Is it sad that I’m a huge fan of my own characters? Not all of them, just a few. People I’ve created, I enjoy writing for, and I know that if someone else had invented them, I would read that too.

She started out as a basic idea. I was trying to flesh out the Silver Age in the <3-Verse, beyond the Golden-Age legacies, and created The Blackbird (mentioned in an old issue of Brat Pack, and again in Return of a Hero). Then I realised that I didn’t have any kid sidekicks anywhere in the <3-Verse. So I created this teenager that got saved by the Blackbird in the 80’s, who decided to follow in his footsteps. She created her own costume, and called herself The Magpie (because Australian magpies are black and white, and she was a white girl in a black costume, whereas the Blackbird was a black guy in a black costume). Blackbird didn’t want a sidekick, but she just wouldn’t relent, so he decided she’d be better off with his training than without it. She joined the Boomers, and basically grew up with the team. When she turned 20, she decided that being a sidekick was for kids, and changed her name to Talon. At 22, she moved to New York and formed the East Coast Boomers. 21 years later, and she’s still in the game, only taking two hiatuses, one could be considered maternity leave, and the other… Well, you know all about that now, don’t you?

Basically, she’s a badass. I like that. And a grown-up sidekick, which I really like the concept of (I’m a huge Winter Soldier fan ). She sits up there with Mr Universe, Uncle Sam and The Shadow as my favourite <3-Verse characters that I’ve written for… So far. Stick around, because the next issue of <3C Presents will be the new Shadows Over LA (it was going to be this month’s, but I read my SOLA schedule wrong (the end of this arc needs to be at around a particular time, because it leads into some stuff with the Brats). Anyway, suffice to say, there will be a new issue of SOLA soon. Now, back to the assignment I was doing before I realised I hadn’t posted Author’s Notes yet. Hooray for procrastination!

Later Days

The Author
<3 Comics

I had one shot. One chance to prove to myself that I still had what it took. One opportunity to put it all behind me.
Naturally I took it. Sure, Cam had offered me a spot on the team. Sure, I could go back to active duty. I’d passed all of the tests. I was faster and stronger than before. But those tests weren’t under fire. I couldn’t know for sure how I would function in the heat of battle. I couldn’t risk their lives like that.
So there I was. Back in my city. New York, New York. It’s a hell of a town.
But not for long.
Because Talon’s back.
<><><>
The pain was unbearable. It was a constant searing agony. I could feel the air on the space where my shoulder joint had once been, and it hurt. I could smell nothing but my own blood. I was numb from the waist down, which was probably for the best. My leg was gone too. Torn off, just like my arm.
By a dragon of all things. A dragon!
My arm and leg had gone the same way as my team-mates before it. Minerva, my sister, in spirit if not in blood, and my brothers Pike and Blowout. All dead, and I knew I was going to follow them soon. I could feel the lifeblood draining away.
Then the girl, Iaso, from Hire-A-Hero, healed me. She stopped the bleeding, sealed the wounds, and erased my pain.
My physical pain at least.
<><><>
The first person at my bedside had been Cam. GL, the leader of the West Coast Boomers. I guess it’s just ‘The Boomers’ now. He offered support, financially and emotionally. We’d been good friends for years, but I longed for Minerva.
Next was my adopted father, Ralph Davis. The Blackbird. My mentor. He was emotional. He told me he was just glad to have me back, and how proud he was of everything I had done with my life. Like it was over. I know he didn’t mean it, but he put me in a dark place.
The next day, my husband Dan arrived, with my daughter, Cheryl, which helped. Gave me hope.
Over the next week, a multitude of heroes passed through my hospital ward. A veritable who’s who. Miss Liberty, both Uncle Sams, the second American Eagle, Statuesque, even Thunderbolt stopped in on his way to Paraguay.
But one man changed my life. Don Harris. Formerly known as Junker. Probably the finest mind in cybernetic enhancements, he had fought crime for decades, and led the West Coast Boomers for a decade, wearing a powered armour he built himself. He retired from the hero game last year, and took a job working for the government, designing a new version of the ‘Patriot’ Armour. His prototype was in the testing phase at that point, and he had some spare time on his hands. So he offered to help me out.
He might have retired from the superhero game, but he still found a way to save me.
<><><>
Months of recovery, two major surgeries and a painful rehabilitation, and worth every minute of it.
I stood. On my own two feet. I clenched my own two fists.
“Careful Maggie, you’ve got to get used to them. You’re stronger now.” Don’s voice buzzed over the intercom.
I was standing in the Boom Room, the West Coast Boomer’s training facility. Three feet of concrete protected the outside world from what usually went on here.
“Got it Don.” I said, before gingerly taking a step. The leg held. I smiled. Confident now, I took a few more steps. So long as I remembered to step lightly with my new leg, everything was completely fine.
“Good work Maggie, but don’t get too confident. Baby steps.” Don buzzed.
I ignored him. I could walk again! I started off at a trot.
“Maggie. Careful. It’s your first day.” Don warned.
“I’m fine!” I shouted, breaking into a run. It was easy.
“Maggie, what do you think you’re doing?” Don yelled back.
“Watch and learn!” I laughed, as I leapt towards a set of uneven bars. At least, that was my intention.
For a regular person, jumping is easy. Your legs both take the weight of your whole body, and pushes you up in one go.
When one leg is more than five times the strength of the other, however, things are a little more difficult…
I tumbled sideways, my left leg was far too powerful, and my jump was terribly unbalanced. Easy fix, I’d just vault back up with my hands, as soon as I hit the ground. Remembering to compensate this time…
I didn’t compensate enough, and next thing I knew, I was laying flat on my back.
“I’d hate to say ‘I told you so’ Maggie, but…”
“I know, I know. Take it slow.”
<><><>
It took weeks to get used to the difference in strength in my new right arm, and left leg, but I was finally ready.
I wasn’t as fit as I had been, but I was close. A few more weeks in the gym, and I would be as good as new. In the mean time, I had to make sure I still had the skills to be a hero.
So there I was, standing atop the Empire State Building, looking down upon my city. A flash of red and blue was all I needed to see, as I leapt southwards, towards the source of the police lights. Positioning my body to allow my left leg to be the central force behind my jump had become second nature, as I did a somersault in the air, before activating the intelli-sensors in my glove.
My cape became rigid, as the edges hardened and spread out, like wings. I dove towards the flashing lights, and as I got closer, I found a police chase in progress. Perfect.
I sailed over the top of the traffic, over the police car, and on top of their target.
The car swerved, the driver had no idea what was going on. Just in time, I spotted the gun pointed at me from within the car, and I turned, taking the clip he unloaded with my right arm, sending the bullets ricocheting in all directions. I grabbed the man’s arm, and started to lift him out the window, the car swerving to-and-fro beneath me. How I had missed this.
I had the man’s head and shoulders outside the car. He could see me. His face was obscured by a ski mask, but I could see his eyes, as the realisation dawned, and the fear began enveloping him. I could see his mouth, as he shouted “HOLY SH*T! IT’S TALON!”.
I laughed, and dropped him back into the car. I looked around for a moment. The traffic had thinned. I could act safely now.
I activated a second intelli-sensor, and the winch attached to my belt whirred to life. I grabbed the end of the 300 feet of carbon-fibre cable, and pinned it to the roof of the car with a shuriken. I leapt off the roof of the car, activating my cape’s glider mode once more, parasailing from the roof of the car.
I pressed a button on my new arm, and a compartment opened. I pulled a  box of caltrops from my belt, and loaded them in.
“Let’s see how you drive without tyres.” I laughed, as I fired the caltrops onto the road ahead.
Moments later, I heard the satisfying pop of tyres, followed by the screech of brakes, as the crooks struggled to control the car. Moments later was the crash, as they hit a fire hydrant, and came to a sudden stop.
I switched on the winch, and pulled myself back down to the car, disengaging when I was a safe distance from the ground, and landing with a flourish, as the police arrived.
“Talon… Is that you?” One of the policemen asked.
“You bet it is.” I replied.
“Oh my god, is it good to have you back ma’am.” A second said.
“Thank you.” I smiled.
They were right.
Talon was back.

One good thing about writing Shadows Over LA is: I don’t need a title for them all.

Still getting a grip on the character, and the noir/pulp-ish style I’m going for.

Just a short issue, covers some of Shadow’s background, and adds to the next story arc.

Not really much to say otherwise. Hang tight, there will be another issue of Shadows within the next month or so.

Later Days,

The Author
<3 Comics

Sunday, 4.38 AM
King Estates
It had been a long night. Another false lead had resulted in a dead end.
I had been tracing the source of drugs in the city, after that night in Glendora months ago. A drugs lab that size doesn’t spring up overnight. The security on that place alone meant money. Big money.
My solution was simple. Find the source of the money, and the drug trade stops. Simple.
Ok, I knew it wasn’t that simple. I’m not that naive. Stop one source, and another takes over. We took out that drug lab, and the dealers just brought their prices up to compensate. The drugs were still coming in.
I thought I’d found the source tonight. Little house in East LA somewhere. It was a set-up. About a dozen gang-bangers were waiting for me. An easy enough fight, or it would have been. Half an hour earlier, someone had seen guys with guns walking around the house, and called the cops. So about two minutes after the fight started, we heard sirens.
A pair of cops busted in, one of them was that cop from Glendora, O’Hara. The gangbangers opened fire on them, so I had to tackle them both down. I finished the fight, eventually. Worrying about three people is a lot harder than just worrying about yourself.
As soon as the fight was over, the second cop, I don’t remember his name, got up and pointed his gun at me. Told me I was under arrest. O’Hara told him he was a dumbass, and smacked him on the back of the head. I like O’Hara.
I got the hell out of there and headed home. I changed out of my costume, wrote in my notebook, and went to bed.
<><><>
Sunday, 10.30 AM
I hated my alarm. Hated it with every fibre of my being. It meant another day at that damn store. Working for that idiot. Wasting time I could be using productively. Every hour I spent there, I was off the streets. Every minute I swept that floor, there was an assault of some kind going on in the city. Every second I stocked those shelves, someone was committing a crime.
But I needed the money. We needed the money. Me and my mom, that is.
My dad left when I was about five. My older brother Ricky died when I was twelve. Since then, mom’s been the only family I’ve got.
She works too, of course. Cleaning at one of the motels downtown. Makes more money than I do, that’s for sure. But every dollar helps.
<><><>
My mother is the strongest person I know. Her husband leaves her; she just goes out and gets a job. Us boys were all she was worried about. Her eldest son gets involved in a street gang; she smacked him upside the head, and told him to stop running with them. Every day. Nothing was more important than her boys’ lives. Her eldest son gets gunned down in the street, by a rival gang; she makes sure her remaining son doesn’t make the same mistakes. She raised me right.
Ricky was the reason I learned kung fu down at the Y’. I didn’t want to become a victim. I wanted to be a fighter. I got older, and I decided I wanted to do more than survive. I was strong. I was capable. I had the responsibility to my fellow man. I had the ability to clean up the city. Make it a safer place for other kids’ older brothers. Make it a safe place for my mom.
So I dressed up in black, covered my face with a bandanna, and went out into the night. Got shot in the face by some punk holding up a convenience store. Woke up in a dumpster two days later, fully healed. I freaked out. I was a mutant. I should have been dead. But there I was, underneath someone’s garbage.
<><><>
Sunday, 12.28 PM
I pedalled like crazy. I was going to be late. Of course. Mr McGee was going to kill me.
Mr McGee hated me, just like he hated Ricky. Ricky had worked at the store for a few months before he dies, Mr McGee was convinced he was stealing. He probably was, knowing Ricky. So Mr McGee loves it when I make a mistake. Punishes me, because he couldn’t punish Ricky then.
I got to the store just in time. McGee told me off anyway. I flipped him off when he turned away.
<><><>
I crawled out of the dumpster. I was about a block away from the convenience store.
As I dusted myself off, I heard someone coming. I didn’t think, I just reacted. Jumped up, vaulted off the dumpster, kicked off the wall, and onto the fire exit. Just in time.
Two guys walked into the alleyway. I recognised them pretty quickly as the guys from the convenience store. The guy that had shot me started freaking out. The dumpster was open. What if someone had found the body. When he looked inside, and found I wasn’t in there, he flipped out completely.
His troubles were only beginning.
I leapt off the fire exit, and slammed the dumpster’s lid down on his head. His friend took one look at me, and stammered something about me being dead.
I said something about never dying, sounded pretty cool at the time. Can’t remember the details.
I pulled the other guy out of the dumpster. He was unconscious. Lucky for him. Told his buddy to drag him away, and if I ever caught them doing anything illegal, I was coming to get them. The message seemed to get through, as the guy ran as fast as he could, dragging his buddy along the ground behind him.
<><><>
Sunday, 8.21 PM
I walked into the house. My mom had been home for hours. We make small talk about work. The usual.
Things have been a little strained since I became ‘The Shadow’. She doesn’t know, of course. She thinks I’ve joined a gang. We tend to fight a lot about it. I deny it, of course. But when I don’t provide a reason I’m always sneaking out, and why I disappear for days at a time.
She’d probably flip out even worse if she found out what I was really doing though. Guess it’s better this way. I just wish she’d stop looking at me like that.
<><><>
Sunday, 11.53 PM
I pulled my mask over my face, and pulled on my gloves. Tonight was going to be a productive night, I could feel it. I had one last lead, and I was going to make this one count.

Can we tell I get all my British slang from old comedies and the internet? We don’t get a lot of good modern English TV around here, so I’m forced to watch the old classics. I did just (finally) finish reading Neil Gaiman’s Sandman, which has a fair few English characters (seeing as Gaiman is English, it’s understandable), and have now moved onto Delano’s Hellblazer, so hopefully I’ll improve before I write for Perdition again.

Perdition had a brief cameo in an early issue of Brat Pack, but even then I had a full character write-up for him. In the attempt to fill the gap left in the ranks of solo heroes, I decided I needed an anti-hero (because the Shadow isn’t enough…) I had every intention of fleshing him out eventually. This is the first step in that respect. I hope.

Also, the villains in this issue were chosen mostly for the opportunity to write one simple line. ‘[Vampires] Don’t. Fookin’. SPARKLE!’ … Yeah, I don’t like Twilight. Lets leave it at that. Ok, I’ll admit, I had a brief outline for the story in my head, and decided that I’d slip that in, and all of a sudden that idea seemed to be the one to go with.

Also, thanks for the comment Jenna, good to know someone’s still reading.

Later Days,

The Author
<3 Comics

Just in case some rookie Downtown has to read this, I’ll let you know what’s going on. I’m Perdition. You might have heard of me. I’ve been into some dark stuff. Magical mostly. I’m kind of the knock-off version of the Antichrist. Half-demon, the son of Belial, one of the Lords of Hell. I was being groomed to take over the world, but I decided I wasn’t going to be used like that. The cult that was supposed to be ‘guiding’ me brought me here to New York from Merry Old England, and I cut loose. I killed my ‘bodyguards’, and went on the run. Spent the following few months fighting the cult, eventually the Boomers caught me.

I went to Alcatraz for a few months, until Hire-A-Hero saw the possibilities and worked out this deal. Instead of my back-to-back life sentences, I’m going to be working for these guys, fighting evil or whatever it is they do. Most of my salary goes to the government or something, to make up for my crimes. I don’t really know how it works; all I know is that I’m back in New York, instead of dropping the soap in front of Tarantula, which is definitely a good thing.

Part of the agreement says I have to produce a record of every job I work, for the police. Keeps track of what I’m doing I suppose. So here’s the latest.

It says here that I’m supposed to sum up what I knew going in, and why I chose this mission. The boss gave me about a dozen files to choose from. Unsolved cases, grisly murders, the usual crap he gives me. But this one stood out. In the past six months, over 200 people have gone missing in the city. People from all over, not just the usual hookers and druggies either. Almost all of them have turned up in dumpsters and the East River dead. Messy, deep wounds in their necks, looks like they bled out.

Now, a little girl has gone missing. Her rich parents called the cops, who put two-and-two together, figured this was linked, and the parents brought the case to Hire-A-Hero. They put it in my hands, and I took it.

Sounds like vampires, or at the very least, some sicko who I can take out all my pent up aggression on. Either way, it’s right up my alley.

So Hire-A-Hero gets me past the yellow tape, in some alleyway in the Bowery, a guy’s turned up in a dumpster, neck torn to shreds. I take one look at the body, the savage wounds, the look of pure terror on the guy’s face, and the severe lack of blood, and I know I’m right. It’s vampires.

So I look around the crime scene, and find about half a footprint next to the dumpster. There’s a little blood in the footprint, so I figure it was the attacker’s, or his minion. So I open my satchel and pull out some paper and a pencil, sketch a quick magic circle, and cast a location spell. Location spells are bloody useful, anything you want to find, it’s yours. So long as you’ve got something from the place you’re looking for, or the person you’re looking for, naturally. The spell I used showed me where the guy had been since he dumped the body, like it was in fast-forward. I knew where he was hiding out. I didn’t know who else was there, how many, or if the girl was there.

I’m just going to stop here for a second to clear one thing up. Vampires. They’re not like B-movie ham-actor ‘I Vant To Suck Your Blud!’ types. They’re not Anne Rice angst filled whingers. And for Pete’s sake, they Don’t. Fooking. SPARKLE!

Vampires are predators. They’re stronger than most humans. Almost as strong as me. They’re quicker too. Better senses. They’re better than humans in every possible way. They can’t go out in sunlight. They can’t be killed by anything short of decapitation. Driving something straight through their heart will immobilise them, but as soon as it’s taken out, they’ll be kicking again. And sunlight too. They’re not fond of fire either. They do have reflections. Garlic and holy water don’t do fook all.

So I followed the vampire’s trail to a block of flats up on Avenue B. Place is boarded up, looks like it hasn’t been lived in for months. But I knew that wasn’t true.

I thought about taking the stealthy route. Sneak in and get the drop on them. But I’m not that kind of bloke, am I?

I pulled my sword down off my back, and slice straight through the front door, and the planks of wood nailed across it. I walked into the entryway, and three big fooking vampires jumped me. I should have known better, but it was too late by then. I made short work of those fookers though. Kicked the first one’s head clear off its shoulders. The other two went down with one swing of my sword. I ran up the stairs, and into the first apartment, that was the last place I saw with my location spell.

Standing in what I assume would be the lounge room of the apartment, is about ten of the biggest meanest vampires I’ve ever seen. In the back corner, I see two more, both weedy little bastards. One of them must be the sire, the leader. The other, by the look of him, is a magician of some description. I fooking hate vampire mages.

The sire gives the order, and the bastards descend on me. There’s no way I can just fight my way out of this one. Lucky I’ve got other tricks up my sleeve. Magic works on two levels. There’s the spells regular magicians cast, with stones and circles and incantations. They take time, but they’re precise, focussed. Then there’re natural magics. Powerful, quick to summon, and full of raw energy. There aren’t many magicians in the world who can wield them. I’m one of them. I don’t have time to cast a real spell, so I reach into my demon half, summon the power from within. The building shakes. My dear old dad Belial is tied into the Earth element. Gives me a natural affinity for rocks and dirt and muck like that. So I pulled an earthquake out of my arse, and it throws the vampires off for a moment. Gives me time to execute a perfect triple-twist with a flourish. Or something like that. With my sword in my hand, that means about eight dead vampires on the ground. The last two thugs charge me, but they don’t stand a chance. That is, until the mage tosses a fireball into my face. The distraction is enough to give the thugs and edge, and they high-low me. I hit the deck hard, but I roll out. Sweep the legs out from under one, and use the momentum to pirouette back up to my feet. Slice the fooker’s head off and tackle the second, driving him through the wall. Was lucky enough to bust a wooden stud in the wall, and impale him straight through the heart. I turned back to the sire and the magician. The magician’s already got a shield of some description up. I just laughed at him and tore it down with raw magic. Sends him reeling. Doesn’t feel too good on my end either. Always takes a bit out of me. I slice his head clean off, leaving me face to face with the sire. I tell him to tell me where the girl is, and I’ll spare him. He tells me she’s stashed in the closet. I grin and skewer the bastard on my sword, leaving him pinned to the wall.

I open up the closet and find the girl sitting in there, huddled up. Something’s wrong, but I can’t place my finger on it. Then the bitch lunges at me and sends me tumbling. That’s when I realised they’d turned her. She was one of them. Before I can react, she crashes through the window, falling to the street below. I watch her escape into the darkness. I swear under my breath, as I return to the sire. I pull my sword out of him, and he comes to. Spouts some crap about coming back more powerful than ever. I laugh in his face, and knock his block off with one punch.

So that’s it. Mission failed. But I wiped out a den of vampires, which I call a win. I fooking hate vampires.

Well, that’s the introduction to Thunderbolt. I hope you like him, he’ll be featuring a few more times before the year is through.

Not really happy with this issue, when I’m world famous, this one will be editted heavily before the re-release

It’s a little rushed, I had the outline written up in my creative writing class (best course ever!), while the teacher was droning on about creative non-fiction or something. I noticed I was over a month behind on <3C Presents, so I whipped this up in record time.

Speaking of things I wrote in class while I was supposed to be doing something else, here’s a teaser for an upcoming title. The teaser is titled:

Mr Universe on Uncle Sam

“My great-grandfather worked at a movie theatre. He was a ticket collector or something. Back then, the movies were where you went to watch the news. They’d play these newsreels before the movie. When they got a new one, they’d throw the old ones out.

“My great-grandfather would steal the reels from the trash. He knew that what was news then would be history later on. He felt he should keep track of this stuff.

“Turns out he was right. He showed my grandfather, who went on to write books about the Depression. My father is now a war buff.

“Whenever I went to visit my grandfather, he would show me his father’s newsreels. I was a kid at the time, so naturally, the news and history bored the living crap out of me.

“And then one Saturday afternoon I saw <em>him</em>.

“He was running rings around the Nazi’s. Dodging bullets. Bashing skulls in. Flipping jeeps over. I had never seen anything better. Nothing cooler. Now I know it was all propaganda, war recruiting and such, but that didn’t matter. Still doesn’t.

“On the playground, nobody understood. Uncle Sam was just some old guy who used to hang around with Liberty Force. Who cared when there was Coldstar, and Thunderbolt?

“So we’d play. They would fight over Coldstar, Thunderbolt and The Freak. The girls would always play as Talon or Statuesque.

“Me… I always wanted to be Uncle Sam.

“I guess I still do.”

LessThanThree Legends: Uncle Sam, The First American Superhero. Coming soon.

I hope you’re excited. I sure am.

Later Days,

The Author
<3 Comics

The farmer sighed as he looked over his fields. The sickness had spread. His entire sorghum crop was infected already. His main source of income lost to sickness. What was worse, the disease had spread to his cotton crop.

All across Central Africa, farmers were discovering the same thing. A sickness that seemed to blow in on the wind was engulfing all their crops, killing them slowly. Many believed this was a plague they wouldn’t recover from. The end of times. Who could possibly stop the apocalypse?

<><><>

Thunderbolt lifted the pallet-load of bricks from the back of the truck, and carried them to the build site.

“And then the plants wilt and die.” One of the local missionaries explained.

“And none of the usual chemicals can stop it?” Thunderbolt asked, dropping the pallet in front of a group of builders.

“Nothing. The plague has crossed a dozen countries. At this rate, the entire continent will be barren in months.” The missionary continued.

“That is quite unfortunate. You will be in my prayers, and I will speak to my friends in the United Nations. I’ll get you what help I can.” Thunderbolt said.

“Thank you. One more thing. I’ve been hearing reports of people going missing…” The missionary said.

“We’re in a third-world country, Charles, people go missing on a daily basis.” Thunderbolt said.

“Not like this. They go dozens at a time. Whole families. There are hundreds missing. It all started a few months ago.”

“This is a problem I can fix. Tell me more…”

<><><>

Thunderbolt sailed through the cool African air. He had spent the better part of the day questioning locals about the disappearances, tracking them across the savannah. Eventually, he was led to the village where the first disappearance had taken place. Quick reasoning allowed him to discover that many of the initial disappearances were from the same area, a wider radius only developing afterwards. The kidnapper must be around here somewhere.

Which brought him to aerial reconnaissance. A mile above the dark savannah, Thunderbolt could see the wide expanse. Grass as far as the eye can see, the occasional waterhole or rock formation barely breaking the pattern.

Then he spotted it. In the middle of nowhere, a large complex. Ten foot concrete walls surrounded the three-storey building. Iron gates blocked the only way in. The only way in on the ground, that is.

Thunderbolt dropped down into the courtyard with ease, walking towards the building. He barely had time to react to the automated gun turret that opened fire on him. He raised Mjolnir to block the shots, and the bullets ricocheted harmlessly aside, not even scratching the hammer’s surface.

He smiled. ‘No reason to hold back now’. He thought to himself.

He charged at the turret, and ripped it from its mounting, before bending the barrel completely in half.

He turned and faced the front door. Reinforced steel stared back at him. Almost a challenge for the man who wielded the same power as Thor. Thunderbolt raised his hammer in the air and pounded against the door. It didn’t stand a chance. A loud crash rang through the night, as the steel was ripped from its hinges and flew across the room.

Thunderbolt stepped through the doorway, and looked around. The room was essentially plain. Black tiles, white walls, stainless steel doors. Nothing of interest. Except for a massive plasma screen TV on the far wall, which switched on the moment Thunderbolt stepped near it.

“Thunderbolt. Of course. I should have expected you.” On-screen appeared a middle-aged man, wearing a lab coat, a pair of safety goggles sitting atop his slightly balding head.

“Professor Pathogen? You’re behind this?” Thunderbolt was shocked.

“OF COURSE I AM! Who else could engineer a plague so perfect that it eradicates ONLY crops. It leaves wild plants alone, and leaves the human race at my ransom!” The man on the screen replied, before laughing maniacally.

“You’re behind the plague too?” Thunderbolt asked.

“Too? You mean you’re not here about the destruction I’ve rained down upon these sick, weak people? You’re not here to try to stop me from taking over the world?”

“No. But I’m glad you told me that. I get to take care of business twice now. What I’m here about is the people you’ve been kidnapping.” Thunderbolt said.

“Kidnapping? Hahahaha. You’re here about those insignificant lab-rats? Here! Take them!”

The stainless steel doors opened, and dozens of people shuffled through, surrounding the hero.

“What have you done to them?” Thunderbolt demanded.

“I’ve improved them. Before, they lived useless lives, dying of ‘nature’’s diseases, starving, and being miserable. I took that all away. All the pain. All that pesky ‘free will’. I’m more than just a one-trick pony, my friend. I created a virus, which forces these people to be my mindless zombie slaves!” Professor Pathogen said.

“You… That’s despicable!” Thunderbolt exclaimed.

“That’s progress. Attack! My Horde! Attack!”

The mindless drones surged forward, grabbing at Thunderbolt, pounding at him with their fists and feet.

Professor Pathogen let out one last maniacal laugh, before the screen switched off. Moments later, the sound of a roaring engine echoed through the compound, and through the doorway Thunderbolt could glimpse a jeep driving out the front gate.

He struggled to reach the door through the increasing zombie horde. Shoving the drones aside, not wishing to harm them. They were good people once.

As the mindless men continued breaking knuckles and toes on Thunderbolt’s near-impervious flesh, he slowly made his way across the room. As they clawed him, bit him, and scratched him, he pushed through. Never giving in, never pausing. Thunderbolt pressed through the dozens of innocent men, until he reached the open air.

Thunderbolt laughed, as he took off into the sky, leaving the mindless zombies on the ground below.

“Professor! I’m coming!” He boomed. Like a bolt of lightning, he flew, landing directly in front of the Professor’s jeep, which crashed straight into the hero, at full speed. The jeep crumpled like it had hit a building, Professor Pathogen flew out of the driver’s seat and sailed through the air. Thunderbolt caught the villain in mid-air, saving his life.

“Now, I’m going to march you back there, and you’re going to fix those men, and then you’re going to stop your plague in its tracks.” Thunderbolt ordered.

“Hahahaha. You think those people can be cured? My virus eats their brains. That’s what truly makes them zombies! Even when the virus is gone, their brains are so damaged that nothing can bring them back!” Professor Pathogen gloated.

Thunderbolt threw him to the ground roughly.

“You take pleasure in causing others pain? Let’s see how you like it!” Thunderbolt roared, picking him back up again and punching him in the stomach.

“Go on. Kill me. My plague is already unleashed. There’s nothing anyone can do to stop it without me.” Professor Pathogen said.

“You’re right.” Thunderbolt said, tearing the seatbelt from the jeep, and tying the Professor to the driver’s seat of the incapacitated vehicle. “Stay here. I’ll be back for you, if the lions haven’t eaten you yet.”

Thunderbolt took off into the air. ‘Those poor men. Forced to walk the earth, mindless, soulless. I have to do something…’

He returned to the lab and looked down at the hundreds of mindless, damaged men staring back up at him. With tears in his eyes, he began reciting the Last Rites.

“May God have mercy on your souls.” He said, raising Mjolnir into the air, as lightning rained down upon the horde, vaporising them all, eradicating any trace of their existence, and hopefully all traces of the virus which had damned their bodies.

With a heavy heart, he glided back to the imprisoned super-villain.

<><><>

“Thunderbolt, I can’t thank you enough. Professor P. has been wreaking havoc all over the world. We were still looking for him in Guatemala.” The lead United Nations Against Super-Humans and Enhanced Defence (U.N.L.E.A.S.H.E.D) agent said.

“Not at all, Special Agent. I understand you’re stretched a little thin right now. The missing Boomers must be creating a lot of extra work for you agents, not to mention the Defenders team.” Thunderbolt replied.

“You have no idea. Makes me glad those kids found Talon and The Freak in the Shadow Plane a few weeks ago.”

“What? What kids?”

“Ummm… The Brat Pack, and about twenty of their friends. Hyper Girl was in amongst them too.”

“I think I’ve been away from home for too long. I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“We’re keeping tabs on them. They’re doing a pretty good job, by all accounts.”

“Well, if they defeated the Order of Darkness to free the Boomers, they’re very powerful. I barely survived my last fight with them.”

“These kids pressed the numbers advantage for all it was worth, as far as I can tell, not to mention they seemed to know they were coming.”

“A victory against evil still stands, Special Agent. I trust your team can finish cleaning up Pathogen’s lab?”

“Of course, sir. We’ll have him engineer a cure for this thing as soon as possible.” The agent saluted. “Oh, and sir, I’m sorry about the innocents. There was nothing else you could do.”

“Thank you, Special Agent. It doesn’t make it any easier.” Thunderbolt took off into the air.

“Poor guy. All the power in the world, and a conscience to match.” The Special Agent said, before heading back to his team.

<><><>

Thunderbolt floated above the African plains. He stared off into the distance, as he prayed for each and every one of the men he had culled the previous night. His tears were unceasing, as he hoped they had found peace.

He took a deep breath, and let it out. ‘No time for that. There’s work to be done.’ He thought to himself.

He turned, and faced south east. ‘There’s a drought in Australia.’

He rocketed off into the distance.

<><><>

I enjoyed writing this one, which would explain how I got it done so much quicker than Brat Pack lately. Granted, it was late… And shorter than the last couple of BP issues, but it was much easier to write. Of course, I’ve had this issue planned out in my head for a while, whereas Brat Pack tends to be more on-the-fly.

Shadow will be primarily a solo guy, but if he ever works with anyone, it’ll be Pumpkin King… Partially because he’s so fun to write, but mostly it’s a character thing. Mosley has to prove himself as a hero, in any way possible. So he has two alter-egos, and gets twice as much work done.

Shadow will have at least one, most likely two, big story arcs, spaced out across the months here at <3C Presents. I’m not sure if the next issue will be SOLA as yet, but I’m finding it hard to think of anything else at the moment. We’ll see what comes around next month. There are a lot of heroes in the <3-Verse.

Not being from Los Angeles… Or even the US for that matter, I’ll be relying on Wikipedia for my research… King Estates is listed as a suburb in the area I wanted, and further Googling leads me to believe it’s a somewhat lower-class neighbourhood. The ‘Estates’ part threw me off initially too. Shadow’s definitely not of the Orange County mindset

It’s also been a while since I wrote in first person (except last issue, of course). Most likely, I’ll be saving that for Shadow… And possibly any other solo heroes. Well, except Thunderbolt. Something tells me his pure awesomeness would be best served by a third-person perspective. Because ‘Hmm, I flew down the street at 300 mph and took out a guy with my hammer’ doesn’t have the same ring as ‘Thunderbolt was a blur, as he tore along the street, swinging his hammer as he moved. Radon didn’t stand a chance. Mjolnir hit him in the side of the head, and sent him tumbling.’

Any requests for a particular character (or team) will be appreciated, but I make no promises.

Later Days,
The Author
<3 Comics

Friday, 3:39 AM
Glendora

It barely took an hour for me to find him. The only man in the city I really trust to have my back.

Pumpkin King. Perhaps better known as Firestorm. Or even Ben Mosley.

From then, it was simple. We rode out to Glendora on his motorcycle.

“You looked like you were just getting started back there.” I commented, as the wind whipped my face.

“Yeah, had to wait for the old man to pass out.” King replied over his shoulder.

“A little late by his standards, wasn’t it?” I asked. Something wasn’t right.

“You’re telling me. The past few weeks, he’s been going out during the day. He’s not drinking in the afternoon anymore. And when he does drink, he’s taking longer to get drunk. Like he’s in better condition now. Makes life a lot harder.” King said.

“Maybe he’s got a job.” I suggested, not wanting to say what I really thought. The ‘hero’ formerly known as Napalm could be making a comeback, or at least in training for it.

“Maybe.” King dismissed the topic. “Is that the place?” He pointed.

I looked up at the hill ahead. I could barely make out the lights of a large house at the top.

“I guess so. Let’s find somewhere to hide the bike and continue on foot. Don’t want to alert the guards just yet.” I said.

Lucky for us the house was far on the outskirts of the suburb, and was actually surrounded by sparse woodland. We easily found some bushes to dump the bike in, and headed up towards the house.

<><><>

I returned to our hiding spot.

“Eighteen guards. Six guard posts, each with two guys manning it. The other six walk between posts. Of course, that’s once you get over the wall.” I explained.

“And these guys are on steroids?” King asked.

“Of some description. They have super strength. Probably stronger than me.” I said.

“Guns?”

“Handguns. Still not a lot of fun, but at least they’re not automatics.”

“This should be fun. What’s the plan?”

“Try to sneak in, and find the boss before the guards find us.”

“You don’t think we can take these guys?”

“We might be able to… I don’t want to risk it.”

King grunted a reply. He was a little more hotheaded than I am. Always wants to be the badass.

“On three, we both run to that bush against the house. Keep your head down.” I said, keeping an eye on the two nearest guards.

“Got it.” King said simply.

I had to time it perfectly. The first guard turned and began walking the other way. “One.” I said. The second guard continued walking towards the bushes. “Two…” I continued. The guard turned and walked away. “Three.”

The two of us ran as fast as we could, with our heads down. We made it halfway, before the first guard tripped and fell. He turned as he climbed to his feet and spotted us.

“HEY!” He shouted.

“So much for that.” King said, his head and fists flaring up.

The second guard had his gun out and opened fire, as he ran towards us.

“I’ll go left.” I said.

“Guess I’ll go right.” King replied.

I sprinted at the second guard, taking a bullet to the chest for my troubles. I kept running, hoping to heal up before I reached him. He was huge, probably a side-effect of whatever drug he was on.

The bullet fell out of my chest, as I leapt into the air, hoping for a fly-kick. I connected with his face, but he just grabbed me in mid-air and slammed me onto the ground.

“It’ll take more than that to beat me, Shadow.” The guard said, as he began pounding away at my face and torso, cracking bones and busting me open.

I screamed in pain, the combination of the blows themselves, and the subsequent healing caused my body to be in constant agony.

As he hit me in the stomach with his right, I grabbed onto his hand, using his momentum to pull myself to my feet, before taking a few steps back, out of his reach.

As I caught my breath, and my injuries healed, I noticed three more guards coming up behind him, obviously drawn by gunfire.

“They’ve got reinforcements.” I said, as I saw King backing up to me out of the corner of my eye.

“I noticed.” King replied. I turned briefly to see more guards coming from his direction.

The two of us stood back to back. “Feeling up to some fireworks?” I asked.

“Looks like it might be my only option.” Pumpkin King replied.

“Well well well…” One of the guards said. “The Shadow and Pumpkin King decided they were going to take down the biggest producers on the West Coast… Big mistake.”

“I guess you didn’t know about us.” Another said.

“The finest private security firm in the world. Rock Steady Inc. We’ll work for anyone, assuming the pay is right. And the pay here is definitely right.” The first speaker said.

“Blah blah blah. Can we just fight?” King asked.

“Fight? Listen, I don’t care who you think you are… You can’t win. I’m going to give you both the chance to get the hell out of here. I’ll let you go home, and think about what you’ve tried here.”

“Your bosses are going down.” I said.

“Actually, no. You and your Tim Burton reject friend here are the ones going down.” The guard replied.

I looked around and noticed that all eighteen guards were now surrounding us.

“Do you guys know why I took the name Pumpkin King?” King asked.

“Because of your man-crush on Jack Skellington?” The guard asked.

“No. Because I’m your worst fucking nightmare.” King said, a burst of flame from his hands burning the speaker and a man on either side, all three dropping to the ground and writhing in agony.

I took that as my cue to roll to the side, un-holstering my guns and opening fire on my nearest adversaries, hamstringing one and shredding another’s shoulder.

As I emptied my clip into the crowd, taking down one more man, King was on top of another guard, pounding him in the face with his flaming fists, beating and burning him into unconsciousness.

There was no time to reload, I instead put my guns back in their holsters and decided to take them on hand-to-hand, because it worked so well before. This time, I knew I had to fight harder.

I met one guard face-to-face and grabbed his right wrist and elbow, reversing his elbow and breaking his arm, forcing him to drop his gun, which I snatched in midair and fired at another man, putting three in his chest, before turning the gun on my initial target and scoring the belly-wound.

I dropped both man and gun, before moving onto my next opponent. I ducked a wild swing at my head and went low, hitting an uppercut on the poor guy’s groin. He roared in agony, as he brought both fists down and hit me in the back of the head with a double-ax-handle. I saw stars, and almost lost consciousness, but my healing factor kicked in and I was fine, choosing to sweep the leg of the stunned man, before a punt to the head left him concussed.

I saw a man run past me on fire, screaming as the flames consumed his clothes and flesh. Pumpkin King was certainly enjoying himself.

“That’s my seventh!” King shouted. “What’s your score?”

“This isn’t a game.” I replied. I had of course, taken down only six, but taking the concussed man’s gun and firing two bursts of bullets at two approaching guards’ chests brought my count back past even.

Then I was grabbed from behind by one guard, as another began working the body. I laughed as he crushed my internal organs.

“What’s so funny?” He asked.

“By my count, all that’s left is you two, and one more guy.” I said. A flash of light, and a man tumbled into view. “Make that two of you. I suggest you get out now, before you make my friend and me very angry.”

The man punching me pulled out his gun. “Guess I’ll make this quick.” He said, firing six shots into my chest. At that range, they went straight through my body and into the man holding me. We both collapsed.

<><><>

I came to a few minutes later, the final guard was smoldering on the ground next to me.

“Guess we could take them.” I commented, before turning to the house.

“Think there’s more inside?” King asked.

“They’d have joined in. There should only be the guys making the drugs left inside.” I replied.

The garage door opened and a station wagon sped out, the passengers firing wildly at us. A stray bullet hit me in the shoulder.

“God damnit. That always hurts like a mother.” I cursed, as the bullet pushed out and the wound healed.

“Guess they didn’t want to play.” King sounded disappointed.

“Let’s just bust the place open.” I said, kicking the front door down.

The inside of the house looked like a factory. Pill presses, industrial labs, barrels of chemicals.

“Holy crap. Guess we should get to work.” Pumpkin King said, as he flared up and set a nearby table on fire.

“You idiot!” I shouted.

“What?” He asked. “I’m impervious to fire, you can just heal anything.”

“That crap is going to explode. You’re not impervious to shrapnel.” I said.

“Oh yeah…” King trailed off. “Run?”

“Run.” I agreed.

The two of us sprinted down the hallway, I pushed King in front of me. The fire was spreading. We made it halfway to the fence when the entire goddamned house exploded. I felt stabbing pain in at least a dozen places in my back, as shards of brick, wood and tiles embedded themselves in me. I could also feel chemicals burning on my back.

What confused me though, was the pain in my front. I looked down and saw a huge piece of wood, probably from the house’s framing, sticking out of my belly. And then I saw black.

<><><>

Friday, 10:12 AM
Glendora

The sun shining in my eyes woke me up. I sat up immediately, looking around and taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. I quickly realized I was in the spot we’d stashed King’s bike the night before.

I saw a huge piece of timber sitting on the ground next to me. It was at least four feet long. Judging by the fact it was still covered in my blood, King must have pulled it out. Thank god, that would have taken days to force out of my body.

I felt the wound… It was still scabbed over. This was going to take a while. I was probably filled with splinters. I was going to need to find somewhere to hide until nightfall, so I could head home.

I stood up to make a move, when I heard a sound.

I ducked back down and looked to the source of the noise.

I almost died of shock when I saw a cop walking towards me, obviously looking around.

“This is crap. Whoever took those guys out did us a favour.” He shouted.

A shout from my left revealed a second searching cop, out of my sight. He said something about assault and arson.

And that’s when the first cop looked me straight in the eyes.

I tensed, ready to sprint into the distance.

He didn’t take his eyes off me.

“Harry, we’re not going to find anything. Let’s just head back.” He shouted.

His partner said something in agreement.

He nodded at me. Before he turned away, I snuck a look at his badge. Jack O’Hara. Good to know I had some friends on the Force.

I waited until he was out of sight, before I ran deeper into the woods, in search of somewhere to rest.

<><><>

Friday,9.20PM

King Estates

I snuck into the house through the window, careful not to wake up my mom. She was going to kill me. I’d been gone for a whole day. I was going to need an excuse.

But first thing was first. I reached under my mattress and pulled out my notebook.

I wrote down two things.

’Finlay. Drug dealer. Manhattan Beach.’

’Rock Steady Inc. Security firm. Research.’

Satisfied with my notes, I stashed the notebook and collapsed on my bed, pulling the remains of my mask off and hiding it under my pillow.