Power Struggle Written by the then Red Knight, but now Purple King, Steven Booth
The room was unbelievably hot and stuffy. The windows were opened. And the chilling current of air did not begin to pierce the barren room. And like a wrestling arena there was a rather large platform-a ring. The servants scurried around like vermin in the sewer. There were no imperfections in this most extravagantly decorated room. A chain of tables boasted a most delicious selection of food. And there were eight over elaborated thrones surrounding this marvellous feast. The whole arrangement of the chamber was meticulous. The final touches were to be added. And the party could begin.
“I find these sort of - arrangements most ridiculous,” snorted Ian Heathrow also known as the Red Bishop of the InterNETional Hellfire Club. He strolled along the long parlour room. He poured out the finest wine a man could drink into an equally exquisite chalice of gold. Then he drank. The sweet wine was so reviving as it met his lips. Ian was wrapped up in his adoration that he did not hear the Red King (a.k.a. Flynn Ryan) respond to his earlier comment. Startled by the man’s deep voice the Red Bishop whispered a quick pardon. He thought the pure essence of luxury and wealth emitted from the Red King’s personal chamber would eat his words.
But in a most annoyed voice Flynn uttered, “These arrangements as you so put it are TRADITION! If a member wishes for a power struggle then let them. It is their funeral.” The room fell silent.
The Red Bishop said in a quaint and curious voice, “I know it is tradition but let’s face it. Selene and Margali are two of our most valued pieces in our Club. When one wins, I personally think it to be Selene, the other must leave. It is so terrible.” The Red King began to dress in a most fine garment. It was a red silken shirt with the most enchanting red leather trousers. He also wore a cape trimmed with the most striking purple fur. And in his hands he held his ceremonial crown. The Bishop looked in ore. Rather cautiously he placed the expensive crown on the King’s head as if one single move out of place might detonate an invisible bomb.
“I must say,” began the Red Bishop, “that is a most fantastic garment. I wish I could,” his words were cut short. The Red King merely looked at the Bishop. And his words stopped. And with a little twist of the head Flynn Ryan cut into the RED. Only moments later, the Bishop new it was time for action.
“ I think Selene is in way over her head,” the Scribe said in her snooty English accent. “ She has challenged the one person whole worlds fear. The one who can control the pure magic of the Earth realm. The one who is called Margali Stryzvorze.” The whole room was enlightened by these words. The Red Queen (a.k.a. Margali Stryzvorze) just grinned. And then she sipped the brandy in her crystal glass. Then Scribe was rushing around preparing the outfit in which the Red Queen would crush her opponent, Selene.
“ So tell me from the top. How did Selene actually challenge you,” spoke Scribe as she hurried about. The Red Queen took a long drink from her glass containing this sublime brandy. Brandy and cigars is exactly the right recipe for Margali. Then like a narrator she began.
“ It begun yesterday. As you know we were roped along to that most boring art gallery. It reminded me of a scrap heap. That is not art. Anyway it was when we were leaving. I walked to my Red limo. Upon inspection I found Selene sitting in the back. I looked rather curiously at her and before I knew it she used her powers to drag me into the car. Then she told me how she wasn’t happy with me being red Queen. Well of course I told her were to go but she threatened me that if I didn’t give up my position she would challenge me to a power struggle. So here I am.”
The face of Scribe looked shocked. Or a better way of describing it was angry. “The nerve of that sleazy tramp,” she began her voice a mere hoarse chant, “ how dare she insult you! I’ll kill her.” Scribe marched sluggishly to the door.
But Margali shouted, “Do not worry, my dear friend. I will get my revenge.” And as if a ghostly hand had shoved it the door closed.
“This can not be happening,” cried Scribe in a maternally way, “Selene can’t win!”
But the Red Knight replied a somewhat bewildered voice, “Well it is!” The two Inner Circle members glanced upon the two women brawling in the ring. Every bolt of energy released from Margali failed to weaken her opponent. The sorceress overcame all her spells with the slightest of ease. And Selene fought ruthlessly pelting her opponent with wind and fire and the pure blasts of telekinetic energy. The onlookers were hooked. They surveyed the two women’s every move. Then finally the fight was ended. Selene summoned her life drainage powers and squeezed the essence out of Margali. Seeing the extent of pain this was causing Steven Booth entered Selene’s mind and concussed it into the mode of sleep.
“I think there is an undoubtedly winner,” said the Red King. He aided Selene to her feet. Then in a most prestigious voice Flynn Ryan began one of his memorable speeches, “Today, we the Inner Circle, acknowledged a battle unlike any other. The tournament of power struggle. This pitched the reigning Red Queen, Margali Stryzvorze, against the Red Rook, Selene. Both parties gave their all but we were given the most powerful. So it gives me great pleasure, Selene, to grant you the supreme position of Red Queen. And you, Margali Stryzvorze are not to be abandoned. You will assume the mantle of Red Rook.” The room burst into applause. Well except for the grunts of the Red Pawn. She merely glided over to Margali, helped her off the floor and marched her out of the room.
“I have disgraced myself,” said Margali in a whimpering voice, “I am truly a loser.” She glanced down at the floor in shame. But she was jolted from her self-pity by a firm hard slap across her face.
“Don’t you DARE! Play the injured party! Selene may have beaten you but you can always rechallenge.” Scribe’s face resembled the red clothes, which she wore. Margali was shocked. She slowly massaged her face where she had been assaulted. Seeing the pain she had inflicted unintentionally Scribe put her bony arm around her mistress’s shoulder.
“Let’s retire to our wing,” Scribe uttered in a comforting voice. The two women strolled at a turtle’s pace along the elegantly furnished corridors of the large Winchester mansion. When they finally arrived Margali was fighting off her sleepiness. She eventually collapsed into the Red Pawn’s arms. Careful not to disturb her mistress Scribe put her soundly into her bed. And she herself went into a most comfortable chair and dosed off.
The room was murky and misty. There was not a speck of light to illuminate a small portion of the room. The dense fog made it hard for Margali to breath. Then as fast as a tyrannosaurus rex ravages a corpse, Margali knew where she was. She was in the Court Room of the London Hellfire Club. Infact she was in a cage. And before her stood….Ms. Steed! Impossible, she was dead. Adjacent to her was the Black Bishop, Brian Braddock. He too is dead. He began to speak, “Margali Stryzvorze, former Red Queen of the New York and London Division, we here by find you of TREACHERY!” His voice was a loud as
rumbling thunder. Suddenly a body was dropped down from an invisible platform. The Black Bishop began, “First murder: Ms. Steed. She never saw it coming. Her most trusted, her most loyal killed her.”
The body soaked in blood turned to face Margali and in a hoarse voice spoke, “We had a future! We could have conquered all! I took you in when you were desperate. I promoted you to my equal! And this is how you repay me? Well your not so cocky now are you? You’re a worthless Rook in a Club that despises you!”
Her image disappeared. There was a series of voices laughing at Margali torturing her. Then the empty jury spaces were filled. Filled by Sebastian Shaw, Emma Frost, Eric Magnus Lennershaw, Harry Leyland and Donald Pierce-all former deceased members of the Hellfire Club.
“Today, ladies and gentlemen we are to trail the treacherous tramp, Margali Stryzvorze,” the Black Bishop began. “In her defence is an equal traitor, Scribe.” A ghostly image of Scribe appeared.
Then she began, “I beg of you spare her.” As she finished speaking she combusted. “Since we have no defence for Margali I ask you jury members to consider punishment.” These words were so shrill. The jury confirmed and Sebastian stood up and in his monstrosity of a voice he uttered, “We find the traitor Margali guilty as charged for treachery!” He room exploded in a wave of devilish laughter.
Then Emma screamed, “She must go to were she belongs!” The floor from under her feet was moved and Margali started to tumble down a most evil black hole. Above her laughing in a hoarse way were the deceased Hellfire Club their faces twisted in total demonic ways. And helplessly Margali fell and fell, plummeting faster and faster until…BANG! She rose erectly from her sleep wailing a scream. She has sweating a cold sweat, panting heavily. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Within instances Scribe was at her side comforting her.
“I am in a really crap position,” sobbed the former Red Queen in a frightened voice, “ I killed my friends for a better life. And instead I am here in a Club where no one likes me and loyalty is a word that will ever penetrate their evil vocabulary. But most importantly I am a stinking Rook! I used to be Queen!” After clearing her mind, Margali rested in her bed. She was drugged with a slight sleeping remedy. The rest of the night she tossed and turned in a most restless sleep.
“It is so terrible,” said Scribe in a whispered voice yet her concern was distinct, “I had to drug her to get her to sleep. She is really upset.” The voice on the other end of the phone issued her concern and assured Scribe she would be okay. “I Must go know Adrienne I need a little rest. Thanks for listening.” With her firm hand Scribe put down the posh telephone. With her graceful steps she made her way to the door that led to her sleeping chamber. As she passed the Red Queen she felt an overwhelming sympathy for her best friend. Could this be the end of the London branch?
“I don’t care!” shouted Flynn in a clearly angry voice, “You either pay the full price or you’ll get jack swat!” The usual healthy complexion of the Red King was gone. Replaced with a scarlet shade that made ice hot. He slammed the phone down. Suddenly the large study doors were opened and a figure crept in.
It was the Red Bishop. “Something wrong?” said the Bishop in his most elegant voice. Flynn took his seat and calmed himself.
“That damns Wilson Fisk. His defiance enrages me. He wants 25 barrels of our Exile cure for the Legacy virus. And won’t pay me $ 10,000,000 for it! I have buyers willing to pay $1,000,000 for half a barrel. How the hell did he assume the mantle of Black Bishop? The Hong Kong Division is such a shamble. Shinobi is too young. And a total prat!” The words of the Red King did not affect the Bishop. He kept his cool sophisticated look.
“I must request your attention for a second,” began the Red Bishop. Flynn leaned back in his red leather chair and in a cool voice said, “You have my undivided attention.” The Bishop walked over to his desk and sat on the chair facing Flynn. “Earlier this evening Steven and I were playing chess. And suddenly Steven’s eyes began to glow. And then without warning he telekinetically levitated out of his seat and exploded. His pure physic essence filled the room and then he came back together, somewhat exhausted. He said he felt an overwhelming telepathic presence. He scanned the mansion’s telepaths but did not match their brain waves. He insisted upon another scan but passed out. I took him to his room to rest.” The Red Bishop stopped and poured a glass of water. After he drank it he noticed the Red King. He sat there; his expression was that of a child waiting for a new toy.
“And I am concerned, why?” began Ryan. The doors flung open to reveal a short man in what was red armour. “Because the waves of energy I sensed were phenomenal,” began the Red Knight. “This telepath is so powerful. According to our Cerebro rating the brainwaves challenge those of Xavier himself!” The two listeners were astonished. Seeing their pure amazement Steven began in a strained yet demanding voice, “It is a boy around seventeen years old. And he possesses immense telepathy and emits pure psionic energy. His young body cannot control such power. That is why he released such a powerful wave of energy. The only reason the others did not detect this is because they had the barriers up. Rather foolishly, Ian did not protect his wing from probes.” He took a short breath. Then he began again, “Listen Flynn, we must find the boy and persuade him to join us. Think of the benefits he could have. According to my short contact with him he has telepathy, telekinethesis, precognition and perhaps the most deadly power. He can tap into the Phoenix Force. Tradition demands such power be wielded by us: The Inner Circle.” Flynn leaned back in his chair thinking.
“Are you sure that you can control him?” questioned the Red King. And snappishly Steven answered, “That is the sheer beauty of it all. He is so young and inexperienced. I think possessing him will be easy. Must we must act fast. Such energy is bound to attract the attention of others.”
The Red King stood up and strode across the elegantly decorated study. “Assemble the Inner Circle,” ordered Flynn, “and the Maunders.”
The two men gasped. “Are you sure?” Steven said inquisitively, “Sinister said they weren’t ready.”
The Red King merely rolled his eyes and said, “They are our protection. If the boy gets violent or we have our competition we’ll be ready.” With these words he left the Study and began along the dimly lit corridor. And finally he disappeared into the darkness. The Red Knight and Red Bishop looked concerning at each other. Neither was comfortable in the presence of Sabertooth, Vertigo, Schalphunter, Riptide, Harpoon and Malice. And the very presence of Mr Sinister was enough to bring death.
Within seconds people surrounded him. Familiar people. Their faces full of concern. “Are you okay Professor?” asked Storm in her warm voice. It was almost soothing. “Yes,” said a voice gravely in pain.
“‘S funny,” said a gruff chalky voice, “yer scream made the ‘hole mansion shake.” The man in the bed merely smiled. “I sensed an overpowering force,” the Professor began. “It was like nothing I have ever felt before. Such raw untamed psionic energy. It made my brain combust!” The two people surrounding him were shortly joined by two more.
It was Warren Worthington a.k.a. Angel with his beautiful girlfriend Betsy Braddock a.k.a. Psylocke. Only she didn’t look so beautiful. Infact, she looked unconscious. “Professor,” cried Warren his voice concerned, “Psylocke is…unconscious.” The Angel brought his
girlfriend over to the Professor who examined her briefly.
Then in his paternal voice he began, “Yes Warren, Psylocke has been attacked by the same force that attacked me.” Warren’s blue skin seemed to boil and his face twist in anger.
“What flippin’ force,” he shouted. The man with the gruff voice began to restrain what was a very angry Angel.
“Calm down Warren. It isn’t serious. It was a telepathic signal from a young man. I think he is in the regions of the late teens. Yet he is extremely powerful. He override my mind for an instant.” The three conscious members of the group looked bewildered. In all their years never had anyone managed to enter his mind. In a more concerned voice Xavier said, “We must find him. From my little connection to him I fathomed out he is extremely inexperienced. And he wields such an amount of energy that he is potentially dangerous. Assemble the rest of the team. And make ready the Blackbird and portable Cerebro. We must find him at all costs!”
He awoke. Cold, so very cold. Then chilling waves began to pound at his weak body. The sea. He had fallen into the sea. He was at the seabed. And could see very little. The night was coated with a thick black tarry mist. The pounding and thumping in his head was unbelievable. Voices went in and out of his head. Suddenly the piercing light of the beam of a torch averted his attention. As it got nearer and nearer he could pick out the figures of two men.
“So this youngster is powerful,” the Beast said in a sleepy voice. His sleepiness was spoiled by the scoutly voice of Cyclops.
“Well it overrided the Professor’s physic probes.”
“What!” gasped the sweet Kentucky voice of the X-men’s powerhouse Rouge. “Isn’t the Professor supposed to be the most powerful telepath on Earth?” Her questioned was answered rather abruptly by the voice of the X-men’s resident mother- Jean Grey.
“That shows how powerful and dangerous this boy is.” The aircraft began to shake. “ I see we are experiencing some turbulence,” Storm said in her soothing voice. Cyclops nodded frantically. Then in an amused voice Storm said, “That mere obstacle will not stop us!” With a slight crackling of the air the X-woman known as Storm used her mutant power to control and manipulate the weather to steady the air outside.
“Much obliged Storm,” commented the Beast, “I don’t know what we’d do without you.” He was replaced by the beeping of the monitor. Then with the touch of a button Gambit, the ragin’ Cajun of the X-men began to speak, “ Yoh, Prof. What you all doing? It half past two for crying out loud.”
The Beast said in his rather posh voice, “I see you and Jubilee have returned from the theatre. Did you enjoy Carmen? I myself thought it was a little…boring and slow in parts. But one the whole it was rather…” The Beast was interrupted by Gambit. “What are you
all doing? Cruising around looking for a night club?” His sarcasm seemed to enrage the little man known as Wolverine.
“Whilst you’re out swanning with Jubilee were on a mission.”
“What Wolverine means,” interrupted Storm in her silky voice, “is that earlier this morning we were visited by an uninvited guest. We are in pursuit of this intruder.” Gambit’s voice turned concerned, “Do you need my help? Who was this ‘intruder’?”
“A young boy let of an incredibly powerful wave of telepathic energy. Such an amount of energy is dangerous for an inexperienced boy. So we are going to find him,” Jean said. She was then seconded by her husband, the field commander of the X-men, Scott summers a.k.a. Cyclops. “I have Rogue, Storm, Beast, Wolverine, Jean, Professor Xavier, Angel and Psylocke to help me, so your assistance is not needed.” After assuring Gambit that they were all fine he went. A wave of sleepiness wafted through the Blackbird. All, except Cyclops the pilot, seemed to go into a light sleep. This heavenly silence was
interrupted by the strong voice of Xavier. “Cerebro and I have found the boy. He has been located on the coast of California. And we must hurry up. There is a storm coming in.” With these words the Blackbird, with a good speed, began to find the boy.
“Are you okay boy?” began a rather fat coastguard.
“’Course he’s not he fell inta water,” a second coastguard said to his colleague. The boy could hear these voices. With a little effort he scanned them. Humans. Clean. But he could take no chances. “You’d better come with us. That water is icy cold. And you could do with a check over by one of the doctors. What is your name?” said the fat guard. The boy on the floor did not answer. With friendliness the two men walked towards him and began to reach for him. But with uncanny instincts the boy jumped up and karate chopped them both. First one fell in agony then the other. “You humans!” screamed the
boy, “You are all against me. Just because I’m different. Just because I’m a…”
“Mutant,” said a deep voice from behind. As fast as lightning can strike, the man behind thrusted a needle into the body. It was a sleeping drug. He tried his hardest to fight it but the boy fell to the floor. “Those pesky mutants,” said Mr Alanson, FOH (Friend of Humanity) supporter, “they never learn. Are you two alright?” The two coastguards crawled off the floor. “I suppose so,” grunted the thin man, “that boy is a good aim.” The three men assured each other that they were fine. “We outta hand this mutant over to the authorities,” said the fat coastguard.
“I find that highly impossible,” slurred a monstrous voice. Out of nowhere leaped what seemed to be an animal. It ripped apart Mr Alanson whilst a most unusual woman kicked the crap out of the two coastguards. The boy woke up. The sight that met his eyes frightened him. Next to him was the bloody, severed corpse of the man who ambushed him. With all his might, and a little telekinethesis, the boy levitated above the ground into the air. “Who are you?” he questioned in an uncertain voice. The savage man said, “Me I’m Sabertooth. And this delectable doll is Vertigo. And you’re the little punk the Hellfire Club want. So how about coming with me?”
The boy laughed in a humoured voice, “You seriously expect me to let you two nutcases take me away. And who the hell are the Hellfire Club? A bunch a goofballs?” Then he felt a stabbing pain in his brain. “The Hellfire Club are the elite. The powerful. And you boy are now are captive,” a voice within his head said. Terror seized the boy’s mind. “What is going on?” he quivered. There was no answer. Only a beam of energy that the woman-Vertigo emitted. This beam made him nauseous and he fell to the ground. Then the figures of four more people entered the night. The Maunders. “Is this ‘onestly what the Red King wants. Look at the state of him. He couldn’t kill a mouse.” The voice of Scalphhunter was mechanical. “Don’t be so sure,” said a demonic voice. The boy ascended from the floor and rose into the air. The air around him crackled with telekinetic energy. Before any of the six people could react the boy swept them all away with the move of a hand. Then he made them all sleep telepathically. All except Sabertooth. “You think your pretty tough,” the boy questioned Sabertooth. Sabertooth smiled a broad smile revealing all those rows
of razor sharp teeth. He let out a loud howl.
“Bring it all on,” Sabertooth said in a scream/laugh. Before Sabertooth knew the boy had launched his attack. This did not alarm Sabertooth. He let the boy dig him a couple of times. Then he began his attack. But to his utter astonishment his attacks were all counteracted. And as graceful as a ballerina the boy began kicking Sabertooth and using the most profound ninja abilities Sabertooth has ever seen. Before he knew, Sabertooth was on the floor, bleeding badly. “Let the whole world know my wrath. The wrath of Java!” With these words the boy, Java, flew into the air and let out a very powerful wave of psionic energy, which interacted with every telepathic mind on the planet. All the telepaths aboard the Blackbird felt it, right up to the telepathic Gateway in Australia. Yet this mental assault was short lived. With sheer skill the Red King cut through the RED and short-circuited the boy’s mind. Within minutes the Inner Circle were on site.
“There he is,” the Red Bishop uttered. “I know,” replied Flynn Ryan, “look at him. He is so scrawny, so pathetic. But he could very well be the most powerful mutant on the planet.” The members all posed
to acknowledge this awesome thought. All except Trevor Fitzroy a.k.a. Red Hellion #2. “With all due respect sire I must request we get the boy out of here.” The chilling, stony voice of the Red Knight said in agreement, “Yes I too request we may hurry. It will allow me more time to work on him.”
“Okay,” said the dreary voice of the Red King. Then Java was loaded onto the private jet the Inner Circle had arrived in. And as the members were boarding the voice of the Red Pawn screeched out, “ We have company.” All the attention of the members was averted to the ship that was above them. The Red Knight in conjunction with Mydeline Pryor scanned the ship. “It is the X-men. Let’s go!” The Red Hellion #1 began to run aboard the ship. But the Red King stopped her. “We have yet to toil with the X-men. Let us indulge.” The jet door came down. “Are you sure of the identities of the X-men?”
questioned the Red Bishop. As always the Red Knight instantly replied, “According to my probe the X-men aboard are: Professor Xavier, Jean Grey, Psylocke, Cyclops, Storm, Rogue, Beast, Warren Worrington and Wolverine.” The members glanced at each other. “Are you sure we can take on these X-men?” questioned the Red Rook. Selene hissed in her witch voice, “We’ll find out soon.” With this the giant Blackbird landed. The steps opened and some figures began to vacate the vessel. “Let’s get ready to rumble!” the Red Bishop said in a pleasured voice.
“The night is so cold. It is deathly cold,” wined Jean Grey. “Allow me,” Storm said and instantly manipulated a heat wave. “Must better,” said the Beast. The X-men began to walk. “Are you sure the boy is here, Professor?” Warren asked. The Professor, rather absent-mindedly, replied, “An aura as strong as his is easy to find.” With his he made a little side turn in his hovercraft. And faithfully the X-men followed. “It is really dark,” Psylocke said in her British voice. Suddenly a match lit up. The light showed eight faces. And the shadows that casted on their faces seemed to mutilate them. “Welcome to the Inner Circle,” Flynn Ryan said in a mysterious, threatening voice.
“Inner Circle?” questioned Storm. “Yes,the Hellfire’s New Inner Circle,” said the Red Bishop in his satanic voice. “So you’re the new Inner Circle. The murderers who killed Sebastian Shaw, Emma Frost, Donald Pierce, Harry Leyland and Ms Steed?” Beast said in a shrill voice. “Yes,” replied the Red Knight in an equally evil voice, “but where are our manners. We must introduce ourselves. Well that delectable young man is our Red King, Flynn Ryan. And ruling beside him the equally beautiful equally dangerous Selene. Oh, but you know Selene. The Red Bishop, Ian Heathrow. And I am Steven Booth also known as the Red Knight. And yet another familiar face Margali Stryzvorze. And Scribe our Red Pawn. And here are two very familiar faces. Our Red Hellions Mydeline Pryor and Trevor Fitzroy.” The X-men were astounded. All for one. Professor Xavier.
“ I shall not beat around the bush. You’re here for the same reason I’m here. The boy. Where is the boy?” The Red King threw back his head in laughter, “He is with us old man.” In a voice of pure desperation Charles Xavier pleaded, “ Flynn you do not understand. Java is highly dangerous. His savage telepathy resembles the full constraints of mine. He can wipe clean the minds of the whole world with little effort. You must hand him over. I am the only one who stands any chance of helping him. Please…”
“Silence!” bellowed the Red King. “We will deal with him. So if you will LEAVE US ALONE!” The sheer force in his voice shook the ground. And within moments there was a full scale brawl erupting. The Inner Circle was overpowering the X-men. “I shall stop this,” replied Storm. And with some effort Storm caused a hurricane. This divided the two groups. Then in pure desperation Xavier ascended to his psionic state. “I want the boy!” he bellowed out. But with pure defiance Selene, Steven and Mydeline used their combined telepathy against Xavier. This proved little of a worry to Xavier. He merely attacked them all and rendered their abilities useless. “This is not working out,” Ian said to Fitzroy. “Well it will do soon.” With all his might Fitzroy used his portal wielding abilities and transported the X-men to Australia. After this he collapsed.
The Inner Circle gathered themselves together and left. Once back at the mansion Steven worked tirelessly on Java.
Deep in thought the Red King sat silently in his luxurious courtroom. He admired a single painting. One of a man holding the globe in his hand. “That shall be me,” he said. Then he went back to his thoughts. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he did not notice the door open and the slender figure of the Red Pawn sneak in. “My lord,” she began, “you presence is required in the laboratory.” With little effort the Red King began to walk out of his office along the elaborate halls of his mansion. He peered out of a window into the peaceful tranquillity of the rising sun. And when finally he went into the laboratory he saw the tired exhausted faces of the Inner Circle. And in the middle was a boy. It was Java. “Hello master,” Java spoke almost hypnotically, “I am ready to take up the mantle of Red Hellion #3.” The room was silent. “I did it,” Steven said, “He is under our control.”
“Are yes,” said Flynn in a boisterous voice, “the Inner Circle is complete.” There was a Unisom of agreements.
The End.
