The second floor of a building. Men ran up the stairs, grabbing handguns and shotguns. They slammed close the double doors, knocking over tables and dressers to form a makeshift barricade. The men ran to the center of the room, taking cover behind couches and tables on their sides. Sweat dripped down their faces. One of them gulped.

Beyond the doors were shouts and thuds. A gunshot rang out, before a man cried in pain. The wind howled, as if a storm grew within the building itself. A final thud.

And then all was silent.

The men held their breaths, trembling guns pointed at the door.

Footsteps broke the silence.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

They stopped.

BANG!

Something hit the door.

A man yelled in the back.

The room lit up with smoke and thunder.

The door was filled with holes and splinters.

A shell casing clattered to the floor. Men gasped for breath as smoke lingered in the air.

And then the wall to their side exploded.

A boulder of ice smashed through the room, crushing furniture and legs. Guns spun towards the hole in the wall when a volley of sharp, cold daggers sped through the room. Men cried as blood filled the air. A blast of wind and snow knocked the men to the ground.

They groaned and tried to stand to their feet. They lifted their heads.

A howling white vortex spun at the hole in the wall..

It surged outward.

A layer of ice covered the floor and the furniture behind it.

And the men along with it.

“Breaking news: Icy Falcon battles cartels in the streets, with deadly results!”

A car, ice covering the wheels. A jagged hole in the windshield, surrounded by dripping red.

“Let’s take a look at footage straight from the scene. Viewers please be advised, the following images may be disturbing.”

A building, with broken doors falling off the hinges. A body leaning over a broken window. A floor where red liquid and melted ice mixed.

“Mexican authorities and the ILS have not released a statement or responded to requests for comments.”

“Questions remain on whether this was an arrest gone wrong, an act of self-defense, or a brutal killing.”

The side of the road in the dead of night. A ditch, filled with 6-foot blocks of ice.

“I have to ask, why is it that this man is allowed to commit murder in public and just, get away with it?”

“I’d say the fault lies with the cartels. If you’re going to shoot first, you should expect people to shoot back. Icy Falcon did nothing wrong.”

A bar, with sparking, broken neon letters. A police chief among the bodies hanging from the roof.

“Further investigations reveal Icy Falcon’s mentee Icy Swallow was on the scene and injured during the battle. Should Icy Falcon have assaulted the cartels with a young girl in tow? Was this too risky?”

The restaurant in a high-class hotel. A glacier around a table where sat the mayor.

“Icy Falcon is a hero. We all know what the cartels do. They deserved it, one hundred percent.”

“I, I don’t know. I look up to Icy Falcon, he’s our hero. I’ll stand behind him, whatever he did. I have to.”

“I thought he was different. That he was better. But it looks like more of the same.”

Londyn stood in her office, a phone by her head.

“Look, Falcon, you need to tone it down. I get you had good cause, but killing a man in the streets is never the right way to go about it.”

“It is in war.”

Londyn held the brow of her nose with her free hand.

“Look, things aren’t too far gone yet, Falcon. I’m not asking you to stop, just, lay low for a bit. Come in, talk with us. Maybe we can find a better way, get you some support. You don’t need to do this on your own, let us help you.”

“This is not your war, Director. This is not the League’s fight, it’s Mexico’s. Don’t interfere.”

“Falcon, wait…”

Click.

Londyn heaved a heavy sigh. Her assistant walked up behind her, a concerned look in her eye.

“Director, what are we going to do?”

Londyn dropped her head.

“What can we do? Mexico City hasn’t even pressed charges, much less called for an arrest. And technically, he’s right. The ILS has no business getting involved with drug cartels. So until a super shows up or the authorities ask for our help, there’s not much we can do.”

Londyn heaved a sigh.

“Keep having our people investigate that rumored new drug. I’ll talk with Mexico City, I want us ready to act the moment we can.”

“Yes Director.”

Back in the DEA office, a whole bureau of agents stood in silence in front of the television.

“Well, Wilson, looks like you weren’t crazy after all.”

“Kind of wish I was.”

“So what now?”

“I’m not sure…”

Agent Wilson turned to look at the Bureau chief, Nathan. Nathan sighed, and shook his head.

“...it doesn’t much matter. Even that’s not enough for Mexico City to change their tune. I’m not even sure they should, we have plenty of enemies without adding a superhero to the list. Speaking of which, time to get back to work everyone.”

Steve turned to Wilson.

“So what are you going to do now?”

Wilson shrugged.

“My job, what else?”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously? You’re going to investigate Mexico’s Hero?”

Wilson sighed.

“That, that out there? That wasn’t justice, it was vengeance. Falcon’s getting more sloppy, more emotional, more brutal. I’ve seen what happens to guys who spent too long in the field, how it changed them. Trust me, nothing good is going to come from letting this go on, for anyone. Besides…”

“Besides…?”

“However this goes down, however this ends, we need to understand the Icy Falcon. Not just the cape and the powers, but the man underneath.”

Wilson sat down on his desk. Arranged across it were numerous clippings from old newspapers, and a map.

“I just hope it’s not too late.”

The Icy Falcon stood on a rooftop at night, pair of binoculars in hand. It was a building on the outskirts of town, hidden on the other side of a large hill.

He already knew what was inside. A major cartel warehouse, the loss of which would be a heavy blow.

But he wasn’t here for them. Not tonight.

His heart began to pound as he waited. He could feel his chest tie into a knot.

The sound of thunder ran through his head.

A shocked face. Dripping blood.

A tear-filled wail.

He narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath, pushing his churning stomach down.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was the war. Finishing this fight.

Mexico had no heroes. Mexico needed no heroes.

It needed soldiers.

It cried out for justice. For vengeance.

And he would deliver it.

There, finally, two lights appeared in the distance, driving along the dusty road. A truck approached in the night, heading to the back lot of the cartel’s warehouse. Icy Falcon kept his eyes on it.

The truck came to a stop and the back opened. Men exited the rear, carrying boxes and crates.

Not cartel guys in casual clothes.

Not dirty cops in uniform.

But armored men with fully enclosed helmets.

Icy Falcon furrowed his brow.

This is it.

The villain behind the super drugs.

Icy Falcon waited as the truck was unloaded and closed. The headlights came on, and the truck began to move. Icy Falcon spread his wings, the faintest gust possible carrying him into the sky. He stalked the truck as it drove down the empty road, careful to stay away from the light of the moon.

Finally, the one behind this.

The source of the new drugs.

And the last weapon the cartels had to stop him.

Soon, he would end this threat at the source.

And then the cartels would be helpless before him.

And he would cut them down.

One, by, one.

Agent Wilson sighed and held his head with both his hands. It was late at night at the DEA office, Steve and the DEA agents had already gone home. Wilson had been watching the news. More and more blood. More and more killings. Still the authorities did nothing. Still he had nothing but what he could scrounge on his own, in a country he couldn’t even speak the language of. Didn’t they see what was happening? Didn’t they see how this was going to end?

Agent Wilson sighed again.

Even if they did, still they wouldn’t act. How could they? The Falcon’s prey was no longer limited to the criminals themselves. Informants, dirty cops, even corrupt politicians had fallen by his hands. Anyone who stood up might find themselves next on his list.

And the ones with the courage to stand up anyways would sing his praises instead.

He thought of calling the ILS. Director Green couldn’t be happy with what was going on. But what was the point? The ILS wasn’t going to let a government agent tell them how to handle one of their top heroes. And, well, if the ILS was willing and able to do something, it would have already been done.

So that left him. One federal agent in a country not his own, no resources, no backup, investigating the most popular and powerful man in the nation. For a crime no one considered a crime, with nothing but a gut feeling to convince them that they should be worried.

He sighed and turned to the paper on his desk, giving it one last look.

This was it.

The end of the trail.

The earliest known appearance of the Icy Falcon.

And still no clues to who he is or where he came from.

Wilson stood from his seat and walked out of the room.