Neither of them spoke during the flight. Ironbolt was at the helm, both powering and steering the craft. In his copilot seat, Maximal stared off at the clouds, pensive. With each of them wearing their masks, they could not see the others' expressions.

Maximal's statuesque helmet was a permanently placid face. Less than two hours ago, he had been on deployment with the Miami Kizmet Response Team. Seismographs triggered all throughout the southernmost expanded territories, and they had naturally responded. At first, he feared Alejandro had gone back on their deal, letting through some major threat. But as reports came in from the satellites, his team had been called off entirely. The whole Kizmet response team... just called off from what was an unmistakably enormous signature.

Now, they were being told to report to Seraph Headquarters in Washington, DC. Not only that, but anxiously waiting in the back of the ship, Fortitude, Tulpa, and Dupe had been ordered to follow. Altogether, this arrangement and these circumstances equaled just once conclusion.

Maximal's worst fears had risen up from the dark to be realized.

"This is beyond unacceptable," he told Ironbolt, his frustration being held back from reaching his tone. He was matter-of-factly about it. "I know you've had the time to figure it out too. There's only one reason they'd call in a Former District Leader, a midlevel Responder, and their trainees. We're the only ones who had contact with him, and now he's back. Your mistake has come back..."

At first, Ironbolt did not reply. Even with all the time in the world to think, he seemed to be lost in circles of rumination. Finally, he simply agreed. "You've got it right. He survived." The rainy city outside was growing closer as they descended. The force-field opened at the designated gate, making a way for their landing. Even heavier clouds filled the space within.

Maximal took a deep breath in order to hold his composure. Ever since Ironbolt had joined his station, he had been able to take up a part-time post in Miami. It was a move up in his career, sure. He got to spend more time with Egregore and that was nice. But from the very first moment the two leaders met, there had been problems between them. Problems of outlook and temperament.

It almost wasn't worth saying, but Maximal had to say it anyway. "If you had let me end him at the lake, we wouldn't be dealing with this right now. My command had protocols for no-win scenarios. We didn't try to play therapist with monsters. We had the equipment in the holding tank for total organic annihilation."

"I'm not arguing with you," Ironbolt said. Then, without missing a beat, his mind sped back around to angrily add, "but if I was... You don't know that would work for certain. It was because of the judge, jury, and executioner's mindset you gave Tulpa that we're facing a man with no ties to this world now. You broke him. Remember that." The silence of his own mind was torture. And as he had been waiting ages for Maximal's next retort to form, he couldn't help but bite back.

"He would have turned either way," Maximal hissed, nearing his breaking point. "Mine was the only viable option. His Power was fundamentally predatory. You know I'm right about that."

Just then, the instant the ship's wheels touched down, Dupe's head jutted out of the back compartment and into the front. "Is that why we're here? The guy at the station?" He darted back and forth between them, asking questions. "But he died like six months ago!? How is this a problem right now?"

"He had basic regeneration," Tulpa added, stepping up to join Dupe once he had finished unbuckling. "He couldn't take a direct hit from a rocket. I made sure of that."

As Ironbolt disengaged from the helm, the ship switched back to its internal power sources. He pushed his way through them and towards the back without saying a word.

Fortitude was waiting for him there, ready to press the button that would lower their ramp out onto the landing pad. "What do we do in the meeting, boss?" she asked. "There was a lot that happened that day that was, uh... Sort of off the book stuff."

Ironbolt could only shrug. "You won't be at the meeting, Fortitude. They'll debrief you in separate rooms. Just be honest, alright? There's no point in lying now. Certainly not to Seraph, if you could get away with it anyway. What's done is done. We have to deal with the consequences and every piece of information helps."

She tried to reach out and touch his shoulder, but as soon as the ramp was down, he was gone in a blur. Maximal followed next, eyes on the ground. Both of them left her with no comfort.

"But we could be court-martialed..." he heard her weakly protest. Then, the sound of rain drowned everything out. It was pouring down.

There were eight landing pads situated in a circle around a single central elevator shaft, with no way to avoid the rain as he walked there. All of it was atop a tall, black, cylindrical building. A fortress; no less than a mile from the white house. The capital building's dark counterpart, towering over the land. Property of the private security contractor and largest body of organized Technicists on the planet. Seraph Headquarters.

Once inside the elevator, Maximal made way for Fortitude who was following close behind by the others. She tried to wring out her soaked blonde hair, while the team was joined by several unmarked security guards. No doubt, they were Powered, but they looked no different from any soldier. There was no glory in these posts. No propaganda, either.

"You three," one of them said in a modulated voice. He gestured to the younger Heroes. His command to follow was clear as the door opened and they slowed for a quick stop-off.

The team parted ways in silence, leaving the elevator to continue going down at its incredible pace. When it arrived at last in the deepest bunker of the fortress, the doors slid wide to reveal a pristine white room.

A rack was to their left as the two men entered, and up ahead, the gathering table awaited with twelve members presently seated. Ironbolt and Maximal deposited their helmets on that rack as they moved next to their obvious seats. The only ones that were yet untaken.

Seven district leaders sat arrayed in their colorful costumes, split up on either side. The remaining five members were four generals and one man in a business suit. Cameras watched from the room's corners with the Businessman at the head of the table and their focus.

It was not unlikely that the president was viewing.

Order and Justice, Ironbolt thought, grimacing.

Meanwhile, in the center of the table, a hologram was projecting over the clean alabaster surface.

As he settled in and scooted forward, Maximal took in the image it showed. He recognized the area immediately, as he'd flown there many times before. Only now, where once a beautiful castle rested comfortably in the jungle valley, there was only rubble. Already, his heart began to beat faster.

"Sorry we're late," Ironbolt said. "There were none of Rift's gates in our neck of the woods."

The crowd was cold and quiet. At the head of the table, the green-eyed Businessman merely straightened his tie and gestured for the presentation to start.

One of the Technicists explained what the hologram showed for the rest of the class. "What you see is the last scans we were able to capture of the Conquistador's domain, shortly after his entrapped Kizmet escaped its imprisonment beneath the palace. We heavily suspect this is due to the fact that the King himself was killed beforehand."

Across the table, a District Leader spoke, turning his translucently glassy face to look around at his fellow Heroes. A faint glow radiated from his core, beneath his neckline. "That doesn't look like any Kizmet I know of," Diamond commented, pointing at the mess of gore in the valley.

Yet, Sovereign, who was giving the presentation, went on. He paid no mind to one of the few Brawler Types at the table. They were afforded less respect in an organization dedicated to technological supremacy. "We believe this to be one Walter Watson. The same individual Ironbolt reported many months ago as a potential Class One threat. Shortly before these developments in the Barony, he was mistaken for a small Kizmet and terminated again just north of the wall by Radiant. We think he possesses incredibly robust biological self-control, as well as the ability to assimilate other living things. Up to and including the highest class of Kizmet."

"Proof?" Maximal asked, speaking up for the first time. "How do you know it's him?" He still held out hope that they were wrong. That all of this was just a bad dream.

Sovereign was the northeastern District Leader and one of the heads of Seraph. That his word was taken as less than gospel rubbed him the wrong way. With a swipe of his arm, the image moved forward, showing a dense smog layer overtop of what appeared to be a network of lights. "Thermal reveals that, in the aftermath of single-handedly toppling one of the Six Kings, he used the Kizmet's biomass to seize complete control over the surrounding ecosystem. I repeat. We don't think a single organism in the surrounding area remains uninfected. And this effect is spreading quickly."

"Jesus Christ," a man swore.

As the table burst into questions about the severity and extent of the threat, Ironbolt felt someone lean in close by his side, their face causing him to smile. One of his old Wards and the youngest District Leader at the table then smiled back. "Good to see you again," Incarnate told him. "Even under such dire circumstances."

They kept their voices barely above a whisper. "How's my District treating you, kid?" Ironbolt asked, raising an eyebrow.

For a moment, the young man's face turned dark. "War and Peace, and all that. But it hasn't been the same since your... retirement." Incarnate's eyes shot briefly back to the man at the head of the table. "The local gangs have really let slip the dogs of war if you know what I'm saying. We sure do miss your help with it all."

Ironbolt chuckled, nodding slightly. "I know. But you just can't beat the Florida sun," he laughed. The message had been received, as both of them let the exchange die. Finally, they had re-established contact. Both of them slowly moved away after that. Back to the meeting at hand.

Maximal had come to establish blame, and he was already most of the way through his story when Ironbolt returned his attention to the table. But he didn't care either way. The upper echelon had already turned against him. What further demotion could they think up?

"Sir," Maximal was saying, speaking directly to the expressionless executive of Seraph. "His healing may be Powerful, but everything has its limits."

"We rather agree," one of the generals said.

Already, Ironbolt knew where this was going. "We were confident once before," he cut in. "And all we did was piss him off. Pardon my language. But he will negotiate with us, given the chance. We just need to consider working out a ceasefire with Walter, much like we did with Alejandro." Even as he said it, he was unsure. From the profile he constructed using Walter's digital identity, he had been so sure that the kid was utterly conflict-averse. But now? He had killed hundreds of people...

One of the generals could sense Ironbolt's hesitation. He pressed the point forward. "Our Seer Division rates the threat as equal or greater to the Lich King on an existential level. These are not comparable situations, soldier. Not to a drug dealer holed up in the forest, it's not."

Ironbolt resented the designation. He considered himself a Hero. More than a follower of orders, a moral man, willing to follow his conscience in the face of the world's censure. And yet, he could not bring himself to speak any further. He didn't know what to say, because he didn't know what was right in this situation.

Finally, the Businessman concluded. "All of you need to be prepared in your districts for the possibility of retaliation. We have a new Zed Class threat, and his designation as a Nonhuman Type has its requisite protocol. We follow that protocol unless there are compelling reasons not to."

They were going to Glass the area. That was the only solution they had.

The man continued. "If the target manages to survive this strike, then for all intents and purposes, we have just declared war. The front line has changed today, gentlemen. We must all appreciate that fact. It has moved from Eastern Europe... to our very own doorstep. And we can only pray the fight lasts less than a day, in the end." A green light appeared over the table, flashing briefly. "We have the President's approval," he declared. "We do this fast and efficiently."

Maximal nodded along with many others. This was the course of action he wanted. Uneasiness hung over many parts of the table, but as far as Seraph was now concerned, this was a problem not to be managed. This was a problem to be eradicated.

Whatever came next, Ironbolt decided, would change the course of history. There hadn't been a new King in thirty years. Most Class Zeroes went exactly the route that Walter was being confronted with. They overstepped their bounds and caught a nuke to the face.

But this was different. Many had been tough, but he couldn't ever remember there being a Healer Type. Let alone one as potentially horrific as this.

Still, his eye was on Seraph more than anything. There hadn't been a day in the last three years since he learned the truth that he failed to remember what was at stake. The threat came from within just as much as without. He could no longer be naive about that.

There was danger on every side. And caught in the middle, always, he tried to defend the Powerless. The people no one thought of as more than the tools or property of the Supers.

He missed the old days when he was just another rookie on the streets. But that had been more than a decade ago, now. The world had changed since then. It had gotten greyer.

He had few allies left. They would need to move soon, lest this situation at the border accelerates the enemy's plan. Ironbolt had to get the old band back together. Those that were still alive, at the least. Avenger came to mind, though he was in hiding. Then there was Specter. God knows where he went...

The final stage of the game had begun. There was no more room for holding back or sticking to the light. Things had been set in motion that could not be undone.