The fan whirred lazily to life on the corner of his desk, pushing the paperwork slightly forwards before his hands pushed them down and reshuffled them.

The distant sound of a radio playing softly drifted in through the open window at his back, imported Japanese pop music for the mass market. He smiled slightly, his lips curling as he recognised the tune and the phrase of the song. The singer had gained some small amount of notoriety in the back pages of the tabloid press, disappearing less than a month after her single had charted in Australia.

Lifting his head and twirling his pen, Jeffery Carter idly wondered what had happened to her.

It had been several weeks since siblings Erlend Romanov and Anna Romanova had negotiated the terms of his employment, whilst driving a burning sword abandoned by the Imperial Magistrate through his side.

It was difficult to turn down a job when your prospective employer had driven a sword into your gut.

He sighed, leaning back on his protesting chair and closing his eyes, the breeze of the fan washing over his face and lulling him into a false sense of security. The sensation was not entirely unlike the rush of wind that seeped in beneath the folds of his alter ego’s masque, a timid reproduction, but with more than enough familiarity to make him feel a little uncomfortable.

“Sleeping on the job?” a voice at his side asked.

His eyes snapped open and he turned abruptly, the spinning pen falling from his hand and leaving an awkward ink stain on the paperwork before him.

Standing with her hands in her jeans pockets, dressed in a faded Ramones t-shirt, her long, copper hair loosely tied back in a ponytail, was his fellow New Mage, Eldritch.

He smiled up at her.

“Here at City Hall, we call it power napping,” he answered, without missing a beat.

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She arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, is that so?” she remarked, trailing a finger along his desk and glancing down at the mess of untidy paperwork.

“So what brings a fine, upstanding Science Heroine like yourself down here to the lowly rock-pools of the city’s political arena? Surely you’ve got bigger fish to fry than this?”

Eldritch shrugged.

“The mayor wanted to see me,”

“And what did Anna want?”

She looked at him, a playful smile on her lips.

“We’re on first name basis now, I see.”

Carter lifted both hands and drew his two forefingers together.

“We’re close,” he said with mock honesty, “I think she looks up to me…like a big brother or something.”

“I bet she does,” Eldritch smirked, “she wouldn’t be the only one would she?”

Carter blinked.

“You mean Lin?”

Playfully, she punched him in the arm.

“Of course, I mean Lin, you idiot. Except it’s not quite a ‘brother’ that Lin thinks of you as, is it?”

Carter shrugged.

“What can I say? I’m irresistible.”

She shook her head from side to side.

“Irresistibly stupid,” she said, the smile still upon her lips.

Carter placed his hands over his heart, feigned suffering and then dropped the pretence.

“So what was it the mayor wanted to see you about then?”

“Anna ??????????? ????? ,” Eldritch remarked, placing special emphasis on the absent woman’s name, “had a mission for me, if you must know.”

“Anything good?” Carter asked, struggling to remain casual and pretend that he didn’t instantly sense danger.

Eldritch shrugged.

“Some business about a Science Hero factory on the outskirts of town or some such,” she remarked in an off-handed manner.

Carter sat up.

“A what?” he asked abruptly.

“You heard me,” she answered, “there’s someplace just on the edge of the suburbs where, apparently, a couple of guys are claiming they’ve got the ability to make people Science Heroes.”

“She can’t expect you to look into this yourself!” Carter protested, “That’s crazy!”

She smiled playfully.

“She’s not. I’m supposed to pick up Weisz on the way. Apparently he’s got a little girlfriend in Cottered or something now.”

Carter scowled darkly.

“She can’t be expecting that jackass to watch your back properly,” he muttered.

“Is that jealousy I sense, Mister Carter?” she smirked.

He ignored her jibe.

“Listen; just promise me you won’t leave without me. I want in on this, okay?”

“That an order?” the young woman asked.

“You’re damn right,” he replied.

“Yes, Mister President, sir,” she smiled, offering him a mock salute.

Before he could respond, she had turned away and made for the exit, leaving behind only the faintest whiff of animal smell. As she headed for the lift, Jeffery Carter did his best to pretend he wasn’t watching her behind.

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The novelty rubber masque felt as constrictive as ever, smelling of sweat, damp and discomfort. He had wasted at least ten minutes rooting around his belongings in search of a replacement but all to no avail.

In the few weeks since he had been out of action, Carter had tried to forget the discomfort of the masque and the havoc that wearing it for such prolonged times caused upon his complexion. He now possessed more moisturisers, creams and pore cleansers than many of his female friends.

With a man’s typical vanity, he had allowed himself these luxuries in order to save face in his everyday life. He remembered, upon first donning the rubber masque, how for weeks afterwards, both his forehead and the skin about his nose had been decorated by acne. It was an experience he didn’t want to go through again.

“With great power,” he murmured, looking up and catching a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, “comes great responsibility.”

Perhaps now was the time to be considering a different alter ego.

Without another thought, he turned and exited through the bathroom window, leaping out onto the balcony and then away into the city itself.

Eldritch had phoned roughly ten minutes previously, providing the details of their journey and offering a quiet coffee shop in Bretonside as a meeting place.

Before that, he had spent his remaining hours at work on wikipedia and Google, trying to track down rumours of the Science Hero factory and seeing what he could find. A couple of message boards, a few broken links and dead email addresses and one dubious wiki entry later and he was still no wiser as to what was happening.

Yet it was obvious that, whatever it was, it wasn’t a secret; someone out there wanted them to know what was happening, someone wanted

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to attract attention. It was almost as if they were directly challenging Romanov’s rule, trying to lure the mayor or the New Mages out with the promise of making superheroes out of average citizens.

He shook his head from side to side. Whoever it was behind this scam didn’t know Romanov very well. Certainly, they weren’t accustomed to the mayor’s favoured technique of overkill. After all, why send two armed police officers to stop a robbery when you could instruct a staff superhero to nuke the site – premises and perpetrators – from orbit.

A sigh escaped his lips as he jumped nonchalantly from the building’s edge. Too late, he noticed the speeding blur of movement rising up from between the buildings. He struggled to move out of its path, to change the angle of his descent and failed miserably.

Something hit him hard, doubling him over in mid-air and knocking the wind from his lungs. He fell gracelessly onto the asphalt surface of the opposing building, grit and dirt providing a less than adequate cushion.

“They said you were somewhat lacking in grace, mon ami,” laughed a rich, deep voice in what sounded like a French accent.

Carter grunted as he lifted himself up from the asphalt.

“That’s funny, because I heard from your mom that your manners were pretty shitty…and she was right, mon am-eee,” he drew out the last phrase with a sneer, turning to look at his assailant.

Standing in the gap between buildings, arms crossed over his chest and feet resting on air, was a tall, dark man with a shaven head and a simple one-piece blue and white costume.

“So who the hell are you? No, don’t tell me, your name is Freedom Fly, right?”

The smile faded from the other man’s lips.

“Not quite, Mister President. My name is Icestar,” he unfolded his arms and indicated the white star surrounded by symbolic wings at the centre of his costume, “I am from Martinique, in case you hadn’t heard.”

Carter whistled.

“What brings you so far out, Icestar? Surely it can’t be just to pick fights with your betters.”

The smile spread once more upon the other hero’s lips, revealing a mouth of perfect white teeth.

“Oh, mon ami, I have no intention of fighting you. The competition would not be a challenge, you see,” his smile widened, “no, my friend, what I’ve come to do is to suggest you stay away from the Factory. Our patron is not interested in, how do you say, the little leagues, no?”

Carter’s back became rigid, his hands tightening into fists.

“What do you know about this Factory?” he demanded.

Icestar’s eyes flashed with mischievous delight.

“Everything, Mister President,” he hissed, “everything!”

“Then you have to know Pacific City can’t sit by and let your operation continue on our doorstep,” he countered.

“Oh, my patron doesn’t wish you to sit by, my friend…he is just not interested in you,” the smile became a sneer as the other man lifted his arm and pointed an accusing finger at Carter, “you are weak, we know this. You cannot control magic, we know this; we don’t have a need for someone like you, mon ami.”

“Then who do you have a need for?” Carter asked coldly.

Icestar laughed once more, his booming mirth echoing amongst the silent skies.

“You’re an inquisitive one, mon ami. I tell you what, if you can work out who my patron is looking for then I’ll overlook your uninvited interest in the Factory. Let’s call it a game of sorts, yes?”

“How about I just beat some answers out of you, right here and now?” Carter offered as an alternative.

The other man laughed again, rising slowly into the skies and again folding his arms over the white star on his chest.

“I will have to pass on that, my friend, at least for now. Perhaps later, when we are in need of some new game to play, I will let you try,” his expression shifted abruptly into a scowl, “and I will choke the living breath from you.”

Carter blinked and again the other man was all smiles.

“But for now let us play one game at a time. Do not come to the Factory for answers, Mister President. Come only when you are sure you understand what is it at stake…and who you are dealing with.”

With another laugh, he turned and rocketed into the skies.

Beneath the cheap rubber masque, Jeffery Carter glowered darkly.

***

The thin woman stepped from the warm shade of the Pacific City horizon, its skyscrapers falling directly across the roof of the battered old building, halfway between the notorious Paper District and the greater suburbs of Cottered.

Icestar’s feet touched the ground and she greeted him with a nod. Deftly, she ignored the flashing smile he offered and the wandering of his dark eyes, as he looked her up and down, taking in her tight green and gold one-piece costume, her rich coffee complexion and the braid of silken dark hair that swung behind her back, brushing against her rounded buttocks.

She stared critically at him and, after a terse moment, he broke into good-humoured laughter.

“Don’t be so uptight, Simurgh,” he grinned.

She folded her arms across her chest.

“I don’t appreciate you looking at me like that,” she remarked.

He smiled again, patting her on the shoulder as he walked past.

“You should get used to it with a costume like that,” he offered by way of reply.

She whirled around and followed him, her face warm with embarrassment.

“This costume was not my idea, you know. I would have wanted something more dignified!”

Icestar reached out for the door-handle of the emergency fire exit, tugging it easily open and turning to offer her another warm smile.

“Don’t tell me, the eternal spirit of the Persian Simurgh appeared to you one night and commanded you to wear a tight fighting one-piece combat suit in order to accentuate your assets. This story is true the world over, I think!”

Her blush deepened and she jabbed a finger into his chest.

“The Simurgh did not tell me, you did, and you damn well know it!”

He beamed happily at her. Whilst he couldn’t have admitted it to her, he was particularly taken with the lilting quality of her accent and the manner in which words such as ‘damn‘ became a softly-spoken ‘dem‘.

“We are a Factory, Simurgh, we have to market our products,” he shrugged apologetically, “what can I say?”

“You can say nothing, boys and girls,” whispered a voice from behind him, “but you can stop your altercations. It is tiresome. You both have bedrooms, resolve this issue one way or another, I care not which.”

Icestar’s back straightened and he turned to see the factory’s patron framed in the doorway.

“My apologies, sir,” he murmured, “I was unaware…”

“Where as I,” the other man smiled, “am always aware…endlessly, one might say.”

He leant forward and the light caught his features; the line of his swept back hair, the prominent Roman nose and terribly pale complexion, yet most of all, the rays of that distant sun highlighted his terrible, abnormally wide smile.

“I trust the trap has been set, Mister Icestar?” he asked, his unblinking eyes like saucers fixed upon the other man’s chest…and the gentle, almost imperceptible throb of his heart.

“Y-Yes sir,” the hero remarked, “I explained the situation to the New Mage, Bush43. No doubt he will hurry here as soon as possible.”

“I don’t care about National Anthem Heroic Wholesome Boy,” the pale man remarked with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I want to meet his little friend and then I want to meet all his other little friends and his family…and his loved ones…and everyone he has ever cared for.

“I want to anoint their feet with oil and whisper them sweet nothings. I want them to say ‘Welcome home, Uncle Oliver, we’ve missed you so much

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‘ and rush to embrace me in their blessed arms.”

Icestar looked uncomfortable.

“I cannot guarantee anything more than his arrival, sir,” he murmured.

The pale man reached up, placing his hands either side of the hero’s face and drawing his head close, gently bumping his forehead several times against Icestar’s own.

“My boy, my beautiful boy, that’s all I ask of you,” he offered in a high-pitched croaking voice.

Icestar flinched.

“T-Thank you, Mister Twisted.”

The smile on the other man’s face widened and he withdrew, patting Icestar lightly on the cheek with the palm of his hand.

“Please, Benoît, call me Magenta

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, it makes me so much happier.”

With a chuckle, he scuttled backwards, retreating into the darkness of the hall, the sound of his shoes and laughter echoing down the stairs and into the building’s interior.

Alone together once more on the Factory’s roof, Icestar and Simurgh stood in uncomfortable silence.

***

The young boy in the green t-shirt carefully placed a glass in front of the reclining magician, popped open a can of Captain Frenzy cola and poured with a trembling hand.

At the halfway point, Johann Weisz reached out and lightly took hold of the young boy’s wrist, causing him to gasp in surprise. Their eyes met and Weisz smiled lazily back in his direction. With a titter, the youth placed the can down and scuttled away to the bar of the clean, new Hey, Pizza! restaurant.

Eldritch scowled from across the table at him.

“Do you have Cape Fear video The Siege to do that?” she asked.

Weisz yawned and stretched an arm out over the back of the red leather seat.

“Jealous?” he inquired.

Carter smirked from where he sat on Eldritch’s left, the masque tucked once more in the pocket of his jacket.

“There were convicts in Alhazred with more pulling power than you,” he sneered.

Casually, Weisz lifted the glass to his lips.

“Now you,” he smiled, “you I already know are jealous.”

Carter scowled darkly.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Eldritch said with a sigh, slumping back in her chair.

Weisz slurped loudly through a straw.

“The way I hear it, the mayor made you team leader on this, it’s your call as to what we do,” he said in a calm, collected voice, “personally I don’t think it’s anything to do with us.”

“That’s because you can’t see that it’ll benefit you any,” Carter snapped from across the table.

Weisz shrugged.

“What’s wrong with that? Let’s not pretend we’re a team of heroes or anything.”

Eldritch’s eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said,” Weisz replied, “the New Mages are hardly heroes, are they? I mean seriously, do you think the rest of the world looks at us like that? They think we’re dictators, and what’s worse they think we’re a new breed of military Crash full movie dictators.

“It’s one step from a bunch of crazies with superpowers in a backwater Australian city seizing control of City Hall to a bunch of terrorists with superpowers seizing hold of a Middle Eastern nation and using ‘superpower‘ as the new nuclear power.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jeffery Carter murmured softly, not willing to admit to having the same thoughts himself.

“Of course not, after all, I’m just the guy with the grudge who gets diddled out of his rightful inheritance on a daily basis. Don’t mind me.”

“Well if you’re not happy with the Mages, why don’t you just sign up with one of these ‘real‘ hero teams then?” Carter said, his voice loud enough to attract the attention of several of the restaurant’s patrons and to win him a warning look from the staff.

“You know, maybe I will,” Weisz shouted back, “maybe I’ll just sign up with one of the American teams and it’ll be all ‘so long Pacific City, so long superhero wannabes‘ and shit.”

“Shut up, you idiots,” Eldritch hissed, “this isn’t solving our problem.”

Weisz took another slurp from his drink.

“The answer is easy, isn’t it? You either stay away or you go and pay this Factory place a visit.”

“We Shrink trailer

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,” Eldritch corrected, “are going to have to pay it a visit.”

With a smirk, Weisz shook his head.

“Not me, sister, getting teleported to an alien planet was the last and only straw for me in this stupid-ass game. I’m not prepared to put my neck on the line like that again. And even if I had been at the beginning of this conversation, I’m certainly not feeling inclined to now.”

She leant in close to him, her lips pulled back to reveal her abnormally sharp canine teeth.

“You want to try living there for a couple of years,” she growled, “it’ll do wonders for your perspective.”

Weisz swallowed hard but said nothing.

“We’re all going to check out this Factory together,” she hissed, “and once – just once – we’re going to act like a bloody team.”

“When do you want to go?” Weisz asked softly.

“Tonight,” she answered.

He leant back and assumed his casual smirk.

“Groovy.”

***

Adam the First shifted awkwardly in his seat, the cold eyes of the Factory’s patron burning into him from across the desk.

Ever so slowly, Oliver Twisted leant forwards, his fingers meshed together in an uncomfortable steeple.

“You understand then, my dear boy, the importance of your talents?” he purred softly.

“I’m trying

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to, sir,” the younger man gasped, a pained expression carved into his thin face.

Twisted smiled disarmingly and reached out, placing his hand upon the younger man’s elbow.

“Hush, petal, Uncle Oliver’s going to make everything all right, don’t you worry,” he beamed, his eyes flickering with mischief, “now repeat after me: Uncle Oliver knows best.”

“Uncle Oliver knows best

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,” Adam mimicked, his face losing all expression.

“Uncle Oliver has my best interests at heart,” whispered Twisted from across the divide.

“Uncle Oliver has my best interests at heart

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,” Adam repeated.

The smile widened on the Factory proprietor’s face as he reclined once more in his leather chair, his features bathed in shadow.

“There will come a time, my blessed boy, when everyone will think as you do,” he hissed, his voice once more high pitched and strangulated – as if a greater power was pulling at his words and drawing them out with such force that he was unable to catch his breath.

“It’s been such a fun game of cat and mouse, but I think that now it really is time for mankind to give up and accede that Uncle Oliver knows best,” a girlish titter slipped from his lips, his chest hardly rising at all, “I’m so proud of the example you’ve set, dear heart. You really were the most exemplary of students. Why, it took nothing at all to prise open your thoughts and slip within – ah, if only the rest were like you!”

His expression changed, his hands tightening into cold fists.

“If only that accursed showman, that stagehand, that charlatan fraudster with his silly magic tricks and his top hat and scarab were as easy as you, boy. If only his scarab had been as weak as yours!”

The raging expression dropped from his face in an instant, replaced by a warm, fatherly smile.

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of challenge, eh, my boy? What’s life was the satisfaction of the chase. Why it’s no kind of life at all!”

He began to hum a tune to himself, rising from his chair and wandering around the desk to where he placed his hands on Adam’s shoulders, kneading the tough flesh with thumb and fingers.

“Did I tell you how I first met him, boy, did I tell you that? Well, seeing as you ask, I shall tell you. It was a balmy night in New York City – we owned that once, you know. Not you, of course, because you’re just another colonial like all the others, but we did. Took it from the Dutch in this or that tussle, I believe – anyhow, I digress.

“It was a balmy night in New York City. I had just finished a marvellous performance as the lead role in a successful tour of the Bard’s Richard III…”

A soft knock at the office door interrupted his narrative and, slowly, Oliver Twisted turned to face the door.

“Enter, child,” he called out in a singsong voice.

Hesitantly, the door opened to reveal Simurgh standing close by, her hand leaning on the handle and her expression one of concern and doubt.

“Please forgive the interruption, sir,” she began.

“Quite all right, my dear, quite all right!” Twisted grinned, issuing a short, barking laugh from the back of his throat, “Hah! Now it appears that I’m interrupting you! Do forgive me, dear child!”

She nodded, her expression one of extreme discomfort.

“Yes, sir, of course…” she murmured, “I…I was asked to inform you that your guests will arrive shortly.”

Oliver Twisted’s face became a pale masque, his eyes gleaming with sudden ferocity.

“Make sure our patients are safely conveyed back into the myriad streams of their everyday lives,” he commanded.

She nodded and hastily prepared to leave.

“Oh, and Shalika dear…” he called after her.

A chill ran down her spine and she froze in place.

“I wish for you and Icestar to remain here and sow division between them. I do not wish to be interrupted by such clowns and witches as that precious boy may bring in his company.”

Simurgh bowed her head low.

“As you wish…” she murmured, looking up and meeting his hideous smile and wide eyes. She swallowed hard and added, “Uncle Oliver.”

As she turned away, so Oliver Twisted replaced his hands on Adam the First’s shoulders.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he grinned, leaning in close and whispering into Adam’s ear, “but of course, you’d know all about that wouldn’t you, dear boy?”

***

His foot sent the ill-fitting corrugated iron door flying from its hinges and slamming down into the dust of the warehouse within.

Smiling beneath his masque, Jeffery Carter stepped cautiously inside, scanning the dim light of the empty expanse before turning back to Weisz and Eldritch. His eyes settled on the other man, casually twirling his holly tree wand between his fingers.

The warehouse remained silent, devoid of any sign that it had even once been inhabited, let alone housed a production line transforming average people into Science Heroes.

“What is it with you Cottered types and your deserted warehouses?” he asked, kicking at the dust with his shoes.

Weisz scowled darkly, pocketing his wand and sliding his hands inside his back pockets as he stepped forward.

“Something’s not right here,” he murmured.

Carter looked directly at Eldritch, her body tense and the pack of wraith-like wolves at her heels anxious and wary.

“Looks like whoever put the wind up Romanova has long since moved out,” Carter suggested.

Eldritch shook her head slowly.

“No, Magenta’s right…there’s someone here,” she murmured.

Carter turned on the spot, staring up into the shadowy rafters of the scaffolding and sighing in frustration. There was certainly something uncomfortable about the old warehouse that he couldn’t put his finger on, yet he had committed himself firmly to the contrary opinion and couldn’t be seen to back down now.

“I think you two are being overcautious,” he suggested.

“SHUT UP!” Weisz whirled about, his nostrils flared and his eyes wide, “You can’t even begin to understand what’s happened here.”

He strode forward and seized Carter by the lapels, jabbing him in the forehead with a long finger.

“You can’t see it because you don’t see magic,” he whispered, his voice suddenly high-pitched and strained, as if someone else’s words were lying beneath his own, “but I can! I can see everything now, my boy.

“I can see the ghost machines and the imagination engines, I can sense the whispers of someone’s mind and the call of that power remaking souls in his own image…I can hear minds twisting…I can…”

Carter shrugged him off and slammed a palm into his chest, sending the magician staggering backwards.

“Get the hell off me,” he snapped, “don’t you ever touch me like that again, you hear? You know, you’re right, fair play, I don’t get any of this magic stuff, but I know enough to see that no one’s here now and the atmosphere is screwing with you because of your stupid magic powers or whatever they’re called.”

Behind him, Eldritch crouched low on all fours, her eyes dilated and her breath shallow.

“He’s right,” she hissed, “someone’s here…I sense something…a presence I haven’t felt since…oh…I can feel it at the back of my mind…it’s asking my name…oh God…I think it knows who I am…Henry…Henry Body Bags dvd ???? ?????

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“SHUT UP!” Weisz roared again.

Both Carter and Eldritch turned towards him, staring at him with wide eyes as he stood trembling before them.

“Whatever it is, whoever it is, they’re just playing with us,” he whispered, his face pale and frightened, “this isn’t what we’re about. This isn’t who we are.”

“Who are we then?” Eldritch questioned in a haunted voice.

“I’ll tell you who you are, mon ami,” a voice cut through the silence.

Carter’s head snapped upwards, his eyes fixing upon the costumed hero, Icestar, once more standing above him in the air, arms folded across his chest. At his side was a lithe, Indian woman in a gold and green costume, ghostly fire burning about her fists.

“You’re weak,” Icestar smirked, “you’re children in out of your depth…and worse still, you’re dead

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.”

Without warning, the two strangers launched themselves forward, ghostly flames of pale blue and gold spirit radiance igniting about their forms. Carter didn’t think twice, leaping forward and throwing his fist up into the oncoming form of Icestar and sending him back-peddling in the air.

The Indian woman sailed past him, her flames tearing apart the spirit forms of Eldritch’s ghost wolves as she landed on top of the other woman, burning fists slamming hard into her chest.

“Magenta!” Carter called out abruptly, Weisz’s nom-de-plume falling awkwardly from his lips.

He gasped as Icestar’s fist collided with his jaw, sending his head reeling backwards.

“Magenta, help us!” he called out again.

Eldritch howled, rising up from the ground and throwing the other woman to the dirt.

“Find him,” she called out in the same strangled voice Weisz had used earlier, “find him! He’s waiting for you!”

Weisz remained standing where he was for a moment, a dazed expression and a vacant smile on his face and then, shaking his head, he turned rapidly away. As he moved, the shadows seemed to rise up and engulf him.

Another blow to his face and Carter returned his attention to the situation at hand.

Whatever it was that had spooked both Weisz and Eldritch, he couldn’t even begin to speculate on. What he could do, he reflected, diving forward and bringing his right fist down in a punch that knocked Icestar to his knees, was make sure that whoever the other heroes were, they’d think twice before picking a fight with the New Mages again.

***

The shadows hedged him in, forcing him to walk directly forwards, one foot after the other, as if he were traversing a thin rope.

With each step the sound of the fighting grew more and more distant as if, by the act of his movement, he had been drawn an incredible distance away from the dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of the prosperous city.

After what seemed like hours had passed, the shadows began to give. Slowly, inch by inch, unfolding until Johann Weisz found himself in a circular opening, the back wall of the warehouse visible behind the ring of dim light. Standing on the edge of that pale luminance stood a man dressed in a simple black suit and white shirt, a worn green overcoat hanging over the various folds of his dress attire.

Though Weisz could make a guess at the man’s height and could see that he appeared, in many ways, malnourished and ill-cared for, the other stood just far enough from the illumination so that his face was crowded by shadows and hidden from sight.

“Who are you?” Weisz demanded firmly, reaching for his wand.

“That’s no way to talk to me after all this time,” the other replied in a low, modulated voice – a painfully familiar voice.

Wesiz tightened his grip upon his wand.

“Son of a bitch,” he hissed with genuine vehemence, “I thought you were dead.”

The other man shrugged casually.

“It would appear not, but I must admit that for a while there was a time when I thought I was.”

Weisz glowered at the darkness and then, with a smirk, pocketed his wand.

“Yeah, well, sucks to be you, I guess. Because of your antics, we’re both in the same boat now.”

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“Listen to you, you asshole,” Weisz smirked, “you almost sound English now. You spent too much time living in that backwater dump and now you might as well be one of them. Jesus, I should have known you weren’t dead.”

“Forgive me,” the voice said slowly, “my memory is not what it once was. Define these ‘antics‘ of which you speak.”

“You goddamn know what I’m talking about, you son of a bitch,” Weisz snapped aggressively, “you and your goddamn master plan. Well, screw you, you might as well have stayed dead, dad, because now we’re both in the same boat. I don’t have the goddamn scarab, and now, neither do you.”

There was a moment of silence, the other figure struggling to repress a shudder.

“The scarab…oh yes, I remember that little trinket…but I’ve grown beyond the use of such things now…son.”

Weisz offered him a hollow round of applause.

“Well, that’s great for you, dad, I wish maybe you’d let me in on the game. And whilst we’re at it, this whole returning from the dead shit? You might have wanted to share that trick with mom.”

The older man moaned softly.

“Ah yes, your mother…truly a remarkable woman…”

“But not remarkable enough for you to stick around, eh?” Weisz countered.

If the other man registered the insult, he did not show it.

“I met a man with a scarab recently,” he said, instantly catching Weisz’s attention, “perhaps you might ask him if you could borrow it.”

“I’m not here to cut deals, asshole. Your scarab, the gold scarab, was my inheritance.”

“But I gave it away…?” the other asked.

“You goddamn know you gave it away! You gave it to goddamn Victoria goddamn Burke!” Weisz yelled furiously, “What’s the matter, dad? Couldn’t you trust me? Wasn’t I good enough?”

“Victoria Burke,” the older man said, experimentally rolling the name about his lips, “yes, Victoria Burke…we met twice…I gave her the scarab…and I told her…I told her…that my name…was Albert Weisz.”

The other smiled beneath the shadows, proclaiming the name in triumph.

“That’s right you did,” Weisz scowled.

“And if I’m Albert Weisz, then you are…”

“You know who I am,” Weisz scowled.

“You are…”

“Johann! Johann Weisz! Your son, remember?”

The other shuddered violently.

“Oh yes,” he said with a smile, “I remember…”

He leant forward and Weisz’s face turned pale. The other’s face was gaunt, his cheekbones high and his nose prominent and flared. Dark, greasy hair was swept back from his wide forehead and his eyes glistened with madness.

“You’re not my father…” Weisz whispered quietly.

“No,” the other smirked, “I’m your uncle…your dear old Uncle Oliver.”

***

Icestar and Simurgh moved suddenly back, their posture becoming rigid and their expressions blank.

Struggling, Carter changed the angle of his punch and slammed his fist hard into the ground, sending up clouds of dirt and dust about him.

“W-What…happened?” Eldritch gasped, shakily getting to her feet.

He turned slowly to regard her, noting the trembling in her limbs and the blood in her copper hair.

“I have no idea,” Carter shrugged, “it’s like someone just flicked a switch and turned them off.”

Expression suddenly flooded once more into Icestar’s face and he relaxed, a broad smile settling on his lips.

“Time’s up, mon ami.”

Carter scowled, his hands still tight fists.

“What do you mean?”

Simurgh relaxed, her rigid posture transformed into a defiant slouch.

“He means that our patron has achieved the goal for which he came here for.”

Carter exchanged a worried glance with Eldritch.

“If you were hoping to make an impact on Erlend Romanov with this kind of gesture then…”

“Who is Erlend Romanov?” Simurgh said, with a frown.

Carter exchanged another glance with his teammate.

“Y-You don’t know who the mayor is?” Eldritch questioned hesitantly.

Simurgh glowered at her.

“Why should we?”

“But I thought all this was…” Carter began, his words abruptly dying as he caught sight of Johann Weisz emerging from the shadows behind the two opposing heroes.

As one, Simurgh and Icestar turned to face the third New Mage. Swiftly, they stepped aside to allow him to walk silently into the light.

Carter’s fists tightened and a gasp escaped Eldritch’s lips as the young magician lifted his head, revealing the thin, conical dunce’s hat he now wore and the heavy clown make-up that had been plastered across his face. His cheeks were streaked with tears and his lips sore and bruised. In his trembling hands he held a simple cardboard sign with words scrawled in a hurried, shaking hand:

‘Q: Why did the chicken cross the road? A: To kill everything you ever loved.’

“It’s over,” Weisz whispered softly, dropping the sign and reaching up and gingerly removing the hat from his head.

“What the hell did you people do to him?” Eldritch snarled, her anger manifesting in a multitude of ghost wolves behind her.

Icestar shrugged.

“We don’t question our patron, Madame President. Whatever happened between your boy and our patron, is between the two of them. It’s none of our business.”

“It’s over,” Weisz whispered again, rubbing his face with the sleeves of his leather jacket.

Carter looked away, trying not to focus on the other man’s tears.

“What happened in there, Magenta?” he asked softly.

“Don’t you get it?” Weisz snapped, lifting his head, “There’s no Factory, there are no more Science Heroes here. It’s over. Let’s leave it at that.”

Carter looked back at Icestar’s smug, reassured smile.

“The hell it’s over,” he murmured, raising his fists again.

“It’s OVER!” Weisz shouted, tears continuing to spill from his eyes. He glared directly at Carter. In a softer voice he added, “There’s nothing we can do now.”

Carter lowered his fists and turned away.

“Fine,” he said softly.

Eldritch looked helplessly from Carter to Weisz and then towards Simurgh and Icestar.

Folding his arms once more across his chest, Icestar began to rise slowly into the air, Simurgh following his example.

“Don’t worry, my friends. Our patron is a clever guy, I’m sure that whatever happened here was for the good of everyone,” he turned and looked down at Weisz, “perhaps, mon ami, whatever it is you were hiding is better out in the open, no? Perhaps my patron has done you a favour?”

Weisz said nothing, his cold eyes staring at his feet.

“In any case,” Icestar continued, “it has been pleasant, mon ami. You are still young; you have life ahead of you. Try not to cross our paths again…unless of course, you owe my patron a favour or two in return…in which case life may take some unexpected turns for you.

“But I digress. This is adieu for now, mon ami,” he beamed and waved merrily down at them, “toodles!”

Simurgh lifted her head, outstretched a palm and blew the roof clear from the warehouse, sending it crashing down into the road several miles away.

Without a further word, the two heroes launched themselves into the sky, leaving the three remaining New Mages alone to nurse their differing wounds.

* * *

EPILOGUE: NOW

Amelia Trellis spread her arms wide and danced around in a circle, making happy whistling noises as she did so. Her shoes tapped on the tarmac below, clicking a pattern of sound that was all but drowned out by the coo of pigeons, ring of bicycle bells and the conversation of those around her.

Standing with her back to her, and talking in an involved manner to Aunty Regina, stood her mother, dark hair bobbed and dressed all in black.

Amelia never questioned why her mother wore black so much. She knew that other girls’ mothers wore different colours, but hers often only seemed to wear black. She wondered why but, with the simplicity of her youth, she failed to understand that the context of her mother’s dress sense might in fact be older than her own meagre years.

Happily, she leapt forwards, crossing etched chalk squares on the tarmac and then stopped abruptly, her own dark hair, tinged by a hint of brown and the suggestion of a curl, thrown back from her face as she spied light glinting from something in the distance.

She narrowed her eyes and again, she noticed the light flicker across the metal surface. It seemed, for a moment as if someone were calling her name, yet somehow the voice wasn’t external but from somewhere deep inside her head.

Her eyes widened again and she realised that the glinting metal was in fact a badge – a star shaped badge – pinned to a worn leather jacket that, in turn, was worn by a tall man slouching beside an ice cream cart, balancing several cones in both hands.

In her mind, she heard a voice asking her if she liked ice cream and somehow, she implicitly knew that the man with the star shaped badge had asked her this question. She nodded in reply, took a step forwards and then paused, looking over her shoulder at her mother and Aunty Regina.

The voice in the back of her mind seemed to fill her with warmth and reassurance and somehow, despite everything, she felt it would be okay to go and see the man with the star shaped badge as it felt as if she already knew him.

A smile broke upon her lips and she happily skipped forwards, humming merrily to herself as she did. She wondered if her mother knew the man with the star shaped badge, perhaps she did, perhaps that was why Amelia felt such a sensation of inexplicable happiness in her mind when she looked at him. It wasn’t, after all, as if someone else could make things happen in her own head, of that the young Amelia was more than sure.

As she came closer, the tall man straightened up and then crouched down, extending an arm and offering an ice cream towards her. Without a second thought, Amelia snatched hold of it and with a smile began to eat, pausing only for a moment to study the man’s features.

The tall man’s face was gaunt, his cheekbones high and his nose prominent and flared. Dark, greasy hair was swept back from his wide forehead and his eyes glistened with merriment.

“Hello, little Amelia,” he whispered in a rasping, high pitched voice, “I’m your daddy.”

With a squeal of joy, Amelia Trellis cast away her ice cream and rushed into his open arms.