Episode One - 'Slaves to Fashion'

A Warehouse, somewhere outside Brighton, England

Harry gripped his pistol tightly with both hands and kept it trained on the young costumed woman who lay on the floor. "That was a pretty nasty fall you took there, love. It's like, you always see clips on the news of you super people flying around with your capes flapping behind you, or swinging from tall buildings like Tarzan, but I've never seen anyone fall down before. Guess there's a first time for everything. Actually, it's quite funny from where I'm standing..." Harry took the opportunity to scan the warehouse for any further sign of trouble while the woman lay stunned on the hard cement floor. "So, what do they call you then? Action Woman? Cat Girl? Miss Marvel? I'm sorry to say I'm a bit out of touch, ever since the National Enquirer stopped running features on you people."

She raised her head painfully, focussing on the gaunt gunman, on his matte black leather clothes, on the Bloodhawk motif sewn onto his jacket, and the automatic pistol in his hands. "Argent..." she replied.

"Uh huh - Argent... right. Word of advice love, it's not a name that strikes fear into the hearts of men. I mean... fuck, I don't even know what it means... Where did you get that name from? A Thesaurus? Now, if you wanted to sound a little more dangerous you could have called yourself... I dunno... Black Panther, or Black Widow, or Black Bat, or something like that. Argent? I don't think so..." Harry watched the woman drag herself up by her hands and elbows. From the way her left foot moved, he guessed she had sprained it in the fall. He glanced up at the iron beams criss-crossing the roof of the warehouse. Stupid super heroes. Stupid super heroes and their stupid theatrics. "So tell me, what does a cement floor taste like after a twenty foot drop? Pow! Splat! But no, really, I'm curious..."

Argent regarded him. Her foot was swollen, painful and stiff. She knew there was no chance of moving quickly enough to dodge a bullet.

"Whatever your super powers are, I guess flight and invulnerability aren't among them." Harry laughed. "Hey, you gotta see the funny side of it. I'm shitting myself, wondering where you are, and then you fall off the roof, splat, ten feet in front of me. Don't you just hate it when that happens? Hmm?"

Elenor Haines, the super heroine called Argent, shifted into a seated position, careful not to move too quickly. She touched her twisted ankle and swore silently.

"And uh, there's something I feel I really ought to say, Miss Argent. I don't want to sound rude, but, well, hasn't anyone ever told you you look like a prostitute? How come all you super people dress like you're going to a fetish party?" Harry pointed the gun directly at Argent's head. "So then, there's you over there with all your fancy kung fu and Batman gimmicks, plus a busted ankle, and then there's me, out of reach, with a gun. Isn't it about now you super people are supposed to say something like 'shouldn't you take the safety catch off first' or 'too bad you fired your last bullet a few minutes ago'? Only this time I know where the safety catch is, and I know I've still got five bullets left." Harry frowned. He would be enjoying this a lot more if the stupid super girl would talk to him, beg perhaps. She was blonde, young, rather pretty, just like the American super heroes on TV. Harry sighed; this was going nowhere.

"I guess I'm just going to have to kill you then, Miss Argent. There's a line in a film I once saw that I always wanted to use in a situation like this, so I hope you'll forgive me if I suddenly come over all melodramatic..." Harry paused for dramatic effect. "So... say goodbye to all of this..." Argent tensed, placing the palms of her hands on the cement floor. He meant to kill her now... with a twisted ankle her chances would be slim, but if she could guess which way she should roll, maybe, just maybe, she might make it to cover. "... And say hello to oblivion..." Argent could see that he was right handed. The odds would be just slightly better if she rolled to his left...

"Blam!" cried Harry; then he lowered his gun. "But I'm only kidding..." Elenor relaxed slightly, unsure what this meant. "I mean... I've got to think of my reputation here. You're an attractive young woman, wearing what I can only describe as a flimsy mini-dress and 'fuck-me' ankle boots, and I'm supposed to be a bad guy. So I guess we'll take you with us instead. After all," Harry grinned again, "I've never raped a super hero before..."

Seven weeks earlier - an exclusive party in London

The glittering night time lights of London seen from the air were every bit as spectacular as the illuminations of New York or Paris. Under the cover of darkness the city suddenly seemed beautiful. Gone were the ugly buildings, the cramped and narrow streets, the grim bricked houses dwarfed by ugly blocks of flats. During the night London seemed alive, dressed in its very own fairy lights. It still seemed to be a city of prestige and refinement, despite Britain's grim decline into a Second World state in the late eighties. London tried to inspire the dreams of a generation cast adrift in a world that no longer recognised the Old Order. For the people in charge of the New World Order had little time for tradition or hierarchy. The super heroes who governed the world by UN mandate cared nothing for the old guard with its aristocracy, its landed gentry, business magnates and politicians. Those countries with little to lose had swum with the tide when the Tabula Rasa assumed control in 1987. Those with much to lose had quickly been shown that their complaints and hysterics would get them nowhere fast.

The Tabula Rasa promised everyone a fairer world; a world of equals, and an end to territorial bickering. Billboards in the streets showed the silhouettes of proud and benevolent super beings with the logo Because You Deserve Us. Life was going to get better, for everyone. That's what they said fifteen years ago. You may as well be a part of the revolution, because it's going ahead with or without you. Okay?

And now people walked through the streets of London, no longer free to make their own mistakes; no longer free to hurt each other. The spine of England had long since been broken. The shit stained statue of Nelson still stood in Trafalgar Square but it was dwarfed by the UN flag and an even larger Tabula Rasa banner proclaiming a truly united world state. Yes, Britain could keep its symbol of nationality, as long as it remembered its place in the pecking order. It had been humbled in the fall out of the revolution in 87, more so even than the United States. Centuries of pride had made it difficult to accept a global master, however intentionally benevolent, and Britain's economy had swiftly paid the price when it came to an equitable redistribution of wealth to the poorer regions of the globe. The cancelling of third world debts had been enough on its own to send the London stock markets into a crisis. But the response of the Tabula Rasa was as blunt as ever. You really don't have a choice. Not anymore. You've been the spoilt child for far too long. It's about time you line up to receive your supper like everyone else in the orphanage.

Some people in England learned to cope. Others did not. A black sense of despair fell across the country. But for some people the bright lights of the big city would never go out. And for Elenor Haines the bright lights would never be bright enough.

"I'm sorry, but there's simply no getting over the fact that Jamie is being a real bastard to you." Elenor helped herself to a stuffed mushroom and taiti vol-au-vent; the only thing she had eaten all day; and nibbled at it delicately in between giving out passages of advice to her friend. She sipped from a delicate, slim, crystal glass of chilled white Californian Chardonnay before continuing. "And the longer you put up with this, the more he's going to feel comfortable with the idea of being in control of your life."

"He doesn't control my life," replied Alyson Price.

"Oh? Everything you do, every time you go out, wherever you two go on holiday... am I getting through here? Am I?" Elenor watched all the beautiful people as they mingled in the ornate penthouse ballroom, situated on the 15th floor of the DeBeers building. She could make out the actor Sam Bishop, his wife Catherine Hall, and over there, by the ice fountain, stood two of the models from the show - Ellen Taylor and Zoe Lee. The soft strains of Chopin wafted through the air, courtesy of a chamber orchestra hired for the evening. The night sky of London was clearly in view, lit up magnificently by the city lights, through the one way plastic bubble windows. It was all so 'post-art' and Elenor was enjoying herself immensely. "You have to be in control of your life, Alyson. No one is going to respect you if you ask to be a human carpet."

"It's not that easy. I really like him, and he is good to me. He really likes me too."

"Look," Elenor interrupted her friend, touched her shoulder and motioned for her to turn round. "Isn't that Paul Fraser with Susan Conway? I thought she was going out with, oh, what's his name... Dane Gardner! And look at that dress she's wearing! It looks like an Emirillo original. Damn."

"What's wrong, Ellie?"

"We're running a feature on the ten worst dressed women in Hollywood. Susan Conway is on it, but now she's being photographed in an Emirillo original we're going to have to re-write it. The magazine is only due to go to press tomorrow as well. We'll look really stupid if 'Liberte' magazine has those photos splashed on the inside pages the same day we suggest she dresses like a bag lady."

"Can't you just relax and enjoy the party?"

Elenor smiled. "This isn't a party - this is work. I've got a blue edged invite remember. That's why you're here tonight. Elenor Haines plus guest."

"No Brian then?"

"Brian?" Elenor laughed. "He wishes... in his dreams."

"There's nothing happening then?" asked Alyson as she took another glass of white wine soda from a passing waiter.

"There never was anything happening. Brian is stupid, and I don't really have time for stupid people. That's really all there is to it." Elenor shrugged her shoulders, and continued to nibble at the vol-au-vent.

"He's good looking though."

"So are a lot of men. And some of them are clever too."

"Aren't you going to eat that?" Alyson pointed to the vol-au-vent.

"Diet," smiled Elenor. "We're all slaves to fashion after all." She patted the trim stomach beneath her short black dress, and turned her head in search of the toilets. "Stay right here. I've got to make a phone call and use the facilities."

Elenor hardly paid attention as she crossed the floor towards the door marked 'Ladies'. Engrossed as she was in a phone conversation with the head office of her magazine, she failed to notice a tall, powerful looking man, dressed in a plain black suit, as he exited the Gentlemen's toilets. As he turned to close the door, he collided into Elenor. Elenor's heels slipped and sent her spinning to the floor with a thump. The man stared down at her with a bemused expression on his face. He declined to offer her any assistance.

"Jesus, watch where you're going," said Elenor, as she sat up, her hand scrabbling for her mobile phone. "There are other people in this room you know."

"You ran into me, love, not the other way round." He grinned. "Your skirt's messed up by the way."

"Asshole." Elenor picked herself up and smoothed down her dress.

The man raised his right hand by way of reply and brought his two forefingers together to imitate the barrel of a gun. He aimed his fingers at Elenor and jerked them up suddenly, mouthing a silent 'bang' as if he'd shot her.

"Hey - what's that supposed to mean?" Elenor stared indignantly at the black suited figure as he turned his back and walked slowly away. "What? You think you're Brad Pitt or something? Asshole."

Harry Stone pushed his way firmly through the milling guests, ignoring Elenor's ongoing outbursts. He popped a few hors d'oeuvres in his mouth as he came across a stack of them piled high on a silver tray, and washed them down with a glass of champagne. Once he found a secluded spot beside one of the plastic bubble windows, Harry flicked open his small cell phone and called up the first of his teams.

"It's Harry. How's everything going?"

"No problems at our end. Everyone's ready for business," came the reply.

"Great. We move in five minutes. Out." Harry pressed the second of his recorded numbers and placed the phone to his ear again. "Carl? Speak to me, man. How we doing?"

"Everything's clear. The cars are in position and the aero-flot will be right on time. Just say the magic word."

"I don't do magic words, Carl. We're not in America now."

"And that's just fine by me. I heard that the UK only has four super heroes."

"Three. Word is one of the Jamaican gangs killed the Mole last month."

"Who's that?"

"The Mole... uh... well... actually I... don't really know. I just read he got killed last month."

"I think he wears a grey one-piece body suit made of seal skin," said Carl.

"What?"

"Seal skin, grey. Did all the stitching himself, apparently."

"Where did he get seal skin from?"

"He killed some seals. That's what I heard."

"That's sick. I mean, killing seals to make an outfit? I'd draw the line at that. I'm glad he got shot then. I mean, I'm a bad guy and all that, but I don't hurt dumb animals. What a country..." Harry glanced at his watch: three more minutes to go. "Hey, I just thought of something - how come he wears seal skin if he calls himself the Mole?"

"Jesus, Harry, I don't know. I just got told that by someone in a bar."

"Did he live underground? You know, in tunnels and stuff?"

"I really don't know, Harry. We didn't talk about him a lot - it was just a throwaway comment, y'know."

"Super heroes really freak me out, Carl. I can't stand them. They're all weird if you ask me." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny black badge in the shape of the world famous Bloodhawk insignia. He pinned it onto the lapel of his jacket with his left hand. "I think the government should do something about them. We pay our taxes after all."

"Uh, you don't pay taxes do you, Harry?"

"Course I do. It's the first thing they'll try to catch you for if they can't make any other charges stick. Remember Al Capone." One more minute said the watch. Harry sprayed a small breath freshener into his mouth and returned the tube to his top pocket. "I reckon it's a sex thing, deep down. I bet quite a lot of them are into S&M." Harry reached behind his back and produced a small Heckler & Koch 9mm zip gun from its concealed pouch. Cradling the cell phone against his neck, Harry slapped a clip of bullets into the underside of the gun and cocked it, ready for use.

"A friend of mine went out with The Dove once."

"Who's she?" Harry switched off the safety catch.

"Uh, not sure actually. I think she came from South America. She's getting on a bit now though."

"Was she into S&M then?" asked Harry.

"Uh, I don't think so, no."

"Not much of an anecdote then, is it?"

"I guess not. Hey, Harry..."

"Yeah?"

"You ever thought of giving all this up? Seriously?"

"Every time something goes wrong, Carl; every time something goes wrong. Okay, here we go..." Harry pocketed the cell phone and strode forward into the room. "Ladies and Gentlemen!" he shouted, "Your attention please. This is an important safety announcement." Heads turned to regard him, wondering what this could possibly be about. Harry raised his zip gun high above his head. "My friends and I have all got guns and we've just taken over the building!" There was silence for a few seconds, save for the sweeping Chopin music, before the first woman began to scream. Panic quickly ensued as a number of other men in black suits, bearing metal Bloodhawk badges, also revealed the presence of their guns. Within a minute the ballroom had descended into madness.

"Hey, will you all shut up!" screamed Harry at the top of his voice. "Shut up! Shut up a minute! Hey, are you listening to me?!" Men embraced their women, unsure what to do. Desperate guests clawed at the thick bubble windows, and pressed their faces to the warm plastic. Outside, London seemed as serene as ever beneath the night sky. "Shut it! All of you! Oh, for Christ's sake..." Harry fired a burst from his zip gun at a small clutch of waiters. Four of them fell to the ground screaming. Everyone fell to the floor, howling and crying, but then gradually silence fell over the ballroom. "Good. That's better." He sighed. "Why is it that I always have to kill somebody before you people learn to shut up? Do you have any idea how much bullets cost these days?"

Elenor Haines was experiencing a pretty strong sense of shock. She cowered with Alyson beside one of the stone urns, hoping to God that there was some way out of this. One of the Bloodhawks quickly found her, took her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She was pushed, along with the other guests and herded into the centre of the room. Despite numerous protests the guests were packed in tightly together at gunpoint. Elenor clung onto Alyson's hand, though they were nearly separated when a couple of Tokyo businessmen tried to force their way through to the centre, reasoning that they might survive further shooting if they were surrounded by plenty of bodies.

"Okay... is everyone feeling nice and cosy now, hmm?" said Harry as he regarded the hundred or so guests. "In case you're wondering, me and my friends are a mercenary team called the Bloodhawks. That's nothing to do with the twat in the armoured suit with the same name who lives in America. Never met him, never want to. Everyone got that? Good. Now then, I intend to make this as swift and simple as I can. We're here for three men: William Patterson of Hann Air Ltd, Luis Rose of Imperial Chemicals and Sir Hugh Gouff of Sycone Aviation Ltd. If you gentlemen would care to stick your faces in my general direction it will save me having to shoot any more people. Let's do this the easy way." He glanced at his watch. "In just five more minutes an aero-flot will arrive to take us out of here."

"Who's paying you?" asked Luis Rose. "Who's behind this? What do they want?"

"Oh yeah, like I'm going to tell you that in front of all these people. What do you want me to do - kill them afterwards?" asked Harry.

"They know who you are, sir!" swore Patterson.

"Duh... what do you think I am, stupid? Do you think I don't know that? Yeah, we're getting paid for this, but it's also about building a reputation. We're the best there is, but until we start proving it we're going to keep getting overlooked when it comes to the big jobs, in favour of any twat who happens to have been bitten by a radioactive lemming. It's a super villain market these days, and us guys, yeah we're professionals, but we haven't got the flashy costumes or super powers."

"Atom Man will stop you!" remarked Sir Hugh.

"What?" Harry turned round to face Carl. "Atom Man - which one's he?"

"Hah!" laughed Patterson with unexpected bravado. "London has its own super hero. Atom Man!"

The city conglomerate of London has a population of 7.5 million humans and three single metahumans. Ignore for now the dandified antics of 'Charming Billy', and the cold brutality of 'Bulldog Drummond', and consider instead the plight of London's premier super hero. Imagine if you will a man driven by a desire to fight crime, to punish injustice to the point that he is prepared to physically poison his own body with cobalt radiation to achieve these ends; a man who, in his teens, devoured any written references to his comic book hero, the Batman; a man who dreamt that one day he too would carve out a brave new world in the twenty first century; a world in which the weak would not be afraid to venture out after dark; a world in which goodness would prevail against the forces of evil, time after time after time again. London has such a man. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Atom Man; London's radiation poisoned ubermensch. Up there, in the sky... is it a bird? Is it a plane?

"Why haven't I heard about any of these people? Carl?"

Carl shrugged his shoulders. "I think he gets his powers from radiation. Something like that."

"Something like that? Look, if there's another super hero in London shouldn't I know about him before we plan a job?"

Carl shrugged his shoulders again.

"Ohhh-kay. Yeah, right, well Atom Man isn't here, is he?"

Atom Man was getting close now. The air currents were whipping past his body as he darted, not so nimbly now, between the tall buildings that constituted the square mile of old London. The sickness was gripping him again, no question of that. Two years ago he was healthy, fit, at the peak of his powers, but twenty-four months of cobalt poisoning had gradually destroyed his body's immune system. Now it was taking larger doses of radiation every week to maintain scarcely 65% of the efficiency he had enjoyed to begin with. And as for the face behind his plastic mask... Atom Man knew his days were numbered, that there was no possible way his body could cope with this level of punishment much longer. Until then however he would continue to fight the only way he knew how. No compromises, no surrender. He remembered how Batman had been crippled by Bane, and yet he'd fought on. He remembered how the Joker had crippled Batgirl and yet she'd fought on. Atom Man would do no less.

Harry Stone poured himself another glass of champagne. "Actually, while you're all here, with your hands on your heads, and on your knees and all that, I might as well tell you that your champagne tastes awful. I know something about champagne, you see, and believe me, this stuff tastes like sparkling wine. It's all in the bubbles." He glanced at his watch again. "And your hors d'oeuvres have too much salt on them." He tapped his foot impatiently.

They would be in the DeBeers building by now, thought Atom Man as he narrowly missed the corner of an old Merchant bank. They would be rounding up their hostages, preparing to leave. He thought grimly of the old comic book heroes, of the Justice League, of Wonder Woman and the Teen Titans, of the first Flash, and the original Green Lantern; heroes who had vanquished evil over and over again. Atom Man regretted flying so far - his stomach was feeling sick again and the wind was drying out his eyeballs, making it difficult to see clearly. One day he would get round to designing plastic windproof slits for his mask - one day. He felt the rush of energy along his spine; he could feel that giddy sensation as his Atomic powers flowed like God's symphony through his head. And there it was - the DeBeers building, lit up like a Christmas tree.

Harry suddenly noticed the young woman with the blonde hair and the black dress, pressed in amongst the throng of guests. He smiled and stepped down towards her.

"Hello love." He motioned several of the men and women to either side with threatening gestures from his gun.

Elenor bit her lower lip as she felt Harry's hand take hers and pull her out into the open. She glanced back at the other men and women in the room. Their eyes all carried the same message - there's nothing we can do to help. You're on your own.

"I didn't catch your name earlier on."

"Elenor. Elenor Haines."

"Nice name. I'm Harry." He swapped his gun into his left hand and held out his right. Elenor took it carefully. Harry lifted her hand and bent to kiss it. "I'm the bad guy. Everyone gets to meet at least one bad guy sometime in their life. I read that statistic in Time magazine on the flight over here. What do you do, Elenor?"

"I... uh..." Elenor glanced around the room. Alyson's eyes were wide with fright. "I write for a magazine."

"Do you? Which one?"

"Uh..." Elenor could feel herself trembling, "Chic magazine. I do a lot of the fashion writing..."

"Chic magazine, right... I read my girlfriend's copy once. Lots of articles about expensive clothes, orgasms and how to get them, stupid questionnaires like 'How do I know my boyfriend isn't sleeping with my sister?' and articles about the ten best hair dyes. Not exactly Joseph Conrad in the literature stakes as I recall." Harry grinned. "Are you cold, love?"

"No... no..."

"Cuz you're trembling. Do I frighten you? Does the bad, bad man frighten you?"

"Please stop this... I haven't done anything to you."

"Hey, wake up, this is the twenty first century. It doesn't matter whether you did anything to me; you caught my eye, and that's all it takes for some psycho to mess up your life these days. Do you think I'm a psycho?"

"No... please, no I don't"

Harry let go her hand. "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you." He laughed. "Jesus, you Brits are so uptight. Over in New York this sort of thing is a daily occurrence. Believe me you get used to it." He turned round. "Carl, where the fuck is my aero-flot?"

Atom Man could see the gunmen through the plastic bubble windows, despite them being opaque from the outside. He could see the hostages grouped in the centre. A wave of nausea washed through his stomach again. He felt cold, yet hot at the same time. No time for this - no time to feel sick. There were so many lives at stake... Atom Man blinked his eyes and attacked.

The giant windows on the south side of the building exploded inwards with a deafening blast that stunned everyone inside the room for several seconds. Shards and fragments of transparent/opaque plastic flew through the room cutting people at random. Alyson screamed as a jagged piece tore a bloody gash across her arm.

The blast threw Harry forward on top of Elenor. They both fell down the marbled steps, onto the ballroom floor. Harry was vaguely aware of distantly dulled screams, of silenced machine guns going thwup-thwup-thwup-thwup-thwup repeatedly. He knew he must get up because something had suddenly gone horribly wrong.

Atom Man saw two of the Bloodhawks standing to the left of the broken windows. He ignited the first figure with an Atomic blast from his hand, and turned swiftly to ignite the second. Three of the hostages nearby were also engulfed in the torrent of energy. They died screaming horribly. Atom Man hesitated, aware that he had reacted too quickly. Three innocents lay dead, and the sickness inside his body was making him even more ill. From somewhere, a machine pistol tore chunks of flesh from his abdomen and legs. Bullets sprayed his scalp, lifting pieces of bone and flesh from the back of his head. Yet Atom Man did not fall. Blood ran into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Mad with pain, Atom Man lashed out at the attackers behind him. There were more screams, and some of them weren't Bloodhawks.

Harry raised himself to his feet and stared at the scene. Bodies were exploding around him. A figure hovered above the ballroom floor, blinded by a head wound. It was a short man, dressed in a rubber silver and black suit with a broken plastic facemask. On his chest was a printed Atomic symbol. Harry's ears were ringing from the shock of the initial blast. He reached his hand to his face and felt blood, though it was nothing more serious than a nosebleed.

But Atom Man was no longer using his Atomic blasts. Harry could see that there was something wrong with this 'hero'. He watched Atom Man leap at one of his men and smack him down onto the ground.

Atom Man's mind was racing - this was all going horribly wrong. It was the sickness... he was losing control of his powers... he had not meant for his blasts to be so powerful... and now... how many innocents had died?

Harry saw the distant shape of the aero-flot drop into view outside the building. He grabbed hold of Elenor and shouted across the room. "Carl! Carl! This has all gone ass over tit - we're getting out of here now!"

There was more machine gun fire from close to the elevator. Everywhere people were screaming, howling, mad with fear and pain. The room was thick with black smoke and the smell of roasted, peeling flesh. Harry coughed, and clipped a small respirator to his mouth and nose. How he hated super heroes...

Harry ran for the aero-flot as it swung into view outside the window. He dragged a stunned Elenor Haines by the arm and stepped over the broken plastic glass towards the escape ship.

"No!" screamed Atom Man from outside the elevator. He flew towards the few surviving Bloodhawks as they stumbled, choking in the smoke, towards the aero-flot. Harry could see that his men would be cut down before they could get out. Grimly, he lifted Elenor's body in front of him and drew a knife from a sheath on the inside of his left leg. Harry pressed the knife against Elenor's throat.

"Hey, super-fucking-hero - over here!"

Atom Man turned.

"Want some more innocent blood on your hands, huh? Come on, just try one of those photon beams and see the beautiful lady go up in smoke." He turned to glance at his men. "Carl, for God's sake get out of here. Go on! All of you!" Carl hesitated. "Do it!" screamed Harry. The surviving Bloodhawks stumbled on board the aero-flot. "Make the rendezvous. What are you waiting for?"

Harry watched as the areo-flot took off into the air and sped away, leaving him to face the wrath of Atom Man alone.

"You can't get away," said Atom Man's cracked and broken voice.

"Jesus, man, look at you, you're a mess. We must have shot you twenty, thirty times. What's keeping you on your feet?"

"A desire for Justice..." said Atom Man as he stepped closer.

"I really hate you people," hissed Harry. "You and your old fashioned morality and lectures about courage and convictions and stuff. You people should have died out at the end of the twentieth century. You don't belong here anymore. We don't want you, do you know that? You scare ordinary people more than I do. Do you know that?"

"Put the girl down. She has suffered enough."

"Tell me something about justice and morality. What's more important, bringing the bad guy to justice, or saving the girl? Can you tell me that?" Harry backed himself towards the edge of the window. He could see the Bloodhawk badge on his jacket. Bad guy or not, he wasn't going to disgrace it by being afraid.

"Put the girl down and I will take you into custody." Atom Man was close to throwing up. This had to end soon, or else the criminal would be aware of his weakness.

"Well, I think in life we all have choices, right? And here's yours right now." Harry slashed the knife suddenly across Elenor's throat and tossed her body off the building, simultaneously diving and rolling to the side.

Atom Man screamed and threw himself out of the window after Elenor. He struck her falling body, hearing the sound of ribs breaking but brought her up, in his arms. He flew erratically for several seconds, nearly colliding with the side of a tower block, before landing roughly on a nearby roof top. Blood was splashing out of Elenor's throat in erratic spurts, but she was still alive. Atom Man turned to regard the smoke filled DeBeers building. The Bloodhawk's time would still come, but for now the girl's life was paramount. There was still time. Atom Man had certain machines... and the first inkling of an idea was beginning to sprout within his head. Perhaps this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. Perhaps God had delivered this girl unto him for a reason. With grim determination, Atom Man flew up into the night sky and on to his lair.