"Samson? Sorry to disturb you." Their reluctant yet angelic voices harmonically hailed the Superman of Superheroes as he mediated.
Healing the mind was as important as healing his body. And the False Bay, despite its current state of criminal dominance, still held a spiritual connection to its afrofuturistic roots.
It had already begun to reshape and mold Samson's shallow perception of the World.
"This man really wants to speak with you." the Trifecta announced.
Slowly the Cybersin Superman rose to his feet stylishly swimming his arms, then shoulders, into an all black and purple trimmed dashiki. Covering up the recent surgical scar running down the length of his back. "Was I not clear enough when I told you no visitors?" Of course the question was rhetorical. Yet as the beautiful trio of identical sisters helped usher in a hunched over hobbled stranger, any anger Samson may have felt quickly retreated.
"It cant be. CAN IT? Ali?"
As a child, alongside with his brother, the executives of Project Apex had brought the Starr brothers to Africa, and to what was at the time known as, the Kwazulu Alcazar. Now more infamously known as the Rogue Nation. But back in the day the Alcazar was a fairytale told to up and coming superheroes in North America. Primarily young African-American prospects in hopes it would help to influence particular social tendencies and inspire superheroes to be more than just lawless vigilantes by showcasing a superhero who had made himself a king. Naturally, the Bashir's prided themselves as being the 'wardens' of the Bay, rather than the monarchy of the bay. But to exercise unlimited power with no oversight, well, that is about as kingly as any one person could expect.
"Tis been a long time, Stah. I see good health has blessed you, no?"
"Dont give me that bullshit you're supposed to be dead man what the actual f's is going on? Where have you been all this time?" Samson questioned with a slight look of contorted confusion masking his otherwise abnormally charming features.
"Dat tis a story for anothah day. Right now we dont have much time. I need your help. I need to retake the Bay from my son and return it to its people. Musa has destroyed everything my family stood for. Our honor will never again see dee light of day. But at least I can do something. I can do dis. If you'll help me?"
It was as about as submissive as Ali had ever been. He knew the danger, the risk. That without the Universal Patriots help, the Rogue Nation would forever remain a new age cove of modern day pirates and terrorists.
"First. We need to get into dee palace. I need to get my suit."
Samson grimaced as he maneuvered his shoulders causing them both to crack and pop with an unearthly deep rooted rumble. He could feel it. The pain. The fragile sensation running up and down his repaired spin.
"You know your son and his people fixed me right? Seems kinda jacked up me repaying em by helping you. Hell old man, I aint even 70% yet."
-We strongly recommend you refuse this request Mr. Starr- Subtly Samson turned to passively acknowledged their telepathic warning.
"Let me bring the squad in on this. See what they think. They'll help."
"NO! No no outsidahs. Jus you, an me."
"Okay Ali. We'll do it your way. So tell me. Whats your plan?"