Brian tromped his way through the now relatively crowded Mendolsson Hostel for Displaced Metahumans, a newspaper gripped in one hamhand. “John, did you see this? It says here one of Freedom Force is dead!”

	Several gasps among the new residents answered his booming call, and John Mendolsson, the albino proprietor of the Hostel, stepped out from around a corner. “What did you say?”

	“Look right here. It says that Man-Bot, the guy in the armor, was with ‘em on some kinda mission ‘somewhere else’, and didn’t come back. Minuteman is quoted as saying something about him ‘making the Ultimate Sacrifice’ to stop some psycho who called himself Time Master.” He frowned. “There’s only one ‘Ultimate Sacrifice’ that I know of.”

	“Youre right, Brian. Well, maybe this is something we can use to underscore to the new recruits how dangerous it is in the ‘hero business’. Come on, we’re supposed to brief them in five minutes. Anthony and Calvin are already there, and Calvin’s probably already tried to start flirting with the new redhead.” The tall, pale man turned, and led the hulking figure beside him back to the briefing room where, not too long ago, they had finally decided to form a team to protect the Hostel.

	Inside the room were several people. In addition to the aforementioned Anthony and Calvin, in their respective costumes as Jarhead and Black Tiger, there were six faces that were relative newcomers to the Hostel, from various places around the united States. Each one had shown up in the past three months, and each one was convinced that they had something substantial to add to the security force.

	The most noticeable individual present apparantly had his own costume ready. He had shown up just two nights before, in a green skintight suit with a scale pattern on the torso, boots, and gloves, and a mask crafted to resemble a pair of dragon’s wings. The only name he had given them as of yet was ‘Dragonlord’, and he swore to high heaven that he was really and truly a dragon, stuck in human form. “Ah, ‘tis our liege-lord! Art thou ready to conscript us into thy Guard?” he said, his rather comically archaic speech patterns rather convincing despite his obvious lunacy.

	Beside him, a gorgeous blonde named Lisbeth, almost as pretty as Rache, the desk clerk, but slightly more... endowed. Her hair was also much longer, and had to have been dyed an unnatural shade of fiery yellow. “Calm down, scaley, give the man a chance to speak.” 

	“Er... yes. The six of you have expressed an interest in joining the security force here at the Hostel. And, now that there are over forty metahumans of various power levels in residence, I beleive such a force would be needed to protect them all, should the entity that seems to be targeting me decide to strike here.” He then threw the newspaper on the table. “But first, I think you should all read this article. Go ahead pass it around.”

	The room was silent at first, but as they read it, gasps and hushed whispers began. John spoke over those whispers. “Yes, even members of Freedom Force can die. This ‘job’ isn’t all fun and glory. There will be people doing their best to end your life. They will be trying to kill you, maim you, or in some cases, even worse. If you don’t think you can handle that, please leave now.”

	A stunned silence filled the room, but nobody even budged. One man, an older man in his late forties with skin that looked like leather, spoke up. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but I was infantry in World War Two. I fought my way from the beginnin’ to the bitter end, and never ran from a fight. Whether it’s Germans with a machinegun, or some psycho in tights with a raygun, I ain’t afraid to die for what I beleive in.”

	Dragonlord immediately jumped to his feet. “Aye, warrior! I, the lord of All Dragons, shall ne’er allow any knave or varlet that dares draw blade ‘gainst our fair hostel to take any fell action! Let us all stand forth so, that this bastion of hope may e’er stand fair and proud!”

	That stopped everyone . They turned to stare at Dragonlord. Realizing he was currently standing on his chair, with one hand outstretched as if holding a sword, and one foot thrust out, as if the back of the chair were a second step, he coughed slightly, and resumed his seat.

	“Now... the first thing that I’ll do, is ask you one more time... if you do not wish to do this, please leave.” John’s statement was met with silence. “Very well then. Now you need to determine what your... ugh... code-name will be, as well as letting us know exactly what it is you can do. We’ll start with you, Lisbeth.”

	The blonde stood, and looked around. “Well, my name is Lisbeth. Somehow, I can throw huge gouts of flame. I can’t do any of the fancy things El Diablo in Patriot City can do, but I bet I’m a lot more acurate. I can cause the bolts to start pretty much anywhere I want, even right over a target. So... I guess, call me Flamestrike.” Shrugging, she sat down.

	The woman next to her stood up. She was relatively plain, with sandy blonde hair, and a petite build. “I’m Jennifer, Lisbeth’s sister. I can’t relly do much, except open gates. I have to have been where the gate is opening on to, and sometimes I miss where I want, and get someplace else instead. Umm, call me Gateway.”

	Dragonlord grumbled, realizing that with the order that the girls had introduced themselves, he would be last. As he did so, the leathery man who had spoken earlier stood up. “Well, my name’s Ryan Michaels. I’m not really sure exactly what it is that I’ve become, but I know two things: First, my bones don’t break anymore, period. Second, I seem to absorb energy. You know, like heat and electricity and the like. It seems to make me stronger, an’ I don’t get as tired when I’m on a charge. I dunno what you’d call me, though.”

	“How about ‘Synergy’?” asked Anthony.

	Ryan shrugged. “Good a name as any, I guess.” he then sat down.

	Next to Ryan was a much younger girl, with jet black hair She looked maybe nineteen, if that, and was even more petite than Jennifer. She wore a backless outfit, because no normal shirt could fit over the two large wings she had emerging from her back. However, instead of being feathery and birdlike, or even leathery and batlike, these wings seemed to be made of dozens and dozens of spinning, shimmering blades, that weren’t even attached to each other, yet moved in tandem. “M...my name is Alice. I’m sorta... well, I got these wings. And they’re very sharp. And they can protect me. I can also fly.” She then stood there, nervously, keeping her bladed wings retracted with what looked like a serious effort of will.

	Calvin stepped over, and crouched in front of her. “So whaddya want to be called?”

	She looked down slightly nervously at him. “Umm, I dunno...”

	“How about ‘Wingstorm’? Those wings can probably generate a lot of wind if you want ‘em to,” he suggested.

	She nodded, shyly, then looked at him and smiled.

	The next individual had arrived the previous evening, wrapped nearly from head to toe in rags. Allison, the seamstress, had already gotten his measurements, but he had requested tht he not show himself until he had ‘fitting clothes’. He stood, and for the first time, pulled back his hood. “I am not human, nor have I ever been,” he said, revealing a black-furred, lupine muzzle. “My name is unpronounceable to humans, as it is a combination of growls and pheremones. However, having studied your lexicon, I beleive the best name you could call me would be ‘Darkenwulf’. I am of the race known to the Domain as the ‘Alrezor’, a slave race used as medical technicians. I escaped during their recent attempt to invade Patriot City, and found my way here.”

	Calvin grinned. “Nice ta meet you. Good to know i ain’t the only one around here with fangs anymore. On the good guys’ side, of course.”

	Brian stared at him for a minute. “Fangs, eh... how do we know you aren’t the guy that bit those college kids a while back?”

	“Look at his muzzle,” said Calvin. “His jaws are almost as broad as mine. No way could he have done that.”

	“Yes,” proclaimed the last of the six, “’Tis true that this lupine visitor could nae have been the valet that did besmirch this fair city with the deaths of two innocents. And, at last, ‘tis my turn to proclaim myself before thee, and swear fealty before the lord of this manor! I am the Dragonlord, ancient beyond your reckoning! Tho’ I have assumed mortal form, still is my strength and endurance beyond human measure, and still do I retain the birthrights that are mine - the breath of flame, and the right to roam the skies as I was born to do!”

	“Err... thank you, Dragonlord,” said John. “You can get down off the chair again. So, the six of you want to join our little group, eh? Okay, here’s what I can tell you about the current threat to the Hostel. Apparantly, some kind of ancient demon has possessed... an innocent man... and transformed him into a black-armored warrior, wielding a powerful magic sword. He, in turn, has somehow summoned or created four or five undead things to serve him, and has also gathered mercenaries, thugs, and... well, something else as his army. We fought them once, a month or two ago, and they were quite powerful. Most of you are not bulletproof, like Brian and, er, Dragonlord are, so I would highly reccomend you treat even their lowest goons as a serious threat.”

	Young Jennifer raised her hands. “Um, sir, I have a question.”

	“Yes?”

	“Is there any way I can sort of be a reserve member? I wouldn’t be much good in a direct fight,but...” She shrugged. “I guess I could help you get to where you need to be, if you’re needed somewhere other than here.”

	John nodded. “Good idea. Your gates may be extremely useful, but I don’t see them as being a particularly combat-worthy power, not without a lot of tactics and forethought. Gateway, you know you don’t even have to be a reserve member, right? You can just walk out of here right now.”

	She shook her head. “No, if Lisbeth is in, so am I. She’s my sister, and we’ve been looking after each other for quite a while.”

	“Alright then. I guess that’s it, for now...” started John.

	“Yannow,” interrupted Ryan, “why do I get the feelin’ like I just up an’ joined the French Foreign Legion?”

	Anthony burst out laughing. “Boss, I think we got our ‘Hero Group name’, now. I think we’ve just become ‘The Legion’.”

	As the remainder of the people in the room voiced their assent to the suggestion, and planned out their team logo, if any, it was all John Mendolsson could do to shake his head in dismay. "Okay, okay, people, calm down. Later on, we're going down to the basement where you can demonstrate what you can do..."

************************************

	Another place, a torchlit, dry cavern. saw a different form of reorganization taking place. In the time since their original headquarters had been raided by the four metahumans and the police, the Doom Guard had undergone a radical transformation. Under the guidance and training of the Undead and Black Blade, most of its members had become hardened warriors, armed with state of the art weaponry and armored in fully enclosing bodysuits of some unknown material, complete with a death’s head mask. The darkmen, however, retained their original robes, and merely added the skull mask to heighten the fierceness of their aspect. All of this had been supplied by Ghoul, and recrafted by the not-so loving touch of Liche.

	Currently, the soldiers of the Doom Guard were arrayed in rank and file before their commanders. Even the most loutish of thugs had become a disciplined soldier, and even the most out of shape worm had become a lean, muscled fighter. Their every action was coordinated and precise, and their every movement was at the exact same moment as every other member of their force. 

	Vampyre was slowly striding down each rank and file, noting any minor uniform discrepancies to Wight, who was writing them down, as Black Blade, Liche, Ghost, and Ghoul stood on the impromptu reviewing stand. Finally, having nodded at the last one, he smartly performed an about face, and called out, “Inspection complete, My Lord. The Doom Guard stands ready for your orders.”

	Black Blade slowly stood, and gazed across the faces before him. “Excellent. Vampyre, Wight, please rejoin your fellows on the reviewing stand. I must now pass down to you your orders.”

	The two senior members of the Undead saluted sharply, Wight with his sword, and they marched in step back to the stand, to take their places. The demon swordsman breathed deeply, and could taste the future he had planned. “Warriors of the Doom Guard, you have pleased me, and our Master. Soon, we shall be ready to strike out at the one great foe we have in this metropolis, and then we may begin using it as a base from which we shall spread our influence through the world. 

	“Members of the First Company, you are the finest of our warriors. To you, shall go a portion of the might that is wielded by the undead, and you shall be gifted with power greater than your fellows. But with that power goes, as well, a great duty. You shall be first in every attack, and last in any withdrawal. You shall be the point of the blade that is the Doom Guard, and Vampyre the hand that wields you.”

	He turned his head slightly. “Members of the Second Company, you are our quietest, most stealthy, most cunning servants. You shall belong to the Ghost, and shall form our eyes and ears against the world, and our foes. To you shall be granted cloaks that, though not as mighty as the mythical Tarnhelm, shall still conceal your forms somewhat from the eyes of those who would seek you out.”

	Again, he turned his head to regard a different formation. “To Ghoul, shall go the most conniving of you, the Third Company. Ever clutching for what is beyond your grasp, you shall be both our quartermasters, and our weapons specialists. To you shall go the heaviest of weaponry, to support our warriors from afar with death raining down, and to you as well the task of acquiring that which is needed.”

	Now, he regarded the hunching, lurching formation of Darkmen. “As for thee, Fourth Company, thou art our most trusted believers. Thy faith in our Master has led ye to the service of the Liche. The powers of darkness you wield shall be added to, as our Master has seen fit to aid ye. And do not forget that ye must serve your brothers’ spiritual needs, as well.”

	Finally, he regarded the central formations. “Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth companies. You belong to the Wight. You are the anchor of our efforts, the soldiers who form the bulk of our soon to be victorious force. Obey his words as law, for they are the words of our Master, and our victory is assured.”

	Silence reigned in the cavern, until Black Blade nodded. “You may rejoice.” And then the thunderous cries threatened to bring down the mountain, as hundreds of throuts cried out with battle cries and praises to one known only to them as the Master.