Shades of Red
Alexander Burns

Kelly Sienna struck the southernmost tower of the Kobayashi Peak Nuclear Generating Station at an angle, shearing off a big chunk of concrete. The boom deafened her, and her left arm felt like it had been torn off. Then she slammed into the north tower, plunging through layers of stone and pipe. There was a moment of clear sky again before she crashed to the ground. She had enough momentum to dig a ten-foot trench in the concrete before finally grinding to painful halt.

"Son of a bitch," Kelly groaned. Overhead, the sky turned a sickly crimson color, thick and sticky, as though someone were pouring blood across the Earth. She felt as much as saw a shadow pass over her, and a rumbling section of the north reactor tower loomed into view.

"Oh, come on!" she yelled. The devastated tower fell.

* * *

A few days earlier…

Kelly always felt bad for the lookouts. They were always the first to go down. Like this fella here, whom she recognized vaguely from when she'd caught him years ago. Dark. . . something. They were always a Dark something. She crept up right beside him, because he was watching his gang instead of watching out for police or, well, her.

She and the Dark Whosit stood at the edge of a roof, three stories up. Across the street a half-dozen guys milled about in front of a boarded up warehouse. They had a van running. Kelly wondered who they were waiting for.

She peered at her clueless opponent. He had a dark, bulky jumpsuit, overly large mitts, and a welding mask, which probably explained why he couldn't see or hear her. He was a pyrokinetic, but apparently not one immune to his own fire, hence all the protective gear. Kelly was dressed in her usual hooded red tunic with white trim. A sculpted mask covered the top half of her face, wrapping around until it met with tightly bound waves of brown hair. At her hips hung a miniature crossbow and bolas. She absently tapped her bracers, thinking.

"Welder!" she said suddenly, and the man jumped and spun toward her. "Dark Welder, that's what they called you!"

He shouted at her, but the mask muffled his cries. His mitts erupted in flame.

Kelly dropped into a sprinter's crouch and leapt forward. Flames passed harmlessly over her head, and she slammed a shoulder into his chest. The poor guy dropped like a rock, his flames sputtering to a halt as he gasped for breath. She planted a boot on his chest and flipped up the mask. He tried catching his breath long enough to give a shout, but she didn't give him a chance. A quick jab to the jaw and the Dark Welder was out.

Kelly swiftly stepped up onto the roof's guard rail and slipped a thumb around her bolas, ready to leap down at the gang. She sighed. All six men slumped in the street, unconscious and contorted in various uncomfortable positions. One twitched atop the van's roof.

"How ya doin', Red?" The voice was strong and cocky. She imagined him floating down behind her, arms crossed, cape fluttering in the wind. The big star on his chest probably still glowing from his brief fight. His hair was no doubt sexily tussled.

She rotated in place, tapping a boot against the concrete. Starburst floated serenely down to hover a few inches above the roof. His arms were crossed, but she could see the star glowing faintly behind his impressive biceps. The blue cape fluttered in the wind. His hair was sexily tussled.

"Guess I'm a little late," she said, rolling her eyes.

"That's women for you. Didn't screw up your bust, did I?" he asked. He grinned and winked, the wink that had every teen-aged girl across the country squealing. Starburst was new to the supers scene, but had ingratiated himself with everyone, including vets like Kelly, in short order, and become a huge celebrity.

"My bust is just fine, thank you very much," she said, returning the wink as she dropped her hands to her hips and arched her back. Her costume wasn't revealing in the least, and she was more lean than curvy, but she still cut a great figure.

"I'm sure we both have better things to do tonight," he murmured, floating close. Their noses nearly brushed. As usual, that was as far as they got.

Kelly abruptly cracked up. "Are you wearing cologne?" She laughed at his shocked expression. "What, you have a hot date at 3 a.m.?"

"What, no, I -" he jerked back, but she grabbed his hand.

"Oh my God," she cried, her eyes going wide. She squeezed his fingers and felt the band. "You got married!"

"Quiet!" he whispered. "My agent -"

"Well, well, well," she said. She let go and he floated backward, rubbing his hand. "Some groupie snagged Starburst."

"It's not like that," Starburst muttered.

"You're like twelve."

"I'm twenty-two."

Scarlet strode to the Welder's comatose form. She needed to take her mind off the better things she could be doing, especially the ones that involved Starburst's six-pack. She had never seriously considered any sort of relationship with Starburst; she was almost fifteen years his senior. But the flirting and mutual lusting had always been fun. Grasping the criminal's jumpsuit collar, she tossed him up to Starburst. He held the villain at arm's length, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"He smells like… " he sniffed, "… sulfur. I hate that."

"You wanna stick around?" she jerked a thumb at the warehouse across the street. "I hear there's a mob hideout in there." She barely suppressed more laughter. "You can fill me in on your in-laws' wacky antics."

Starburst scowled and shook his head. "I think I hear a shoot-out uptown. Have fun. Maybe I'll catch up." He saluted, then swooped down to deposit the Dark Welder among his unconscious comrades. The star flashed, and he was gone.

* * *

Simon Temple felt that he was a scary, intimidating person. He was a tall, stocky guy, with a bald head and a fierce frown. He dressed in a matte black that sucked all the light out of the immediate area. His head was fully exposed but for a streak of black face paint across his eyes and nose. On his gloves and boots danced sets of glowing hunter green runes, and when he was mad a dark, inky vapor seeped from them, curling around his victims or enshrouding the floor. The boots and gloves were ancient, far older than most of human civilization, and sometimes seemed to have a life of their own. Sometimes Simon had dreams of evil, unspeakable creatures, and got the impression that they were, if he so required, at his beck and call, ready to usher in an era of unspeakable horrors. He did his best to ignore them.

Plus, he was black, and that alone scared a lot of people.

The press called him Tenebrous. Polls suggested people he hadn't even met were scared of the dark vigilante. This brought him a great deal of satisfaction. Simon found that most criminals were motivated by fear, beyond anything else. Greed, ambition, lust, hate, all of these were secondary to a fear; fear of poverty, or failure, or loss, or the unknown. Fear just needed a little push to drive someone to crime. Simon liked to use fear to push back.

At the moment, Simon was satisfied with scaring the writhing white man clutched in his left fist. Man was hardly the word - kid was more accurate. He was perhaps seventeen, and his friends, all around the same age, lay scattered around the dock; the lucky ones were unconscious. The boy's eyes were locked in unmitigated terror on the tendrils of black smoke emanating from Simon's hand as they eased their way around his throat.

"I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-" the boy stammered.

"Where are the crates from?" Tenebrous asked. He'd practiced this tone and was quite proud of it. Deep, menacing, and completely different from the soft-spoken guy who helped his elderly neighbor up the church steps every Sunday. The kid passed out. Perhaps the voice was too effective, Simon thought, tossing aside the young henchman.

The crates were marked only to note that their contents were fragile. A pick-up truck nearby was half-full of them, and a small dock at the end of the pier held several more. He had almost missed the transfer; a few more minutes and these thugs would have been away. Gripping one side of a fallen crate, the runes on his gloves flared and he tore a panel free. Sheets of bubble wrap rolled free, and a strange mask tumbled to the dock. He reached for it, but the runes pulsed strangely, and he pulled back. Simon's jaw went slack as a set of small sigils appeared, glowing faintly green against back stone.

"Interesting," Simon said. He turned and walked back toward the nearest crumpled delivery boy, cracking his knuckles.

* * *

There were seventeen museums in the metropolitan area, plus the children's museums, historical houses, and zoo, and Simon had visited them all. He'd volunteered at many during his undergrad years, and was on a first name basis with most of the directors and curators. The echoing halls of the downtown Artist's Museum or the padded listening pods at the Gallery Musik were a far cry from the crime-riddled bay area or dark midtown alleys, but he enjoyed them far more, even if people weren't afraid of him. Well, maybe he only enjoyed them a little more.

This morning his visit was uptown, at the Anderson Museum of Historical Arts. The city's largest museum, the Anderson was world famous for its collections of artifacts from obscure or long dead civilizations. The building itself had been designed by the famous architect Akane Inoue, shortly before she'd gone mad. Simon had always felt uncomfortable there. The brick was a few shades darker than the upper class homes and apartment buildings that dominated the area, and it had a strange, fluid shape, like someone had spilled a drop of ink and then built the museum around the blot. It was only one story, surrounded by a beautiful park with small fountains tastefully placed around the perimeter. But the building itself just rubbed Simon the wrong way. Hence, it was one of the museums he hadn't worked at or grown particularly close to the staff. Word on the street (which in this case was the short boulevard that ran between the university Sociology and History Buildings) was they'd recently hired a new curator, a Dr. Martin. Martin was an expert on tribal artifacts.

Simon slipped past the crowded entrance, avoiding the ticket line with a nod to the beleaguered volunteers at the front booth; both were undergrad students who'd taken his classes. As he passed under the arches that loomed over the entrance, he shuddered. He paused a moment, glancing around, but saw no dangers. He shook off his misgivings about the museum's design and pushed ahead.

Dr. Tess Martin intercepted Simon as he squeezed past a noisy gaggle of fifth-graders shuffling their way toward the Babylon wing. She dressed more sharply than most of the museum curators he knew, rumpled old men whose fashion sense was as old as their collection. Tess was in her early 30s, had short red hair, and dark-rimmed glasses. Simon was a good head taller than her, but she met his gaze confidently with bright green eyes.

"Professor Temple?" she said, with a hand shake. "It's a pleasure. I've heard a lot about you from some of your students."

"Ah, yes," he grinned. "Malcontents, all of them. You should fire them immediately."

"I hear good things, actually."

"In that case, give them all raises." Tess smiled and led him toward a set of offices away from the bustling crowds.

"I would, but I'm afraid we don't pay them," she said. She gestured at a poster nearby, advertising an upcoming exhibit on South American occult. "As you can see, souls are our primary tender around here."

Simon stopped and stared at the poster, an involuntary shiver running down his spine. Tess paused and arched an eyebrow his direction, looking vaguely bemused.

"That was a joke, Professor," she said. "A little museum humor."

"Of course, Doctor," he answered, tearing his gaze from the poster. He forced a smile. "At the university, we trade in human misery. I believe we have a favorable exchange rate."

Tess' office was as cluttered as most curators'. Overloaded bookshelves, a desk covered in paperwork, and boxes piled in the corners and along the walls. Various artifacts hung on the walls, interspersed with several of the curator's diplomas. As she cleared off an extra chair, Simon inspected a spear mounted on the wall opposite her desk.

"Interesting piece," he said, frowning. The pole arm was all black, apparently made entirely of obsidian, and tapered to a point that looked as sharp today as when it had been carved.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Martin said. "The smith must have been a master. The shaft is totally smooth, the stone flawless." She studied Simon a moment, then squeezed in behind her desk. "Not very practical, though," she continued. "Our team found three others like it, but they all shattered before they made it out of Nicaragua. They wouldn't have lasted long in combat."

Simon spotted some etchings carved into the shaft near the tip. They were faint, but - to him, at least - unmistakable. They were runes, the same runes stitched into his gloves and emblazoned on his boots, that glowed when danger was near, and flashed when he used the power they offered. They also matched the runes on the mask he had seen at the dock - the same mask prominently featured on the poster in the hall.

"Maybe they weren't intended for combat," he said quietly. As he stared at the runes, they began to pulse green, very faintly. He quickly stepped back and turned away.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. I expect they were purely ceremonial. Or perhaps used for sacrifices." Martin gestured to the now empty guest chair. Simon stepped over, but only laid his hands on the back of the chair.

"Not Olmec, is it?" Simon said. "I've done a little research in that area… "

"Oh no, much, much older than that," she said. "Paleo-Indian, probably. An ancient cult that worshipped something called the Shado-rem. It's all very Lovecraft. But I'm sure you have more important things to talk about."

"Actually," he said, casting a glance back at the spear. The glow had faded. "I was hoping to use your exhibit as part of my lesson plan next semester, and possibly for some of my own studies."

Tess grimaced and held up a hand. "I better stop you there. See… " she hesitated. "It's going to sound ridiculous."

"Why don't you try me?"

She sighed. "The Shado-rem collection was on its way here from Chicago and, well, it was hijacked, just a few days ago." She looked down, clearly embarrassed. "The police haven't been any use." She leaned forward. "I'm kind of hoping a cape will pick up the case."

Simon rubbed his chin, unsuccessfully hiding his amusement. "You expect, who, like the Scarlet Ranger… "

"Sure," she said, her chin rising in indignation. "Or Starburst, or the Chicago Defender. They always seem to get these things done."

"So while they're pulling some kitten out of a tree they're going to just trip over your artifacts?" As far as he knew, the police were in custody of the artifacts and the people who'd stolen them, and would be calling the museum shortly. Still, he enjoyed toying with people who had such unshakeable faith in the superheroes.

Martin shrugged. "Why not? That's how many great things are discovered, are they not?" Her eyes met his, and Simon found himself suppressing an involuntary shiver. "Every find has a little dose of luck to it, Professor Temple."

* * *

Kelly wasn't accustomed to waking up with strange men in her room. So when she awoke to find a strange blue man sitting on the old footlocker in the corner, reading her childhood diary, her reaction could perhaps be understood.

Kelly could, when so inspired, move faster than almost any other human being on the planet, her super-powered muscles easily providing enough force to run upwards of 50 miles per hour or propel her to the top of three-story buildings. She launched herself across the room at phenomenal speed, collapsing the bed, intending to capture this strange person in her comforter, then pummel him senseless once therein. In the split second it took her to do this, however, he'd already moved. She crashed gracelessly against the wall, nearly crashing through and leaving a Kelly-shaped imprint that would surely cost her the security deposit.

She immediately spun about to look for the intruder. She stood on the footlocker, in nothing more than cotton underwear and an oversized t-shirt.

The blue man now stood on the opposite side of her bed. He dressed as though he had just stepped out of a Bogart movie, with a dark suit, hat, and grey trench coat.

"I am not here to fight," he said, his voice smooth and calm. "Please, restrain yourself, Ms. Sienna."

Kelly eased her stance, but kept a grip on the blanket and watched him warily through the cloud of dust rising up from the remnants of her bed.

"My name is Asta," he continued. "I have information about some of your recent cases that may be of interest."

Kelly arched an eyebrow. "The only case I have right now is the blue guy standing in my bedroom. Let's start with that. First off, you're blue. And you're standing in my bedroom."

He nodded. "I thought this would be the easiest way to approach you. I apologize if I alarmed you." She snorted, but he continued. "I am a private detective, and I have been hired by the Field Museum of Chicago to recover several valuable items."

"Still stuck on the blue thing."

"My pigmentation is artificial," he said. "I am an android."

They were quiet a moment. Kelly chewed on her lower lip.

"So," she said. "You know who I am." Kelly had kept her identity a secret for her entire career, for the specific purpose of not waking up with strange men in her room.

"A simple matter of observation," he said. "I know you live off a sizeable inheritance. Three days a week you volunteer at a shelter three blocks from here. That must afford you a number of contacts among the indigent."

"Yeah, I know all about how much they hate the creamed corn."

"I've observed that you rarely have visitors, and your phone goes largely unused," he said. "Aside from your public appearances as the Scarlet Ranger and an intermittent relationship with the Chicago Defender, you live a solitary existence."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'd suggest moving on to other topics of conversation. And if this doesn't involve the end of the world, I'll be tossing you out by your gears."

"Tuesday morning," he said, and his eyes lost focus, "you encountered convict Lou Houk, a pyrokinetic, and six other men at 950 5th Street. You and the hero known as Starburst turned them over to authorities."

"Great job reading the paper," she muttered.

"At approximately the same time, the vigilante known as Tenebrous broke up a stolen goods transfer at the docks. Among the men he captured there, one was a known associate of Mr. Houk."

Kelly furrowed her brow. "What were they bringing in?"

"A shipment of museum artifacts en route from Chicago. Organized criminal elements here stole the shipment. "

"The Welder isn't involved with the mob," Kelly said. "He must have been waiting for some goods to show up so he could do some stealing of his own. He probably thought they were bringing in something big. Coke or guns or something. Pretty ballsy of him, though, gotta give him that. I almost regret taking him down so early. Could have been fun to see the look on his face when he opened up a crate just to find an old cup or something."

Asta blinked and focused on her again. "An hour ago, Mr. Houk and his companions were released on bail, by a representative of the International Archaeology Group."

Kelly sighed and hopped down from her footlocker. It wasn't unusual for civilians or businesses to hire powered mercenaries, but that had never been the Welder's style. He'd always just been a petty thief with too much power on his hands. She'd never even heard of the International Archaeology Group, but she'd lay odds they were the ones to investigate.

"I guess you want me to help check this out, huh? You know, I don't really do the sidekick thing. It was actually a New Year's resolution."

"Ms. Sienna, the items in question are extremely old, with origins shrouded in the occult. In the wrong hands they could be extremely dangerous."

"Not just an old cup, then?"

"No." He cocked his head. "Well, perhaps. They could be harmless. But if not -"

"Where are they now?"

"Unknown. The artifacts were released yesterday afternoon, but I cannot confirm to whom."

She looked wistfully at her mattress. "All right. But you owe me a bed."

"I have already ordered one via satellite uplink, Ms. Sienna."

* * *

Now when he looked at the Anderson, Simon felt sick. At night it took on a sinister appearance, amplified by what he now knew of the place. He'd spent all day looking into the Shado-rem cult, and when he'd turned come across a picture of their ruined temple, his blood had run cold. The Anderson, viewed from above, took on the exact same shape as that ancient place. Simon felt like a fool. He hadn't researched the origins of his gloves and boots as thoroughly as he should have; the archaeologist who'd dug them up, decades ago, had been long dead, and there was virtually no information on his projects. Simon had found some vague references to South American death cults, but nothing substantial. And now one of those long-dead cults was in his city. He thought of his dreams, which had been more frequent of late, and wondered if it had been laziness keeping him from looking into his own powers, or fear.

Getting into the museum was a simple matter. He sank into shadow and slipped through the dark spaces between the doors. Simon glided silently down the halls, heading straight for Dr. Martin's office. If anyone knew what was going on, it would likely be her. His police contact had informed him that the stolen artifacts had vanished from evidence lock-up, and that made him nervous. If he could get any of them back, he might be able to avert whatever plan the cult might have for them.

Simon emerged from the shadows outside the office. A faint light glowed under the curator's door. She must have been working late.

"I assume you're here to look at the Picassos," someone said bemusedly. "But they're much easier to see with the lights on."

The big star on Starburst's chest lit up, illuminating the hallway and chasing away the protective shadow. Starburst looked like he was posing for the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly, hands on his hips and a smile on his chiseled face.

"Tenebrous, right? I've heard of you," he said, then his voice took on a hard edge. "Why are you here?"

Simon took a moment, gathering the shadows back around himself. The runes glowed brightly. Dark things scratched at his mind, but he pushed them away. "I could ask the same of you."

The door to Dr. Martin's office opened, and the curator stepped out, looking confused. "What's…" she froze when she saw the two heroes. Then her gaze went to Simon's hands and feet.

"There!" she shouted, and she pointed at Simon. "He's got the artifacts! He's wearing them!"

"Aw, hell no," Simon muttered, and he looked at Starburst, ready to explain. But it was too late. The star flashed, and suddenly the muscle-bound goof was in his face. Shadows immediately reacted against the light, coalescing to form a barrier against Starburst's punch.

Even through the shadow armor, Simon staggered under the blow. Starburst didn't let up, pressing forward and letting out a flurry of fists. Starburst wasn't superhumanly strong, not really any stronger than Simon, but a fist traveling at just below the speed of sound doesn't need much muscle behind it. The shadows did their best, but Simon felt every knuckle. He cast out shards of darkness, trying to blind the hero or slip away, but Starburst's overpowering shine evaporated his every effort. Martin was shouting, but Simon couldn't focus enough to listen.

Finally, Simon managed to grasp Starburst's arm. He spun and slammed the man to the floor, and poured shadows onto the star. Blessed darkness washed over them.

It only lasted a second. Starburst shot up from the floor, carrying Simon. Forgot the bastard can fly, Simon thought. He tried to slip off, to merge into the shadows, but wasn't fast enough. They slammed into the ceiling. The shadows fled. Simon, stunned, flailed and tore the front of Starburst's costume. He stared in shock. The star wasn't simply a costume affect. A dense, blazing ball of energy lay buried in the man's chest. Tiny solar flares arced from the surface, one of them searing painfully across Simon's chest.

He gritted his teeth against the pain. Starburst growled and hurled him at the floor. Shadows gathered and cushioned his fall, but Simon still lay gasping in pain.

Starburst landed beside him. Simon distantly heard the hero asking Dr. Martin if she was okay, but the ringing in his ears made it impossible to hear her response. He slowly reached one hand toward the wall and tapped Starburst's outstretched shadow. A rune flashed, and the shadow leapt off the wall. Starburst gasped as his own shadow wrapped him in darkness. He struggled against himself, his cries muffled within the black.

Simon staggered to his feet and glared at Martin. She backed away into the doorway of her office. Wisps of smoke rose from a star-shaped scorch mark on his chest.

"You know what this place is, don't you, Doctor Martin?" he croaked. "And you know what those artifacts are for."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, her voice trembling.

He hesitated. She looked terrified. Maybe she's clueless after all, he thought. "You need to give me that spear in your office. If it -"

Simon jerked in pain as Starburst broke through the shadow cage. He looked angry, and the exposed star burned brighter than before. Simon felt the darkness withering away.

* * *

The bed was white, with a blue sheet. Tubes led from a bank of monitors and wheezing machines to the bed's occupant, who, according to the digital readouts, was still alive. It was hard to tell, because his face was a bruised mess and large portions of his body were wrapped in bandages. There was, however, no mistaking the scowl on his face.

"Damn," Kelly whispered. "I mean, I worked with him once, and he was kinda creepy, but… are you sure that's him?"

Asta leaned over and peered closely at the patient's face. "Within a probability of 95%. He was less predictable than you, but I did manage to observe him on a few occasions. This is Tenebrous."

A nurse hovered anxiously nearby. She was a friend of Kelly's, and had called as soon as the darkly garbed vigilante had gone into the operating room. Her son had once been saved by Tenebrous. "He's been in a coma since they brought him in." She held up a bag. "I've got his costume here, or what's left of it. The police keep asking for it, but I thought I'd let you see first."

"Thank you, Angie," Kelly said. She peered into the bag. There was a black jumpsuit that had been torn open by the EMTs in their attempts to resuscitate the man. She looked up. "Where's the rest?" Asta craned his neck to look into the bag.

"His boots, his gloves," Kelly said. She sighed. "They were, I don't know, magic or something. Whoever did this must have taken them."

"Scarlet Ranger, look at this," Asta said. He reached in and pulled the suit up. He pushed the two torn halves together. "Observe, burned into the cloth."

She squinted at the cloth. "Yeah, I think I… oh, my God. That can't be."

Asta looked back at Tenebrous. "I believe we need to have a talk with Starburst."

* * *

Mackenzie Martin never got tired of award dinners. They combined his favorite activities: free food and people lavishing attention on him. This particular dinner was for… he glanced down at his acceptance speech… Homes for Hovawarts? He leaned over to his agent.

"What the heck is a Hovawart?" he whispered.

"It's a dog," his agent, Wayland, said through a forced smile as he waved to someone on the other side of the room. The place was packed, as any Starburst event was. Paparazzi crowded the edges of the room, and outside masses of fans cheered. The Hovawart people were eating it up.

"I'm…" Mackenzie glanced around, "I'm more of a cat person."

"Suck it up, Stars," Wayland said. "This is great publicity. Everyone loves dogs. Except you."

Mackenzie sighed and returned to his expensive (to somebody) meal. President Hovawart jabbered away next to him, clearly excited at the publicity. Mackenzie nodded absently, his mind on the previous evening's events. What had Tenebrous been doing at the Anderson Museum with those occult artifacts? Tenebrous had been active for a while, though they'd never met. As far as Mackenzie knew, Tenebrous had those boots and gloves the whole time, and they were the source of his powers. But they had clearly matched the museum's occult collection. Mackenzie felt a pang of guilt about how badly he had beaten the man, but then he remembered the things in the shadow cage… horrors like that couldn't be on the side of good.

Mackenzie pushed those thoughts aside for the speech. After all, this was about selling himself as much as the charity. He delivered the speech with the appropriate gusto, occasionally venturing off topic into humorous anecdotes about this or that battle with the latest supervillian of the week. It was a mercifully brief speech, so he ran with his stories a bit, but he was a little bothered that he didn't know any dog jokes. Dog people always had cute stories to tell each other. At any rate, he let his star glow a bit and nobody noticed that he didn't really have much to say on the topic of Hovawarts.

He ended with his usual flourish. He saluted with his dog-shaped statuette and proclaimed that there was some action downtown. With profuse thanks nobody could hear over the applause, he launched up from the podium, and with a flash he vanished.

Mackenzie appeared several blocks away and forty stories higher. Construction crews had been disassembling the condemned Tanner Building for months, preparing it for demolition. The uppermost floors were mostly just exposed girders. He came up here for a bit of fresh air before launching into his nightly patrols. Eyes closed, he soaked in the sounds of the city.

"Hey there, Shiny. A word?"

He smiled and opened his eyes. The Scarlet Ranger stood a few paces away, leaning on an I-beam. A strangely dressed blue man stood beside her.

"Hey there, Red," he said. "How'd you guys get up here?"

The Ranger pointed at her companion. "Asta here knows the codes to every elevator in the city, apparently. Pretty handy. He can also tell you all about my fourth grade crush on Alan Scott."

"Explain your encounter with the vigilante known as Tenebrous," Asta said. "Scorch marks on his costume bear strong resemblance to the star pattern on your uniform."

Mackenzie grimaced and looked at the Ranger. She remained silent, watching him.

"I… look, we were in a fight," Mackenzie said. "Hey… I don't really want to do this."

"Too bad," Scarlet said. Mackenzie sighed.

"Look, I caught him," he said. "He was breaking into a museum, trying to steal some artifacts."

"Illogical," Asta said. "He recovered a set of artifacts several days ago. Were he attempting to steal them, he would never have turned them over to the police."

"Wait, he… what?"

"There's more going on here than you know, kid," Scarlet said. "Which museum? What did you do with Tenebrous's gloves and boots?"

Mackenzie's mind reeled. He was up here to take a break before a long night of fighting injustice. The Scarlet Ranger wasn't supposed to be scowling or accusing him of stealing another hero's gear. She was supposed to flirt, and be the sexy older woman that he'd fantasized about when he was a kid. This wasn't fitting into that plan. Had he been wrong? He slowly hovered toward the edge of the roof.

"I'm not trying to ruin the guy's name," he said. "I don't know if he's got family to worry about. But trust me, the guy went bad."

"Starburst!" she yelled. "We need to find those artifacts! Starburst!" Scarlet and Asta ran forward as he sped away from them. "Goddammit," she breathed.

There was a flash, and he was gone.

* * *

Mackenzie flashed home to his living room and flopped onto the couch. He clutched his head, doubt creeping up his spine. Had that Tenebrous guy been innocent? Was there something weird going on in that museum?

"Honey? What's wrong?" He didn't look up at his wife's voice, but felt her hands slip around his shoulders. Her fingers gently massaged his neck, and he felt the confusion ebb away. He looked up into her gorgeous green eyes, and she leaned down to kiss him.

"Tess," he said hesitantly after she'd pulled back, "That man, Tenebrous, you're sure he was stealing that stuff."

Tess Martin's fingers paused for a moment. "Of course. You saw what he was wearing. He must have been trying to find the rest of the items." She resumed the massage. "You saw his powers. Imagine what someone could do with the whole suit. Not to mention all the people who would pay a fortune for those pieces."

"Yeah, okay," he said. He let her fingers work their magic, his eyes fluttering closed.

"You're still coming to lunch tomorrow, right?" she asked. "I'll show you the display we're setting up for that whole collection. You can get a little sneak peak. It's all very exciting."

"Hmm," he said. "Very exciting. I hear they've made revolutionary advances in transparent display cases."

She laughed and punched his shoulder.

"Mmm. Love you, too." He cracked one eye open. "You know, I think I'll take tonight off," he said. He swept her up, and she cried out in surprised delight.

* * *

Kelly and Asta sat outside the Café Haven, in a little fenced-off area the café used whenever the weather was nice. People strolled by on the sidewalk, casting curious glances at the android, whose bulky trench coat and hat did nothing to disguise the pale blue skin or the too-dark eyes set into his wide face. Kelly wore simple blue jeans and a white t-shirt. Her hair was down, falling in waves across her shoulders. She found the experience of eating lunch with an android a bit unnerving. Asta just sat, staring at her from under his wide-brimmed hat. He didn't eat and never blinked.

"So," she said finally, her fork chasing a bit of leaf around in a puddle of vinaigrette, "Any ideas? You're the detective. I just punch things."

"It would help if you would divulge Starburst's secret identity," Asta said. "We could track him down at home, interrogate him again. The degree of familiarity with which you address each other suggests that you at least know his name."

"No way," she said firmly. "I don't know where he lives anyway."

"I am capable of simultaneous searches of over -"

"I said no. It's in the superhero rule book."

Asta lapsed into silence. Kelly blinked several times on his behalf.

"What about finding the museum," she suggested. "There's got to be someone who might know something about those artifacts."

Asta finally blinked, and his eyes unfocused. "I have attempted to contact Dr. Tess Martin, an expert in the field, but she has not returned my calls."

Kelly froze. Her heart skipped a beat. "Dr. Who?"

"Martin," Asta repeated. "Curator at the Anderson Museum of Historical Arts."

Kelly swallowed hard, then looked up at the sky. The wind was picking up. "I better go get my other set of clothes. And you need to start downloading some schematics."

* * *

Mackenzie had never seen the Anderson so busy. Throngs of people crowded the museum's halls and the gift shop, and he had trouble slipping through. Starburst would have simply teleported past, but Mackenzie didn't like drawing attention to himself out of costume. Well, he did, just not in this context.

He and Tess ate lunch in the Anderson's cafeteria, in the museum's lower level. It featured some of the worst food in the city, but they had an affinity for it, because it was where they had met. She loved the stories he told about his adventures, and listened in rapt attention as he demonstrated with a French fry how he'd stopped Dr. Centrifuge's latest death ray from destroying the city.

"So then he's giving me the whole 'I'll get you for this!' speech, you know," Mackenzie said, waving the half-eaten fry in the air, "and he's heading for his escape pod. And then, his assistant, uh… "

"Centripetal?"

He snapped his fingers. "Yes! Centripetal! That guy's already down, I thought, but he suddenly reaches up, all weak, and he says… " Mackenzie dramatized, weakly raising one arm in mock desperation. "'Don't leave me, Herr Doktor, Ich liebe dich!'"

They both cracked up at this point. "How awkward!" Tess cried.

"Tell me about it. The Doc froze in his tracks and turned beet red!"

After their lackluster meal, Tess grasped his hand and pulled him to a locked door at the opposite end of the cafeteria. It was a heavy door she needed help pushing open. She pulled him through into a dim, rough-hewn passage and they shoved the door closed.

"You'll have to forgive the melodrama," Tess said. She flipped a switch on the wall, and all down the hall torches flared to life. "The architect who designed this place was a little crazy. We're not sure what she intended for all this, but it makes for great storage space. Come on."

She led him down the hall, which wound a short distance and opened into a large storeroom. Piles of crates and stacks of filing cabinets crowded the room, and shelves overloaded with smaller boxes lined the walls. Tess guided Mackenzie through the maze with practiced ease and down another of several halls on the far side.

The torches became increasingly interspersed. Mackenzie felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising, but his wife blithely continued, chatting about the new collection. As the passage grew darker, he unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and let his star shine the way.

The hall abruptly opened up into a huge, domed room. It was even larger than the storeroom, but mostly empty. Mackenzie realized they were at the exact center of the museum; there was a domed floor there about the same size as this room. Passages snaked out into darkness in every direction. Lying at the center of the area was a set of armor, laid out just as a person might wear them. He frowned at the sight, recognizing the gloves and boots from Tenebrous. The rest, a mask, a breastplate, helmet, and greaves, were all new to him, but they shared similar symbols and material. A spear of black stone lay beside the armor.

Tess pulled him up to the armor. Mackenzie dragged his feet, but followed her nonetheless. He was picking up an odd thrumming sound somewhere, but couldn't pinpoint the direction. He sensed a dark will here, and each dim hallway promised horror. Mackenzie remembered the things he'd seen during his fight with Tenebrous.

"Look, see," Tess said, waving a hand across the armor. "See what you've helped me put together? This is the armor of Shado-rem. Never before has it been assembled in its entirety, but you've helped us do it. We'll make history."

Tess smiled and stroked his troubled face. "You've done a great service for archaeology, honey." She leaned forward and embraced him. He absently returned the hug, his eyes searching the walls and ceiling. The thrumming increased, and he could identify it as drums. Then his wife tilted her head up, and their lips met.

After a moment, she stepped back, smiling. He turned and glared at the dark passages. He felt a headache building.

"You have any idea what that drumming is?" he asked. "Is there a demonstration going on upstairs or something?" He heard footsteps and looked back at his wife. She held the spear, one hand stroking it lovingly.

"Hey now, watch out," Mackenzie teased. "I'm a superhero, you know. I've seen bigger knives than that on Second Aven -"

If it had been anyone else, he'd have had ample time. In a half-second, he would have changed into his costume, taken the spear, flashed to the nearest hardware store for some chains, then returned to tie up the attacker. But Tess was his wife, and he watched the surreal scenario play out with curious horror. In one smooth motion, she took two steps and impaled her husband with the Spear of Shado-rem. There was a faint, sickening slush as the spear slid under his sternum and punched out through his back. Mackenzie choked, blood spilling onto his lips.

His star flashed and he shoved at Tess, trying to get free. She looked up at him, serene and loving. A tear slipped down her cheek.

"He said it had to be someone I loved," she said.

There was a snap, like a rubber band popping, overhead. The ceiling began to change. It took on a life of its own, shifting and oozing and boiling. A black fluid dripped down, spattering on them and the floor and the armor. Whatever was happening here must have also been mirrored on the floor above; Mackenzie heard civilians screaming.

Mackenzie's star flashed bright as he tried to teleport, but he couldn't focus, couldn't summon the strength. He felt his will and God knew what else being sapped away. Something crawled inside him, from the spear. He grasped the spear and wrenched it free. He screamed in pain and staggered back, grasping at his stomach in a futile attempt to stem the tide of blood.

"Everything will be fine, Mack," Tess said, reaching out for him. "Everything… "

She trailed off, and he watched in horror as the transformation began. A black vapor emanated from her body, in black wisps at first, but quickly building to a thick cloud. The cloud poured onto the floor, completely obscuring the artifacts. Tess' body blackened. Her fiery hair went black and crispy, eyes fogged over, and fingernails turned to ash. Tess Martin twitched as the last of the Shado pulled free, and then her corpse crumpled in on itself.

The Shado coalesced within the armor, and with slow jerky movements stood. Blood-red runes blazed on each component. Behind the mask dark red mass burned, leaking from the eyeholes.

"You feel us inside you, human," it said, a rasping voice that froze his soul. "You will not last."

Mackenzie knew it was right. There was something inside him, taking over, and he felt his defenses crumbling. He screamed and tore at his clothes.

* * *

Kelly had never seen such a horrific sight. Starburst barely stood, his clothes soaked with blood. Behind him stalked a shadowy being in armor, and the ceiling… her mind nearly shut down at the sight of the ceiling. It roiled as though a thing alive. A point of total dark at the center expanded as dripping red runes darted in and out of sight.

"It is too late," Asta said. "They have released the Shado-rem."

"Get upstairs, clear the people out." She advanced slowly across the room, not waiting to see if the android had followed her orders. She slipped her crossbow from its holster, though she had no idea if it would do her any good. She tried to remember the last time she'd had it blessed. Oh, right, never. Kelly couldn't even remember the last time she went to church.

"Hey, Red," Starburst coughed up blood. "You're a little late."

"That's women for you," she said. Kelly kept her eyes on the shadowy suit. It had turned its attention to the roof. The dark mask tilted toward the ceiling. The raspy voice deepened as it muttered dark oaths and incantations in a language that hadn't been spoken in millennia, quietly at first, then gradually louder and louder, until it was shouting. The pool of darkness in the ceiling began to spin faster and faster. Starburst collapsed against Kelly. His blood-soaked hands grasped her hood, and he looked up into her face.

"Oh, God!" he whisper-screamed. Kelly broke her gaze from the demon in the suit just in time to see Starburst's eyes go completely black. The expression on his face abruptly changed from horror and pain to manic glee.

"Oh, hell," she muttered, and the thing that had been Starburst launched them straight up. She felt a wet splat as they broke through the ceiling. For a moment, she had visions of the Museum and its panicked crowds before they slammed through the upper ceiling of the Anderson and into the sky.

Five miles up they slowed. Scarlet fought to catch her breath and madly clutched at the evil thing's hands. She looked down. Far below, the Anderson Museum writhed like a thing alive. Starburst's star, so long a source of hope and inspiration for so many, burned bright, but gradually turned dark red. The thing that had killed Starburst held her aloft for an agonizingly long moment, its black eyes locked with hers. Then it hurled her away.

* * *

Kelly was no stranger to mounds of rubble. She had been buried under various types of stone (she particularly hated sandstone), twisted girders (which could come in handy in certain situations), shattered glass (clear, tinted, and stained), pillars, aluminum siding, a few dinosaur exhibits, and, once, a suspension bridge. Every now and then, someone dropped a landmark on you - it was part of the profession. She added nuclear power plant to the list.

The north reactor tower lay across Kelly's legs. Coolant tanks had cracked open, and she lay in two inches of heavy water; steam still curled off the surface. With some effort she freed her legs from the gutted remnants of the tower, shaking off bricks and chips of concrete. She staggered a bit before she regained her equilibrium, catching herself on a bit of wall that still stood. She could taste blood in her mouth, and it felt like… yep, a tooth was missing. What little that remained of her outfit was a shredded, soaking mess. Both her legs were asleep.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered, surveying her surroundings.

Kelly had ripped open both of the two towers in her fall; one reactor was exposed, but appeared intact. The buildings nearby, housing the control stations and employees, were so much rubble. Helicopters, from emergency response and local television stations, soared overhead. She could imagine the headlines now: WORLD ENDS, SCARLET RANGER STANDS AROUND IN UNDERWEAR.

To the west, a heavy cloud front massed in the hemorrhaging sky, and lightning bolts lashing furiously at the ground.

I'm going to need a ride, Kelly thought. She looked at the circling helicopters.

* * *

Kelly blinked away tears as she tore through the crimson sky. The helicopter faded behind her, and Starburst's flapping cape approached. She hoped her bra could withstand terminal velocity.

Starburst and the Shado-rem stood outside the Anderson. Everything within a mile twisted to darkness and pain. The building quivered and oozed shadows. Dark shapes bled from every crevice and opening, chasing citizens as they fled. The trees visibly died, leaves crumbling to ash, and braches rained like arrows on anyone unfortunate enough to pass beneath them. Grass sharpened, slicing apart shoes and tender feet as the museum patrons desperately ran. Shadows overtook them where they fell, screaming. The ground heaved and buckled, swallowing some cars and hurling others against nearby buildings.

Her aim was impeccable. She slammed into Starburst fist first and they crashed through the ground. She knew he'd survive the impact; whatever had taken his body had granted him immense strength in addition to the powers he already had. She just hoped it had kept his weakness as well.

The impact created a sizable crater and a boom heard for miles. Kelly fought to keep conscious. She ignored the deafening ring in her ears. With luck, the Shado-rem had been thrown a good distance, and wouldn't be able to interfere. She crouched over the fallen hero and repeatedly hammered her fists into his back. She ignored the complaints from her broken fingers and the lacerations on her arms. Chips of concrete flew with each blow.

Kelly grabbed Starburst's shoulder and flipped him over, raising her other fist. Black eyes glared up at her in fury, and the corrupted star flared. Shadows clung to her arm, slowing her attack, but she wrenched free and plunged her fist into Starburst's chest.

Kelly half-expected to encounter a sternum, like with anyone else. Instead, her fist plunged into the miniature star that powered the dead champion. The demon roared in fury, but she pressed on. Superheated plasma lashed against her wrist and up her arm. She gritted her teeth against the pain. She squeezed her eyes shut against the blinding glare and saw thousands of tiny Starburst afterimages. The agony increased until she thought it would never end, that she would be lost forever, stuck in this spot while the world ended around her.

She heard a series of pops, like distant explosions. The screaming stopped, and the heat vanished. Slowly, she pulled her arm back and stood upright, panting. Starburst lay dead. Where the star had burned was now a pool of bubbling blood. Smoke rose from his chest, but the burning flesh she smelled was her own. Her fist was well charred, and the bracer scorched beyond use. She would take months to heal. Starburst's eyes were clear blue again.

Kelly clambered free of the crater, holding her burned hand close. The shadows and dead trees and sharpened grass recoiled as she approached. She held her head high and looked for the Shado-rem.

"Might as well come out, creepy Shady person," she called, noting how exhausted she sounded. I'm probably not too intimidating now, she thought.

Thunder cracked overhead. Clouds moved in over the city. Bolts of lightning arced down, gashing skyscrapers and scorching streets. She heard crashes and screams from other parts of the city as streets continued to heave, throwing people about and tearing loose building foundations.

"Your efforts are for nothing, human." Kelly heard the awful shadowy voice close. She deflected the obsidian spear with her good arm. The demon staggered from the force of her parry and the spear flew to the ground, shattering into a thousand slivers of obsidian on impact. Kelly grasped the breastplate and pulled the monster close.

"Looks like you broke your stick," the hero said.

"It was mostly ceremonial," it answered.

With a grunt, Kelly heaved the suit up and slammed it onto its back. Cracks formed in the armor and shadow leaked out. Kelly arched an eyebrow.

"I, too, am mostly ceremonial," it explained. Kelly leaned against the armor, and the cracks began to spread.

"Guess the Shado-rem isn't all I've heard," she sneered. "Actually, I've never heard of you, so it makes sense."

The demon laughed, a hissing marked with licks of red flame from the mask's mouth. "I am not the Shado-rem, human," it said. "We are merely his avatar." One of the gloves pointed.

"Oh, you are fucking kidding me," Kelly said.

The Anderson Museum of Historical Arts had come to life and wrenched itself from the earth. It no longer remotely resembled a building. Each wing transformed into a hideous tentacle. Red runes faded in and out along the quivering body. Black ichor oozed from pores that had been windows. In the exact center, where Starburst had smashed her through the ceiling, a red eye gazed out, cruel and merciless. It towered over them as it slowly rose to its full height. The ground shook yet more, and collapsed, tearing a chasm between Kelly and the monster that had been summoned.

With a final snap, the Shado breastplate gave way. The shadowy vapor formed of Tess Martin's dark spirit melted away. If the Shado-rem noticed the death of its warriors, it gave no sign. Eye fixed on the sky, the massive tentacles shook free the last remnants of stone that had imprisoned them for so long. Dark wisps of shadow soared in from all over, joining with their wretched god.

Asta approached, an unconscious child in his arms. His hat was gone, his coat shredded. Blood spattered his pants, and scratches covered the pale blue forehead. He fell to his knees beside Kelly.

"The shadows found me unpalatable," he said simply, as though they were still at lunch. Kelly might have laughed, were she not on the verge of tears.

"Any ideas?" Kelly asked. She found her hand resting on Tenebrous' gloves. She lifted one up and slipped it over her burned hand. Immediately one of the bloody runes flared to life, but after a moment it turned blue, and she felt a calm wash over her.

"You are the one who punches things," Asta said. "I am just the detective."

The Shado-rem slowly turned its bulk their direction. Wherever its gaze turned, the ground boiled. Kelly scrambled to her feet with as much enthusiasm as she could muster as she pulled on the second glove. The gauntlets molded to her hands, and she felt a surge of strength. It felt good. She flexed her hands, watching the cool blue symbols flare and dance along the black leather. Each time the runes brightened, nearby shadows dimmed.

"Well," Kelly said, "at least it's something I can punch." With a yell, she charged across the bubbling ground and leapt for the chasm, shadows fleeing before her.