MILLENNIUM MAN #11
"Albion Resurgent"
(Siege Engine Act II)
By Jacob Milnestein

After what felt like hours he suddenly became aware of the shrill, constant ringing of the telephone.

He turned, his eyes bleary, to face the sullen face of the alarm clock and swear silently at it as he read the display.

4:30 a.m.

With a heavy head, he groped for the phone, knocking several books and a thankfully sealed bottle of perfume onto the floor. Languidly he removed the phone from its receiver and muttered a hoarse greeting.

"Michael, its Regina." The voice on the other end of the phone said urgently.

He was instantly awake.

"I've just got into work and apparently the latest news is that Charlie Winters is having some kind of scrap with a seriously aggressive looking robot of some sort. I thought you better know."

"I'm there." He said, his voice even and serious. He paused, before dropping the phone and allowed his voice to soften slightly: "Thanks, love."

Without another word he dropped the phone back into its cradle and darted towards the front room and his discarded costume.
 
* * * *

Tage lit another cigarette and sighed inwardly.

"Now, Heinrich, I want to make sure you understand me."

The Vapour smiled with cold, soulless precision. "I think you will find that I am understanding you perfectly, Doctor Tage." He whispered by way of response.

Tage arched a single eyebrow, reminding himself of his responsibilities. "I don't doubt that you understand your mission, Heinrich, what I doubt is your commitment to the cause. The mayor has been very graceful in granting permission for your early release." He broke off and stared at Heinrich Goethe's unchanged smile. Cursing inwardly he pushed his chair back and stood
up. "But you know what? I think I'm just going to ask Chimera or War Monger."

He quickly crossed the room and nodded to the two guards standing either side. As the first guard reached for his keys, the former supervillain suddenly called out:

"You are making a mistake, Herr Doctor."

Tage turned and stared and the back of Goethe's head. "How do you figure that?"

"Chimera and War Monger don't know Millennium Man like I do." He announced, his voice calm and level.

"Millennium Man's changed, Heinrich."

If this surprised the villain he hid his reaction well.

"But his butler won't have." The Vapour finally announced, the first hint of emotion appearing in his voice.

Tage waved his hand in a dismissive gesture at the guard and the guard returned the keys to his trousers, a bored expression on his face. Quickly the aging doctor crossed the room once more and sat down facing the villain again.

"I can bring you Millennium Man." The Vapour continued, his voice beginning to crack with near delirium. "But his butler is mine!"

Tage stared at the clearly displayed hatred wrote large across the supervillain's face. There was a moment of silence and then he rose from his chair again, shuffling his papers.

"Okay, Heinrich, if that's what it'll take to keep you on track then we'll consider this trade off as part of your therapy."

"A wise choice, Doctor." The Vapour agreed, his voice once more devoid of emotion.

"I'll be back soon. You best use that time to prepare yourself." He paused as the bored looking guard opened the door and turned to look at the villain. "Congratulations, Heinrich, you're a free man again after all."

"I always have been, Herr Doctor." The Vapour murmured quietly.

There was the slam of metal and he felt the room empty of the presence of others. He remained there for the remaining time, sitting naked at his desk and smiling.

* * * *
 
"I brought you a book." She whispered, her dainty hands pushing the crumpled paperback through the open slat in the cast iron door.

"Thank you, my dear, you don't know how much I appreciate this." A frail yet dignified voice whispered softly from the other side. The sound of pages turning followed and then a brief, stifled laugh.

"Crime And Punishment by Dostoyevsky, how very, very appropriate."

"It was the first book I found." Julia Squire replied, her voice sounding slightly hurt. "I'm afraid I didn't have time to search around the library." The familiar indignation returned to her voice. "Besides, I could probably have been fired if I'd been discovered there."

"And I thank you for you valiant efforts, my dear." The prisoner behind the door answered. A hint of playfulness entered his voice and, with mock splendour, he suddenly proclaimed: "Lord Omega does not forget those who assist him!"

A smile played across Julia's tight lips despite her best efforts to suppress it. "You're going to get me in trouble." She smiled, brushing a strand of black hair from her eye.

She wasn't entirely certain what it was but somehow, whenever she was around Omega, she began to act differently. It was as if suddenly there was a higher purpose to ever single phrase and action, as if she didn't have to aspire to be anything more than she felt like in the moment.

"Of course I'm going to get you in trouble," The voice shrugged audibly. "I'm a criminal mastermind, remember?"

She smiled again and regretfully looked down the corridor. "Listen, I've got to continue my rounds." She murmured apologetically.

"Its quite alright, I understand, my dear." The voice responded, unable to hide the loneliness that had suddenly crept back upon him.

She leant conspiratorially up to the slat. "Keep an eye out for Lane, he's on the warpath today." She hissed urgently. "He's got a new guinea-pig, they're keeping him on the floor above." Her eyes darted up and down the corridor before quickly resting on Omega again. "Apparently this one's a superhero."

The old man sighed as if in pain.

"I do hate to see good hearts turn bad." He smiled, placing his wrinkled hands to his chest in mock suffering.

"No, this one's still a superhero! Not a villa.erm, criminal mastermind, I mean."

Lord Omega's watery blue eyes flashed suddenly with understanding.

" A hero? They're brought a hero into Alhazred?" He whispered, his voice trembling with awe.

"The word is they're going to bring in all of the superheroes. Even Millennium Man."

The old man opened his mouth but found himself speechless.

"I've got to go but I'll be back to check up on you later."

Omega looked up, suddenly pulled out of an almost trancelike state of shock.

"Yes, yes, of course, my dear." He murmured, smiling weakly. "Thank you for the book."

Julia smiled again. "Take care, Matthew." She whispered and sadly drew the slat closed again.

The sound of her trolley grew fainter and fainter as he headed down the long corridor away from his cell.

Still shocked, Lord Omega dropped to his mattress, the book hanging limply in his grasp.

"Millennium Man." He whispered softly to himself. "My, my, how times have changed."

* * * *

Commissioner Jordan looked nervously up at the clock, the soft and gentle ticking of its hands the only sound in the dimly lit corridor aside from the occasional shout or scream or proclamation of innocence. During the course of his career, Jordan had avoided actually stepping past the threshold of Alhazred...all until recently. Now that he had crossed that line he found that after a while, you soon adjusted to the screams and sobs that would occasionally break the silence when least expected.

He looked over to where Tage stood, rocking gently back and forth on the heels of his feet and waiting patiently, his hands held behind his back.

Jordan turned before eye contact could be made and glanced at his own two men, standing either side of the door, their name badges gleaming in the low light. Peters and Thomas, both of them were good men, even if Peters batting for the other side. He was glad Tage had let him bring his own men in, the last thing he wanted was the added hassle of trying to work with the hospital bruisers that Alhazred kept on as its staff. It wasn't that Jordan objected to strength, he just understood that strength must always be tempered with intelligence.

Good men.all of them were, they had to be.

It wasn't idealism that forced him to believe so much in his men, but rather age. He had grown up in County Cork during the 1960s. It was a quiet world there and one that had been spoilt by an overabundance of buffoons in capes and tights. On the rare occasion that one was spotted high in the sky, usually in transit from America to England or vice-versa, Jordan and his friends would try and throw stones at the caped figure, with five pounds to the boy who could knock him from the sky.

Of course none of them ever succeeded.

He watched as Mayor Cliff Jerrod strode confidentially up the corridor towards them, his aides trailing behind him. Despite his appearance, Jordan knew that the man was years older than him, older than Jordan's deceased father even. He knew the stories; he knew what Cliff Jerrod had been during the prime of his youth. Casually he wondered if Mayor Jerrod had ever been one of the heroes he had once thrown stones at. He stopped in front of them, a confident smile on his face. He didn't look much like a mayor, Jordan reflected. His light blonde hair brushed in a distracted side parting, the fringe falling heavily over his
left eye and coming between him and the lens of his glasses. The top button of his shirt was undone and his sleeves remained perpetually rolled up. There was no mistaking him for anything but an American.

Jordan smiled faintly. It was funny how foreign cities did that. It didn't seem to matter where you came from or what you had believed about your home, being somewhere else, forced to make a home amongst strangers, you suddenly became fiercely protective of the place of your birth.

Pacific City embodied that. A place of lost souls, a place where the disheartened and empty had filled with their own footprints. As the British Empire had collapsed at the turn of the 20th century there had been a vast and desperate attempt on behalf of her former colonies to cement their own identities, to make their own empires and be stronger than the tree from which they had originally fallen. But apples never really fell far from the tree, do they?

"Gentlemen, thank you for being here." Tage stepped forwards.

Jerrod regarded the small, Asian man in the white coat, his confidence faltering slightly. "Who did you select, Doctor?" He asked quietly.

"Heinrich Goethe and Maria Islescu." Tage said quietly.

"I'm afraid you'll have to refer them by their 'stage names' if you're expecting some kind of response from me." Jerrod said, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.

"The Vapour and Venus Mantrap." Tage responded coldly.

Jerrod nodded.

"Alright." He paused, glancing at Commissioner Jordan. "And you're sure they'll cooperate with us?"

Tage nodded. "If certain provisions are made, yes, I believe they will."

"What kind of provisions?" Jordan growled.

Tage glanced down at his notes. "Goethe seems to have a particular grudge against the Burke estate's butler."

"Alfonse Saint Libatique." Jerrod grunted. "The guy used to be a supervillain during the '50s. I had a bit of a ruck with him back in '53, I imagine this Vapour fellow feels like old Alfonse has let the side down or something."

Tage frowned at that way in which Jerrod dismissed the matter. "I should imagine it's a little more complex than that, Mayor Jerrod." He began to protest but Jerrod waved him on.

"Get to it, Tage, I'm not here to listen to their life stories."

"Yes, well." Tage murmured, slightly flustered. "As I was saying, both have agreed to aid us given certain provisions. Given the unique situation we find ourselves in, I have granted these." He turned quickly and glared at Jordan, daring him to make another comment. "With that said, I still think both patients could benefit greatly from meeting you in person, Mayor Jerrod, which is why I've brought you here today."

Jerrod nodded and glanced at the door. "They both in there?"

 Tage found himself distracted by the mayor's abruptness once more. "Yes, but..."

 Jerrod reached for the door. "Then let's get this over with."

* * * *
 
Rebecca Manly sat in her armchair. It hadn't always been her armchair, not to begin with. In the beginning it had always been his armchair. It had taken her a few weeks but after a while, Rebecca had come to the conclusion that Frank wouldn't be needing the armchair anymore.what with being dead and all.

She stared solemnly at the television set but didn't actually watch it. They had given her pills to level out her emotions; they said the pills would take the edge off her grief. She had argued that she didn't want pills and they had told that she had to have them anyway.

So she did, three times a day. One in the morning, one at lunchtime and one at a night (never to be mixed up). After a while she stopped crying so much and discovered, with little surprise, that the edge to her grief had indeed been removed.

She tried to be surprised but wasn't.everything had become so flat. Slowly she felt her thinning grey-blonde hair slipping from its loose ponytail and fall over her light blue eyes, obscuring her view of the television set that she wasn't watching. She made no movement to brush the hair aside.

Frank had always said that Michael had the same eyes as her. Often he had teased Michael for having girl's eyes, something that had always made Michael cry as a child (and of course as soon as he cried the game would suddenly stop and become dangerously real. Frank was a very tolerant man, a kind and caring man and a good father.he could not, however, abide tears. She thought she remembered seeing Michael as angry as Frank used to get once...she couldn't quite remember but she thought that it might have been at a wedding perhaps.at any rate there was definitely a bride of some sorts there).

Strangely Frank had stopped teasing their eldest son since he died. She felt a bit let down by this as, in her opinion at least, it showed a lack of dedication on her husband's part. She had often complained about people around the neighbourhood she described as 'part time parents'. She expected better of Frank, he was a soldier after all and not accustomed to letting problems get the better of him. Strange how being dead seemed to put an end to all that.

Inwardly Rebecca Manly sighed and wondered which would require the most effort: brushing the hair from her eyes or cutting it all off. The television set continued to talk despite her.

* * * *
 
"Can someone get me a goddamn power reading on that guy?" Siefret called out angrily from where he sat in front of the row of monitors and machines.

The skin around his fingernails was red from where he had began to chew in anxiety and the communal ashtray that rested on top of Monitor #4 was filled to the brim with dog ends from a variety of brands.

Lisa Shelby hurried quickly over, tossing over the pages on her clipboard and leaning over Siefret's desk so she could get a clearer view of the screen. "He's pretty tough," She murmured, quickly scribbling down the calculations that appeared on the
lower part of the screen, double checking them and then feeding them into her small, palm top computer. "I'd say he's about level 18, 000," She rolled the track-ball of the PDA and double-clicked on an older file. "Which makes himself at least as powerful as the readings we got off of Majestic Man in April."

A look of worry crossed Siefret's face as he ran his hands through his long, dishevelled hair. "Do you think the Engine can take him?" He asked, worry evident in his voice.

"The Engine has to take him." Came a voice from behind.

Both Siefret and Shelby turned to see Thomas Lansing striding into the room, dressed in an immaculate suite of black, a grim look upon his face.

"I just got word from the mayor's office, courtesy of our friend Mister Sommers," He glanced over his shoulder at the cowering figure of Lewis Sommers as he followed him into the room. "Apparently the Engine isn't being sent after Millennium Man like we'd first assumed."

A look of surprise crossed both Siefret and Shelby's faces.

"Our wonderful mayor has instead decided to release two known supervillains and send them after our city's resident hero, despite the fact that the Engine is more than able to pacify him."

"What villains are they letting out?" Siefret asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and anger.

"The Vapour and Venus Mantrap." Lansing answered coldly.

"Venus Mantrap?" Lisa echoed, her voice shaking. "Jesus, why doesn't the mayor just hand the city over to the Grim Knight and Winters himself - we'd be a lot safer with those two psychopaths in charge than with Venus Mantrap!"

"Venus Mantrap?" Siefret pondered. "Wasn't she the woman who...?"

"Yes." Shelby snapped angrily. "She was."

"August, 1994." Lansing said, his voice distant. "She managed to make it all the way up to the incubation ward at St. Jude's. Once there she exposed God knows how many kids to her toxins and potions, implanted a tiny seed within the frontal lobes of each child and warping them beyond recognition. Some of the kids, the ones that took root, were burnt by the Pacific City Special Situation Division and the fire brigade after Venus had been apprehended. Others managed to escape and disappeared. My nephew, only four days old, was one of the kids that was burnt."

"Oh Jesus." Siefret muttered, getting up from his chair. "Tom, I'm so sorry, I never knew."

Lansing waved him away, his attention returning from the past. "You can't change history, Richard." He said, the pain apparent in his voice. "But we can make the present better." He leaned close over Siefret's left shoulder, the opposite side of Shelby and smiled. "Now, let's see how Professor Winters fares against our creation."

Siefret looked up at his superior, a feeling of admiration washing over him. Without another word, he flicked a switch and, on the monitor before them, the Siege Engine leapt into motion.

* * * *
 
Charlie Winters lifted his battered face from the ground, spitting blood and teeth out on to the torn concrete.

He blinked and rose to his hands and knees, desperately trying to steady himself. There was a moment of silence and then he turned his head sideways.

The Siege Engine tore across the ground between them. A moment later and the machine's fist connected with his face, knocking him flat on his back.

The world faded in and out of view, the distant sound of machinery filling his ears as he looked up at the still dark sky. There were stars above him, each one oblivious of his plight. Desperately he pulled himself to his feet again, his head spinning as he tried to get a fix on where his enemy was.

Without warning his legs gave way and he crumpled to the ground, the Engine towered above him, its metallic hands now transformed into claws.

He coughed loudly, his empty stomach retching.

Travelling at the speed of light, he ran circles round the helicar until gradually, changing the angle of his approach until he had ran around it a million times over until finally the lithe form of the female Science Heroine Mysteria was as apparent as if she were visible to all and sundry gathered there.

With a well-aimed punch he floored her and began to slow down.

A bitter smile crossed his face at the unbidden memory.

Staggering, he hauled himself back up to his feet, his left arm swaying softly with the motion. The machine watched him with its cold, calculating eyes and behind that he caught a glimpse of Aristotle.

There was nothing he could say to the machine, nothing that would break its concentration or cause it to lose focus. It was focused completely on bringing him down, anticipating his every move and responding with brutal accuracy.
 

"Give up, Winters, you can't actually hope to beat it."

He turned and saw Calohan-Smythe standing idly by, inspecting his fingernails with an air of boredom, his umbrella hanging upon the crook of his arm.

"And let you cart me off to Screwtape Downs while I'm still breathing?" He spat viciously. "I don't think so, mate."

"Oh, the Siege Engine has orders to bring you in alive...it doesn't mention in what state, I must add but I can assure you, Professor Winters that when you cross the threshold of Screwtape Downs, you will be very much alive." He glanced up, his watery blue eyes fixing upon the figure of the fallen superhero. "But I'm getting bored of watching you demonstrate how quickly you can run into its fists, Charles. Its time we were off."

Winters smile broadened and he clenched his one good fist. "Not bloody likely." He murmured.

With a final burst of strength he turned and fired a colossal ball of blue flame from the palm of his right hand.

The Siege Engine was upon him immediately, slamming its claws into his back and knocking him to the ground but the blast had hit home and, whilst it won't stop him from the fate that awaited him, it did prove one thing to him. He looked up in time to catch a glimpse of Calohan-Smythe dabbed the blood at the corner of his mouth.

"So you can bleed after all." Winters murmured.

A moment later and he lost consciousness completely.

* * * *
 
"Who the hell is that guy?" Siefret announced with open hostility.

Lansing smiled quietly. "That, ladies and gentlemen, is the British ambassador."

Shelby glanced up from her monitor.

"He's a bit hands on for an ambassador, isn't he?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"That you'd have to take up with the mayor, I'm afraid." Lansing answered, a hint of bitterness entering his voice. "Because God knows I'd like answers for some of the decisions he's made as of late."

Shelby bit her lip uncomfortably, resisting the urge to apologise once more for the loss Lansing had suffered and the heartache he obviously still felt. She opened her mouth to speak and was silenced instantly by the sudden sound of the computer tracking a new signal.

Siefret sat bolt upright, frantically switching from computer to computer.

"What is that?" Lansing said quietly, his voice low and ominous, hands held tightly behind his back.

Siefret typed frantically at a computer terminal and glanced fearfully up at the radar tracking the small blip as it moved rapidly towards the Siege Engine's location.

"I said what is that?" Lansing repeated, his voice louder this time.

Siefret looked towards the radar and did a double take.

"Whatever it is its got a power level of 5, 000.no wait, now its 8, 000.12, 000.16, 000."

"Its Millennium Man." Lansing said with satisfaction.

"24, 000.32, 000.that's it - power level stabilising. He's slowing down, dropping back to 5, 000."

Lansing smiled with quiet confidence.

"Now we'll see just how good you are." He whispered, his eyes watching the screen as the Engine lifted Winters' unconscious body from the ground. "Now we'll see if you're really as good as we all want you to be." He turned to Siefret. "Initialise battle sequence Alpha-Zero-X and sit back and enjoy the show, this is going to be one for the scrapbooks, I promise you."

On the small screen before them, the Siege Engine dropped Winters' body and turned, as if listening to some divine message and raced off in the direction of the signal they had been tracking.

With a small amount of guilt, Lisa Shelby silently prayed for Millennium Man's safety.

* * * *
 
"I'm sure you're both aware of the reasons that have brought me here." Cliff Jerrod announced, pacing the area of the small meeting room, aware of the eyes upon him. "Like me, you are foreigners here and like me, the city has embraced you and accepted you. All of us owe a debt to Pacific City and her people for what they've done for us." He turned and looked at the two supervillains chained to the chairs before him. "I'm here to help you make amends for betraying that trust."

The Vapour scoffed openly, a cruel smirk upon his cold face.

"You think I'm joking do you, Mister Goethe?" Jerrod challenged, strolling towards him. "Perhaps you'd like to consider how close you came to being sent up to ECPO or deported back to Germany before you start laughing."

The Vapour's already pale face turned white at the mention of deportation and the smirk vanished completely.

"I believe in you, Mayor Jerrod." Venus Mantrap purred, fluttering her eyelids. "I've always respected you, Mayor. In fact, if you just removed these manacles I'd be more than willing to show my gratitude."

"Venus, behave." Tage called out absently from his place at the door.

Venus pouted in the doctor's direction and turned her lip out in an expression of displeasure.

Jerrod loosened his tie, momentarily flustered by Venus Mantrap's ever-present and ever-appealing sexuality.

"As I was saying." He murmured quietly before killing any romantic urges he felt for the female villain with a quick glance at the Vapour's nudity. "The city is at present in the throes of a crisis. The superheroes and supervillains are out of control - to this end we have introduced a machine named the Siege Engine to assist our Special Situation Division. But there's only so much a machine like that can do. Doctor Tage here," He nodded towards the elderly head of staff. "Thinks that, despite being
stronger, the Siege Engine will be unable to equal Millennium Man's skill for adapting to his situation and overcoming opponents with more physical strength than him. We need those same skills present on the battlefield and we know for certain that the Engine will not be able to adapt if Millennium Man were to do anything that it could not predict. That is why you are here, ladies and gentlemen, that is why I'm talking to you today."

"This new Millennium Man, what do you know of him?" Venus asked, a devious glint in her eye.

Jerrod nodded and Commissioner Jordan nervously stepped forwards. "His name is Michael Manly," The police chief began in his thick Irish accent. "A former television celebrity around these parts. He was born on the 12th October, 1966 and has been active as Millennium Man since March 2000. We don't believe he received any kind of training from the previous Millennium Man although we can't rule out the possibility at this moment."

A thoughtful look crossed Venus' discoloured face. "Tell me, commissioner, why exactly it is that you're so suddenly so keen to apprehend this new Millennium Man?"

Jordan coughed and looked at his colleagues nervously.

"Over the past few months, Mister Manly's behaviour has become more and more erratic to the point that the good mayor has begun to fear for public safety. We merely wish to apprehend him and help cure him, much as we did his predecessor." Tage interceded.

Goethe scowled darkly. "Forgive me, Herr Doctor, if I don't place too much faith in your bedside manner."

"That is neither here nor there, Heinrich. The choice is a very simple one really - would you prefer to spend the rest of your life in Alhazred or are you interested in assisting us with the capture of Millennium Man. As I've said before, if you're not interested then I'm sure there are many who would be only too pleased to fill your shoes."

"I'm interested, Herr Doctor, I'm just a little," He paused, thought for a moment and then smiled mockingly. "Confused as to why one of the city's most significant heroes is now branded a villain like the rest of us."

"As I have said, Heinrich, Mister Manly's behaviour has become erratic as of late. This is all you need to know." Tage insisted, his tone threatening.

Jerrod sighed. "My patience is wearing thin, gentlemen." He glared at the Vapour. "Are you in or out, Goethe? That's all you need to tell us."

A moment of agonizing silence fell upon them.

"Yes." The Vapour finally sighed. "I am, as you say, in."

Tage coughed.

"Venus?" He asked.

She smiled and fluttered her eyelids.

"Always have been, doctor." She beamed.

Jerrod nodded. "Good, now that's settled I suggest we get started." He looked at both Venus and the Vapour in turn.
"Congratulations, you're now free."

* * * *
 
Aristotle clasped at his side, leaning against a battered metal bin, his face hidden beneath lavender bruises and sweat.

Calohan-Smythe stared directly back at him, the giant shape of the Siege Engine standing immobile behind him and the body of Charlie Winters at his feet.

"So you see, Mister Licuan, you have two choices - two simple choices at that. You can either stand in my way or die or you can let me take Professor Winters back home and save yourself the expense of future hospital bills."

Aristotle felt the pain raging in his body, the slow poison that had begun to attack his central nervous system during the last few days of September now blossoming with such results that the illness almost prevented him from moving.

Calohan-Smythe smiled coldly and took a step towards him.

"Ah yes, I'd forgot about your illness. We noted that, by the way, just in case you were feeling left out. The mayor's office didn't seem to subscribe any particular significance to it but I knew better. Strange how you'd get ill the moment the Siege Engine was released isn't it? Alien bodies and all that, eh?" He drew closer till he was face to face with the other. "I won't tell anyone, I promise. Between you and me I've always had a respect for your sort. I tried explaining this to Kid Albion before he died
but you know what young people are like nowadays, headstrong bunch if I ever saw one."

"I...can't.let.you.take.Winters." Aristotle gasped, forcing the words through his bruised lips.

You can't stop me." Calohan-Smythe whispered in his ear with a smile.

Still grinning the ambassador turned away, hauling Winters up by his shirt collar with a single hand. Discarded sheets of newspaper and drink cans danced across the ground as the wind picked up.

"Seems like a storm." Calohan-Smythe muttered absently.

With a sudden roar the Helicar fell from the sky behind him, its powerful imagination engine restored and powering the craft once more. The ambassador smiled at the expression on the other's face.

"Yes, it did take some time. I can't profess to be half as technical as the good Professor however; I do like to think myself as something of a dab hand when it comes to machinery."

The door to the former Faustian Four people carrier owned slowly, revealing its restored interior. Swinging him round by the collar, Calohan-Smythe hurled Winters aboard, his body cracking upon the metal flooring of the craft. With a final smile he turned and faced Aristotle.

"Be seeing you." He beamed with a simple nod of the head.

The door closed as the ambassador retreated inside, its surface bleeding seamlessly into the craft's exterior and providing no hint as to where it was located. Aristotle stood unblinking in the face of the wind as the helicar ascended above him, the ruined main streets of the Paper District turning a pale grey in the early morning light.

"You're wrong." Aristotle whispered silently beneath the howl of the wind. "We won't meet again, ambassador."

The helicar hung motionless in the air for a moment and then with sudden insect like grace it turned and darted off across the sky, above land and ocean alike towards the place of its construction. A single tear stained Aristotle's dark skin and solemnly he turned to face the approaching aura of Millennium Man.

The Siege Engine waited immobile across the street, patient and ever aware.

Upon the horizon a second sun rose, tearing across the skies in the shape of a man.