Gonna fly like Armature. Even my singing voice is awesome. Almost as good as my basketball game. I do a vertical leap of about three and a half feet - I'm that good, you see -- and the basket's mine. They usually are.

About a half hour of trying to think of new ways to test myself, I've nearly hit my boredom threshold. There's a problem with being as good as I am - life sucks most of the time from the mediocrity of everything that's around me. Yeah, you noticed, I got an ego. Too bad, I earned it. Live with it.

I've pretty much finished practicing my three point wonder shots, doing squats and push-ups between shots, enough to keep my heart rate going and to give dad a serious case of marine corps envy (too bad he isn't here) when a car pulls up the driveway. It looks like a rental job. A big blue Buick, a gashog, the sort of car we Texans love.

The big surprise is the man coming out of the car. He's huge - I'm talking major muscle here - a guy about an inch taller than me (I'm 6'1") and dressed in blue jeans and a white T-shirt that's so thick on him that it seems to stretch between here and New Jersey. He's got a thin fuzz of blond hair on his head, earrings in both ears (I guess that means he isn't gay), and eyes that are as strikingly ice blue as mine and dad's. I don't think I've ever seen a guy with that much mass, not even in the gyms (you can tell I suffer from a major case of jock itch). He walks toward me with a casual, powerful stride.

"Where's your dad, Casey?" he asks me without introducing himself.

"I dunno. Outta town. Army reserves or something."

He continues walking towards me, then he suddenly snatches the ball out of my hands, and shoots.

"Two-zip," he says, passing the ball back to me after it hits the net perfectly.

What the... I'm annoyed. I like to be the one to make the challenge, to set the pace. Not that I didn't want to kick this big guy's ass, but this was a matter of territory. "Who the Hell are you?" I asked.

"Shut your hole and show me what you can do," the man replied.

"Up yours," I snarled. But I began to dribble anyway. I tried to feint and get around him, but his footwork was impressive for a big man. I took a shot from three feet off the ground, but he matched my height and then some, took the ball away from me on the block. I was caught pretty much on my ass as he went to the edge of the court and began another offense.

"Not two-zip. Scoreless." I said.

"Need a handicap?" he smiled.

"Up yours." I repeated.

He took a three pointer from the edge of the court and sunk it. "Three-zip," he said.

"No, two zip. No three pointers in this game. Don't try scamming me." I snapped back.

"Fine. Whatever. Two-zip."

I was flustered, but dribbled for a minute at the edge of the court to get my bearings. This time I manage to get enough of an edge on the deke that I find a small opening and land the lay-up.

"Two-two." I say, wiping my forehead. "You got a name? I want to know whose ass I'm kicking."

"Mark," he says with a smile. "Ain't a bad shot."

"Just keep watching. That's all you're gonna be doing." I say, passing him the ball. He smiles, and I recognize then smile as someone who thinks he's gonna feed me the ball. I nod and smile. He's in for a surprise. But then he begins to charge, building up steam real fast. I brace against the impact, I know can take this guy. But the look on his face is something I really don't see very often, something that reminds me of a Texas longhorn. He piles into me, knocking me back nearly eight feet as he sinks the lay-up.

"Four-two."

"No way, man. Charging foul." I say as I get to my feet. I feel like I've been hit by a bus.

The big guy stands there with his hands on his hips. "Fine. No basket. I'll even give you a free throw."

"Somebody around here thinks he's Dennis Rodman." I sneer as I walk to the foul line. I casually sink the free throw. "Three-two."

"Rodman? No way. You ain't seen my legs in a dress."

"You ever seen Rodman's?" I goad him.

"Nope." The guy doesn't even close with the basket, he dribbles for about three steps, then takes another outside shot. This one's as good as the first. "Never really looked for it. Four-three."

"You play much ball?" I ask. I'm beginning to think he's a scout. I know that Texas A&M is real interested in me.

"Ain't touched a ball in years," the huge guy replies. I'm halfway down the court, and I try the same feint that I used when I scored my first basket. However, he anticipates the move, makes a perfect steal, goes to the other end of the court, and then takes his shot.

"Six-three."

"You scared to come play downtown?" I snap, motioning at the key.

"Stop the smack and play, kid. And stop whining," he retorts.

"I ain't whining."

I come down the court, work up a head of steam, try to turn the corner - and he takes a step, wrests the ball away from me, and sprints down to the other end of the court. I'm pretty much caught flat-footed. Fearing he'll sink another three-pointer, I panic. I charge down the court, and then

watch as he dribbles around me and does a perfect layup.

"Eight-three. And downtown," he smirks.

My face goes red. "Time to get serious." I say, removing my shirt. I've got a damn fine build, easily the best looking muscle in my school, probably in the district. Usually taking off the shirt psychs out my opponent. Instead Mark whistles sarcastically.

"You a basketball player or a male stripper?" he taunts.

"Up yours."

"Okay, so you're a stripper."

"Just showing you what a real athlete looks like."

"Lame comeback, Case. You can do better."

He was just playing with me! Man, I was ready to deck this guy!

I take the ball and try to circle around him. Once again, the human brick wall is in my way. I manage to pivot, and take a shot at a bad angle. It bounces off the rim. We scramble for the ball; I'm closer, but he's on my heels. In desperation, I swerve, take a shot, and land on my ass. The ball hits the rim again. In a flash, the human meat market's got the rebound, goes to the other end of the zone and takes a shot before I'm even on my feet. Ten-three.

"Man, you suck," he disses me. At least he didn't laugh.

I glower at him with raw hate as we lock our baby blues. I don't suck! I can take any of the seniors one-on-one, even guys six inches taller than I am. Even the black guys, and they invented this damn game! I could even take dad when I was 14, and he's the best athlete I know.

This time I don't hold back. I'm too angry to be cautious. When I get to the edge of the zone, I do a vertical leap. I can get six feet off the ground on a good day. That's because I've got an edge - I'm superhuman.

To my astonishment, Mark matches my leap, and blocks the shot. "Real dumb, Case. It shouldn't be this easy to rattle you."

My mouth is open wide. Mark's a superhuman too. The bastard! We pause for a moment in mid-court, the ball in my hands like a weapon. Looking at him standing there with his muscles and his smirk just makes me madder. He ain't a scout at all, unless he's with a hero team, or worse, with one of the bad guys. And he knows! I throw the ball at his face, and when he swats it away, I charge him, tackling him, sending us onto the front lawn.

We wrestle for a few seconds on the grass. I can't believe how strong he is; he flips me onto my back real easy, and starts pancaking my face with bitch slaps. In response, I unleash everything. My hands glow with a weird purple field, and I thrust my fist into his back. There is an ozone smell, and I begin to drain his life energy.

Mark's face does an involuntary shudder, and then he loses it. His eyes go crazy. He grabs my hair, and begins to slam the back of my head into the ground. It's soft ground, but he's real strong. After the third slam, my arms fall limp. After the sixth hit, the wild look in his eyes starts to relent, and his face is beginning to contort back to something that doesn't look like a berserk beast. A shot rings out.

It's mom. Standing on the front porch, holding the family rifle.

Mark gets to his feet. A second shot hits him square in the chest and bounces off some unseen protective field.

"It's all right, Mrs. Shelton. I ain't gonna hurt the kid. It's over."

"Get out of here!" Mom roars. I think she sensed the police couldn't do much in this situation.

"Unless you want your husband dead, I think you'd better reconsider." Mark says. "We better go inside and talk. You don't need the neighbors to see this."

"You didn't hear me. I said, get out!" Mom shouts.

Suddenly mom's gun begins to glow. Some kind of force field jerks her hand off the trigger, and then breaks the firing pin. The big guy just marches past mother and walks into the house.

"Who the Hell do you think you are?" I shout. Getting into a fight with me is one thing, beating the crap out of me is one thing, but I'll be damned if anyone touches my mom. I don't care if he's the baddest supervillain on the planet!

"I'm your half-brother," Mark says as he walks past us and sits down on the living room sofa.

My head is sore, although my jaw practically dislocated itself when he told me who he was. Mom is real steamed. Mark takes her killing stare without blanching; fortunately for him, he never laid a hand on her. It turns out that he's Mark Battle, the so-called superhero bounty hunter. I've seen him on the news; in fact, he's got a pretty good reputation. Well, if I'm going to get beaten, at least it was by one of the best (although after the hostage incident last month, superheroes aren’t exactly very popular). Battle was concentrating on explaining himself to mom and completely ignored me.

"Three years before you got married, a lance corporal named Ian Shelton returned from peacekeeping duty in the Middle East. He had lost quite a few comrades to terrorist attack, and when he finally got back to the States, he was in a mood to get wasted. He was only 21. He ended up in a bar in Shreveport."

"And that's where my husband met your mother." It was part statement, part question, and a whole lot of attitude. Nobody in my family backs down from a fight.

"Yeah. My mom, Margaret Battle, was a waitress at the bar. She felt sorry for Shelton..."

"My husband." Mom corrects.

"Your husband to be, at the time. She took him to her apartment. Now dad's a pretty handsome bastard, as I'm sure you've noticed, especially back then. The two of them decided to do each other that night. And nine months later, pop, out I came."

"Go on." Mom says, obviously not amused by the image. Even though I'm still putting together the pieces, I can't help but grin.

"Your husband never knew about me. They were only together one night. Mom remembered him well enough, but as far as she was concerned, she had no right to mess up his life. She never told him."

"You're my brother. Cool!" I finally say.

"Yeah, great." Battle replies, sarcastically. I laugh out loud in a pretty obnoxious voice.

"I found out the truth seven years ago." Battle adds. "But mom begged me not to contact you."

"Why did you ignore such wise advice?"

"I'm getting there. I did track you down by computer, but I never made contact. Four years ago, I decided to come by and visit. I watched you for a few days, and came to the conclusion you guys were better off without an interruption in your lives. I followed your careers as best I could, though. Maybe because my only family was me, mom, and grandma."

"You spied on us?" Mom was getting less happy by the minute.

"You can call it that if you want. I wanted to get to know you." Mark’s reply was less than enchanting. "Take you, for instance. You're a career military wife who's spent most of her life organizing parties and charity events. Your tax records, both personal and professional, are spotless, and your credit history is impeccable. You're a leader in a conservative Baptist church, but in spite of this, you organized an AIDS benefit last year, as well as one towards the victims of superhuman violence. This tells me, despite the wounded bitch routine you're pulling right now, that you're a lady of considerable class."

"Is there anything else about me you wish to share?" Mom glowered.

"You spend an average of $433 each month on groceries." Mark replied. Mom’s jaw dropped. "You know that shiny red card that gives you the store specials? The grocery chain sends data from their cardholders’ purchases to the government."
"You’ve got to be joking!" I shouted.

"Nope. And that brings us to jock's jock over here." Battle pointed at me. "Not particularly stupid with a 2.8 grade point average, but he finds school a painful bore. He was first string quarterback in his sophomore year, and he's All State in his junior year, one of the top college prospects in the nation. This worries the hell out of you, because he should be hiding the fact that he's the product of Project: Lion, and you can't do that when you're in the spotlight. You've probably already worked up some bogus injury story for his senior year to cover the fact that you don't dare send him off to play college ball. Case found out pretty early that he was something special, and has enjoyed it ever since. Although I'm not sure when his purple power fist emerged. Probably listened to too many Prince albums when he was younger."

"I'm the man!" I shout.

"Yeah, I almost forgot the temper - and the ego - of us Lions. You must have found him almost impossible to handle when he was growing up."

Mother flashed me a look. I could see the agreement lodged in her throat, but she didn't want to give Battle the satisfaction of proving him right.

"Then there's Deborah. Pretty thing, just entering puberty, she's already a knockout. She takes after you, at least in looks, though the fact she was doing double axels in skating last year makes it a good bet that the Lion gene's in there somewhere."

"How much do you know about Project Lion?" Mother's antagonism died down just a little.

"Everything that isn't classified, and a little that is." Battle answers. "Failed US Army genetic engineering experiment. Results were expected initially, but didn't show up until the first generation of offspring. Eighteen initial subjects, with forty-one known progeny. Of these progeny, 40% are estimated to have superhuman physiology and abilities, though I suspect it's a lot higher. All subjects have enhanced physiology, and many have special abilities that vary all over the map, even within the same family. There's still a lot of mystery about the project's origins and the methodology they used in the research. When I found out I was genetically enhanced, I got very interested in it, and I did as much research as I could get my hands on."

"I see." Mother was musing.

"That brings us to dad. High school jock, just like rude boy over here, joined the army to make it easier to get into a good college, ended up volunteering for Project Lion for some extra cash. Went through Hell in Cyprus and Lebanon. Came back, did mom, hooked up with you about two years later. He was pretty much a career military officer, until he received an honorable discharge six years ago, He now runs a garden supply store in Fort Worth. His taxes are clean, and there's no indication he ever sired any other bastards like myself.

"Two days ago, I received a tip that dad's life was in danger, and that the Lions were all in danger, and that's why I'm here. We may never have met, but I ain't about to let anyone off my dad. I'd appreciate if you told me where he is."

Mom stares very thoughtfully at Mark for a few seconds. "You've got me in a dilemma, Mr. Battle. I certainly want to find my husband found, if he's in any danger. But I have no desire to allow you to get anywhere near him."

"Mom..."

Battle silenced me. "That's your choice lady. But if I find him, he's gonna know the truth."

"I won't allow it." Mom was insistent.

"You don't really have much choice. Yeah, you could call the police and have my ass hauled to jail for getting into a fight with your kid. It won't hold me long, and it won't save your husband, and it probably will just reveal your dirty little secret to the world." He looked at me. I sure as hell didn't like being called a "dirty little secret".

"I could always kill him." I quipped. Mom wasn't amused. Neither was Battle.

"Never joke about that sort of thing, Case. And if the next thing you say is 'who's joking', I'll beat the crap out of you."

"Any time." I sat back and flexed slightly.

"Not in my house." Mom retorted.

"Lady, you don't have any clean options. I'll find him one way or another, alive or dead, with or without you. You can either help me and improve his chances, or you can stay silent and make it harder for him."

"I don't want him to know about you." Mother insisted.

"That'll be hard to explain if I go searching for him. Someone with our family resemblance just happens to be searching for him, with no possible profit, and no good reason. He'll figure it out." Battle pointed out. Mom frowned.

"I got it!" I shouted. "Why don't I go with you? I could be the one hiring you to find dad. When we catch up with him, I'll do the talking, keep his attention away from you, keep him from noticing the resemblance."

"You hire me? Yeah right."

"No." Mom said. "I don't want him near you. He's already tried to kill you once."

"If I'd tried to kill him, he'd be dead." Mark said. I shake my head.

"It's got a few holes in it, but it might be a workable plan." I plead. "Let's see. I hired you, and then I just couldn't keep myself from not tagging along. I’m playing fanboy."

"That’s a little better." Mark said. "Hell, it’s worth a shot."

"I won't have you hurting him." Mom insisted.

"I won't hurt him. You got my word." Battle said. "And I'll keep him out of the hot spots. And we'll do our best to keep the truth from dad, even if I think you're being a complete ass about this."

"I don't think you'd be a good influence on him."

"Lady, from what I've seen of your son, being around someone who doesn't have to take his crap might be the best thing in the world for him."

"What the Hell are you talking about?" I shouted. Mother held up her hand to signal me to shut up. I sat back down and smiled menacingly at Battle, who returned it right back, then looked at mother.

Mom weighed her options. "What if there's a supervillain or some other sort of attack?"

"The kid stays out of it. First sign of trouble, I send him back. I don't want to put my brother's life at risk. But if my source is correct about what's happening with the Lions, he won't be safe for long, whether he comes with me or not. Getting to the bottom of this problem, and fast, may be the only chance he and Deborah have."

Mom sighs, and stares at the bounty hunter.

"And Deborah must never know about you either."

"I won't tell her." Battle swore.

"Then we have a deal." Mother said.

I put my arm around Battle's shoulder, and just smiles when he gave me a nasty look. "This is gonna be just too cool." I said.

Rain was hitting the windshield faster than the wipers could remove it, and the Buick, the cheap rental job, was full of cigarette smoke. I could barely breathe.

"Somebody should report you to the EPA." I snapped, giving an exaggerated cough.

"Shut up." Battle replied. That's pretty much what Battle had told me all day. Shut up. Shut your hole. Shut the Hell up. Man, I thought this road trip was gonna be fun!

We had pretty much ruled out that dad had gone out with the reserves. Mom had put us in touch with a number of his army pals. Mark managed to get a credit card record of a gas purchase that put dad somewhere around Sweetwater over in West Texas; dad was there yesterday. It was our first stop.

"Do you know what second hand smoke can do to a guy?"

"Yeah. It can save me the trouble of punching your lights out."

"I'm serious. It's real nasty stuff."

"So am I. Especially when I have to spend hours listening to this sort of crap."

"You must have really sucked in high school."

"I never wasted my time there. It was reform school, and then when I with Cherry Rot, I had a private tutor. Or twelve."

"Must've been lonely."

"Never bothered me that much." Mark said. "I could always go out at night when Chair Stop was on patrol and find a cute piece of ass. What else could somebody need?"

We continued driving through the rain storm. Several times we hydroplaned, and once, when we got cut off by a trucker, I could see Battle get very angry.

"Don't have time to follow this moron and punch his lights out when he stops. Damn."

"Mark?"

"Shut up."

"You and Chariot. You didn't get along?"

"We had our problems. And shut your hole."

"What kind of problems?"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up? I guess I needed somebody who'd be a dad, and I thought he'd be the one. But he was either too demanding or too skittish. Never could get close to him like I wanted. I didn't realize how close we actually got until we got back together a few months ago."

"I heard about your battle with Skein."

"No you didn't. There's no way anyone can properly describe what it was like fighting that thing. But nobody ever describes a fight correctly. A fight ain't a narrative, it's all in the glands, it’s all in the chemicals that go through your system. Especially for us Lions."

"What's so special about that?"

"I guess no one ever told you about the way a Lion's physiology works. Time for an anatomy lesson. Let me see your bicep."

I pull up my sleeve and make a muscle. He squeezes it hard enough to make me flinch. "What's that called?" Mark asked.

"Texas beef. One hundred percent Quadruple A-grade American muscle." I answer with a sneer.

"I guess you've got all the ingredients to make a real good chili. Beef, hot air, and things that make your ass stink." Mark had a slight smirk on his face. "And you're also wrong. It's called Paramuscle Type B. Genetically engineered biological supertissue. 130% of the density of normal muscle tissue, with about the same elasticity. Ever wondered why you were so heavy for your size?"

"I just figured I was thick boned."

"Of course the muscle is just gravy. Your cartilage is 500% denser than normal human, and 130% more elastic. Our weak spots are a lot stronger than a normal human's. It takes about two hundred pounds of pressure to bust our kneecaps, compared with fifteen pounds or so for a normal. It's the fact that our weak spots are reinforced that makes us capable of exerting much more power than a normal human."

"Cool."

"There's a certain psychology involved in breaking the human strength barrier, but we've got that covered too. When we exert a physical effort, there's a real rush of endorphins and adrenaline. We don't feel pain the same way normals do, so we don't mind pushing our bodies the same way; in fact, with the adrenaline rush, it's usually a real kick."

"Endorphins?"

"Natural pain killers. Pay more attention in biology, Case."

"I was too busy dissecting frogs."

"The problem is, we tend to get biochemical overload. Chemical reactions are a lot more intense for us, and we have to really watch ourselves, or we risk losing control. "

"Hey, I'm always in control!" I boasted.

"Riiight." Mark shook his head. "Or you can do what I do, and just enjoy the ride."

"You're a psycho." I said, joking.

"Pretty much." Mark said, and it took me a few seconds to realize he wasn't joking. "That's why I became a bounty hunter. I get to hurt people, but because they deserve it, I don't end up in jail. It's a real win-win scenario."

For the first time since we met, I was afraid of my brother. Mark may have noticed this, but he continued the biology lesson. "And then there's our body's recuperative system. Our wounds heal at about four to six times the normal healing rate, though blood loss is a little trickier to handle. One of the side effects is that it's four to six times easier to build a lot of muscle. Normal bodybuilders do it by repetition, essentially injuring themselves to train the body to heal a muscle group more quickly. We do the same thing through everyday activity. It's hard for us not to look like 'roid monkeys."

"That means that when I get to your age, I'll look awesome!"

"If you haven't pissed off the wrong person - me - and you suddenly find yourself with every bone in your body having compound fractures."

"That's what I love about you Mark. You're such a touchy-feely guy - in the same way a sledgehammer is."

"Not bad sarcasm, Case. Told you that you could do better."

The rain continued and so did the insults. I got Mark to tell me about his last three cases, which sounded pretty dull, a lot of paperwork and waiting around. Suddenly Mark pulled off to the side of the road. Out of nowhere, a cop car had decided to pull us over.

"We weren't speeding, were we?" I asked.

"Shut up Case."

A state trooper, an honest to God Texas Ranger, came to the window. "Out of the car, Mr. Battle."

Mark stepped calmly out of the car. Another man emerged from the police car. He was wearing a Quartz uniform.

"Mister Battle. Funny seeing you in Texas." He said. He had a Northern accent.

"It's a free country, Reynolds. In spite of some people's best efforts to change that." Mark spat.

"What are you doing here Battle?"

"Talking to an idiot." Mark replied. "And driving in the rain. Neither of which are a barrel of laughs."

"Who's the kid?"

"Someone whose mother wanted me to look for her missing husband. I took the kid to help ID him. It's routine. Haven't reached the point where I've needed to file anything."

"You're a liar, Battle."

"And you're a bigger fascist than Cronos."

Abruptly, the trooper interposed himself between Battle and the Quartz agent. Too bad, I really wanted to see them go at it...

"Officer, are there any charges?" Mark asked the Ranger. He shook his head. "I am free to go, aren't I?" The man nodded. Mark began to get back into the car.

"Who have you been talking to lately, Mr. Battle?" Reynolds snapped. "Where are you going? You can't hide! You can't hide from us, Battle! Sooner or later, your secrets are going to be out, and I'll be waiting!"

"Reynolds, shut that law breaking, freedom hating, constitution burning hole of yours, or I'm gonna teach you a lesson in manhood that your little Ivy League ass ain't gonna forget."

"I'll be waiting! You may call yourself Battle, but you don't know the first thing about war! And this is a war!"

"Fine. It's war. Now go goose-step somewhere else, jackass!" Mark got back into the car. I saw Reynolds kick the tire of the car in frustration. Mark was chuckling to himself. I was busy paying attention to the conversation that was happening behind us.

"Did I just see you do something incredibly stupid, Joe?" the Ranger asked the Quartz agent.

Reynolds let out a long breath. "If that bastard’s doing anything that’s helping Cronos, I swear he’s dead meat!"

The conversation faded as Mark began to drive away. "Didn’t think he had anything substantial enough to nail me." he said.

"What in Hell was that about?"

"Quartz has been on my tail ever since I fingered Dr. Cronos back in Montana. They think I know things that I don’t. Reynolds is the worst of the lot."

"You fingered Cronos?" I gasped.

"Uh huh. I got lucky. Though with the attention I'm getting, I think it's all bad luck."

"I thought Quartz found that lab..."

"They got great PR, don't they?" Mark grinned.

We continued into Sweetwater. We stopped at the gas station where dad had last used his credit card, but it was a self serve place and no one remembered him. Mark pulled into a motel, and got us a room for the night.

"I gotta sleep with you? Man, why couldn't I get my own room?"

"Because I'm keeping an eye on you."

"Do you... snore?" I asked.

"Like a diesel truck." Battle grinned, patted me on the back, and opened the door.

There were two small beds, a television set, a lamp, table, and a set of drawers. The place was chilly, so cold that the first thing I did was put on the heater. Mark set up his laptop and began to access some web sites through the phone line.

"There's some crap on the tube if you look hard enough." Mark said. "I'll be busy for the next few hours."

"I was hoping we'd get a chance to like, you know, talk. It ain't every day I get to meet a long lost brother, man."

"We were talking. You were talking all the time in the damn car."

"It ain't the same. It'd be nice to have a conversation with you where you weren't telling me to shut up every five seconds. It'd be nice to, well, do stuff."

Mark exhaled heavily. "Give me a couple hours and we'll talk. You can phone for pizza and watch television."

Dad had gotten a big cash advance in Sweetwater, and hadn't used his card since. Mark found a number of interesting web sites. I ate pizza, gave Mark dirty looks when he lit up his smokes, stripped down to my briefs and watched MTV, though a Road Rules marathon ain't my idea of what MTV should be.

A couple of hours later, Mark shut down the laptop with a grunt, went into the bathroom and made a few, long private calls. He shaved, came out bare-chested, and stretched out like a lion on his bed. It was an impressive sight, especially for guys like me who are pretty heavy into bodybuilding. He looked steamed.

"What happened?"

"Some idiot unloaded a new virus on the net. Called itself Brainiax." Mark griped. "I kept getting all these stupid messages about revenge."

"Revenge?"

"It was doing some sort of mad scientist schtick; some hacker’s been watching too much MST3K, I guess. I’ll have to reinstall the software when I get back." He sat down on the bed and motioned at me. "You wanted to talk?" he said.

"I got a better idea. Let's rassle." I replied.

"No."

I leapt out of the bed, and was about to tie up with Mark, when I saw his face. There was something in Mark’s eyes that stopped me dead in my tracks. "Coward." I said, backing away.

"You think you're good?"

"I'm awesome. I am the proprietor of the Sierra Hotel."

"Whatever," Mark answered with a sigh. "I promised your mom I wouldn’t hurt you. Maybe when this is over we can try it. I figure a few more days together and I’ll be aching to fracture your skull."

I sat down on my bed and rotated my head, stretching my neck. "You know, you're a helluva lot less fun then I thought you'd be."

"I ain't a kid anymore. If you want to do real fun, wait until you're eighteen. I'll take you across the border to Juarez, and then we can really cut loose."

"So you don't think I'm a joke?" I sulked.

Mark laughed. "I ain't that righteous enough to judge. When I was fifteen, we'd have been on the same wavelength. Except I'd have broken your face."

"You think you could have taken me when you were my age?"

"Yeah. We're about the same strength, but I was meaner than you, and that would have been the edge. I was never into wrestling, that was always too gay for me. Boxing was my sport. I was real good at that, until they found out what I was."

"Tell me about it. Dad's always telling me to watch out for the gene Gestapo. It's not fair! I'm the best high school QB this state's ever seen. I should grow up to be the next Brett Favre, not some... I don't know."

"Outcast in tights?" Mark said.

"I haven't really put much thought into what I'll be. You think bounty hunting's a good career?"

"I wouldn't recommend it for you, Case."

"Then what do you recommend, Mark? Become a superhero?"

"Never." Mark said. "There's way too much crap in it, the politicians, the press, the law, the other heroes, the nutcases who are out to kill you. But at the same time, if it's your thing, if you got the costume in your balls, or if you feel like you got your powers to help people, it's a place to go. What do you want from your life?"

"I don't know. I just wish things could continue the way they're going. I love football. I want to be first string for the Cowboys and be King of Texas. I want to be in the Super Bowl. I want my picture on breakfast cereals, and I want to do Nike commercials. And I'm not going to get any of it."

"You want glory?"

"Yeah. I don't want to sit back, get an MBA, and just live a normal crappy life like some regular loser. Am I being a selfish prick?"

"Pretty much." Mark said. "But screw it. Be a selfish prick. Find a way to get the spotlight in a way that makes you happy. But if things don't work out the way you planned, don't cry about it."

"I ain't cried in my life."

"You haven't been pushed yet. The moment you're called on to be a man, everything changes, Case. Everything."

"What about you, Mark? What's your dream?"

"I dream of surviving. About going through another day and waking up still breathing, still sane. I don't think about the future, and I don't have any long term plans."

"You got any women?" I asked.

"I screw around a lot, but they ain't mine." Mark said. "I can't ever see myself committing to another human being like the way a husband should commit."

"You're committing to me. Like you're my brother."

"Yeah. Whatever."

"I do mean something to you, don't I? Like, I feel there's a bond already. You and me, we're blood. I can feel it."

Mark looked at me. "You're an annoying piece of crap, that's what you mean to me. But... I dunno. Don't go putting too much faith in me. Most of my life I've spent disappointing people. This whole brother thing is just too new, especially when you're trying to cram a decade's worth of sibling rivalry into a day."

"Sorry. I guess. I ain't an easy guy to deal with."

"We got a few things in common." Mark said.

I rotated my neck again and tried to work out the kinks. "I definitely want a match."

"You never quit, do you?" Mark said.

"Never. If all you do in life is quit, you may as well be dead."

"There's also a time to walk away." Mark said.

"Afraid they didn't put a reverse gear when they built this Texas steamroller." I boasted. Mark looked at me with big eyes and shook his head.

"Man, you are so full of bull. I'm surprised your dad hasn't shot you."

"Dad and I get along great. Mom, now, that's another story. So what’s the plan for tomorrow? Try to take over the world?"

Mark winced. "I've checked on the whereabouts of the other survivors of Project: Lion. Thirteen of them are missing."

"That's what all the phone calls were tonight?"

"Uh huh."

"I thought you were just ignoring me."

"That too. I managed to get into a few of their records, and it looks like they're converging on West Texas and New Mexico. I'm gonna play a hunch."

Mark did indeed snore like a diesel truck, but then again, so do I. We checked out at five, and got on the road by five-thirty. It was still pretty dark. At least it wasn’t raining, at least not yet.

"Think Quartz is following us?" I asked.

"What do you think?" Mark threw the question right back in my face.

"Seems like a good bet."

"Yeah. I wish we had more time to ditch them."

Mark lit up a cigarette again. I started coughing.

"Wimp." Mark snorted "So what else do you do for fun? Got a boyfriend?"

"Get outta here!" I snapped. "I have lots of girlfriends. None right now, but I can have any woman I want, when I want her. I’m just tired of bitches for awhile."

"Sure." Mark replied. "So what else do you do?"

"I work out..."

"Okay. More of your adolescent body fixation. What else?"

"Well." I was a little hesitant to admit it. "I collect action figures."

"What, you’ve got the entire line of Guardians?"

I laughed. "There are way too many superhero figures out there. And most of their costumes are just too…"

"I know."

"It wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t so cheap looking. I collect Star Wars stuff. Now that’s cool!"

Mark gave me that narrow eyes look that made me feel like I was a child. I was incredibly embarrassed. Mark noticed and laughed. "There’s only one problem with Star Wars action figures. They never had the ones I wanted."

"Which ones did you want?"

"Well…" Mark was grinning. "Take the head Ewok."

"Wicket?"

"Yeah. Man, I hated that little prick. He ruined the last Star Wars movie for me. I wanted something like Screaming Wicket with a torture chamber playset. Or Forest Fire Victim Wicket with burn unit."

I busted out laughing and added my own suggestions. "Or how about Armless Jedi Apprentice Wicket after a light saber duel with Darth Vader? Or Tatooine Wicket and Rabid Bantha playset?"

"Or Chessmaster Wicket with angry Wookie opponent action figure?"

I was nearly on the floor. I took a few seconds to regain my breath, and not just from the cigarette. "Or Scrumptuous Wicket and Jeffrey Dahmer action figure?"

"If you’re going for cannibals, why not make it Casca the Devourer?" Mark suggested.

"He always did it too quick. Dahmer’s a normal, and that makes it more fun. Nobody’s ever done a Casca figure though."

"The wimps."

"How about gay Wicket and Andrew Cunanan action figure?" I suggested.

"Yeah, I really want to see a mincing Ewok." Mark sneered, and thought for a minute. "You know, that’s a really gross image."

"Ewoks dyeing their fur pink?"

"That’s even worse." Mark shook his head. "How about Black Death Wicket and dying medieval Ewok village action set?"

"Cancer ridden Wicket with pack of cigarettes accessory?"

Mark frowned. "You ain’t quitting on that, are you?"

"As long as I have to breathe your cancer sticks." I snapped back. "How about Reverend Wicket and Angel action figure?"

"Lame one, Case. Angel’s a nutcase, but she’s done a lot more than just burn down churches."

"You ever think about going after her?"

"Yeah, but she’s too unstable. I’ve never come up with a good plan of attack against her. She’s the sort of person best taken out by a pack of capes." Mark thought out loud. "How about Comedy Club patron Wicket and Pauly Shore? Nah, there are some things I wouldn’t do even to an Ewok."

"Caucasian Wicket and South-Central L.A. playset?"

"I’ve been to South-Central. The poverty sucks, but the racism ain’t as bad as some people say." Mark replied. "How about post holocaust glow-in-the-dark Wicket with realistic ‘puking its guts out radiation sickness action’?"

"Good one. Sort of like Dawn of the Dead Wicket."

"Now we’re back to cannibals again."

"It always comes back to cannibals, don’t it?" I grinned. "How about Jewish Wicket and Mengele act…"

Mark abruptly stopped the car and nearly sent me flying through the windshield. There was nothing on the road. "Put on your seatbelt, idiot." Of course, he wasn’t wearing one either.

"What the Hell was that for?"

"There are some things even I can’t stand to see made into jokes."

"Dahmer’s funny and the Holocaust isn’t?" I asked.

Mark didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t say anything to me for about a half hour. But I didn’t even mention Chariot Wicket and Skein, I thought. For a tough guy, Mark could be way too sensitive.

We hit El Paso in mid-morning, and crossed into New Mexico soon after. "Where next?" I asked.

"Fort Bliss." Mark answered curtly.

"That's a military base."

"That must be why they call it ‘Fort’." Mark says.

"And the Bliss part?"

"I dunno. Local hookers?"

I nearly fell down on the floor with laughter. "Hey man, that’s great. Local hookers. You bust my gut." I took a deep breath. "So what are you gonna do when we get there?"

"We’re going to the main gate, and we’re going to ask to see your dad. Tell them it’s a family emergency."

"That’ll never work."

"I don’t expect it to work. I just want to rattle the cage and see what charges the bars. Bliss is one of the largest military installations in the world. Nothing that big is that secure."

"It’ll take forever to find him."

"That’s why I want him - or whoever’s gunning for him - to come charging after me instead."

A long stretch of rolling land and huge buildings was now spread in front of us. We turned onto a supply road, then neared the front gate. Fort Bliss was a huge installation, shared by the air force and army. According to Mark, it was a testing ground for the IK-14s, the latest generation of US Air Force battlesuits, and America Hawk-135 battle tanks, the army’s latest ground assault vehicle, named after the great Korean War supersoldier. There were a number of battle suits and Firecopters on maneuvers, but the thing that drew my eye was the USS Texas, the granddaddy of all aerial battleships, hanging proudly over the base, five hundred feet off the ground. The miracle of gravitics in action. Three football fields in length, armor equivalent to thirty-six inch plate steel, capable of reaching orbit, and enough firepower to reduce a city to rubble in seconds, even without its nukes. No other airship came close to it in terms of raw power. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

"What a waste of tax money." Mark spat, tossing another cigarette out the window.

"C’mon Mark. You gotta admit it’s impressive."

"They’ve been building big pieces of crap since the days of the Pyramids. It don’t mean nothing except someone’s got an ego that’s out of control."

"Yeah. But you’re talking like that’s a bad thing."

The discussion was abruptly halted by our entry at the main gate.

"I don’t see an ID." The soldier said in a stern voice.

Mark took a deep breath. "Hi. We’re looking for this man’s father. It’s a family emergency. We expect to find him with the Reserves."

"Expect to find him?"

"Information’s a bit hazy. His name is Master Sergeant Ian Shelton."

"What’s the nature of the emergency?"

"I’m afraid that it’s confidential."

"We’d like to keep it in the family if it’s at all possible." I added.

"That’s right." Mark nodded. "Can you track him down? I know it’s a hassle."

"I’ll check to see if I can find him," the soldier responded, and he stepped over to a telephone.

"The car behind us looks really pissed." I noted.

"Screw them." Mark’s response was less than charitable.

"What makes you think dad’s here?"

"This was where the original Project Lion program took place. The building’s about two miles that way, right down one of the service roads. It’s still allocated for genetic testing."

"How’d you find that out?"

"Not by doing anything legal." Mark answered.

"Oh."

The man came back and handed us temporary visitor’s badges. Mark looked surprised. "You are authorized to visit Compound C in Bravo sector. Key Building, Sub-basement, Room H. Follow this road east until you come to the Rice Building, then turn left. You should find the compound clearly marked. If you get lost, stop your vehicle, put on your flashing lights, and remain in your vehicle. An MP will show up and assist you. You are not to leave your vehicle for any reason except to visit Compound C, nor are you permitted to make any unauthorized communications while in Fort Bliss. Either action will leave you subject to arrest. Do you understand what I have just told you?"

"Yeah." Mark said.

"And you, son?"

"Uh, sure." I replied.

"Carry on."

Mark drove the car slowly from the gate. "I hope I am not making a big mistake," he said in a real low voice.

"I got faith in you, man."

"You’re the one I’m worried about."

"Don’t worry about me, Mark." I said. "I may not be a ten on the studliness scale like you, but I’m at least an eight point three. I can take care of myself."

"You don’t have a clue. This ain’t no basketball game, or a friendly wrestling match. This, to quote our favorite Quartz operative, is war. One wrong move, and we’re dead. And I have no idea why they’re letting us through."

"Hey, sometimes people go around procedure."

"Not here, not like this." Mark mused. "This is just plain wrong."

We found the Rice building easily enough, and made a turn. This part of the base seemed almost deserted, adding to Mark’s unease. We then headed into Bravo Sector."

"Compound A…. Compound B…"

"It’s nice to know they still teach the alphabet in the public schools." Mark said.

"You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?"

"Yeah." Mark drove into Compound C and received a parking permit. The soldier was remarkably calm, asking no questions. Mark tried to grill him, but the soldier politely told him that he wasn’t authorized to answer questions, and told us to proceed. We parked.

"Maybe you should stay in the car." Mark said.

"No way. Dad’s going to need to see me. Besides, we don’t know for sure that something bad’s going down. Not yet."

"I don’t want to chance putting you on the firing line." He grabbed my arm and squeezed it before I could respond. "And none of this macho crap. I did the exact same thing when I was your age, and I’m lucky to be alive. And the stakes here are a lot higher than they were back in Miami with a bunch of drug dealers in power armor."

I shook his hand away. "All right, Mark. What’s going on? How did you find out about the Lions being in trouble, and who do you think is responsible?"

"I don’t know. I got the tip from Cronos."

"Cronos? Dr. Cronos? The Nazi?"

"Yeah. And I got no idea why he gave it to me."

"He’s probably luring you into a trap, man. After you narced on him in Montana."

"He gave me his word that he wouldn’t, and his profile doesn’t fit someone who’d lie to put me into a trap. He thinks he’s a man of honor, a gentleman, and preserving that fantasy’s more important than vengeance, at least when he’s given his word that he wouldn’t pursue it."

"Then Quartz was right about you. You should have gone to the authorities."

"I don’t have enough solid information for Quartz to move on. I’d just end up being a monkey in their cage, someone suspected of ties to a nutcase that I don’t even know. They’d keep me in custody for months. And there’s a media circus surrounding Cronos right now, and I don’t want any part of it."

"So you’re running around half-cocked, following a hunch even if it gets you deeper into this mess?"

"Pretty much." Mark admitted.

"Cool." I said. "But I’m coming with you, at least until we get to dad."

"Or the first sign of trouble." He grabbed my jaw. "Okay?" He forced me to nod, then let me go.
"Man, are you ever asking for an ass kicking."

"What else are brothers for?" Mark smiled, and he slapped me hard on the back.

We got out of the car. The building seemed nearly deserted. An on duty sentry gave us directions to an elevator. We entered, and pushed the button for the sub-basement.

"When the elevator opens, I’ll get out, and keep walking." Mark instructed. "You count to five, and follow. Try to keep visual contact but let’s keep a good separation."

"Man, are you paranoid!"

"It’s experience. And I ain’t used to working with partners, okay?"

Mark seemed slightly antsy in closed spaces; not major claustrophobia, but still antsy. I got that way too. The elevator door opened. Mark, still bristling from our last conversation, stalked out of the elevator. I took a breath, counted to three (five seconds was a little too paranoid for my tastes), and followed, trying to match his stride.

We passed down several corridors, and I saw Mark find Room H, He entered and shouted: "It’s a trap! A trap! Run!"

I immediately broke for the elevator, but a force field barrier quickly surrounded me. Desperately, I made the purple fist and tried to drain its energy, but I guess it only works on biological energy. The force field moved, pushing me back, herding me into a very large room.

There were about thirty men and a couple of women, dressed in T-shirts and boxers, suspended in force fields and held in cubicles that lined the edge of the room. Dad was in one of them. Mark was in the center of the room, also trapped inside a force field barrier, just like the one that trapped me.

Mark saw me enter the room. "Damn," he said.

There were a couple of men in military uniforms working at the controls, and a man wearing a paramilitary uniform and a Hambley 22 Kombudar combat harness (a primitive battlesuit, described in detail in Jane’s Guide to Battle Armor) was running the show. "Who are you?"

"I’m Casey Shelton." I said. Mark hissed, disappointed that I had given away my identity.

"Sergeant Shelton’s son. And a superhuman to boot!" the leader said. "Well, that increases our complement to thirty-one. No military training, unfortunately, but we need drones as well as captains." He turned to Mark. "And you, sir. What is your name?"

"Go to Hell and burn." Mark said.

The leader nodded. One of the technicians turned some dials, and Mark’s force field cage began to shrink. Mark stood there with his hands on his hips and sneered. "That don’t change nothing. When I get my hands on you, I’m going to leave you a vegetable."

"Kill him."

"Wait!" I shouted. "He’s Mark Battle. He’s a bounty hunter we hired to find my dad."

The leader waved at the technician to stop. "I want his file. Access army files. It is promising, however, to have another superhuman in my crew. That will make thirty-two."

"I thought there were only twenty people in Project: Lion." I said.

"There were." Mark said. "I see a couple of people with gills, that would be Project: Shark, the Navy SEALS genetic engineering project."

"Correct." The leader was evaluating Mark.

"I’ll bet there are people from Project Leopard here too."

"And Project: Tiger." The leader smiled.

"Ain’t heard of that one." Mark said.

"Marine Corps Genetic Engineering project. A fairly recent development." The leader informed us.

"You’ve got Lions, Tigers, what about Bears?" I joked.

"You don’t want to know what happened to the people who survived Project: Bear. And they aren’t particularly accessible." The leader explained.

"Magically merging human beings and demons is a pretty screwed up idea, even by military standards." Mark remarked.

"Oh my." I said. I didn’t want to think about that one too much.

"Nothing much in the army files."

"Try accessing Quartz’s database. If they don’t have the information, talk to the Exchange. I’ll be glad to pay their price for the information." The leader instructed.

"Who are you?" I asked him.

"The person who’s in the driver’s seat of this little operation. The man that you will soon be calling Master."

"Oh God!" Mark said. "Do you guys always have to talk like that? Do you know how incredibly stupid you sound?" He began talking in a stilted, mocking voice. "‘The one that you will soon be calling Master. Soon the world shall be quaking at my feet, and then absolute power shall be mine! I shall crush my enemies under my feet, except the world is so busy quaking at my feet, I have no place solid on which to step!’ Get a therapist, please!"

"I have no desire to shake the world, Mr. Battle. I am here to save it."

"Of course!" Mark said. "You aren’t a megalomaniac, you just have Messianic delusions! How could I have been so incredibly stupid to get the two confused?"

"If it weren’t for this place and the people who was created by it, we wouldn’t need to be take such drastic action. The misguided attempt to alter man, to improve man. Not only is it contrary to the laws of God… history has already shown us the folly of trying to breed an uberclass…"

The guy was beginning to ramble, beginning to lose it.

"Where does that leave Liberty Man, and Mr. Victory, and Captain Hellraiser? Our super-soldiers from World War II? Or America Hawk and the Fighting Tornado from Korea? Or Silver Victory and The Line from Vietnam? Or even the Dissenter who fled up to Canada? Were they all Nazis too!"

"Yes. In form, if not in ideals! They were what the Nazis wanted to make the world into! Their own limited ideal of perfection. They wanted to create a superclass and rule us all! That must never be allowed to happen!"

"But why is this guy gathering all the super-soldiers together?" I wondered and then I gasped. "He’s going to kill us!"

"Nah, use your brains, Case. You’re a bigoted wacko who hates super-soldiers. You want to kill them, but you’d have killed them by now - unless you’ve got other plans."

"What other plans?" I wondered aloud.

"What do you want to do to really hurt them? The best way to do that is to discredit them. Brainwash them and make them do something terrible. And the fact that you’re not doing this one at a time, which would be a safer approach, means that you want them together to do something. Let’s see, you were regretting the fact Casey doesn’t have a military background, so the logical objective is a military target. You’ve been playing close attention to your numbers, so it’s also logical you’ll need either a large force to take it and/or hold it."

"What target?" I asked.

"If I don’t miss my guess, the USS Texas. That monstrosity could devastate half of Texas before enough superheroes and military hardware could be deployed to stop it. I’m right, aren’t I?"

"You will not be in any condition to determine the veracity of your speculation."

"Ooo, big words. And when the Texas is shot out of the sky, and the press learns a conspiracy of super-soldiers was responsible, the anti-super-soldier outcry will be deafening. And the Sons of Man will gain instant credibility, and possibly even some seats in Congress."

"Sons of Man? Those right wing nuts?" I exclaimed.

"And if a son of Texas says you’re a right wing nut, you’re a right wing nut!" Mark added. I shot him a dirty look.

"Our aspirations are higher than that, Mr. Battle. We think we’ve got a very good shot at the Presidency."

Mark spat and broke out laughing. "Don’t be offended! I can see where you’re coming from! The voters in this country are complete morons, so yeah, I can see where you’d delude yourself into thinking you’ve got a shot at the big time. Unfortunately, they’re complete morons who are devoted to the two party system, so all you’ll do is split the vote and elect Al Gore, but what the hell."

"The times will change." The Son of Man leader said. "It is our destiny." Mark spat out in contempt.

"You know, for someone who hates Nazis, you got their clichés down real good."

The leader was wondering what to do about Mark (nothing pleasant, I’m sure) when one of the technicians interrupted him.

"Sir, I’m in the Quartz files. It says here that he… controls force fields!"

"Damn!" Mark said. "Can’t stall any longer," he muttered. At that moment, every force field in the room began to flicker, and Mark and I managed to break free. As did the cages holding the Super Soldiers.

"Fall back!" Mark shouted. I didn’t have to be told twice. We retreated together.

"Elevator?"

"It’ll be shut down. We got to find an alternative."

"But dad… and the other soldiers."

"From the looks on their faces, they’ve been brainwashed." Mark paused to think. He erected a force field barrier in front of us. "Fifteen to one odds."

"A good scrap." I joked.

"Shut up." Mark snapped. A barrage of energy blasts impacted against the barrier, which barely managed to hold. "No, it’s actually a good sign you can keep your sense of humor at a time like this."

"We gotta find another way out."

"I need to think!" Mark shouted. "I’m sorry you got involved in this. Real sorry."

"Stop apologizing and think, Nimrod!" I yelled.

At that moment, some of the decision making process was taken away from us. A big man, about 6’4", early 40ish with short red hair, and a pretty nicely defined build, managed to teleport through the barrier. He targeted Mark with a fist, but Mark blocked it and caught him with a groin shot that doubled him over. I plunged a purple fist into him.

"Casey, no! Try to see if you can make contact with his mind. Boost it, don’t drain it."

"What?"

"Just try it!"

I had never even considered using my powers in this way, but Mark’s plan made sense, if I could accomplish it. Make him strong enough to break out of the mind control. I tried to see if I could find some way to bolster his mental energy.

I felt nauseous, and immediately fell to the floor and vomited. Hated those scrambled eggs the first time…

"What?" the red haired man said. "What the Hell?"

Mark was busy replacing the force field, which had been shorn by one of the energy blasts. It was obvious from Red’s reaction that he was free of the control - and had no clue as to what was going on. "You’re in a firefight" Mark said. "Someone’s been brainwashing the subjects of American supersoldier experiments. Unless we can break them free, something real bad’s gonna happen."

"I’m barely dressed." the man was in a bit of shock.

"Yeah. We’ll compare our dicks later." Mark said, sarcastically. "Do you remember how to use your powers? You were teleporting around a few seconds ago."

Red managed to make himself materialize a few meters away from where he was standing. "Never been able to do that before."

"Someone managed to complete Project Lion, Colonel." Mark said. It was interesting that Mark knew who he was. "The passive powers that the first generation Lions were given are now active."

"Who are you?"

"A concerned civilian. We need to even the odds. Colonel, teleport through the barrier, grab someone and try to bring them back here. Casey, I’m gonna need you to break them free."

"Man, you don’t know how bad that hurt!" I said. I was still pretty sick from the first effort.

"You’re my brother. You can do it. You’re the man!" Mark said, smiling.

Colonel Red came back with a large black man in tow. He was younger than dad or Red, probably from one of the later Super-Soldier projects. The man immediately grew tendrils out of his forearm that tried to wrap themselves around Mark’s throat. I planted myself on the man’s back, closed my eyes, and plunged in my fist.

"What the…"

"Easy son, you’ve just been brainwashed." The Colonel said. "Defend this position, that’s an order."

The Colonel came back with one of the women next. "Nice choice," Mark said, as he dodged an eyebeam that slashed at him with razor-like force. She was a pretty good looker, in spite of the military haircut. I made the connection. This time, I could barely manage to stay conscious. I felt real woozy.

"Take some of my life force if you need it, Case." Mark said.

"I ain’t no vampire." I snapped back. Mark shook his head and concentrated on the barrier.

We managed to get about eight of the soldiers on our side before they managed to take down the barrier and overrun our position. Twenty to ten is not particularly good odds, but only about six of them, the Leopards and the Tigers, were really well-trained with their powers, and the Sharks and some of the Lions were pretty much normals: superior normals, but still normals. Mark had been set as their priority target, and although he’s not the most agile super, he’s got a pretty good sense of tactics. He managed to avoid most of the shots. Gradually, I managed to make a few more converts, selecting the most dangerous of our foes. It was enough to turn the tide.

"Where’s dad?" I wondered aloud as we mopped up the last remaining supers.

"I’ll get him." Mark said, and he charged back into the control room.

I followed on Mark’s heels. The Son of Man leader had positioned dad right next to him, and was using him as his bodyguard. Another super, one of the Tigers, was creating a portal, an escape route.

"You have made the wrong enemy today, Mr. Battle." The Son of Man said. "We will destroy you."

"Yeah right." Mark spat with contempt. "Die a long miserable death, beg for mercy that will be denied, suffer for my sins, yadda, yadda, yadda. With dialogue like that, you should have become an televangelist."

"Kill him." The Son of Man leader had a very pained expression on his face.

Dad charged at Mark, who had a real psychotic look on his face. "All right, old man, let’s see what you’ve got."
Dad punched Mark. There was an explosion when he struck him, sending Mark careening back into a wall. I could hear the plaster crack into rubble.

"Whoa! Score one for the old guy." Mark said, smiling as he got to his feet.

He and dad wrestled. Dad seemed a lot stronger now than at any time that we ever wrestled. He easily overpowered Mark, threw him to the ground and started smashing his face with his knee. There were small explosions any time he struck him. Mark took his force field, braced, and sent them straight up, shooting them both into the roof. Dad was dislodged, and tumbled a long distance from the roof to the ground. Mark arced the force field and tackled the Son of Man guy.

"Man, am I going to enjoy this…" he said, hands around the Son of Man’s throat. The Son of Man, in spite of the battle harness, couldn’t quite break my brother’s deathgrip. His face was turning blue.

Dad leapt on top of Mark and sent the Son of Man and Mark flying into a wall. This broke the grip. The Son of Man was coughing, and Mark shook his head for a second.

"Do something about him, junior!" Mark roared at me.

I didn’t really want to fight dad, but my options were pretty limited. "Sorry." I mouthed, squaring off with him.

Dad was always a pretty capable fighter and we’d always done a lot of roughhousing when I was growing up. For the last two years, I could take him pretty much whenever I wanted, but that was before Project Lion had been "completed", as Mark had mentioned earlier. I was nervous. Dad caught me with a backhand that made me do an impromptu somersault.

"Wouldn’t it be easier just to ground me?" I said.

Robotically, dad grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt and landed a fist in my solar plexus, creating another explosion that nearly fried the shirt completely. I was sent back six feet into a wall. "You’ll pay for that!" I managed to shout, despite my disorientation. "Next time we hit J.C. Penny’s." I added.

"Quit goofing off, Case!" Mark snapped.

"If it weren’t for me, you’d have been toast a long time ago!" I shouted back.

"It ain’t over yet!" Mark replied.

I kept my eye on dad’s movement. He was fast, but his movements were rigid, and it wasn’t hard to predict when and where and when he was going to throw his punch. Given that he caused explosions whenever we made physically contact, rope-a-dope wasn’t an option. But there was a better way, and that was to get to the inside. When dad threw his next blow, I sidestepped, stepped in, and triggered the purple fist. It landed in his chest.

For some reason it seemed to take forever to make the connection this time. But there was no way I was going to let my dad remain a zombie for a pack of racists.

"What the… Casey?" Dad said as his vision cleared.

I threw my arms around dad and cried.

Meanwhile, the fight continued in the room. Mark tried to tackle the Son of Man guy, but he laughed and flew directly for the portal. "We’ll meet again, Mr. Battle…" he cackled. Mark was real pissed.

Unfortunately for the leader, by this time, about six of the super-soldiers had reentered the fight from the other room. The Son of Man leader was the obvious target, and three soldiers managed to connect and knocked him into unconsciousness Hilton. The brainwashed Tiger who was opening the portal was also quickly subdued.

"We’ll meet again, my ass." Mark said, a satisfied smile on his face.

Colonel Red came up to us. He was about to grill Battle, when we heard an explosion from the direction of the elevator. The Quartz team had arrived, led by Reynolds.

"Hey, Jackboot. About time you showed your ass around here."

"What the Hell is going on here?" Reynolds snapped.

"Well, there’s a truckload of half-naked army guys standing around here." Battle smiled. "I’d say it’s ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ time." He lifted up the unconscious Son of Man leader and handed him to Reynolds. "Here. Do something productive for a change. Make his life miserable."

"I’m afraid neither of you will get your wish." Colonel Red interrupted. "Although I don’t have my ID, I’m sure once you check you’ll discover that I’m Colonel Ted Rogers. Military Intelligence."

"And a pretty tough son of a bitch." Mark added.

"You bet your ass I am." Rogers smiled. "This is a military base and a military matter. I’m claiming jurisdiction. You Quartz boys can clear out of this place while we conduct our investigation."

"But… we got permission…" Reynolds stammered.

"It’s just been revoked. Out!" Rogers ordered.

Reynolds got in Mark’s face. "This ain’t over!" they shouted simultaneously. Reynolds was livid, while Mark was mocking and enjoying himself.

"I don’t see why you’re laughing." Rogers said. "We’re gonna grill you like a swordfish. If you think those candy asses over at Quartz are a pain, you haven’t been through an army interrogation."

"I’ll be glad to cooperate with you." Mark sighed. "At least you aren’t gonna weigh me to see if I’m a witch."

Rogers actually smiled, then barked orders to get some clothing sent down. Dad was staring at Mark, looking for a sign of recognition. "Have we ever met?"

"Not really." Mark answered, and he began to turn away.

"Luke." I said. "You are his father."

"What?" Dad muttered.

"Case…" Mark hissed. He wasn’t happy at the admission.

I grabbed dad’s arm and brought him over to Mark. Dad kept staring into his face. "Mom can ground me if she wants. But I’ll be damned if you risk your life for him - we risked our lives for him - and he doesn’t get told the truth."

"There’s a resemblance, the eyes, but I never…" Dad mused.

"Fine. I didn’t want to keep it from him in the first place." Mark sighed. "When we get you dressed, we’ll get drunk and tell you the whole ugly truth. By the way, Colonel, thanks for getting rid of Reynolds."

Rogers turned to us. "I don’t much about what’s going on, but my gut tells me you did good. So you’re Mark Battle."

"Yeah. The one and lonely." Mark replied.

"And you’re Duke’s kids." Duke was dad’s nickname in the army. "Nice to see you’ve got your father’s balls. Both of you."
"Colonel…" I stammered. "I really didn’t want anyone to know about my…"
"Special abilities? Well, I think we can keep it under wraps for awhile."

"Thanks." Dad said, and he put his arm around my shoulder. "You’re growing up. Growing up pretty good too. But don’t you ever put yourself on the line like this again."

"That’s probably not an option… dad." Mark said. "The Sons of Bitches now have a good idea that Case is superhuman. He’ll be a target, and so will Deborah. They’re both going to need training. I ain’t much into the hero thing, but I know a few places where they can get some decent instruction."

"I didn’t want this, I really didn’t want this…" Dad shook his head, almost in shock.

"Of course, anyone who touches them is going to have to deal with me." Mark promised. "We’re family now. We gotta stick together."

"I think all of the survivors of the Super-Soldier programs will probably be getting a lot closer after this." Colonel Rogers speculated. "Whoever’s responsible for this has unleashed the tiger."

"And the Lions. Not to mention the Leopards and the Sharks." Mark grinned.

"But not the Bears." I added.

"There was no Project: Bear, son." Rogers said. "Forget you ever heard that name."

"You know Colonel," Mark said. "There’s a pretty serious security breach if someone could pull this sort of thing here."

"Tell me something that isn’t obvious." Rogers stated in an annoyed tone. "Like what religion the Pope belongs to."

The super soldiers were milling around impatiently while individuals from the Fort were storming the area. It was a long mess, and we were billeted to quarters on base and given visitor’s passes while we were grilled by army intelligence. We spent two days on base before being released. Dad and I returned to Dallas by army truck; Mark said he’d come by separately in a few days; he was going through a lot more detailed interrogation. It appeared that all of the super soldiers had some sort of verbal command implanted that would cause them to return to home base, and that the Sons of Man had found a way to access the verbal command to summon them. They also used some of the genetic alterations to give the subjects superhuman abilities, but according to army experts, they were temporary.

Dad was pretty depressed by the course of events. He kept worrying about mom, and Deborah and the store, and also about what would happen to me. He didn’t think we’d be able to keep a lid on my secret for much longer. I tried to encourage him. It didn’t help that the superhuman strength he possessed was fading pretty quickly, that sort of thing can get very addictive.

Mom and dad had had a long talk, and they decided to informally incorporate him as a member of the family. Mom promised not to hold a grudge against Mark, to let him come and go freely, and to try not to treat him too coldly. I think the deal was that dad was supposed to stay away from Mark’s mother, except at weddings and funerals. Dad and mom weren’t on very good speaking terms for the next few days. Mom also had very little to say to me for the next few days, but I’m used to that. Deborah was rather shocked by the news and both nervous and anxious to meet him.

About five days later, Mark came down to Dallas. He looked pretty tired, almost haggard, if it’s possible for someone with his size and build. I would have greeted him with a hug, but Mark pushed me aside.

"I don’t do the hug thing, Case," he told me, holding my shoulder. He stepped in, a box in one hand. The family converged on the room.

"This must be Deborah." Mark said with a smile. He grabbed her by the waist, picked her up, and spun around.

"I like this guy." Deborah said, and immediately ran off to get a box of photographs.

"Mrs. Shelton." He handed the box to mom. "I know you’ve been through a lot. This is a peace offering."

Mom nodded. "Thank you, Mark," she said in a polite voice, and opened up the box. It was a porcelain figurine of a ballerina.

"It’s beautiful. Was this your mother’s?" Mom asked.

"Nah. Neiman and Marcus. It’s from Royal Dalton, a pretty reputable manufacturer. I figure if you ever get pissed… angry with me, you’ll have something to throw at me."

"I’ll keep that in mind." Mom was smiling slightly.

"Please stay for supper, Mark." Dad said. "Mom serves just about the best damn pork ribs in the universe."

"Mrs. Shelton?"

"Mark, you heard the invitation. I don’t imagine you get many home cooked meals. "

There was an icy edge in her voice, both cold and sharp. It was impossible to ignore, and Mark, who was not used to being on his best behavior, was pretty nervous. I was wondering when mom would really start with the barbs.

"Not really. And Texas cooking is supposed to be pretty damn good." Mark said.

"You’re damn right about that." Mom said with a slightly nervous laugh.

Deborah broke up the mood with a box stuffed full of photos of practically everything she ever did when she was growing up. It took over an hour for us to pry her away him. "And I’ve got more pictures on my web site," Deborah added.

"I think Mark’s seen enough for tonight." Dad finally spoke up.

"Including some pictures of Ruckus, our dog. Actually it’s our neighbor’s dog, but it likes me."

"That damn mutt doesn’t know when to shut up its yap." I said. "It’s kinda like some members of this family."

"Dinner!" Mom declared.

I leapt up and raced to the table. Deborah was next. Mark and dad strolled to the table with a somewhat calmer stride.

"I’ve gotta warn you, Mrs. Shelton. I’m a huge eater." Mark said, sitting down.

"I can see that Mark," Mom answered. "But this is Texas. We know how to feed people around here."

"I always thought it was a cliché."

"This is Texas, Mark." Dad chided. "We take pride in our clichés."

"I got a B+ in Civics." Deborah said, changing the conversation to her favorite subject, herself.

"Should have gotten an ‘A’." I goaded. "So, Mark. Who’s the next scum of the universe that you’re planning to mop the floor with?"

"There’s a killer who’s hiding in the bush of Tennessee that I was thinking of paying a visit." Mark replied.

"Al Gore?" I joked.

"He’s too incompetent to be a killer." Mark smiled.

"You do a lot of traveling, Mark. It must be pretty exciting." Dad said.

"You should know it’s a grind, sir." Mark replied.

"Well, these days, with cross-country hypertrams and supersonic shuttles…"

"Travel broadens the mind and fatigues the body." Mark responded. "But I’m a pretty restless guy, and I like the idea of hunting down some of these scumbags and getting to see the country at the same time.

"This creep. Is he a superhuman?" I asked.

"No. He killed a couple of German tourists down in Florida. I’m a little protective of my home turf, especially with Chariot out of action."

"And I got an ‘A’ in Phys Ed." Deborah said. "I’m going to be on the volleyball team next year. And the basketball team. But I like volleyball better."

"That’s great." Mark said, his smile somewhat strained.

"Deborah, honey, maybe you shouldn’t talk so much about yourself." Dad suggested.

"Are you ever going to become a real superhero?" Deborah asked.

"I don’t think so, Deborah." He scooped up some mashed potatoes. "Excellent ribs, Mrs. Shelton."

"Thank you, Mark." Mom smiled, keeping the stilettos at bay, for now.

"Wait ‘til summer." I said. "You gotta try her barbecued steaks."

"Why not?" Deborah asked, changing the subject again. Everyone looked at her. "Why not be a superhero?"

Mark fell silent. Deborah, who can never keep quiet about this sort of thing, continued to prod him. Mark sidestepped the question as best as he could, but that didn’t seem to satisfy Deborah.

Dad rescued Mark again; he and Mark went for a long walk together after dinner. I spent some time on the phone with Sean, then hung up when I saw them coming back. Dad and Mark were discussing some of the current political scandals.

"Hey, Mark. What’s up?"

Mark put his hand on my shoulder. "I’m off for Tennessee. You take care of yourself."

"You’re leaving? Already?"

"Yeah." Mark nodded. "This family reunion crap ain’t bringing in the bucks. I gotta go hunting."

"Aw, man. What about that match you owe me?"

"Talk to my lawyers." Mark grinned.

I grabbed Mark around the waist and hugged him. Mark almost pushed me away, but then reluctantly returned the embrace. "Ain’t there any chance you’ll stick around awhile?"

"I like you Case. But even if I felt like settling down, I’d do it in Florida, near mom and grandma."

"You’re gonna come back aren’t you?"

"No promises, not in my line of work." Mark said. "But I’ll see if I can swing by in summer or early Fall, okay?"

"I’m gonna miss you, man. Except for your cigarettes."

Mark broke the embrace. "Here’s my card. E-mail me, although I’m really bad at answering it. And if there’s ever an emergency, call my cell phone."

"1-800-COLLECT?"

"Quit filling your mind with crap from the frigging television." Mark snorted.

I bowed my head for a second. "I got something for you. You’ll probably hate it, but I’ve been working on this, customizing this, for the last few days." I pulled out an Ewok action figure, a twisted teddy bear, sitting in a wheelchair, its limbs broken, its face scarred. "This is Five Car Pile-Up Wicket. The wheelchair was a bitch."

"You’re sick." Mark smiled as he took the action figure. "Thanks, Case. Next time I come by, I’ll have to get you something sicker."

"Looking forward to it. And if those Sons of Bitches try coming after you or Deborah, tell them you’ll send your big brother after them."