Lord’s Port, historically, had been a troubled city. In the years following American independence it had become something of a magnet for criminals, who dealt in all manner of contraband. Drugs, gun running, and vast sums of bootleg alcohol during Prohibition.

  After the Encounter, when alterhuman super-criminals started to pop up with growing regularity, the city’s criminal reputation grew significantly worse when masked maniacs embedded themselves in the underworld. Yet, in that same period, it also gave rise to one of the most famous vigilante’s on the planet.

  The first Raptor had, by all estimations, been an Artisan with no physical powers. Even so, his abundance of gadgets, exemplary physical fitness, and keen mind had made him a one man army against the criminals of Lord’s Port. He’d even gone on to become a founding member of the Vanguard. The man had not ‘solved’ crime in the city, but one shuddered to think how much worse Lord’s Port would have been in his absence.

  The ‘new’ Raptor, who had been in the role for the better part of a decade, well he was a different breed of dangerous. Still, ANVIL knew he also had a worryingly sharp mind at his disposal.

  Jon stood atop Lord’s Tower, humming to himself as he examined the neon-lit spires and peaks of Lord’s Port. Half the city seemed to be submerged in a miasma of fog. “What a shithole,” he muttered under his breath. He’d tried to avoid the place as much as possible in his pre-ANVIL years for many reasons.

  He watched calmly, as an armoured black shape emerged from the distant fog. A VTOL with crescent wings, crimson lights glowing on the sharpened edges of the craft. It quickly climbed towards the top of the tower, hovering above the helipad. Billowing winds snapped at the fabric of Jon’s suit, as he stood back to watch the ship with a bored look on his face.

  The canopy opened soon after the craft landed, and a silhouette in black quickly hopped out. A tall and strongly built figure in plated power armour, a black trenchcoat thrown over the top of it. His head was fully encased in an angular helm, part of it sloping forward in the shape of a beak. The crimson visor glowed whenever the light struck it.

  “I don’t like ANVIL agents in my city,” he said, a distinct echo lining every syllable of his modified voice.

  “Tough shit. Sovereign Act gives jurisdiction to agents of the American National Vigilante Investigation League on every molecule of American soil. I can go where I please. Jon Carver, pleased to meet you.”

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  Raptor stared at him, the breeze fanning the tails of his coat. Even with his face concealed, Jon could sense the steely glare trying to drill a hole through him. “You’re here about the incident from last night,” he stated. “I have no information to give you.”

  “Damn shame, what happened to those kids,” Jon said, turning his gaze across the city. “Didn’t see you at the crime scene, but I’m sure you know the details. Way I hear it, man can’t even shit in this city without you finding out.”

  Raptor stared at him. From the corner of his eye, Jon glimpsed the many pouches that lined his belt. Each one had some manner of gadget or weapon in it, a tool for every occasion. To say nothing for the power armour itself. It may not have been as potent as Lady Knight’s, or Black Arsenal’s, but it wasn’t to be sneezed at. Bulletproof, rendering the wearer fast enough to dodge gunfire and punch through solid steel. It was much more potent than what the original Raptor wore.

  “I’m looking into it,” he said.

  “Yeah. And I’d rather you and the rest of the Vanguard try and keep out of our way in the process,” Jon replied. “Particularly, I’d appreciate it if you could keep any younger heroes from flying off the handle.”

  “We’re not a hivemind. Director. Or an army. We can’t tell other heroes how to act or feel.”

  “No, but you can influence them. And make it clear that we’re not going to tolerate any witch hunts, or anyone trying to escalate into all out war with the Guild.”

  “So you think this was Guild work?” Raptor asked, his tone flat.

  Jon snorted. “Cute. We don’t have a solid culprit in mind yet. Could be a new player on the field, for all we know. But until we can confirm anything, we don’t need your people starting shit.”

  Rain started to patter on the rooftop. Raptor watched him intently all the while. “My people, huh?” he eventually asked.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “You’re an alterhuman too. Seems like they’re also your people.”

  “Oh?” Jon grinned and lowered his sunglasses. “And what makes you say that?”

  “Biometric readings from my helmet. And the fact that you took an explosion to the face with no harm to show for it.”

  “Ha. Knew you had eyes on us,” said Jon.

  “I’ll pass the word along to the rest of the Vanguard. We’ll do what we can to keep people from flying off the handle. But I’m sure you can tell people are pissed off. Word’s already spreading about how that poor girl got brutalised.” His stance didn’t shift as he spoke, as if he were a statue, but Jon could pick up on the notes of disgust in his voice.

  Jon sighed. He’d wanted a media blackout on the gruesome details, but some of the local cops must have let things slip before ANVIL got involved. Gory happenings with superheroes always got them giddy.

  He opened his mouth to respond, only to freeze when he noticed something behind Raptor. A pale face staring unblinking at them from the edge of the rooftop. Then another, and another. Raptor spun as the figures climbed swiftly over the edge of the roof, until the two found themselves staring across at six identical figures in matching black clothes. Their skin was deathly pale, their faces angular and seemingly devoid of any fat.

  “Well now,” Jon said, “seems someone else had eyes on us too.”