Fog had settled in thick and chunky just at tree level, blocking out most of the plump, white moon. The air was chilled tonight, a fleeting breeze coming in off of the ocean and tearing through the dank swamps on the island. The only part of the island which still supported life was this small section of land, relentlessly battered by crashing waves and brutal weather until it gave up it’s defiance and grew into a mushy, wet mass of swampland. There was life here, but humans had introduced it, a one-time Cobra employee by the name of Croc Master. He guarded the sanctuary of Cobra Island with an army of trained crocodiles, many of which continued to habit this part of the island, even long after their master had disappeared, supposedly buried in the freighter alongside so many of his peers. Before that fateful day, Croc Master, who cared so deeply for his beasts, had imported many breeds of wild animal, from boars and rabbits to snakes and frogs. Now that Croc Master was gone, his ‘children’ still had plenty to survive on. Cobra men knew to stay away from this part of the island, this section of swampland. It was only about four square miles, but once inside, you may have well been in a different world. It was hypothesized that perhaps Croc Master even helped transform this area to swampland somehow, hoping to make it more inviting for him and his reptile family. The trees were dense and moss covered, much of the area was knee-deep mud and murky green water. The ground that wasn’t was a marsh-like, soft and grassy area, with brown liquid seeping up in various locations. This part of the island seemed so different from the other parts, that it’s hard to believe that it could exist naturally, but in defiance of all laws of nature, there it was. The grass rustled above a section of mushy, but relatively solid ground, a green streak weaving back and forth just below the tan weeds. The large reptile thrashed his tail back and forth as he shot forward through the grass with remarkable speed for such a large beast. Mud sank below his massive feet, his sharp claws gripping and tearing into the swampland, using them for traction as well as propulsion. This crocodile was on the hunt. Thirty feet ahead, in a small clearing (there were no large clearings in this particular swamp) a wild boar stood proudly, its two piglets hovering just behind. Two piercing, almost luminescent eyes stared out form the grass as the reptile continued his progress, although now that the prey was in sight, it had slowed considerably, trying to judge the best time to strike. The green beast was now wading in water up to it’s torso, but still made no noise, and was nearly invisible under the low cover of the grassland. With a snort the boar turned its head to the left, keeping watch while the young ones fed on grass just behind it. Swishing through the shallow water, the crocodile was now even more invisible and picked up his speed just slightly, rushing in for the kill. The boar seemed to sense the predator and snorted loudly to its children, chasing them deep into the wet forest. Another, louder snort echoed in the cool air as the large mammal hunkered down to defend his territory. Its back hooves dug into the more solid mud, just by the edge of the marsh, and its head lowered, threatening whatever was approaching. It grunted and dug little trenches in the muck with its tusks, the eyes now locked with the crocodiles’. It prowled closer, foot by foot, it’s long, solid body slipping from the water, and dragging along the mush. His eyes bore deep into the boars’, his wide mouth opening slightly. A string of saliva slowly drooled from one of his fangs, and his muscles tensed, ready to strike. He leaped quickly and snarled, the noise just barely covering an almost silent whisper in the night air. The whisper turned into a high pitched whine, a silver streak cutting through the brush and the trees. The streak pounded viciously into the reptile, just behind its head, where the head met the back. It struck with a deep, metallic THUNK and the beast halted suddenly, it’s mouth wide, and its eyes opened in surprise. He whipped his huge head around in a furious rage, a guttural shriek and growl. Spit and blood shot from the creature’s mouth in a wide arc as he thrashed wildly, snarling. In mid thrash, quite suddenly, a large figure bounded from the cover of trees and struck the beast full in the chest, knocking it back with the force of the blow. The two hit the soft earth and somersaulted clumsily, the mysterious figure almost miraculously landed on his feet, straddling the croc’s back, his large arms wrapped tightly around the monster’s throat and mouth. With a roar, the descendant of the dinosaurs threw himself into the air and shot to one side, trying to free himself from the unknown attacker. The man was pulled off of his feet and swung through the air like a rag doll with half its stuffing. Amazingly, the man hung on, perhaps more out of desperation than desire. Another growl blew from the pursed lips of the croc as it halted and crashed down in the other direction, falling onto the man with almost all of its weight. The figure exhaled violently, his breath shooting out in a fast blast of air, and he let go of the reptile, then rolled to the ground and landed on his back. The beast landed on his feet and faced the attacker head on; it’s teeth were now flaked with red, but still looked menacing and more than deadly. The man bolted quickly upright, jumping almost immediately from his back to his feet in one motion. A snarl indicated attack by the crocodile and it shot forward with lightning speed. The man grunted, and incredibly darted out of the way, quickly leaping to the back of the crocodile and again resuming his iron grip on the monster’s massive neck. The croc screamed with frustration and anger, but his strength was quickly fading from a pulsing flow of blood streaming from the wound where a silver, metal arrow was embedded in the back of the head. Every exertion, every gesture pumped more dark red liquid from the deep puncture wound. The man straddled the reptile again, this time planting his feet firmly in the mud on each side of him. With a huff, the beats thrashed again, but the large form on top of it maintained control, squeezing tightly around the throat. You could almost see the life ebbing from the huge creature, its struggling fading, squeeze by squeeze. Finally the monster was still, and the man, a decent sized one himself, pulled violently upward while continuing to squeeze. The short POP reverberated among the trees and the croc thrashed once more than lay still, just a green log resting in the grass. With a triumphant shout, the man let the croc’s motionless head drop to the ground, his breath pounding in strong, uneven bursts. The creature’s blood covered the man, so much so that a bystander would have thought him the loser of the life and death battle. Red dripped from his clenched fists, ran down his chest, and collected in coagulating puddles at his feet, making a sickly brown/red mixture in the wet mud. The man’s pupiless eyes shone like squinting beacons in the night, his teeth bared and his mouth open. Once again, Zartan ruled the night on Cobra Island.

"Gor, Zartan! We din’t know yeh could do all that!" a thick accented voice screeched from the trees.

"Sometimes, Ripper…" Zartan had to stop to catch his breath, "…I don’t even know what I’m capable of myself." He stepped over the dead beast and walked to the woods where Ripper, Torch, Buzzer and Zanzibar stood. "That was the purpose of this little exercise. To see exactly what I am capable of."

"But, Zartan…wut do yeh mean?" Torch asked this time, stepping a little closer, walking gingerly to avoid any other possible creatures hiding among the bushes.

"Over the past years, I’ve come to think…" the mysterious, cowled man turned and looked into the forest. "…That perhaps I’m not quite…human."

The Dreadnoks stared aimlessly. "Don’ be ridiculous, Zartan! Yer just as human as us three."

Zartan turned and looked, staring dubiously at the four men in front of him. He looked down, and wiped a swath of blood from his clear chest plate. "Somehow, I find little comfort in that, Torch."

Buzzer leaned down and tapped Zartan’s chest curiously. "Say, Mate…that bloody monster din’t bust up any of yer holo-whatziz, did he? Yeh know…those thing that make you change appearances?"

Zartan walked past The Dreadnoks, back into the cover of trees. The four followed him eagerly. "Well, Buzzer, that’s one of these issues I’m coming up with. Lately…I don’t need the suit to change."

"Wut?" Buzzer said suddenly, and stopped abruptly. "Wut are yeh saying, Zartan?"

"I think I am something…more than human. I was born that way, it just took a while for the evidence to show itself. But I’ve been feeling it lately. I’m faster, have quicker reflexes…and I’m a lot stronger."

"I don’ unnerstand, Zartan! What’re yeh talkin about?" Torch stopped as well, scratching his head.

"Perhaps I should just show you." Zartan walked to another small clearing and closed his eyes. His body tensed, his fists clenched, and his body began to tremble and shake fiercely. Sweat poured in sticky streams down his furrowed brow and over his tightened face. He dropped suddenly to all fours, and his skin began to bubble and ripple inhumanly. The Dreadnoks stared with gaping jaws. Zartan’s body twisted and popped, formed and reformed right there before their eyes. Within seconds, the transformation was complete. A crocodile stood before them, almost a mirror image of the one Zartan had just killed only a lot smaller. The creature looked to be in intense pain, shuddered violently, then began popping and twisting again. Seconds later, Zartan stood again, still fully dressed and breathing very heavily. A steady stream of his own blood trickling from his nose and lips now joined the blood on his chest and legs.

"Bloody hell, Zartan! What th’ hell whuzzat?" Ripper stood aghast.

"I told you…I appear to be more than human."

"Yer a flippin’ crocodile?" Torch was now the shocked one.

"No, you moron!" Zartan shouted impatiently. "I can now ‘become’ whatever I so choose. The reforming of my basic skeletal structure makes it very…painful. Something I cannot do very often or for very long. But I’m hoping I can condition my body to handle it better."

The Dreadnoks finally appeared to understand, each one nodding his head slowly.

"The only problem so far is that I can only become something of the same basic size as myself. I cannot add or reduce mass from my body."

The Dreadnoks all regained their vacant stares, except for Buzzer, who appeared to at least understand what words Zartan was using.

"Never mind," Zartan growled, exasperated and exhausted. "Come on, Dreadnoks. We’d better get back underground. If Cobra Commander catches up above ground, there will be trouble.

"Gor, as bad ass as yeh are, Zartan, an’ yer still scared of ole rag face?" Ripper asked, laughing.

"The only thing I’m scared of, you idiot, is an empty bank account! Now, come on!" The five men walked into the woods, towards the shaft, which led underground.

"So, Zartan, does it hurt that much to become anotha person?" Buzzer asked.

"Of course not…my skeleton maintains its shape in human form. That is no problem. Now, shut up with the questions before I regret telling you all about this!" The men vanished behind the trees and were suddenly gone.

Falcon’s boots clanked noisily on the metal floor, the light bangs echoing throughout the enclosed, metal hallway. This hall was remarkable similar to the one he had traveled through about 36 hours ago. The phone call had awoken him from a sound sleep, but the office had said it was urgent and required his immediate attention. With what Falcon knew about what was going on in the world, he was sure that this was not a meeting he should be late for. He stopped in front of the plain, metal door, no signs, no plaques, nothing proclaiming what was inside. That made sense, really. Anyone who was this deep into the Pentagon, and had the proper credentials to get this far should know damn well where he was going and what door led to where. Falcon pulled out his magnetic security card, making sure his thumbprint was firmly pressed on the light blue square. The security card first had to verify his thumbprint, then be swiped through a reader, then Falcon had to input his top-secret serial number. Security was completely ridiculous at this level, considering a very scant amount of the population of a very small town even knew this place existed. But nonetheless, Falcon proceeded through the cumbersome procedure, and within seconds, he was inside. There was a large round table in the middle of the meeting room, a digital map of the world flickering on it. With mere pushes of a button, the table could be turned into a digital monitor to zoom in on any spot on the globe, and could then project actual video as it was taken from a satellite. That way, the men overseeing the mission could just sit at the table and observe, taking notes and initiating command where needed. It was quite ingenious. A marvel of modern technology. Twelve men sat around the large table, and it looked like Falcon was the last to arrive. Two of the men he did not recognize, apparently men from ‘The Agency’ who were overlooking the meeting to make sure everything was kosher. The only problem was, no one was making sure they were kosher. If ‘The Agency’ was involved, that meant The Jugglers were involved, and that little issue bothered Falcon to no end. He hoped by the time this was over, The Joes would be a self-sustained unit again with no need for suits and ties that would criticizing every move. But Falcon also knew that this reunion of the GI Joe team was also supposedly temporary, just to eliminate this new threat, and if they did take out Cobra, then things would be right back to normal. Falcon took his seat and took a quick inventory of the people sitting around the table. At the head of the table was Duke, Top Sergeant and current Field Commander of the team. To his left was Stalker, the infiltration specialist, Army Ranger, general bad ass and second in command. Falcon figured he ranked higher than a lot of people siting around the table, but in GI Joe, rank was a minor factor. It was a factor, but experience counted for a lot. Next it was Roadblock, the heavy machine gunner and master chef of the team, then was Mainframe. He was the Intelligence Officer and Technology Expert, the link to the brass in Washington, and the computer hacker extraordinaire. Just to Falcon’s left was Clutch, the transport to and from the missions, Ripcord was after him. Ripcord was the master jumper, and Special Forces snakeeater. Snakeeater was a term used to describe the baddest of the bad…guys that would camp out in the woods, eating snakes if they had to to survive, waiting for the perfect opportunity to sneak into enemy camp and smoke it. That term had now been curbed a little bit to specify a Joe team member, meaning that they ate Cobras for breakfast. He was the man who was the first one in and last one out, and that was a good thing, because you really didn’t want to see what he did when he got in there. Dial Tone was in the chair next to Ripcord, the squad’s communications officer and link to the outside world. Chuckles sat next, mostly a behind the scenes guy, but a very important guy to have on the team…he got more accomplished with a pen than lots of soldiers did with firearms. Finally, rounding out the table was Lifeline, the avowed pacifist and medic for the team. He didn’t fire a weapon, but his skills under the line of fire were legendary. The two men in suits and sunglasses did not give their names they just hung around in the corner, looking on. Falcon fidgeted nervously in his seat as the meeting began. Mainframe was the first to speak.

"All right, boys…Washington wants to know what our status is? We need a general idea of force strength to know what we have to work with here."

"I guess I’ll start," Duke said, sighing. "Flint was a major no-go. I think we’d just better write him off. Even if he agreed, I’m not sure he could hack it anymore. I do have some good news, though. I contacted Admiral Keel Haul, and he connected me with Cutter and Topside, and they’re both eager to come aboard. That’s about it for me."

"Okay…guess I’ll throw in my two cents." Stalker glanced over to Mainframe, who had his laptop computer set up and was typing furiously. "Snake Eyes has prior responsibilities," the whole room seemed to sigh at once. "But, I did get a hold of some of my Ranger buddies who set me up with Beachhead, Airborne, Repeater and Recoil. Recoil is neck deep in the Middle East on some top-secret classified run n’ gun, but Beachhead, Airborne and Repeater are all psyched to join up. They’ll be here for the meeting tomorrow."

"Great. Good start so far," said Mainframe. Duke shot him a sideways glance as if to say Hey! Who’s in charge here, anyhow? Me or the suits? But he kept his mouth shut. "Roadblock? How about you?" Mainframe’s fingers danced rhythmically against the contoured keyboard.

"Well, my luck wasn’t so hot, m’man. I tried to grab Rock & Roll and Tripwire, and after finally tracking down their whereabouts, I found out that R & R is on some damn surfin’ safari in Hawaii and Tripwire, he’s teaching engineering at West Point. He can’t just ditch that quite yet. No luck here."

"All right…well, I had quite a bit of luck, actually. I’d already spoken to Shockwave and Low-Light, and they’re shoe-ins…they’ve also got a new recruit with them, now going by the name Kevlar. We don’t have time for training for him, but take my word…he doesn’t need it. I was also able to pull some strings to get us some pilots…Wild Bill, Lift Ticket and Ace as of right now just got transferred to our team. I was also able to track down Outback and Muskrat, who will also be at the meeting tomorrow. I’ll tell you guys, D.O.D. has its privileges…you don’t know what you’re missing." Grumbles form around the table change Mainframe’s mood a little. "All right, Falcon," he said quickly, almost just to divert attention. "Your turn."

"My trip to Parris Island worked out very good," Falcon said, happy to have some positive news. "Gung Ho and Leatherneck will be at the meeting tomorrow. They were both instructors there, but both had plenty of leave time coming up, and got the okay to transfer. Unfortunately I struck out on Mutt, Grand Slam and Ambush. Couldn’t even locate them."

"Guess it’s my turn," Clutch said. "Well, I was out with Duke the whole time, so I didn’t do squat! Chauffeur doesn’t get me too many leads these days." He said it with a smile and the whole table chuckled along quietly.

"Ripcord?" Mainframe asked. He looked at the dirty blonde hared, boyishly good-looking paratrooper. His fingers continued their bizarre ballet on the keyboard.

"Well, my Special Forces contacts worked out okay. Torpedo, Recondo, Bullhorn and Wet Suit were on some pretty hairy need-to-know only type stuff. Caught the first three and they’ll be here, but missed Wet Suit."

"Don’t worry about Wet Suit…I’ll fill you guys in later on that. Dial Tone?" Mainframe smirked smugly at the knowledge that he knew something they didn’t.

"Well, I got a hold of Alpine and Bazooka. Alpine was setting up to go on a trek up Kilaminjaro, but he thought this sounded like more fun. Bazooka was working in instructor’s capacity, teaching about explosives and propelled grenades. They’ll both be here tomorrow."

Chuckles leaned back in his chair a little, his garishly colored shirt flowing around his slim waist. He still wore the .45 tucked into his shoulder holster, a slight bulge underneath the flowered shirt. "You can expect Law here tomorrow, but he was the only guy I could get in touch with."

All right…that brings us to Lifeline. Any luck, buddy?" Mainframe asked.

"No, sorry. I reached Stretcher, but he’s working at Bathesda Naval Hospital. Making good money. I couldn’t talk him into it."

Mainframes nodded and tapped a few more keys on his computer, then pounded enter hard, just for effect. "Well, including us, we’ve got thirty-one. Not a bad squad at all. I think the brass should be happy with these results. We have at least one more person coming tomorrow, and possibly a couple others, depending on how my leads pan out, so we should be at about thirty-five strong. Not our strongest, but hopefully good enough. Does everyone know when and where the meeting is tomorrow?"

"Staten Island, right? Chaplain’s Assistants Motor Pool?" Duke said, matter of factly.

"Exactly. We arranged for the assistants to be on a little field trip for the next few days, so we’re going in there low key so we can plan and prepare. We figured that would be a good place that everyone should remember how to get to." Mainframe leaned back and looked around. "Any questions?"

"Yeah." Duke spoke up eagerly. "Tell us you didn’t wake us at this early hour simply to go over our roster."

Mainframe’s smile thinned a little bit. "O..of course not. There is one more thing we have to go over, I was just getting this out of the way first."

"All right. Let’s hear it." Duke leaned on the table, glancing sideways towards the two suits who were still statues in the corner.

"Well, based on this new information, we thought it prudent to act on this in some manner right away. Just to rule out some improbabilities."

Mainframe tapped his keys a little more, and pulled up a mission briefing. "At 0300 hours this morning, a Navy SEAL scout team will be hitting ashore to verify what our satellites have been telling us is true."

"Hitting ashore? Where?" Duke looked hard at Mainframe, who fidgeted in his seat.

"According to all of our satellite data, this area of the ocean is unoccupied space. We just thought it prudent to verify that with a more hands on approach."

Duke stood, his hands slamming on the table. "Where did you send them, Mainframe?" He leaned close, glaring at the nervous man in the gray suit.

"This is the best SEAL team we’ve got. As a matter of fact, a couple of your buddies are heading the mission. Wet Suit and Tracker are leading a team of five others to infiltrate and investigate."

"Tell me you didn’t send them to Cobra Island!" Duke shouted now, a foot in front of Mainframe’s face.

"The place is deserted, Duke, there’s nothing there!"

"Tell me!"

"Yeah, Duke…Cobra Island. They’ll be hitting ashore in about two hours. The C-130 is probably over the Gulf of Mexico already."

Duke turned away, sputtering. "You unbelievably stupid bastards!" he now screamed at the two men in suits.

"Duke, if you want to resign leadership of this team, you’re off to a wonderful start!" Mainframe was now on his feet, showing a little backbone.

"If Cobra is there, you’ve just sent seven men to their graves!"

"But Cobra isn’t there. We have three years worth of satellite data telling us…"

"Pictures lie, Mainframe! What the hell happened to you?"

"Stand Down, Duke!" the crisp voice exploded from the doorway, which had just slipped open, unbeknownst to the men in the room. Duke spun quickly, then stopped short.

"A-Ten HUT!" he shouted, snapping to a quick salute. All eight other men jumped from their seats and did the same. The man in the door smiled mildly.

"At ease, men. Mainframe…General Hawk reporting for duty as ordered by the Joint Chiefs." The General returned Mainframe’s salute, his familiar brown leather jacket rustling slightly with the motion. The General smoothed out his camouflage pants and took a seat, motioning for the others to do the same. "Duke," he said calmly. "This isn’t Mainframe’s fault. He’s just following orders like the rest of us."

"Understood, sir."

"Now, we’re tracking the progress of this mission through radio contact. Unfortunately a thick cloud cover is preventing a decent satellite feed, but if radio contact is maintained, we will have no problems with the SEAL’s recon team." Mainframe was now more composed. "Does anyone have any questions?"

"I do," said Dial Tone. "Where can we find a good radio?"