"We have to keep going."

Murmurs of assent drifted towards him. The crowd here was all of one mind. Well, perhaps crowd was a strong term. The seventeen young people did make the small basement crowded, though, technically making them a crowd. All of them had at least one thing in common besides their ages. Each of them had a personal encounter with Jian Li Fong, the Silver Shadow.

Of course, they didn't know him by his birth name, but he'd touched each of them all the same. Two young women saved from rape. A young boy of twelve who'd been kidnapped in hopes of ransom from his wealthy parents. One saved from terrorists inside the Museum of Antiquities, another saved from a beating and a more terrible fate at the hands of muggers with more than money on their mind.

It was the last of those that stood before them all, the one who'd had the original idea and found a kindred spirit in Wayne Greene. Wayne and Scott hadn't known each other, though they were only a year apart in school. They ran in different circles, but late at night they orchestrated a domestic response to the petty terror that gripped Pacific City.

While the professionals jaunted after the big fish and ran at the new mayor's beck and call, the Ghostface Legion took care of the streets, just as the Silver Shadow had done.

Bradshure continued. "Even though sightings are up again, we can't stop. The scum are still there, they still need to be shown the error of their ways." He looked at the faces before him, some painted, like his own, in anticipation of the night's events. Others were new as they recruited from those saved and aided in their endeavors. "We won't stop until we absolutely have to."

Everyone in the room knew when that was. . . after the first arrest of one of their number, or when the Silver Shadow himself or another hero confronted them about what they were doing.

Rather, any hero except Bush43 or his idiotic sidekick, Dick.

Artifice Comics Presents
Silver Shadow #14
"Gathering Shadows"
by Aaron Baugh

Their system was relatively simple, actually. Through their parents and their own hard work and contact system, the seventeen young people had threaded themselves deeply into the weave of downtown Pacific City. Their control center was run by Wayne Greene, assisted by two computers and a host of decoders and signal monitors, courtesy of his father.

By monitoring the emergency bands, they could get a small jump on such calls, sometimes doing things other than simply pummeling the no-goodniks of the city. At least a few times, they'd helped save people from a fire and Scott had used CPR to keep an older man alive until the ambulance could arrive.

The less technological edge was a system of informants and lookouts through the city. It's amazing what children overhear and see, though the adults may try to keep them from doing so. After that, it was a simple matter of a few cellular phone calls, and the Legionnaires on the street were on their way.

Scott, with his martial training, was the natural leader for the 'field expedition' half of their operation. There were four others who routinely accompanied him, one a boxer in his freshman year of university, the others students of one form of marital arts or another. One trained under Charles Ling, like Scott, while the others trained under Zhao, the interim master at Lee Studios while the owner was away on business.

In the hallway that led to the door, Scott checked his gloves and used the small mirror they'd put on the wall to check his face paint. He looked at his crew, watched them go through their little rituals. Sara, the only female amongst them, looked at her face in a compact mirror, dabbed a few more places gray. Greg, the boxer, was letting Benjamin put the finishing touches on the yin-yang in the center of his forehead, and Ray crouched by the door, fiddling with a loose bit of tape wrapped around the handle of his shortened cricket bat.

Scott let his hand brush against the pair of nunchaku tucked in the back of his pants, saw the snap batons in their small pouches at Sara and Benjamin's belts. He knew that the kangaroo pocket on Greg's sweatshirt held a pair of brass knuckles that he'd slip on over his gloved fingers. The first time they'd gone out, he'd been apprehensive, but once he'd seen Greg work over a street pusher, it was all the convincing he needed.

"Ready?" he asked the group, and got silent nods in response. "Right. Wayne, give us the clear."

"Working on it," said Wayne as he tapped a function key and was greeted with the view from outside his father's small electronics shop courtesy of the exterior cameras. There was a new one in the circuit, covering the exit from the basement stairwell below street level. It was that exit that needed to be clear. He panned his mouse pointer to a small control panel on the screen and clicked the box labeled 'EXIT.'

The door at Scott's elbow buzzed and clanged as the large electrically driven deadbolt slammed back into its recess. Ray hauled on the handles and the advance party of the Ghostface Legion moved out onto the street.

* * *

Riiiiiiiing. Riiiiiing.

Charles crossed to the wall mounted phone and cradled the receiver between his shoulder and ear while he stirred noodles into a spicy peanut sauce for his dinner. "H'lo?" he said brusquely.

"Charlie. I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

Charles briefly forgot about dinner and sat the pan down, knocking the stove temperature down to barely warm. "Jian." He breathed the name and leaned against the wall, hand holding the phone in place.

"How've you been?" Jian began conversationally.

"Good. Busy. How is Hong Kong?"

"Fine when I left it."

"Ah. So business is taken care of?"

"Pei Wang is dead, Charlie. So is Takeda and the rest of the Grand Masters."

Ling was silent a moment. "I see."

Jian laughed. "I should be thanking you, though you may not realize it."

"How so?"

"You've saved my life again, Charlie. Calling Fei Tzu turned out to be a great decision."

"So he found you, then?"

"Not a moment too soon. Wang had just put a bullet through me."

"A bullet! I warned you. Since you're talking to me through a means other than ESP or a seance, I take it that all is well?"

"Yes. Fei Tzu has good doctor friends, and I'm stronger than ever, thanks to Master Ra Ming."

"So you've been training? Improving yourself for a triumphant return to duty on the city's rooftops?"

"Eventually." Jian was silent a moment, and Charlie could hear him shifting on the other side of the connection, maybe switching the receiver from one side of his face to the other. "Tell me about this girl, Charlie."

Ling closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "It had to be done. She's...amazing."

"Better than me?"

Charlie could hear the other man's smile in his voice.

"No, not yet. She doesn't like the costume, though."

"Not surprising. Now that I've thought on it, too much fabric, though it is quite comfortable."

"Regardless, Jian, she still needs direction. She's my pupil, but there's only so much that I can teach her. She needs assistance from the Silver Shadow she's replacing."

"Why, Charlie? Did you feel that you couldn't control me well enough? Tired of putting on the yin-yang and the hood and leaping around like a man ten years younger than you?" Jian's words weren't heated, weren't mean, they were simple and straightforward, no seething undercurrent of repressed action. It was something Charlie was a tad unaccustomed to.

"It's been too long, Jian. Far too long. Rooftop appearances weren't enough, and once Alhazred went up, well, I couldn't sit idly by and watch this Romanov character simply take over and have no way in."

"So the tripe I've read about the New Mages returning and making exorbitant demands of the Australian government isn't garbage?"

"Far from it, I'm afraid. Romanov's managed to bring in Mysteria, Millennium Man, our new Silver Shadow, and that Bush kid, plus someone claiming the old Magenta mantle."

"Good grief."

"Exactly. A walking skeleton calling himself Dr. Creep is in the city, too. Needless to say, Jian, things are hitting the fan in Pacific City. We won't even talk about your little fan club."

"Fan club?" A brief discussion with Roger Greene many weeks prior came to Jian's memory. Things about selling gray shirts with yin-yangs on the front, how that emblem engraved on martial arts knick-knacks would ensure sales.

"Not so much of a fan club as an underground mini-army."

"What?"

Charlie chuckled mirthlessly. "They call themselves the Ghostface Legion. Kids who idolize you or your deeds, going about and taking care of the lower scum that you no longer prey upon. They're doing it themselves."

"Good for them." That sounded a little bit more like the colder Jian Li Fong who'd come to Ling all those years ago, asking for instruction that he couldn't find elsewhere. Ling had complied, a decision that he often considered with some regret. But the past was the past, couldn't be changed.

"That's rather cold."

"I know, but it's the truth. There's no reason why I shouldn't want this, Charlie. Hell, what's the difference between me and a bunch of people getting together to do the same basic thing? What's the fundamental difference between one man waging a vigilante crusade on the evil people in a city and a small group of inspired individuals doing the same thing?"

"They're kids, for crying out loud. Kids, Jian. You've had enough life experiences and brushes with dangerous people to realize that your fate was in your own hands. You're an adult, making those choices. These kids are doing it because you're their idol, their hero...hell, their inspiration. They aren't prepared like you are, they might catch a bullet while they're trying to make the city safer."

"So ultimately it's my fault? Is that what you're saying?"

Charlie opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. He paused, gathering himself. "I'm not sure what I'm saying."

Jian let out a deep breath on the other end. "Take care of her, Charlie," he said after a pause. "Don't let her get in over her head...or yours. If you feel funny about the city, about anything with this New Mages group, get the hell out of there. There's no reason for any of it to be the end of you or of her."

Charlie nodded. "Yeah. Alright." The discussion had not gone exactly as planned. He hadn't wanted to lecture, but it had happened anyway.

"Look, Charlie, I'll come and see you when I get the chance. We'll hash this out, and I'll see what I can do for the girl."

"Okay."

"Goodbye, Charlie."

"Goodbye, Jian."

Click.

* * *

"WAYNE!" screamed Scott Bradshure, pounding on the alley door to their lair. Behind him, Greg and Ray supported Benjamin while Sara held two wads of blood-soaked gauze to his thigh and side.

The bolt slammed open, and Scott led the group into the relative safety of the basement. Wayne was already heading towards them, first aid kit in hand.

"Jesus, oh Jesus," muttered Ray as Scott swept a table clean and they all lowered Ben onto it.

"What the fuck happened?" snapped Wayne as he flipped the small white suitcase open and began tearing open large sterile gauze packages.

Scott grabbed another and they put them on top of the ones already there, Sara maintaining pressure while Wayne began cutting at the clothing surrounding Ben's wounds. "We thought they were alone," Scott said softly. "We thought it was just a pair of them."

Wayne pulled the soiled material away from the wound on Benjamin's thigh and felt around behind his leg. No exit wound. To his side, then. Nothing. Both bullets were still inside.

"He has to go to the hospital," Wayne said.

Benjamin's eyes fluttered open. "No..." he said weakly, "no...we'd have to...I can't stop now." His voice was weak in volume, but still sounded like it had some iron to it.

"I can't help him here," said Wayne, eyes on Scott.

"We can't take him to a hospital, it'll ruin everything, everything we've worked for all this time."

"So you'd rather him bleed to death? Or do you want me to try and dig those damn things out right here?!"

"I don't know!" Scott shouted, responding to Wayne's increasing volume.

"One of you decide something, dammit!" shouted Sara, suddenly joining in. "He's lost a lot of blood, he's trying not to fall asleep." Her eyes were tear-filled.

"This is fucking crazy," muttered Wayne, as Scott's expression clearly told him that he was about to try and perform an operation on top of a table in the basement of his father's shop. Still, he pulled the scalpel from the kit and pulled off his sweater to work in shirtsleeves. Benjamin's eyes fluttered, then closed as he passed out.

"Ray," Scott said, "if he wakes up, you tap him back out with that damn bat of yours."

"What? Give him a concussion that could kill him while you dig around inside him? Fuck that."

Scott let the matter drop as Wayne poured rubbing alcohol into a shallow tray and dropped the scalpel inside, followed by a handful of cotton balls. "Keep it clean," he said to Greg as he moved aside the blood-soaked gauze on the leg wound. Gritting his teeth together as if he were the one being cut, he widened the entry wound with the scalpel and pushed two fingers inside. Blood, deep red and warm, welled around his hands and Sara mopped it the best she could with new gauze. Greg swabbed the area, and Wayne's eyes focused on nothing as he worked by feel.

"Shit, I can't...wait. I feel it!" He dropped the scalpel and picked up the forceps, then moved them along his fingers and squeezed. Out they came with a distorted lump of metal pinched between the tips. He dropped it into the pan with a dull clank, then pressed the gauze back over the wound after Greg swabbed it again.

"We need needle and thread," Greg said, looking expectantly at Wayne.

"Don't look at me!" he protested. "I still can't believe this thing has a scalpel."

"Here," Scott said, directing Sara to hold both of the large bundles of bloody gauze. His fingers moved to Benjamin's neck, feeling for pulse.

* * *

Jian hung up the airport phone, then turned and picked up his one carry-on. What had become of the few articles he'd brought with him to China was a mystery, and all he had were the simple things the monks and Kwai Shen, the recluse doctor from Hong Kong, had bought him. It was enough.

A short walk later, and he emerged into the harsh sunlight of southern California, Los Angeles, to be exact. After a deep breath, Jian fished out the address he'd scrawled on a napkin, as he couldn't bring himself to tear a page from the telephone book like others had done before him.

* * *

An empty shot glass joined its brother on the desk, and Wayne lifted the whiskey bottle somewhat shakily towards their open mouths. "Nnnnn. No. No more," slurred Scott Bradshure. His head slipped off his hand and the muscles of his neck only barely reacted in time to keep his skull from rebounding.

Wayne smiled, a drunken, lopsided affair. "Mister big shot Ghostface all under the table. Shite."

Scott smiled, levered his head up so his eyes could meet Wayne's. "S'fine, you're the surgeon."

Wayne smiled and poured them a pair anyway.

"To Wayne," said Scott, holding his glass aloft. "The guy voted least likely to remove two bullets from my friend."

"Hear hear. And to Benjamin, who let me start my doctor skills way too damn fucking early," said Wayne.

Scott smiled and lifted the shot glass to his lips while Wayne pounded the whiskey back. The first drops hit Scott's lips, and his eyes went wide as he turned to his right and vomited noisily on the floor. Wayne nearly fell out of his chair laughing.

* * *

"Anything else, then?" asked the man at the head of the table. His one good eye scanned those assembled, each looking at him, at the others, wondering if any had questions or the temerity to disagree with the laid out plans. Each of the twenty-three people, dressed well enough to be in any business capital on the planet, remained silent.

One of the double doors opened enough to allow his best assistant into the room, a thin binder and manila envelope conspicuous under his arm. He smiled under his gray-going-on-snow-white beard and stood. "Then we stand adjourned until the next meeting. Good day, ladies and gentlemen."

Chairs rolled back, silent on the thick carpet, and the people left, a few murmurs of minor conversation beginning here and there. Once the room was empty, save for the two, the assistant came forward. "Evening, sir."

"Caesar. I haven't seen you look this excited in weeks."

The assistant smiled. "Well, sir, your policies of keeping your fingers in a lot of pies has proven most fortuitous."

"Get to the point, Caesar. You were never good at using big words. They don't fit you." He lifted a tumbler of whiskey to his lips, ice rattling against the crystal.

Caesar frowned, however briefly, and placed the contents of the envelope before his boss.

"Interesting," said the older man. He looked at the picture, the fingerprint, the dossier. "God love the President. His new system for all international visitors is certainly making our jobs easier."

"My thoughts exactly," agreed Caesar.

"And you think he is the best possible candidate?"

"I do. We were unable to contact him before due to that awful Romanov creature. If he hadn't left before it took control of the city and gave the Australian government the big middle finger, we may never have gotten to him."

"And you're sure he's this vigilante? The 'Silver Shadow'?"

"Sixty percent positive. We traced him to Hong Kong from Pacific City, but lost him there. He obviously knows it better than we, because he disappeared from our radar after single-handedly destroying the Triad infrastructure and killing over half of its senior leadership. The other half either fled or went so underground as to be impotent."

Another sip of whiskey. "And this Wang character?"

"Dead as well. He moved in quite well, but underestimated our Mister Li Fong."

The man known only as The General smiled and pulled the picture of Jian Li Fong closer. "This son-of-a-bitch in Australia has some serious balls, Caesar. I thought that the Four were bad enough, but it trumps them all. What I'd give to see Charlie Winters right now. Earth in the balance, Pacific City at the heart of it . . ." he trailed off, then brought his other hand down on the picture. "I WON'T be left out of it. Period. I've lived too long, done too many things to have the whole pot upset on me now. Get this Li Fong, bring him to me. Unharmed. If he won't go back to Pacific City and kill this thing, I'll have to move up on the secondary plan."

"Yes sir." Caesar turned on a heel and strode towards the exit to the conference room, leaving The General to pick up the picture and study it once more. "You just may be the answer, my boy. You just may be."