Modred Garth was not happy.  Even on the best of days, he was not a 
cheerful fellow, but on this night, he was truly miffed.
     The boy had escaped.  After all his manueverings, he'd finally 
suceeded...and the boy escaped.
     Naturally, he'd destroyed the minions who had failed him, but that 
gave him less pleasure than usual.  Time was at a premium, what with the 
various superguys who were certain to discover his machinations before 
too long.  The events of six months previous had offered but a mild 
distraction, and as per his instructions, the operative he'd used had 
been eliminated.
     Pity about the prototype, though.  His magicks covered a lot, but 
technology was so..useful.
     And he'd lost track of the barbarian.  Hopefully, his ally would 
handle that situation, but if that plot failed, he had plans within 
plans.  There was only one lingering problem.
     "So we are agreed?  You will spare the city of Chicago, at least 
until I conclude my experiments there."
     Across the table from him, Maladroit daintly swabbed a speck of 
escargot with garlic sauce from his lips, completely missing the large 
splotch on his tie.  For all his muscle-bound appearance, the Canadian 
was a shrewd negotiator, one Mogar had enjoyed sparring with.
     "Agreed...for now."


MAYHEM, INCORPORATED #5, "Wild Times Ahead"

     Meanwhile, back in Chicago, Duke Cannon was, without knowing it, 
sharing his arch-foes discomfort.  The past half-year had been strange 
for him.  The Russian, Vasilly Kuriakin, had told him of the fall of 
Cerebos, and between small security consulting jobs, he'd attempted to 
discover more about the attack.
     Not out of any loyalty, of course.  They had ripped him from his 
own world, just as he was about to destroy that fiend Mogar.  For that, 
he would have cheerfully disemboweled the lot of them, but by the time 
he'd straightened out his psyche, it was a little too late.  But he'd 
planned on dealing with them at a later date, especially that witch who 
ran the Elite.
     But right now, he had other fish to fry.   His new clients, a 
consortium of Lithuanian mousepad magnates, had hired him to check out 
one of their competitors, so he'd left his Southwest locale, and come to 
this "Windy City".
     The cold February air cut through the drab parka he'd purchased.  
Nary a shiver shook his frame however, as for the first time in almost a 
year, he felt at home.
     Pulling a Soviet-surplus nightscope out of his duffel bag, he 
scanned the lair of his foe.  Whoever this fellow was, he certainly knew 
how to fortify a building.  Even with the skills of his former persona, 
Howard Frazetta, and his own not-inconsiderable talents as a hunter, 
this could actually be difficult.  This  Garth fellow was expecting an 
assault.  Duke had no desire to disappoint him.

000ELSEWHERE

     The howling winds outside made an eerie counterpoint to the crackle 
of the hearthfire within the small tavern.   While the owner polished 
the countertop, the usual assortment of foriegn merchants, wandering 
adventurers, and random vagrants milled about the main room, lubricating 
their spirits with strong ale.
     By the fire, an old man sat wrapped in a worn cloak, snoring 
gently.  Although his massive frame indicated his past as a warrior, it 
was clear to all but the most inebriated observer that those days were 
long past.  The waitresses had grown accustomed to seeing him huddled by 
the hearth, lost in the memories of his once-mighty deeds.

000SUPERGUY, GRANTHAM PARK

     Haakon Magnusson looked at the sleeping form before him.   It 
probably wasn't the smartest thing he'd done in his life, but when he'd 
seen the kid surrounded by those mean-looking dudes, he knew he had to 
do something.  Luckily, Trips had agreed with him, so the snatch was 
pretty easy.
     "Well, Hawk?" a quiet voice came from behind him.
     Hawk turned to face the young woman.  Charlene was the closest 
thing he and his buds had to parents.  She was blind, but saw more than 
the rest of them, sometimes.  "I dunno, CB...he looks out of it...maybe 
we should drop him off by one of the shelters."
     "You kiddin?" a new voice chimed in, as Trips popped into view, 
"I'm sure C.B. can fix him up, right?"
     "My healing abilities come from my father's side, Stanley, they 
aren't as strong as they could be."
     Hawk watched Trips bristle at the use of his real name.   Being 
cursed with the name Stanley would have been bad enough, but his lack of 
physical prowess during his youth had made it even worse.  Adolescence 
hadn't made much of a dent in his weakling status, but it had brought on 
other ...gifts.
     He remembered when he first met the kid, about a year ago.  He'd 
been transferred to Goldwater Jr. High, following one of a long string 
of scuffles at his previous hall of macadamia.   Physically, he could 
deal with the usual bullies and egomaniacs, but he still had problems.
     Except at night.  Unfortunately, the Authors hadn't seen fit to set 
up a night school for juveniles, so there were still confrontations.  
The last had ended satisfactorily, with the punk shivering on the grown 
before him, numbed by a well placed jolt.  The principal didn't see it 
as a sucess, so it was off to another school.
     The first day went off smoothly.  The next day, he met Trips.
     A trio of premature wiseguys were roughing him up. attempting to 
eke out a meager profit by getting his lunch money.  Pitiful, really, 
but that was the way it worked.  It was a bright, sunny day, so he was 
stuck using his fists, but for those twerps, that was enough.  A few 
well placed punches, and a covert kick to the groin, and it was over.
     He'd advanced on the runt who'd been their target, but the kid 
shrank away. "D-d-on't hurt me!" he stammered.
     "What in the Hell[tm] are you talking about?" he'd naturally 
replied, stumblimg a bit over the corporate suffix.
     "J-just don't hurt me..I'll give you the money."
     "Kid, you really need a checkup from the neckup...I don't *want* 
your money...I just thought you needed a hand."
     "Oh...um....thanks?" he'd replied, scrambling in the dirt for his 
steel-framed glasses.
     "No charge" Hawk had grinned.  The kid froze, but finally got the 
joke, smiling painfully.  
     It had been an odd pairing.  Hawk let it be known that Stanley, as 
the boy was named, was under his protection.  Stanley, for his part, 
tutored Hawk in the finer points of higher learning, helping him avoid 
the embarassments of his past.  Little did they know that each had a 
secret, ones that would change both their lives forever.

MEANWHILE, TEN MILES NORTH AND SEVERAL FLOORS UP...

   For his part, Duke was a bit torn.  From time immemorial, there have 
been three major methods for storming a fortress: Force, Stealth, and 
Guile.  Or, for those readers in the cheap seats, breaking through the 
front door, sneaking in the back door, or paying someone to leave a 
window unlocked.  
   Unfortunately, the problem was this.  Duke's heritage lended itself 
best to method 1, but the implanted memories he'd recieved suggested 
method 2 was the best bet.  Three was right out.
   So, high above the city, ensconced behind a very lifelike gargoyle, 
he pondered the situation.  And pondered.  And pondered.  Finally, he 
fell back on the method mankind had used for millenia.
   He flipped a coin.  Stealth won.
   Once again, he scanned the building, this time looking for the best 
approach.  A myriad assaults, none of which he'd actually experienced, 
passed before his minds eye, dancing and combining until..
   There...on the ledge below the sheer black penthouse tower.  Someone, 
showing a remarkable lack of security sense, had left a fire door open a 
crack.  The merest glimmer of light marked the breach, but it was 
enough.
   Swiftly, but efficiently, he set up a tripod-mounted pneumatic 
launcher, and using it's onboard laser sight, fired it's payload across 
the gap between buildings.  The Authors were with him, the grapple 
lodged itself securely behind a Gothic-inspired cornice.
   Trusting the arachnoid cable to hold his weight, he launched himself 
into space, suspended by a thong connected to a metal sleeve.  Quietly, 
he slid down toward the desired rooftop.
   There, he scanned for traps not visible from his previous vantage 
point.   None were in evidence, but as he looked up at 5 floor penthouse 
tower, sheathed in obsidian, he couldn't help the nagging suspiciaon 
that it was all familiar...
   He shook his head.  No time for that now, he had work to do.  With 
the skill imparted by years of commando work. [someone's, if not his.], 
he crept across the shadow landing, and slipped through the door.  It 
was not his fault that he did not see the  electric eye, flashing at 
ankle height, which sent it's electronic warnings throughout the 
building.  Nor could he be blamed for missing the cunningly concealed 
cameras, which allowed a ceratin figure to note his identity, and 
rejoice.  As of yet uninformed of his danger, he stalked onward, seeking 
the information his clients requested.
   The revelation came quickly though, as a blue-suited guard charged 
from a side corridor, in a posture which indicated a background in high 
school football.  The roll of flesh around his waist was a clear sign 
that it had been wuite some time ago.
   Not that Duke had noticed.  Operating on sheer reflex, he had hooked 
the hapless guard with his right arm, twisted, and catapulted him into a 
stand of plotted plants.
   "Nice try." he remarked, moving swifter now.
   As he turned a corner, the sight of a group of guards toting riot 
gear naturally caused him to skid to a stop.  It was rapidly becoming 
clear that the stealthy approach had failed, so it was time for Plan B.
   Bellowing a war cry, he drew his sword from it's scabbard on his 
back, and charged amongst his enemies.  This seemingly insane manuever 
was not the sign of a bererker rage, despite the number of security 
officers who immediately required a slight replacement of undergarments.
   Somewhere along the way, he'd picked up the dictum : "When 
outnumbered, attack.  This turns your enemies force upon itself."
It sounded like a plan.
   It was an effective one, as well, as he slashed  and chopped away at 
the tide of Kevlar[tm], skillfully locating gaps in the ballistic 
protection, and basically making things miserable for the late shift.
   Within a few short moments, those personnel which had not been 
rendered unconscious had fled, not wishing to endanger their 
lives/insurance premiums further.  Panting from the exertion, he leaned 
wearily on the hilt of his sword.  Only then did he notice a new sound.
The sound of applause.
   He looked up, and found himself facing an armored form, clearly 
female, wearing a familiar crimson cloak, and a metallic mask.  "Well 
done...Howie."
   "Only one person called me that...Anson? Major Anson?"
   "Major Viola Anson died when you stripped her of her command.  Now 
there is only LADY ISHTAR!  And I have decreed that you shall DIE!!!"
   Duke shrugged, and triggered the nanosystems in his bloodstream.
As the fatigue poisons were consumed, he hefted his blade, and grinned 
nastily.  "You know...I've been wanting to get another chance to finish 
what we started. I didn't really want to let you live."
   Pivoting on one foot, he sweeped his sword around in a wide curve, 
one that was terminated abruptly as Ishtar caught the blade.  Showing a 
surprising strength, she plucked the sword from his grasp and snapped it 
in two.
   Duke rallied to the occasion, "I see you've been working out.  I have 
to admit, you look better in that cloak then I did."
   "I'm sure you think so.  I've taken everything that you had that was 
worth anything.  Your cloak," she swirled it dramatically, "Your sword,"
she brandished the shards,"And..your blood!"
   "You took the Kurokaze treatment!  I thought there was some kind of 
risk."
   "It was worth the price...I gave up everything, just to get even with 
YOU!  Look on what your arrogance has cost me!"
   Reaching up, she removed her mask.  Duke stared at the misshapen mass 
revealed.  
   "The results were not quite what I expected," she croaked, before 
shielding her visage once more, "But there are consolations..."
   She lashed out with an armored boot, catching Duke in his ribs.
Warily, he rose to his feet, weighing his options.  
   "My employer has been looking for you," she sneered, "and after I 
told him *all* about you, he gave me a present for you."
   She tossed a crystal globe at his feet, enveloping him in a sparkling 
mist.  A tingling sensation swept through his body, leaving behind a 
sudden lassitude.  The familiar sensations of his bones knitting faded, 
with only pain to take it's place.
   "And now, *I*, Lady Ishtar, am the only bearer of the Blood of 
Kurokaze!  And you..are merely meat."
   Barely breaking a sweat, she put actions to those words, driving Duke 
back with a flurry of kicks.  He stumbled down the hall, cursing his 
weakness, as she strode behind, mocking him at every step.  
   "Ah, the brave little barbarian.  Where is your strength now?  Can 
you feel your life ebbing away?  Perhaps I should kill you quickly, and 
end your suffering"
   Duke found himself in an observation lounge, overlooking the city.
There were no other exits evident, and with cape a-billow, Ishtar 
blocked the way he came.  Using the last vestiges of his strength, he 
wrenched himself upright.  "I..shall..never..give..up."
   "I wouldn't dream of it.  I don't care if you hate me with your dying 
breath, which should be any moment now.  But you seem disturbed.  I 
know, I'll give you back your sword!"
   Ishtar swept her arms back, spreading the cape to its fullest extent, 
then snapped her arms forward, propelling the shatterd pieces of 
orichalc across the room, where they buried themselves in Duke's chest.
   The force of the impact drove him back into, and through, the wall of 
glass, leaving him wide open for gravity to take note.  And take note he 
did, falling 100 stories with the mocking laughter of Lady Ishtar 
echoing in his ears.  Only the abrupt collision with the pavement 
brought blessed silence.

000ELSEWHERE

   The old man opened his eyes suddenly, revealing two blazing golden 
orbs.  He snatched an ornate cane from where it lay at his feet, and 
proclaimed, "It is *TIME*!!!"


CONFUSED YET?  MORE ANSWERS, IN THE NEXT EPISODE OF MAYHEM, 
INCORPORATED.  ONLY ON...

SUPERGUY!!!