Independence opened his eyes and the dream slipped away. The hero sprawled in the dirt, facedown at the bottom of a shallow crater. For a moment he wasn’t sure where he was, how he’d come to be there.

Something had happened. Something had attacked. He remembered flying above the river, stretching his limbs in the morning sun. He’d rolled over in the air to glance at Manhattan. Then, like a housefly, he’d been swatted from the sky.

Raising his head, Independence saw his hands in the dirt. The long blue gloves had been burned and torn; blood stained his knuckles. He looked at it, astonished and a little afraid. He hadn’t bled since childhood; he’d forgotten the feeling, forgotten the sting. He’d forgotten what it was like to be vulnerable.

People often called Independence the most powerful man on Earth. But right then, he felt nearly powerless. Weak and dizzy, his bones throbbed, his body ached. Nothing had ever hit him like that. Nothing had ever hurt like this. A bittersweet thought crossed the hero’s mind; for the first time in his life, he felt like a man.

So he chose to stand like a man and rose to his feet on the shattered earth. Burns and tears covered his red-and-white costume. A rough slash crossed his chest—cutting right through the star-within-a-circle emblem. Charred tatters were all that remained his famous blue cape.

The morning sun glinted on his metallic golden eyes; he’d come down in the middle of Central Park. He looked south, across Sheep Meadow, toward the memorial at the southern end of the field. Aegis, the first hero—once known throughout the galaxy as the Golden Light—had died on that very spot.

And Independence understood what had happened, why he’d come down in that field. Only one being would have flung him there. Only one being could have.

Bloodlust had returned to Earth.

From above, a voice spoke without words, in response to the hero’s thoughts. It boomed in his mind and the minds of the millions below—and the billions, around the globe, who knew nothing of the events in New York City. The voice rolled over the world, roaring without language. A terrible power spoke; all humanity heard and trembled.

You have no power, and

you are not a man.

You, a hollow abomination;

you, an empty imitation;

You, I name Nothing;

for you, nothingness I bring.

Independence grimaced and touched the deep connection he shared with Bloodlust—it was impossible to ignore, the call of like to like. Aegis and his murderer had been of the same species, if creatures of living energy can be called a species.

Back in 1947, when Aegis appeared during the Roswell incident, he’d created a human body. He’d gathered atoms, written a code of DNA, formed eukaryotic cells and grew living flesh.

And Independence had been made from that genetic code, those cells, that flesh. He’d been created by the ancient Home and raised by the American government, the clone of Aegis. His nature and substance was identical to the Golden Light.

Bloodlust shared that nature; it was made of the same substance. They were kin, they were equals, and Independence knew it. He could fight back.

His eyes began to glow with an intense, golden light. He flared and brightened until he shined like the sun itself.

The memorial statue seemed to look over his shoulder, almost as if Aegis stood there, challenging Bloodlust—but the Golden Light had been dead for thirty-eight years. This was Independence’s day.

He rose into the air, spinning around to face Bloodlust. It hovered above the city, waiting.

It had taken the form of a crude upper body, only vaguely humanoid and perhaps eight feet tall, surrounded by a roiling sphere of plasma and radiation. The legless figure appeared pitch black and dense, like it was carved from coal. Its torso was a blunt wedge; the oversize arms had broad, inhuman hands and long, curved talons. The face resembled a hollow mask with jagged features and a fanged maw; the eyes contained only flame and scorn.

The people of New York watched from below. Their city been attacked before—by fanatical terrorists, alien invaders and Posthuman villains—and they would not cower. Though many stared at the sky, only a few cried out in fear. Others watched Independence rise over Central Park and cheered. Those who had lived through 1961 knew better. They looked on with respectful silence as the hero took flight.

The world had always wondered if Bloodlust would come for Independence, as it had come for Aegis. For his part, Independence had always known the answer. He spent his life waiting for this moment, secretly waiting for it, never admitting his fear.

But now the moment had arrived, and Independence realized that he did not fear the possibility of death. He would fight to stay alive, but he would not run. Better people than him had met worse fates. Death would make him more human than he’d ever been; it was nothing to fear.

Instead, Independence feared for Earth and her children. He feared for this world of precious life. But more than anything, he feared for the woman he loved, whom he could no longer protect.

Bloodlust responded to these thoughts, bellowing in the minds of the people of Earth. The creature did not believe in guile or subtlety; it wanted everyone to understand its intentions.

I will not crumble this world’s foundation,

nor end it all in flame.

But punishment for your creation

will be a pleasing game.

Until time’s passage brings extinction,

these apes will fear my name.

With that, Bloodlust lowered its face, and death followed its line of sight. Flashes of combustion flickered on the streets as hundreds of people died by pressure and heat. The victims lived long enough to feel their flesh disintegrate; their shrieking deaths echoed in the doomsday silence of Manhattan’s streets.

Independence immediately hurtled across the sky; Bloodlust shot forward and met him in the air. The force of the collision shattered windows across the city and threw the combatants apart. They immediately looped around and raced toward each other again. The hero struck with a powerful, two-handed ram, sending the monster over the horizon.

But Bloodlust rocketed back and launched Independence to the edge of space with a blast of raw force. The hero returned within seconds and rammed the monster at hypersonic speed. The burning plasma engulfed Independence, as he pierced Bloodlust’s raging aura. They arced, dipped and whirled high, locked together like a contact binary star—bound by physics, hostility and fate.

At the heart of the inferno, Independence grappled with Bloodlust. He held the fiend’s left arm in his right hand; its right claw wrapped around the hero’s left forearm. They wheeled through the air, neither one able to overcome the other.

Independence felt a surge of hope; their powers were evenly matched. Spiraling around their common center, they soared into the sky.

Then Bloodlust leaned in, locked eyes with the hero and roared. An afterburner blast of plasma rolled over Independence’s face. He winced as the energy flowed over his eyes.

That brief flinch was all Bloodlust needed.

Independence’s left arm snapped with a rifle’s crack. The ulna and radius burst through flesh midway down his forearm.

Independence screamed as Bloodlust twisted the hideously fractured arm. It pulled with monstrous strength, wrenching and tugging until the forearm ripped free. Blood spewed into the superheated air, igniting like a flamethrower’s stream until the wound cauterized.

Bloodlust dropped the blackened remains of Independence’s hand and reached for the hero’s throat. Two searing fingers wrapped around Independence’s neck and darkness crawled across his field of vision.

They fell together, tracing a line of fire between the skyscrapers. They crashed again in Central Park; the skyline swayed as if the blow staggered the city.

The meteoric descent uprooted half of the park’s trees—limbs, brush and leaves were consumed by the unnatural heat—and left a hundred-foot crater at the end of Sheep Meadow. Radioactive flame tainted the earth and sent deadly ash on the wind; a small mushroom cloud blossomed over Manhattan.

Independence couldn’t see any of that. He didn’t see the blackened crater, or the ruins of the Aegis memorial. He did not see Bloodlust. His unfocused eyes aimed up, toward thick smoke and patches of brilliant sky, but his mind perceived other things.

He saw soft light over a green field; he saw a gentle day in a place of peace. He saw his friends—so many friends. And in the middle of the field stood his beloved; she carried the future in her arms.

His spine had been shattered, his skull split open, and he had a dozen other mortal wounds. Nearly every bone in his body had been splintered by the impact; nearly every organ was smashed, ruptured and failing. He lay in a twisted tangle of limbs, blood and dirt, and the shimmering aura began to flicker and dim.

His mind retreated from reality; he no longer felt pain, fear, or much of anything, really. He did not notice as Bloodlust doubled in size and picked up the broken statue of Aegis. He did not see the fiend raise the sculpture overhead, a club in its monstrous fist.

Independence held her in his arms. He felt the warmth of her skin against his lips. He realized that he was dying but wasn’t troubled by the thought. He felt only slightly regretful. At least he got to see her one last time, even if only in a dream. He looked at the future and made one last wish.

The statue came down. Then it came down again. And again.

__________________________________________

Tom’s eyes snapped open in the early morning darkness. He wasn’t sure whether he’d screamed or not, but it felt like he had. Throwing back the sheets, he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. The clock said six-twenty; almost time to get out of bed anyway.

“What the fuck,” muttered the boy. He was sixteen and had never experienced a dream like that. So real, so terrifying. He closed his eyes and tried to push it away. But he still saw Bloodlust, surrounded by flame, holding the statue high.

“Tom? Are you okay?” came his mother’s voice. Her knuckles rapped on his bedroom door before it opened. Light rushed in from the hall.

“Yeah, I guess I kind of had a nightmare.”

“Really? You haven’t had one of those in a while.” Her voice was soft and comforting. Tom thought she’d always been the best mom on Earth; he was lucky to have her and knew it. Lots of kids have pretty shitty parents. Tom only had his mother but couldn’t ask for more. She walked closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “What was it about?”

Tom shook his head. He didn’t want to tell her, but she was too persistent for that. So he just shrugged and tried to sound casual. “Independence and Bloodlust. Weird, huh?”

“Independence … and Bloodlust?” She shuddered.

Tom cringed. He felt like a heel. His father, Adam Washington, had been killed the same day as Independence, along with over two million people worldwide. Bloodlust had lived up to its word, punishing humanity for cloning Aegis. Adam had simply been another victim of the attack.

But that had been half-a-year before Tom’s birth; the boy had grown up without a father, in a world with no heroes.

“Did he look at you?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

Tom turned toward his mother. “Independence?”

“Bloodlust. Did he notice you? Did he say anything to you?”

“No. It was like watching a movie. I wasn’t really there. Why?”

She shook her head and gave a dismissive wave. “Just trying to figure out why you’d dream about them. Go take a shower, and I’ll cook breakfast.”

“Okay. Thanks Mom.”

“I love you, Tom.”

“I love you, too.”

She left his room and went down stairs. Tom looked out the window; their home was on the edge of Westburg, Virginia, surrounded by dense forest that stretched all the way to Kentucky. The mountains were black under the predawn sky, but it wasn’t too early to wake up. Tom had a nice long school day to look forward to, followed by another two years minimum of life in hillbilly country. Despite growing up in rural Appalachia, Tom wanted to live in a city. He wanted to see the world. He’d like to go to New York, maybe visit the new memorial for Aegis and Independence. His mother had never taken him to New York and claimed to prefer country life.

She retired after Adam’s death to raise their son in a small town, probably because she’d grown up in Chicago. Her name was Megan Fuson, and she’d been some kind of scientist before Tom’s birth. He googled her once but didn’t learn very much, and she always avoided answering questions. Laboratory work, she’d always say, nothing very exciting. She didn’t talk about the past too much. Considering what happened to his father, Tom didn’t blame her.

Dreaming about Bloodlust had been bad enough.

Nikki and her big brother David walked underground, into the Dust Bin, the only bar they had ever visited. They were both under twenty-one, but the owner was like family, and they’d been more times than either one could remember. And the bar wasn’t exactly a legally authorized establishment.

It had been carved into solid rock decades ago, a small part of the Paragon Patrol’s secret headquarters. The legendary California Girl had claimed ownership, sealed off the rest of the subterranean complex, and turned a few rooms into the Bin. It was the Posthuman watering hole, a haven for hero and villain alike.

It was a shrine to the old age of heroes, the Seventies through the Nineties, and every wall was covered in memorabilia. Photographs hung everywhere, along with newspaper clippings and souvenirs. Weapons, gizmos and costume pieces decorated the room. Mister Moment’s onyx staff had been given a prominent place. A probot from the Carnivore Invasion hovered in a corner.

Posthumans didn’t really have that many places to hang out, and the Dust Bin was always open. It had to be. Uncle Sam had been after the Posties for over fourteen years, since Daytona Beach’s destruction and the assassination of the President by a superhuman madman in 2002. That was back at the beginning of the War on Terror, less than a year after 9/11 and two years after the death of Independence. The American people just couldn’t handle any more tragedies.

A new intragovernmental agency—similar to the then-newborn Department of Homeland Security—was formed. Instead of hunting terrorists or other enemies of the state, the Department of Public Safety was charged with handling the Posthuman problem.

All public displays of superhuman abilities were declared illegal throughout the United States. Posties were hazardous to the public. They were required by law to submit to indefinite confinement, while Doctor Angus and the scientists of the American Biological Research Agency sought a method of counteracting the Aegis virus. Even Postie employees of the government, like Milk, were not exempt. Anyone found hiding a Postie was guilty of aiding and abetting a fugitive.

Of course, that’s exactly why the Dust Bin existed. It had been made to aid and abet. California Girl, Milk and the rest of the bigwigs used the bar as home base for the underground railroad. Runaways and refugees could show up at any time. It was as a place to relax in a hostile world. Nearly every Postie was welcome, though only a few knew the way.

Most people could only get to the bar by calling Rodrigo Mendez, the legendary outlaw hero from Mexico City known as Portero. He’d open a door for anyone who asked; California Girl paid him very well for the service.

But Nikki and David didn’t need one of Portero’s doors. They’d always known how to get to the Dust Bin.

The well-polished bar stood on the right side of the room; a row of booths lined the left wall. Tables filled most of the space, except for the dance floor in back. But there were only thirteen people in sight. The room was practically empty.

Six guys were playing poker in the middle of the room, and five shady figures huddled at one of the rearmost tables. The other two people were employees.

One of them sat alone in the closest booth. He was a rather short man with Asian features, a clean-shaven head and no eyes. His name was Quietus; he was telepathic and didn’t need eyes. He was the Bin’s head bouncer and usually kept peace among the superhuman clientele without resorting to combat, but everyone said he could outfight anybody. And Quietus said never said a thing. He’d never been known to speak at all.

The last person in the Dust Bin sat in a chair behind the bar, napping. His name was Curt Talmadge. Back in the day, people called him Lockdown. He used to be a hero. He even helped form the East Coast Alliance, the largest hero team in the world, but that was long ago. Curt had recently turned sixty-two and looked it. He practically lived at the Bin, sometimes worked behind the bar. Nobody cared if he fell asleep on the job.

“God, this place is dead,” muttered Nikki. She was sixteen years old and right around five feet tall, with warm brown skin, dark eyes and an athletic but curvy figure. She drew the gaze of most of the males in the room, all of whom were way too old.

“What’d you expect, Nik? It’s Monday morning.” David walked behind her, trying to size up the patrons without being obvious. He was only nineteen but considered himself a trained professional, ready for anything. He traded nods with Quietus, knowing the bald man could see just fine in his own way.

“Well, I was hoping Aunt Jacqui would be here or at least someone worth talking to.”

“I’m worth talking to, sugar,” said a tall, skinny white guy, one of the poker players. He had a smarmy mustache and a gap-toothed leer that made David’s skin crawl.

Nikki, of course, wasn’t fazed by the creep. She may have been young, but she was more than used to unwanted attention from dubious men. “I doubt it. I’m way out of your league.”

“Nobody’s out of my league, sweetheart. I’m Will Russell, the Stealer. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.” He leaned back in the chair and puffed out his narrow chest.

Most Posties claim a new name after popping, even fifteen years after the Public Safety Act. There were no more heroes or villains, but comic-book names were ingrained parts of Postie culture. Evidently Will Russell liked to steal. Nikki was not impressed.

“Sorry,” she said. “I don’t keep track of lowlifes.”

The bar erupted in snickers. David shook his head and walked around the bar, trying to not disturb old Curt’s sleep. He grabbed a can of Coke for Nikki and a bottle of water for himself. David rolled his eyes when Will cashed out of the game and walk toward his sister.

“Lowlife? C’mon, doll baby, give me a chance and I’ll show you the high life.”

“I bet that’s not the first time you’ve had to use that line, is it?” Nikki raised an eyebrow, took the can from David and began to walk, with Will, toward the back of the room. Her brother followed, but not too closely.

“I never use lines, baby. I only speak from the heart.”

David sighed and started to say something, but a glance from Nikki silenced him. He looked at Quietus who sat, totally relaxed, with a slight smirk on his ambiguous face. David thought a question to the bouncer. Does he know who we are?

Quietus shook his head, and his smile broadened.

“I doubt your heart has much to do with this conversation.” Nikki slid into the rearmost booth. Will sat down across from her. David kept his distance, pretending to examine the bric-a-brac on the walls.

“Just give me a chance, will ya? It’s not every day that an angel walks into a bar.”

“An angel, huh?” Nikki pursed her lips. “You sure I’m not one of the fallen variety?”

“Oh, no. You don’t seem very fallen to me. And if you are, well, let me put you back on top of the pedestal where you belong, baby.”

“That one wasn’t too bad, Stealer, but still a little over the top. Does this kind of stuff ever actually work?” Nikki looked past Will and caught her brother’s eye.

David made a face; he couldn’t believe she was giving that creep so much of her time. She subtly shrugged; she was just trying to amuse herself. She must be even more bored than he realized. The perils of being home schooled.

The mustachioed man winked. “I don’t know, baby. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Nikki laughed, “I doubt that. I don’t go home with strangers. Besides, I think I’m a little too young for you.”

“Shh,” Will waved a hand. “Age ain’t nothing but a number, baby. And we’re all outlaws here. What have I got to worry about? Unless your big brother—he is your brother, right? You two look a lot alike.” Nikki nodded. “Well unless he has an objection, we’ve got nothing to worry about. But I think you’re big enough to take care of yourself.”

“I certainly am. What about you? How good are you at taking care of yourself, big boy?”

Will’s gap-toothed grin spread wider. “Just fine, baby. I can take care of you even better.”

“Oh, really? And what is it you do, Mister Stealer?”

“Lots and lots of things. See?” He raised a pencil-thin arm and a bottle of Jack floated from the bar, crossing the room smoothly and landing in his open hand. The lid unscrewed itself and plopped onto the table. He took a swig and offered the bottle to her.

“No thanks. Too early to drink,” she replied, not bothering to mention that the entire bottle wouldn’t even give her a buzz. “Telekinesis, huh? That must be pretty nifty. So what are you, a burglar?”

He laughed a bit, “I prefer to think of myself as a connoisseur of the finer things in life. Fast cars, big houses, fine dining. They call me the Stealer cause I can get anything I want. I’m really surprised you never heard of me.”

“Well, I guess you could say I’ve been kind of sheltered. So tell me, what do you want right now?”

“Right now? I’d like to get out of this dump and head some place where we can get to know each other better. My door’s set to open in Maui. Tell me, baby, you ever been to Hawaii?”

“No, I haven’t. I live on a farm, actually.”

“Really? You don’t strike me as a farmer’s daughter. You’re just made for a tropical paradise. We can take a long walk on the beach, maybe dip in the water for a while. Where’s your door go? Back to the farm?”

Nikki shook her head. “No. We didn’t need Portero’s help getting here. But I guess you were too busy playing cards to notice that the door didn’t flash for us.”

Will’s eyes narrowed. “Really? I didn’t think anybody knows how to get here.”

Nikki gave him her most coy pout. “Not too many people do. You could say I’m special.”

“You certainly are, baby. I’d love to get a chance to find out.”

“You just might,” she said, draining her Coke and crushing the can. She began to slide from her seat. “Well, it’s been fun, but this place is dead. I think it’s time to leave.”

She took two steps and felt an invisible force squeezing her body, stopping her dead in her tracks. The Stealer held her in a telekinetic grip. She pressed out, but not too hard. There was a little give. The pressure was firm, but didn’t feel terribly strong. She wasn’t worried. She was pissed.

This skinny, pale-ass dipshit thought he could manhandle her?

“C’mon, baby. You can’t just walk away like that,” said Will, rising from the booth. He noticed David looking at him and extended an arm, locking Nikki’s brother in place, too. Then he flicked a wrist, and Nikki spun around. She glared at him, seething.

Quietus watched, but did not move. The poker players all looked at him, expecting the bouncer to intervene. The eyeless man just shook his head.

That should have clued Will into the fact that something was very wrong, but he was apparently not a very deep thinker. “Now don’t none of you interfere, this is between me and the girl.”

“Your funeral,” David whispered, not caring if the thin man could hear.

“Girl?” hissed Nikki. “Girl!” Her eyes narrowed and her skin flushed even darker. Her full, pouting lips twisted into a snarl of wrath. “You worthless piece of shit!”

Then she flexed, her arms pressing against Will’s telekinesis. He raised his hands to focus the power, but she planted her feet on the stone floor. The muscles of her thighs and back rippled. She didn’t know the strength of his ability, but she knew one thing: it wasn’t strong enough.

She sneered and pushed hard against his grip and shattered the telekinetic force with her titanic might.

Will stumbled backward and Nikki leaped forward. She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him off his feet, and hopped to the tabletop. She held him, helpless in the iron grasp of her small, powerful hand. She raised him high as she could, until his feet dangled and the color drained from his weaselly face.

“You must think you’re something special, don’t you, Stealer? You’re so fucking full of yourself that you didn’t even bother to ask my name. Is that how you treat a lady? No wonder you have to hit on goddamn teenagers! Well ask me now.”

He opened his mouth but the only noise was a gasping sputter.

“Ask me!” she roared. Old Curt jerked awake and knocked over a bottle of Chartreuse. Everyone in the bar stared in silence; the only sounds were terrified panting from Will, angry breathing from Nikki and a soft laugh from David. “Ask me now!”

With his eyes tightly clenched, Will muttered, “What. Huh. Whuhsa … Whuhsa name?”

“My name is Nikki Young. Nicole. Marie. Young.” She pulled him closer and growled. “I know you’ve heard about the Young family.”

Will’s eyes shot open. He knew about the Youngs. Every Postie knew about the Youngs; Charles and Gloria Young, Milk and Shockwave. Milk was the first Posthuman, a soldier turned superhuman, the second hero—after Aegis, before Independence—and the strongest man alive. And Milk had married Shockwave, another one of the A-list. They helped run the railroad that kept Posties out of ABRA City. They lived on the lam and supposedly had two or three kids.

Oh, shit, thought Will, realizing how much he’d screwed up.

Nikki dropped him to the floor and kicked him—hard enough to knock him back a few feet but not hard enough to really hurt. David covered his mouth and stifled a chuckle. Quietus finally rose from his seat but waited for Nikki to step away. He bent down and placed a calming hand on Will’s shoulder.

Nikki walked over to her brother, still steaming with fury. “Come on, Davy. Let’s get out of here.”

“Sure thing, Nik. Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. How about Maui? I’ve always wanted to visit Hawaii.”

David laughed, “Right on, sis. Been a while since I ran across the Pacific. You’ll love it.”

They walked through the door—which did not flash, as it would have for almost anyone else—and made their way to the surface. The bar was silent for a long time, as Quietus tried to comfort the quivering Stealer.

Eventually things returned to normal. Curtis poured a round for everybody, and the poker game continued without missing more than a few beats.