Someone will one day write that the World conceived out of the Twentieth Century was a dark place. Desolate, cold, and its own blackened heart empty and dead. A few years following, someone else will write that that was not entirely true, that the Sun did indeed rise on the hellish landscape carved out of the Industrial Revolution and the psyches of Wells and Verne. Various times, in fact, did some sort of Divine or Cosmic grace brush its tender hand across the scarred children of Algerian vices and Victorian inconsistencies. And from that contact arose something contradictory to the tedious, endless path taken by the society of man. Out of the hopelessness of humanity, crafted by then of its own hand into its future, literally flew men and women, even children, who were not members of the mundane. They fired beams of unmentionable energy from their hands or they skulked in the tattered cloaks of shadows in alleys or they simply donned strange masks and ridiculous costumes out of some unexplainable sense of higher purpose. Their names were colorful, gaudy, even pretentious. Maskers. Super heroes. Do gooders. And yet, they were both the penultimate of human achievement and the basest example of humankind's faults and failures. All tied into gloriously outlandish words and threads.

The first time fell on the most wicked day thus far in the world of moving pictures and emerging world powers. The day money became wallpaper and millionaires sold pencils and apples on street corners was also the first day everyone on the planet learned at least one man could fly without the Wright Brothers' wings. And that realization led to others rising into view from their own crevices and cracks in the fabric of things. But their stories will be told elsewhere in more detail. Some of them were there the second time, even the third time that man somehow found the intangible ability to rise above his own meager standard. But they were the first.

The second instance of man rising above his own standard involved only one man. Born precisely when the new century came to life, he stood separate from the predecessors and inspired many others to reach beyond the finite. He was indeed the man of the millennium, in ways he did not understand. This is his story, as well as the story of some who came before him, and the wave of followers of the adventure who lived decades after him. This is a touch of the beginning and a hint of the end.

New York City, April, 1940

Tension. No other word captures exactly what fell across and ran rampant through the entire city, much less the entire United States, that day. And no scene depicted that almost visceral, breathing anxiety better than an unsettling tableau struck at dusk on the rooftop of a now forgotten skyscraper.

Two men stood on the ledge of the building, almost at equally opposite ends from each other. Between them the sun started to bleed into its final minutes of the day, cinders of red giving way to rivulets of orange and pink across an overcast sky. Irony riddled this scene, and both men knew it. There they stood, two of the most powerful masked men yet in this era of individuals with gaudy costumes and ten dollar names, each one of them somehow owing their abilities to the properties or even very existence of the star setting before them. And yet, they had not spoken to each other since arriving almost a half hour before. They simply looked out over a city they'd both sworn to protect with all at their disposal and said nothing. There was no need to say anything. It was tangible, an almost unearthly hate that neither one could necessarily explain or justify, but both simmered and boiled within it whenever events demanded they be together.

The man on the right, the one who called himself FireKing, turned his head slightly to look at his companion across the rooftop. He turned back to his view of the western sky, a sneer of disgust on his face. He wanted to raise his hand, unleash a spray of fireballs at the man in the red and white costume, just burn that smug expression and that two-bit mask off his face. After all, he mused to himself, he was the near God here, not some two bit funny paper reject. FireKing raised off the roof, just a few inches, letting the abstract arms of the air cradle him. He was the chosen bearer of the element of Fire, chosen by the Cosmos itself. And yet, he still had to deal with the likes of the man wrapped in his red cape to FireKing's left. And only because they were supposed to be good men. Heroes. Held up as the finest and best humanity had to offer. And that meant, FireKing wanted to spit flame as these words rolled through his mind, that he had to play nice with all the other people who pranced about with masks and ill conceived good intentions. Even pompous self-appointed messiahs like Millennium Man.

He couldn't stand it anymore. "Just what in Scratch's Hell are we waiting on?"

Millennium Man cocked an eyebrow at the comment, but did nothing else. He scanned the city for the hundredth time since lighting on the ledge with his solar vision, an ability that allowed him to see everything sunlight touches all at once, and still there was nothing. No sign of what he, FireKing, and other masked ones knew was coming. He tried to focus on that, on the impending attack his government contact had informed him of, but his mind wandered. He hated that, he knew that he could never be the hero he was destined to be by letting petty feelings interfere with his duties, but he could not help it. His eyes moved just enough peripherally that he could glimpse FireKing. Floating there, primping like an orange and blue feathered rooster. Tongues of flame danced in the air beneath his feet, fuelling his levitation. Millennium Man could not grasp how someone so vain, so ill prepared, so...flawed would be given any power, much less be made the embodiment of Fire. He, on the other hand, was well aware of how blessed he was, wielding the fury of the Sun within his very form. And that honor weighed heavy on him. He feared every day he would not live up to that privilege. And that fear made him sick. Almost as ill as the words he was about to say, as something sparked in his solar vision.

"It's started." Millennium Man let go of the edges of his cape, the wind taking it and casting it behind him theatrically. Raising his arms out before him, he shouted, "Let's go!"

"Whoa, there, Lone Ranger." FireKing turned as Millennium Man did at his words, the two of them now facing off with another. He continued, "Just what are we going to do here? All we know is a bunch of Hitler loving traitors are raising ruckus across the country. And you want to tear in there like Custer's last company."

"No." Millennium Man's eyes flickered with yellow highlights of solar energy, but he reined that urge in. "We know more than that, FireKing. These aren't angry dockworkers or political fanatics hiding in alleys and storerooms. This is the Fifth Column, a well-organized, highly entrenched subversive group that has somehow found a way to give its members around the States super powers all at once. Now, that the lesson's over," Millennium Man drifted closer to FireKing, his words failing to hide his anger, "Let's get on with what we're here to do."

"Fine," An aura of orange flame suddenly arced around FireKing's body as he flew until he was inches from Millennium Man, "When I get done saving the day again, maybe we'll finally settle what's between us."

"Go ahead and do that now, boys. By the time you two get done playing Popeye and Bluto, the rest of us will have the Fifth Column all tied up."

The voice was a whisper, yet razor sharp and firm. And it came from nowhere, yet everywhere at once. Both of them knew its owner, and instinctively looked to the shadows playing on the rooftop. He stepped out of them, almost as if he melted from them. The blood red tie showed itself first, then his form became clear. The black fedora was pulled low, but somehow did not fully conceal the fact that he was featureless, nothing but black under it. He tugged at the belt of his black trench coat as he reached the edge of the roof. Then the man known only as The Night spoke again.

"Go on. I paid good money for front row seats for the next round of the Temper Tantrum of the Century."

FireKing ignored the snide comment, he did that a lot with people playing masked hero, and demanded, "What do you mean, the rest of you may tie up the Fifth Column?"

The Night pushed his hat back, mostly for effect since he had no eyes to be seen. "You're not the only one with sources and informants, FireKing. Several of us found out about the Fifth Column's plans for today and have already started dealing with it. Of course," The Night paused, "Millennium Man organizing everyone in the mask game he could contact didn't hurt things, either."

FireKing spun around to face the Night, his voice more deliberate than his actions. "He... organized... what?"

Ignoring FireKing, The Night shifted to face Millennium Man. "Seems like things are going well around the country. Magenta and Dr. Ahnk took care of a few of the Columnists in New Orleans. Poseidon Pete stopped a boatload of newly powered goons off the coast of California. Daydream, Diamond, and others are working Chicago, cleaning out the rats, as it were. Freelancer and Legend intercepted a move on the White House. Others are still out there fighting. But," the black mask twisted where the mouth should have been, "Looks as if you were right to put us wise to the Column and pitch us into the same fight."

"You..." FireKing pivoted back toward Millennium Man, raised his hands, clenched into fists, but did nothing. The look on his face was one of a child slapped from behind by the bigger bully on the playground. He gritted his teeth, orbs of fire forming in his slowly opening palms. He turned his head, looking at the city with his fire vision, and saw a man attacking a group of children with lightning bolts from his eyes. "We'll get back to this," he seethed without looking at Millennium Man. "Later."

A trail of fire followed FireKing high into the sky, then down into the center of the city. As it faded, Millennium Man looked at the Night as if he were some sort of fantastic creature. "Why..why did you do that? I didn't organize anyone. I...I was.."

"I know." The Night pulled his hat back down by its brim with a black-gloved hand. "You were going to handle what you could, find the source of the Column's powers, by yourself."

"Yes." He hoped the abrupt shame he felt wasn't present in his voice.

"You have to start thinking beyond the one man concept, Henry." The Night walked back across the roof. "You are the next leader of this generation. You can take what has become a ragtag bunch of adventurers, miscreants, and disillusioned leftovers and make them a force to be reckoned with again. Remember, we've already lost one icon to his own faults. Don't let us lose you the same way."

Millennium Man nodded. "It's...just so much to bear. More than I expected. What if that happens to me, I mean, what happened to Hero? And others. What if that happens to all of us?"

"It will," The Night stepped back into the now all-consuming darkness of the evening, "one way or the other. Happens to every man at some point. But don't worry about that now, Henry. There'll be another handful of lunatics to care for the asylum after we pass through."

"Yes," Millennium Man said, mostly to himself, as he flew out over the city, "But just what sort of lunatics will they have to be to survive the legacies we leave behind?"

"Hi! I'm a really big fan of your work!"

Michael Manly smiled disarmingly, not quite knowing what to say to the young woman that greeted him.

"Er...thank you, I guess. I'm a big fan of my work too." He beamed proudly, sipping his champagne.

The young woman all but swooned at his 'witty' comment, laughing girlishly like she was 13 again.

Manly shrugged, not entirely comfortable with her apparent overwhelming desire to laugh at his every joke and hang on his every word.

"Anyway, if you'll excuse me..."

The woman stopped laughing, a crestfallen expression settling upon her perfect skin.

"What did you say your name was?" He questioned.

"Regina." She smiled again. "Regina Darling."

He nodded, as if making a mental note.

"Well, it was nice talking to you, Regina. I'm sure we'll meet again soon."

Smiling and nodding, Michael Manly ducked back into the crowds.

He looked around, scanning the area for familiar faces.

"I see you met the new girl." A voice purred in his ear.

Startled, Manly turned round, a sigh of relief escaping his lips as his eyes settled upon the familiar features of his old friend, Bruce Todd.

"Jesus, Bruce, you nearly gave me a heart attack." He exclaimed.

Todd smiled, lighting a cigarette with his ever so slightly effeminate fingers.

Both men turned and looked at the girl that had cornered Manly only moments earlier, now deep in conversation with Denise Delgado.

"So who is she?" Manly finally questioned, sipping once more from his champagne.

"Name's Regina Darling." Bruce said, leaning close to Manly's ear. "Daughter of some big-wig or fat cat. Rumour has it she has her claws out for Victoria's place as High Queen of the Socialites."

Manly laughed.

"She'll have a hard time beating her. God, I don't think I've ever met someone as terminally vacant as Victoria Burke."

Todd raised an eyebrow.

"Look who's talking."

They laughed once more.

"So what's her story then?" Manly continued, more than a little curious.

Bruce Todd shrugged.

"You'd have to ask her." He answered. "And I really don't advise that. One day she'll be famous I dare say, Christ knows she has the breeding for it."

Manly sniggered.

"So where is the High Queen of the Socialites?" He asked after a while. "Its unusual for her to be absent from one of these affairs."

"Haven't you heard?" Todd exclaimed in mock surprise. "Her father's been taken ill." He leant in closer again, eager to impart more forbidden knowledge. "The word is that he's been placed in Alhazred Asylum."

A frown gently settled upon Manly's face.

"Alhazred Asylum? But isn't that for...?"

Todd nodded and tapped his nose lightly in a gesture of secrecy.

"Who was he then?" Manly whispered, sensing the seeds of a ground breaking story.

Images of those aged superhumans of times past flashed through his mind: Hero, the Night, Mind's Eye and others.

"No one knows for sure." Todd replied apologetically. "Though odds are it was one of the big ones."

Manly nodded, utterly dumbfounded by the revelation.

"Does Victoria know?" He asked.

"No. Whoever Burke was they're keeping it a secret, even from her." He watched Manly's face carefully, studying the frown that indicated the depth of his thoughts. "If I were you, Michael, I'd leave this one be. There are some things better left unknown."

Manly opened his mouth to protest before thinking the better of it.

Silently he returned to his drink.

Henry Burke III looked up at the dull, grey ceiling, eyes glazed over and dulled by medication.

After all this time and he was finally facing a death that all his powers were rendered useless by.

It had started a short time ago with the sudden reappearance of an old 'friend'. They had exchanged heat words, all the while the other had continued to rant about a threat beyond his powers to prevent, continually urging him to pass down his mantle to one more capable.

Burke had, of course, refused.

There was only one Millennium Man, after all.

A day or so after that meeting the first symptoms of his illness had settled in. He had been rushed to hospital immediately and after to that the accursed and silent asylum that resided outside of the city limits.

He had protested both times but to no avail.

Apparently his former status as a protector of all humanity prevented him from having such basic rights as to whether he wanted to go into hospital or not.

Christ, he felt sick to his stomach.

Within minutes they had tore from him the secrets he had carefully guarded since his induction into the ranks of those once golden heroes appointed to watch over the world.

Still, at least Victoria didn't know...

God, he didn't know what he'd do if she ever found out.

He shuddered, dreading to think of what would happen if she knew, if she were suddenly prey to such miscreants and psychopaths as the Grim Knight.

Painfully he turned in his bed, turning to face the dull wall.

Perhaps his 'friend' was right after all, perhaps this was one threat he was unable to overcome by himself.

Painfully, Henry Burke III closed his eyes, praying for release from the dreadful pain that wracked his body.

"I need a piss." Todd announced drunkenly, staggering slightly and leaning on Manly so as not to fall face down upon the gravel driveway.

"Its not that far to your limo." Manly announced. "Look, your driver's already waiting. Can't you hold it in or something?"

Todd shook his head in an exaggerated motion.

"Afraid not, Michael." He proclaimed. "Duty calls and all that."

With surprising agility Bruce Todd vanished into the undergrowth.

Michael Manly sighed and collapsed upon the steps of the Delgado mansion.

He looked down at his polished shoes and the black sand that stretched out for miles beneath them.

In an instant he was sober again, painfully aware of the blinding light, brighter than any daylight he had ever known that filled the skies above him.

Shivering, Michael Manly pulled himself up from where he sat, taking in the endless horizons of the strange beach.

"Don't be concerned..." A voice filled his ears.

He turned, startled by the sudden interruption.

Standing alongside him was a curious creature, composed of twisting light of different colours, wraith-like in appearance and terrifying to behold.

"W-Who are you?" Manly whispered, unable to convey the strange horror that filled his very being.

The smear of abnormal colours seemed to smile warmly, the flesh tainted colours of its 'face' twisting in a way that unsettled Manly's stomach.

"I'm your guardian angel." The abnormality whispered. "I've been watching you for a very long time. Admittedly, I never thought I'd have to contact you in such a fashion but regrettably time is short and I lack the ability to conduct this meeting in person."

Manly stared at it, unable to fully comprehend the depth of the creature's words.

"Are...Are you a...?" He stammered.

The creature shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not. I am still very much a man, much like you. However events have conspired to cut my time short. There is not much in the way of advice I can offer you, though God knows there should be something I can say, I've played this game for long enough."

A dull glow emanated from the heart of the strange creature, slowly spreading, transforming it into a pillar of pure illumination.

"I can't explain why I have chosen you only that I believe you to be the right choice. Though you have many weaknesses, you will learn to overcome these in time, to live up to your true potential. It is this that inspires me, my friend and this alone that has driven me to contact you in such a fashion.

"I'm dying, you see. I can no longer tread the path that was similar guardians chose for me. In the face of this I have but one choice. To pass down my power, my mantle and hope that in some way, you will find a way to redeem me of this sickness before its too late."

"I-I don't understand what you're saying." Manly gasped.

The pillar of light seemed to affect a smile.

"You don't need to understand. Together, you and I, we stand on the brink of a new millennium, a new era of heroes. You will be the figurehead for this new chapter in history, my friend, you alone will be the Millennium Man."

The pillar of light seemed to grow, pulsing softly and reaching out towards Manly, brushing his flesh with its pale luminance.

"You already know who I am. Come to me and I shall teach you all you need to know. Come to me, Millennium Man, come to me, Br..."

The light flickered, spiralling out of control before finally dissipating completely, leaving Michael Manly standing baffled and alone upon the steps of the Delgado mansion.

"Wake up, Michael." A voice interrupted his thoughts.

He turned, once more confronted by the beaming smile of Bruce Todd.

His body sagged with relief.

"Jesus, its you." He whispered.

Todd smiled once more.

"Yes, I've been called that before." He smirked. "Now tell me Michael are you just going to stand there like a lemon or are we off for drinks at Reste's?"

Michael Manly said nothing for a moment, staring dumbly at the empty night about him and listening to the chattering voices from within the great mansion.

"Yeah," He murmured. "Yeah, a drink would good right about now."

Bruce Todd slapped him back and shouted something apparently inspiring.

Together they headed for Todd's chauffeur driven limousine and out into the darkness that awaited them.

The darkness and the light...

The gloves fit well. It was the first thing he noticed. They were made of a durable black leather with semi-sharp steel palings at each first knuckle, and at every joint in his finger there was a rubber juncture where two separate pieces of leather met, providing for a surprising amount of mobility. The gloves ran snugly up his forearms, hiding the molded steel braces which would no doubt deliver great deals of pain to any attacker whose blows the gloved crusader blocked. He clenched his fists a few times, turning his hand at the wrist. The forearm plates were comfortable. He felt powerful in the gloves, as though he had an edge.

The cape he was still unsure about. He was sure the light black cloak would be a useful asset for moving through the darkness and avoiding gunshots, but the prospect of him tripping over it or it catching wind the wrong way as he leapt from a building frightened him. Perhaps he would discard it if it proved too detrimental, but then the mask would need to be reconfigured slightly, as it flowed uninterrupted from the base of his neck into his cape. He liked the mask. It too was black and form-fitting, but made of a much lighter material, to let air flow to his head. His eyes were covered by a slick pair of red goggles with a night-vision feature, and connecting under the goggles was a metallic piece that covered his nose and mouth and also acted as a rebreather and voice disguiser. Altogether, the complex mask gave his face the appearance of a sort of distorted skull...At least he thought so.

The year was 1987. As far as he was concerned, the date was merely "14 years later". It still stung, deep in the back of his mind...The gruelling psychological punishment and training he had subjected himself to could still not completely block it out. Fourteen years in the past, he felt cold steel in his hands and wet tears on his cheeks. That night, that night in 1987...He could feel the tears again.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered to the night full of lost souls. He could hear their grating whispers on the wind, crying at him, blaming him, condemning him. "I'm sorry!"

The scream echoed. It echoed more than he expected it to. Perched high above the streets, amidst the darkness of the spires of an ancient city, still untouched by modern technology, he could hear the gargoyles scream his apology back at him. Far below, there was injustice.

"I'll make it up to you..." he promised to the night. "I swear it."

He breathed deeply, closing his eyes behind the red lenses. He threw his chest out and arms back, and in one deft movement, thrust himself out into the night. And he fell, faster and faster, his cape dragging behind him beautifully, its flapping filling his ears, lifting his soul, and dispelling his doubts. He saw an ideal perch as he passed a jutting out gargoyle, the bright lights on the streets growing closer and closer. His heart was pounding. He removed the small device hanging on his rather clumsy belt, and took aim without a second thought. There was a loud pneumatic hiss, and a slender silver wire cut a swatch against the midnight sky. A heavy hook dug into mortar at a spot now four stories above him. He held down the small button on the side of the device and he felt the line tighten. He swung his legs forward.

On the streets far below, there was injustice. Approaching quickly from above, on that fateful night in 1987, there was a new kind of justice. A new fear...A fear for those who had yet to experience fear. Criminals shuddered.

The Grim Knight stalked the city.

The sigh escaping the young woman's throat signalled a myriad of things. Her inability to release the stress she sought to free herself of within the murky mud laced waters she sank slowly into was paramount. Next would be the extent of her exhaustion, bones aching from lack of true sleep, the cat like naps the lady allowed herself infrequently coming up quite short.

The third emotion the sigh displayed was fear. Pure. Unadulterated. Fear.

Her life was the same, each day a different set of tasks but all the same outcome. Taking stock of her life each night as her black tresses touched the satin covered pillow adorning her bed, she knew one thing. It amounted to nothing, no matter how she tallied the past twenty odd years she had breathed air.

Each morning she awoke thinking the worse. Not that this, her lack of meaningful existence was the worse. No, she was Daddy's Little Girl. This child lived in the lap of luxury, her father's amazing line of credit providing for her things most people were incapable of even dreaming of, much less grasping.

Instead she awoke thinking this was all there was to be in her life. That this was in fact her destiny, slowly being groomed as she was to take over her father's corporate empire. She felt in her heart, that no matter what, there was no room for change. She would always be Daddy's Little Girl. She would always be taken care of. She would never have to lift a finger for herself.

That line of thinking scared her more then any horror film created. Chilling her to her soul, tears often joined her musings when centered around this subject.

"Miss Burke?" A female voice from the alcove attached to the sauna like room she sat within called "Phone call miss."

Smiling, an elegant hand, gorgeous even with the marred like appearance of her arm, sprinkles of mud dotting the pale smooth skin, reached for the offered handset.

"Victoria Burke." She hailed, abruptly and full of business like annunciation.

She wished to not be disturbed, except by a select few. Her assistant, her agent, manager, and her father's physician.

"Victoria, this is Dr. Tage." A deep breath was taken, as if the physician were preparing himself for something.

Victoria's eyes widened as she noticed the small details of the doctors attitude. The tone of his voice, somber; the words he spoke, comforting; all of it foreshadow for the next sentence.

"Victoria", He paused again, gather his wits. "Your father took a turn for the worse a few minutes ago."

The mud sloshed over the edge of the pristine antique tub used in such a ritual.

"I'm sorry Victoria. There really was nothing we could do. Henry Burke is dead."

The phone echoed silently within the tile room, more mud softened its descent to the floor below.

As the first tear left Victoria's eye, she knew, with terror gripping her heart, she had finally gotten her wish.

Her life was about to become much, much different.

Jian Li Fong was not an expert in the laws of the western world. He hardly paid attention to the news and never read the police bulletins in the paper. He wasn't even a subscriber. But he knew that the four people below him were drug dealers, and that they had been in this particular area longer than Jian had. That hardly mattered, now that he had set up a dojo nearby.

Nights of observation had clued him in on their operation. The littlest one was sixteen, slight build, never-combed brown hair. He favored the 'fall-off-your-ass' style of pants and covered himself in layers of denim, despite the warm night breezes that came off the ocean. He was the lookout, the one who spotted potential narcotics officers and shouted out the warning. He was also a fairly good sprinter. Jian had decided that he should be the first one, since he was the alarm system.

The next two were never apart. Both black males, they seemed to be brothers. Their facial features were similar enough, and their manner of dress not very different from the smallest of their group. They were the muscle, just in case. Only last night they had mercilessly beaten a younger boy, for he had been five dollars short on their asking price. Each one had weapons on him, and Jian had seen them use chains, knives, and modified blackjacks in the time he'd been shadowing them.

They'd be next, although the last would be very close by. The actual dealer, he was a young man of nineteen, probably a dropout who'd been dealing drugs for quite some time on the street. He dressed better than the others. His dark clothes had the cut and prominent labelling of designer brands. The leader also had a gun. He was the money man, too, which made him the most important and the defacto leader.

As a car pulled onto their street, the alarm kid moved closer, on the opposite side of the street, to take a look. He was silent, and the three others nodded, focusing on the car as it approached them.

Perfect.

Usually never one for bravado, Jian stood up. The moon was full that night, and its light reflected wonderfully off of his silvery costume. The white half of the yin-yang on his chest very nearly glowed.

A chorus of curses came from the young men on the street below, and the leader drew his gun as all of them scattered.

Jian smiled. "I love a good chase," he murmured to himself as he sprinted along the rooftop, paralleling one of the fleeing boys. He leapt, and both of his booted feet came down on the shoulders of poor Richie Talbot, one of the small gang's muscle men. Ritchie pitched forward and down, his face meeting the sidewalk at the speed of a full run, with an extra 160 pounds providing drive after a three story drop.

Jian flipped forward off of Ritchie's still body and spun his head right in time to see the money man pull open the car door and scream at the driver to floor it. Jian's arm was a blur as bladed projectiles shredded the driver's side tires before the car could even reach twenty. In a heartbeat, he was up and over the car.

God. He loved his work.

ATLAS Labs, Lorrington

In the bright, shiny, squeeky clean halls of ATLAS Labs, there was a buzzing. And not just any buzzing. This was a buzz of a very determined variety. The kind that don't go away until it's replaced with another buzz, perhaps a beeping if the replacement buzz is temporarily unavailable. At the very least there would be a binging, but only under extremely unlikely circumstances where the buzz and beep would be nowhere to be found. Suffice it to say, the bing is a lonely onomatopoeia.

Twang is another one. Unfortunately, there just aren't a lot of things that make a twang sound. Even in ATLAS Labs, where bells and whistles exist in every room (literally - which is rather amazing, considering many families don't even keep a single bell or whistle in their entire house), the twang is a rare sound.

The buzz, however, more than makes up for the lack of other diverse noises. On a day like today, the buzz gloats in the face of bing and twang, while plop, boing, and toot conspire in the corner. The buzz, however, presses on unknowingly, filling the seventh floor hallways (and a bit above and below it) with its eerie, irritating, monopolizing buzz.

"Do you hear that?" said Wilson Brownsmith, a member of the ATLAS physics research unit.

"What?" Edward Seeber, also a member of the ATLAS physics research unit as well as a card-carrying founder of the Dr. Zaius Appreciation Society, replied. "Oh, the buzzing?" He looked back to his pad of notes.

Wilson shook his head, leaning against the doorway to his lab. "No, behind the buzzing. It sounds like..."

"A buzz?" Edward quipped, a smirk on his face but his eyes still on his pad.

Wilson hmphed, only without the actual hmph. "You're a jerk, you know that? A real jerk." He turned around and fished for his access card to open the lab doors. Just as he got it out, he felt his colleague's hand backhanding his arm slightly, trying to get his attention.

"Dude... man... look. Blonde. Three o'clock."

"Huh?" Wilson's head flung to the side, his big red beard leaving motion trails and rogue, misfit hairs in its wake.

What he saw was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen since his last lunch break. The first thing he noticed was her... no, okay, the second thing he noticed was her smile. It was big, a little toothy, and very cute in that coy pixy-ish sort of way. She had shoulder-length blonde hair, worn in that nice-girl sort of way where a strand or two conveniently fall in front of her face just so she can brush it back again. And man, what a body. Her form-fitting Levi's and orange belly shirt that read "Pussy Cat" really showed off her stuff, to put it as lightly censored from Wilson's mind as possible.

It took about twenty seconds for the two overweight, oggling men to realize that their latest object of desires was walking straight toward them, and no, she wasn't looking into their eyes seductively with her lips pursed like she was having a milkshake. In fact, her left eyebrow was cocked up while her right eye was slightly closed, giving her that full-on "jigga what?" expression that's usually performed by Pepe Le Pew's target feline.

"Uh, hey," she said.

No response.

She cleared her throat. "Ahem. Hey! Guys! Would it help if I grew tits on my face?"

Both men suddenly looked up, startled. "Oh... um... I'm sorry. Hi. How do you do?" Edward stammered as Wilson tried to talk over him to the purty girl.

"I'd be great if I could get out of here," she said, putting one hand on her hip and looking at them expectantly.

Their eyes lit up and their mouths dropped open. "I, uh - well, that is - my wife's not... um, I mean - hey, I'm single - there's this boiler room - I can drive you to-"

"Boys. Boys!" They stopped dead in their tracks. "I have a package here." Blank expressions.

"You're a...?"

"Delivery girl? Yes!"

Wilson let out a big sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God." She looked at him quizzically. "I mean..."

"Of course you are!" Edward yelled, much too loud to be anything but a sudden realization.

The girl rolled her eyes shifted her stance. "Look, can you sign for this or what?"

It was only then that they noticed she had been dragging along a thick plastic bag with a brown cardboard box inside, along with an electronic tablet for delivery confirmation signatures. She lifted the bag up a little, showing it was a strain on her arm, and gave a quick sarcastic smile.

"Certainly! I mean, of course! I mean, why shouldn't I? Um..." Wilson was searching his body for a pen. The girl sighed audibly and pulled out the tablet with the pen attached to its gray chord. "Oh, right." He signed while she held the tablet, the annoyed look on her face staying constant as Wilson succinctly drew his own name in cursive, making sure it was easily readable and that all the i's were dotted. She eventually got bored and just swiped the pad and pen away.

"Fifty bucks," she said, putting a couple certs into her mouth.

Again with the wide eyes on the two scientists.

"Oh, for the love of... the C.O.D., you morons. Payment for shipping and handling. Get it? Aren't you guys supposed to be frickin' scientists?"

They both turned red. Wilson seemed to suddenly sober up a little. He tried tricking himself into picturing the sexy delivery girl as a wrinkly old woman, but the thought of someone's grandma in tight jeans and a half shirt quickly reminded him of this pictures his roommate "accidentally" made as the desktop image for his home computer.

"Um, my wallet's in the lab here. Just give me a minute and I'll..." he trailed off as he fished out his key card again and punched in the access numbers. The light beside the door beeped to green and he shoved through. Edward followed, more than a little embarrassed. The girl, for whatever reason, also strode in, albeit much more slowly and a little reluctant to go further than the doorway.

As Wilson searched for his wallet, mumbling how it was right here a moment ago, Edward went about like he was a real scientist which, up until recently, he felt he was supposed to be. His first order of business was to find that annoying buzzing sound and silence it like he would a boy band.

Besides B-Rad. They have that one song.

"Hey, what's this?" The girl pointed to the large white construct with the multi-colored wires and tubes coming from the spherical middle portion.

Edward swivelled in his chair. "That? That's a particle accelerator. You know. For routine particle accelerator experiments."

She looked at him strangely. "Um, aren't they usually a lot bigger than this and not on the seventh floor in some lab?"

"Well, usually, yes." Edward began, trying not to look into her condescending gaze. "But this is an original design. Far more advanced than the old Van de Graaff generators, and much more compact. Safe, too. Very safe."

"Extremely safe," offered Wilson, still searching.

The girl nodded slowly. "Ah." She looked back to the machine. "So is this is a constant-voltage accelerator then. Not a betatron or cyclotron, right?"

"Uh..."

"I mean, what exactly are you experimenting on here?"

"Well..."

"Usually you're trying to research unstable elements and nuclei structures with equipment like this. So is it cancer research? Radioisotope production? Polymerization? I mean, if I had something like this, I'd go straight for your transuranic elements or check out the fundamental interactions of the elementary subatomic particles."

Wilson, who had just found his wallet, stood in awe, his expression frozen along with Edward's, who was in danger of slipping off his chair and onto the floor.

She looked between the two. "Just asking. Didn't mean to make a big deal of it. Hey, can I take the fifty bucks now? And it wouldn't hurt to give me a tip. Maybe it'll keep my yap shut about your super-secret experiment, too. Huh, mad scientist?"

Wilson tried to blink. "Um... sure..." He fished out a few twenties and handed them to her.

"That's more like it," she said with a smile and started walking toward the door. "Oh, by the way, boys; your mass-analyzing magnet looks to be in danger of forcing two negatives together. That buzzing you're hearing is the accelerator tube. Might want to check on that."

Edward's eyes beamed. "Holy...!"

Wilson didn't realize what that meant until Edward flung open the manual control panel and sparks began flying.

The scientists rushed past the delivery girl, their thoughts now only on keeping their lives intact rather than coping a feel. Their barged scampering caused her to turn around to see what was all the commotion, only to find the machine overloading and shaking violently, ripping out the bolts that held it to the floor and popping the brightly-colored tubes off from the decompression.

Later, the last thing Victoria Stroh would remember was running as fast as she could and being chased by a very, very loud buzzing sound.

Times Square, Minutes later in April, 1940

"That's right!" He shouted, his voice a gravely, almost guttural growl from his belly, "Don't any of you come any closer! This is the day the world as you know it ends!" He shook his gaunt arms in the air, his spidery fingers rolled into rather small fists. "The old will burn away! And we will rise up alongside the Fuehrer and build anew in his image!"

Policemen stood all the way around him, a human cordon around the madman. They'd planned to rush him originally, the thin rail of a man standing on top of an odd purple box. It was quite a sight, actually, watching the slight, almost frail man struggle to stay balanced on the small surface his cube like stage offered him. A couple of bystanders, two of them not standing back wondering what company was pulling yet another advertising gimmick on the streets of New York, actually started toward the strange fellow, but backed away when the box under his feet started shaking. And then glowing. The young beat cop rookie who worked the Square had called in reinforcements and more beat cop rookies from around the Square showed up just about the time the shaking, glowing box began firing purple energy out from all sides. Into the sky. Eruptions of light seemingly going and going, twisting and turning, almost as if they were travelling beyond New York.

"The Fifth Column rises today!" Even though he appeared sickly, the man on the box radiated a certain unsettling, almost evil presence. His rantings carried a force behind them, like a verbal fist into the gut of every red blooded American within earshot. "We shall deliver this abomination of a country into the hands of the Fatherland! And, with this gift of destiny at our disposal, there is not one among you who can stop us now!"

"Well," the voice fell into the old man's ears from somewhere above and behind him, a rather subdued roll of thunder sending cheers and applause through the crowd of onlookers, "I'll venture to say I know at least one who's going to try, friend."

Millennium Man floated forward, then down so his opponent could see him. The man in the midst of the light show saw the flying hero, but showed little feeling, especially no shock or fear. Only unadulterated madness.

"Too late, Millennium Man! I expected you! That's why I chose to initiate our takeover right here! Out in the open! In your city!"

"That is one way to make sure I show up." His eyes studied the area quickly with his solar vision. There seemed to be no one else around in support of this man. Turning his eyes to the box, he closed his left eye, focusing his solar vision into an intrusive beam. It didn't matter. There were no cracks or seams on the box for his vision to penetrate.

"It's already nearly over, you know that, don't you!" The thin man continued raving at Millennium Man. "This device, a Power Box, has already granted the soldiers of the Fifth Column all the power they need to roust your government and remove its blight from the planet!"

Millennium Man moved a few inches to the right, then the left, as he talked. "I know. Some of my friends and associates have already met some of your 'soldiers' and the fight's indeed under way." Millennium Man cocked an eyebrow as he looked at the man, then at the box, then back to the man. "And I have to deal with you. The man with the weapon. That machine, it gives out powers to your men at random? So, what sort of abilities do you now have standing there on it?"

"Fool!" He lowered one hand, but shook the other raised fist at Millennium Man like an irate child. "I am at the center of the power! It is my presence that makes this glorious weapon work! I need no powers! My followers will rise up and defend me!"

"Ah," Millennium Man said, rising up above the arcing above the blasts of purple, "That's what I thought." He moved above the man's head, then just over him. Flying up about ten feet, Millennium Man then turned, and before his foe realized it, rocketed back down at him, his fist out. The man on the box looked up just in time to see a hand snatch him up by his thick black hair and yank him off the box.

"No! No!" He screamed, his body suddenly convulsing. Millennium Man dropped to the ground amidst a cheering crowd as the man he now cradled continued to struggle and jerk uncontrollably.

"My...God..." Millennium Man watched as this maniac he thought he was saving the world from trembled as if he was being electrocuted. After five or six seconds, it was over. The man fell limp in Millennium Man's arms.

"Body...could not leave box...after I started it..." His voice was barely that, audible only to Millennium Man's enhanced hearing. "He...said....I'd...die...if I left it...before...it was done."

Millennium Man looked over at the box. The energy stopped as quickly as the tiny man left the box and now the box began to fade. Not explode, disintegrate, just fade into nothing. Looking back at the dying man, Millennium Man hopelessly asked, "What...where did that thing come from? Did Germany give that to you?"

The man shook his head, gasping for breath as bile and blood rose in his throat. "Not.....Germany.....She...She is coming....." His body spasmed awfully once more. "Beware...Beware the Bowler. She....is....cominggggg."

"Who's this Bowler?" Millennium Man asked the already dead man. He asked twice more as policemen moved over to him to take the body. Laying him on the ground, Millennium Man looked at the people around him and said, "Well, whoever the Bowler is, we'll be ready when she gets here." Cheers and applause rumbled up and down the Square. Under his breath and the din, Millennium Man added, "And if she waits a few decades, let's hope there is that handful of others here to face her."