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September 24th, 2008 Gear City 13th Street, Tonatini’s Pizza Parlor Push awoke with a start, clutching his head and groaning. One minute he’d been riding to see Blueshift, the next, a blinding flash and the feeling like he’d been sucked into a never-ending vortex. In fact, it had been a oddly familiar sensation. Familiar in the sense of being yanked through time and space. Not good. He lifted his head, looking about, and the kineticist’s heart practically stopped. He recognized this place. An alley. An alley where he'd made his first bust after getting his abilities. A few blocks away from Tonatini’s pizza parlor. Tonatini's. His favourite restaurant in… Gear City. He was home. “Oh. Crap.†Push looked down from the sky, mind awhirl with a mess of thoughts. Some were amused. Others were excited. He was home! Back in Gear City, no matter when or why, but he was back home! He recognized the streets. He recognized a few people, though he made damn sure he was out of sight when he spotted them. He was admittedly confused and stunned, but it really was Gear City, as if he’d never left it. A quiet voice in the back of his head asked why, but he stifled it as he wandered the skyline. Finally, his wandering jets brought him to a building overlooking his and Mike’s old apartment above Lazarus Auto Repair. He looked down at it, wondering if Michael was up enjoying a huge hoagie at the old grease-covered linoleum table the two often had to eat from, or was downstairs working on some poor busted transmission. The front door opened, and he immediately ducked behind a nearby billboard, peering out and gaping as a very recognizeable figure walked out. It was himself. Past-self. Gabriel Quinn, pre-museum. "Oh. Crap." Push trailed himself, his psyche practically gibbering as he tailed what could only be his past self. He saw Gabriel Quinn reach into his pocket, and he remembered doing that exact same movement. He remembered the sensation of anxiety his doppelganger below seemed to be going through. But as much as he cudgelled his memory, he couldn’t recall what he was anxious over! It was frustrating as all hell as he looked down upon himself. A crazy thought filled his mind as he looked at Past-Quinn walk across the street, an unholy urge to fly down and seize his past self, telling him everything of what would be coming. Of Mr. Scratch and the chase across the USA. Of the demons and nightmares that’d become his every waking moment for the next two years. Of… “Oh. Crap.†The knowledge hit him at the same time the hired thug’s baseball bat hit his counterpart’s head. Of Associate Professor Wyrd. Of Anastasia. The warehouse was just as he remembered it, and he stared at the outside from the nearby rooftop with no small amount of trepidation. His kinetic vision was on full bore, and he could see through the walls as the currents of movement and energy inside revealed one of his less-savory memories. Anastasia’s machine was directly above his counterpart, and he saw Past-Push turn his head towards the female inventor. Finally, he turned his gaze on the young woman. Funnily enough, it hurt less seeing her through this vision than it would have looking at her in his normal vision. He was surprised when he saw it was a thug that had clubbed his past self, for a long time he’d labored under the illusion that Anastasia had done it herself. In a way, it was relieving. That she didn’t actually hurt him. Yeah, that was bull. She hurt him, alright. But then, so did he. They both did. Neither had the guts to come forward and tell the other who each other was. But while he was idiot enough to keep up an illusion, she’d tried to solve it in her own mad way. It was almost heartwarming, if it wasn’t so damn painful to watch. He saw his counterpart break the table’s binds, leaping off with a surge of energy that accidentally overloaded a nearby breaker. With almost clinical detachment he noted the chain reaction that lead to the destruction of the machine, and the subsequent burning of the building. He saw the energy silhouette that was himself try to force himself forward. He saw the silhouette that was Anastasia draw back, and the pile of debris that collapsed between them fall. And he saw his counterpart forced back. But the silhouette of his ex-girlfriend remained there, in the centre of the flames. Push watched as the outline fell to her knees in the centre of the inferno, and for a split-second, time practically froze for the mutant. She didn’t run. They never found any body in the collapsed building. Sure, she could have been ashes, but surely they’d have found something of hers. Then why didn’t she run? Why didn’t she escape? He never really came to a decision. There really wasn't one to make. Without thinking he leapt forward, kicking in the jets and covering his head as he rushed forward like a runaway meteor, going straight through the burning ceiling and into the conflagration. Wielding energies that would have been far beyond his abilities all those years ago, he pushed and bulled his way through the destruction, blasting holes in collapsed cisterns and shoving aside metal beams with his telekinesis. Flames licked at his coat and scarf, but he ignored them. The smoke made his vision and head swim, but he ignored that too. Every synapse in his brain was overloaded by one thought, to save the woman that nearly killed him. Finally, he reached Anastasia’s unconscious body, and he cradled her in his arms. Smoke inhalation, it had to be. She was unmoving, barely even breathing. As the warehouse collapsed around him, he kicked in what was left of his reserve, shooting up and through the roof, shielding her with his body as his back went straight through the metal ceiling. It hurt like a bitch, but it was all over. He’d done it. That thought ran through his brain as he landed on a nearby rooftop and collapsed, feeling that same sensation of being pulled into a vortex as he blacked out. April 20th, 2011 Freedom City Midtown He woke up in Freedom City, a few hours after he’d “leftâ€. She was right beside him, still unconscious. If you’d asked the kineticist, he honestly could not have told you if he thought the future was changed or unchanged. Sure, he’d saved Anastasia, but he didn’t know if she had really died in that fire, or if he’d stuck around long enough in the past, he’d have seen his future self finish the job. The doctors had swallowed the excuse he’d given them, amazingly. A fire downtown, and that he’d been on the scene in time to save her. The fact that he’d paid quite a bit of cash from L.A.I.R’s accounts to get her treated ASAP was glossed over in his mind. Coma, they said. They didn’t know when she was going to wake up. She was in a comfortable, white-sheeted bed now, hooked up to all kinds of machinery to keep her alive. Back in Gear City, he’d never caught Associate Professor Wyrd. For all intents and purposes, Anastasia Wyrd had never existed. Now a person with no identity was in the ICU. Nobody knew that she was alive but him, now. He looked at the hospital across the street, legs hanging over the edge, and pondered. Things were about to get a lot more complicated.

April 15, 2011 Fenris didn't usually suit up so early in the day; he wasn't an all-night-patrol hero like some, but he preferred to have at least some shadows to work with. If nothing else, it discouraged people from trying to figure out everything about his armor from the get-go. 'Never hurts to have a little mystery in life, people. Especially if that mystery means you don't get my tech...' Suddenly, alarms blared as multiple portals started tearing open in the sky all over the city! He sped down to street level, only a couple of blocks away from The Lab. He saw a couple of portals open nearby and produce... “Pirates? Really? That's kind of...Oh you're kidding me.†Another portal had disgorged what looked like “classical†ninjas. Somehow, the two groups were already fighting, swords of various kinds whirring through the air, throwing knives and primitive flintlock pistols trying to eliminate enemies at range. Civilians ran in fear, one poor man getting clipped by a throwing knife. “Okay, as much fun as this might be for YouTube later, this needs to stop. Time to shock some sense into them.†With that, Fenris began striding forwards, sending blast after crackling blast out from his PPCs. Each blast seemed to knock another combatant out of the picture; since he was alternating between each group, neither got any major advantage, thus keeping it from being a slaughter. Before long, it was down to the apparent leaders of each group. The pirate was a crusty-looking older fellow, with a whole lot of those pistols and a rather large cutlass. The head ninja was actually smaller than his fellows, but seemed to have an almost supernatural grace about him. The pirate charged first. “That's for me crew! Blasted metal dog-man!†The sword was caught in now-glowing claws, and quickly sundered to utter uselessness. The other hand came up in a devastating uppercut that knocked out a couple of teeth, even as the pirate slipped into an unplanned nap. “Wolf, not dog. Hey, watch the finish!†The ninja had tried to strike his head off while he was distracted. It had only succeeded in scratching the metal, doing no real damage. A quick elbow from Fenris staggered the ninja, and twin PPC blasts put him out of the fight. “Well, that was kind of fun. Minus the lives at risk, I guess.†His head whipped around as his suit picked up a “silent†alarm at The Lab. He sighed. “Bet they're all busy with these portals. Anything setting that off is bound to be bad news.†With that, he flashed away, speeding through the space between space, arriving in a flash of light just down the block from the front of the Lab. For the moment, the building looked intact, but there were three figures in front that looked quite menacing. All three were wearing what looked to be powered armor, but they were easy to tell apart nonetheless. One of them had a good two feet of height on the others, making him something like eight feet tall. He carried what seemed to be a large energy cannon in both hands; the weapon looked more like one designed for a main battle tank. The next, in a suit that bizarrely emphasized the fact that the wearer was female. She seemed to be armed with what looked like a long spear, and bore a jet pack on her back. The final figure, who seemed to be the leader of the merry little band, had a much more “generic†looking suit. He had an over-sized pistol gripped in each hand, and what looked like some sort of sword on his back. All of them looked dangerous. Especially the one pointing the giant gun at the Lab. “Hey! Heavy Weapons Guy! Hope you have insurance on Sasha there!†With only that cry as a warning, Fenris appeared perhaps 50 feet away, firing both PPCs directly into the huge gun. His shots damaged it, but it seemed to still be active, albeit going into a “standby†moder, perhaps to assess damage. Of course, he didn't have much time to think about that, since Leader was firing a barrage of shots at him, and Spear Lady was trying to turn him into a shish-kebab. He blurred away, putting a good 200 feet between them. HWG busied himself getting his gun up and running, Leader hung back, and Spear Gal flew after him. She aimed for his heart, the tip of her spear crackling with energy... Only for Fenris to practically fall backwards, his now-glowing claws swiping upwards at the shaft of the spear. Sparks flew, and the weapon fell to pieces in her hands. Spear Gal dropped the useless metal and drew a combat knife and an over-sized energy pistol. The pistol was also shredded quickly, but the knife managed to cut into his armor somewhat; thankfully, it didn't breach anything. He counter-attacked, punching her several times across the torso, and once in her head. She staggered, and he saw his chance. Getting behind her, he practically shoved both PPC barrels into her suit's backpack (which he figured had most of her power systems and such. With a wordless growl that sounded even worse coming over his speaker, he fired. The results were rather dramatic, as the backpack suffered an overload, producing a small explosion that scorched Fenris's arms and slammed her into the ground. There were a couple of moments where she was wracked by electrical overload, before she was locked inside an inert suit of armor. But Fenris had no time to celebrate, as the HWG was barreling towards him with a bellow of rage. “Sweet on Little Miss Spear here? She's fine; probably a few burnt hairs, definitely some aches and pains in the morning, and obviously a wrecked suit, but she's still alive.†He zipped away from where the large man tried to actually stomp on him, firing a few shots of his PPCs. They cratered the large man's armor, but didn't really slow him down. Fenris frowned inside his helmet; there was no way he was risking getting close enough to try taking him down with his claws. He started zipping around faster and faster, hoping to confuse the large man, or at least outmaneuver him. That was probably the only thing that saved him when he came out of a dash and was staring straight down the barrel of the huge gun the man carried. A barrel that was already starting to fire, having charged up for the last minute or so. Fenris crouched, the jumped high into the air, activating his Vacuum Flux Capacitor as he did so. In the microseconds before he entered that slipstream that would carry him over the large man, the energies of the cannon started to wash over his suit's legs. When he emerged, directly above and behind the large man, his legs were blackened and trailing smoke. He fired two stronger-than-normal shots, disabling the huge suit in a similarly dramatic fashion as the first. The huge cannon sparked and sputtered from the overload, several parts exploding within the casing, leaving it a useless wreck, even as the weilder collapsed. Fenris himself fell into a weary crouch, panting a bit beneath the armor. His legs felt like they were on fire; probably because a good portion of his armor there had been melted off. A couple of his actuators had been fried, too; everything in his legs felt stiff. He was about to stand up when a sword tip found itself resting at the base of his throat. “My my. Another armor user, but this time one of those pathetic “superheroesâ€? Well, perhaps pathetic isn't entirely accurate; you defeated both my comrades with little damage to yourself. But you forgot about me. Now, I'll kill you, and then I'll take what technology I can from the Lab. After that, I'll leave it intact, after planting a few spy devices that are cutting edge in a century or so. From then on, I'll have a free line on tons of great tech, enough to really keep me in the money. This sword's pretty sharp; looks like it's already cutting in. You'll open up like, oh, what's the term? Ah, yes. “Like a tin canâ€, I believe.†The man started to apply pressure, but Fenris suddenly collapsed backward, pulling himself away from the sword. Mostly. It still cut deeply, actually reaching to the final layer above his skin, leaving a mark scored in the interface suit he wore. His left arm snapped up, his blazing claws first scratching, then scoring, then finally severing the blade. It was quickly dropped even as Fenris fired his right PPC into the other armor's shoulder, frying the electronics with a well-placed hit. His enemy, undaunted by only 1 working arm, pulled his other pistol out and started to fire. These shots cratered Fenris's armor, two of them tearing into his own left arm systems, leaving almost that whole side useless. Finally, a lucky shot from Fenris hit Leader on the right side of his neck. The final armor down fried and done for the count, but Fenris hadn't fared much better. His suit was in shambles, and he was barely able to stand and start dashing back to his hidden base. As the armor was peeled off his body, and the automated shop got to work taking care of most of the damage, he was lost in thought. 'They would have walked all over me if I hadn't had the element of surprise. I had that, and I still almost lost. They said they were from a century in the future...I guess that means I need to figure out ways to get at least a century ahead, then. Because if this sort of “portal storm†shows up again, I might end up facing even more of them. And then people die, including myself. I can't let that happen, no matter what the cost.' Soon, he sat down at his drafting computer, and began to tinker with some old nanotechnology designs he'd found half-buried in their archives. Some of these things only needed a few tweaks to be perfected...

Freedom City was in danger! That was hardly different from any day in the city where weirdness never slept, but today was worse than most. Disappearances were being reported all over the city, people suddenly vanishing, other people and strange creatures appearing out of nowhere, fights and rampages in the streets! It was a bad time, but luckily, Freedom City had its heroes to protect it. One of those heroes, Miss Americana, was already in the air, flying over Hanover as she attempted to suss out the situation. There were disturbances on the ground, sirens blasting, and what looked like... was that a band of Vikings on the ground? A superhero in the blue and gold colors of Claremont Academy seemed to have the situation in hand there, so Miss A flew onward. A few blocks away, she noticed a strange disruption, almost as though reality were bending like the air on a hot summer day. She flew down to get a closer look, turning midair to land... Gina's eyes snapped open as her consciousness rudely and abruptly thudded back into her squishy flesh body. "Goddamn radios," she muttered, hastening over to her work chair and rolling it to her main interface console. Within seconds, she'd activated the robot's implanted locator beacon, the same type used on black boxes and EPIRB units to be traceable from half a world away and in just about any conditions. She zoomed in on Hanover, recalling exactly where she'd been, down to the millimeter and... nothing. There was nothing there. No disturbance, no robot, no locator ping. It was an empty stretch of sidewalk that didn't even show signs of radio interference. She quickly widened the scan, to take in the city, then the whole region. Still nothing! Scanning further would take time, but what else was she going to do? As she waited for the search to run, Gina considered the possibilities. Could the robot have fallen victim to one of the portals and been whisked away to who-knows-where? She had to admit it was looking distinctly likely. That was... not good. Nobody knew what the portals were, or where they opened onto, or if anything that went through one would come back. The Miss Americana robot had only an extremely basic artificial intelligence, enough to maintain a human mien, walk and act as specifically instructed, and seek out solar energy when its battery ran low. There was no possible way it could return on its own to Freedom City. For now, possibly for the foreseeable future, Miss Americana was out of commission. But Freedom City still needed heroes. Gina went upstairs and looked out her front window. It was quiet in the direct view of her house, but she could hear sirens, and people yelling in the distance. Bad things were happening. Surely she could do something. She headed for the door, only to catch a glimpse of herself in the reflection off her cabinets. Dumpy, dowdy, out of shape, dressed in sweats and with her hair ratty, she was nobody's idea of a hero. What the hell was she supposed to do out there anyway, just stand there and hope she scared the invaders or made them recoil with revulsion just to look at her? She didn't have laser beams, she couldn't fly. When it came to saving the city, she was absolutely worthless. Gina retreated downstairs to continue the futile search. Hours later, her search had covered the entire world to no avail. Gina was forced to concede that the robot might be gone entirely. That was a very depressing thought. She prepared herself a supposedly healthy frozen dinner, then added a half pint of Cherry Garcia and a bag of Doritos to her tray and carried it all downstairs to keep working. It could be months before she had another robot working, and even that would require a lot of very uncomfortable contact with the outside world. In that time, who knew what would happen to the contacts and work that Miss Americana had been doing? What would happen to the little girl in Switzerland? Just as Gina stuck the first spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, the locator beacon alert shrilled at her from the computer! Fumbling aside her dinner tray, she dove for the keyboard and interfaced with the local satellite to get a close-up picture of its location. The robot was exactly where she'd left it, in the middle of Hanover, on an empty sidewalk. Only... it didn't look the same at all. Gone was Miss Americana's skintight red-white-and blue uniform, replaced with a long blue dress that looked distinctly Victorian, corseted and with a full skirt that dropped to her ankles. Her golden hair was pinned up in ringlets and partially hidden by a large, feathered hat. Wherever she'd been, someone had been playing dress-up and gotten really carried away, it seemed. A bit of reflected light on the satellite picture caught her eye, and Gina magnified again. On the robot's finger was a gold wedding band. "What the hell were you doing while you were gone?" Gina demanded aloud, then dropped her body to go and retrieve the damned thing before it did anything worse.

“Oh no…not again!†mumbled Rene to himself. Around him, a horde of armed Frenchman were assailing a grand Chateux. Musketfire, shouting, and the smell of burning buildings (lit by the horde’s flaming torches) assailed his senses. The day had started off so pleasantly. Rene had been taking a stroll in the park, the weather was good, the birds had been singing, and even the city air had seemed cleaner and fresher than was its normal, acceptable but flawed, nature. And then, wham! He didn’t even know what had hit him. Nothing that his extraordinary visions detected anyway. The next thing he knew, he was stumbling across a pebbled pavement to the tune of an enraged rabble. It was all so familiar. The French Revolution. He had fought in it himself, as a young man. And now he had been catapaulted through time to relive the horror. With a cold feeling, Rene looked down at his clothes. 21st century, flecked with some antiquarian taste, and all good quality. He looked up, into the eyes of an angry mob, armed with pitchforks, flintlocks, and torches. This wasn’t good. He wasn’t technically dressed as an aristocrat. But his clothes were odd and well made. That was probably good enough for a rabble with blood on their minds – and on their hands too, he suspected. “Good friends†he started. “I can explain everything!†he started. Could he? Could he?. No. But he could try. “Long live the revolution!†he continued, waving his fist in the air. “Long live France!†Forcing his beating heart to slow down, he started his gambit. Perhaps too fast, and perhaps too gabbled. “I have come here today, dear friends, to fight the glorious fight. All day yesterday, I have spied on the vile aristocrats, hiding in their midst! And now I come to you, the brave people of France, to lead you to the final victory against the…errr…†He stumbled. The crowd glared back at him. “…the Baron…the Baron Le *cough cough splutter* he finished, forcing a series of coughs and gasped breathing. He raised one eye. The crowd glared back at him. “Non?†he asked rhetrorically. His answer was a surge of people, waving makeshift weapons and screaming for revenge and blood. “Non†he conceded to himself, bringing out his magic paintbrush. He had better not screw this one up. The adrenaline both helped and hindered. With a magnificent sweep of his arm, ending with a flourish of his fingers, the brush erupted with invisible magic and a wave of complete darkness washed over both the Crowd and the Magician, enveloping them. Darkness was no problem for Rene. His eyes weren’t much good these days anyway, and he relied more and more on his mystic senses. Scuttling away, he sidestepped the mob and darted into a ramshackle burnt out building. At some point it had been a stable, and some agitated horses still loitered in confusion inside it. "Horses heh?" Said Rene, stroking his beard. “Its been quite a while…†he muttered to himself as he approached what looked like the most virile specimen. “But I think I can remember…†He groaned as he mounted the steed. It would play havoc with his back and rear (he remembered) but it felt rather exciting to ride again. As the darkness ebbed away, Rene pointed his horse to the hills, and recalled the old lessons he had had, and the times he had ridden. It was a bit foggy, but he thought he could say the art of Equestrianism had returned. With a gallop and a shout of exhilaration, Rene sped off to the hills, as far away, and as fast away, as possible from the mindless Rabble who had threatened him. “Magnificent†he yelled to himself, oblivious to his aching muscles. Despite the danger, he was enjoying himself. As he rode, he spied another shimmering in the distance. A rip in the landscape that could not be natural. Shaking his head, the memory came back. That rip had thrown him back to this time – and now, he swore, it would return him. “Stay there!†he yelled at the time tunnel. “I have a bone to pick with you!†he swore, as the horse charged at full pace towards the anomaly. It surely did not hear or understand Rene – and surely was no more sentient than the rocks it floated over, but it seemed to obey the venerable mystics command, for it remained quite still as Rene rode straight into it... ...and into modern day Freedom City. The birds still sang, the sun still shone, and the air was still clean. But, to make a picture even more dramatic, Rene was now trotting across the Park on top of a magnificent stallion. “Good day†said Rene to an amazed couple he passed, doffing his beret at them. Good day indeed.

There was an Omegadrone below. He was screaming. Flying overhead as the crowd on the street shouted in terror and fled the grim reminder of the horror of Freedom's past, Caradoc came to a fast decision: he came in low and plowed into the lost drone, plowing both men into the side of a nearby Taco King, the fast food joint already smashed in by looters from the great collapse of the 22nd century. Inside, both of them out of the sight of the crowd, he turned and fired a blast that collapsed the storefront behind them before dropping his disguise. Inside, he tackled the screaming drone. Unbidden, combat lessons came back to him: _Strike beneath the neck. The weak point of the armor is where the head meets the shoulders._ But he wasn't striking to kill today; Harrier had vowed that he would kill no more. Omegadrones were not part of that vow. But Omegadrones didn't scream. Not in words. The man beneath the helmet was pale-faced and shake, tears falling from eyes-too-wide _ocular implants forced beneath the skin_... as he looked up at what he thought was his tormentor. "Do it!" He screamed. "Do it, you metal-faced bastard! I'm not afraid of you anymore, do you hear?" Harrier's metallic face pulled away, revealing the man beneath, and he spoke with urgency as he grabbed the man's arms. "Listen to me! Listen to me!" He hesitated, almost called the man 'subunit', and added, "You're safe! If you can think, if you can talk, the link has been broken! You are safe here! Tell me your name!" he shouted, his metallic voice raised against the emergency as it almost never was. This was no place for his usual humility. "It...it...you're right!" the man cried. And he was human, from his facial features perhaps Euro-Caucasian; his skin the color of one of the front-line drones, not the heavy combat units that Harrier once had been. "It's gone, that terrible voice is..." He took a deep breath, then another, and said, "I...my name is Kurt Waid. I live in Freedom City. I live in Hanover. Yes...I...god..." He shook, all over, his armor clanking. "Get me out of this! Please, get me out of this!" Harrier knew that the sub-units could not live long without their armor, but with his power pike he did what he could, cutting open steel and slicing free the man within. _There are treatments now,_ he thought a little desperately. _Another can be built for him..._ "Listen to me, Kurt," said Harrier firmly. "My name is Stephen," he confessed. "I once was like you, a man, taken by the Terminus. But as I am freed, so you are freed. You have been the victim of a temporal anomaly." He'd seen them appearing in the sky over Champions, and gone out to do all he could to make things right. "The armies of Omega have been repulsed from this city. What date is it?" "The date?" Kurt was taking shallow breaths: eventually the residual energy in his diaphragm would fade, and within days he would suffocate without connection again to the power battery in his armor. "It...it's..." He gave a date Harrier knew down to his very bones: the date of the first day of the Terminus Invasion. "I was out shopping with my wife and my kids when those...those damned Omegadrones were suddenly everywhere! I told my family to run and I went the other way to try and ward them off and...and they caught me and they did..." He looked down at himself and shuddered all over, but Harrier's horror was growing. "Tell me about your family," he said suddenly, "tell me what they are like." And he listened, he listened intently as he desperately began to summon his friends by radio, finding them busy, gone, or finally only able to tell him what he already knew of temporal matters. The past could not be changed. Nor could one be plucked from the past, like a soul half-in and half-out of the coil, without terrible consequences. When the current anomalies were restored, all would be as it once had been. _All of it_. And a freed Omegadrone with memories of the future would be dropped into Omega's lap on the first day of the Terminus Invasion. For the future to be saved, the iron logic of time said this man had to die. But... "My wife's name is Jillissa," said Kurt, obviously using her as a beacon to compose himself. "We have a daughter named Hannah, she's twelve, and our son Edward is ten. Jillissa is a nurse at McNider General and Hannah and Edward are kids, they're at...God, what's this going to mean? How long have I been gone?" When Harrier told them, he screamed again, but more in surprise than horror. It had been a very long time since 1993. Before he could speak again, Harrier interrupted him. "Listen to me, Kurt," he said with great firmness. "The process of transformation is irreversible. Though you can be freed from your armor, your body is dependent on it. Your organs have been replaced, and they cannot be replaced in time. You have only a few hours, perhaps days to live. I know this is very hard to hear, but you must understand it, and believe it, or all...all will be lost. Do you understand?" Kurt looked him in the eye, his face stricken for a moment, before finally, reluctantly...he nodded. "I made peace with death when I felt those machines pull me open like a ragdoll. I know I won't get out of this one alive. Will you take me to my family?" It was the question Harrier had been waiting for; it was one he could answer. "Yes." - As hero fought time-lost villain and as time itself warped and changed around Freedom City, Caradoc flew invisibly through the sky, carrying with him his ill, pale companion on a mission to find the family he'd lost twenty years earlier. Harrier knew with the iron logic of an Omegadrone that it was foolish to look: that it was entirely likely the man's family had died with him, or just a little later...but sometimes that iron logic wasn't always true. With a little help from Miss Americana by text message, they found Jillissa Waid, still in Hanover, and by the time they landed she and her adult children were waiting on the lawn for the father they hadn't seen in so very long. Secure in his Caradoc identity, Harrier stood back and watched the reunion as children saw the father they'd lost, as a woman saw the love she'd left behind. Jillissa had eventually remarried, as one might expect, though her second husband was out of the country; their children were married as well, and at a signal from his father Kurt B. Waid came running out of the house to greet his time-lost grandfather. There were tears, and emotion, and meanwhile Harrier was again confirming that nothing could be done. But there was a little time left. They went everywhere, the chaos of the day meaning that no one looked too closely: at the Super Museum to watch the death of the Centurion, at Champions where Kurt could eat a last burger and fries (and later, Caradoc held him as he vomited; as he'd warned him, his stomach was gone...), and Harrier told his own story as well, the grim legacy of the Terminus that perhaps only another Omegadrone could fully understand. It was a long and glorious day until finally, as sun set, Harrier's radio clicked to life. "The anomalies are going away." "...that...that means me, doesn't it?" Kurt was looking at the setting sun on the horizon, leaning against a lampost as his muscles began to fade. "Anomalies going home...and I don't belong here..." "Yes." In his hand, Harrier's pike whined to life. "You know the fate that awaits you. And what that fate would mean for all of us. When you return, Omega will gain knowledge of the future. I cannot allow that to happen." "Or...or maybe they'll just...they'll just kill me." Kurt gave Harrier a haggard smile. "You said that's what...happened to you, right? An...Omegadrone who leaves the hearing of...the voice of Omega is blasted to pieces by the others as a...oh God, that hurts...fail-safe system. Omega won't...know I was there." He slumped to the ground, still sitting, and looked up at Harrier. "Yes. That is what happened to me. But I cannot guarantee the same will happen to you." Disappearing from view, he aimed his pike at Kurt's face. "The iron logic..." "Wouldn't you have...have killed me when we met, if you really believed in that?" He looked at him above the pike. "You let me live before, you...you said, because you wanted proof that the power of...of the Terminus was a lie. If you kill me now, doesn't that mean you believe it's true?" Harrier looked at him, his face invisible behind his armored plate, and tightened his grip on the pike... --- Some days later It had taken Stephen Murdock, with his limited research skills, quite a while to get into the library at the Super Museum and into the long, long list of those left missing and dead by the Terminus Invasion of 1993. He went through the pages slowly until finally he found what he was looking for. A man, a name, and a cause of death. Kurt Ross Waid: Killed by Omegadrone. 1993. He studied the words, then with a small sigh, he closed the book. Freedom had triumphed.

The Promenade was a bright spot of color amidst the high rises and R&D plants of Hanover. Jessica Parker strolled slowly along a gravel path that paralleled the Wading River. A water bottle swung from one hand and a double cheeseburger was a comfortable weight in her stomach. By a fortuitous coincidence of timing (she kept insisting to anyone who asked) the teen's class schedule had a ninety minute gap right around dinnertime. This was the first really nice day the city had had all year, and she meant to enjoy it. Of course, finals were barreling towards her; by all rights she should've been frantically working on her senior project. Fortunately, HIT's network extended a good half-mile past the campus ground. Jessica had left herself logged in on a workstation, and the bulk of her attention was focused there. She left just enough of herself free to enjoy being able to do so. There was a sudden flickering of motion in the corner of her eye. Before she could turn to look at it more fully, it rushed at her. She opened her mouth-- the shock of disconnection was like a bucket of cold water to the face. It took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t in Freedom City anymore. She was in some place hot and humid, moisture dripping off something nearby. She couldn’t tell exactly what since the area was entirely pitch-black. The young inventor had a quick solution to that problem, though. She touched the slim bracelet she wore and her armor unfolded from extradimensional space, then folded around her. The suit’s enhanced senses easily cut through the darkness, revealing thick jungle undergrowth all around. She couldn’t pinpoint her position because her GPS refused to link up, but at least she knew she was somewhere equatorial. There was a ground-shaking thud somewhere off to her right. Ironclad rose into the air, above the treetops. There was an air field in that direction, and she could zoom in and see men in uniforms toting Kalashnikov rifles – a military airbase, then. There was a single huge figure on one of the runways, shooting flames from one arm. Ironclad’s immediate reaction was to swoop in and save everyone, but she checked that impulse – she didn’t know the situation, didn’t know who was who. Then the huge figure raised its other arm and belched out a ribbon of cannon fire that cut three men in half. No matter what, a hero had to stop stuff like that. Ironclad charged in and collided with the big figure with a metallic clang. It’s a suit, she realized, another suit. They wrestled for a several minutes, neither able to gain the upper hand. Finally the larger suit threw Ironclad into the treeline. As she was picking herself up she heard it make a radio transmission. It was encrypted, but the code was so out-of-date that the heroine broke it nearly in realtime. “Ironclad reporting in,†it transmitted. “Target responding with unusual force. Retreating to base.†Rockets fired from its feet and back and the colossus rose into the air, slowly at first but it accelerated quickly. Not so fast that the heroine couldn’t have caught up, but the intercepted message had floored her. The only other person to ever use the code-name Ironclad was her grandfather, back when he worked for the government. If she had been moved back in time that would explain why the encryption was out of date (and why she couldn’t link up to the GPS satellites) but her grandfather had been a hero. So why was he killing those soldiers? Said soldiers were jogging across the tarmac towards her, rifles raised at their shoulders. Before Ironclad could respond, she picked up a blue hole in the air opening up behind her. It rushed forward and the jungle popped liked a soap bubble, leaving the heroine back in the park. She remotely checked several different clocks, comparing them to her suit’s. Her little jaunt had, as far as she could tell, taken no time at all. She could’ve gone straight back to working on her poject, but the young woman had a sudden urge to look into her grandfather’s service record.