All The Kings Horse's: An HFC RPG

The night air was filled with anticipation as the White House staff awaited the arrival of the new president, Andrew Tudor . The front doors burst open and he was met with a round of applause, with a quick bow he brushed a hand over his blonde hair and smiled at them all, two blue eyes glanced over them, “Thank you all, it has been a long and tiring road and tomorrow we will start to change the world…but tonight.” Tudor loosened his crimson tie and undid the top button on his black shirt, he suddenly span on the spot with his arms out wide, the ivory suit seemed to reflect the light as he came to a sudden stop “We dance”. No one had a rational mind now, his spell had been woven, as they found their shoulders bouncing to an unseen beat, their toes tapping and then grabbing the closet person next to them they did just as they where ordered and danced, to whatever song they could hear. Andrew Tudor side shuffled up the hall way passing two secret service agents embraced in the tango. Tudor danced all the way to the Oval Office finally sliding to a stop at the doors, no longer dancing he continued to the desk and sat throwing his legs up onto the table a wicked smile crossed his face as he closed his eyes, listening to the songs of his dancing staff .

Tudor was not what he seemed, to the world he was a former field medic who had served in the gulf war , a married man and a patriot who wanted nothing more then to make America the great nation it once was, he had won the election in a landslide, the press where unable to find anything that could harm his campaign and he seemed the perfect man for the job, but the truth was something much darker, he had spent the last year creating this alias, weaving a spell that would create a whole bloodline for the world to follow. The music was interrupted for a moment by fits of madding laughter, the door to the Oval Office burst open and their stood his wife, her smile widening as she saw him sitting behind the desk, her hands clapping like a child as she looked over at him “OMG WE DID IT” her voice squealed as she skipped over to him, he slid to the side and patted his lap and she more then willingly sat on it. Kissing her cheek as she sat he laughed “of course my dear, how could you ever doubt it.” placing an arm round the back of his neck her face became sad. “do we have to hide, when we are alone?”, with a wave of his hand the façade faded away, revealing crimson eyes and raven black hair. “YAY” she did the same and the two Arrows looked at each other their eyes showing more then a parental bound and she leant in and kissed him, “farther who shall we tell first!” Rina asked him, “Oh dear girl who else do you think!” he pointed to the desk.

Her eyes began to bulge and she moved forward remaining on her fathers lap, a fine white envelope sat on the desk a crimson ribbon was tied round it and a wax seal kept it closed ; Arrow kissed her neck and she giggled. “what is it.” Arrow smiled and removed his lips from her skin “why do you not open it and see my dear.” tearing open the envelope she screamed “OH DADDY THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER” she threw the envelope in the air and continued kissing him, as the ribbon fell and the letter escaped the envelope finding it’s home at the feet of the terrible two.

.

Arrow knew all round the world similar letters had already found their way to the other members and of course there was only one place they would all meet, the infamous HFC manor!

The place of non importance is where he stood. Surrounded by trees and wilderness, the sky shifting place and color, this place had no name to speak and was just here to support Slight's mass. As if any other place would be as sweet and serene as this, the pressure of existence bore a whole new meaning, and weightlessness here. If he went away, physically, mentally, emotionally or a combination of any there would be no real sacrifice or consequence. His essence would fade away into nothingness, without name and without purpose. The tranquil silence of the place with no name was instantly shattered by the thunderous booms of a storm brewing. Unmoved, the used once King of the Sea, stood waiting...For what, he could not tell, for who, there was no soul among this plane of existence that cared to look for him. The chill surged and rain began to fall, lightning cracked the sky turning darkness into daylight. Legged vermin began to toil over his bare feet, which were spotted from splatters of rich earth. Centipede and insect to the like scampered and ebbed their way up what they thought was tree, for he had been standing so long, the possibility of roots were fathomable. Glancing movements followed by the noises of crunching exoskeletons and oozing innards played against the peaceful symphony of precipitation. 
 
The days of uselessness continued in this fashion. Standing, waiting, the storms. Sometimes, although he tried his danmdest not to dwell on what had been, he thought of Omega Justice, and why he left. For one, left in his hands, the societal aspirations he once held for that team sunk to the bottom of the sea, so to speak. He'd failed to bring about peace. Everyone failed to bring about peace. In part, that was the realization that allowed him the freedom of absence. Not that he cared, but the crew still had a paycheck, still had a job to do, at the very least, they would be able to get another years worth of work out of the Omega Haven before they all called it quits. But even so, Slight grew impatient, trying to be "the" hero, to be what he though he wanted for so long. The restraint he displayed over the years was astonishing to say the least, and he could give himself that much. Having so much power within him, the abilities that men and women of evil heart, dreamed about, spent their entire lives trying to attain, at his own fingertips, and very rarely using them. It wasn't fair, and he knew it. Everyone knew it, and yet, for the better part of five years Slight hid from the truth, his truth, the power he had would eventually take control, and it would realize all of his desires kept locked away. Now, that the change had been made, now that the Oracle had taken over, knowingly feeding off of the negative emotions built up over the years, the world was changing, and had changed, until a gloss of gray filled Slight's vista. But the Oracle being of intense nature, longed for purpose, and his feast stored away was dwindling hastily. Mindless destruction, and heartache was nothing compared to driving ones nails into the flesh and tasting blood, the hunt and the kill. All of it was like a gem dangling in front of a golddiggers gaze, just waiting to be snatched, but ever so out of reach.
 
The letter was the compass that changed the mindless direction Slight had been traveling. It offered on everything he wanted and then some. Literally, a bird delivered the parchment to him, in the places of nowhere and non importance. Welcome Red King and Queen. We await your arrival....Silver King. A smile showed on his face. Genuine happiness, but for all the wrong reasons. It was the type of smile that left you in a state of insomnia, the smile that belonged to that of a cannibalistic murderer, who ate gleefully as his victim and dinner watched unable to make a difference. The black cloak he adorned himself in raised into the air, and went invisible with a gluttony of fog. The Human Hurricane, the Silver King of the Hellfire Club was on his way to a new beginning.

Miranda Frost was driving her new Bugatti Veyron Bleu Centenaire. She wasn’t enjoying it. The streets of Milan weren’t meant for a car which could accelerate from 0 to 60 in 2 seconds. But speed wasn’t the reason she had chosen the car – in the sunlight the rays reflected of the blue surface of the car and made it look like a giant sapphire moving through the city of fashion - the mix of modern and ancient brought together by the luxury cars and building that stood the test of time. The people who visited Milan mostly followed a single rule – play being more important, that you really are. The snobbish above average bank account owners flocked to the streets like headless chickens without any concerns whether they will have money for food the next day. 

Miranda turned into a small side street and stopped in front of what seemed like normal apartment mail box with 9 slots on each a number. It’s such a normal thing, that no one even noticed that there are no doors on that street. Miranda lowered the window and with her white gloved hand quickly pressed the numbers.

In front of her a part of the road lowered and revealed a dimly lit tunnel. As Miranda moved into the depths of the city, the radio signal started to disappear but she hadn’t paid much attention to it or the news that there was a new president in the White House. Miranda drove for a couple of minutes until she reached a small parking lot. She got out of the car wearing a long white coat and a small handbag.

Miranda moved to an elevator. On the right was a small hole, in it a small light flickered. Miranda opened her bag and took out a white queen chess piece and placed it into the hole. A slight growl emerged from the machine and the elevator opened.
 

Two weeks ago:

Miranda was sitting on the balcony of the Doge’s Palace where she had built the new headquarter for the Science-Branch. Next to her was a small laptop that showed some unimportant diagrams. In her right hand she held a glass with white wine. She leaned on the edge and looked at the palace’s courtyard. Somehow depressing thought started to emerge from her brain – she wasn’t smart enough to run an organization like this; she isn’t evil enough to call herself a villainess; she was worthless to the world and wasn’t a blimp on anyone’s radar.

Then out of nowhere an arrow hit the side of one of the pillars. Attached to it was a small white silk bag. From the angel Miranda determined came from the opposite roof, but whoever shot it had already left.

“This is a natural heirloom,” she yelled. Miranda yanked the bag off the arrow. She opened it and took out a small white queen chess piece. She held it in her palm and looked at it. Between her fingers she twirled it a bit. The top seemed a bit loose, so Miranda pulled it off. Under it was a USB connector. She placed it in her computer and the screen turned black. Then slowly letters faded in and formed a sentence: “Take your rightful place”, and then a line of numbers, which were a time and the coordinates to Milan. Miranda smiled “Don’t hack into my computer,” she waved at the camera of her computer that started to work the second she entered the USB drive into her computer, “I’ll be there,” and she closed the computer.

Miranda stood and looked at the arrow. In her mind the negative thought started to disperse and a new one emerged – time was for her to take her rightful place; to show the world she was not to be underestimated; to be the White Queen.

A clang of rusted iron as it bashed against the cracking concrete wall, small flakes swept into the stale air, some fell to the floor. The jingle, jangle of a ring of keys and scuffle of shoes on grime. “Alright Missy, it’s time for your hour outside, doll eyes.” On her head, struggling to keep balance and in tune, humming “Sweet Child of Mine.”

“Missy, shake it or brake it, little girl.”Orderly Frank Overstreet, said with a sense of fatherly tone in his speech. Missy and Frank have formed very closely knit bond over the past few months at St. Burke mental institution, that bordered on the creeper side, rumors flooded of rape, Frank quickly nipped them in the bud, and who would believe a girl with eighty percent of a brain, it all worked for Frank. That certain sort of smirk that one would get, if a big bad lie was going smoothly, on his not so well shaven face.

Missy walked forward on her palms, legs swaying, flipped and now ending the little show with the splits and a bundle of squirrely giggles. Frank bent down and grabbed her wrist and pulled her up. She shot up like a bolt and then nuzzled her head on Frank’s chest. “Your just so so so so soft on me.” Missy declared. Frank pushed her away, No PDA. Reaching behind him, he readied the zip cord or “Riot” cuffs, near impossible to get out off, without a cutting tool. Taking her wrist to bind them.

Missy screamed and knocked them away, all the behavior of a toddler. “Don’t you trust me ?” She asked, big puppy dog eyes, little bounces as she stood. Against his better judgement, like most things lately Orderly Overstreet gave in.

They walked, down the hall to the back door, as custom for everyone. Overstreet stopped to fish the Key card from his pocket. Not a soul around, all in the art room. Missy’s hand went into her panties, she pulled out a small bit of silver plastic, about a inch and half tall, filed to a point. With a battle cry and a lunge it poked through Frank’s wind pipe.

Gasping like a fish for that oh so important breath, he slid on the wall.

“Ms bunny thinks it’s real real real Funny, the one day you don’t touch my no no spot..” Missy took away his night stick and dangled it like string for a kitty, in front of his face. Tear stained, red.

“You like it when I play with your big stick right ?” A tilt of the head and a thwack to the temple.

Thwack...Thwack..Thwack

She raided the body for the wallet and key card.

A few days before hand.

Five minutes into the great Clown escape, 2011.

Journey into the Unknown

Sparse street lights were all that lit the maze of side alleys that lead out of the city-centre of Sibiu, the moon was largely hidden behind a seemingly never-ending cloud, the only sign it existed being its barely noticeable glow. Two men leaned against the walls of one such alley, they were both looked in their mid-forties and were panting, out of breath, exhausted by the trials they'd been subject too so far tonight. " Ce vrea cu noi?" One of them asked in a hushed whisper, hoping for some answer to why they were being chased, only for the other to shake his head, uncertain and scared. The sound of footprints broke the brief silence that followed, slow and quiet at first, though it steadily built up both pace and volume. Glancing at each other, the men broke into a sprint away from the source of the noise, twisting and turning down alleyways, sweat drenching their clothes as they ran, ran as though their lives depended on it. Turning a corner the first man slid to a halt, causing the fellow behind him to slam into him, sending them both to the ground. They remained where they lay, wide eyed, staring at the sight before them. A solid black wall blocked their path where one had never been before. The wall pulsated with what appeared to be veins and was covered in strange lumps. Turning around, the pair reeled back once more as a second identical wall now blocked their exit. 
 
"Ce naiba?" One of the men muttered as he edged towards the wall, trying to inspect it, only to reel back in shock as the lumps peeled back to reveal numerous eyes. Piercing brown eyes covered both walls and they glared down upon the two Romanians trapped between them. One of them screamed and a green aura swirled around him, causing his hair to flip about as though caught in a whirlwind before he lifted off the ground and looked as though he was about to soar into the sky before a single black string shot from one of the walls, shot through the mans chest and embedded itself into the other wall which began to meld over it. The man screeched in pain and struggled his blood dripped down the spindle that had pierced him, his movements on the wire caused him to spin upside down, where he hung observing the spectacle below. 
 
From the wall emerged a figure began emerging, seemingly melting forth from the muscular mass of black. He was a young man, possibly even still in his teens, clad entirely in the same black the wall appeared to be made of. He had a look written across his face that seemed somewhat unamused and with arms crossed he spoke, "Seriously, I spend all week tracking down you two, the meatshield duo of Communist Romania's second most famous superhero team and you don't even put up a fight, what have your powers faded? Are you both a pair of pansies now?" 
 
"American pig, release Iancu!" the man on the ground yelled, only for several spikes to burst out of the stranger and stab through him in several places. The man howled in pain before tearing the spikes out one by one, noting them to seemingly be made of bone. His healing factor kicked in and healed over his wounds as he stared up at his enemy who was now standing over him. 
 
"I'm Australian and no." The stranger answered with a tinge of boredom before punching the man in the face. Numerous tendrils shot forth from the walls and wrapped themselves around the pair as the youth looked up at them with disappointment, "I guess I can still extract genetic material from you, trial your abilities out on things, who knows maybe I can use you both after all." 
 
"I have a daughter now! Please don't do this!" The one called Iancu yelled out from his ensnarement. 
 
"Oh how touching coming from a mass murderer, don't worry I'm sure she'll make plenty of friends at the orphanage, ta-ta." The youth sighed as he waved at the pair as they were completely covered in the muscular black gunk. The walls began to shrink, eventually with both also taking the form of the young man, bar their elongated arms that now contained the two Romanian ex-'heroes'. 
  
After a lengthy drive back to his Romanian base of operations in Bran, Winston Sharpe and his duplicate 'Winsti' unloaded their cargo into specially designed containers before coming across an envelope lying upon his work desk. Glancing about, Winston forced every cell in his body to undergo mitosis dozens of times over, causing several clones to burst forth from him and run about the mansion seeking out the messenger. The Winston that remained picked up the envelope and pulled out the letter inside, 'Welcome White Bishop, we await your arrival. White King.' 
 
God I need to up my security, Winston thought to himself as he let the letter drop back to the desk. A final clone formed at his side and headed for the plane that would fly him to Milan.

3weeks ago, Germany:

Now - The Hellfire Club:

Kai Dojo

The Hellfire Club

Musée du Louvre, Central Paris

The Hellfire Club

Dr. Joseph Peccard  
October 17, 1993
The Doorstep Baby
 
Tonight the doorbell of our Orphanage was rung. I awoke to the fervent sounds of it being pressed over and over again. By the time I had dressed into something suitable, the ringing had stopped. It was past midnight when I opened the door. I looked up and down the street, but found no one running away, and no car leaving our blessed building. I was about to close the door, assuming it was a prank, when I heard the squeals of a child. I looked at the doorstep of the Orphanage to find a baby, placed within a basket and bundled in several blankets. There was a tiny note folded on top of the baby. It read:
 
James Robert Johnson, born October 17, 1992. 
 
I was surprised to see the boy, who had the lightest blue eyes I had ever seen before, and the darkest hair as well. I felt like I was in a movie, or that this was a prank. This baby was perfectly clean, hadn't a scratch on him, and wasn't afraid of me. He was staring at me. It was a chilly night, and with God in my soul, I grabbed up the basket and took the child inside. I gave him some warm clothes to wear, placed him in a cradle in the Toddler's section of our Orphanage. He went to sleep soundly despite this unfortunate birthday gift. I rue the parents that would do this, that would leave their child on their first birthday. Anyways, there are already two loving parents that would like to adopt the child--and I assume young James will have a happy, fruitful life ahead of him.

One week after Gambler’s speech:

Miranda Frost stood in the largest room of the Hellfire Club – the main showroom: large round tables placed around a large halve circle stage. From it small pathways moved around the tables. If you’d look at it from a higher point it reminds an octopus pulling in its prey. An ironic image, Miranda had thought the first time she saw it. Since the start of the club Miranda had taken on the task of providing entertainment which proved to be much more difficult than the newly appointed White Queen had thought.

The rich and spoilt were already arriving to see what the Hellfire offered up. Since the announcement the rumors about the place spread like wildfire. It took leas then 12 hours for the 10 richest people to hear about the place and spent an oscine amount of money to gain temporary entrance and in another 12 hours the club was booked for the next year.

Suddenly a small woman with beady eyes popped out in front of her. “Miss Frost, there is a problem back stage.”

“What is it?” Miranda said with complete and utter boredom.

“The performers for tonight – they can’t make it. Food poisoning.”

“What about plan B?”

“They gave the performers the rotten food and are waiting for charges.”

“Great.” Miranda sighed. “I guess its plan C.”

“Here is your costume,” the stage woman said prepared, “and the dancers are also ready.”

Miranda walked into small dressing room and put on a tight white corset. Attached to the waist was a long white silk cape. She placed a small microphone onto herself ready for her performance.  Miranda turned to look at herself in the mirror. “Fun!” she said trying to fake some enthusiasm. After that she disappeared into the darkness of the backstage. 
  

A large white door appeared on stage. At the same time 12 dancers appeared on stage and took poses leavening a path two of the pathways. Then a silhouette of a woman formed on the door. (I'm a outlaw / I'm the big boss / I'm a gangster on the dance floor. / I'm a outlaw / I'm the big boss / I'm a gangster on the dance floor.)

The door opened and out strutted Miranda as the dancer performed some robotic routine and moved away to the rear area of the stage. When she reached the edge of the stage a throne rose up. Miranda almost fell onto it and crossed her legs. (Don't hold back / It's nice to see somebody make an effort / You know I like it in the street lights / Like I like the spotlight / Do you like me?)

Miranda got up on the chair to show off her legs even more. (I l-l-love this track / So if you wanna come with me you should know) She lifted her left leg on the right hand support. Slowly she moved her gloved hand over her thigh and settled on her hip. (I'm like, I'm like, I'm like this beat / Yes, crazy & infectious / I make it my business / B-boy my resume says I'm a bad girl)

The throne started to lower (Oh... ). When the seat was level to the floor, Miranda stepped off on to the floor. (Closer baby look in my eyes / Do you recognize me? / I've been a bad girl / I'm a bad girl / I'm notorious.)

The dancers quickly gathered around her and lifted her up. (I'm a outlaw / I'm the big boss / I'm a gangster on the dance floor / (N-n-notorious) / I'm a outlaw / I'm the big boss / I'm a gangster on the dance floor.)

The dancers lowered her and Miranda walked along the pathway. (Boy, beware / I got a record and I'm known for my style.) Occasionally she would brush the hair of the more attractive guests around the path. When she was near an area where another path was close, Miranda stepped on to that and moved back to the stage. (And everybody knows my name here / I'm the head of game here / Pleasure and the pain, yeah / Because my resume says I'm a bad girl.)

Miranda arrived back on stage and as she did a pole started to rise from the floor. (Oh...) Miranda started to back towards it. (Closer baby look in my eyes / Do you recognize me? / Oh...) With her left hand she released her cape and threw it into the hair and as soon as it was away from Miranda the thing caught a flame. (I've been a bad girl / I'm a bad girl / I'm notorious.)

With her right hand she attached a small cable from the pole to her corset. (Notorious, notorious / N-n-notorious / I'm notorious.)

Slowly the pole started to rise from the floor. As it happened Miranda slid down the pole until she sat on the base of the rise contraption. (I'm a outlaw / I'm the big boss / I'm a gangster on the dance floor / The dance floor / Oh... )

Miranda stretched out her hand as if to try to catch someone else’s hand. (So baby tell me / Can you get it from my energy? / Oh... / I've been a bad girl / I'm a bad girl / I'm notorious.)

Golden flakes rained down on the audience below. Whether it was this or just the song both them and the dancer went into a cluby mode and got up and danced. (I'm a outlaw / I'm the big boss / I'm a gangster on the dance floor (dance floor) / I'm a outlaw / I'm the big boss / I'm a gangster on the dance floor (dance floor) / I'm a outlaw / I'm the big boss / I'm a gangster on the dance floor.)

Miranda pulled herself up and proudly stood on hand on her hip. (Oh so baby look in my eyes / Do you recognize me? / I've been a bad girl / I'm a bad girl / I'm notorious.) ‘snap’ and the lights went out.

One week after the performance:

Miranda jerked up for a short rest. She looked around trying to figure out where she was. The first thing she noticed was a large holographic display of a chemical compound. Then Miranda remembered that she was at the Science-Branch in Venice. Then she remembered that she was supposed to be working on a cure for Jean.

“Oh god,” she said, fixing her hair at the same time, “How long was I asleep?”

“10 minutes I think,” echoed behind the base of the hologram. A hand pressed on it and pulled up the body. It was Dr. Weir, the only surviving member of the pre-Miranda SB. She was older than Miranda and always wore her black hair in a crooked bun. And like any other scientist in the SB she wore a long white lab coat. “You went down, then I did, and then you woke up and now so did I.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” an annoyed Miranda asked.

“I was too tired. We have been here for four day, working non-stop. And I’m going to say it – you can’t find an agent to be placed to convert the strain. You just can’t.”

“What do you know?”

“Five PHD’s so I think I know.”

“Well your five can…” Miranda stopped and looked at the hologram. Her eyes were drawn to the fifth OH-group. “I know how we can make this work.” Quickly she placed her hands into the hologram and started to rearrange some parts. And then all of a sudden the compound that had been more like a big spot was twisting and turning into a small ball.

“Shut the front-door.” Weir said. “It worked.”

“Quickly get it produced so I can take it to the Hellfire Club.” But it wasn’t until she was on the plain holding a small white box that Miranda Frost realized “I just saved Gambler’s life.”

Zaria, Nigeria -- Obaferni Shelter

Dark Utopia: Six Months Ago

The Science Branch and Gambler’s top medics had been instructed to act quickly and without reservation. The life of Cassidy lay in the balance and no measure was to be spared. The young woman lay in a hospital bed, cordoned off inside a quarantine room. Darkchild had left something inside of her when he raped her, something beyond just his seed. He had tainted her powers, tainted her mind. In the recent months she had become darker and darker, falling prey to her baser instincts and her powers had started taking on a hint of Darkness themselves. It had all come to a head after her little excursion to and she had decided that it was time to open up a new chapter in her life. But first and foremost, she needed to be rid of this at all costs.

The monitors that were connected to her made small blipping noises as fluids traveled through the IV. She was barely lucid, the Darkness spreading and driving her a bit mad. Lifting her head up a bit, she looked out through the glass partition window in the room and saw Gambler fervently waving his arms as his mouth moved. It appeared as if he was demanding something from the blonde woman he was speaking to. She stood in front of him, an air of confidence and assuredness about her and she seemed to have a calming effect.

Cassidy lay in the bed looking frail and small. Anybody looking in on her wouldn't recognize her. She was a short, skinny little thing but she always had a presence about her. That presence was now gone and in its place was a jarring reminder of her own mortality. She was drifting in and out of consciousness as her breathing grew labored. All of the sudden her skin went stark white and her eyes closed. The alarm on the monitors started going off as Cassidy Lockhart started flat lining. Jean Luc LeBeau flew into the room, his associates from the Science Branch directly behind him along with the worlds leading experts in unexplained diseases and genetics. Neither of them had been able to do a damn thing, they had both told Jean that it was a hopeless cause, that Cassidy was beyond help and destined to die. That was when he had turned to the head of the Science Branch; Miranda Frost, a woman of many hidden talents.

“Hand me dee antidote, Miranda.” His words were rushed and hurried, yet still managed to contain that veritable Cajun charm. The clock was ticking down as doctors rushed in around Cassidy and prepared to start shocking her, trying to obtain a heartbeat.

“It hasn’t been tested yet, Jean. You have no idea the effect that it’ll have on her. It could serve to make things worse.”

“I’d rather take dee risk and have it pay off dhen stand here and watch ma petite oiseau die. Hand me dee syringe, Miranda.” The King of Kings held the small syringe in his hand, the fate of his former apprentice and star pupil resting literally in his hands. He strode over to her bedside, his footsteps rife with purpose. Grasping her limp arm, he held it gently, turning it so that he could access her veins. Pressing down a bit on the plunger of the syringe and checking to make sure that the viscous liquid contained no air bubbles, he injected it into the prominent vein of her arm.

The reaction was nearly instantaneous. Cassidy’s eyes flew open and she took in deep gasps of air as her back arched. Her body started convulsing as her eyes rolled back in her head. She gave off all the appearances of somebody having a seizure with the convulsive shakes and inability to control her own body function. It felt like there was fire burning through her veins as the antidote metabolized. Letting out a wordless scream, her agony was evident. The shrill note pierced through the air and left those in the room with goose bumps on their flesh. It sounded as if somebody was being tortured and the screams were filled with pain and agony.

Her mind wasn’t functioning properly. She tried to speak and no words came out, just that endless scream. Her body was betraying her; it felt as if it was trying to rip itself apart from the inside out. She couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't even cry. All she could do was keep herself on the verge of consciousness, afraid of what might happen if she succumbed to the nearly overwhelming darkness. In a brief second of lucidity her eyes met Gambler's. They were full of fear and resolve. She had asked for this. She had known that it wasn't going to be a walk in the park.

The King of Kings looked away from his one time apprentice and over towards the brilliant Miranda Frost. His mind was logically going through the possibilities of what exactly was happening to Cassidy's body. "The antidote is utilizing her body's own antibodies to counteract the darkness she's been infected with. What's happening right now is that her body is attacking itself in an attempt to drive out the foreign matter. As you can see, it hurts like hell, but it's the only thing that'll do the trick. I suppose I have to get all supportive now, don't I? She's not going to die...at least not from the antidote...but she is going to wish she was for a while."

The Greek Parthenon: Earlier That Day

She stood in front of a full length mirror gazing dissociatively at herself. Cassidy was incredibly driven, more so than she had ever been in her life. Darkchild had ripped her life apart, decimated everything she thought she knew. He had taken away the man she loved, the unborn father of her children, and on their wedding day no less. She couldn't even imagine the satisfaction he must have felt masquerading as the priest who was marrying them. Shaking her head gently as if to shake the thoughts out of it she looked back to the mirror. She barely recognized herself anymore. The young assassin had grown up quickly in the past few months. The loss of her husband had made her realize that her previous methods of dealing with things had been off. She had let her emotion rule her, let it dictate her actions and cloud her judgment, causing her to overreact. As of late, she had been much more calculating. Instead of letting her emotions rule them, she was using them instead as inspiration.

Today would be a day that went down in her own personal history as a turning point. Reaching down to her hip, she did up the zipper to the black Prada skirt, completing the outfit. She wore a celery green silk camisole that matched her eyes with a fitted blazer. A pair of five inch black Lobouton heels topped the outfit off. Her hair was pulled back in a coif, sitting on the crown of her head and her bangs were swept to the side with a French braid running along behind her ear; she looked every bit the businesswoman.

Walking over to the ornate wooden door, she momentarily rested a hand against it as she took a deep breath and gathered her courage. Using her muscles to push the heavy door open, Cassidy stepped out onto the dais that had been set up towards the front of the Parthenon. The exact spot where her husband had been murdered exactly three months ago. The events of that day briefly flashed through her mind as the blinding lights of the camera momentarily blanked her vision. Her strides were long and full of purpose as she walked over to the podium and prepared for the press to unleash their questions. She had called this press conference for several reasons: to rally the public against Darkchild and at the same time garner their favor for the Hellfire Club and to establish her footing as both the public and private face of Starks Enterprises.

Smiling for the cameras, the Fractured Fatale adjusted the microphone for her short height. Taking another deep breath, she began to speak. "My name is Cassidy Starks. Some of you may know me as a former Champion of Peace, others may have heard of me through my association with Jean Luc LeBeau and the good work he has been doing in these past months. I'm here today, standing in front of you not as either of those, but as President of Starks Enterprises. Two months ago to the day, my husband, Ethan Starks was murdered not in cold blood, but in an act of childish revenge enacted by Darkchild, who truly does live up to his name. His will reveals me as the new President of Starks Enterprises." She holds up her hand for silence as a slow murmur spreads through the crowd of colleagues and reporters. "I'll do you the courtesy of answering your questions, please do me the courtesy of actually listening to what I have to say. This isn't the classroom, I shouldn't have to scold you like children." She waited patiently for the noise to stop before continuing. "I'm sure this is a surprise to some of you, an accepted inevitability to others and a welcome addition to others still. I plan to serve not only my company well, but the world itself. Starks Enterprises will continue to push forward with it's cutting edge technology, as well as all of its weapons contracts. However, in the coming months, we will be refocusing some of our attention to more altruistic things. As of now, that focus will be attempting to find a way to rectify the issues in the country formerly known as France, in attempting to locate and provide relief for any survivors of the French Decimation and in opening the eyes of the world. We are a business first and foremost, we haven't forgotten that, but there are issues in this world that need to be addressed. The most prevalent of those is Darkchild. The Mad Tyrant and his power hungry lap dogs have been roaming France and tainting this world for far too long with nobody being able to properly step up and stop them and very few actually acknowledging what they've done. That stops here and now. This location was not chosen by accident. Three months ago this is the spot where I was married to Ethan Starks. At the end of the ceremony, Darkchild stepped in and revealed himself, thrusting his arm into the chest cavity of my husband, ending his life and then stealing his body. Nobody in attendance was able to stop him. He's gone on far too long completely unchallenged. Killing entire countries. He is responsible for too many crimes against humanity to be able to count. The ignorance stops now, as does my little speech." Giving a slight nod towards the crowd she spoke again. "I'll now be taking any and all questions."

The first reporter to step forward was a middle-aged man with silvery grey hair. He was a well known news reporter and Cass was more than happy to let him have the first shot. "Ms. Starks, this whole Darkchild vendetta smacks a bit of a personal agenda. Is it?"

She was happy that somebody had the balls to ask. "I think it would be silly of me to say that it isn't, as it most definitely is. But I find the things that drive us most in life are ones that strike home for us. For example, take a close look at any celebrity and then at their favored charity. Most likely they know somebody or knew somebody who knew somebody who suffered from whatever it is that charity supports. A prime example of this would be Elizabeth Taylor and AIDS/HIV research. So yes, this is personal, but does that change the fact that things have gone on far too long? No, it doesn't. If anything, it makes me that much more dedicated to the cause."

"What exactly do your weapons contracts consist of? How much revenue does that net you?"

Her eyebrow raised slightly at the question. "As a matter of law and discretion, I can only be unsatisfactorily vague in answer to your first question. We have contracts with numerous private groups, supplying them with the weapons they need to adequately do their jobs. We do not supply terrorists and we do extremely thorough background checks on everybody involved. On top of that, we have numerous contracts with the American government, the details of which I am not at liberty to discuss. If you are interested in our revenue or our net worth, please feel free to pick up a consumer report. I'm sure everything you need is there."

"You seem incredibly calm for a newlywed who just had her husband murdered. Are you even sorry he's gone?" It was an obviously malicious question and she subtly motioned to the private security guards whom she could see already tensing up. She had said any and every question and she planned to stick to that.

"I'm sure some of you are thinking what our oh so eloquent friend in the ill-fitting grey suit just said. I'm a young woman with little business experience and I'm now heading up a multi-billion dollar corporation. I'm sure that's going to raise a few eyebrows. Im sure at least a few of you are thinking I'm a gold digger. Let me take the time to assure you that I have nothing but this company's best interests in mind. I may not be a Fortune 500 executive, but I have a damn good head on my shoulders. On top of that, I have a pretty large amount of field experience. I know what's needed where and I know which weapons will be most useful and necessary. If anybody takes issue with how I do my job, please feel free to take it up with the Board." She had thought that she'd done a good job of shutting him down, and she had, but unfortunately, that was not the end of questions about her personal life and private matters.

A statuesque woman stepped forward. She looked every inch the sophisticated, weathered reporter in a fitted pantsuit, her jet black hair pulled back into a ponytail that hung down to her shoulder blades. There was something vaguely familiar about her, something that Cass was unable to put her finger on, but something that set her on edge. Tilting her head up a bit, the woman's ice blue eyes pierced Cassidy with a death glare, one full of malicious intent. "You speak of newlyweds and husbands, is it not true that you willingly gave yourself to Darkchild for your own personal gain during your time in Kyoto, Japan?" Her voice had that hint of rasp to it, making it sound like she was a whiskey drinker and it was filled with goading and aimed with hurtful intent.

The jaw of the petite assassin nearly dropped as her fingers clutched the edge of the podium. "Did I...what? Would you like me to call a doctor for you, ma'am, because clearly something is not right with your mind. I worked with Darkchild during my time in Japan, yes, but you are seriously deluded," her eyes narrowed for a moment before she spoke again, "and being fed some terrible insider information if you think that I ever consented to relations of any sort with Gen Esis."

"Can you deny the fact that you had sexual relations with him?"

Weighing her words and her course of action, Cassidy thought carefully before she spoke. Her rape at the hands of Darkchild was not common knowledge and this could go one of two ways. One, she declined to answer and looked guilty by omittance, or two, she actually answered the question and her decisions became subject to scrutiny and discreditation as the rantings of an emotionally unstable woman due to possible PTSD resulting from a rape. "If you're defining sexual relations as any sexual act occurring between two people, then no, no I cannot deny that. It's not quite so cut and dry, though. I was...I was a victim of rape. From the moment that I joined that team, I was viewed as the toy that Darkchild wanted and couldn't have and what happens when you tell a child they can't have something? They just want it that much more...right? I was the one woman, the one thing in this world who had spurned his advances. I was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, that one thing that you wanted but were never going to get. So when he couldn't have me willingly...he took me by force. He kidnapped me and held me against my will for three days before Kaligar Roxom came to my rescue." She was trying to determine how much information to give, how badly she wanted to shock people. "Do you know how much time there is in three days? That's 72 hours. That's 4,320 minutes. Thousands of minutes of pure agony, pure pain, betrayal, despair. THREE DAYS OF HELL. I didn't know if I was going to make it out alive, all I knew was that there were times when I wanted to die. When I would have given anything for it to be over. Because it wasn't only Darkchild...it was his Darkling creatures as well. They have all of his perversion and none of his sense of sentimentality. It was brutal rape combined with brutal torture for three days straight with no relief of any sort. So did I have sexual relations with Darkchild? I guess that you could say I did. But were they consensual? Not a chance on earth."

The crowd stood stunned for a moment as this new information sunk in. The cameras were snapping away and the video rolling, forever immortalizing her words and the moment that Cassidy Starks revealed one of her secrets to the world.

The same woman spoke again, sending even more red flags off in Cass's mind. "So, you quite obviously weren't able to protect yourself from Darkchild, correct? If you can't even protect yourself...what makes you think that you'll adequately be able to protect the children that you're carrying?"

The skin of Cassidy Starks went pale white as her eyes widened in complete and utter shock. There was a limited amount of people who knew of the pregnancy, all personal friends of hers, people who knew how to keep their mouths shut. The single exception to that was Darkchild himself. As soon as the name crossed her mind, a lightbulb went on in her brain. He had sent somebody or something to do this. Even now, he couldn't keep himself from picking at what was left of her life, of trying to make her collapse and give up. For her giving up would be the ultimate reward to Darkchild and so long as there was breath in her body, she'd never give up. "Who are you?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she looked down on the woman. "Are you Darkchild himself? No...too classy a form for him to take, aren't you? No...you're something else entirely. I suppose just what that is is irrelevant at this time. Yes, I am pregnant. Yes, there are plans in place. I believe that's all you need to know at this time, correct?" The palms of her hands were itching, she so badly wanted to reach for a weapon and deal this woman some serious damage. She supposed she'd have to stick with her sharp tongue instead. "Now...does anybody have any other questions? And please, ladies and gentlemen, let's try and keep further bombshells to a minimum, shall we?"

A man towards the back stepped forward, the crowd parting around him. "You've associated yourself with Jean Luc LeBeau, a man known for many things, none among them being a hero on the caliber of Champions of Peace. What gave you the change of mind?"

"I needed a change of scenery. I needed to branch away from everything in Champion City. What Gambler and our associates do may not be heroing such as what you are all accustomed to, but that doesn't take away from it's authenticity. Look at Africa for example. What was it like before he came in? It was terrible, it was a continent full of despair and unimaginable things. Now there's clean water, food, enough inoculations for everybody, not to mention housing. The economy has been improved, crops restored, disease nearly wiped out and education vastly improved. Are those not the works of a humanitarian?"

"Right, but Gambler, really? You go from the world's most prominent hero team to the charming Cajun? Surely there must be some ulterior motive there, aye?"

"What are you insinuating?" She rose a delicately sculpted eyebrow in curiosity as she looked down at the portly reporter.

"His wife has been absent as of late and you and he have been photographed numerous times out in public together. You seem to have a certain rapport between the two of you."

A Mona Lisa smile crossed her face, lighting up her eyes and showing a hint of the dimples at the corner of her mouth. "You know...I was coming here hoping to talk business, to excite the world. It's a shame when my personal life becomes more pertinent than business matters and a mad tyrant who kills countries. Says a lot about priorities and about motives when people are more interested in digging up dirt on and trying to discredit me instead of looking at things that are really important. There is a crazy, extremely powerful man trying to take over the world if you hadn't noticed! And we're what, sitting here talking about how y'all think I may be boning Gambler? Have a little freaking dignity and respect. I realize that that's mostly lost in this day and age, but the majority of you are here because you are well-respected in your field and now...well now you just look like gossip mongers and talk show hosts. You should be proud of yourselves, really, you should." Her voice was dry and laden with sarcasm. "I've known Jean-Luc LeBeau for most of my life, that is the rapport that you see between us. We are very close and not in a sexual way. Nothing more, nothing less. And now, I believe I will be rescinding my word. Questions are done. Perhaps next time this happens, should you be asked to come again, you will actually be able to maintain an air of professionalism. You should be ashamed of yourselves."

With that final word, she turned her back on the crowd of press agents and left the dais that had been set up. Five minutes later she was climbing into a stretch black limousine and on her way to the private jet that was fueled and ready to take her back to Milan for their party that evening. Sinking into the plush leather seat, Cass slipped her shoes off and tucked her legs underneath her. "Long conference Chere?" Jean sat on the seat across from her, dressed as sharply as ever in a black three piece Prada suit.

"Remind me to get the names of all the press agents there. Somebody..somebody was not quite right...somebody had way more information than they should have. Darkchild's toying with me yet again and I"m so f*cking tired of it. I"m tired of burying everything that I feel, everything that I want to do. I understand that I"m better of this way, but it's exhausting me. I want this war done and over with Jean, I want to move forward with my life instead of always looking back."

Twisting open a bottle of seltzer water, he poured her a glass in a champagne flute and gently held it out to her. "Soon enough, ma petite. Dee power mad fool's son will be his own downfall. We're almost there."

"Thank god." And with that, she closed her eyes and let herself drift off to sleep, knowing that she was safe within the confines of the car.

Two Years Ago

 One Year and Eleven Months 

One year and Three months 

One Year 

Now 

“What happens in a world where the powerful are those with extraordinary powers? What happens to the mortal men and women when they walk with gods?” Andrew Tudor the recently appointed President of the , stood in front of a wall of flashing camera’s as he spoke. This was his first national address since coming to term, the country loved him and the press hung on his every word. “We strive to become more, we should not cower in fear before these so called monsters, and is a prime example of what is to come if we continue to hide from them….” His black suit hid behind the oak pedestal, his hands moving in a positive and approach manner.  “Are we as people ready to step into the light and out of the shadows.. Of course we are. But , we are not ready as a nation!! For too long we have spread ourselves too thin, I stand here before you, on this day to not just explain how I am going to drag this nation from the depths it has fallen to, but how WE as a nation as ONE unified mind set are going to show the world what it is to be American.”

Some people in the press room began to clap and others continued to write furiously, this press conference was getting broadcast live all over the world. The President, ran a hand over his short blonde hair, his tender blue eyes looking out around the room. “Shall we begin with the questions?” he said with a smile, the presses hands shot up and one women sitting at the back gave a gentle head nod. “I believe we have a question from the web, I will take that first, seeing as how it was the people that elected me, I think it is only fair that the public also get a voice within this room.” The women smiled and cleared her throat before speaking, her black pin stripped dress stopped just above the knees, with a blue shirt, with the top two buttons undone. “ we have a question from Lousie Johnson, she asks what are we going to do about the men based in ?”

Andrew nodded his head, “I thought this may be one of the first questions asked and I just want to say to Lousie that, the boys over seas are doing a brilliant job in the most hostile of places. The original pull out date was meant to be 2014, to allow the country to be reintegrated over to the proper officials. This has now changed; I need to stress how important the American Services is to this country becoming what it once was, So you should see the them coming back over the next few months.” The room gave out a resounding gasp, “By the end of this year, there will be no American troops based outside of the country. I know this may seem shocking to take in but before the questions continue let me explain.” The room was still in a chatter as he lifted his hand for silence. He let out a sigh as the room finally fell silent and he looked straight down the camera,

“Let me start by asking you a simple question, 15 million children live below the poverty line, which country do you think this fact comes from?” the room looked around at each other, they knew the answer, but they would never say it allowed “Then let me answer for you…America. Okay so let me pick a smaller number this time, 45 thousand people die each year, that’s one every 12 minutes because they do not have good enough health insurance. What country do you think this is in.” Again the room was silent  “”   the president actually looked sadden by the words coming out of his own mouth. “I could continue, but I wont.”

Andrew Tudor stepped out from behind the pedestal “Now I will be making some drastic changes, use to be a world where people dreamed of, a world where anything could happen. But let me tell you under the glitz and glimmer we are struggling. So I am going to make two things very clear, right now. In order to make the changes needed, I am going to have to cut back on a great many things, that is the first thing I wanted to make clear, the second thing is very simple, I am here to make a better standard of living, your taxes will not increase.” The hands where waving in the air, he pointed at a young reporter from the post “ Where do you intend to make these cut backs, the military?” It was a fair question after what had just been said “No, I will not lay off any of the men that return from active duty or serve are country. The biggest cut will be to foreign aid . We must start to build are bridges at home before we can even think of helping others.”

“the men who return, will be put to work within their community, helping rebuild schools and primarily teaching a new generation. We need to be secure in the knowledge that we are safe on are own soil and as such these men and women will be helping are communities grow. We will also be supplying training to our countries police force. After the Skrull invasion and we have a great need to be prepared for foreign and domestic attacks on the country. I myself and my staff have taken a thirty percent pay decrease for while we are in office. My main goal is to allow Americans to live the American Dream. I have already cut back on numerous out goings we could no longer afford. Brining back the troops will also drastically cut back on the countries expenses. It may be costly to start with but the pay out and the fundamentals that it will give the country will only strengthen us.”

Many more hands continued to shoot up “please, I will be realizing all of my changes in the next fortnight, this is the beginning America, by the end of this year, I will grantee that you will all be at a better standard of living, that we will once again be the country people dream us to be. Never forget that you are an American and that is something to be DAMN proud of.” With that he turned from the camera and began walking away. The tides of change where coming, and would be ready, now it was time to face the UN! His spell had already began to weave it’self into the people all over the . Before long it would consume the world, congress would not vote against him, they never knew why they never argued with his views, they never remembered what they had just read; they just knew they had to vote in his favor. After all who could say no to the lord of mischief.

Slight got comfortable. Making sure the chair was reclined to just the right angle, the kettle corn was popping away as he adjusted the channel accordingly to the "President's" speech tonight. It was beginning in a few minutes and he wanted to have everything right, prepped and ready for the laughs that would ensue. Glancing over at the clock, he quickly darted over to the microwave and pulled the steaming sweet and salty snack out. Sitting down he grabbed the remote and flicked the channel one more, and there he was, standing royally behind the Presidential Podium. It was a little known fact that the five American flags that stood rather statuesque behind him were propped accordingly with wire hangers to make them look fuller in body, instead of droopy. "Crunch." Slight chomped down on the popcorn, and Arrow began. 
 
The man the free world knew as President Andrew Tudor was in all actuality one of the most prolific desecration ever known. Slight, had gotten to know him, shallowly at best, but they were more than acquaintances now. He knew what Arrow was capable of, he knew what those he called family was capable of, and yet, here he was toying with humanity. That's the true beauty of his ways, choosing to focus his magic down upon the very things that he could easily wipe away. Avery could relate. He had power like Arrows and had never tapped into it's full vastness...It was almost the same, and it was almost a shame, to know that there were beings that walked among the masses, that could change their worlds so fast and magnificently.  
 
He listened more intently, trying not to laugh at the ridiculous mockery Andrew Tudor was making of such an esteemed position of power. Arrow knew that the press ate of his words like pigs at a troth. It didn't matter one bit that pretty much all of what he was saying was useless fodder, having no real value to it; and what little he did give detail on was wrong. Slight knew this, but it didn't matter. He was above the law, always had been. Humanity, specifically America's view of morality, although vastly changed from it's birth, had always been bound by the known. The ones that dared to go into the unknown were scorned and ostracized for being different. In the extreme limits of society were the people with the true power, untapped and unused. For what was it that they had to loose, love, friends, families? None of that mattered to the "lone wolf" before it was the anger and hatred for the status quo that drove them to the things they did. Slight was part of that counter culture now, and listening to Arrow speak his drivel, it was all too apparent....Slight was more alone than ever... 
 
Even with the title as a Silver king, he felt as if, and with cause knew that his opinion was worthless beyond what he was truly here for. His knowledge of the destiny plans the Hellfire club had was why they even allowed him to stay around. Honestly, he'd done nothing to earn his spot here, and had done everything to earn his head on a platter. As he continued to watch, he ate the last bit of his popcorn, and finally Mr. President was done. As enjoyable as it was, the lingering feeling was one of solitude. The speech was a victory on the side of unity, and Slight had put himself in the position of solitary confinement...And as bad as it felt on the outside, something was growing. That feeling you get when you know everything that has ever been will change for you...it was the feeling of Godhood, but more, the orchestrator of existence...That power lay in the hands of a few kings and queens. 

The nationally televised Presidential address was nothing if not theatrical. America was riding high on a wave of euphoria brought forth by their newly elected President, Andrew Tudor. A young up and coming politician who had captivated a nation with his brash bravado and charismatic reverence anchored by his Kennedy esq jawline and New Englander swagger. With an almost hypnotic ocean tinted gaze and accent riddled voice, his speeches delved into the core of his audiences soul giving them a renewed sense of American pride as well as hope for revitalized future that would see many of the World prolonging questions finally answered. But beneath the cookie cutter image of a perfectly personified politician lied the demonic demeanor of the World's greatest puppeteer, Final Arrow. The Black King of the Hellfire Club and methodically dangerous fallen angel known for his masterfully enigmatic schemes and unbridled power.

Across the ocean in Milan Italy comfortably watching the televised address from the privacy of his illustriously decorated French decor themed bedroom, Jean Luc LeBeau remained transfixed with admiration as Andrew played to the crowed with effortless ease. Conducting his own orchestra of operatic proportions as he promised them the World, and could deliver. As he continued to watch and listen the lotion saturated hands of his assistant and newly appointed curator of the HFC, Isabella, seductively rubbed his chest and shoulders gently tracing over many of the lasting battle scars unceremoniously spread across the Cajun's war torn body. Her attention suddenly captivated in much the same manner, "Oh mio, he' s abbastanza no incantante" (Oh my, he's quite the charmer no?) Her Italian ladled accent bringing a mischievous smirk to the King of Kings' face. "Yes indeed, almost to charming mademoiselle." His muscles freshly massaged the Living Legend slipped into an all white cotton button down while Isabelle fastened his silver HFC cufflinks before straitening his collar, "Merci"

Sitting up from her spot on the doctor’s table, Cassidy reached for her clothes, gently pulling them on. Nearly four months along in her pregnancy, she was having regularly scheduled OB/GYN appointments. The world’s leading experts in mutant genetics and had been flown in to maintain a semi-permanent residence throughout the pregnancy, no expense was being spared, no risks being taken. Cassidy was used to putting herself on the line, to taking enormous risks with her health and well-being, but this wasn't just about her anymore. It was now all about the two babies growing inside of her, there was nothing more imperative than their health and well-being.

She swung her legs around to the side of the table, looking the doctor in the eyes. "What's the prognosis, what the hell is going on with me?"

"Ms. Starks, I've never seen anything the likes of what's happening with you. You're of very small stature and you're carrying twins, that alone would take a toll on somebody, but it doesn't explain the ultrasound readings and oddly enough, the energy output." Dr. Sanders was a fifty-something woman and a medical genius. She was top of her field in gynecology and the world's leading expert on mutant genetics. It was disheartening and nerve wracking to say the least as Cass was met with answers that only served to provide her with more questions.

She narrowed her eyes, her wrinkled nose displaying some of her confusion. "What do you mean energy output? They're fetuses, how is there an energy output?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but what you have to understand Cassidy is that your pregnancy is entirely unprecedented. The children that you carry within you are mutant-Kryptonian-demi god hybrids. That's a one of a kind pregnancy, nothing of the likes has ever occurred before to anybody's knowledge. Nobody is sure how long your gestation period is going to be, although judging by your ultrasound, you're progressing normally and I'd put my money on the ten months. Nobody is entirely sure of any complications that you may have. Nobody is sure of anything. All we can do at this point in time is posit educated guesses and take every precaution available to us. We're playing this by ear, but rest assured with the fact that you are in the best of hands."

"I can't rest assured with anything, Dr. Sanders. I'm scared, I'm tired, I'm angry. My emotions are all over the place due to these hormones and circumstances. I'm absolutely exhausted. I'm scared out of my freaking mind."

The doctor looked her over closely and stepped forward. Gently sliding two fingers underneath the russet brown locks of her patient, she began taking her pulse. "You're blood pressure is a little low and you seem a bit listless. Have you been sleeping well or at all?"

"I've been getting nine hours a night and I'm still exhausted. I'm so tired sometimes I can barely function." She yawns as she says the words, further making her own point.

"Are you in pain at all? Any throbbing or sharp stabs of pain anywhere, specifically your abdomen?"

"Sharp stabs in the abdomen occasionally. I nearly blacked out from it once. I'm accustomed to pain, Dr. Sanders, but there was something about this that threw me for a loop."

The doctors brow furrowed as she made a note in the tablet she held that contained all of Cassidy Starks' medical records. Quickly skimming threw them, her photographic memory taking everything in she looked up from the tablet and back to Cass. "I want you to take things very slow, very carefully. I know you're used to throwing caution to the wind. That's no longer an option. You have my cell number, I want you to call me if you experience the pangs again or if they grow any worse. We're not taking any risks with these babies and we're not taking any risks with their mother. We're done for now, but I want you back in here tomorrow. We'll be doing daily checkups until I'm convinced that you're passed the stage where we need to be this vigilant about your health."

Sliding down off the table, Cassidy leaned down to pick up her purse from it's perch on the chair. "One last thing, Dr. Sanders. Doctor-patient confidentiality holds tighter with me than any patient you've ever had. I trust that everything said in this room stays in this room, yes? There are people who would use this against me given half a chance and I can't afford to appear weak right now. I'm in the middle of moving forward with Starks Enterprises and I already have the press dogging my heels. On top of that, I have plenty of enemies far more dangerous than business sharks and desperate paparazzi. Nobody is privy to any of this, not even Jean...maybe especially Jean. He doesn't need to know how bad things are, he has more important things to worry about. Are we understood?"

"Of course, Ms. Starks. The patient's health comes first and if that's what you wish, that's what we'll do. I want to see you in here at 2 PM tomorrow afternoon for a follow up."

3 Months Earlier - Sao Paulo, Brazil

Present - Bran, Romania