Liberty Bell
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Cold winds washed over her.

Sapphire glistened through her eye-lashes, pain and confusion was etched across her delicate features. Strands of brown hair bristled around her face but she didn’t seem to notice, she simply held herself. It had been too much to take in, she had never known how she would react, and she had never been imaginative. Looking away she felt as if everything she had known had been obliterated in a single moment, would she recover? As a child she had sang, she had never worn a cape and pretended to fly, she was the small-town girl.

Isobel Devalo didn’t want this, she wanted to be normal.

She had tried to ignore it, tried to lull herself into a false sense of security. Only hours ago she had considered calling her grandmother to gain reassurance, but a lullaby couldn’t protect her from what she had become. Even the scarf around her neck couldn’t warm her, she felt dead in the cold. Isobel had expected to see through new eyes but nothing was different, the world kept on spinning and people moved on. She watched the people around her.

At the forefront of the group was the fan, the girl who had pestered Isobel back in the museum. If she hadn’t felt so isolated, she knew she would have smiled. Excitement lit up in the girls face but there was something more, she had hope. It was a hope that things would get better, a hope that Isobel wished she could share. Dropping her eyes she listened to the goings on around her.

“What’s this proposal you’re offering, mister?”

It was a harsh accent, and one that she remembered from before. It was her personal fan, Laurelle. Isobel wanted to leave, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what the proposal was. Would what she heard change her life? Isobel was in one of the most prestigious music competitions in America and she couldn’t throw that all away. Some stranger she had just met could not expect that from her.

With reluctance, Isobel lifted her eyes and made contact with the man, Jack Castle, she didn’t want to be drawn in. It was as if something had frozen her in her spot.

“I can train you, I can help you all,” he answered the girl. “This isn’t a curse, it’s a gift.”

Isobel’s breath caught in her throat, she wasn’t a superhero and she didn’t want to be. Biting her lip she looked around her, her comrade and fellow competitor looked equally as shocked. Tripp de Lioncourt had taken the news as badly as she had; they had the most at stake. In just a few short months the pair had become household names and it seemed as if their dream was closer than ever, there was an instant of fear between the pair before it evolved into dread. Mere looks expressed how they felt.

The idea was not well-received amongst the group of teenagers and young adults, Isobel noticed the African-American pair seemed to accept what had been told to them. The small boy with glasses bore an expression of disgust whilst the petite blonde looked furious. It was the red haired boy to her left that caught her attention, there was something unreadable about his expression that caused her to stop, and gave her the time to catch her breathe and refocus her mind.

He looked as if he was deep in thought, considering what had just been offered to him but he bore no other emotions, negative or positive.

“I would need to test you all, and discover the source of these...abilities,” Jack continued. “I’m not trying to influence you...”

“So y’r not tellin’ us to become superheroes then?” snapped the blonde, crossing her arms.

Isobel looked away from the boy and turned her attention to the man, who seemed taken aback by the lack of interest the teenagers gave him. She wasn’t surprised, the media was harsh and villains had never been more dangerous. The Avengers and the X-Men could handle the heroics, Isobel would settle for a single or more.

“I’m not trying to push anyone in any direction,” stumbled the Doctor.

“No,” questioned Whitlee Waldorf, the blonde. “’Cos tha’ world will drag us in an’ it wont let go. Sooner or later, it’ll kill us.” She hesitated. “Ah don’t want tha’.”

Sincerity and vulnerability briefly shone in Whitlee’s sullen features before she returned to her fury, eyes narrowed and lips pouted in agreement. Isobel noticed the subtle change and she caught the attention of the blonde who then turned her back on her.

“What you choose to do with the skills I teach you is your choice.”

Jack gave them the once over, Isobel watched him intently and noticed that he seemed to be telling the truth and it was that honesty that made her wonder his intentions, judging with heroism off of the table she needed to be able to control what had happened to her and she needed to know where it had come from, Isobel knew that she needed that sense of closure, she couldn’t start over without it.

Her mind tried to stop her, but there was little avail. Isobel chose to do what she knew needed to be done. “Count me in.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than she became the centre of the drama, all of her peers rested their eyes on her and she felt singled out and more isolated than ever. Taking a few moments to collect herself she thought hard and she felt the need to say something, to reassure them that this could be controlled but she didn’t know if she believed it herself.

“Look, I’m just like any of you. I didn’t want this, I just want to be the girl I was but...but I can’t and I have to live with that. I suggest you all do the same,” Isobel attempted to justify herself. “We don’t have to be heroes, we don’t have to be anything more than we are but we do need to control this before it consumes us, or worse. Mr Castle, count me in.”

Isobel’s eyes fell upon the red-haired boy and he smiled.

“I’m game.”

Her heart fluttered as her eyes made contact with his and she felt a surge of strength, it was as if his strength of character was reflected onto her own. It wasn’t an instant connection of minds, in years to come it couldn’t be compared to Rose DeWitt Bukater and Jack Dawson but it could be compared to the like of Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler, two hearts at odd with the world who found a solace within the sight of one another.

Isobel shook the boy from her mind as her attention returned to Jack Castle.

“Oh, you know I’m in mister,” Laurelle smiled proudly, her hope etched clearly across her face.

“And me,” motioned the second African-American member of the congregation George Willoughby, son of the state Senator.

Isobel’s eyes fell upon those who had yet to make a statement in relation to Jack’s offer.

She noticed intensity in the beautiful features of the Southern boy’s face as she cast as glance over her shoulder, Isobel had been conflicted but it looked as if Tripp was being torn apart by the decision. He gritted his teeth and his blue eyes watched the grass blowing listlessly at his feet. His blond fringe framed his face and almost hid it from view as he lifted his chin upwards and made a connection with her eyes.

She tried to plead with him, but she stopped herself.

“Ah’ll do it,” Tripp said roughly, it was almost as if he was choking on the words as he said them.

Isobel knew he felt the same as she had, he didn’t want this and from his story of his ability she could understand why. It seemed to be an incredibly painful gift opposed to her milder superhuman speed, even if it was difficult to predict. She reached out to her competitors arm and rubbed it but he shrugged her off, and she recognised the look in his eyes. Tripp felt as dead after seeking closure as she had before.

“I need to learn to control this,” replied the boy with the glasses. “I don’t want to, but I have to.”

He adjusted his glasses; there was nothing remarkable about the boy. His eyes born a distinct hatred for those around him and his glances towards the others seemed bigoted; Isobel watched his features soften as he caught her watching him. A coward hiding behind the one thing he had to protect him, his faith, he was not willing to display that to anyone. Especially not so buxom brunette that trapped him into a world he didn’t want to be a part of through three simple words.

Six stood on the verge of adulthood and all eyes fell on the blonde.

She gave a look of frustration and insecurity that seemed to overwhelm her as her crystalline eyes slowly began to water. Whitlee bit her lip and she caught her breath, she tried to construct the sentences in her head but nothing seemed to work. She wanted things to be how they were, there had been a time when she had been happy and that had all be ripped from her once before, she wasn’t sure if she could allow that to happen for a second time. Running her fingers through her hair and pushing it behind her ear she made eye-contact with Jack.

“Ah...” she stuttered as the words halted in her throat. “Ah’m sorry.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Ah can’t do this.”

Whitlee turned to leave the scene but was stopped as a hand rested on her shoulder and turned to see a business card. “I’m here if you ever change your mind.” He assured her. “Good luck Miss Waldorf.”

The others watched as Whitlee took the card and walked away from them and the opportunity to control her abilities, Isobel only wished she could understand the girls reasoning.

ICEBERG	WHIZ KID	REVOLUTIONARY	HOPE	2D	MS. AMERICA	BLUE EAGLE

Peachtree Drive
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

His alarm woke him, and continued to keep him awake even after he had smashed it from the bedside locker to the ground. Tripp de Lioncourt was a grouch when he didn’t get the recommended eight hours of sleep and making a decision that was guaranteed to cost him everything when it was discovered had kept him up late. He had been toeing the line of being disowned when he had chosen to pursue music as opposed to his father’s military background and now he had become the one thing his republican parents hated more than anything. Heroes and heroics had never been highly regarded in his household.

Tripp had come from a sheltered life in small-town Texas. There was no way he could be anything other than the standard American male and be accepted there. As the star quarterback he had gained everything, he had the status and he had the girl. Jade had been his world for so long but now she was several hours away from him and he didn’t understand how distance made the heart grow fonder. She had said she would wait for him, and he couldn’t assure her that he would wait for her.

Everything was meshed together and his head couldn’t decipher it.

Ruffling his lengthy hair as he forced a yawn, the feel of the soft carpet on his feet reminded him of home. The simplest things made him miss his home and he had the extra concern of never seeing it again if his father discovered the truth.

It didn’t help his mood that it was the ‘American Star’ results night and he knew he could be going home before he even had a chance to show people who he was. Yet, since last night, he wasn’t even sure who he was.

Grabbing a pillow from the ground, Tripp thrust it hard into the face of his sleeping roommate, who yelped and jumped upright. “’M up!” grunted Bobby Bice, another of his competition.

“If ah have to get up, so d’you.”

Tripp’s mood was not improved much as he made his way down the stairs, in a pair of pyjama bottoms and a plain white tee, into the babbling of the American Star contestants who seemed to have all gathered in the small kitchen. Nine of them greeted him as he entered and stood, dazzled by the sudden light, but he noticed one remained oddly silent as she scraped at a sauce pan near the sink. Isobel looked over her shoulder at him, almost apologetically.

It was enough to flare Tripp’s temper as he made his way back into the hallway that connected the kitchen to the lounge, and he could hear her footsteps following him as she pulled him into the corner of the lounge for a quiet word.

Isobel looked far more calm and collected than he could ever be as she stood with her hair and makeup already applied at nine o’clock in the morning, and she put her hands in the pockets of her jeans as she looked at him. “I think we should talk about this,” Isobel whispered. “We have the meeting with Jack today and we need to show a united front.”

Tripp looked at her with disbelief. “Look, y’ wanna play th’ hero, tha’s fine by me, but ah can assure y’ as soon as ah can control this, ah’m out.”

Shrugging her off as she tried to connect with him, Tripp marched back into the room he had just left. The only sound that disturbed him was Bobby’s snoring as he lay back down in his bed and the thoughts all seemed to roll back to the forefront of his memory.

Reynolds Preparatory Academy
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

She now understood what if felt like to be a ghost.

Whitlee was present but even as her friends babbled on about things that had once been so important, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She wanted to scream she wanted to shout and breakdown and cry. Just to let the world know she wasn’t okay, she wanted somebody to care but nobody did and she had nobody to turn too. Holding the books close to her chest as she walked from the classroom, Whitlee made her way silently to her locker.

Hunger rumbled in her gut but there was no point in eating, she’d only throw it up again. Old habits die hard, she thought to herself somewhat angrily. Whitlee had faced something in her past that she would rather forget but in the aftermath, bulimia nervosa had been her form of taking control of the situation. Her parents had never known, nobody knew. Whitlee wasn’t like most teenage girls, she didn’t trust people.

Entering her locker combination, she pulled it open with such force that she heard a groan at the other side of the door. Slamming it shut again, Whitlee looked into the face of a student she had no recollection of. Immediately she moved closer to the boy, a grimace on her face as she inspected the cut on his forehead.

“Ah’m sorry,” she replied automatically, it was rare she ever meant that simple phrase when she said it.

He smiled back her. “It’s alright, if this is what takes to get a pretty cheerleader to talk to me then I’d take the war wounds any day.”

Whitlee pushed him away as a smile etched onto her face, much to her annoyance. “Careful there cowboy, y’ know nothin’ of real war wounds.” Her caution was playful as she turned her back on the boy.

There was silence as she sorted out her books.

“You don’t recognise me, do you?” he replied to her.

Whitlee paused as her eyes met his, and she considered lying to comfort him but she turned to fully face him. “No.”

“I’m Luís Amador; we have physics and French together.”

Luís smiled at her and waved briefly before he turned her back on her, Whitlee had never realised there were other people in the school. People who felt real and she could’ve connected with but he had never been part of her crowd and it was her own selfish vanity that had threatened to destroy her.

Whitlee longed for something real in her life.

Her eyes watched after him for a few moments and she moved forward a little. “Luís!” Her called caused him to stop and turn to face her; a few others in the hallway mimicked his movements. “Ah’m sorry ah don’t know you.”

Luís smiled and walked away with a simple nod of his dark head.

Penthouse 2
Gellar Building
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

“Mr Willoughby.”

“It’s George.”

George Willoughby, the handsome African-American son of the Pennsylvania state Senator, entered into the Penthouse of Professor Jack Castle. In his lifetime George had always been in the public eye and it was that that had given him his analytical and strategic mind, the excitement for adventure may have lured him to accept Professor Castle’s proposal, even if that was not the prominent aim of the Professor’s research, but in the time since George had been careful to consider all the odds and factors that may have been associated with this research. He had yet to understand the unexplained risks of such treatment or make definitive decision concerning his powers when training was completed.

Given his social standing as the son of a Senator, he was sure it would not be among the ranks of the Avengers.

“I suppose I should say it’s quite the honour to have the son of our fair Senator in my humble home,” Jack encouraged him to make himself at home.

George’s eyes flitted around the high-tech penthouse that would give the Baxter Building a run for its money, this guy seemed to be some kind of super-brain and that gave him a little hope that defining their abilities would at least be of some ease to the much more senior man. It was in the light of his own home that first allowed George to realise that Jack Castle, although appearing to be young and able, was older than he had first assumed. There was stiffness in the very movements of the man that hadn’t been evident at the first meeting.

What he failed to realise was that this was the effect of superheroics at a young age as George’s research into the man, he had never been foolhardy, had skipped over the vast period of Jack Castle’s life as the Fiery Mask, an older superhero who had fought alongside the likes of the Liberty Legion on occasion.

George was just aware of his scientific achievements. “Perhaps it is I who should be honoured Professor.”

Jack arched his eyebrows although the young man’s reply was masked in a tone not dissimilar to a question, he was aware of the insinuation. “You’ve done your homework,” he smiled to the younger man. “I’m impressed.”

“You can never be too careful, this world is increasingly dangerous,” replied the African-American. “The fair Senator taught me that.”

A knock sounded on the door.

George fingered the books in the bookcase as he cast a sideway glance over his sunglasses. “May I?”

Jack gave a curt nod as he reached for the door handle; it had barely opened when the young Israeli exchange student swiftly rushed into the bright light of the room. His glare at the Professor was harsh and caught both of the older men in the room off-guard.

“Right, time to reverse this,” Arthur Levin demanded.

Hamiltonsbawn
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Petting the head of her beautiful boy, Laurelle Mauricio backed out of the room. She turned on the night light and she cracked the door so that he would feel safe, despite her young years she had become a mother and through the drama surrounding the phenomenon she had rose to the occasion. Laurelle was sure that she screwed up on a daily basis but she bounced back, and she did it all for Sammy. Everything she did was done for him.

Yet, her plans now felt selfish.

Sammy would not benefit if Laurelle was to go and play the hero, he needed her and if she were to pursue her dream of becoming an African-American Ms. Marvel then she would be neglecting the only person in the world that meant more to her than life itself. She loved her father who had provided for her and her son after the death of her mother and she loved her siblings with all of her heart, but Laurelle would die to protect her son. She wanted to be something more but for the first time, as the excitement and novelty wore off, she came to realise that option may no longer be open for her. It would be best for her to except the role of motherhood and abide by it.

Passing a mirror she looked at herself critically, she felt like the stereotype she had always wanted to avoid. Her appearance was that of a stereotypical ‘mammy’ despite the way she dressed herself in home-designed clothing, with her impoverished family and her single-motherhood doubled with unemployment and no education. Being the heroine of the story gave her a way out and she hated herself for seeking it. Her father had bled so his family could survive and wanting to escape from it made her feel selfish.

Laurelle slouched into the seat beside her brother, having made her decision.

“Y’alright?” After a few moments the voice sounded again. “Laur?”

She nodded slowly, avoiding the look of concern that was undoubtedly etched across her brother’s face. Dijon had often felt the need to watch over his sister, he was a year older and he hated to see his family in despair. There had been enough of that through his mother’s cancer and for awhile it had almost been as if things were back to normal. Laurelle was bubbly and she was excitable, despite this she was one of the best mothers he had ever known and he hated to see her wasting her life, using Sammy as a shield to hide from the world.

“I thought you were going out?” He continued, subtle as a brick.

“Well, now I’m not,” snapped Laurelle before she put her hand to her forehead and took a few deep breaths. “I’m sorry Dijon, I’m just not anymore.”

Dijon watched the television for a few moments after her outburst, as did Laurelle, and the room was caught in a still silence.

“Look Laurelle, you need to stop putting your life on hold. Sammy...he’s an amazing little guy but he’s not all you have to think about. We can all shoulder some of the work. You were destined for something more. We all know that and if you think about it, you know that too. Don’t waste your life with what ifs.”

Laurelle considered her brother’s words, and Dijon smiled as his sister rushed from the room.

Elm’s Cove
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

She walked from the corner where her friend had dropped her off.

Whitlee hated walking home to the lavish French-styled home that she had lived in since she had vacated Atlanta, Georgia for her father’s latest endeavour in the world of news papers. Her father was arguably one of the greatest men in the media industry he either owned or bought over some of the most prominent media outlets known both within and outside of the United States of America. Living in the North had been bad news when she had first heard it and the idea had yet to warm on her, she missed the sprawling grounds around the old confederate plantation she had grown up on, since the move it felt like something was missing.

Whitlee Waldorf would have considered herself the product of the Deep South with her elegance and ladylike demeanour but her time in the North had changed that and she hated the person she had become. The Georgian beauty had never been an angel but she had never felt the need to manipulate and destroy others to gain some sort of position in the high school hierarchy. There had been people she could have trusted in the past but she had left them and those friendships behind a long time ago.

The cold began to set in and she realised her attire had not been the most suitable for the cold time of year, her white lace tee over the white tank top and her denim jeans. It had seemed more suitable in the warmth of the morning; Whitlee still forgot that the warm Georgia sun wasn’t always on her back anymore.

Her blonde hair rustled around her face as she tightened her grip of her schoolbag, her heels clicked as she made her into the almost Wisteria Lane-like estate that had become her home, with its perfectly groomed lawns and its perfect couples. That’s what people were led to believe about the elite that Whitlee had associated with all of her life, she groaned as she turned into the driveway of her own home as she knew that things were entirely different behind closed doors.

The Southern Belle paused at the sight of the strange car in her driveway; she frowned as she struggled to work out who it would belong too.

“Honey, come in,” called her mother from the doorway. “We have a surprise.”

Whitlee rolled her eyes and prepared her faux-happy face for whatever her parents were going to throw her direction before they delivered whatever bad news they had to give her. It was a custom amongst the Waldorf’s and it didn’t leave her any less disappointed. She smiled through her teeth as she entered into the hallway of her home.

“Look who’s come home to stay with us for awhile,” squealed her mother with delight. “It’s your Uncle Tommo!”

Whitlee’s smile faded quickly as she looked over her shoulder to find her Uncle Tommo standing in the doorway that led into the lounge. Her lounge, in her house. Her eyes widened with shock and concern.

“Hello Whit,” he smiled smugly at her.

Whitlee turned away from him, trying to hide the despair from her mother’s concerned gaze. “I have a lot of...homework, I have to go.”

No sooner had Whitlee reached the top of the stairs than she had slammed the door. Her eyes scanned the room almost frantically as she fought back the tears. Brushing her hair behind her ears she tore her bedroom apart, pillows were thrown to the walls and her clothes strewn around the room as she looked for the small business card she had been given.

After several minutes she caught sight of it in her bin beside the vanity set, she pulled it out and dialled the number into her phone as she listened to the ringing. Her breathing was heavy and she fought for control of herself as the memories and fears rushed back to her.

“Hello,” she said hurriedly when the phone had been answered. “Mr Castle, this is Whitlee Waldorf and I need your help.”

Penthouse 2
Gellar Building
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Eustace Mace entered the penthouse apartment with caution, it was one of the grandest places that he had ever seen and he was amazed by it. Everything was pristine and mechanically more advanced than anything he had ever witnessed, and Eustace had spent years at West Point Academy in North Carolina, even with his early graduation due to reaching the peak of his physical training. Naturally, Eustace was a trained athlete and combatant and he needed the training offered by Jack Castle less than the others but he had wanted to feel a part of something.

His eyes drifted the across the heads of the others who had gathered and onto the balcony as he made his way towards it only to notice it was not unoccupied. Slipping through the French doors he paused behind her.

“Room for one more?” he said, clearing his throat beforehand to warn her.

“It’s a free country last I checked,” replied the beautiful brunette before she turned her attention back over the city.

“I’m Eustace.” He held out his hand as he leaned against the railing beside her.

“Isobel,” she replied curtly, hesitantly shaking it.

Perhaps it wasn’t the most flattering of compliments to describe the young girl but Eustace saw her as the duplicate of his mother in her youth. Sally had been a beautiful young woman who had been treated well through age. Isobel was stunning and in that aspect she was well suited for the city that she now looked upon with such emotion. Eustace was unsure what to say to her as he had little to no experience with the opposite sex, he was more of a lone wolf than a team player and that was how he had conducted himself at West Point.

For now he was happy to stand in silence with her.

His eyes met hers and for a moment he felt a connection unlike any he had known, he looked away first, he felt as if he was prying and he heard her stifle a girlish giggle beside him. Not knowing how best to act under such circumstances he nudged her shoulder playfully with his and she nudged him back with a smile.

“The city is beautiful,” he remarked.

“Yeah,” her voice was slightly dreamy and distant.

Elm’s Cove
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Jack Castle pulled into the elite residential area with no expectations of what he might find, he was not easily intimidated by money, but as he came to the corner of the estate he saw the young blonde sitting on the suitcases she had warned him about on the phone. He had no idea why he had felt such a compulsion to help her, but above all others he felt as if she needed his help and her phone call had been proof of that. Was she so alone that she had to call a stranger for help?

“Want to explain this to me?” he enquired her as he stepped from the car and moved towards her, she rose to her feet as he did but shook her head in reply. “That’s fine, get in the car. I’ll get your stuff.”

Whitlee walked past him, her arms around her waist to protect her from the cold and her face was downcast. It seemed the cheerleader’s mishap at the museum had led to her fall from grace and she could see the irony in the situation, it was what she detested about it. She paused on her way to the car and turned to see Jack lifting her bags towards the boot. She had called him out of the blue and after she had been a bitch to him less than a day before as she watched him she felt secure and she hadn’t never felt like that in her life.

“Jack,” her voice was soft and hoarse after her tears but he paused to look at her. “Thank y’.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid. I said I was here for you all and I meant it.”

Whitlee nodded at him in gratitude as she slid into the car and put her seat belt on, the warm air rushed over her in waves and she felt less fragile than she had felt in a long time.

Philadelphia
Pennsylvania

Explosions echoed across the road as the bus collided with the row of stores.

Clasping onto the brimmed of his hand, the man did a running tumble towards the wreckage of the flaming bus. His eyes white behind the purple mask he wore, his strength was that of an average human but he had mastered the weights and this was evident as he pulled a man through the window, the man was on the lower scale of obesity yet the Phantom Reporter managed to aide him with ease. This continued until the living civilians within the bus were free and the timing was in quick succession.

Stepping into one of the broken windows on the side of the capsized bus, the Phantom Reporter fell into the wreckage and checked around for pulses and chances of survival but there was so much blood from the explosion that only the few he had managed to save had survived. In his rustic suit and velvet indigo suit he noted the handiwork of the explosion. It had been the perfect crime, untraceable to the naked eye and, as he heard the sirens, those buffoons at the Philadelphia Police Department.

Grasping for the window, he pulled himself atop the bus and made for the shadows of the alleyways were he could escape from sight. Vigilantes were not appreciated in Philadelphia.

Removing his mask, in the darkness of the alleyway, Dick Jones looked back on his handiwork.