the camera moved wildly until it faced the sky. Then the angle went down a bit and a massive face formed out of jagged rocks filled the screen. The face said, “City’s ours now, bitches,” before the screen squealed and filled with static. McHenry swore he recognized the voice: It sounded like Marlon Jones, but he wasn’t sure.
Click. An Asian female reporter stood in front of a police barricade, raindrops rolling off of her umbrella as she spoke. “Word on the street is that the Titans have capture d the mastermind behind all of this, but their spokesperson hasn’t—“
Click. A high-pitched electronic whine was playing over a cartoony image of a camera with an icepack on its head and a thermometer in its animated mouth. The words “Technical Difficulties – We’ll Be Back Soon” scrolled by.
Click. A young, black reporter yelled something into his microphone as explosions of plasma and electricity broke through the air behind him. A muscular, charred body spun wildly over the camera and the reporter couldn’t help but stare at it. McHenry couldn’t tell if it was a hero or a villain that’d been crisped.
He turned off the TV. It was bad out there, really bad. Maybe he’d actually gotten lucky, having being hauled off to the heroes’ secret base. He smirked, but it didn’t last.
The big question finally hit him: What was it that Rampart had said? They thought McHenry was behind the chaos, and behind something to do with nukes ?
He needed to get to the bottom of this. McHenry started thinking a little harder.
Right after the Titans showed up, Night Owl had said something about a signal, a signal traced back to “there”--to the apartment, to McHenry.
“Son of a bitch,” he gasped.
The Network had given him the gear.
They put him in that apartment.
They wanted him to go back out into the world and --and what?
He finished his thought, “The Network set me up.”
He’d been framed by the Network to take the blame while they launched an all-out attack on the world, but why? A piece of the puzzle was missing. He kept analyzing the situation.
“No,” he said to himself. It wasn’t making any sense. Clearly, the Network had the firepower to pull this off any time they wanted. So why would they need a fall guy?
He la id his head on the pillow and stared at the cell’s ceiling. “What the hell is really going on?”
***
The superheroes of New York were fighting a losing battle. They’d never before faced an onslaught like this; yes, it was common knowledge that the villains outnumbered the heroes twelve to one, but they’d never come out in force before. They’d never acted in unison on such a massive scale.
Sensing defeat a fter the first hour of fighting, some heroes had turned tail and tried to make a break towards safety. Flying villains from the Fortress armed themselves with grenade launchers and bazookas made short work of them. Then they turned their attentions towards the bridges and tunnels of the city, demolishing them as best they could.
On the streets, heavily armed Network soldiers corralled the citizenry into bank lobbies and other enclosed spaces. The occasional masked vigilante broke through the lines of troops and made some headway in freeing hostages—but they were soon face to face with villainous powerhouses stepping out of the tele-portals that were popping up all around Manhattan.
Prisoners from The Boulder had started appearing—another super-prison, but in Europe—on the streets and in the skies of the city. As had the female meta-human inmates of the Augusta Federal Penitentiary.
The last two standing bridges in the city--the Brooklyn and George Washingon bridges--exploded, collapsing into the waters below.
News stations were reporting that NORAD command had been locked out of the system that controlled America’s nuclear arsenal, and missiles were being programmed to take aim at every major city in
Click. An Asian female reporter stood in front of a police barricade, raindrops rolling off of her umbrella as she spoke. “Word on the street is that the Titans have capture d the mastermind behind all of this, but their spokesperson hasn’t—“
Click. A high-pitched electronic whine was playing over a cartoony image of a camera with an icepack on its head and a thermometer in its animated mouth. The words “Technical Difficulties – We’ll Be Back Soon” scrolled by.
Click. A young, black reporter yelled something into his microphone as explosions of plasma and electricity broke through the air behind him. A muscular, charred body spun wildly over the camera and the reporter couldn’t help but stare at it. McHenry couldn’t tell if it was a hero or a villain that’d been crisped.
He turned off the TV. It was bad out there, really bad. Maybe he’d actually gotten lucky, having being hauled off to the heroes’ secret base. He smirked, but it didn’t last.
The big question finally hit him: What was it that Rampart had said? They thought McHenry was behind the chaos, and behind something to do with nukes ?
He needed to get to the bottom of this. McHenry started thinking a little harder.
Right after the Titans showed up, Night Owl had said something about a signal, a signal traced back to “there”--to the apartment, to McHenry.
“Son of a bitch,” he gasped.
The Network had given him the gear.
They put him in that apartment.
They wanted him to go back out into the world and --and what?
He finished his thought, “The Network set me up.”
He’d been framed by the Network to take the blame while they launched an all-out attack on the world, but why? A piece of the puzzle was missing. He kept analyzing the situation.
“No,” he said to himself. It wasn’t making any sense. Clearly, the Network had the firepower to pull this off any time they wanted. So why would they need a fall guy?
He la id his head on the pillow and stared at the cell’s ceiling. “What the hell is really going on?”
***
The superheroes of New York were fighting a losing battle. They’d never before faced an onslaught like this; yes, it was common knowledge that the villains outnumbered the heroes twelve to one, but they’d never come out in force before. They’d never acted in unison on such a massive scale.
Sensing defeat a fter the first hour of fighting, some heroes had turned tail and tried to make a break towards safety. Flying villains from the Fortress armed themselves with grenade launchers and bazookas made short work of them. Then they turned their attentions towards the bridges and tunnels of the city, demolishing them as best they could.
On the streets, heavily armed Network soldiers corralled the citizenry into bank lobbies and other enclosed spaces. The occasional masked vigilante broke through the lines of troops and made some headway in freeing hostages—but they were soon face to face with villainous powerhouses stepping out of the tele-portals that were popping up all around Manhattan.
Prisoners from The Boulder had started appearing—another super-prison, but in Europe—on the streets and in the skies of the city. As had the female meta-human inmates of the Augusta Federal Penitentiary.
The last two standing bridges in the city--the Brooklyn and George Washingon bridges--exploded, collapsing into the waters below.
News stations were reporting that NORAD command had been locked out of the system that controlled America’s nuclear arsenal, and missiles were being programmed to take aim at every major city in
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