Mikolaj Bannazewski stood over a table in his stylish suburban Milano apartment. Absently he itched the scar on his cheek before remembering what the doctor had told him. The laptop in front of him ran a program, scanning through the e-mails he'd accessed and gathering information on Nex distribution. In front of him, pictures of dozens of members of Il Sindicato, including Benito Asante and his brother, Hector, the two movers of the Syndicate.
Il Sindicato Milano was not one of the fabled Italian crime families. It had sprung up relatively recently, and seemed to be the brainchild of Benito himself. Sure, they were involved in a lot of the same stuff the "mafia" was, but often in different ways. In fact, they seemed to actually supply a lot of equipment to gangs, mostly in North and South America, though Europe was not untouched by their hand.
And then there was the Nex. The super-drug. It gave its users amazing strength and speed, but at the cost of risking their own lives. It was incredibly easy to OD on; anyone with an undignosed heart problem would probably die instantly; the users bodies were not invulnerable, but they felt as if they were; the list went on and on. Several months ago, a deal had been made to keep Nex out of Stevenson, Illinois. But that deal had been a temporary truce, Mikolaj had learned. Nex was flowing again. Only this time, the users were carefully chosen. He still didn't have all the pieces, but he didn't have time to get them. Mikolaj realized he needed to throw a wrench into Il Sindicato and get back to the states as soon as possible. Something big was happening. He needed to stop Benito Asante, see that he was imprisoned, and that the Nex production facility in the manufacturing district was destroyed. That would slow things down, quite well.
Meanwhile, In Langley Hall, Central Illinois University...
Caz Greenbaum was enjoying demolishing the latest one person shooter video game, while Rick Pennington sat reading a book on hermetic chemistry. Sydney sat on Caz' bed, within sight of a tree out the window, meditating or praying. A knock on the door disturbed the three friends who were the sometime superheroes Cazmonster, The Adept, and The Gray Robe, as Sydney had come to be known.
Caz shrugged and opened the door to find two outradgeosly costumed young men. The first, somewhat shorter than average but powerfully built, wore a leather jacket modeled loosely after the US flag, with loose fitting jeans and a blue mask covering most of his face. In one hand was a very expensive skateboard. The second work a startling combination of a bright pink running suit leading into equally bright orange boots and an orange mask. A shock of well-trimmed blond hair protruded from the mask.
Caz cocked an eyebrow. "'n I help you guys?"
The patriotic skateboarder took the lead. "Yeah, we wanna join up. Got some skills I think you could use." He grinning in a very infectious way, with a seemingly contradictory self confidence and uncertainty.
"Um, yeah. I don't think we need any today, thank," Caz closed the door. He turned to find the pink and orange on in the room behind him.
"Snot!" Rick said, leaping to his feet and preparing a mystical blast.
"Hey, eyes, guys," the blond man in the bright tights said. "Like we said, we wanna join you, not fight you. I'm Triumph. The man outside is The American Attitude." Triumph held out his hand with amazing speed.
"Impressive," Caz said. "Speedster, huh? What about the American Dream?"
"It's Attitude!" Caz heard from behind as the door slammed open. In rolled the skateboarder, a metal staff in one hand; he bounced off the support beam in the center of the triple, and landed at a full stop right beside Triumph.
"I get that," Rick said.
"I have certain sensory abilities. And I'm pretty good in a fight."
"Look, guys," Rick said, "we appreciate the offer, but we don't general take applications..."
"But you guys are the Infinite SEVEN, right? There's only five of you right now, we saw it on TV. He's six, and I'm seven! What luck!" the blond speedster said enthusiastically.
"Okay, guys, guys," Caz interrupted. "Can you give us some time to talk about this? We, um, we have a meeting next week. We'll have a vote, and we'll let you know."
"Yeah, see you 'round, CM," The Attitude said grudgingly. Caz ushered the heroes back out into the hall.
"I think that went okay," Triumph said.
The Attitude just shook his head negatively. "No it didn't, trust me."
Back in Milan...
Mikolaj drove his street bike at high speed early in the AM toward the Nex facility. He had learned that Benito himself would be there tonight, working a deal with some underworld distributors. Instead of his casual Italian stylings, Mikolaj wore tight, black clothing. If one were to inspect that clothing, he would find several dozen weapons, from shuriken to high-tech explosives. Strapped to the side of the bike was a black ninja sword.
The scar on Mikolaj's face was now gone, and with it some cosmetic alterations to his cheek-bone position. He'd also relaxed several facial muscles he'd trained himself to tighten over the last several weeks in Poland and now, Italy. The face that belonged to the bike's driver was one that looked very similar to that of the American super-hero known as Dragonfly.
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