Later that morning the President of the United States made a formal address on the situation in Chicago. He dwelled for a time on the 'meta-human' issue but in the end he did not point the finger at them, a wise move since America was not ready to wage an all out war against the metas. It was widely suspected that their numbers vastly surpassed the census and already the immoral and the weak-minded were everyday creating witch hunts if only to serve their own agenda. The last thing the government wanted on their hands was the blood of an innocent child wrongly accused and killed for being different. Their country had already endured such ignorance in the 50's and 60's and less they forget those children and honest, hard working people, murdered for the color of their skin. Were they walking down the same path yet again? The President at long last spoke his mind before a nation and beckoned his people to take the path less traveled

Already some of the adults were showing signs of the deformities. Right on national TV, during a live broadcast a pretty, young broad caster actually began to transform right before the eyes of the country. Her forehead began to grotesquely grow and the right side of her face began to sag. The station cut the feed but it was too late. If people were not already beginning to panic, the sight of the newscaster transforming on the air most certainly pushed them over the edge.



"Ladies and gentlemen," Birkshire began as he paraded around the room carrying a syringe containing the bright green antidote to Umbra's plague, "Experts have tested the serum and can verify without a doubt that it is an antidote to this plague that is effecting Chicago. Unfortunately, many tests are yet inconclusive as they require a twenty-four hour period to yield results."

The tall black man stopped before a table and stared down at the agent seated before him. She was already beginning to show signs of the plague, even though they had been in RAID's environmentally controlled sub-levels of their Chicago field office building since the early morning. He twirled the syringe in his fingers as he unsympathetically observed her.

"It would seem that what ever this plague is, this facility which has been designed to safeguard against all manner of outbreaks has not spared us. Each of you have been granted a dose of the antidote. Use it at your own discretion and those of you with families may apply to agent Barnsby for additional vials after the briefing.

"We the members R.A.I.D. and the F.B.I. have been assembled here for one purpose and one alone. To locate and destroy Umbra. Now, currently our biggest leads in the case lie with these two unregistered meta-humans."

Birkshire moved to the side of the large screen he was standing in front of and the images of Wraith and Sigma Seventeen appeared.

"We are all aware who these men are and the crimes they have committed." Continued Birkshire, "Currently they are our prime suspects for the leadership of Umbra. Director Adams and myself will oversee the entire operation from here. You have already received your assignments and I urge you to follow them. Local law enforcement will see to the citizens and I cannot stress how important it is that all you concentrate at the task at hand. Thank you."



Henkel pushed his chair back and leaned forward as he tucked his syringe in his breast pocket. Quickly checking his face in the reflective surface of the glossy black table he was relieved that wasn't showing any signs yet. While the deformities were only supposed to be cosmetic, Henkel had heard that some of their doctors speculated that the malformations might internalize, thus causing serious health issues. Whether or not this was part of Umbra's plan couldn't be known at the time, but so far they had not alluded to the plague symptoms being lethal, just deforming of one's appearance.



"Guess you won't bee needin' one of these, hey Garret." Stated Jameson holding up his syringe in front of the registered meta-human, "Membership has its privileges."



"Just what the $#@& is that supposed to mean, Jameson!" Snapped Garret, aggressively stepping toward the smaller man.

Henkel stepped between them and gave Garret a light shove back. "Jeezuz Christ! We're on the same team here!" he growled, "Garret cool off! And Jameson... stop being an asshole! If its possible."

Birkshire paused for a moment before exiting the room and cast his eyes toward Jameson. He immediately took note of the Supervising R.A.I.D. agent's interest in their situation and fell in line. "Yeah, I got ya." he complied.

"This is exactly what the President's speech was about. Now you two keep it together." Henkel continued to lecture, "Now, let's get outta here and try and track down these 'masks'. I'm pretty sure they're not Umbra, but I'm betting they now how to find them."



"WHAT?!" Shouted Wraith almost in unison with Zoe, "No, no, no... Kekoa!"

The line went dead and he knew better than to try and call back too soon. The lines were secure but too much activity could still compromise the silence and R.A.I.D. was always listening, probably twice as hard at the moment considering the meta-human caused plague and all.

"Shit!" Devon silently cursed. Change of plans.

He and Sigma were both in plain clothes, checking out one of the clinics that had been set up downtown. Already the lines were down the street and security was tight. Well armed cops were everywhere, dressed in riot control armor and carrying high powered rifles. Some, R.A.I.D. agents and enforcers were present, but obviously they were spread thin throughout the city.

"Kekoa cracked that psycho's PDA." Devon told Sigma.



"So what's the scoop?"

"Nothing yet. Zoe ended the call for some reason, so I'm heading down there. You concentrate on getting a sample of that antidote."

Slate nodded.

"And watch your ass, eh? It's getting nuts around here." Mentioned Devon, alluding to the few skirmishes that had broken out in the lines.

"Desperation makes monsters." Replied Slate unsympathetically, but of course he couldn't empathize with the people, or anyone, not really.

Devon nodded and made his way back to his apartment via public transit. During his ride home, he pondered what exactly, Sigma meant but then he just chalked it up to the fact that the guy was creepy. He trusted him, but the guy was definitely a little off and not in a good way. Wraith had heard the stories of Sigma Seventeen, the serial killing vigilante and had always wondered if they were exaggerated by R.A.I.D. in order to generate fear in those who might sympathize with his cause. Now that he had gotten to know the guy he still wasn't sure but he was leaning toward the fact that there was some validity to the rumors.

An hour later, Devon was back at his apartment.



He threw on his costume and filled a bag with a change of clothes. He then strapped it round his body nice and tight then headed for Green Street. He traveled by wind form and caught a fast current of air that took him quickly to the underground base. A little over half of an hour later, Wraith knocked on the North door and was buzzed in by whom ever was monitoring the security cameras, Zoe he guessed.

Wraith made his way through the common area and stopped in the kitchen to grab himself a gatorade out of the fridge. As he drank it down, he considered checking on Greyson Pyre who he assumed was in one of their two prison cells near the East door passage. Where ever they had him, Wraith prayed they had that nut-job locked up tight.

Wraith made his way down to Zoe's dungeon and rapped heavily on the door.

"Hey Killswitch, its Wraith."

Once more the door remotely unlocked, and Wraith entered a stairwell with several landings descended downward into Zoe's computer underworld. Wishing to save some time, Wraith leaped over the railing and lightly descended down through the open area in the middle of the stairways. There he found, Kekoa and walked straight for him.

"Good work on cracking Pyres, data-assitant. So where's, Zoe by the way? I am assuming she has the unit. You wouldn't believe it out there. Its getting scary, people are getting ready to blow."

Slate waited in line for his ration of the serum. For this first round of the antidote the federal government was picking up the tab and all doses thereafter would come out of the pockets of the private citizen, because of this everyone and there dog had lined up. It was some time before Slate could even see the end of the line and during his wait, he had seen three fights break out as tempers got over heated. People were angry, and rightly so, Slate figured but instead of turning that rage into something positive they were beginning to turn on one another. Like rats fleeing a fire, the citizens of Chicago were attacking one another if only to ensure that they got what they needed.

When Slate got a good look at the tent they were headed toward he spied a medical technician drawing blood samples before administering the antidote; no vials were being given out. This wasn't good. One, Slate had a feeling that R.A.I.D. was taking advantage of the outbreak to run a city wide screen on meta-humans (could they sink any lower?) and two, he wasn't sure what kind of effect an antidote meant for humans would have on him. It was definitely time to bow out of line and come up with another plan.

"Why ya steppin' outta line? We're almost there. Not afraid of a little needle are ya?" Asked a rather attractive woman with a playful smile.

She had been behind him the entire time but he hadn't really noticed her, but now recall those few times she attempted to make eye contact while he scanned the crowd for plain-clothed officers. Slate really didn't have time for such non-sense, not that he ever did. Interacting with a 'normal' woman was simply out of the question and so the crime fighter did not even acknowledge them.

"Don't try and be a hero, man. You should get the shot." Recommended another man in line who had over heard the woman and thought to make Slate's retreat his business.

"I'm good." Slate assured them as he turned away. Only he didn't it make it two steps before another man, this one somewhat larger and more rough and tumble barred his way.

"Hold it a second there." He ordered, holding a hand up to Slate's chest, "We're ALL infected here, why in the hell would someone up and cut out of line when they're only twenty or so people away from the shot?"

"Yeah!" Seconded the young attractive woman.

Shit! Slate thought to himself. The situation was suddenly becoming intense. His eyes flashed toward the tent, focusing on the R.A.I.D. and Chicago Police officers. Making a scene would not be in his best interest, he had to get away without attracting attention which shouldn't be hard.

"Look, I forgot something and its real important. That's all." Offered Slate with the best warm smile he could muster.

"What the #$%^ could be more important than this numb-nuts?" Questioned the larger man who for some reason was getting agitated.

"Hey, I don't want any trouble." Peacefully requested Slate.

"Well you found it." Stated the man, "Y'know something else. You don't seem sick at all."

Slate could see where he was going with this. These people were afraid and so often as animals do not distinguish between fear and pain they were lashing out to subdue it.

"Hey, there's a lot of people around here who look just fine." Slate stated the obvious.

"Yeah, but they don't seem as calm as you."

Slate considered trying to explain to the man that a psychopathic mind just doesn't react to things the same as normal Humans but some or another he didn't feet that go over very well.

"In fact, there's something different about you, boy." Growled the man as he shoved Slate back.

As soon as the man touched him, something snapped inside of Sigma. Nobody pushes him! At that moment, he didn't care anything about the cops and couldn't care less about all the people desperately waiting in line, all he wanted was to get away. He was sick of being around the crowds, all he wanted to was get out! Before he could stop himself, Slate grabbed the man's wrist and twisted, putting him down to his knees, then brought his knee up and knocked the taller man on his ass.

"He's a meta!" Screamed another man who had been observing the argument and without thinking, Slate drove his palm in the squealer's chest and threw the man into the air.

Two R.A.I.D. officers looked out into the crowd and watched as an average sized man was sailing though the air. He flew a good twenty feet from a hit that a person of Slate's build just should not have the strength to perform. Instantly they recognized the heightened strength, and began to make there way through the crowed to get to Slate.

As Slate began clearing his path to get away from the crowd he was being observed by someone he likely had never thought would be watching him. Jennifer Milan happened to be in the crowd that had gathered outside the tent but she wasn’t dressed like she normally looked in her personal life or her alter ego. She was wearing her hair pulled into a floppy hat, black rimmed glasses that screamed “nerd” and baggy, mis-fitting clothes and hardly any makeup. She looked like she belonged there instead of doing any kind of investigating. Like Slate and Wraith, she had her suspicions and she wanted to look for herself. What she saw when she reached the inoculation area was nothing short of controlled chaos. This whole thing reeked of RAID.

As she heard the sound of a heated argument happening near her, she turned to see what was happening. As soon as the others started accusing the man of being a meta, she watched in amazement as he started clearing a path to get away from the people. Quickly assessing the situation she saw how the RAID officers began to make their way towards the area and knew things were going to get bad real fast.

Pushing her way towards the man she sent a few people backwards until she finally ended up next to him. He turned to get her out of his way as well and her eyes grew wide and she quickly put her hands up to pretend surrender.

”Don’t hurt me! I’m here to help! Come with me….I can lead you out of here. I swear”

She saw the doubt in his eyes and without thinking she reached out and grabbed a hold of his hand and tugged him away from the crowd and away from the RAID officers. When he started following on his own she let go of his hand and started leading him through the throng of people, shoving them out of their way roughly.

Glancing over her shoulder to see where the RAID was and make sure Slate was still behind her, she kept moving them away from the crowd and RAID. Jorge was waiting for her a few blocks over. All they had to do was reach the jeep and get the hell away from here.

'What a loud of crap!' Slate thought to himself as the angry mob converged on him. The fear of the meta-made plague had fueled their hatred for his kind and average men and women — family people, were venting their frustrations on the suspected mutant. Most of them weren't even sure he was a meta, but they didn't care, that was mob mentality and it was catching.

Slate expertly dodged and defended against their feeble attempts to grapple or strike him. Maybe if any of them actually had any fight experience they might have gotten close but as it were he easily avoided their punches. That is, until they began to close in and trap him. When the circle began to shrink, Slate had had enough. Bodies began to fly and he didn't discriminate. First, he tossed a tattooed biker through a wall of weekend warriors. Next, he socked an irate soccer mom right on the mouth then threw her into the crowd. Usually, Slate didn't feel much from inflicting pain but for some reason that one felt good.

The boys in black and cops were getting closer. It was time to high-tail it, but dammit if he wasn't tangled up in one angry mob. It was going to be close. He had to fight his way clear before, the R.A.I.D. enforcers got involved. Those boys knew how to fight, and with so many distractions around it was too risky to tangle with them.

Right about the time that Slate was about to resort to pulling out his whip and start hacking his way though the crowd (a move that would definitely betray his identity) some tall woman got up in his face. She looked like the poster girl for Value Village. Perhaps she believed that her outfit would protect her out of sheer pity, but she was wrong. He reached out to throw her out of the way and that was when she started spouting something about leading him out of the mob.

"Look, lady. I need more on my side right now than bad fashion sense." Slate told her.

When she took his hand, Slate tried to resist, but damn she was strong! That alone, prompted him to follow and as he trailed behind the woman smoothly plowed through the crowd, like an ice-breaker through a frozen sea.

Soon, the mob had dispersed and left the chasing up to the professionals. Three enforcers and four cops maintained the pursuit but they found themselves lagging behind when the two meta-humans stretched their legs. They both moved well, a trait one could chalk up to being athletic, but Slate of course knew better. As he and the stranger sprinted down an alley that took them onto a side street a few blocks away from the temporary clinic they had just about lost their pursuers.

Slate slowed up. He noted that the woman seemed to be focusing on one of the vehicles just down the block. There were three and he figured she was heading for the jeep as she just didn't seem like the type to drive a Camry or a Civic.

"Look. Thanks for the help, but this is were I get off." Said Slate as he looked back the way they came, searching for any signs of R.A.I.D. or the police. "People are going freaking nuts over this plague!" He added while he touched his hand to his bloody lip, checking it as he looked back to the tall, unfortunately dressed woman.

"Can't believe they thought I was a meta. Can you believe that?" Grumbled Slate thinking it best to maintain his cover. He had no idea who this person was and the crime-fighter didn't trust anyone.

"You better get the hell outta here. I heard these guys don't give up easy and they'll probably charge you with aiding and abetting, or some crap like that. Hell, these jokers would probably toss me in jail just for lookin' so good." Joked Slate, cracking a small smile with his busted lip.

Slate felt it was for the best they parted ways. The woman might be a meta, she was certainly stronger than average but truth be told he really didn't care. All he wanted was to get a sample of that antidote, but it would be twice as heavily guarded now. He was damn curious to see what, Doc would learn from a sample, so he guessed that he would have to risk hitting another clinic. First, though, he had have to get back to his car which was parked a good ten blocks in the opposite direction from where they had come. The area was going to be crawling with cops and he wasn't looking forward to hoofing it back.

Jennifer wanted to smirk at the man for his comments but she held herself in check. Any trait she would normally show in her alter ego would surely give her away and that was the last thing she wanted. As he reasoned with her about leaving the area and parting ways, she wasn’t about to change his mind, however, she would try to reason with him, if possible.

”Yeah, well, they can’t charge me if they can’t find me now can they? Or you for that matter. And you stick out like a sore thumb with that busted lip and ripped shirt. Look, just jump in the jeep and you’ll be dropped off where ever you want. Honest. Consider it my good deed for the month. Especially considering I could easily make things really difficult for you right now. C’mon. What have ya got to lose? Except….oh….your freedom? I’ll have ya dropped off where ever ya wanna be dropped off at. Scouts honor”

Crossing her heart and holding up her index and middle finger in the Girls Scout honor symbol, she quirked a brow to see what he would do. She loved playing this card. It was one of the things that gave her something to smile about. Even now the corners of her mouth tilted up in a small grin as she knew she had the upper hand. Of course it was totally up to him to accept her help or not but she was swaying more on the side of at least a begrudging acceptance. Even as she opened the back door to let him see there was an empty back seat and a dark haired driver with dark sunglasses on looking straight ahead.

Slate had to admit the woman had a point. His bloodied face and tattered shirt would raise suspicions and he wasn't in the mood to have to fight his way the entire ten blocks to his car.

"You don't look much like a Scout, but I'll hold ya to it anyway." Said Slate as he scanned the back seat of the jeep for anything out of the ordinary. If there was something out of place he'd know it. He was a meticulous mechanic and had trained himself (or at least he believed he must have been trained) to be observant at all times.

The coast looked clear, and so Slate decided to take this stranger up on her offer. That's where he had parked his Lexus. Slate never drove the Cordoba, unless he was on official 'Sigma' business. To maintain a secret identity one couldn't let the lines fade, they had to be kept bold and defined. A lesson that he would have to clue Wraith in on.

Slate took one last pause if only let the woman know that he really didn't need her help, but since she was offering saw no reason not to take advantage of it. Leaning in, he glanced over at the driver. The man just sat there like a robot; a chauffeur or some kind of assistant, Sigma figured. Now what the hell kind of woman has a man drive her around in a jeep?

Slate looked back over his shoulder, let his eyes wander to the street then back to the woman and finally spoke. "Drop me off on 29th, by McGuane Park." Gruffly requested Slate as if he were stepping into a taxi.

He made himself comfortable, nonchalantly looking around at the interior.

"Nice jeep. Hybrid?" He commented, just to make small talk and put the woman and her driver more at ease. Slate was always ready for a fight and had learned to live with his paranoia. He always made sure to take the proper precautions, such as busying people with mindless conversation while he studied his surroundings. He sure as shit didn't care whether or not the vehicle was a hybrid but it was a typical yuppie question and it made him seem more like your typical citizen, at least through his skewed perception. Play the role. That's all, Slate did, everything he said was a series of planned moves, simple gestures that the typical person took for granted, but for a psychopath they were as foreign as Antarctica.

He didn't offer a name. Slate usually waited until he was queued for it. If he didn't have to provide an identity he didn't, but the crime-fighter always had an alias in his back pocket.

“Something like that, yeah.”


Jennifer grinned when the guy finally got into the jeep. Knowing Jorge heard where he needed to go, she glanced behind them as the jeep pulled away and was glad to see the RAID officers turn the corner when they were a few yards away. With a smirk, she turned around and sat back low in the seat and let out a heavy sigh. As the jeep rumbled down the street, she looked over at him.

I never said I was a Scout. I simply gave a Scout’s honor. What the hell happened back there? It was like you just started freaking out. Needless to say, I don’t think that was a good way to get on any ones good side. You might wanna try a little m ore diplomacy next time. Then again, if you try to show up at that place again, RAID will be on you like stink on shit. But hey….you don’t need me to tell you that.”

The jeep took a few turns and the driver didn’t seem to look in the rearview mirror. Not that it was obvious anyway. Still, Jorge drove the vehicle at the posted speed limit and never once made any erratic moves of any kind. In a matter of a few more minutes, the jeep pulled up to 29th Street by McGuane Park and came to a rest. Raising her head and peering out the windows, Jennifer realized they had reached the destination the man requested.

”Well….looks like this is where you get off. Try to place nice with all the other kiddies, hm? It would make things much easier for you in the long run.”

She paused a moment then started laughing.

”Who am I kidding? Anyway…..you’re welcome.”

If Wraith went completely by Kekoa's face, he would have thought that the young man either didn't care or didn't understand what he had said. He looked back at Wraith, impassive, his dark eyes glistening with a slightly distant expression as always before he responded.

"I bet it's interesting," then he turned to look towards the room where the security cameras were kept and said "Killswitch is in there. She has the PDA. Interesting plan those Umbra people have." He then turned and led Wraith unnecessarily across the room and reached up to knock only to stop midair when the door opened in front of him. If Kekoa was at all startled, he gave outward sign. "Wraith's here," he reported.

"I know," said Zoe coldly, "go check on our captive. Make sure he's still alive. I don't think it's been fed yet." With a quick nod, Kekoa turned and floated off back up the stairs, disappearing into the main part of the base. "I swear there's something wrong with that guy," Zoe muttered, looking after him and shaking his head before she sighed. "But I guess he gets the job done. Anyway, take a look at this." She reached into the tiny room illuminated only by a computer screen and brought out the PDA and handed it to Wraith, letting him examine it as she explained. "Apparently Umbra is led by this Apex Fusion guy. He somehow managed to use the nuclear reactor with the help of Twitchy up there to send a wave all over the city that's causing all the humans to become deformed. Dominic's basically in lock-down down here and he seems to have escaped it so long as he stays underground. This Apex Fusion guy has the antidote and he's basically going to sell it to the whole population. Not only is it temporary so you have to keep it up, but it's addictive." Zoe paused, glancing up into the big man's face with her cold eyes. "He's basically managed to control the whole city."

She waited another few minutes for his input before she sighed and lit a cigarette.

"So you wanna try digging around in this punk's head in between Seizure's probes?"
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Grey wasn't sure how many times he passed out tied to the chair, but he must have managed to build up some accumulation of sleep as he was at least conscious. His entire body ached from being stuck in the chair for so long, not to mention his own body's undying attempts to jerk and twitch even while restrained. Sighing, he shook his head and blinked over at the kid they'd parked in front of the door. He was sitting with a book in his lap but didn't seem to be looking at it, just rubbing the pages and doing this weird little sway with his head.

"Freak!" Grey shouted uncontrollably. The kid didn't move. Blinking and sniffing, Grey's eyes quickly found the little bottles sitting beside the kid on the table. Fixing there, his mouth almost watered and he almost uncontrollably shifted in his chair trying to get at them. His muscles ached but also seemed to crawl, as though they were so desperate to move that they had begun to beneath his skin. Sniffing again, Grey twisted his neck to wipe his nose on his shirt and some of the sweat that had begun to bead on his upper lip. "Hey," he said finally, nodding to the kid with the book. "Hey, you." The kid didn't move and Grey felt irritation immediately swell in him. "Hey! What're you deaf? I'm talkin' to you!" When there was no other reaction, the hitman had to conclude that he was just a huge asshole and proceeded. "Hey, you see those bottles over there! Bring me the one on the left! . . . Hey! You get it? What're you -- ASS!-- retarded or somethin'?"

Leaning forward in the chair, Greyson glared at the kid waiting for some kind of response. His skin was moist with sweat and yet his spine seemed to quiver with chills. His eyes ticked back and forth between the kid in the chair and the bottle on the table so quickly it was a wonder he could focus on either of them. When the freak with the book remained engrossed in rubbing the pages, it became that the only thing he wanted close to as much as the bottle of Vicodin was to kill this asshole. The chair jerked forward as Grey tried to lunge at him. His face and head jerked and the ache in his muscles seemed to worsen with every minute.

"Hey you asshole! Gimme that bottle! F#$(! Shit!" The chair rattled again as he tried to move forward but Seizure and Kekoa had taken the added protection of shackling it to two metal rings bolted into the wall. The tics weren't helping the restless quiver in Grey's muscles nor the growing ache in his body. He didn't remember the last time he'd gone this long without Vicodin, all he knew was that it was all he wanted. If they never fed him again, he didn't care, he just needed those precious blue pills.

Grey was too busy obsessing over it to see the tiny curl in the corner of Shawn's mouth. The floor had become a chaotic rumble at his feet with waves of increasingly panicked pounding emanating up through his legs and spreading over his body. He found himself drifting away from the words of his teachers that penetrated from his fingertips and getting more and more lost in the sheer amusement of the other side of the room. Shawn didn't expect to find babysitting the twitching freak to be quite this fun.

Tim pulled into Tee Pee Motel, just across the Oklahoma / Texas state line. He checked in and went to his room. As he passed the small television on the dresser, he turned it on and then went to the small bathroom. Hearing the news of the incidents in Chicago, Tim came out of the bathroom and sat down on the bed. Staring at the small screen he said to himself "Well shit that ain't good, an it sure as hell puts smoke in the hornets nest." Tim reched in his back pack and removed a cell phone. Tim dialed a number in Naples, Florida that dialed a number in San Diego, that dialed a number in Charleston, South Carolina, that dialed a number in New Olreans, Louisiana that dialed the Dallas Police Department Narcotics Division.

Sitting in the back seat with the woman, Slate was silent. He only slightly smirked when she took the time to make the distinction between being a Scout and taking their oath. She was right in her assessment though. He couldn't go back, but there were other clinics through the city, unfortunately his description was probably being circulated through RAID at that very moment. Damn, if he hadn't royally screwed up.

Glancing out the window he saw McGuane park, and there down at the end of 29th street he could see his car amidst many others.

Slate grabbed the handle, opened the door and stepped out and looked over his shoulder, "Thanks for the lift." The words rolled off his tongue like sand.

Slate thrust his hands into his pockets and made his way to the sidewalk. He stood by some later model car until the jeep pulled away and only then did he proceed down the street to his black Lexus. As he opened the door to the sedan, Slate felt there was something familiar about that woman but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He'd seen her some place before though, he was certain of it.

Slate eased back into the plush leather seat. The car was definitely not his style, but then he really didn't have one. The car was an extension of one of his more popular identities, it definitely suited R.A.I.D. agent Carter Wilks.



Wraith didn't know quite what to make of Kekoa. Hell most meta's were nuts and those that weren't definitely had their quirks. Zoe was a perfect example, although he was pretty sure she might fit into the other category.

As Killswitch gave him the 'Coles notes' version, Wraith looked through the information on the PDA himself. The first thing he checked was the address book. Blank. Probably would have been the first thing the cyber-kinetic would have went after, and Wraith could rest assured that if there was anything in the device that could lead them to Apex Fusion she would have found it.

What he was interested in was the way the signal worked. It was all there, but why? Why would Apex have provided this dough-head hit man with the blue prints to his master plan? Unless the guy believed that what was set in motion could not be stopped, but already several holes had been revealed. What was Apex up to?

Wraith's theory had been near the mark. The data revealed that a triangulated network of three arrays generated the mutating signal. In order to get it all to work they needed a massive power boost, which was provided by the nuclear plant. They had to temporary destabilize the reactor to do this and that's where ol' 'twitch and shoot' came in. Somehow he could mess with machinery and used this ability to provide a window for one of the fastest meta's alive, the Highwayman. He installed something in the reactor that allowed them to siphon power, bounce it off a satellite and feed the array. Once set in motion the power supply was no longer required, the array only perpetuated the signal. Holy crap! It was needlessly complicated, Wraith considered, there had to be something else to this! Where the hell was Slate with that serum, that was one of the puzzle pieces. Why was it so addictive? Wraith had to know.

"So you wanna try digging around in this punk's head in between Seizure's probes?"

The request pulled Wraith out of his own thought, not because he was particularly interested in interrogating the murderous hitman, but simply because Zoe had extended an invitation.

Smiling at his own little musing, Wraith shook his head. "I'm good. I've no patience for such things. Personally, I think you should dump that punk with the rest of the garbage."

Wraith held up the PDA, "This is all I need. There's also a complete chemical break down of the serum on this, which I suspect is a phony. Still it'll give me a leg up, all I need is a sample of the antidote.

"This generated signal is quickly producing Proteus Syndrome in humans. The syndrome that some doctor's believe that Joseph Merrick suffered from. According to what's on this its only a matter of time before Cassius succumbs to the effects. The signal penetrates everything its just a matter of range, but layers of rock do slow it down, which is why it's taking longer in his case."

If Zoe was emotionally disturbed by this news it didn't show. It wouldn't, but that Wraith still kicked himself for informing the girl so coldly. "Hey, I'm sorry about —"

At that moment, Wraith's phone rang and he quickly retrieved it from the form fitting belt pouch in his costume. The specially designed phone was unlike anything on the market, a gift from Beacon long ago. A PDA with no magnetized metal in it that would countermand Wraith's dematerialization.

"I gotta take this." Wraith said to Zoe in a tone that denoted it was a personal call.

The costumed crime fighter put the phone to his ear and walked out of the room to speak with his boss. "Yes, Doctor Reinhardt. How are things going?"

"Devon. How are you doing? How are you faring this 'plague'?" Asked his boss.

"I'm doing well." Answered Wraith truthfully. By his calculations it was realistic that a good portion of the population was not yet suffering the effects of the plague and why couldn't he be one of those people.

"That's great to hear! Look, I need you to do something for me and I need you to keep a low profile on this."

Devon could tell by Reinhardt's tone that this was serious. "What ever you need." He said without hesitation.

"Good. Good, that's great news. You're the only person I can turn to on this, everyone else has been... well... overwhelmed by all of this."

"Understandable."

"So, I need you to get to the lab. I've acquired a sample of the serum, don't ask me how, but I got it. I want you to analyze it. Rip it apart and find a way to replicate it. Those bastards working for the government say it can't be reproduced from a sample, but I say that's bullshit! Get there as fast as you can, Krystal's on her way already, seems she's as resilient as you. She has the sample."

"On my way."

"I can't thank you enough, Devon, and be careful. You see any 'men in black' poking around destroy the samples and deny everything. Good luck."

Wraith couldn't believe it. A sample dropped right in his hands. He had to go.

"Zoe." He called, "I have a sample of the serum, I gotta jet." And Wraith literally did. He flew straight up the stairwell and only when he outside of the base in the secret tunnel to give Sigma a call.



Slate still hadn't moved. He was just leaning back in his seat, thinking, when his phone went off. "Yeah." he answered.

"Did you get a sample?" Asked Wraith excitedly.

"No." Groaned Sigma.

"Well, I got one. Meet me at my apartment pronto!"

Wraith hung up, dematerialized and headed out. He would make a quick stop at his apartment to change then he figured he'd take Slate with him to work. Just in case.

On the third ring a voice came on the line Tim was using "Narcotics, Valdez here, talk to me." Tim said "Valdez .... dial 202-753-6789." he then hung up.

Seargent Valdez, help the phone to his ear for a moment before hanging it up, the muttered "Well I'll be a son of a bitch." He then stood up, grabbed his jacket and sighned out. Went down to the garage and climbed in his unmarked Dodge Charger and sped out of the police gargage, north down Ervay, turned right on Wood, left on Pear and north down US 75. He then turned east on Royal to the Silver Spur Lounge, where he parked, got out and walked inside. Valdez sat at the bar for about twenty minuites, he then went to a pay phone and dialed the Circle T Ranch in Arnet.

F.B.I. agent Kaleb Mitchell slid the hotel keycard in and out and opened the door to his room. Not exactly home sweet home, but he'd come to appreciate it after a day in the field. This bloody investigation was getting ridiculous, but Henkel was the one calling the shots and so long as he told him to maintain surveillance that's what he was going to do — just him. Mitchell had lost his team, the bureau couldn't justify allowing six men to continue staking out a suspected 'federal criminal' (that's what Henkel called the Chameleon and Cowboy in order to ensure that they were in his jurisdiction) and so he was on his own until such time as he needed back-up.

Kaleb missed his suits and his Rockports. Jeans and t-shirt were comfortable, but he kind of liked dressing the part and blending in with Lubbock was getting old pretty fast. Of course, he didn't spend much time seeing the sights, every day he was out driving to each of his check points where he could spy on the Timbles and Wrangler's place from a safe distance and use his audio amplification device to listen in. The sound device worked well, but it was reliant on good weather conditions, and the wind out there was merciless. He had previously installed micro-camera's around the two areas, but audio had been problem in the beginning due to Henry's vigilant watch for coyotes. Finally, though, even he went to sleep allowing Mitchell to install a few sound device around the ranch, but nothing in the house.

After a shower, Kaleb threw on a clean t-shirt and a pair of Texas Longhorn sweat pants, not that he was a fan, the hotel store just didn't seem have anything else and they made him seem more local. He flopped down on the bed and turned on the TV with the intention of watching something mindless and not checking on any of his remote monitors. As he browsed through the channels he came across the latest news on the Chicago Plague, that last thing he wanted to see. The agent had been apprised of the situation earlier that day and being born and raised in the city the disaster really hit home for him. He was thankful that none of his family lived there anymore, but he still had some old friends and Henkel was there. Last he spoke with him the guy was doing fine but it was only a matter of time, fortunately he had a sample of the antidote. Apparently the bulk of the serum was going to law enforcement personal which made sense but it was still a shitty deal for all the children who already dealing with the first of the symptoms.

Kaleb found a movie channel. He didn't want to be reminded of Chicago, not when there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Goddam metas! The organization that called itself Umbra just made it even harder for Mitchell to sympathize with the mutant cause, if that's the way they were going to fight against the government then they could all go to hell. He was worked up now, so much for relaxing. Kaleb shut the TV off and sighed, then as he glanced over at one of his laptops something caught his eye. The Circle T phone tap icon was flashing signifying that a call had gone through which sparked the agent's curiousity. At one time tapping a line meant monitoring every mundane conversation but now they had a program that would analyze every word and prioritize them in accordance to a set criteria. The flashing red icon meant that the Timble's had received a call from a pay-phone, which was flagged, since it was now an uncommon means of calling someone.

Reluctantly, Kaleb made his way over to the corner table that he had turned into his office and surveillance area. He clicked on the icon and opened the monitoring program and found that the call was in progress. The signal was originating from Dallas, a bar called the Silver Spur; probably some second cousin or something calling to talk about the weather, Kaleb figured, but he turned up the volume anyway.

"....... Uncle Sosa asked me to call and tell you he was going to stop by and see you on his way to Phoenix. He said if it was not convienent to give him a shout. He said he was having a hard time getting thru on your line." Srgt Valdez said

"I reckon I best have tham thar phone people come by and take a look see at the phone tamara. Well now you tell Sosa that we'll be looking forward ta a visit from him. You come by the ranch yur own damed self sometime." Mr. Timble said

"I'll be sure to do that Uncle Henery. Got a run now., Give Aunt Kathy my love. You take care of yourself." Srgt Valdez said and then hung up

Kaleb smiled. Just as he thought, some relative checking in, but just out of curiosity he ran the name against the database of Henery Timble's known relatives. No brother or uncle of his came up with that name, but then the title was often a generic one. For all he knew, Sosa could have been a nickname or an old friend who was like family. Nothing worth rallying the troops over, still he'd have stop by later on and check out the ranch and get a look as this new arrival. First, however, he needed to get a little shut eye.

Slate parked his car near the corner of Sheridan and Barry, got out and made his way to the front door of Devon's apartment named after the two intersecting streets. A few moments after he buzzed 302, an anxious voice responded, "Com'on up."

The unmasked crime fighter literally found the silence of the city unnerving. The streets of the Lakeview district were practically deserted as most people were lined up at the clinics waiting for their ration of the antidote or they huddled in their homes believing that they could escape what they believed was some kind of air born virus. Slate had to admit that Umbra had really taken terrorism to a new level, but then again he didn't believe all the credit should go to them. He had never believed that the meta-human organization was working alone on this, but just who they were in bed with was a mystery, for now.

The door was open. In the short time they had known one another, both men had just naturally developed an open door policy and so Slate invited himself in and strolled into the kitchen to raid the fridge.

"So where in the hell did ya get the sample?" Slate called out as he rummaged through the second shelf and procured himself a beer, which Devon smoothly lifted out of his hand and placed back where it came from.

"No time for a drink, we gotta get to work."

"We?" Repeated Slate, "What d'ya mean we? I don't know jack about chemistry or biogenics or whatever the hell you do."

Devon smiled. "I already got an assistant. I need you for some back up. Seems that the government is being pretty strict with who is allowed to handle the antidote. Surprise, surprise, eh?"

Slate shook his head. "Freakin' bastards. I knew it." he stated.



They walked over to the Science Centre of St. Joseph hospital. At first Slate was reluctant not to take his wheels, but after he learned it was only four blocks away he felt it was more cautious to beat their feet. It was an eerie stroll. Every so often some, malformed face would poke out through drawn curtains and stare at them as they passed by. A few cars drove by, driven by wide eyed citizens who were either infected or waiting to be.

"This is freakin' me out, Doc." Commented Slate.

Devon nodded. "Yeah, me too. Let's hope our analysis of the antidote is promising."

The entrance to the foyer of the Science Centre was locked and there waiting outside the doors was an attractive dark haired woman nervously pacing back and forth. She was still showing no signs of the meta-plague.



"Thank God!" She exclaimed when she saw Devon approaching. "They locked down the entire building."

"Sorry, I didn't know." Apologized Devon as he procured a security card from his pocket.

"Your pass won't work." Said Krystal, "You need —"

She stopped in mid sentence when Devon's card unlocked the doors. "Reinhardt upgraded my clearance." he explained.

"Wow. Two days with the company and you're level five. Impressive." She anxiously quipped.

"You got it?" Asked Devon as he ushered her and Slate in.

"Yeah." Krystal answered, "Who's this?" She asked looking at Slate.

Devon looked over at Slate, stalling for time. He hadn't discussed whether or not he was going to use his real name, "This is..."

"Sam." Slate introduced extending his hand, "Sam Carter."

"Krystal." She presented as she shook his hand, "Sorry to meet you under such circumstances."

"Likewise."

"So, what do you do, Mr. Carter?" Krystal asked as they took the elevator to the fifth floor.

"I'm in security." Answered Slate.

"I asked him to come along. Just in case." Clarified Devon.

"In case of what?" Krystal inquired her eyes widening.

"Don't worry Krystal. It's just a precaution. Doctor Reinhardt explained that the powers-that-be, were trying to keep all eyes off of the antidote accept their own.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the name, 'Genomorph Laboratories' on the far wall. Devon hastened to open the doors then locked them again. He didn't want anyone, especially RAID sneaking up on them.



Krystal and Devon suited up and got right to work on tearing apart the antidote while Slate patiently stood by. Devon gave him a play by play of what they were discovering in layman's terms, allowing the inventor to conclude that serum in fact could not be replicated.

"Damn, this is a piece of art." Commented Devon who was in awe of the antidote's construction. "It's been genetically designed to repress the effect of the plague, but it can't kill it.

The doctor then ran a test group to determine its nature, and during this analysis he discovered that the antidote had been designed to be highly addictive. He then played a hunch and greatly increased the power of the microscope and located the signature of the creator embedded deep within the code.

"Here it is!" Devon excitedly stated, "The signature."

He made a copy and ran it against the database of those engineers who would be able to produce an antidote that could temporarily negate the effects of the signal. A few minutes later it got a hit.

"I might have known." Said Wraith as he read the biography of the man who made the antidote, "Doctor Ephraim Jacobson, he's the only one who could engineer something like this."

"Great." Said Slate, "So, do you think this guy can lead us to the bottom of this?"

Devon nodded, but then Krystal interjected, "What the hell are you guys talking about? Bottom of what? Reinhardt just wanted to know if we could replicate the antidote or not. We should warn him though that the serum is also highly addictive."

"Right." Agreed Devon, "You do that."

While Krystal was out of the lab to call Doctor Reinhardt, Devon revealed the location of Doctor Jacobson.

"He works out of the Texas Tech University, in Lubbock, the College of Agricultural Sciences and Natural Resources."