“What have you done?” Dawn whispered again. He stood staring at her, stock still, his teeth clenched, his hands balled into fists. Jane flinched at the anger in his voice. The anger and fear.

“Sir I didn’t, I’m sorry, I-”

“Who knows?” he whispered, cutting her down with a word, “How many, who are they?”

“I…” Jane stammered, “I don’t know. Lots, I think, Matt sent the message to everyone we could think of, journalists, newspapers…” Her voice trailed off into a whimper as the Captain’s shoulders began to shake. For a moment – for a wonderful, terrible moment – she thought he was about to cry.

“Sir I... I was just trying to help, I, I care about you I… I love you.” Jane gasped, caught her breath, tried to take the words back as soon as she said them. She gazed up at the hero with trembling eyes.

But Dawn wasn’t looking at her.

“I know you do Jane,” he murmured, distracted. His eyes burned into the empty space in front of him. “I know you do.” He strode ten paces away from her, golden cape shimmering behind him. Then he stopped and breathed deep, drawing himself up as if he’d made a decision. “Fine,” he whispered.

And before Jane could think, his hands sparked blue – and in an instant, a pulse of electric energy exploded from his body, rushing through Jane, the walls, the floors-

And suddenly they were engulfed in blackness. Suddenly, Morningstar was dark.

EMP, a little voice said, in the back of Jane’s sluggish, reeling mind.

Then faster than a blur Dawn hit her.

Jane didn’t have time to move, time to breathe, time to flinch. Faster than a heartbeat, faster than should have been possible, he flew across the hall, slamming into her, fist driving into her gut. She gasped, gulped, crumbled, feeling her ribs crack, the world blinking bursting specs of darkness, shuddering before her eyes – she tried to cry out, tried to scream, but her air was gone and there was a hand around her neck, a gloved hand, holding her as the floor spun, as the room swirled around her, swallowed and collapsing in smothering black-

And then there was light.

She fell to the ground, knees catching, heavy in the dirt – dropped spluttering, wheezing, chest screaming, gasping for air, the strong iron bands released from around her throat. Her vision wavered. She tried to look up, tried to see… where… how… she couldn’t understand…

And there, his shadow falling over her, his face shrouded in darkness, golden cape shining in the open sunlight, rippling in the desert breeze… there stood Dawn.

“I’m sorry I had to hurt you Jane,” he said quietly, “I didn’t want it to happen like this.”

She struggled, pushing herself to rise, hands pressed into the dirt, blood seeping through her teeth. But Captain Dawn merely stepped over her, away from her, a single golden movement.

“Stay away,” he told her, gazing out at the horizon, far and away.

And in a rush of sound and sulphur, he vanished.

*****

“JESUS TAPDANCING CHRIST!” yelped Matt. He stumbled back, his hands scrambling for the doorhandle, heart hammering a million miles an hour as he-

“Please.”

The word, barely a whisper. Halfway out the door, Matt froze. Against his better judgement, against the skittering nova of panic in his chest that was screaming at him to get out, to flee, he turned around. Mentok was staring at him, his body shaking, his wrinkled head lolled uselessly to one side – but his bloodshot, bleary eyes were focused. Unwavering. Burning into Matt.

“Please,” he croaked, voice cracking, the word gurgling in his throat.

Matt knew he should run, knew he was in danger, knew he had to get out of there, as fast as he could, get the guards, get help. But he couldn’t. Something about the old man’s whimper – the desperate pleading in his voice. Something held him.

The old man shuddered. His frail chest heaved, his throat struggling to push sound through a mouth that hadn’t spoken in ten years.

“Dawn,” he murmured, and the hair on the back of Matt’s neck stood on end.

“What did you say?” he whispered.

“Dawn,” Mentok repeated, his voice quavering, hoarse. His dry tongue dabbed like sandpaper over cracked lips. Every word was painful, the effort shaking his frail frame – but his eyes still burned. “Help.”

“Help?” echoed Matt. The brainwave machine was beeping wildly and somewhere vaguely in the distance he knew any second there’d be alarms, shouting – but he couldn’t turn away. “Help Dawn, that’s what you’re saying, help Captain Dawn? Get help, get Captain Dawn? I can do that, I can be right back, give me two seconds I-”

“No,” the old man croaked and there was urgency in his gasping, his ragged, rattling breath, “Not… Dawn…”

“Not Dawn,” Matt stammered, trying to think fast, struggling to understand, “Not Captain Dawn, don’t get Captain Dawn to help? Why not, what’s going on, I don’t understand what…”

“Dead,” gasped the genius.

“Dead? Who’s dead? Dawn’s family? The Legion? You? Is someone going to die? Tell me who!” Matt took a step closer without even realising, away from the door, his body electrified, hanging on to every word.

Mentok shuddered. His eyes rolled back in his head and his eyelids fluttered. Then slowly, with incredible effort, he forced them open. “Dawn,” he whispered finally, “Dawn.”

“Dawn? Captain Dawn’s dead? Or, or he’s dying?” Matt shook his head, desperate, trying to understand, “No, you’re wrong, you’re confused,” he explained, “He’s fine, he’s alive, I’ve seen him, Dawn’s alive-”

But the rasping sound of Mentok’s voice struck him silent. “No…” he uttered, and his eyes burned into Matt’s. There was fever in them – but not madness. A pit of icy dread opened up in Matt’s stomach.

“What do you mean?” he whispered.

“Dawn… died…” rasped Mentok, his eyes bulging, a lone, weak vein pulsing in his temple, “Africa… lost…”

“You’re insane,” cried Matt, “If Dawn died in Africa, then who’s at the Academy?! Who’s walking around wearing Captain Dawn’s uniform and…”

His voice trailed off. It hit him. It suddenly, finally hit him.

“Oh God,” he whispered.

Mentok stared at Matt, breathing hard and ragged – every word shaking with certainty, with truth–

“That’s… not… Dawn…”