A light snow fell over New York City as another long, cold December night wore on. The main thoroughfares were decked in garish Christmas regalia of red and green with images of Santa Claus frolicking with elves or snowmen or the occasional penguin. Once in a while, a car would pass by, adding its headlamps to the swirl of colored lights.

By eleven, the area was all but abandoned. Everyone, it seemed was either safe at home or hitting the bars and clubs elsewhere in Brooklyn or in neighboring Manhattan. Not a creature was stirring, as a certain traditional poem would say. Except tonight, a trio of mice was stirring outside the back entrance of Westchester Jewelers.

“Robbin’ jewelry stores,” one said. He was of medium build dressed in boots and jeans with a heavy jacket with a ski mask pulled down over his face. He had a slight accent, partially covered by an affected Brooklyn accent. “My uncle said I’d only have to do this for a few months before moving up. Yeah, right, it’s been a year now.”

“Would you shut up, Lin?” hissed one of his partners who was in the process of working a decryption device to disable the biometric locks on the door. Even crouched as he was, he was only slightly shorter than the first speaker. He was well muscled and dressed in sweats and a light jacket that was buttoned up. He wore oversized, mirrored goggles on his face to obscure his features.

“Just because you don’t have ambitions, doesn’t mean I have to lack them too.” Lin sniffed.

“Heh,” the third chuckled. He was stocky and muscular wearing jeans and a heavy woolen vest. He wore goggles like the second man, but no one could forget his broad, square jaw jutting beneath it. “This is a step up from earlier this morning.”

“Shut. Up.” The lock cracker growled.

“What did you have to do this morning?” the first, Lin, asked. He did so more irritate the man working the locks than out of actually caring with the lantern jawed muscle had to say.

“Babysitting.” The stocky man spat the word. “Boss had us grab two kids out of a hotel – said they was psionics. I believe him too, because you wouldn’t believe what was chasin’ us—“

“For the love of all that is holy, you morons, shut the hell up!” The lock cracker snarled, whirling to face the two. “I’m already nervous enough as it is without you two baiting attention. This ain’t Manhattan, this ain’t the Bronx. This is Brooklyn and when you’re in Brooklyn, you’ve got to watch out for –“ He noticed lantern jaw staring up at something.

“Don’t say it, we all know my name.”

The would be robbers turned and looked up about three stories. A man crouched on the ledge of a window across from the jewelry store. An immaculate white coat, made of some slick looking material billowed out around him, obscuring exactly how he was balancing on the three inch ledge so perfectly. A white Stetson with a light grey band was pulled down over his eyes and a pure white bandanna was tied over his nose and mouth, making him look very much like the hero of many an old western.

The legendary Whitecoat chuckled at the panicked look that played over the thieves’ faces. “I was just in the neighborhood; you know looking for a nice Christmas gift for my girlfriend. She’s Jewish, but I figure it’s the thought that counts. Anyway, I saw you guys had exactly the same idea, so I figured we’d compare notes. Sound like a good idea?”

The big jawed thug and the one called Lin drew pistols; high caliber, low recoil models that had just recently shown up on the street.

“Guess you didn’t believe that.” The Whitecoat shrugged. “What self respecting guy waits until the last minute right?” Silenced gunshots answered him. He responded by lowering is head and letting the hot lead impact him, sending his coat billowing about even more.

After the first few shots, the prelate called the Whitecoat had had enough. Without a word, he leapt from the ledge and landed in a graceful three point stance in front of Lin. His hand flashed out and a white plastic gauntlet seized his firearm and threw it down the alley.

“How many times do you guys have to learn this? You shoot and shoot and it doesn’t work. Maybe, just maybe, I’m bulletproof, you goober.” The other gauntlet came up into a clean uppercut that put Lin on his back.

The man who had been trying to break the lock seemed to take the hint, attacking the prelate with his fists instead of bullets. It did him no good as a gauntleted fist drove into his breadbasket, moments before its twin found his jaw. The goon staggered back into the wall and slumped.

That was all the square jawed thug needed to see to get the idea to run. He bolted down the alley, feet sliding in the thin layer of snow that managed to stick.

“Why do the people I want to hear from most always take off?” the Whitecoat asked, reaching into one of his jacket’s pockets. “Is it the breath?” He withdrew something from the pocket and hurled it after the fleeing thug. There was a popping sound and the man went down, his legs entangled by a thin wire. “Luckily, I’ve got my boyish charm to make them stick around.” The prelate smirked.

Without so much as a running start, the defender of Brooklyn leapt the twenty feet that separated him from his quarry. He landed in a crouch over the prone man and flipped him over on his back. With a swift motion, he whipped the goggles off.

“Heya, Ox! Long time, no see. I wish you’d have kept it that way.” The Whitecoat said with an implied eye roll. “See, I was just going to sit back, wait for you to finish your story, then trip the alarm. In the spirit of the season, no asses had to be kicked. But then you just had to start shooting. But I’m still feeing jolly, Ox. Tell me the rest of your little story – including where to find your little charges, and you get to be conscious when the cops arrive, sound good?”

“I don’t know what it says about us that our hotel rooms are less nice than our own rooms.” Cyn complained, looking out the window. “I mean the view here! We’re sitting here looking at surprise, surprise, another hotel.” She was looking out the window of the room she would be sharing with Melissa and Laurel.

“I said you didn’t have to come.” Laurel said diplomatically.

“You said I had to come.” Melissa sulked from where she sat on her bed.

“I’m sorry Melissa, but from Noah’s call I have reason to believe someone may be hurt. I needed you here.” Laurel’s voice was even, but there was no mistaking her concern.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Cyn said, turning from the window. “I’m actually looking forward to meeting these ‘Kin’ guys.” She looked over at Melissa. “And if you think you’re being inconvenienced; Warrick’s taking time out from having Christmas with his family to help out.”

“I really wish you hadn’t called him about this.” Laurel said, “The Kaines went through a lot of trouble renting a suite in Manhattan to spend Christmas with him without alerting Tome to it.”

“It’s not going to take that long” Cyn said with confidence. “We track down Noah, find out what happened, maybe kick the crap out of some baddies. All in a day’s work for the Descendants.” She smiled broadly and struck a heroic pose. She fell out of it when a thought hit her. “Hey, this is the first mission we’ve had as the Descendants. We really should have the full team…”

“This isn’t a prelate mission, Cyn.” Laurel chuckled. “We’re helping out some friends, that’s all. Besides, we need Alexis back home to keep and eye on Pratt’s people installing the defense system.”

“Juniper should at least be here.” Cyn pouted. “I can’t believe she of all people bowed out because it was too cold.”

“If it was something drastic, I’m sure she would have come.” Laurel said.

“Ian’s going to be pissy.” Melissa commented, not really listening to the current thrust of the conversation. “He and Alexis probably haven’t been out of each others’ sight more than an hour since the Redeemers.”

“I know,” Cyn snorted. “They’re disgusting. I liked it better when they were ignoring each other.”

“Ah, kids…” Laurel shook her head with a laugh. “You’re not far from the age where what those two have will start to be more and more appealing, you know.”

“We’re not twelve.” Melissa interjected. “We’re a bit beyond ‘boys are yucky’, but there’s a difference between ‘dating’ and ‘cavity inducing’.”

Cyn nodded, “Also, I just don’t see it. I mean I don’t know, I see how a woman could be into Ian, I guess, but Alexis is such a shrew sometimes.” Her hair darkened and her facial structure shifted until it looked as if Alexis’s head was on Cyn’s body.

“Oh, you’re going out again? Remember, for a five billionth time, don’t let anyone see you use your powers in public outside of your prelate ID’s.” Cyn said with Alexis’s voice. “Because clearly you’re too stupid to realize how much trouble that would cause.”

Laurel laughed in spite of herself. “Give her a break. She’s very protective of all of you, that’s all. And really, she has been getting better. Last training session, I don’t think she yelled at any of you at all.”

“Because she knows that we lose if we don’t do what she says then.” Cyn stuck out Alexis’s tongue. As an after thought, she made the tongue forked. “Training sessions are always more fun when Ian chooses them anyway. She shifted her head to resemble Ian’s. “And today, boy and girls, we’ll be playing full powered tag.” She snorted.

There was a click at the door and Ian entered, bundled in a thick, padded coat. Warrick followed behind him. “Look what followed me home, maw.” Ian said with his best backwater hick impression, “Can we keep –gah!” he caught sight of his head atop Cyn’s body.

“That is so very disturbing.” Warrick commented.

Cyn guffawed and shifted back to her normal form. “I am so hungry right now, but that was so worth it.” She headed over to pillage the mini bar.

Laurel shook her head as Cyn started grazing. “So, Warrick, how are things in the Kaine part of the world? Sorry you got called away.”

“Great.” Warrick shrugged. “Except Tammy is convinced that she’s got metal powers now. She’s been carrying around this piece of rebar and waving it around, trying to get them to activate.” He grinned, “She may be older, but she’s definitely still my little sister.” He tried to put on a more serious face; “So what’s up? Cyn and Mr. Smythe said that it’s about those kids from Florida?”

“Yeah,” Laurel said, “They came to New York because some of them wanted to see the Christmas Tree lighting, but it looks like they ran into some trouble. Noah called me and sounded pretty panicked, but he wasn’t able to tell me much before getting cut off.”

“Cut off?” Warrick asked.

“You should hear for yourself.” The genius pulled out her tablet computer. With a few taps of the screen, she brought up a media player with the recording of Noah’s call.

The recording started with the sound of labored breathing and footfalls. “—nect, damn it!” a young, male voice hissed. “Finally.” He sounded like he was talking through pain and completely out of breath. “I… it’s Incubus. We’re in Ne—“a horn blared, drowning out the next few words. “Someone… Blank and Tesser – OUT OF MY WAY!” The sound of people exclaiming with indignant surprise could be heard clearly.

The voice returned momentarily. “We came to watch the tree being lit, but these three guys—“ More horns honked. There was some cursing heard under their noise. “—found one of them. Oh god, I need to find them. I can’t—“ He groaned in pain. “I can feel him. He’s scared.” The voice grew deeper and became a growl. “Son of a bitch, he can’t take them.” The phone sounded like it was further from his mouth than before.

A pair of gunshots rang out, followed by a screeching roar. There was a sound that might have been the phone clattering to the ground and then the call was cut off.

The group, most of whom had already heard the recorded call, all remained silent for a moment as Laurel closed out the media program.

“The NYPD’s meta-enforcement division picked Noah and Rain up in Brooklyn. Noah had transformed into his incubus form involuntarily and caused a huge traffic snarl. They had to tranquilize him to bring him in. Rain refuses to talk to the officers.” Laurel explained.

“What about the other two?” Warrick asked, “Blank and Tesser?”

Laurel shrugged. “No sign of them. From what I could gather from his call, they may have been kidnapped.”

“Tome?” the young man asked a flash of anger on his face.

“We don’t know.” Laurel said, “But we intend to find out. First thing’s first though; we need to bail Noah out of jail and find out exactly what happened from him.” She opened a new program on her tablet. “I’ll do all the overhead work from here. Noah’s being held at the MED holding facility. They’re familiar with prelates here so you shouldn’t have any trouble.”

At the mention of other prelates, Warrick’s eyes lit up, but he said nothing.

Cyn said it for him. “The prelates around here know the land better; maybe we should contact them and see if they know anything about this? I mean incu-boy’s rampage must have gotten someone’s attention.”

“I would if I could.” Laurel said. “New York’s prelate community is… elusive. Most of them go weeks or even months without reported activity, making it hard to figure out where to best start looking.”

“The Whitecoat and Infinity are in the papers all the time.” Warrick chimed in. “And I know all of the Whitecoat’s patrol routes. In fact, he sticks to Brooklyn all the time anyway – maybe he saw something.”

“What about Infinity?” Melissa asked. “He’s the guy that flies and punches through walls. I’ve feel better if we got him on our side than someone even you admit is a street leveler.”

Warrick shrugged. “Infinity’s okay and all, but the Whitecoat’s always in the thick of things. Infinity only fights when it’s a city level threat like Bartlet St. Troy’s mobile bombs, or that Ravager mutant that broke out of Estrella Labs.”

“Calm down, Warrick.” Ian said, leaning against the wall. “Before we start calling in favors from New York’s heroic population, why don’t we see exactly what Noah has to say? He may know exactly where to go and he’s no slouch in a fight himself. No point in inviting more people to the party than we need to, especially when the Kin’s secrets are involved.”

“Ian makes a good point. We need to remember that the Kin are trying to travel in secret. We don’t want to broadcast their situation to the world, especially if it turns out Tome isn’t involved and is still in the dark about them.” Laurel was already working on something on her computer. “Hmmm…” she stopped.

“What?” Ian asked coming over.

Laurel frowned at her screen. “Someone just petitioned the mayor for an order of release for Noah. Someone at least a little clout – the name on the order is sealed from the public record.”

Ian grimaced over her shoulder. “Six fifty-three? That was only about fifteen minutes ago – we can still beat them to the MED if we move fast.”

-- • --

New York’s meta-enforcement division holding facility was situated on part of the former site of the Fresh Kills landfill on Staten Island. It was one of the rare places within city limits that were relatively far away from the majority of civilians. Few civilians dared even approach the security gates because it was a well known fact that the MED facility was the place where psionic and other extraordinary criminals captured by the NYPD’s meta-enforcement division awaited trial and possible extradition to Braddock Island prison.

Like any jail, however, the guards weren’t surprised to see the occasional family members, reporters and lawyers showing up. It was, however, highly irregular for an entire squad of people to arrive decked out in the unmistakable costumes of prelates.

Lou Tolensky, the on duty guard in the public reception area, did a double take at the quartet coming through the armored glass doors. The gate guards had told him four were coming through – they had said nothing about visored eyes, full body metal armor, gold feathered wings or karate gis.

Prelates. He sneered a little as he put down his sports magazine and triggered the mechanism that closed the helmet on his powered armor. It wasn’t that he had anything against psionics in general – he wasn’t a racist or species-ist or whatever it was called when someone hated psionics – he just didn’t like the ones that tried to do his job. He chafed against the city’s ordinances allowing the vigilante activity of anyone capable and willing to take on rogue psionics and other so called meta-criminals.

The armor let out a hum as he stood. In it, he was well over seven feet tall, ensconced in silver and blue with the seal of the NYPD emblazoned on his chest. The armor’s torso was sleek, mimicking a well muscled set of pecs and abs. The arms and legs were chunky and rounded with orange glowing vents for the heat sinks. Most striking was the head; a pronounced dome set between the shoulders with a pair of blue glowing optic sensors and the facsimile of a mouth housing a speaker.

“How can I help you, citizens?” Lou’s voice was distorted into a deeper, more authoritative one by the MED issued speakers.

“Yeah,” the apparent leader of the group, a man in a black body suit adorned with red stripes said. He smiled, though his eyes were covered by a visor. “We’re the Descendants – you may have heard of us? We were in that big fight that led to all the congressional hearings about the Academy? I’m Chaos.” He was trying to be friendly, but the cold, soulless gaze of Lou’s armor’s gaze drove the life out of that approach. “Anyway, we’re here to bail out a kid you brought in last night.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, sir.” Lou replied.

Chaos was quiet for a second. “How many people can you possibly bring in each night?”

“MED processes approximately twenty-nine meta-crimes per week.” Lou said from memory. He took pride in that figure. Most cities were barely aware of the illegal activities committed by psionics and similarly bizarre criminals. New York was ahead of the curve in dealing with meta-crime.

“That’s a hell of a lot of psionics to push the number even that high.” Chaos whistled appreciatively.

“Well, this is the most populous city on Earth.” Said the one wearing metal armor. A pair of… things… were extended from his arms and were slithering around on the floor, occasionally inspecting a loose bit of detritus.

“And meta-crime isn’t just psionics.” The female was covered in a solid gold body stocking that even covered her hair and hands. Two feathered wings of the same color sprouted from her back. “There’s illegal cybernetic mods, powered armors, splice-freaks… the list goes on.”

“You two read too many comic books.” Chaos admonished them. “Splice-freaks don’t exist in real life.” Lou was about to correct him, but he was too quick. “Anyway, we’re looking for a kid that answers to the name Incubus. He shifts into a big horn headed affair with wings and claws. He got picked up with a little girl – probably thirteen, answers to Rain.”

Lou switched off his speaker and used voice commands to bring up the records from the night before. Sure enough, there was a Type I metamorph brought in with a young girl the night before. He switched the speakers back on. “And why are you looking for him?” He asked. Ordinances said he had to assist prelates in the apprehension of suspects, but they were yet to provide evidence that they were in the process of apprehending diddly squat.

“Friend of the family.” Chaos said, his voice hinting that he was getting tired of the game. “We’re baling him out so he and his little sis can spend Jesus’s birthday at home instead of the super powered drunk tank.”

There was a chime in Lou’s ear. “Got another coming through, Tolensky.” The gate guard reported and said nothing more. Lou hoped it was some distraught mother to give him an excuse to push the prelates aside.

“In that case,” He said aloud to Chaos, “I’ll need to see some ID.”

“Yeah, su—huh?” Chaos asked startled.

“Dude, have you not heard of a secret identity?” The gold woman asked, puffing out her feathers.

“We require IDs on all bail bonds.” Lou said truthfully.

“I thought you said New York was friendly to the whole prelate scene, Alloy.” The girl in the gi said dryly, directing the question to the armored figure.

“They are! There’s even a law… Hey, yeah, Officer…” He leaned forward to read the badge attached to the armor’s chest. “…Tolensky, yeah, what about Code 616? Aren’t you supposed to help us without asking for ID?”

“Only in the apprehension of a suspect.” Lou countered. “And you’re just asking to post bail. No crime means no prelate, means no Code 616.”

The doors closed as Alloy prepared his own counter and a voice interrupted him. “For once in his life, Lou’s right.” A smooth voice said with a hint of laughter.

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” Lou groaned. “You’re the last thing I needed today. And what’ve I told you about using my first name in the prison?”

All heads turned toward the speaker. The Whitecoat, his trademark coat opened now to reveal a thick white turtleneck sweater beneath, stood at the doors, a piece of paper dangling between two plastic covered fingers. “Only after I buy you dinner first?” He was clearly smirking under the bandanna that covered his mouth.

He laughed at Lou’s grunt of frustration and sidled up to the desk. He wore heavy climbing boots overlaid with the same white plastic that made up his gauntlets.

“Holy crap…” Alloy murmured.

“Like I was saying,” the Whitecoat said, not really paying attention to anything but Lou’s uncomfortable shifts inside his armor. “You’re right, Officer Tolensky – happy? You don’t have to release any prisoners without proper ID or something like a writ of release from the mayor.” This was punctuated by another exclamation of surprise from Alloy.

He slapped the paper down on the desk before the armored officer. “Well looky here, boys and girls! Release orders for a prisoner with the Joanna Hancock of Sarah Raymond, Mayor of New York City – the wicked witch of the Bronx herself.”

He pushed the paper forward for Lou to see. The officer frowned inside his armor as he read it and his scanners verified the mayor’s seal and signature. “Fine. But how did you get her to sign off on this?”

“Her royal mayorness is big on her anti-kidnapping platform.” Whitecoat said. “Some of the Tong’s thugs kidnapped some kids yesterday and our boy here went after them with a vengeance. You know, until New York’s finest scrap heaps tranq’d him. I’m hoping he’s got some answers that’ll lead me to whoever it is in the Tong that decided to get in on some Lindbergh action.”

“You’re looking for the same person we are.” Chaos spoke up.

“Huh?” the Whitecoat glanced over and did a double take. His eyes were obscured by his Stetson, but it was clear that his gaze was directed past Chaos at Alloy. “Wait a minute… I recognize those weird arm snakes.” his manner changed from smarmy to weary in the space of a few seconds. He folded his arms over his chest and sighed. “I thought it was my none too gentle recommendation that you get some training before playing prelate, DeMarcus.”

“It was, sir.” Alloy ducked his head. “And it’s Damascus – actually it’s Alloy now.”

“Then why’d I see you in Mayfield a couple months back mixing it up with a bunch of super-thugs?” the prelate’s tone was that of a teacher castigating his pupil.

“It wasn’t that simple.” Alloy said in a begging kind of voice. “Those guys were after me. Plus I have had training now, sir. I’m way less blowful than I was back then.”

“Not that I’m not completely riveted by all of this secret origin stuff.” The girl in the gi drawled, “But aren’t we all here to get Incubus out of jail?”

“Heh.” The Whitecoat said, regarding her. “Right you are.” With that, he clapped his hands, which made a surprisingly normal sound despite his hands being encased in plastic. “Tolensky, chop-chop my good man, bring our young friend out here. Mayor’s orders and all that.”

Lou grumbled by began entering the code to summon the guards from the interior to bring Incubus out.

“And don’t forget the girl, Rain.” The gold skinned woman added, remembering the other part of their mission.

“Who?” the Whitecoat asked.

“A member of Incubus’s family.” Chaos explained. “His little sister. The rest of his family are the ones that were kidnapped.”

“Oh…” the Whitecoat suddenly understood the situation a bit better; four kids sticking together to survive – probably runaways. But that didn’t explain why an entire horde of prelates was interested in their well being. “So where do you all fit into this?” he avoided mentioning the possibility that they were runaways in front of Tolensky.

“I’ll explain that after we get out of here.” Chaos intoned. The Whitecoat got the hint and didn’t press.

Fifteen minutes of relative silence later, the heavy steel doors to the interior of the prison opened and Noah was escorted out by two guards dressed in even heavier armor than that Lou was wearing. Rain clung to his side, looking terrified of the iron behemoths.

Noah looked worse for wear, his hair matted down with sweat, his clothing askew. He obviously hadn’t slept the night before as his eyes wear sunken and weary. He visibly shook and was relying partially on Rain’s help to walk.

He inclined his head toward his saviors. In his last communication with Laurel before the kidnapping, the genius had told him to use codenames only if he ever saw them in uniform. “Chaos.” He said shakily. “did you find them?”

“Not yet. We needed to come get you first.”

The young leader of the Kin frowned deeply. “Thanks for getting me out at least. I’m too drained to help, but I’ll do anything I can to help you.” Rain nodded resolutely beside him, though she knew there was very little she could do.

”Actually,” the Whitecoat stepped forward. “I’m the one that got you out.” He extended a hand. “They call me the Whitecoat.” He didn’t seem entirely happy to say the name aloud.

Noah shied back from the handshake, nearly falling over if not for the intervention of one of the guards steadying him with a massive robotic hand. “Why did you get me out?” he asked suspiciously.

The Whitecoat let out a breath. “Hey, I understand completely that you don’t trust me. But your friends got kidnapped by some guys I’m familiar with – er in a ‘kicking their asses’ kind of way, not as in ‘we’re associates’. I came to get you in hopes that you’d point me toward them before something bad happens.”

Noah nodded, but still didn’t shake his hand. “How do I know he’s telling the truth?” he asked Chaos.

The Whitecoat pointed. “DeMarcus there can vouch from me. I was sort of his mentor a few years ago.”

“Alloy.” The golden woman corrected on Alloy’s behalf.

“DeMarcus sounds better.” Whitecoat’s smarmy tone returned.

“I don’t really know him either.” Noah pointed out.

“You know me.” Chaos said, “And I’ll vouch for him too. Anyone this guy, “he jerked his thumb toward Tolensky, “is annoyed by is good people.” He ignored Lou’s snarl and the burst of laughter from the other guards.

“It’s funny.” The Whitecoat said, “half of the MED hates me, but the rest of the NYPD – the guys on street level – couldn’t be happier for my help.” He shrugged, “Thems the breaks, I guess.” He turned back to Noah, “So, Incubus, looks like your friends are supporting me here. Let’s you, me and them head somewhere less cop-y and see if we can’t find your friends, no?”

Noah finally shook his hand. “Come on Rain.” He said to the frightened girl. “It’ll be alright.”

As the whole group headed across the lobby, Noah frowned. “I don’t know if this helps, but I heard them just before they saw me. One said they needed to get them to ‘CD’ as soon as possible. Maybe it’s a nickname, initials?”

Whitecoat chuckled. “Wow, those morons. This is easier than I thought.”

“How’s that?” The girl in the gi asked.

“Because considering the guys I smacked up last night, there’s only one ‘CD’ they could possible be talking about – Canterbury Docks.”

-- • --

“There’s a warehouse on the Canterbury Docks,” the Whitecoat explained as the group strode across the plaza that separated the front gates from the facility proper, “owned by a man named Tai Yang Zhang, a low level boss in the Hip Sing Tong. It’s where he keeps his payroll because he thinks I don’t know about it.”

“The guys I rounded up last night naturally didn’t tell me who they worked for, but a little extrapolation goes a long way. See, one of the guys was a man named Vernon Hendrix, also known as the Ox. He’s a spark jockey that does freelance work for whatever group pays his bills.”

“Spark jockey?” Chaos asked.

“It’s someone that’s had a lot of cybernetic enhancement.” Facsimile supplied.

“I like her.” Whitecoat chuckled, “she’s clever. Yeah, Ox has all the muscles in his upper body chipped – makes him pretty damn strong. The nice thing is that he’s all strength and no toughness. Anyway, the important thing is the Ox is white.”

“What?” the others said with a single, confused voice. Whitecoat laughed in response.

“It’s a Tong thing. They’re like the maras – totally concerned about race these days. They take a lot of pride in how ‘pure’ they can keep their personal circles of drugs, protection rackets and arms dealing. All except guys on the bottom like Zhang. See, when I said he was low level, I mean it. If organized crime was a store, he’d be the old lady at the door giving you a basket. That means all of his guys are out on the street all the time. And That means they’re easy pickings for the prelate set—me, Blue Streak, Sister Sacred—“

“Infinity?” Alloy supplied.

His former mentor snorted. “Yeah right, I doubt Captain Dimple-chin has even seen a gang member up close, much less taken one down. Anyway, as you can imagine, even in a city as big as New York, there’s only so many Chinese thugs to go around. Zhang’s had to tap the rest of the Big Apple’s wormy core to fill the ranks with pushers, pimps and arm twisters. Hence, he’s the only Tong boss that’d think to hire non-Chinese.”

“Diversity matters.” Facsimile quipped, “except this time it’s going to get a swarm of prelates jammed down his gob.”

“Whoa there, sparky.” Whitecoat held up a hand. Something blue glowed in his palm. “I’m not looking for a team-up. I got your friend out of the pokey for info and now I have it, end of alliance. I know you guys have a connection with these kids, but I work alone – especially when the Tong is involved.”

“You work alone?!” Facsimile raised and eyebrow. “Wait a minute,” she pointed at Alloy. “Didn’t you…”

“Oh hell no.” the Whitecoat said quickly. “Look, DeMarcus, The Masks, Themyscira—whatever – he tagged along whenever he could catch up and until he accidentally slagged evidence that could have put the Brooklyn head of the Tongs in prison for the rest of his natural life, I was too nice to tell him to back off, that’s all.”

Alloy didn’t offer a defense.

“This isn’t about that.” Chaos said. “Alloy’s not the kid you dealt with anymore and we certainly aren’t.” They had reached Laurel’s SUV, which for the day sported a temporary green paint job and fake plates. “These kids’ lives are the important thing, right?”

“This is true.” Whitecoat deadpanned.

“And truth be told, I’ve got a creeping suspicion that I know why Zhang went after them. You said he’s been losing people, has he been losing money too?”

“He’s been hemorrhaging cash for the past year or so. He’s been pretty desperate lately, he had another spark jockey named Tank do a hostage job three months ago. I figured the kidnapping would be for ransom too.”

“It’s more likely that it’s a bounty.” Chaos said bluntly. “You said you saw Alloy fighting on TV last month. Care to guess why?” Whitecoat shook his head. “The accusations about the Academy are true. Alloy and these other kids were kidnapped by the people behind the Academy for reasons we’re not clear on. And now they’re without their prime hunting grounds.”

“So someone put out a bounty on psionic kids? Remind me when this is done to call my mom and thank her not for enrolling me there.”

“Does that mean you’ll be around for us to remind you?” Alloy asked, “As in you’re going to team up with us?”

The Whitecoat regarded the young prelate from beneath his hat. He knew the kid could be overzealous and annoying, but there were more important things at stake. The Hip Sing Tong was once more exploiting others for their own gain. Something in his blood writhed at the thought. “Yeah.” He said without a trace of cockiness or smarm. “Yeah, I’m in.”

“So you’re the new mentor.” The Whitecoat observed. He and Chaos were walking along the rows of warehouses toward the Canterbury Docks. Hope was tending to Incubus and Rain back at the SUV. Alloy and Facsimile were getting into their own positions according to the plan formulated by Laurel in her Codex guise along the way.

“I don’t see all the problems you’ve seen.” Chaos shrugged. “He’s way too into the comic book side of things, but he’s a good kid and pretty good in a fight too.”

“Those snake things creep me the hell out. Swear to God they’re alive or something.”

Chaos didn’t bother telling him the truth, it would take the entire walk down o the warehouse to explain. “Hey, they’re part of his powers. Speaking of which, all I’ve seen you do so far is make fun of people. You mentioned not enrolling at the Academy, so you’re psionic. What’s your power?”

Whitecoat snickered beneath his bandanna. “I shit you not; the only psionic power I’ve got is a damn good immune system. I mean scary good. I can eat mad cow steak blue if I want to. On a toilet seat. One from a public restroom in Grand Central Station. And share the fork with a leper with a cold sore. And as close to sick as I’d get is the disgusted feeling about, you know, doing all that stuff.”

“So, what? You fight the Tongs by smacking them with your clean bill of health or luring them into raw pork eating contests? What about all the crap about you in that Prelates of New York comic about being bulletproof and super strong?”

“I’m also agile on a superhuman level, have advanced reflexes and can run on walls.” The Whitecoat added, “It’s all on that profile thing they’ve got of me on the PrelateWatch website. Also my hat and mask never fall off.”

“And none of it’s true?”

“No, it’s all true. But you just asked me what my psionic abilities were.” His voice held a smirk in it.

“So you’re what, another spark jockey like those guys Ox and Tank?”

“Sir, you wound me to imply that I’m a common thug who pays back alley interfacers for his powers.” Whitecoat said with mock indignity.

“Sorry.” Chaos huffed. “Hell, I didn’t even know what a spark jockey was until today. So how did you get the crime fighting vigilante package then?”

“Lab ‘accident’ courtesy of the Hip Sing Tong.” Whitecoat said with an edge in his voice. “Not everyone came out if it with powers. Not everyone came out of it.”

There was silence for a while as they walked. “I’m sorry.” Chaos said finally. “I think I get why you’re so keen on taking them on by yourself now.”

“That and the fact that they came a leap and a prayer from destroying the better part of Brooklyn with the thing that gave me my powers.” He shrugged, “Not on purpose; they were just careless in their moronic greed.” He stopped walking and held out a hand to indicate that Chaos should do the same. “But enough of the maudlin stuff. Zhang’s warehouse is just on the other side of this one. Are you sure about the plan your friend came up with? I mean it seems like stealth would be our friend here.”

Chaos nodded and smirked. “The guy in the bright white trench is talking about stealth now?”

“I get a good deal on them in bulk.” Whitecoat shrugged. “And don’t you think I’ve suffered for it enough with being saddled by a lame name like ‘The Whitecoat’?”

“That wasn’t your decision?”

“Hell no!” Whitecoat looked up at the last building before Zhang’s, gauging its height. “I wanted to be called something cool like Vengeance or Nightstalker, but noooo. The stupid coat is all anyone ever thinks about.” He nodded to Chaos. “You ready? I go high, you go low?”

“Climbing that thing will take forever, lets just both go around.”

“Who need to climb?” Before Chaos could reply, he jumped. And what a jump. He ascended three vertical stories and hit the wall just below the roof. The palms of his gauntlets and the tips of his boots glowed blue as they adhered to the facade of the building. Using those as anchors, he pulled himself over the top.

The two lookouts assigned to the front door of the warehouse were dressed in heavy overcoats and stocking caps. They tried very hard to look inconspicuous despite the fact that hardly anyone not in their organization came this far down Canterbury Docks. Both were Chinese and probably no older than sixteen.

One took a long drink out of a thermos full of soup and offered it to his companion.

“No.” the other said in Cantonese. “Mr. Zhang says we shouldn’t eat on the job.”

The first teen scoffed, replying in the same dialect. “It isn’t eating, it’s drinking. It’s too cold out here just to be standing around.”

“Ooh, soup.” There was a dull thud and both looked up to see the Whitecoat crouched on the side of the building with his coat billowing around him. “Is it vegetable barley? I love that stuff.”

The one holding the thermos dropped it and went for the pistol concealed in his waistband. A sudden gush of wind slammed him against the wall, knocking him out. His partner bolted for the steel door into the side of the warehouse.

The Whitecoat dropped down in front of him. “Ah, ah, ah. You don’t want to ruin the surprise for your friends, do you?” He didn’t move to stop the youth when he turned on his heel and ran in the other direction – straight into Chaos.

The visored man held up a hand and the air around the look out’s head grew thin. “Trust me, passing out is about the least ignoble thing that’s going to happen to the Tong tonight.” He said as the teen collapsed.

“Nice.” The Whitecoat said, observing Chaos’s handiwork. “And here I though you could only blow hot air.”

“I can be stupidly powerful when I want to be.” The other man shrugged.

Yeah,” The Whitecoat said, putting his palms against the steel door. The blue glowing pads on them adhered to it strongly as the pads on his boots did the same to the ground to give him leverage. “But can you do this?” With a jerking motion, he ripped the door out of the wall.

A cacophony of shouts in both English and Cantonese went up from inside. Whitecoat and Chaos only understood a few, mostly shouts of ‘breech’ and ‘cover the door’. Three men with automatic shotguns ran up the ramp leading down from the door.

“Knock, knock.” Whitecoat threw the door low, catching all three at the knees, sending them tumbling down the ramp. “Is Mr. Zhang in? I’d like a word or two with him.” He strode down the ramp, looking back and forth over the warehouse.

The place was sparsely populated by stacks of crates with bits and pieces of detritus strewn about. It clearly hadn’t been used as a real warehouse in some time. At the far end of the warehouse there was a glassed in office that the Whitecoat knew to be Zhang’s pay office.

Surprisingly, all the guards who would normally fire on him with fruitless abandon were falling back to cover. A moment later, he knew why.

“Mr. Zhang knew one of you costumed freaks would come for the kids.” A tall, dusky man of indeterminate European descent strode up to the bottom of the ramp. He was bare-chested, wearing loose cargo pants and combat boots. Leather straps held a bandoleer of knives across his chest and the hilt of a sword peeked out from behind his back. His long, black hair was tied back from his face. “So he left me to deal with you.”

Chaos came down the ramp behind Whitecoat. “This can’t be good. A dozen men with guns and they’re hiding behind a man armed with sharp objects?”

“Yeah, and he’s not a modder either.” The Whitecoat said, “My guess? Psionic. So I’m not going to give him time to show off his powers.” He vaulted toward the man with an arm drawn back to punch.

Zhang’s henchman’s face split into a grin. His form grew blurry at the edges and looked as if it were being pulled upward by some unseen vortex, stretching and thinning out in a bizarre fashion. Then he disappeared. Less than a second later, he reappeared, the strange visual repeating in reverse as he materialized behind and above the Whitecoat.

A heavy booted foot landed heel first on the prelate’s back sending him sprawling down ramp. “You already gave me all the time I needed.” He crowed. Before he landed, he was gone again in another flurry of bizarre motion.

“What the—“Chaos was too late to bring his guard up as the Tong mercenary appeared, slamming a palm into his chest with enough force to bowl him over. Before he even came to a stop, the psionic villain was back at the foot of the ramp, grinning at his handiwork.

“Teleporter.” Whitecoat grunted, forcing himself up into a combat crouch.

“I’ve trained for ten years mastering a martial art based around my unique means of locomotion and that’s all you can say?” the teleporter snarled. He appeared beside the Whitecoat and drove a knee into his ribs before returning to his original position. “I can be in a dozen places virtually simultaneously, striking at a score of enemies. That isn’t a simple matter of conveyance. Others are just teleporters. But there is only one person that has honed it into a weapon. That’s why they call me The Legion of One.”

Chaos grimaced and managed a sneer. “Yeah, well the jokes on you, buddy. For we are many.” The moment the words left his mouth, the roof was torn open.

-- • --

Steel beams twisted, tearing a hole in the warehouse’s roof big enough to admit Alloy and Facsimile. Spooked out of their confident position behind the Legion of One, the guards opened fire. The spray of lead only managed to raise a hail of sparks from Alloy’s armor as Isp and Osp swung him down to the top of a stack of crates.

Facsimile took a more direct route to the ground, freefalling and landing with a liquid grace that mocked the fact that a normal human’s bones would shatter from a drop from such a height. She grabbed one of the guards by the collar and swung him sideways into the man beside him.

Alloy reached out with his power and twisted the nearest weapons into useless slag.

Legion didn’t bat an eye at the incursion going on behind him. “You have no idea how tired I am of that reference.” He said to Chaos. “My name references the Roman legions, not the demon of Gadarene.”

“Yeah, but it’s a joke I just couldn’t resist.” Chaos said, getting to his feet. Legion blurred, stretched and appeared beside him, an elbow aimed at the prelate’s ribs. But Whitecoat was ready for him.

Gathering his feet beneath him, he put all of his enhanced strength into a flying tackle. They went down in a heap. “The office in back!” he shouted. “That’s where they’ll be keeping the kids!”

Facsimile backhanded another guard nodded and bolted for the office. She didn’t get far before Legion appeared and locked his arms under her shoulders. “We’ll be having none of that, lady.” He snapped, leaning back hard and pulling both of them into a backward fall. As they toppled, he ‘ported and appearing in front of her, drop kicked her in the chest, sending her sprawling on the concrete.

The Whitecoat snarled in frustration, upon realizing he was grappling thin air. “Damn it!” He turned on his heel and found himself standing beside Chaos. “He can ‘port out of grapples. We’ll have to find some other way to pin him down.”

“I’ll pile some air up on him, see if that—“Chaos was cut off as Legion appeared before them and planted a fist into each of their guts. At least he tried when it came to the Whitecoat. His fist hit the trench coat and felt like it had slammed into steel. His surprise was such that he didn’t manage to escape a gauntleted fist to the face.

Drops of blood flew as he blurred and disappeared, reappearing on the other side of the warehouse. Wiping blood from his busted lip he glared. “First blood, Whitecoat. Suits me just fine if we’re going to play it like that.”

“Really?” A crate swung down from above, threatening to squash Legion against the stack he was standing near. He was gone before it hit him, reappearing in the space the crate had passed through.

He glared at Alloy. “Nice try.” With that, he was beside the armored prelate, hand going for his sword. All thoughts of catching Alloy off guard fled from his mind as Osp snapped out, slamming him across the midsection and launching him from the top of the crates before Alloy even turned to face him.

Facsimile was in the air to intercept him. “One cheap shot deserves another.” She said coldly, winding up a punch to hit him in midair.

“I agree.” Facsimile was taken off guard as Legion dropped from above, planting a foot and all of his weight into her collar bone. There was a sickening crack and the golden prelate crashed to the ground. Legion ‘ported beside her, pointing. “Shoot her!” he commanded the guards that were still up.

As they took aim, a gush of wind rushed away from them, forming miniature vortexes around each firearm. Instead of the roar of weapons fire, there came a series of muffled clicks. “Today, in chem class, children, we learn that gunpowder doesn’t ignite without oxygen to burn in.” Chaos gestured and the vortexes took the men off their feet.

Legion unsheathed his sword with an oath. “If you want something done…”

“You won’t get a chance.” Whitecoat jumped toward the teleporter, fists raised. “Alloy, hit him with a crate!”

“He’ll just ‘port and avoid it. I can just slag the sword!” Alloy was saying even as Isp and Osp complied on his behalf.

“The hell he will.” Whitecoat bellowed. He watched Legion disappear just ahead of the looming container. Two fists, backed by the force of an increasingly irritated man with superhuman strength came up and impacted the wooden crate in twin uppercuts. It came apart in a burst of splinters.

Legion roared hissed in pain as he reappeared. The overhand strike he had prepared to bring down on the Whitecoat twisted to protect his eyes. For the brief moment he was blinded, the Whitecoat lunged for him. He was too slow, grasping only air. Legion was back in an instant, swinging his sword low to attack the Whitecoat’s knee. It buckled and sent the prelate to the ground.

“Four so called prelates and here I am making you look like clowns.” The Legion of One laughed. “It’ll be better when you’re dead. You won’t be able to feel the shame I’m bringing to your names for generations to—“He this time it was a literal scream rather than a roar. Facsimile had extruded a twelve inch spike of bone from her arm and punched it through his boot, the foot inside and down into the concrete.

She rose up, shifting stronger muscles with which to pummel him more efficiently.

Biting off a string of curses in what Chaos realized was Greek, Legion ducked under Facsimile’s first punch, drove his sword into her shoulder and used it as leverage to push her away. She stumbled back, tripping on a chunk of broken wood and took the sword with her as she fell. The immediate threat over, Legion knelt and pulled the spike out of his foot.

He didn’t have time for anything else. Alloy’s feet both connected with his back, bowling him over. The armored prelate let the tentacles set him down between Facsimile and Whitecoat. Legion ‘ported away.

“Are you guys alright?” Alloy asked, warily looking around for the counterattack.

Facsimile grunted as she pulled the sword out of her shoulder and threw it to the side. “Peachy. But I’ll feel better if I get my claws in that guy.”

The Whitecoat was already up in a crouch. “Did you see that? He ducked her.”

“Yeah, the bastard’s fast.” Facsimile groused.

“No, I mean he didn’t teleport out of the way. He stood and fought like a normal person while you had him pinioned to the ground.”

Alloy snapped his fingers, which was admittedly impressive for someone wearing full armor. “He can’t take it with him – the spike connected him to the building and he can’t very well try to move the whole building. Even trying, he would run the risk of ripping his foot off.”

“Where did you pick that up?” Chaos came over, glancing about for Legion.

“Prelates of New York number 12, Infinity vs. the Cargo Clan. It was all about teleporters.”

“I should have known.” Whitecoat groaned.

“I may have learned it from there, but I’ve done my own research.” Alloy said indignantly. “And it’s a fact, teleporters have unique mass and distance limits, but they all have problems separating parts of a whole when teleporting.”

“Insightful, prelate.” The Legion of One’s voice echoed off the high ceiling. “I’ll have to invest in a few comic books once I’m done with you all.” He was on them like lightning, first kicking Facsimile into Alloy, then catching Chaos and the Whitecoat in their respective chins with a split kick.

He was gone in the next instant, but his location was made obvious by the sharp impact coming from the other side of the closest stack of crates. The whole stack shifted and toppled toward the prelates. Facsimile, Alloy and the Whitecoat turtled, knowing they could take the blows. Chaos threw up his hands and the wind in the warehouse revved to hurricane force, stacking up in solid layers before the crates, pushing them back in the other direction to collapse harmlessly.

“Is he nuts?” Facsimile asked, pointing to the unconscious and cowering guards that would have been crushed by the attack. “He was about to off his own guys!”

“Those aren’t ‘my guys’. I’m an independent contractor.” Legion pointed out. He was standing on top of another stack of crates. “The only thing I’ve gotten from the Tongs, besides a paycheck is the knowledge of a half dozen Chinese slurs of ‘white man’. Really, if the prelates made a lucrative offer like crime does, I’d gladly ply my trade on street hoods and powered fools in pajamas.”

Whitecoat stepped in front of the others. “Do you hear this guy?” he laughed. “’a lucrative offer like crime does…’” he said in an exaggeratedly snobbish accent. “Have you even heard yourself, Shirtless Joe? Between this and all the fun factoids about where the swarm of demons that Jesus jammed in some pigs came from, you put yourself out there as some kind of high culture, hoity-toity type – or as I guess you’d say,” he adopted the snooty accent again, “’haute-monde’.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “But the fact is that you run around shirtless in New York in December, so how smart can you be? You know what I think, Conan the Librarian? I think you’re just some mouth-breathing simian from Jersey trying to break into the big time here in the City. And I think you thought that having a gimmick—say, Indian-brave-slash-mercenary—would help you move up the ranks. Well, I’m sorry, chuckles, but Zhang’s not the boss to help you rise above. He’s more of a ‘feed from the bottom’ kinda guy.”

Legion was no longer standing on the crates by the time he finished. Calmly, and smoothly, he brought up an arm to ward off the roundhouse kick aimed for his head and grabbed it with his free hand, engaging the electrostatic adhesion device that normally anchored him to walls he was traversing.

“Typical.” He smirked. He chuckled as he watched realization dawn on Legion. “Yup, you’re adhered to me and I’m likewise adhered to the floor. Come on, try to ‘port, I’ve always wanted something to hang on my trophy wall – your leg would be a nice start.”

“Awesome!” Alloy declared. “You psyched him out into attacking you so you could trap him. So classic!”

The Whitecoat shrugged and looked at Chaos. “And that is why I make fun of people.”

“And you never learn to shut up.” Legion threw his bracing foot upward, catching his captor in the chin. His hand s hit the floor behind him and he did an inverted pushup to bring himself forward. A dagger left his bandoleer and found its way alongside where the bandanna covered the Whitecoat’s neck. “Release me.” He snarled.

“Sure.” The Whitecoat shrugged. With both hands he threw Legion’s captured leg upward, flipping the villain through the air.

Isp and Osp were on him before he could think to teleport. They cracked down across his ribs and drove him to the floor with a satisfying thud. He didn’t rise after that.

“Nice one.” The Whitecoat nodded to Alloy.

“It wasn’t me, it was them.” Alloy pointed up to the tentacles, which were miming congratulating themselves.

“Uh… yeah.” Whitecoat nodded. “Okay, I’ll get the Tong guards all nice and cozy for the police, you guys go grab the kids. I want to be here when Mr. Demon wakes up to ask some pointed, threatening questions about why all of this has… been… oh, god damn it.” He was staring at the place Legion had fallen – where he should have been.”

Sirens filled the afternoon air over the warehouse district as several police units, including a pair of flying cruisers, converged on Tai Yang Zhang’s warehouse. They took little to no notice of a green SUV parked beside a black cargo van at the other end of the Canterbury Docks.

The van, rented by Codex to help ferry everyone around, sat with its doors open. The Kin; Rain, Incubus, Blank and Tesser, sat with their legs outside as they worried excitedly over one another. The Descendants and the Whitecoat had retreated to the other side of the SUV to give them their time together.

“You mean to tell me that you just let these kids run around unsupervised?” the Whitecoat asked, “That doesn’t sound very responsible.”

“You have to understand,” Codex was leaning against her SUV. “When we first found them, we couldn’t return them to their parents because Tome would get a hold of them again. And after that fact, we found out that only one of them… whose identity we can confirm… has family that would accept them back anyway and he’s of legal age now anyway.”

“So our hands are tied.” Chaos added. “Of course we watch out for them, give them any help they ask for…”

“And occasionally dispatch a prelate team on their behalf.” Whitecoat finished. “Damn, when I was their age, my friends wouldn’t even fight normal bullies for me. But c’est la vie, I guess. Tell them I wish them luck.”

“You’re headed out already, sir?” Alloy asked.

“Yeah, kid, I am.” The Whitecoat nodded. “There’s still daylight to burn and Legion’s still out there. Not to mention that we’re still not entirely sure why Zhang wanted to kidnap them. If it’s not this Tome place, then someone might just be targeting young psionics. I know of a couple of group homes dedicated to kids that got kicked by their parents for being psionics,” This drew a small growl from Facsimile’s throat, “I’m going to snoop around there and see if there are any more disappearances.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Codex replied. “Would you mind letting us know what you turn up? We’re uniquely interested in anything that might be connected to Tome.”

“Sure thing, bookworm.” Whitecoat gave a small bow. “I’ve got your card. I really should get my own cards, you know, after I manage to get as off-the-grid as you apparently are.”

“I could arrange that.” Codex said.

“Nah, I’m a smart guy, I can build my own gadgets. Thanks anyway though.” With that, he leapt to a roof and was gone.

“This was the most awesome day ever.” Alloy murmured, watching his hero and reluctant mentor disappear.

“Since I’m the one that called you in on this,” Facsimile asked with a mischievous grin, “Does this count as my Christmas gift to you?”

“I’m terribly sorry, sir.” Tai Yang Zhang stammered in Cantonese as he stood before his superior in a darkened, seedy motel room. It was the kind of place the big bosses of the Tongs used as temporary offices when they took ‘field trips’ among their rank and file.

Zhang was a slight man in his mid-fifties with balding black hair and a nose that had obviously been broken several times and had never healed correctly once. He wore his best suit, which by comparison to his superior’s suit, looked like a burlap sack with chicken feed still ground into the nooks.

“I thought that the Legion of One would be able to take whoever followed. I never suspected that many would come to retrieve a group of worthless runaways.”

“They aren’t worthless.” His boss said in smooth English. If there was an accent, it was decidedly not Chinese. “In fact, to me they’re worth a great deal. And the fact that they just happened to appear in New York was a stroke of luck I fear I won’t have again.

Zhang shivered. “Please, sir, give me another chance…”

“You’ll have one, Tai Yang. Because your connections were useful to me even before my former… friends… arrived. In fact, I have a job for you immediately.”

“Yes?” Zhang asked, sweating profusely.

“Go to your public bosses, the Tongs. Tell them what happened to your warehouse – how many prelates were involved. Tell them that it is time to modernize the way you have. They need psionics of their own to fight fire with fire and it doesn’t matter if they’re Chinese or not.”

End Issue #14