There is a dark side to fame.
"Judgementor.. We love you!!!" a female fan screams. Other fans cheer in response to her declaration of love.
Because Malgar mansion is remote, heavily guarded, and inaccessible to most people, Alex's more aggressive fans and the paparazzi have taken camping in front of the magnificent Malgar building in the city center of New Amsterdam City.
The really hardcore fans, however, have been known to trespass onto the grounds of Malgar mansion itself. Afterall, if given the choice to see their idol/cash cow everyday, or seeing him once a week, most would rather see him everyday.
From his vantage point outside the gates of the Malger compound, Tony Brock watches Judgementor through his high power binoculars.
"There we go", Tony says, "smile for the camera."
If one was somewhat flattering, one would call Tony a rabid dog. He has been staking out the grounds of the Malger compound for weeks. Although he would have preferred to physically be on the grounds, Alex's guards do not take trespassers kindly… as the bruises on Tony's body can attest.
This being said, Alex is not always cooped up within his mansion, rather he would typically practice with his powers outside.
"Yes. Yes. Smile baby." Tony says as he snaps unflattering pictures of Alex. "I bet I can sell these to the Daily Tribune."
-----
An ornately decorated multi-million dollar mansion on the outskirts of New Amsterdam City.
Natalie A. Hoge, more commonly known as Empress Night, stares at the big screen TV with the Judgementor on it and says, "Yummy… He's just my type."
Empress Night is the Prince, or ruler, of the Cassian vampires who live in New Amsterdam City. A 120+ year old vampire who looks like a dark-hair curvaceous lady in her mid 20s, Empress Night has been instrumental in keeping things calm for the Cassian vampires of New Amsterdam City for generations.
She accomplishes this by allotting hunting grounds, by designating safe places for Cassian vampires to meet together without fear of harm, by granting and revoking the authority to sire new vampires, by punishing those who violate the "rules", and by declaring war on rebels, other vampiric strains, and hostile supernatural creatures.
Although Empress Night seems to be a little young to be the Prince of a city as important as the Big Orange, Empress Night is a savvy political operator who excels at using the power of mortals.
For instance, one of the key edicts passed down by Quintus Cassius Marcellus- the Founder and Originator of Cassian vampires, is to keep a low profile. If the mortals are unaware that there are vampires living among them, the mortals would not band together in order to hunt them.
Empress Night has taken advantage of this edict in order to eliminate her political rivals.
One of her favorite tricks is to have a loyal mortal sniper shoot the head of a rival vampire in a public location; the more witnesses, the better.
If the rival refuses to get down and "play dead", Empress Night would be able to petition older Cassian vampires to hunt down the rival for violating the "Masquerade".
If the rival does get down, a nearby ambulance- staffed with her loyal minions, will conveniently arrive to pick up the "victim". Once in the ambulance, and away from prying eyes, her minions would attempt to kill and eliminate the rival. One vampire playing dead vs. 5+ minions who are aware and prepared to deal with a vampire; the odds are not in that rival's favor.
"I want to have a talk with this... Judgementor... this Alex." Empress Night commands, "Make it happen."
Her officers acquiesce and reply in unison, "by your will."
-----
A multi-million dollar mansion in Las Vegas.
Maximilian Kaupland, a spry 80+ year old man, leader and primary preacher of Max Churches, and secretly a Vice-Leader of the Followers of the Rot, is saying to his peers, "we should recruit the Judgementor."
On the surface, Max's comment makes sense. Max's philosophy espouses that financial blessing and physical well-being are always due to the will of God... and the Judgementor, being a healthy and wealthy white man with superpowers, embodies the pinnacle of that faith.
The Redeemer, a superbeing wearing a full suit of plate armor with a distinctive white mantle and orange Latin cross, snorts, "we don't need him. Is he even religious?"
The Redeemer is the nominal leader of the "Future Order of the Third Temple", a militaristic order who believes in "reclaiming" the Temple Mount in Jerusalem and building a "proper Christian" temple on top of it- much to the chagrin of the Jewish and Muslim faiths. Although his long term goal is to "reclaim" the Temple Mount and establish *his* holy temple, his short-term goals are to 'redeem' villains by bringing them to God- even at the cost of their mortal body; after all, the immortal soul is much more important.
The Redeemer is completely unaware of Max's, and the other room members', true allegiance; otherwise they would be subjected to a massive smiting.
Ernest Roy Saulus, a clean-shaven white man in his early seventies, the chairman of the Preserver party, and secretly a Vice-Leader of the Followers of the Rot, says, "It wouldn't hurt to try. Just think of how many more donations we can get."
"It's not always about money," the Redeemer says, "but I'll have a chat with him."
-----
The next day, the Daily Tribune published the unflattering pictures of Alex with the headline, "Superhero or Super-skunk."
"You're telling me I can't even sweat outside?" Alex curses as he looks at the unflattering pictures from his office in the magnificent Malger building.
A pleasant voice crackles on the intercom "Sir Alex, there's a situation on 5th and Main."
"On it."
-----
"Too slow Judgementor… Too slow. You know what they say about the early bird… Well you're too slow…" Commander-X- a skinny man wearing a red and black spandex costume with a red motorcycle helmet says.
Alex had attempted to intervene in the robbery on 5th and main, but by the time he arrived, Commander-X had already dealt with the situation.
Dejected, Alex gets back into his sports car.
"Damn it!" Alex curses, "Traffic and parking are bitches…. I need to start having professionals give me rides."
-----
In the North Atlantic Ocean.
The Single-Handed Trans-Atlantic Race is an east-to-west yacht race across the North Atlantic. It runs from England to the United States, and is held once every four years. The race is split into two classes, the OSTAR (meant for amateurs and young sailors using smaller boats) and the Transat (meant for professionals using bigger multihull boats).
The course of the race is westwards against the prevailing winds of the north Atlantic over a distance of around 3,000 nautical miles (5,600 km). The actual course steered is the decision of the individual skipper, and the result of the race can hinge on the chosen route. The most common routes taken are the "Rhumb line", "Great circle", "Northern route", "Azores route", and "Trade wind route".
On a dark and stormy night, Sebastien Monnet - skipper of the Rising Seagull (a one-to-two-man IMOCA 60 monohull sailing yacht), is one of the OSTAR contestants sailing the "Northern route". It is sometimes possible to avoid headwinds by following a far northern route, north of the great circle and above the track followed by depressions. This is a longer way, though, at 3,130 nautical miles (5,800 km), and places the sailor in greater danger of encountering ice.
Sebastien would rather gamble on encountering ice than braving the North Atlantic headwinds.
Consequently, it was to his shocked surprise that he saw an unmarked, unmapped island in the distance; one that did not correspond to any map - even those generated via satellite imagery.
His curiosity getting the better of him, Sebastien Monnet sails toward the mysterious island.
Although the island isn't very large, only roughly half a square mile, it is very mountainous - with precipitous walls falling from the summit plateau in all directions.
Looking through binoculars, Sebastien can see a man-made structure sitting on top of the plateau - a stone fortress decorated with the insignia of Paragon.
-----
The next night.
In order to celebrate his father's birthday, Alex made plans to take his father out for a nice dinner followed by a fine art viewing. The birthday dinner went off without a hitch, but at the art gallery...
"Art is a scam," Ryan Malger is saying, "Notice how there are no artists who are filthy rich when they're alive? It's because art is a scam."
"What do you mean?" Alex asks.
Ryan explains, "Let's say our business had a really good year, so good that I wanted to take a tax deduction. Well, one of the ways I can get a deduction is by donating to charity. And rather than donate 100 million dollars to charity, I could just acquire the art of a dead artist, have his art appraised for hundreds of millions of dollars, and then donate that artwork to a charity…. A painting by Joe Schmo Rembrant might cost me less than $10000 out of pocket, but because he's dead, his art is 'irreplaceable', and thus priceless- especially if you can get the 'right' appraisers."
Alex comments, "that's so cynical, dad."
"Hmmp," Ryan snorts, "that's the way the world works."
"Can you tell what this splotch of paint is?" Ryan asks as he motions toward an abstract painting.
Alex shakes his head, "I think it's a bird? Or a plane?"
"You were drawing better than this in kindergarten." Ryan concludes.
"I don't agree, dad." Alex says, "While it's true that some people use art as a tax dodge, not all art should be valued solely by its artistic value. For instance, let's take a signed Babe Ruth baseball card. On the surface, it's just a piece of cardboard with a picture of a baseball player. But, there's a place in historic sports history that it represents; it's why it's worth so much. Art is the same… that splotch of paint might represent the cusp of a new movement."
-----
While Alex is out...
"Steady now… Steady.." Cyrano says as she installs a hidden camera on the outskirts of the Malger compound..
The "Great Thief Cyrano" is a notorious womanizer whose goal was to "steal all the treasures in the world". Of course, it's just a fake persona. The Great Thief Cyrano is actually Katie K. LeFevre, and she's not actually into women.
Although a skilled burglar, Katie was considered a bit below par when compared to superpowered thieves. However, her life changed after she stole the Eye of India, the Hope Emerald, and the Burmese Falcon- and returned them to their proper owners in India and Myanmar. Much to the chagrin of the British royal family, the Coquus brothers, the Walesc family, and INTERPOL, Katie's daring theft and subsequent charity garnered her enough fans to empower her.
Katie always had great courage and extreme confidence. By acting as if she belongs, Katie was able to social engineer herself into places where she had no business being- backstage at concerts, exclusive private parties, and inside the mansions of the rich and famous.
After being empowered by Paragon, the new and improved Cyrano has exceptional night vision, can effortlessly scale walls, can alter and control fabrics, can wipe out physical evidence of her passing through (such as fingerprints, shoe or tire impressions, tool marks, and trace evidence such as fibers, soil, vegetation, glass fragments), can create a portable space (which she uses to store tools, weapons, outfits, and disguises) - and given enough time, can physically alter her face and body.
Mingling with the camping paparazzi, Cyrano is soon able to get the lay of the land-, so to speak. By analyzing previous attempts to enter the grounds, Cyrano has identified several points of entries - especially if one possesses the powers that she has.
Under the cover of darkness, Cyrano approaches the stone walls and wrought-iron gates that surround the Malger compound.
Avoiding the floodlights that periodically sweep the perimeter, Cyrano changes her gravitational reference frame and runs straight up a vertical wall, before quickly leaping inside the compound.
Counting to ten, Cyrano waits for the patrolling guards to pass her, before scampering up the hill toward Malger mansion.
Avoiding the patrolling hounds and guards, Cyrano approaches the north west side of the mansion. Swaying with the wind, she easily crosses the 200+ feet of cleared cut space - without being noticed.
She then mentally cross references the mansion with the building floor plan she acquired from the Department of Building Inspections.
Nodding to herself, she manipulates her personal gravity, and runs straight up a vertical wall toward the maid quarters, where she randomly enters an open window.
Going through the drawers, she finds a framed picture of a young lady in a maid's outfit standing next to a stern looking butler. "To my darling, Lexi" is inscribed on the bottom.
Cyrano wills herself to look like the lady. As her dark brown hair turns blond and eyes green, she quickly rummages through the closets. Finding a maid outfit, Cyrano closely examines it- before changing her bodysuit to resemble it. Adjusting the outfit, she grimaces as she shortens her height... and increases her cup size.
Following her mental map, Cyrano takes out cameras and transmitters from her portable space and hides them in various crevices as she nonchalantly walks the hallways toward Alex's study.
"Who ever heard of a thief giving something to their victims?" Cyrano muses to herself as she finishes installing cameras, transmitters, and other spying devices in Alex's bedroom and study.
"It'll take the Judgementor at least another 2 hours to finish..." Cyrano continues as she opens the door to leave.
Unbeknownst to Cyrano, however, the art viewing was a disaster. Alex and his father, Ryan, had fundamental disagreements and decided to cut the night short.
Consequently, when Cyrano opened the door, she ran into Alex.
"Who are you and why are you in my room?" Alex demands.
"There… there was a rat, young master; I chased it but it got away.." Cyrano timidly replies.
"I see… wait, who are you again?" Alex asks as he toggles his comms.
"Lexi.. master, I'm one of the maids here..."
"Well Lexi.. can you come with me for a bit? This has been a breach of policy..."
"Please.. Master.. I need this job.. Can we not… tell the head maid? I'll be so… grateful."
Exposing her clavicle and a creamy white shoulder, Cyrano flashes a smile and demurely approaches Alex.
"Uh.. hm.. This is most irregular… I have to think about my rep.. How about I put a good word in for you?" Alex responds as he guides her out of the room.
"Thank you master.." Cyrano says as she walks out the room with Alex.
"This being said, I have to report any atypical event to Khok Key, and this qualifies."
Cyrano takes a look at Alex, then at the approaching guards, and then back at Alex before shrieking. Pushing Alex toward the guards, Cyrano runs back into Alex's room.
Suddenly, Alex's and his guards' clothes ride up, obstructing their view. Additionally, Alex's clothes miraculously change; his maroon dress shirt becomes white, and his dark black slacks become grey.
"Boss!?!?" the panicked guards exclaim.
"That's not me!!!" Alex shouts as he clenches his fist.
As Cyrano runs toward the window, Alex's ornate rugs impede and entangle her legs.
"Yaaa!!!" Cryano screams as she trips and falls out a nearby window.
And all of this was caught on camera.
-----
What wasn't caught on camera.
Cyrano changes her gravitational reference frame to point down toward the wall of the building. Rolling on the wall, she rips off the rug entangling her.
Standing up horizontally in reference to the ground, she glances at the ground and then at the 200+ feet of open space she has to cross before exiting the compound. She then glances at the arriving patrols and then at the roof.
Weighing her options, Cyrano runs toward the roof.
-----
Concurrently. The western-most graveyard of New Amsterdam City.
For the past several weeks, Redd and his men have been digging up graves of former super-beings, trying to get their power, but with no success.
History forgets almost everyone, and that includes "ordinary" superheroes and supervillains; Brother Maan, Dynamic Man, Hockey-Mask, Lore Master, Metallic-Ko, these are some of the names forgotten by history. Their graves are unobtrusive, and very few people come to pay their respects; especially as time wears on.
The dead, however, hold no secrets, and a determined man willing to engage in "light bribery" can pay off enough people to associate super beings with their civilian or common identity; or, at least, obtain the location of their graves.
"Abra-Cadabra... Hocus Pocus", intones Redd as he holds up the white gold wedding ring looted from the grave of the former Pyro-Flare.
"God damn it!", curses Redd as he drops the ring into a sack, "Another failure. Do I need to drink blood from their skulls or something?".
The sack bulges with the treasures the Irregulars obtained from their nightly grave-robbing exploits. Every day, a member of the gang will take the previous night's loot and pawn them off at the local fences and pawn shops; the Irregulars use those funds to grease the palms of the local cops and patrols in order to continue their activities.
"What are you gentlemen doing?", a gravelly voice asks.
Whipping out their guns, Redd and his gang hurriedly spin around to the direction of the voice.
"Scram!," they shout.
Much to their shock and horror, their guns are ripped out of their hands and float toward a being who steps out of the shadows. The mysterious being appears to be a comically muscular, seven foot tall man with dark hair and a long scar running down the left side of his face.
Trembling, Redd stutters, "You... you.. You're a super?".
"In a manner of speaking", the muscular man replies with a smirk as he glances at the floating guns before looking back at Redd and his men, "I ask again. Why are you in a graveyard at midnight? And why are you interested in blood?"
"Tell me the truth!", Muscles commands, eyes glowing red.
Redd wanted to lie, to come up with an excuse, but found himself answering, "We want powers, so I had my men dig up graves".
Muscles laughs, "You idiots. The powers obtained from Paragon pass upon death."
Muscles solemnly continues, "To even have an inkling chance of success, you need to dig up super-powered graves from those *not empowered* by Paragon. But that's still less than a one percent of one percent of one percent chance. No one is going to just leave powerful weapons with a corpse."
"Bu-But", Redd stammers, "What about all those stories about fortuitous outcomes? Or chosen heroes getting powers from the spirits of the long deceased?"
"Do you think this world is that convenient?", Muscles asks, "I could be your 'fortuitous outcome' or I could just kill you".
As Muscles waves his hand, the head of one of Redd's henchmen spontaneously implodes.
"Ahhh!!!!", Redd and his men scream as they attempt to run; but to their horror, they find themselves rooted in place.
"So...", Muscles continues as he slowly walks toward Redd, "tell me why I shouldn't kill you".
"You're a hero?", Redd offers hopefully.
"Ooh. Wrong answer", Muscles replies as another head implodes.
"I'll stop my crimes! I'll become an honest citizen!", Redd squeals in panic.
"Not what I'm looking for", Muscles says, shaking his head.. Stepping closer, another of Redd's men's head implodes.
"Please tell me what you want!" Redd screams hysterically, "I'll do anything you ask".
"Closer", Muscles says as yet another one of Redd's men miserably loses their life.
"Please", Redd begs with tears streaming down his eyes, "please… Mary, Holy mother of God... I pray.."
Muscles brings his face close to Redd's, so close that Redd can smell his sulfuric breath.
Redd can feel the blood pounding in his ears; his heart thudding in his chest, his hands shaking, his feet tingling. His vision warps - as if he were looking through a fish-eye lens. He has to get away. Even instinct is telling him to get away from the man *now*, but he can't.
"Intercede on my behalf… ," Redd continues, "I ask that.."
"Would you exchange the lives of all of your men for yours?", Muscles asks pointedly.
"Yes. Please. Anything", Redd begs.
"Please don't kill me", Redd softly whimpers.
"Today is your lucky day", Muscles says as the heads of all of Redd's remaining men implode. Their headless corpses fall on the ground.
With tears streaming down his eyes, Redd collapses on his knees.
"You amuse me", Muscles says as he crouches in front of Redd.
Taking out a dark-black ring engraved with dark red runes, Muscles holds it in front of Redd, "I'm curious to see what an idiot, like you, can do with real power."
"Take it", Muscles offers the ring to Redd, "But know this. There is a price. There is always a price."
Breathing was hard was Redd; really hard, as if he'd just ran a full-marathon. Tears streamed down Redd's face as bile rose in his throat.
"Take it", Muscles commands.
"Wh-who.. what are you?", Redd hesitantly asks as he grabs the ring.
"Genem...", Muscles says as he fades away in front of Redd's astonished eyes.
Unmoving, Redd stays on his knees, weeping for an indeterminate amount of time.
"Why do you cry, Master?" a soft feminine voice whispers into Redd's mind.
"Who?!?", Redd screams while anxiously looking around, "Who said that?"
"I did", the voice whispers, "the ring you hold in your hand, the Ring of Murkem".
-----
A few hours later.
With red eyes and soiled clothes, Redd returns to the apartment that serves as the hideout of the 34th street Irregulars.
"Boss", Glen asks, "where's Billy, Bobby, Jack, Joe, and the rest of the gang?"
"Gone", Redd dispiritedly replies, "I don't want to talk about it".
"Boss?" Glen questions Redd.
"I said I don't want to talk about it!", Redd angrily screams.
The dark-black ring on Redd's index finger flashes as Glen doubles over in pain.
"Yes...", the Ring of Murkem whispers into Redd's mind, "the pain of sacrifice will make you mighty".