V2 #1 (41): "Brand New Light" (HoM / Erkhart)

The skies over Oa were saturated with purple and blue, distant stars pin-pricking here and there. The emerald Citadel of the Guardians of the Universe that usually shone so brightly was dim, as it had been for six months now. The Guardians had not been seen since the Zamorans had returned to Oa after the debacle that led to the current universal status quo.

Green Lanterns patrolled their sectors, protecting those threatened by violence and suffering. And at the same time, Star Sapphires sought to protect love. There was an alliance, not uneasy but not comfortable either. The universe was safe. Safer than it had been in years.

Stel looked out across the skies [mid-morning / Oan time] and thought of his birth [creation / construction]. He thought of old friends gone [Kilowog / deceased] and his home world [Grenda / Sector 3009]. They had lost many of their greatest in the last few years [Abin Sur / (Sector 2814) Thaal Sinestro / (Sector 1417), Kyle Rayner { subsection – Torchbearer }/ (Sector 2814), Kilowog / (Sector 674), /the/list/goes/on] Then, without a word, he turned to the phalanx of trainee Green Lanterns, their costumes plain, no emerald insignia of the Corps blazing away on their chests. They were fresh meat. The rings on their fingers new to them. Kilowog had trained their predecessors and now Stel would train them.

[You have been selected to become members of the Green Lantern Corps. You have shown the ability to overcome great fear, and pool your willpower into a power ring, and therefore shape the emerald energy inside. Do not believe that is the end of the recruitment process. You must now demonstrate to me that you are worthy of your rings. That you are worthy of the Green Lantern Corps. You will not enjoy this.] Stel powered up his ring, emerald sparks spluttering out of the centre. [Come on, you Poozers. Show me what you have got.]



Green Lantern soared across New York and took in the sights and sounds as only he could. This city had long been his home, but ever since the ring had found its way to his finger he had been experiencing the place in a whole new way. His predecessor had died. His supposed partner was on medical leave. The kid who had the power of the central battery pushed into his soul was dead. And the one who started all this? The hotshot test pilot who soared higher than all of them? Six months ago he walked away from the Green Lantern Corps after the death of his daughter. Who could blame him?

For the time being, John Stewart was the only Green Lantern of Earth. Of Sector 2814. His ring buzzed away in the way that it did, like there was a constant static charge running under the surface. Stewart held onto that feeling because he knew it made this real. He knew what was right when that feeling shot through his nerves and into his brain.

New York. So this was where he based himself. After he left the Navy—United States Marine Corps, sniper division—he settled in this great city, this international crossroads, and he never looked back. No matter where he flew off to, be it Oa or any of the other planets in his jurisdiction, this is where he would come back to.

His ring shot a message to his brain. <Disturbance reported; STAR Labs convoy has been compromised. Coordinates uploaded and ready to be executed.>

“What was the package?” John asked, turning in the direction of the plume of smoke that rose up from one of the streets below.

<Unknown. Scanning.>

John powered up his protective aura. You could never be too careful. Ring charge? he thought, silently.

<Ring charge at 96%>

John swooped down toward the street, ready for anything. What he saw blew any preconceived notions out of the water. Ready for anything? Not for this.

John took in the scene. There were dozens of innocent bystanders wandering around in a daze, but in the centre of the chaos was a STAR Labs transport vehicle, shards of metal torn outwards from inside. Had something escaped?

Billowing out, almost impossibly, was smoke thick and white, and John felt his mind wander to thoughts of the Vatican, of a new Pope being announced, but he dismissed those stray thought processes and zeroed in on the task at hand. His ring funnelled the smoke into an emerald storage container that was both airtight and impenetrable. The container shot into the sky, broke orbit, and then finally opened up in space. The gas crystallised and then dispersed. Easy.

John floated toward the gutted carcass of the vehicle with his ring raised. Scan for lifesigns, he told the ring.

<Lifesigns detected. Humanoid. Mutagenic pathogen present. Detailing lifesigns: Driver, condition: amber. Guard, condition: red.>

Emerald pincers tore open the front of the transport and the two men inside the vehicle were lifted out in green protective spheres. The driver came to a rest softly on the sidewalk, but John approached the guard, prepping medical equipment in his mind’s eye.

The guard was convulsing. Mutagenic pathogen? thought John. In what way mutagenic? What is it mutating? As if to answer his question the guard vomited a thick white substance, and then a change began to take place. The man’s face drained of colour, becoming almost albino in appearance. His hair became limp, then pale, and then that too experienced a loss in colour. The man’s fingernails turned black. His eyes grew wide and his pupils seemed to overwhelm his irises, until again, only black was present. What’s happening?

<Mutation taking place. Mutation spread by exposure to mutagenic substance—scanning—airborne—no longer present in area. Total affected: 76.>

The guard growled and thrashed against the construct he was within. John redoubled his efforts but the man continued to convulse and seize. John considered sedating the man, inducing a coma, doing something to stop the man from hurting himself, but he didn’t know what his ring might do to the already-injured party.

Stewart dropped the construct. He threw his ring-slinging hand up in the air and thought hard. Quarantine dome. Scan for trace particles of the mutagen in the air, if present, neutralise. Quarantine in a five-block radius. If affected are outside parameters, expand.

A construct shot up from John’s ring and then descended back down all around them. The sky went emerald. A wall separated those affected and those unaffected. The guard was on his knees, shaking, but coming round. John put out his hands and decided to approach him. “My name is John, I’m a Green Lantern… are you okay?”

“Ssuhh… soohhhh…”

The guard dribbled, quaked, but managed to pull himself to his feet. He locked his eyes on John and the Lantern felt something crawl down his spine. It couldn’t be fear. That wasn’t part of the job description. Discomfort though. Something about the look he was on the receiving end of. Something about that.

“Solomon Grundy… born… on a Monday…”

Things fell into place. A passing knowledge of superhero history started the thought process. The connection to the Book of Oa did the rest.

“My God,” whispered John Stewart as the other affected bystanders all began to change. The mutagenic gas, the STAR Labs container… who would design an airborne Solomon Grundy virus?!

John caught the guard in another construct. “Full physiological scan! Target and neutralise foreign agents present in his--” Stewart was distracted by one of the mutated Grundies smashing their pale fists into his back. He stumbled forward, cursing himself for not remembering to keep his shield up. Enveloped in an emerald aura, the Grundies were on him, hammering their fists against him. They weren’t getting in, they weren’t doing any damage but they were distracting him from his intended task.

“SOLOMON GRUNDY!” They growled, a chorus of coarse voices, vocal chords pushed to the limit. “BORN ON A--”

“Shut the hell up!” John pushed the Grundies back with a thought, sending them scattering to the ground. He rocketed up to the top of the dome, and put his fingertips against the surface of the construct that he had formed to lock them all in together. “Scan their bodies, I want to reverse whatever has happened here!”

<Scanning. Foreign body detected. Beginning reversal of mutagenic processes--> The dome shimmered. Droplets of condensed green energy began to form. And then, without warning, it began to rain.

The Grundies down below looked up with blank eyes and felt the moisture pool over their skin. They felt it seep into their bodies. The mutagenic effects were almost instantly assaulted. The colour returned to their flesh, their hair flushed black, brown, blonde or red.

Almost as soon as it had happened it was undone. John Stewart surveyed the scene and it was full of confused innocents, wandering around. He dropped the dome, the skies were blue again, and then he descended.

“Listen up, folks, you’ve just experienced a minor mutagenic episode, nothing to worry about. I’ve scanned you with my ring and you’re all 100% okay, but the police are here, so if you would calmly talk to them, I think that would be best for everyone. Have a great day!” John shot into the sky after that, and headed home. What a way to start the day.

John didn’t hear about the break-in at the LexCorp facility on the other side of the city. He didn’t hear about the gremlins that had appeared from nowhere and stolen the cosmic-mapping technology that had been secretly developed there. No, that wasn’t on his radar at all. Not at this moment, anyway…

Instead, John flew to his apartment, and prepared for his day. He had an interview, after all.



Evil Star looked at the Grundy spores growing in one of the many chambers inside his underground lair.

The spores resembled fungi, thick and grey, black specks spreading out from the centre. The spores resembled fungi, if fungi were mutated biological monstrosities. That being the case, the spores didn’t resemble fungi at all. The dead-flesh-like skin across the top of the spores rippled like a heart was beating. The black specks shimmered every other moment or so. Alive. Wanting.

Beautiful.

Evil Star smiled, and turned to the bank of computers on the eastern-most side of his lair. He loved that word, ‘Lair’. He also liked the word ‘spores’ but less so. He scratched his nose, and then heard the sound of his trans-dimensional communication array power up. Someone wanted to talk.

Evil Star opened the communication channel and bowed.

The screen in front of him was covered in static. No visual image. The voice that emerged from the speakers was coarse and gravelly. The very first syllable caused Evil Star to shiver, and every word after caused him to shake.

“Was the experiment a success?”

“It was,” said Evil Star. “Pass my thanks on to your Dr. Bedlam. His work was essential in my own work developing the sp--”

“I do not care,” continued the voice. “Success or failure, those are the only things that matter here. One more than the other.”

“If you say so,” mused Evil Star. “I think they go hand in hand at times, but I concede the point.”

“Do you mock me, Evil Star?”

“Maybe,” responded Evil Star. “But I digress. The spores are ready for transport. There was one complication--”

“Green Lantern,” growled the voice

“Yes, he was able to undo the mutation effect with his power ring. The effects of the spore are reversible if you get to the subjects fast enough.”

“I do not intend for my ‘subjects’ to have access to a power ring, Evil Star. Transfer the spores. I assume you received your payment?”

“I did,” said Evil Star. “And thank you.”

The transmission cut out and Evil Star grinned. Around the fringes of his underground lair, his gremlins chattered and crawled, the walls covered with their small, lithe bodies.

“My Starlings!” boomed Evil Star. “My gremlins! My great servants! Prepare the spores for transport! They have a Boom Tube to ride!”



“It says here you were a marine…?” said Randolph, the head of recruitment. “How long ago was that?”

The interview had gone well. John had a keen eye for construction, for structural integrity and for aesthetics. His portfolio ticked all the boxes needed for a job like this. He wanted to build again. When he joined the marines straight out of college, he had put his dreams on hold. He had fought wars, some harder than others, but now that he was out of one Corps he wanted to make sure he didn’t put his dreams on hold any longer. He would live his life, and he would do what he wanted. That was what he had promised himself.

John cleared his throat. “I retired from the Marine Corps four years ago. I fought the fight I needed to and now I’m trying to live the life I want to,” he smiled. “Before all that, before the wars though, I trained to be an architect, and--”

“Your portfolio is quite impressive, John. I have to admit, you would be a welcome addition to our staff. I’m concerned about your lack of experience, but you’ve worked at some impressive firms… just not for long at any. I thought that would be a sign of a weak will, a lack of stickability, but everyone I’ve spoken to—oh yes, I did do my research—said you were a talent to behold.”

“I would appreciate the consideration,” said John.

“Oh, we’ll consider you all right,” said Randolph. “I have to talk to the directors, but I don’t think they’ll be a problem--” There was a knock at the door and a dishevelled man entered apologetically. “Ah, speak of the devil. This is Anthony Ross, co-director of the firm.” Randolph looked at his colleague, somewhat confused by his rough appearance. “Tony, are you--?”

“You wouldn’t believe the day I had,” said Tony. “I… I was walking downtown and there was this explosion--” he glanced at John and smiled, “--good morning—and some weird gas spread over the block. Next thing I know I black out, and when I wake up there’s a Green Lantern floating above us, telling us everything is--” Tony looked back at John, his brow furrowed. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so,” said John.

“Huh, okay. So Green Lantern tells us that we’ve just been mutated. Mutated, Rand. Turned into monsters. But we’re okay. He gave us a clean bill of health and then some medics from STAR Labs checked us out. The--” Anthony shook his head and turned back to John. “No, look, I know you. What’s your name, sir?”

“John Stewart.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. But.” Tony looked at John’s hand, where his power ring rested. “Holy crap. You’re him. You’re Green Lantern!”

“I am,” said John, standing. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

Tony grabbed John’s hand and began to shake. “You… you weren’t even wearing a mask! You just… and now you’re…” He turned to Randolph. “Why’s he here, Rand?”

“For the interview, Tony--”

“You weren’t even wearing a mask!” exclaimed Tony. “I can’t wrap my head around this!”

“Why should I wear a mask?” asked John. “I’m a Green Lantern and I’m here to help. Cops don’t wear masks, and neither do I. I want people to trust me.”

Tony nodded enthusiastically, and then ignored both John and Randolph. He began to pour over John’s portfolio, making shocked noises every few seconds. He then flung his hand up in Randolph’s direction and clicked his fingers. Randolph handed Tony John’s references and credentials, and then the co-director began to pace the room.

“Can you do this job and be Green Lantern at the same time? I don’t know… about… this thing you do. You fly around because of your magic ring, right? How do you expect to get your work done?”

“You set me a deadline and I’ll meet it,” said John. “That’s my promise.”

“Hmm. HMM.” Tony looked over at Randolph. “Your take?”

Randolph blushed. “Tony, we usually have these discussion away from the prospective employees…”

“Don’t care, doing it different. Your take, Rand?”

“I love his work. I think it’s fresh and vital. My one concern is that he’s not worked at a firm for any real period of time before. I don’t know if he has the… commitment? That’s it.”

“The job is yours--” said Tony, spinning on the spot and grabbing John’s hand. “A Green Lantern working for our firm. Hot damn. That’ll either make us the most popular architecture firm in the city or the worst. I’m willing to gamble on you, John Stewart.”

“I don’t want to--” John’s ring whispered something in his ear. <Transdimensional portal about to open above the city. Origin / Apokolipian / Boom Tube> “Oh my God. I have to go.”

John’s suit dissolved into his Green Lantern uniform, and he phased through the wall of the office and shot into the sky above. What could he do? He had been here, six years back, when Apokolips had invaded Earth. He had belonged to a Corps then, too. And he hadn’t been able to save the lives of those he needed to. What now?

BOOM

The sky split open and a lone figure fell from the event horizon of the Boom Tube. John scooped up the stranger and sealed him in an emerald sphere. The Boom Tube sealed up, and John had his ring scan the environment while he approached the newcomer.

“Who are you?” asked John.

“They’re coming!” said the stranger. He appeared humanoid and was covered in scratches and bruises. His garish costume was torn and shredded, and there was a blue construct on his back spluttering, trying to stay solid. “You need to warn them!”

“Warn who? Who’s coming? Who are you?”

“My name is Adam Strange,” said the man, “and I’ve just escaped from the worst possible place. They’re not going to let me stay, you need to--”

BOOM

Another Boom Tube opened up above New York. A flood of gnarled, ugly creatures emerged from the tunnels through reality, kept aloft by crudely-put-together jetpacks. John recognised them immediately from his last tour of duty. He remembered the horrors.

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

More Boom Tubes opened up. More monsters emerged in their packs, their weapons primed and ready.

“My God,” muttered John Stewart. “Parademons. They’re back.”

No doubt. No fear. No hesitation. John Stewart powered up his ring, and prepared for battle. No weakness.

BOOM

One final Boom Tube opened up and a large creature descended on two white, circular plates that somehow managed to keep him aloft. He wore chunky purple, red and white armour, and in his hand crackled a large spear, white globules of energy rising from the tip and evaporating into the air. John had seen images of this creature.

Devilance, The Pursuer.

This thing had caused trouble for Batman and Nightwing in Gotham, and now he was here? What was going on?

“Green Lantern of Earth—return Adam Strange to us. He is the property of my lord.”

“Don’t,” whispered Adam, “please.”

John looked over to Adam Strange. “You’re safe here, Adam.” He then turned his attention back to Devilance. “And you. You need to get your ugly asses off my planet,” he growled. “Or I’ll kick them off for you!”

Devilance levelled his spear at Green Lantern. “I do not wish there to be hostilities between our worlds once more, but I am beholden to the rule of my lord, Green Lantern. Your words, your refusal to hand over Adam Strange… you have just declared war. Prepare to die.”

“I sure hope I know what I’m doing,” said John Stewart. “I won’t lose anybody. Not this time.”

To Be Continued

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Six years ago, the world was at war.

When it was all over, those who weren’t privy to all the details claimed that hell had come to Earth, demons and monsters crawling from the pit and spreading their filth and disease across the land. They weren’t far off.

Darkseid, ruler of the dread-planet Apokolips, had journeyed across the galaxy, across reality, and staked his claim on Earth. He wanted the Anti-Life Equation, a metaphysical sequence of emotions, energy and power that could give the user power over all realities.

Manhattan was a broken ruin, an Apokolipian dreadnought craft sending barrage after barrage of artillery raining down on the island from the upper atmosphere. Wonder Woman had dragged it down to Earth, but the damage had already been done.

Gotham City had been turned into a city-wide internment camp. Batman had destroyed the main processing plant, released the citizens, even rallied the world with a low-fi emergency broadcast that told the world we are here, we will save you.

Metropolis, London, Paris, Utrecht, Venice… nowhere was safe from the destructive forces of Apokolips, and not all places had a super-guardian to protect it from the worst.

Sergeant John Stewart had kept to the shadows as best he could, covering the HDC unit that were attacking one of the Apokoliptikan Terror Platforms that had landed in the middle of Lashkar Gah, capital of Helmand Province.

Aliens were raining fear and terror down on the innocent men and women below. That would not do, thought John, as he surveyed the area, figuring out where to take his shot from.

Three hours before that moment, John was sat in the barracks, cleaning his weapon.
When he was in bootcamp he had been told to give his rifle a name, but John had always thought a simple act like giving a gun a name made the whole situation… wrong. Give the gun a name and dehumanise the enemy? John knew he was killing human beings. But he knew that he had to. He would do his duty.

The bolt-action .300 Winchester Magnum custom sniper rifle had held him in good stead since his tour had started. Good, solid weapon. He was cleaning his weapon for two reasons.

Firstly, it needed doing. That was good practice and he wouldn’t let anyone down because he hadn’t maintained his weapon during downtime.

Secondly… he had to keep his mind off the fact that an IED had taken down three of his fellow marines three days ago. Before that, the week before, a sniper had taken down their CO, one shot, nearly 2,000 yards away, blown the face right off of Captain Shepherd. They weren’t even looking for trouble, but John took down the sniper anyway. He saw the lens flare a split second after the shot was fired, too late to save Shepherd but time enough to take down his killer. The squad was at half strength. What would happen next?

“Sergeant Stewart?” John glanced to where the voice was coming from and only saw rank. He jerked out of his seat and saluted the officer at the mouth of the tent. “At ease.” John relaxed, but watched as the man approached him. “Do you know who I am, son?”

“I’ve seen you talking to the General, sir. I am not aware of your name, sir.”

“My name is Ulysses Hazard. Colonel Ulysses Hazard. Out there, during ops, you can call me Gravedigger, after my grandfather.” Hazard smiled at Stewart. “What do they call you, John?”

“Builder, sir.”

“Why is that?”

“I trained to be an architect before I joined, sir. Everyone heard, started calling me that. Don’t know why, doesn’t make exact sense, but you know how it is.”

“I do indeed. You know how my grandfather got that name?”

“Sir, I do.”

“Oh?” Hazard smiled at this.

“During the Second World War, your grandfather joined up, but he was put in a segregated unit. He didn’t accept that and invaded the Pentagon to show the higher-ups what was what. They were impressed, gave him the designation Gravedigger as cover for black ops missions behind enemy lines. The regular troops, those without clearance, thought he was just another black man digging graves while the white folk were fighting the war.”

“You know your history.”

“I know heroes, sir,” said John, pointedly. “Can I ask why you’re here?”

“I represent a special operations unit here in Helmand. By presidential order, I’m assuming command of what’s left of your unit. I know you’ve experienced great loss these past few weeks, and I need some good men to help me take care of some business.”

“What’s the mission, sir?”

Ulysses smiled. “Come with me, Builder.”

The USMC didn’t know what the hell was going on. They didn’t know why the sky was falling or why what was falling from the sky was attacking them, but they knew that the platform—four strut-like legs jutting from the uppermost surface, one elevator shaft leading into the body of the inverted pyramid from the tip, some sort of energy cannon on a 360-degree swivel peering out from the centre of the top surface—had to be taken down by any means necessary.

John was alone. He was used to that. Long stretches of time under the searing heat, waiting for his shot. That was his moment, then, when he was in his element. The HDC unit had co-opted his own when the sky had started falling. The attack was focused mainly on North America, but the rest of the world wasn’t getting off easy.

John had killed a dozen or so of the flying monstrosities that were picking off civilians and soldiers alike. Head shots worked on them like they would anything else that breathed, but he was aware that he should conserve ammo. Be careful. The Terror Platform was approaching the location of the place the squad had been assigned to protect. Slaughter and the rest of the team were going in to bring the Platform down before it could breach the perimeter. Hazard had been shot square in the chest. His body armour barely held. Then the monsters flocked toward them, and dragged him off into the sky. John couldn’t save him. Couldn’t even put him out of his misery. Another man down. Another comrade lost.

John swore under his breath as he saw the rest of the unit engage a small ground-based monster squad. This group of monsters’ wings were shorn off stubs, but they wore the same armour, had the same weapons, so they were going to be a bastard to beat down.

John prepared to fire his weapon. He watched as the HDC’s M16A4s fired like drills, the rounds smashing into the monsters’ armour. If the bullets didn’t hit flesh they didn’t do anything at all. The biggest of the monsters started to laugh. John took aim at this monster’s head, right between the red goggles it wore, but hesitated at the last moment.

Stupid. Stupid mistake.

“We’re under attack at this very minute. The United States—the whole planet-- is under siege. Tears in space have appeared over major cities, and monsters, I kid you not, monsters, have poured out, ray guns a-blazing.”

The man briefing them was Sergeant Chad Kiyahani, and he talked fast.

“God damn,” whispered Corporal Nemo Jones, looking around at the rest of his surviving unit. John was stood at the back of the tent, watching as the briefing took place.

“Air travel is now restricted,” continued Kiyahani. “We can’t go home. I want it more than anything, but we’re stuck here for the time being. And that suits us well and good.”

“Why so?” asked Sergeant Tom Slaughter, the acting-CO of John’s unit.

“Helmand… funny thing…” Kiyahani smiled. “Under the sand, under all the rubble from the war and all the other %^&* that’s taken place here…” Chad looked at Ulysses, who nodded, “there’s a city. Ancient place. Our unit has been assigned to protect said city until a forensic science team can arrive. We expect to be attacked any time in the next few hours.”

“What…?”

“Said ancient city… contains mystical artefacts of unknown power. In the ancient texts they called it ‘Shakoor’. If myth is to be believed, a powerful princess collected items of unimaginable magical potential and stored them in this city. It’s basically a city-sized museum.”

“Are you serious?” growled Slaughter. “We’re protecting some supposedly magical city?”

“We’re being invaded by aliens, Slaughter,” said John, “and you’re having trouble with magic?”

Slaughter shrugged and then broke out into a grin. “What? Can’t a guy ask these questions?”

“Anyway,” continued Chad, “the aliens, they’ve targeted locations like the Pentagon, the White House—hell, a fight broke out on the front lawn—but they’re also targeting locations like the real Area 52 and Under London. Anywhere there might be something that can stop them in their tracks, they’re attacking. And Shakoor is but one of the hundred or so secret cities which contain stuff that would make your balls drop off with a glance.”

“I should be okay then,” said Sergeant Alice Brand. “Okay, so you want us to--”

BOOM

The team weren’t fazed by the sound. They’d been at ground zero of mortar fire, of IEDs going off a few metres away from them… they’d heard explosions. It was the next sound that took them by surprise. A chattering, a sound like metal scouring against metal. John took a step outside the tent after Hazard, and looked through his rifle scope at the source of the explosion. In the sky was a circular portal, and from that portal were hundreds of monsters, all shrieking as they emerged into Earth’s atmosphere.

“Lock and load, people,” said Hazard. “We’ve got an alien invasion to fight.”

The monsters—John later came to understand the monsters were called ‘Parademons’; the folks in the desert weren’t far off then—weren’t firing their weapons. Instead the biggest threw down a spherical device that bounced between the legs of the HDC squad. The sphere opened up, and a net of blue electricity engulfed the men and women of the squad and knocked them straight out.

John cursed under his breath. Then he started to fire. He took out the biggest monster first, and it went down much to the surprise of its comrades. Then he started to pick off any others he could see. He should have hit and run, killed the biggest and relocated for his next shot, but the shock of seeing his squad downed so easy, the pressure of the Terror Platform being just there; he was flaking, and when the monsters started targeting his position, he knew it for sure.

John rolled away from his nest, and started to move. He kept low, dipped between the ruins of buildings, until he was now to the east of the monsters. They hadn’t seen him move, but he had them now. He prepared his rifle and then watched as the monsters got bored of trying to kill him and instead collected up the HDC squad. Unconscious men and women, slung over their shoulders.

The monsters headed toward the elevator at the base of the now-still Terror Platform. One creature opened its palm and revealed a glowing green bauble, and as if that were the key, with a wave of his hand the elevator doors purred open. What now?

John watched as his team were taken into the belly of the beast. That would not do. The ancient city they were protecting would wait. It would have to wait. Those creatures had his squad, and if there was one thing John believed, it was this:

He would never leave a man behind.

To Be Concluded

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