Manuel Cortez flashed a charming smile as the hotel clerk verified him as "Juan Diaz", who had a reservation in a first class suite at the Chicago Hilton near O'Hare airport. The clerk asked if he was interested in their frequent visitor's club, and he made a point of picking up the literature to feign interest. In truth, he never traveled anywhere using the same set of identification twice, and only rarely used the same set of credit cards. A contact in Central America was a wizard at setting up dummy accounts with American Express, Visa, and other major banks, and Cortez made sure to pay the man for his very best service.

Upstairs, he took a moment to look around, using a bug sweeper before settling down. An unnecessary precaution perhaps, but one he always took. One in his profession could never be certain. Satisfied, he took a moment to unpack his mundane items and wash his face before pulling out a high-powered laptop computer, several legal pads and a set of photographs and cassette tapes. Once he was ready, he put his game face on. It was time to get to work.

Like most modern hotels, this one was equipped with a separate data port and high-speed broadband connections. He would make use of the former, but avoid the latter. One never knew what logs were kept with a stranger's ISP or Internet service provider. He had a set of accounts with another privately held company, who also provided connections to drug dealers and other white-collar criminals, who could be counted on their discretion. Once connected, the entire world of information was ready to be tapped. What once would have meant having to hire many hirelings, travel to many different locations, and risk discovery all that time was now done with relative safety and anonymity behind an electronic screen. Which was the only reason he was still here.

He paused to gather his thoughts and suppositions as the connection established itself and downloaded his mundane information. He wasn't as comfortable with this mission as he had been when he first left. Only a few days ago, he had received a disturbing set of news; his intended target, a metahuman teenage girl, had just successfully broken into and out of Purgatory Prime. Generallisimo Juan Hernandez had called; informing him that he had a leak from the United States Government, which was no big deal. He had spent his entire career compromising agencies within the United States and other NATO countries. All for a country that didn't stand a prayer of actually successfully countering any of the superpowers, true, but he had done his task well enough. But during those days, he was pitting his skill, intelligence, and savvy against normal people, albeit well connected people. That was a bet he was willing to wager and had always come out on top. But now he was going up against a foe who, if these reports were accurate, could probably read and manipulate his mind from clear across the country, were she to know of his existence. The very idea that his own thoughts could not be trusted was truly frightening to one who had spent his entire life trusting those very thoughts and instincts. He closed his eyes and wondered again why he was doing this and the answer was always the same.

"El Presidente, I hope you realize that this information complicates matters."

"And why would that be?" Hernandez replied over the encrypted line. The digital encryption made for good enough reception that his annoyance over the question came through clear enough.

"You are asking that I try and outwit an opponent who can read and manipulate people's thoughts to this degree," Cortez explained patiently. Oftentimes heads of states could be so annoyingly ignorant of the details.

"Not outwit, my friend. I am obviously not asking that you engage her in combat or any form of confrontation. She does not know of your existence, and as long as you perform your task properly, she never will." The implied insult stung, but Cortez set that aside.

"Very well, jefe. Then I must know the intended overall goal of the research you are paying me for."

"You do not need to know this."

"Forgive me, jefe, but I do. One cannot conduct operations against sophisticated opposition without a clear overall objective. It simply isn't done."

Hernandez almost snarled, but the politician in him kept his temper in check. "I see. And is this how you did your work for Castro?"

"As it turned out, Castro asked the very same questions you do, and I gave him the same answers." Two lies in one, Cortez knew. One, Castro never asked such a question, and two, no one in their right mind spoke to him in such an insolent manner. Still, Hernandez found being compared to such an illustrious neighbor who had successfully bedeviled the Americans for so many years appealing.

"I see. Very well, give me a few days to assemble the information you wish. For now, I am forwarding the information I have accumulated so far to your drop location. But the short answer to your question is the national security of Santo Domingo, as always. I'm sure you can see that one this powerful needs to be thoroughly researched so that countermeasures can be prepared."

Bullshit, Cortez had thought. It was Ego, pure and simple. Hernandez liked to hide behind a skillfully built mask of Hispanic solidarity and nationalistic pride, but for someone who had spent their entire life reading faces and intentions, the real reason was obvious enough. This girl, Mindshadow he now knew, had humiliated Hernandez and his pride was hurt. He had to bring her defeat to salve his wounded pride. The smart thing to do against one so powerful as this would have been to simply deploy a small nuclear weapon when she was spotted, but then of course, he wouldn't be able to gloat about his victory. Hernandez was thinking with his Latino machismo instead of his brains. But he was a very rich Latino macho, which, of course, made all the difference, especially since he had increased his pay again as a way to assuage the difficulty of the mission, along with a promised bonus if he could find a way to bring Mindshadow down.

His mind turned back to his work as the first set of data came up on the screen. Even before the amended profile, he knew he didn't stand any chance in combat or confrontation. That would be madness to try. His only advantage over this girl was his worldly experience, combined with her relative naivete and clear overconfidence that her powers could do anything she wished. It was an edge he had every intention to exploit.

When the first screen came up, he did some rough figuring. The US population was close to 276 million people. However, he had several ways of filtering that down. Based on a few simply assumptions, deductions and observations, he had come up with the following criteria to search. She was a female Caucasian, age between fifteen and seventeen. That alone dropped the figure to 7 million. She had spoken quite a bit during the taped battles between Hernandez, along with her devastating attacks on Purgatory Prime, and she was clearly speaking with a Mid-Western dialect, with some Northern influence, which meant she was either born or raised somewhere in the north-central part of the United States. With over 80% of the population born and raised in major urban centers, he was prepared to discount the large tracts of rural areas that made up America's breadbasket. That dropped his search to just over a million people, in about a dozen cities in the middle of the country. Chicago being the largest, he was starting his search here.

He paused briefly to order a room service meal before continuing. Yes, he thought; his source had come through. He downloaded the next set of information, hacked and copied from the hospital records from around the city of Chicago. Of course, if he had the wrong city, then he would have to make another trip soon, probably to Denver, Kansas City, Detroit or Minneapolis next. He looked at the picture of Mindshadow again; bright red hair and green eyes. He was going on the assumption that Mindshadow would never deign to bother disguising her own appearance, given that she was so confident that her powers made her immune to any retaliation. Applying those criteria dropped his search to just over 90,000. Next, he downloaded the student records for all the schools in the Chicago area. He knew he was making a big assumption here, but it was his belief that someone as powerful and prideful as Mindshadow would not submit to a mere schoolteacher or principal as an authority figure. Dropping all active students from his list, both in normal and reform schools, left him with just over 800 names. Of course if he hit a dead end, he'd have to go back and try again. But he had learned to trust his instincts over the years; now wasn't the time to go questioning them. Metahuman or not, she was still human in terms of psychology and sociology.

The list shrunk steadily during the night as Cortez continued to pare away at his list of suspects. Eliminating the confirmed deceased, poverty-stricken, and those on welfare left him with a mere fifty names. Most of these were unexplained, unconfirmed or recent deaths, missing persons, and vagrants. He printed out a list of names and known last addresses, culled from his stolen information. He had done what he could from here. It was time to visit the real world.

Cortez pulled up to the Lockwood Orphanage and parked his rented Lincoln Town Car. He had already visited twenty other suspects, but was able to quickly discount them as most of them were living in poverty, prostitution or confirmed dead. This suspect might have something though; an orphan, who had been raised here, attended the local public schools before she was reported to have died in a recent airplane accident that took all lives aboard. That accident took place less than a week before Hernandez's confrontation against Mindshadow in the village of Ceritibo, which made her a prime suspect.

Taking a moment to get into the proper frame of mind, Cortez rang the doorbell. Less than a minute later, the door opened, revealing an elderly woman with a submissive expression. "Can I help you?"

"I hope you can," Cortez greeted the lady with a charming smile. "My name is Felix Ramirez. I am a private detective under retainer by..." he made a show of fumbling for a written name he had prepared, "Mr. Albert Clancy."

The moment he uttered the phony name, Cortez knew something wasn't right. The landlady's expression suddenly blanched with a look of fear. No, more like terror. Pretending to ignore it, he continued, "I'm investigating the possibility that-"

The door slammed shut, cutting Cortez off in mid-sentence. "Go away!" the woman ordered through sobbing tears.

Well, well, Cortez thought. That was interesting; what would inspire such trauma? He had to make sure. "I assure you that my inquiry is entirely legitimate. If necessary, I can obtain a court order, but I hope that such ugly measures can be avoided with a simple show of courtesy." It was a bluff of course, but one that often worked when dealing with the lower rung of society.

After almost a minute, the door cracked open and the lady looked reluctantly at the man on the step. It was time to offer an olive branch, he thought. "If this is an awkward time, perhaps I can arrange to return at a more convenient time?"

The old woman shook her head. "No, I suppose it's just as well I get this over with..." Inside, the foyer was old and slightly run down - the results of endless children and insufficient money from the State. A few children could be seen, but their faces also reflected the same fear. A cruel headmaster, perhaps? Or something else?

"I realize that family affairs can often be uncomfortable topics, particularly when they involve children," Cortez offered sympathetically. He handed the lady a small, prepared packet of information; most of it true, some of it forged. "You can see that I too am trying to reunite a family."

The lady shook her head slowly. "No, Mr. Ramirez, I'm afraid you don't understand." She looked at the packet of information and her hands shook. "The person you're looking for isn't here anymore. She's dead." With that pronouncement, the lady's demeanor relaxed visibly.

"I am truly sorry to hear that."

"No, Mr. Ramirez," the lady shook her head, "be thankful." Her voice was hoarse but her expression was relaxed. "This girl...was like no one you would ever want to see."

"Surely you have your share of difficult children in a place such as this?" Cortez offered mildly.

"If she had just been temperamental, that would have been easy. But she was...far worse than any screaming child. This girl...what she did...what she could do to people..." the lady trembled as her voice failed her.

"Would you perhaps have some personal information I could use to close my investigation then?"

Back at the Hilton, Cortez looked over a set of personal records he had copied from Bedford Junior High School and F. Murray Abraham High School. Despite not having any home, parents or apparent wealth or status, this girl had ruled these schools. She was president of every club she belonged to, despite her underclassman status. She was listed as having a perfect academic record, and holder of every major award that could be bestowed on a student. She was head cheerleader, lead actress of her drama classes, and dubbed Homecoming queen two years running. If all these were true, then she was an overachiever beyond words and should have been one of the most popular girls in her school. However, in contrast to this, he was unable to find a single person who would speak well of her. Every teacher, counselor, administrator, and even a few students who had overheard their conversations had reacted the same as the old woman from the orphanage, to varying degrees. This girl, despite having everything, didn't seem to have a single friend or ally. Yet somehow, she had ruled the entire school with an authority that would have made most dictators look libertarian by comparison; even after her apparent death, her name was whispered with fear. The final confirmation was the school yearbook pictures. A visual side-by-side comparison was already convincing; a computer analysis confirmed the match.

The last known record of this girl took place less than four months ago when she was listed as a solo passenger on American flight AA303, Chicago to Los Angeles. That flight never made it; it had crashed in the Rocky Mountains, killing all aboard. The FAA was still reportedly sorting out the details and could come up with no other explanation other than "pilot error". There was also a related story that stated that an unusually high number of passengers on that plane had taken out extra amounts of flight insurance. Crosschecking some stolen financial records revealed that every insurance policy had been claimed on the same day only a few days after the flight had crashed. Didn't that normally take several weeks to process such claims? Cortez wasn't certain, but he was certain that such records were rarely processed so quickly and without questions. The total in insurance claims made on that flight was close to $200 million - quite a sum if his suspicions were correct. But clearly that wasn't enough; only days later, she stole another billion pesos from the Columbian Cartel, and had recently broken some metahuman prisoners out of jail. She didn't do that on a whim; according to the information Hernandez had acquired from the US Government, it had been a coordinated plan, though executed with some clumsiness. Of course, having such vast personal power gave her some tactical latitude, he allowed.

So she wanted more than just money, he realized. No public declarations or threats however, she was trying to operate within the existing system. If she held to the same methods as described in the Purgatory Prime break, she would probably be using the villains she had freed as pawns for her plans. She was also probably using her powers to enslave politicians, major business tycoons, and other well-connected people. Not a bad concept for one so young, and with her powers, quite doable, unless someone stopped her. Hernandez wanted that honor, but Cortez had his doubts that his boss could accomplish such a task alone. Well, he had been paid to bring her down, though obviously he couldn't do that on his own. His contacts among the metahuman community were minimal, and truth to tell, most of them wouldn't have stood a much better chance anyway. But there was one man he knew who might. Perhaps not personally, but he would surely know someone who could accomplish it.

Maximillian Powers watched from behind a thick-shielded wall and protective goggles with a calculating expression as the other members of his team of scientists conducted the latest trial experiment. Tubes of argon and neon gas flickered and glowed as highly charged particles streamed through the inert chambers. The tricky part wasn't the science itself; the theory had been known for almost fifteen years. The hard part was miniaturizing the acceleration chamber enough to reduce its energy consumption enough to run off conventional power. After five minutes, the loud sound of the lead chamber sliding shut signaled the conclusion of the trials. The warning light above the viewing portal changed from red to green, signaling that the room was clear of radioactive hazards.

After a few perfunctory comments to his team, Powers heads back to the administrative side of the PowersVision, arguably the most esoteric division of Powers Corp International. One of the world leaders on pioneering sciences for the future, its mission was to conduct research and development of the hypothetical and the imaginary. Its motto was as visionary as its goal: "The Future; Today". It rarely showed a profit, but that didn't stop Maximillian Powers from funding it extremely well, which attracted the best and the brightest theoretical physicists and researchers in the world. To that end, it was one of the first privately held companies to map out the human genome, almost two years ahead of the public international consortium. Its mathematical division developed encryption and decryption algorithms that rivaled or even beat the NSA in several key areas. Its biotech division had developed concepts on human medicine and genetic treatments well ahead of its time. The current project was high-energy physics; the pursuit of the all-elusive superluminal particle, or tachyons as they were commonly called. Theorized as far back as the 1930s, their existence has yet to be proven. If they were, it would be a breakthrough that threatened to rewrite the entire concept of paradox relativity, causality loop theory, and open the doors to all manner of possibilities. Including time travel.

Upstairs in his executive suite, Powers and his entourage of men came to a stop as Cortez stood up from his seat in the waiting area. Powers frowned at the intrusion; this area was supposedly off-limits to outsiders. He made a mental note to speak with his chief of security as his body guards advanced in the front to intercept the stranger.

"Mr. Powers, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Cortez offered as the bodyguards frisked him for weapons or recording devices.

"The pleasure is yours," Powers replied coldly. "I won't ask how you got past the guards as I'm certain they will be offering me many explanations in the next few days, Mr. Diaz. Or do you prefer Colonel Cortez?"

"As you wish," Cortez acknowledged.

Maxmillian Powers looked at Cortez with a cold expression as his bodyguards finished their pat down and shook their heads. "To say that you are interrupting something of great importance would be a gross understatement. However, as a show of respect for your reputation, I'll give you one minute to persuade me not to have you shot."

Cortez smiled, disguising his concerns. How did he know for certain that Powers would care about his information? But he had made his commitment and he would have to live with it. And if he was wrong, well, the contents of a certain mail box would be made public very shortly after, which would see to it that he didn't go down alone. "I am looking for a girl."

"Aren't we all," Powers replied sardonically. Despite the intrusion, Powers found himself admiring the man's nerve.

"A very special girl," Cortez elaborated.

"Special girls usually cost a lot of money."

"This one will cost you nothing. Her name is Angelina Clancy."

The room became deathly quiet for several seconds. Powers' expression barely changed; a mere raising of an eyebrow. But by his standards, that said a lot.

"Leave," Powers commanded to the bodyguards.

"Boss?" one of the guards asked with confusion.

"I'm extended Mr. Cortez's deadline," Powers pronounced. With that, the remaining guards left as quickly as manners permitted. Once they were alone, Powers switched on a small box, which emitted a faint but annoying buzz, rendering any electronic recording devices useless. "And what exactly do you know about Ms. Clancy?"

"That is a fascinating story," Cortez admitted after hearing the highlights of the Brightstar fiasco of 1984. "And no one ever knew?"

"The powers that be wanted to take credit, so I simply let them shoulder the blame. Of course I was able to get most of the findings from the project before it was closed down - one of the primary requirements I made before agreeing to fund it. Though it was a pity to lose Dr. Bryan; I had made plans to hire him out of the project before he met his untimely demise."

"Without him, how did you know that the formula would produce the result it did?"

"I didn't; not precisely. I hypothesized that it would have a different result, so I had the child implanted with a cartilage transponder to monitor her development. Had it developed into nothing, there would have been no loss."

"But instead, she developed advanced psionic powers at an extremely young age. Sometime before six years old according to my research."

"Pretty close," Powers allowed. "Actually around six years, two months. As she used them, her powers grew geometrically over the years."

"Which she used to dominate her environment until it became too small for her satisfaction."

"And now she is what you see today. If I had known it would turn out like this, I probably would have had Subject F12 terminated instead of institutionalized."

"Really?" Cortez asked with surprise. The morality was a non-issue, but it seemed like a waste.

"Look at the results," Powers pointed out with annoyance. "When her powers first developed, I had hoped to harness her once she reached maturity. But now she's so powerful, there's hardly a mind on Earth she can't control. I certainly wasn't planning to confront her as she is now; that'd be foolhardy."

"As my employer found out the hard way," Cortez nodded.

"Hrumph..." Powers snorted. "Generallisimo Hernandez could use a little humility now and then."

"What about the transponder?"

"Sadly, it stopped transmitting sometime three years ago. This was right around the time her telekinetic powers had developed to the point where she could sense and manipulate matter at the sub-molecular level; I hypothesize that she apparently found it and vaporized it in her own body. After a few months of silence, I placed a group of men to watch her from a distance, which worked well enough until the day of her disappearance. As it turned out, two of them were on that fatal plane crash, and ironically, both of their life insurances policies were cashed right along with the rest of the poor victims you documented. Since then, I've made it a point to...keep my distance until I can ascertain a way to deal with her."

"A wise precaution. Perhaps this 'E-ph4' could be replicated and used on other children with different dosages to ensure compliance?"

"I've already tried. Fourteen would-be mothers are already childless as a result, and a handful more are also institutionalized. Apparently, Angelina is somehow unique in her ability to metabolize E-ph4. Perhaps she is a mutant; I'm not certain."

"But there is Harbinger," Cortez protested.

"Who was administered with a different serum, no doubt modified by Dr. Bryan after his kidnapping or by Autocrat himself. Either case, those research notes were not privy to me."

"Which leaves both you and my employer with the same impossible quandary. Ironic that we should be encouraging the Protectorate to do their duty in this circumstance."

"Bah!" Powers dismissed. "A bunch of overconfident, complacent, flashy circus performers. If the Elite can enslave Avatar, I have little doubt that, given the right circumstances, Angelina Clancy would be able to do the same to the likes of Lioness and Trinity."

"If not the Protectorate, then who?"

Powers took a moment to think things through before nodding. "Perhaps one man."

"Only one? And what superpower does he possess that makes him so mighty?"

"The mightiest of all - a trained human mind, who specializes in defeating metahumanity."

"I know Hernandez would be willing to pay any price for his services."

"The man is a billionaire already; money doesn't mean anything to him. But pride does." He pressed an intercom. "Ms. Marker, get Mr. Wayne Adrian on the phone."

"Mr. Adrian?"

"An expert martial artist, scientist, inventor, and detective; he's one of the smartest and most dangerous men on the planet. He's defeated entire groups of villains and heroes alike over the years. The only thing that motivates him is the challenge of being the best by beating the best."

"A contest of refined skill verses raw power then?"

"Precisely."

"I'm surprised I have not heard of such a powerful individual," Cortez admitted. "I thought I made it my business to know the major players in the game."

"You've probably only heard of him through his work, rather than a face-to-face meeting. I know his name because we've both tried to buy each other out from time to time. The name you probably know him by is Chessmaster."

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