punishable in variously unpleasant ways. The most famous cadet team at the Academy is the Next-Syn, formerly headed by the Black Bowman himself and now commanded by Bolt, the spoiled, vicious son of Captain Thunderbolt himself. Bolt is the son of the head of the Tyranny Syndicate and plans to succeed his father there someday, hopefully after the older Ray Gardner retires. But there are other cadet teams at the Academy, organized by ambitious young students determined that they will be the next generation of masters of the world. The newest of these teams is the Young Imperials, headed by Hex, aka Mark Mason Lucas. A group of murderers, thieves, and outright bastards, the Young Imperials are a team with spectacular ambition and a whole lot to prove. And they don't care who gets in their way. Hex: Mark Lucas is the son of a slave and the grandson of a slave. Oh, that wasn't how they billed themselves. To hear him tell it, Jimmy Lucas had been an early member of the Praetor's gang, a loyal toady and supplicant who'd risen on the coattails of the Golden Age Syndicate into a position of wealth, power, and esteem. A generation later, Rick Lucas had been the Praetor's right-hand man, acting as his eyes and ears all over the world as the Syndicate broke the back of their world's few heroes and assumed near-total behind the scenes control. Rick was no fool, though, and when Captain Thunderbolt assassinated the Praetor and his people took over, Rick unhesitatingly took an oath of allegiance to the new regime. After all, he had a son to take care of: and this one he planned to acknowledge as his own. Mark hated his father. And he hated his grandfather, too, for the spineless, powerless, weak little men they'd been. The more the boy learned about history, growing up and watching his father bow and scrape to Captain Thunderbolt and his goons, the more he grew to hate his family and the weak nothings that they were. His family's power was the power of favored pets and slaves, nothing but a legacy of shame and disgrace. When he started as a student at the Academy, it wasn't as a cadet: he was in training to be a favored servant, a minion and goon like any other non-powered student who hadn't been training in combat his whole life. Fuming in his disgust, Mark worked, a brooding, spiteful boy whose anger finally exploded out onto the scene the day William Polsky's chest caved in. The other cadets had been gathered around and watching as Polsky abused and heckled the janitor-trainee on the steps of the Doom Room, the training yard where prisoners of the Syndicate were put to use as test subjects and targets for various student activities. Polsky wasn't a bad boy, really, but he was determined to win respect from his peers by picking on a much-despised "zip." And so it happened that Mark gathered up all his rage at the ill fortune of the world, focused in on William Polsky, and stopped the boy's heart dead in its tracks. That was something; when Fletcher Beaumont II personally appeared to welcome Mark into the Academy track...well, that was something else. Mark was a "luck vampire" for lack of a better word, a young man able to suck the good fortune from others and use it for his own nefarious purposes. He used his powers to pass a test; a car crashed nearby. He dropped a tank on agents of LIGHT? A school burned down nearby. Still deeply jealous of the spoiled children of power like Bolt who mocked him when he was nothing but a slave, Mark used his charisma and stolen good luck to build a team of his own; a team that would one day let him sit and rule where his father stood and waited, that will one day let him be served where once his grandfather was a servant. He hasn't spoken to his parents since the day his powers manifested. (Hex's costume is identical to Edge's, with the exception that he is red where Edge is yellow and black where Mark is blue.)