“What?” Warrick asked, finally noticing the glare over his Prelates of New York comic. He was wearing cargo shorts, a black T-shirt advertising the dates of the band Ladies of Armageddon’s One World Ripping tour, and a flat, wide brimmed hat.

“You need to get rid of that stupid hat.” Cyn took a bite out of the last of her four Triple Thick cheeseburgers. “It’s embarrassing.”

Warrick closed his comic, frowning. “No way! I just bought this! Besides, I need the shade; its pretty damn hot out.”

“Well roll your sleeves up more or something. Anything’s better than wearing that stupid thing. The white haired girl grimaced. “I don’t even know how you can see with the brim over your eyes like that.”

“I can see fine.” The Warrick sniffed. “And you know I can’t roll my sleeves up.” He didn’t have to say why; Cyn was well aware that Warrick’s metallic tentacles were coiled in concealment beneath the t-shirt’s sleeves. “Also, you don’t see me complain about the stuff you buy.”

“All I bought was a couple pairs of earrings and some flat format discs of some good movies.” Cyn pointed out.

“A ‘couple’ of pairs;” Warrick snorted, “You bought six pairs!”

Cyn crossed her arms and sniffed. “Like you’re one to talk; you bought nothing but FF discs and comic books. Why do you bother reading about fictional people with powers when you know actual people with powers?”

“You’re thinking of Taskforce: Earth. Prelates takes real life prelates from New York City and uses them in comic adventures.”

“It’s still mostly fake.” Cyn pointed out. “There’s no way that those guys are doing something exciting enough to write a comic book about every month. I bet that most days; they end up just doing jobs that real cops could do anyway.”

“Probably;” Warrick said, “but still, it’s really cool that there’s guys out there like…” He noticed some passersby within earshot. “You know – anyway, they use their powers to do good and I think that’s pretty damn cool.”

“It would be nice to use my powers for something more than reaching high shelves and freaking Melissa out.” Cyn nodded, popping the last morsel of her meal into her mouth. “Come on; let’s check out Wagner Park. I wonder if they have skate ramps.”

Warrick stowed his comic in his bag while Cyn was throwing her trash away. “You skateboard?”

“If they have ramps, I’ll try.” She grinned.

“You’ll try anything once, won’t you?” Warrick adjusted his hat as the pair struck off toward the park.

“It’s the only way to live, Warrick. What’s the point of doing anything if you don’t take risks?”

“Surviving?”

“Smart ass.”

The two chatted back and forth in general for the next few blocks before Cyn spotted a crowd gathering in the shadow of a skyscraper. “Hey, what’s going on over there?”

Warrick shrugged. “I don’t know, are they protesting something? I don’t even know what building that is.” They headed toward the forming throng of people.

“Oh my god…” Cyn followed the gazes and pointing fingers in the crowd up to the fifteenth story.

The skyscraper sported a pair of external glass elevators which scaled the heights on magnetic rails. One of those elevators had come wrenched free of one of its magnetic tracks and swung violently sideways, held in place only by the force of magnetism from the rails and a few bolts. An intermittent shower of sparks indicated that it was only a matter of time before the electricity failed and the magnet with it.

Two men and a woman in business suits were pressed against the glass wall of the elevator, which had suddenly become a floor.

“Someone’s got to do something.” Warrick said.

“The fire department has to be on their way.” Cyn murmured, watching the wayward structure sway slightly as another burst of sparks came from the device.

Warrick’s metal sense told him that the remaining bolts connecting the elevator to its coupling would sheer before the magnetic rail did. There were only a few minutes before the stress in them was too great. “They won’t make it in time.” He said. “We’ve got to do something.”

“Huh? Wait a minute Warrick, with the Academy looking for us, we can’t –“Cyn protested as Warrick grabbed her arm and led her into a nearby alley.

“Look;” the New Yorker said, stepping behind a dumpster and removing his shirt. “Those people don’t have a chance if we wait for the fire department. There are only two people here that can save them in time and that's us.” He tied the shirt around his head so that only his eyes were visible.

“Are you even listening to yourself? This is prelate type stuff.” Cyn said. “Being a prelate is the exact opposite of lying low and hiding from the Academy.”

“Which is why I’m hiding my face. There’s plenty of metal controllers, so one showing up in Mayfield isn’t going to surprise them.”

“Hmm…” Cyn pondered. “You do have a point. We can’t let them die; plus being a prelate would be pretty exciting. But what am I going to do for a disguise? I’m not taking off my shirt.”

“Cyn… you’re a shapeshifter.”

“Point.” The white haired girl said. “Go ahead then. I’ll be right behind you – I just need to think of something useful to turn into.”

Warrick nodded, allowing the tentacles to stretch out to their full length. “Don’t take too long, those bolts are almost done for.” With that, he instructed to tentacles to start climbing the adjacent wall, carrying him behind them.

Gaining the top of the building connecting to the alleyway, Warrick focused his metal sense on the elevator across the street. The bolts were at their breaking point. Warrick grit his teeth, took a running start and leapt toward the building with the elevator; telling the tentacles to do whatever they could to help.

Striking out for purchase, the tentacles formed their leading edges into rigid harpoons. Both struck home just below the elevator access on the seventeenth floor and pulled Warrick to them.

Holding on to the lip of the access panel, Warrick willed the metal there to soften, granting him a better handhold. Then to took his first look down. The height was dizzying, and he had to force himself to focus on the elevator instead of the gawking crowd below.

The doors to the elevator itself were still closed, sealing the elevator patrons from rescue. Worse, one of the bolts snapped at just that instant. The others groaned under the new stress as the people inside screamed.

Trusting the tentacles to keep him in place, Warrick ordered them to lower him down toward the elevator. At the same time, he forced his powers onto the doors, melting them open and using the excess metal to strengthen the creaking bolts.

“Who are you?” one of the men in the elevator exclaimed, suddenly confronted by a bizarre looking man with a cloth covered head.

“I’m here to save you.” Warrick held out a hand. “Grab on, there’s not much time!”

Realizing his predicament, the man did so, his weight painfully straining Warrick’s underdeveloped arms.

Grunting with exertion, Warrick started to tell the tentacles to haul him up, but the sudden shift in weight caused the wires holding the magnet in place to spark again, and the structure began to sway violently. The bolts positively screamed, even given the reinforcement Warrick had provided.

“Shit!” Warrick exclaimed out loud. He wondered where Cyn was. She would be a big help at this point.

Fighting through the pain in his left arm, he looked up to the elevator access door and directed a single, violent pulse of his power at it. The metal screeched as Warrick peeled it open, providing a hole into the building.

“I’m really, really sorry about this, mister.” He mentally told the tentacle on his left arm to grab his passenger, “but there’s not a lot of time.”

The unlucky man didn’t have time to ask what Warrick was sorry about before the tentacle circled his waist and lifted him none too gently to the safety of the seventeenth floor. By now, the other two patrons now saw what was going on and were panicking even more than before.

Feeling the last of the bolts reach their breaking point, Warrick immediately told the tentacle to grab another. It did as directed and pulled the screaming woman to safety as the elevator gave way. Both Warrick and the remaining victim screamed as the elevator car began its freefall in a shower of sparks.

Thinking fast, Warrick focused his power on the access door on the floor below, unraveling it and forming it into a scoop in hopes to catch the errant elevator. It worked for a moment, but the glass wall shattered in the process, throwing the still screaming patron into empty space.

Something golden flashed on the edge of Warrick’s vision.

“Gotcha.” Cyn shouted as she caught hold of the man’s leg, ending his freefall. Her current form bore enormous, golden wings, which held her similarly golden body aloft. Her body itself was streamlined for faster flight and her head was covered in some sort of gold colored cowl, which gave the impression that she was bald.

The man she had caught, however, didn’t seem to take any notice to such attention to detail; preferring instead to continue screaming.

Shifting her grip so as not to drop him, Cyn deposited him on the roof of the building Warrick had jumped from. Alas, even being firmly on stable ground didn’t convince the man to cease pleading for his life.

“Hey!” Cyn finally shouted. “Look around you; you’re safe now. You’re not going to die anymore.”

Her tone finally made the man aware of his changed fortunes. He looked around the roof and slowly came to realize that he was staring up at what appeared to be a golden angel. “Who are you?” He murmured.

“Would you believe the local neighborhood watch?” Cyn smirked.

“You’re one of those psionics, aren’t you?” He said, starting to edge away. “I saw a special on TV about ones that don’t work with the government and –“

“We prefer ‘prelate’, actually.” Cyn said. “And you can call me… hmm, what’s a good name?” She pounded a fist into her open palm. “Facsimile! That’s perfect. You can tell everyone that you were saved by the great and powerful Facsimile.”

She was so wrapped up in her delusions of granduer that she didn’t hear the light ‘thud’ behind her. “Saved him all by yourself, eh, Facsimile?” a familiar voice said.

She turned to see Warrick, rubbing his sore arm. “Oh, how could I forget, my sidekick –“

“Partner.” Warrick gave her a withering look.

“Junior partner –“Cyn teased.

“Full partner.” Warrick said, poking her in the side. The tentacles warped themselves lazily around his arms, apparently tired from their activity.

“Yeah, my full partner, The Alloy.” Cyn grinned.

The terror was slowly draining from the rescued man. “I never heard of a team of… you kind of people before.”

Warrick and Cyn glanced at each other. “Erm that would be because we’re the first.” Cyn said. “We’re…”

Warrick grinned and stepped in front of Cyn. “We’re Life Savers, Inc.” He said proudly.

The headline in the morning edition of the Mayfield Scribe read ‘Prelates in Mayfield?’ with the subheading of ‘Billionaire and associates rescued with the help of supernatural powers’. The accompanying article featured an interview with technology mogul Lester Mendel, CEO of ConquesTech, a major east coast corporate empire and one of the three people saved the previous day.

The news was the talk of the city by now and speculation as to the identities of Alloy and Facsimile abounded. Mayfield was excited by the news of its new prelates.

That is to say, most of Mayfield was excited. High above the city streets, in a penthouse office, one man was very, very upset.

One reader of one particular copy of the Scribe lowered the newspaper from his eyes, nervously aware of the shaking in his hands as he did. His gaze was instantly met by the steely blue gaze of his employer. “Well?” the other man demanded.

The room itself had been built to intimidate; from its tall book shelves, to the two suits of medieval armor that flanked the door, to the various implements of war, ranging from flails and swords, to an elephant gun and a purportedly operational LAW rocket launcher, which graced the walls and pedestals. But even the whole of the room was not as intimidating as the man that called the place his office.

Vincent Liedecker’s public face was of an independently wealthy sportsman and philanthropist, the heir to his father John’s industrial fortune. But the man currently holding the newspaper, a man known only as Brill, knew that Liedecker was the most powerful man in the entire Mayfield underworld. An arms dealer of national renown, Liedecker was the kind of man that was likely to spill blood if he didn’t get the answer he wanted.

“This looks pretty bad, Mr. Liedecker.” Brill said nervously.

Liedecker casually picked up the kukri blade he used as a letter opener and idly drew his thumb along the edge. “Of course it looks bad, Brill, you baboon of a man.” He spoke in a soft southern drawl that belied how dangerous he was. “But do you know just how bad it is?”

“They’re going to cause trouble.” Brill said, choosing his words carefully, “it’ll be like having a second police force in town.”

“Police, we can handle, Brill.” Liedecker said, turning the knife over in his hand. “Police need warrants and planning. We can plant spies among them; learn of upcoming raids ahead of time.” He stood up and began pacing the room, weapon still in hand.

“In a pinch, Brill, they and judges can be bribed. With prelates, things are far, less certain. They can come from nowhere and just destroy a whole shipment as soon as not. Do you have any idea what these crackpots like Infinity or The Shade are doing to New York and Los Angeles?”

Brill shook his head in the negative.

Liedecker’s knuckles turned white from his grip on the kukri. “They are having an impact!” Liedecker snarled, launching the weapon across the room where it stuck, quivering, in the spine of Dante’s Inferno. “A hell of an impact, Brill. The Staveletti family’s folded completely, Alfonse Krieger is in jail, and Charles Prince’s entire operation in Chicago is in ruins – all because of these prelates – these vigilantes.”

“Well, uh…” Brill, a naturally nervous and dense man, had already tried to find something to say and failed. “What are we going do about them, boss?”

The arms dealer stalked over to where his knife had landed and retrieved it. “First, we keep our involvement in this as low as possible. Contract out to someone through the usual channels; we need some out-of-towners.”

He returned to his desk and began going through his rolodex. “We’ll have someone put these poor little piss-ants down before they get a chance to take root.”

-- • --

Less then a ten minute drive from downtown Mayfield, VA lay the suburb of Hill Springs, affectionately referred to by its citizens as The Hills. Once it was what could be called an upper class neighborhood, a place for the rich to play in relative privacy without being too far from the city; but the sprawl of Mayfield had encroached and chased the wealthy away, making way for middle class housing and commerce centers. Still, some remnants of the days of magnates and vacationing celebrities clung to existence, barely visible.

Atop a hill located off a disused road behind the Perfect Brew coffee house and the scrapbook supply shop rather un-creatively dubbed ‘Scrapbook Supplies’, one such building stood. For most of the year, it was screened by the stands of cherry trees planted along the front gate; accessible either by the daunting stone steps that led to the front, or by the winding driveway that eventually found its way into the private parking lot. That building was called Freeland House.

Construction had been taking place for the past few weeks; tarps stretched in place around the areas currently under renovation, a few stacks of lumber sat idle on the stone patio out front and empty crates and boxes from various appliances in the construction dumpster in the yard. Ever so slowly, Freeland House was being reborn.

Warrick paid none of it any attention as he finally reached the summit of the stairs. He was too tired from the long climb to care. With the construction workers coming and going as they pleased during the daylight hours of the weekdays; Alexis had placed a moratorium on any of the Freeland House residents using their powers anywhere except their own rooms until the renovations were complete. This, of course, meant that Warrick had to climb the stairs under his own power, rather than have his tentacles carry him, as he was accustomed to.

Pausing to catch his breath, he opened the bag he had been carrying and checked its contents. Despite his less than delicate handling of them on the climb, none of the glazed donuts in the bag showed any signs of damage.

“These better be the best damn donuts ever.” Warrick frowned. If he had remembered how tiring the return trip would be, he certainly wouldn’t have made a special trip to the bakery to get them.

“Language, young Warrick.” Ian said in an almost comedic stern voice. He was coming out of the front door with the crumpled remains of a large, cardboard box in his hands.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Mr. Smythe;” Warrick ducked his head apologetically. “I didn’t see you there.”

The older man snorted. “You do realize I was joking right?” He tossed the box onto a pile of the same in the dumpster. Frowning at the bewildered look on the teen’s face, Ian slapped a palm on his forehead and he shook his head. “Seriously, I don’t care how you talk around here.”

Seeing Warrick’s nodded response, Ian shrugged. “Forget it, okay? I just set up the new pool table; you play?”

“A little;” Warrick said, “There was a pool hall down the street from home, but it wasn’t the friendliest place if you know what I mean.”

“You got hustled, didn’t you?” Ian asked, following Warrick into the house.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Warrick muttered. “Not that I had a lot of money to bet.

The pool table resided on the south end of the downstairs commons, across from the TV. Four cues lay across it, fresh out of the box with the box containing the balls, rack and chalk beside them.

The pair played the first game with little fanfare; Ian easily beating Warrick. Determined not to be humiliated, Warrick battled back in the second game and was a thirteen and an eight ball away from victory when Ian blindsided him.

“Hear about those prelates that saved the head of ConquesTech the other day?” the older man asked as Warrick prepared to shoot. The cue ball bounced off the table as Warrick’s shot went wild. Smirking with satisfaction, Ian arrested the ball’s movement and placed it back on the table.

“How’d you find out?” Warrick stammered. It had been two days since he and Cyn had engaged in their little stint of heroics and both had agreed to keep things quiet. After two full days of no mention, he had figured they were in the clear.

“Did you really believe that I wouldn’t put two and two together when a winged woman and a guy with metal tentacles save a bunch of people a couple weeks after a shapeshifter and a kid with metal tentacles move in here?”

“I was kind of hoping it wouldn’t make the papers…” Warrick admitted. “Does Ms. Keyes know?” He suddenly looked around, half expecting the raven haired older woman to descend upon him to scold him as she typically did when he broke her ‘no powers’ rule.

“You got lucky, kid.” Ian said, shouldering his cue. “Alexis gets all of her news from the internet and Laurel spends so much time working on all of her projects that she hardly ever pays attention to current events.” He noted Warrick’s nervous glances. “They’re not here. Laurel dragged all the girls into the city to ‘bond’ – that’s code for shopping if I ever heard it – and it’s just you me and Kareem holding down the fort for the time being.” He paused and glanced around. “At least I think Kareem’s here. I can never tell.”

“How am I lucky?” Warrick said. “You’re not mad?”

Ian snorted. “Are you kidding? You and Cyn saved three people’s lives. How the hell can I be mad at that?”

“Because we weren’t supposed to use our powers in public and we may have made it easier for the Academy to find us? Those are the reasons Ms. Keyes gave us.”

“Oh, Alexis would be pissed if she found out. No doubt about it.” Ian said. “She got mad at me for way, way less stupid things when we were younger.”

“You mean you’re not going to tell her?” Warrick gulped at even the idea of what Alexis would do if she found out about he and Cyn’s vigilantism. “Even if it was stupid of us?”

“Kid, I think you aren’t quite aware of who you’re talking to. I’m the one that suggested that we break into an Academy building to save you four. Look; did you do something stupid? Yes, very much. However; did you do something right? Also yes. Understand?”

“Not really.” Warrick said honestly.

“Okay, I’ll go slower then.” He wandered over to one of the couches and sat on the arm. “Alexis is probably right that you two shouldn’t be using your powers in public. That’s basic, simian common sense and it’s for your own good for true.” He tossed the cue over his shoulder, onto the couch.

“But the thing is – at least in my experience – sometimes ‘for your own good’ is outweighed by other things. In this case, not letting a bunch of people go splat when you can do something to stop it.”

Warrick nodded and leaned on the pool table.

“It’s actually a lot easier to just do as you’re told than to take a risk and do some good. I’m proud of you two for doing what you did.” Ian finished.

“So… you don’t mind if we keep up with the whole ‘Lifesavers Inc’ thing?”

“I didn’t say that.” Ian said. “This time was okay because it was an emergency and lives were at stake. We can’t have you two running around stopping petty muggings and crap though. Plus, Alexis is bound to find out sometime if you two keep this up.”

Warrick lowered his head unhappily. He hadn’t actually expected an official go ahead, but it was still disappointing.

“On the other hand,” Ian continued, “lots of people die in the city every year. I would bet that a lot of those would be considered emergencies… hmm…” He shrugged. “Anyway, good game kid, I need to run down the hill to grab some lunch and some clothes for the trip.”

He feigned realization as he headed for the door. “By the way, Alexis and I will be heading to Florida next week to follow up some Academy dirt Laurel dug up. I hope you kids will be okay with just Laurel here. You know – without Alexis keeping an eye out?”

With that, Ian was out of the house and Warrick was left alone, blinking in confusion. “He didn’t just tell me exactly when we can get away with doing prelate work;” The metal controller muttered to himself. “Did he?”

That night, a storm front moved in over Mayfield and its surrounding suburbs. Driving rain reduced visibility to nil and forced most sensible people inside for the night. It also made a constant, drumming cacophony on the windows of the warehouse Brill now traversed.

Tenth Street Shipping was one of Liedecker’s many front operations, though unlike Moore Cinemas or any of his dozen restaurants in the city, TSS made no real attempts to maintain operations. The ever expanding lab facilities made that increasingly impossible.

“I’ve always done a good job for the boss, right Brill?” the man following him asked, absently. Calvin ‘Scuff’ Singer was, by nature just as nervous as Brill was around Liedecker. The difference was that Scuff had never been to TSS and had the rising fear that this place was a body dump for people who had outlived their usefulness to the arms dealer. “I’m always on time… I’ve never been arrested… A-and you know I’m totally loyal.”

Brill nodded. He was fairly sure he knew exactly what was panicking Scuff, but letting the man squirm appealed to him. “The boss knows, Scuff. And he appreciates all that you’ve done for the operation. He just thinks there’s a better place for you right now.”

A chill ran up Scuff’s spine at that. He combed his fingers through his black hair nervously. “What kind of p-place, Brill?”

“Oh, a good place, Scuff. One worthy of you, see? Say, you were in the army a while back, right?”

“A-air Force, actually.” Scuff said, peering warily around at the endless rows of shipping crates and up to the high ceiling that was completely lost in the shadows.

“Oh yeah,” Brill said, stopping at a forklift. “Air Force. You were a pilot, right?”

“Light jump jet.” The terrified man replied. “You know; recon, first strike, nothing special. Brill, why are you asking that?”

Brill stepped around the forklift and pushed the crate behind it aside, revealing a set of concrete stairs leading down into a darkened room.

Scuff yelped. “Wait, what is this, Brill? I didn’t do anything wrong…”

“Stop pissing yourself, Scuff and follow me.” Brill said. “I’m not going to kill you.” He headed down the stairs and opened the door. Shivering in a non-existent draft, Scuff followed.

It took Brill a moment to find the switch and when he did, the single, bare light bulb did little to illuminate the room. The place was referred to among Liedecker’s inner circle as the ‘showroom’; a place where clients could view the fruits of the lab’s labor without risking anyone finding out exactly where the lab was hidden.

Tonight there was only one crate in the showroom; a huge, nine foot box that resembled a casket in ways that stirred even more fear in Scuff. Brill however, simply continued about his job, moving to the side of it and waiting for Scuff to come closer.

“Come on, Scuff;” Brill mocked. “It’s not every day that the boss gives anybody a damn thing, much less an eighty million dollar prize.”

“Eighty million dollars? What the hell are you talking about, Brill?” Scuff set his jaw angrily. It was one thing to try to kill him, but to mock him as well was infuriating.

“That’s what I said, Scuff. Take a look.” With that, Brill hauled hard on the crate lid, pushing it to the side and revealing its contents.

Scuff gasped. “He’s seriously giving this thing to me? I’ve read about something like this in the paper, but…”

“Mr. Liedecker doesn’t play around, Scuff. There is a catch though.”

Scuff leaned over the crate, placing a hand on the cool, black surface of the device. “This thing isn’t even supposed to exist for another five years…”

“Yeah, but that’s because of things like tests, government approval – shit Mr. Liedecker doesn’t care too much about. The best part; Brant Industries doesn’t even know it’s gone.”

“Do you have any idea what I could do in this thing, Brill? Especially if all the weapons work?”

“That’s what Mr. Liedecker’s counting on.” Brill said.

Scuff’s face fell. “Right, the catch you mentioned.”

“Don’t be like that, Scuff.” Brill sneered. “Don’t think of it as paying to fly; think of it as getting Mr. Liedecker’s help to give this little lady a test run.”

“That doesn’t tell me what I have to do.”

“You read the paper, Scuff?” Brill asked, as if changing the subject.

“Sometimes, yeah…” was the hesitant response.

“Then you should know exactly what I’m talking about. Some bad front page news?”

“You’re talking about the prelates?” Scuff snorted. “There’s no way. One of them was shaping metal; he’d just crush me like a bug in this thing.”

“Look again, pal.” Brill said, rapping a fist on the device in the crate. “That’s not titanium, its ceramic and carbon. No metal involved.”

Scuff nodded. “Hmm… that just about evens the playing field, doesn’t it?” He had to admit, he was intrigued by the idea of him being known as the man that put and end to the prelates of Mayfield.

“Should I tell Mr. Liedecker that we’ve got a deal?” Brill asked.

Scuff nodded. “Yeah, we do. I can’t say I can pass this up.”

“Excellent.” Brill said. “I knew we had the right man for the job. So, what are you going to name your new toy?”

Both men looked down into the crate where the jet black suit of powered armor lay. A set of ebon wings, shaped vaguely like those of a jet, were folded along its sides, framing its eight foot length. Even with all of its weapons retracted, the machine cut an imposing form.

Nodded at his new weapon, Scuff grinned. “I’m thinking… Sky Tyrant.”

-- • --

Melissa sat on her new bed and looked out the window. From her room, she could see the entirety of the Hills and Mayfield beyond. As the shadows lengthened into twilight, the lights of the city would be coming on soon.

“Nice, ain’t it?” a voice said, far too close to her for comfort.

With a shriek, Melissa whirled around, a fist ready to strike. The blow never came as she recognized who the voice belonged to. “Warrick?! Get out of my room!”

“Hey! The door was open. It's not like I broke in or something.” Warrick shrugged. “You’ve got to learn to relax, ‘lissa; otherwise, you’re never going to get a guy to like you.” He winked at her has he unwrapped a snack cake and took a bite.

“H-hey… who said I wanted a guy to…” Melissa started.

“You call me, Melissa? I – what the hell?!” a voice came from the door. It was Warrick… the real Warrick this time. The ever present tentacles around his arms seemed to do a double take at the second Warrick in the room.

The Warrick next to Melissa chuckled. “Gotcha both.” His form shifted and melted into the petite, white haired form of Cyn.

“Cyn!?” Melissa exclaimed. “Why would you do something like that?”

Cyn took another bite of her snack cake. “Because you need to loosen up a little. Staring out the window when you could be being social and playing a game or something with us. We bought a Game Server for a reason, you know.”

“That doesn’t explain why you had to use my body to do it.” Warrick said flatly, leaning on the doorframe. The left metallic tentacle wrapped around his arm snaked out and quietly began to explore the room.

“Felt like it.” Cyn said with an equally flat tone. “Now come on out to the common room, ‘lissa, you never talk to anyone and it is way past time that changed.” She grabbed the other girl’s arm and tried to drag her from the room.

Melissa wrenched her arm free and glared at Cyn. “Am I the only one not ignoring the whole ‘no powers’ thing Ms. Keyes laid down?”

“Poor girl.” The white haired girl smiled, “One, Alexis and Ian left around noon for Florida. And two, the work crew has gone home for the day. There’s really no good reason for us not to totally abuse our powers given this opportunity.”

“Like I care.” Melissa frowned, sitting back down on her bed. “My powers are useless anyway.”

Cyn grimaced. “Am I the only one who finds it ironic that the girl with mood enhancing powers likes nothing better than to bring down a room?”

“That wasn’t very nice.” Warrick said. “Come on, Cyn; let’s leave her alone if she wants to be left alone.” He sent one of the tentacles to grab Cyn by the arm. “Melissa, when you feel like hanging out with us, you know where we’ll be.”

Melissa managed a small smile as the tentacle responded to Cyn’s attempt to struggle free by physically lifting her out of the room. “Thanks, Warrick.”

“Don’t mention it.” The door closed behind him.

Cyn pouted at Warrick and rubbed the arm the tentacle had lifted her by. It didn’t hurt at all, but she rubbed it mostly for theatrics. “What was that about?” She demanded, stalking after him across the open area between rooms to his room.

“You’ve got to stop harassing her so much.” Warrick said. “You’ve heard from Laurel how she used to be. The more you try to push her, the more she’s just going to get bitchy with you.”

“That’s part of the challenge.” Cyn admitted. “Plus, she needs a friend here.”

“She’s got a friend here; Kareem.” Warrick pointed out. “They talk all the time. Well, think to each other – whatever. The point is, she doesn’t have to hang out with us if she doesn’t want to.”

“Yes, she does.” Cyn pouted harder. “Death Gate Ultimate is always best with four players and we’re lucky that Laurel games as much as she does to get us up to three. And I’m not joining a guild to pad our delve group.”

“What if I told you I could come up with an idea that’s more fun than hitting level seventy on Death Gate?” he entered his room and immediately headed for his closet

Cyn sat on his bed cross-legged and finished her snack cake. “I’d say you’re a damn liar.”

“You say that now,” Warrick grinned. “But you haven’t heard what Ian told me the other day.”

Smoke billowed out from the tenth floor of an office building three blocks south of the huge ConquesTech business campus, marring an otherwise picturesque mid-afternoon skyline over Mayfield. Unknown to most of the populous, the city’s two new prelates were already streaking toward the scene.

Cyn, now in her golden skinned Facsimile persona, was almost overcome with excitement. She supposed that she should be happy that the day had been uneventful save for Warrick teaching his tentacles to swing him from building to building. That meant that no one had been in any particular need for Life Savers Inc, which in turn meant no one needed their life saved.

Still, Cyn had chaffed at the lack of action now that she and Warrick had made their return to being prelates. A small part of her was actually happy for the fire, though she did genuinely hope no one was injured.

Below, Warrick lagged slightly behind her. Even the increased speed he gained by swinging was no match for the swiftness of flight. Still, he was much faster than he had been when he was simply having the tentacles hurl him from roof to roof. He had also changed his ‘uniform’; donning an all black jumpsuit with a hood and a black scarf to cover his mouth and nose.

Giving Warrick a wave, Cyn dipped a wing and headed for the fire. Many of the windows on the tenth floor had been broken out from the heat. The smoke belched out black and thick, obscuring all vision beyond.

With little conscious thought, Cyn’s skin thickened and became covered with tiny, heat resistant scales. Clear lenses grew over her eyes to protect her from the smoke and her respiratory system reconfigured to allow her to hold her breath almost four times as long as normal. Physiological alterations complete, she dove into the smoke.

Blind from the smoke, she collided with something heavy and extremely hot. Whatever it was tipped over with a clatter and a sound like gravel being poured onto a tile floor. Voices and shouts of surprise rose all around her.

Stumbling further into the room, Cyn realized that she was standing in an aisle between two rows of cubicles. At her feet lay a trashcan filled with what appeared to be hot coals. She had little time to contemplate what was going on before she heard several sets of footsteps behind her. The next thing she heard was the loud reports of automatic weapons.

Warrick was less than half a block away when he heard the gunfire and Cyn’s scream. Too surprised to think of anything else, he ordered the tentacles to launch him toward the nearest window, which they did with celerity.

Rocketing through the window, Warrick saw a horrific scene through the smoke; four men in gas masks, wielding automatic rifles stood over the still form of Cyn, who lay beside a still burning, but overturned brazier. He landed in a roll, aided by one of the tentacles, a few yards further up the aisle.

All eyes in the room followed his entrance and one of the assassins shouted in surprise. He didn’t have time to fire, however, as one of the tentacles lifted Warrick and deposited him in one of the cubicles.

Warrick leaned heavily on the cubicle’s desk. He couldn’t bring himself to believe what he had just seen. Though the two hadn’t known each other very long, Cyn had become his best friend in that time. The thought of her lying dead made his stomach churn and his knees become weak.

“Search that side, Lou.” One of the murderers said on the other side of the flimsy wall in front of Warrick.

Murderers, Warrick told himself. They had killed Cyn and if they had their way, they would soon kill him. He knew he couldn’t allow that. Even more, he knew that he couldn’t let Cyn’s murderers escape justice.

His eyes suddenly transformed; pupil, iris and whites suddenly replaced by dimly glowing steel hue that seemed to flow over and consume the other colors of his eyes. The metal around him began to quaver and lose its form.

Instincts, the same that told Warrick how to summon his tentacles now told him how to form the metals around him to the purpose he required. A nearby file cabinet, screws in the desk and cubicle walls, even the gun in the hands of the man on the other side of that wall all suddenly liquefied and rushed to the call of Warrick’s power, transforming into a suit of armor around his body.

“Shit, its just like the papers said!” exclaimed the man who had just lost his gun.

Warrick had heard enough. The tentacles smashed down the cubicle wall and threw the man to the floor. Two more assailants stood frozen in horror at what they saw before them. He stood there for a moment, looking positively demonic.

His state of mind had shaped his new armor into a thing of nightmares. Braided cords of aluminum simulated flayed muscle, plates of steel stood out all over in a mockery of flesh. Spiked shoulder guards sprouted from his neck and his helmet had deformed into a gaping, insectile maw, covered in spikes and ridges.

Overcome with terror, both men opened fire, their rounds bouncing harmlessly off supernaturally hard armor.

Only a bestial snarl answered them as Warrick exerted his control over their weapons. The metal barrels deformed and twisted over themselves, wrapping the thugs’ arms in bonds of iron. Both tried to turn and run, only to be swept off their feet by the tentacles. Taking their cue from Warrick, they too transformed, shifting their serpentine bulk to make their tips appear to be painful barbs.

“You bastards are going to fry for what you did to her.” Warrick said grimly.

“Only if we don’t kill you first!” came a shout from Warrick’s right. One of the thugs had doubled back and was standing beside Cyn’s body. In his hands was what looked like an overly complicated water gun, replete with tanks, flanges and hoses. “Bullets may not work, but I bet a plasma lance will.” With that, he fired a searing red beam at Warrick.

Diving aside, Warrick escaped with only a few melted shoulder spikes. Growling, he gestured toward the weapon, only to find that it contained no metal.

The assassin laughed. “You’re not so tough once someone figures out how to hurt you.” He raised the gun to fire again, but suddenly, his arms were entangled in creeping thorns, that tore at his sleeves and raked at his skin. Screaming, he dropped the lance and retreated from the vines.

“I could say the same about you.” Cyn stood up. The myriad bullet holes in her body closing up and she was reeling in her arms-turned-vines. “You caught me by surprise earlier,” She grimaced, “It took me a while to heal those. But now you’re screwed, buddy.”

“Cy—err, Facsimile?! You’re alive!” Warrick exclaimed.

“Of course I am, Alloy.” Cyn managed to give him a wolfish grin. Then she raised her vine-arms menacingly. “Though I can’t say the same for everyone here.”

The would be assassin clutched his bleeding arms and simpered. “Oh god! Oh please, don’t kill me.” He bawled.

“Huh?” Warrick blinked inside his armor. “Hey, pal, we’re the good guys here, remember? We’re not going to kill you.” He looked back at his partner, still deeply relieved that she was alive. “Isn’t that right Facsimile?”

Cyn sighed and retracted her vine-arms into normal arms. “I guess not. I mean he’s crying and everything – what kind of cold-blooded assassin cries?!”

“The kind that was merely a diversion.” There was a deep roar of engines and something heavy landed on the floor just inside the broken windows. What smoke remained in the room was blown away in the gale that the powered armor’s propulsion system kicked up.

The machine was jet black with dark blue highlights. It stood nine feet tall, with backward bent legs to support its great bulk. Its arms ended in tapered tubes rather than hands. An armored cap protected the sensor area and a pair of triangular fins rose about two feet from each shoulder. Finally, a pair of black lacquered wings emerged from the thing’s back, making it look like some sort of mechanical demon.

“Powered armor?” Cyn laughed. “Please… Get him Alloy!” She pointed as if she was siccing a dog on a burglar.

“Erm.. Its not made of metal.” Warrick said, reaching out with his metal sense.

“You’re totally right.” The armor’s pilot scoffed. “There’s no metal involved in this baby.” With that, it raised one of its tube arms. There was a whirr and a pair of cannons emerged and began firing in rapid succession.

Cyn dove aside, avoiding the attack. Warrick however, stood his ground, allowing his armor to absorb the punishment meant for him.

“I don’t care what you’re made of. If you’re here to kill us, that’s not going to stop me from taking you apart!” Warrick roared, charging the mecha. As he did, he tore the metal out of the light above him, forming a longsword in his hands as well as blacking out much of the room.

The armor pilot simply swung his left arm up and a green beam lanced out at Warrick.

Warrick deflected the beam with his sword, which melted to slag in the process. He continued on, sending the tentacles to force the gun arms aside, allowing him the plow full force into his enemy. The two armor encased combatants came together with a clang.

For a moment, Warrick was inside the defenses of his attacker, slamming his steel enclosed fists against the machine’s sides. Then there was a low hum and he was suddenly flung backward.

“Pretty nice, huh?” The pilot laughed. “This little lady has a magnetic repulsion generator. They’re normally used to repel missile fire, but it works just fine for you and those things on your arms.”

The tentacles lashed out with all their might, but the magnet kept them from approaching to within more than two yards of the black armor no matter how much force they applied.

“Heh, prelates ain’t as dangerous as I thought.” The pilot said, bringing his plasma launcher to bear.

“Oh, we definitely are.” Cyn sprang at the machine from the side, raking her nails across its mid section. Five deep rents were torn in its armored hide.

“What the hell?! A hull breech? How –“

“You don’t know anything about my powers, jackass.” Cyn said, turning back to face him. In truth, she didn’t really have such a keen grasp on how she had managed that herself, but she didn’t let that show.

The only sound from the suit’s speakers was a frustrated groan. “All I need to know is you’re not the one that’s bulletproof.” The cannon arm swung up and began firing. Cyn didn’t move. After several dozen rounds, she didn’t look any the worse for wear, though the walls behind her were shredded.

“Like I said,” She flexed her claws. The hole in her abdomen she had opened to let the bullets pass through closed up. “You don’t know a thing about my powers.”

“I’m just getting started.” The pilot said darkly. The plasma rifle in the machine’s left arm retracted, and was replaced by what appeared to be a matte black rod, capped with a glass orb and wrapped in shiny, plastic tubing.

“What’s that supposed to be,” Cyn almost laughed, preparing to launch herself at her assailant even as she spoke. “Some kind of high tech paddle ball?” She was answered by a massive arc of electricity leaping from the ball to her. Dodging did nothing, the bluish-white bolt tracing a jagged line directly into her chest.

Screaming, Cyn was thrown through two cubicles, leaving a trail of acrid white smoke in her wake. Her nerves felt like they were on fire and her powers went haywire under the electrical stimulus. She landed in a heap, her body contorting in bizarre ways and her skin rapidly shifting color even as she struggled to exert direct control over herself.

“Wow…” The pilot said, marveling at his handy work. “That was… interesting. I think the Tesla Arc weapon is a success.”

“It also used up a lot of electricity.” Warrick snarled, barely containing his rage.

“Huh?” The armor turned to face him in time for its pilot to see the tentacles whipping into its chest with incredible speed. With a crack that resonated up and down the rows of cubicles, the powered armor was lifted by the impact and hurled out the window.

“Your repulsion system had to shut off for you to use that.” Warrick remarked, grimacing beneath his face plate. He glared out the window for a second before going to tend to Cyn. Stepping over the destroyed walls, he found her just as she was resuming her Facsimile form. “You okay, Facsimile?” He asked.

She nodded. “I’m going to need to eat like a week’s worth of food to get all that energy back, but yeah.” She took his proffered hand and stood. “Who was that guy anyway?”

“I don’t know, but he’s going to be out of commission for a while. The tentacles cracked his sensors – he’ll be blind until he fixes that.”

Cyn grinned. “And to think I was creeped out by them.” She looked around at the unconscious thugs their mysterious attacker had left behind. “Well, we’ll deal with him whenever he decides to mess with us again. In the meantime, let’s call the cops to deal with these guys.”

-- • --

Cyn unwrapped her fourth Burger Builders Double Thick burger and took a bite. Warrick had been nice enough to treat her, despite her prodigious appetite and the fact that she had plenty of money to pay for it herself. Across the picnic table (situated in Wagner Park) from her, her unlikely benefactor was still contemplating his own order of fries.

Usually, he’d be prattling on endlessly about comics, or the TV show Malady Place, or any one of his seemingly countless hobbies. In the two hours since they had blundered into that ambush in the high rise building, he’d been practically mute.

Cyn frowned, watching Warrick stir a puddle of ketchup with a fry for the fiftieth time. “Hey,” she started, putting on her most demure smile, “I know you’re a little squicked out – what with getting shot at and all, but it’s over now, okay? We… we don’t have to be Life Savers, Inc anymore, okay?” It really bothered her to give up the whole prelate idea so soon – especially with that guy in the powered armor still on the loose – but if Warrick wasn’t up for it anymore…

“It’s not that, Cyn.” Warrick said, finally eating the drowned fry. “I’ve… kind of been shot at before.”

It took a great deal of self control for Cyn to swallow her mouthful of food before exclaiming. “WHAT?! What do you mean you’ve been shot at before? That doesn’t even make any sense! “

Warrick glanced around the picnic area and was relieved that there were no witnesses to Cyn’s outburst. “Hey, calm down, Cyn. I can explain if you give me a minute.” The only indication he received to continue was a confused glare from the white haired girl.

“Let’s just say that this isn’t my first time doing the prelate thing…” Warrick said. He held up a hand to silence the second torrent of questions. “Back home in New York – especially near my old school – gangs are pretty bad. The drugs, the guns… people get hooked and/or killed in the crossfire all the time.”

“So… you decided to do something about it.” Cyn said at almost a whisper. She never would have guessed, though in retrospect, someone with his powers and obsession with the prelate phenomena would have a hard time not using their powers for what they felt was a good cause.

Warrick nodded. “Well, I’ve got a little sister to think of. She’s going to be starting high school in a year and I’d be a pretty shitty big brother if I just let her get caught up in all of that. Plus, I didn’t get much of a choice.” He trailed off at the last part.

“’Didn’t get a choice’? Of course, you had a choice. I mean ignoring the fact that you thought it was the right thing to do, you still –“ Cyn was cut off by a shake of his head.

“My powers went active while I was dodging out of the way of a drive-by. Just on reflex, I ripped out the whole front of a car full of Franklin Street Diamondbacks to form my armor – stranded them right in the middle of 69 Reavers territory – and both sides saw I’d done it. Naturally, they turned on me with everything they had. Lucky for me, I’m bulletproof when I’m armored up.”

Cyn realized that her mouth was hanging open and closed it.

“I got away, but the Reavers and Diamondbacks called a truce so they could hunt me down. All they knew was that some psionic kid had screwed with them, so every kid in the neighborhood was fair game to shake down. I figured it was the least I could do to stop that, so I started patrolling the neighborhood in my armor; stopping them whenever they attacked someone so they’d know they were after the wrong person. By that time, I’d figured out how to summon the tentacles, so I managed to convince them that I was innocent to. After that ended, I just kept going. I hoped Id eventually land all of them in jail. I may have until my parents found out and sent me to the Academy to learn how to use my powers ‘constructively’.”

Cyn nodded. That line about learning to use one’s powers constructively was on every billboard and information bulletin put out by the Academy. She couldn’t fault the Kaine family for sending their son to school instead of letting him try his luck against street gangs.

“I don’t get it.” She finally said. “If you’ve fought with gang members so many times – gotten shot so many times – what’s bugging you about what happened today?”

The look Warrick gave her simultaneously made her feel stupid for not understanding something so apparently obvious and taken aback by the concern in her friend’s eyes. “Cyn… you died! I mean I thought you died. It certainly looked like you died.” He fought back the memory of seeing Cyn crumpled on the floor of the high rise.

It was suddenly very obvious. Cyn wanted to kick herself for not figuring it out without asking. Maybe, she rationalized, she was so used to being who and what she was that this sort of thing simply didn’t occur to her anymore.

“Oh, that.” She said before stopping herself. She immediately bit her tongue. “Erm… hey, Warrick? Since you told me your whole thing with being a Prelate and all, I’ll let you in on a little secret about me too, okay?” Warrick only nodded, still trying and failing to affect a stoic expression. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Her expression changed to that of a mischievous child telling a secret. “Well, my secret is much cooler than yours, of course.” She teased him just to prod him out of his funk a bit. “I mean, really, how hard is it to pummel a few street hoods? Regular cops do it all the time – especially in New York, where they’ve got whole powered armor divisions and stuff.”

Exactly as she had planned, Warrick’s look of worry and concern had turned to irritation. “Okay, Cyn, I get it; I suck.” He said flatly. He was still on the verge of slipping back into his fugue.

“Well… you see…” Cyn milked the moment for all it was worth. Theatrics was one of the things she loved most of all. “I can’t die.”

There followed a moment of confused silence that caused Cyn’s childish smile to grow three sizes. She looked like the cat that swallowed the canary which had in turn swallowed a second, smaller canary.

“Wait… what?” Warrick finally managed.

“Just like I said.” Cyn smiled, leaning back to resume her meal.

“That doesn’t make any sense. You’re a shape shifter. I’ve seen you shift shapes. You can’t be invulnerable to, can you?”

“A perfect shapeshifter.” Cyn corrected. “I’m not some dime a dozen ‘I can look like anyone’ or ‘look, my arms are really long now’ shapeshifter – I’ve got control of every cell of my body”

“Still not following.” Warrick said.

Cyn sighed “Think of it this way; getting shot or stabbed, or gouged, or smashed – or whatever – kills you because it damages organs and stuff. But that really wouldn’t matter to someone who can either make a new organ, or simply reshape the damaged organ so that it’s not damaged anymore, right?”

Warrick nodded, finally satisfied.

“Besides, it usually doesn’t even come to that. Did you notice that when that guy in the powered armor shot at me, it didn’t do anything? That’s because I had time to open holes in my body and move my organs out of the way of the bullets. I’m like… indestructible as long as I’m conscious.”

“That’s pretty sweet.” Warrick said, back to normal finally. “You’re right; it is cooler than being bulletproof.”

Cyn couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t sell yourself short. You looked freakin’ awesome in that armor. Plus your attack tentacles really did a job on that powered armor guy.”

The two smiled at each other and ate in silence for a few moments.

“Speaking of which,” Cyn said after polishing off her fifth burger, “That guy got away. He’ll be back eventually. I’m thinking that Life Savers, Inc should definitely be there to take him off the street for good next time.”

Warrick nodded. “At the very least, we owe him for that ambush. Plus, we’ve still got a week before Ian and Alexis come back – I think it’d be wrong not to use them to do the right thing instead of the smart thing.”

The place looked like an indoor junkyard. Piles of parts from decommissioned military devices mingled with broken televisions and refrigerators in the dank, poorly ventilated cellar of a bar called Truetti’s. The battered Sky Tyrant powered armor stood in the center of it all; its access panels opened and wires pulled out to connect to a diagnostic computer held by an impish little Irish man wearing a lead apron and goggles.

“They put up one hell of a fight.” The technician said, skimming through the diagnostics for the Sky Tyrant. “The sensor array’s been cracked… that takes at least 50,000 pounds per square inch – what the hell’d they hit you with, Scuff, a train?”

“Some kind of ribbon – like a metal snake or something.” Scuff was sitting on a crate, hunched over. His shirt was off and his midsection wrapped in gauze. “The guy’s a goddamn demon and the chick is something like I never seen before.”

“Which one of them burned out the auxiliary weapons generator?” The technician asked.

“The chick. I hit her with the Tesla weapon and she went crazy. I didn’t even realize that she blew the generator until those snakes hit me.”

“And the…” the technician cleared his throat incredulously. “Claw marks?”

“That was her too. Two inches of ceramic-carbon armor – that shit can stop a gauss shot at thirty meters – and she tore through it like wrapping paper. Even nicked me.” Scuff gently prodded his tender midsection.

“You aren’t even counting the electronics she shredded in the process. The abdominal joints and servos are gone; I don’t even know how you took so much stress on the arms. We’re going to have to rebuild half the super structure.”

Scuff shook his head. “Not just rebuild. Improve. Mr. Liedecker wants it better than before. He said you’d better learn from what they did to me.”

“What they did to it, Scuff.” The technician said, “Your little scratch doesn’t count.”

“Just fix the Sky Tyrant, okay?!” Scuff snapped. He stood up and reached for his shirt, which was hanging on what had once been a missile rack.

“Be patient, Scuff, the name “Gear” Callahan isn’t at the top of Mr. Liedecker’s rolodex because I’m a good dancer, ya know?” The technician was already typing in notes alongside the diagnostic. “When I’m done, Sky Tyrant will live up to its name.”

“I’d better.” Scuff snarled, heading for the stairs.

“Funny.” Gear mused to himself “I thought he called the armor Sky Tyrant.”