Welcome to Empire State University. It’s in a fairly urban area, which means if you’re like me, it’s within commuter distance. It’s also a state school, which means it’s not that hard to get into (hell, I only scored a nineteen on the ACT and I got in just fine). Like most state schools, it has a pretty diverse curriculum, and it’s got a fairly large student body — so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find a party on a Friday night. And if you’re into the whole drug scene, they’ve got that, too.

Case in point — the two guys behind the science building. Now… what on earth would provoke a frat boy to come by the science building at eleven o’clock on a Sunday night? I can tell you this much — it probably isn’t for a study group. Especially when the guy he’s meeting with is Johnny Gram, infamous for campus dealing (and no, that’s not a pseudonym — by ironic coincidence, his last name just happens to be Gram).

So what happens now? Well, if Johnny-boy and the frat brother have their way, they’d make the exchange — Johnny would get his money, frat brother would get his fix, and everyone goes home happy. But, unfortunately for the both of them, things have a tendency of not going exactly as planned and the term “FUBAR” comes to mind.

That’s where I come in. I’m FUBAR. Or Ricochet if you prefer. I’m a superhero.

Well… sometimes. These days I don’t have a lot of time for it. It’s a demanding job when you’ve gotta deal with school, a father who’s trying his hardest to be your best friend, and a girlfriend. The Ricochet costume and identity was given to me by an old, retired superhero who called himself the Black Marvel.

I crouch low on the roof and in each hand I hold a small, gold disc. I spring from my vantage point and somersault in the air, throwing my arms out and letting the discs fly. Johnny and the frat boy look at me, just as the discs ricochet (HAH, get it?) off the wall of the science building and strike them both in the back of the heads. I land on my feet effortlessly as the discs strike the wall again before returning to my hands. I snatch each of them out of the air and walk over to the frat boy. He shakes his head and sits up and looks at me in fear.

“Consider this a warning,” I tell him. “Now run for your life.”

He frantically gets to his feet and runs away in the opposite direction. In his rush, he trips and falls flat on his face. I try not to laugh and instead I walk over to Johnny-boy. I poke him with my foot.

“Wakey wakey.”

He groans and tries to ignore me.

“C’mon Johnny-boy, I know your skull is thicker than that and I’m not in the mood for games right now.”

He opens his eyes and sits upright. I kneel down beside him and look at him in the eyes. Unfortunately for him, he can’t see past the lenses of my mask.

“Y’know something Gram, you give Johnnys everywhere a bad name,” I tell him. I reach down to the small baggie and pick it up. Inside are several pills. “X, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “Besides, I don’t see a badge anywhere. You’re not a cop, you’re not campus security… you got nothing on me, silvertop.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I say. I slam my fist against his face, and he goes out like a light. I press the emergency call button, which means campus security will be here soon. And instead of hanging around to explain my presence, I figure it’d be better if I just vamoose. Besides, I got a bio midterm tomorrow that I’m gonna have to BS my way through if I don’t get some studying done.

…huh?

I turn around and my eyes dart from side to side, building to building. I’m a mutant, and that lets me jump around like I do and makes me faster and more agile than your average college student. Plus, I have this warning sense, and right now, I just got a little tingle. I don’t see anyone around, but I’m getting the feeling that I’m being watched…

I shake my head and dart off. Rico, kid, you’re starting to lose it.

The New Warriors in…

FROM THE GROUND UP

Part I: Observation

By Dino Pollard

Jane Viaclio covered her mouth as she yawned deeply. She found it difficult to keep her eyes open in an eight AM history class. She brushed a strand of black hair from her face and glanced up at the lecturing professor. He was babbling on about the Industrial Revolution, and she really couldn’t care less.

At times, she wondered if her decision to pursue a college degree after some years off was the right one. Especially when she had to deal with general education courses such as this one. She had no interest in history. She had no use for English literature. She was a criminal justice major.

Her eyes glanced to her left, where she could have sworn a young man had been sitting next to her. He was gone though, and she wondered if he ditched out, or if he had even been there to begin with. That’s when she noticed something resting under her notebook. She pulled out the small slip of paper and her eyes grew wide when she read the words on it.

MEET ME OUTSIDE THE UNION AT 10 PM — I KNOW!!

Steve and Nina Aaronson sat out on the back porch of their suburban home in Queens. Silence filled the air between them, and Nina took a sip from her glass of wine. She set the glass of Merlot down and looked back at her husband. He leaned forward, hands clamped together and elbows rested on his knees.

“We have to tell him,” she said.

Silence filled the air, and she leaned towards him. “Steve…?”

“I heard you,” replied Steve. “I don’t like it, though.”

“You knew we couldn’t keep this from him forever,” said Nina.

“Nina please…”

“We have to tell him, Steve — Christ, that was the fifth glass he broke this week.”

Steve removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and put them back on. His head fell back and he sighed deeply.

“Where is he?”

“In his room,” replied Nina. “You want me to tell him to come down?”

“Yeah,” said Steve.

Nina nodded and stood from her chair. She walked into the house and Steve listened as his wife called for their son from the foot of the stairs. She reappeared in the back doorframe and their ears both perked up when they heard feet pounding down the stairs. The sound was suddenly interrupted by an even louder sound — that of wood breaking.

“Aw crap!” came the cry from inside the house. Nina shook her head and Steve simply winced. A teenage boy came out of the back door. He was around seventeen years old, with short, reddish-blonde hair. He was tall and fairly well-built.

“What happened?” asked Nina.

“Well… I was running down the stairs and I guess we had a loose floorboard or something, because my foot went right through it,” replied the young man. Nina looked at Steve and he sighed.

“Adam…” he said. “Sit down for a minute.”

“Oh great… am I in trouble for the stair thing?” asked Adam. “Because it really wasn’t my fault.”

“No, it’s not about the stair,” replied Steve.

“What about the glass?” asked Adam. “Is this about the glass?”

“No,” said Steve. “Well… actually that’s not true. It is about both those things… but not in the way you think. You’re responsible for them… but you’re not.”

“…huh?” asked Adam. “What are you saying, Dad?”

“Yeah Steve, what are you saying?” asked Nina.

“Hoo boy… this is hard…” muttered Steve. “Adam, please sit down.”

Adam eyed his father suspiciously, then glanced over to his mother. Cautiously, he pulled up an empty chair and sat down. Steve Aaronson cleared his throat before continuing.

“Adam… shattering those glasses… breaking the stair… those things happened because you don’t know your own strength,” said Steve. “And that’s because… well, do you remember back when you were fifteen… that car accident?”

“Not really…” said Adam. “It’s kind of blurry.”

“You were riding your bike home from school and the driver lost control of the car,” said Steve. “He hit you head-on and… they rushed you to the hospital…”

“Excuse me,” said Nina. She stood and walked inside the house, visibly upset.

“What’s wrong?” asked Adam. “Yeah, it was a bad accident, but I survived — I’m fine.”

Steve looked up at Adam.

“…right?” he asked.

Steve lowered his head, sighed, and shook his head slightly.

“You were in intensive care for ten hours,” said Steve. “Adam… you didn’t survive.”

“…what?”

“Your mother and I… we were devastated,” said Steve. “We didn’t want to lose you, so we did the only thing any parents in our position would do.”

Adam raised his brow in curiosity.

“…which is?”

“We transferred your brainwaves into a highly-sophisticated robot,” said Steve.

Adam sat back and looked at his father in shock. After a few moments of silence, he leaned forward and said, “…come again?”

“You know I’ve done a lot of work in the field of robotics,” said Steve. “The technology that was used to build your robot body was based on the technology used to create Dr. Able Stack’s robot. In fact, it’s more or less the same technology, just with your brain in it.”

“So… over the past two years… I’ve been some sort of machine?” asked Adam. He started to laugh. “That’s a good one, Dad. Very funny.”

“I’m not joking,” said Steve. “That’s why you don’t really remember the accident.”

“Oh come on,” said Adam. “You can’t expect me to believe that.”

“Here, let me show you something,” said Steve. He stood and walked over to his son. He reached his hands up and gripped Adam’s ears. He tugged on them, providing just enough pressure. Adam’s face extended slightly from his skull with a hiss of compressed air. Steve removed the faceplate and handed it to Adam. The young man simply sat there and stared at his face in shock.

“Whoa… cool.”

“You’re taking this very well,” said Steve.

“What am I supposed to do, complain?” asked Adam. “I mean… you basically saved my life. And this explains a lot of what’s been happening to me lately.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not mad,” said Steve.

“Nah, not at all,” said Adam. “So, can I do any sort of cool stuff?”

Jane Viaclio stood outside Empire State University’s student union. She looked down at her watch and saw it was ten-thirty at night. She sighed and wondered exactly what it was she was doing out here. For all she knew, whoever wrote that note could just have been some weirdo who wanted to scare her.

“Jane Viaclio.”

She jumped slightly and turned, the agitation visible on her facial features.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I should probably ask you the same thing,” replied the man who stood concealed in the shadows.

“You should know, you’re the one who just used my name,” she said.

“But that’s not your real name, is it?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Just like that’s not your real hair color.”

“Who the hell are you?” she asked.

“Jane Viaclio is an acronym, isn’t it?” he asked. “For Janice Olivia.”

“Maybe so,” she replied. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

“Depends,” he said. “If you add Yanizeski to the equation, then you have the name of a known felon.”

Jane stood there speechless and simply stared at the man who stood in darkness.

“Janice Olivia Yanizeski, also known as Joystick,” he said. “In your time, you’ve been affiliated with the Great Game and the Masters of Evil. You’ve come to blows with the Scarlet Spider, the Green Goblin, and the Thunderbolts, to name a few.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Jane.

“Oh yes you do,” he said. “And right now, you’re thinking to yourself, ‘what does he want?'”

“So what do you want?” asked Jane. “Hush money?”

“I have no interest in your money,” he said. “I know why you became Joystick in the first place. I know why you changed your name and hair and enrolled here at ESU. You’re trying to turn your life around, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I am,” said Janice. “Is that a crime?”

“You mistake me, Janice, I’m not here to bring you trouble.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” said Janice. “If you don’t want money, then what do you want?”

The man slowly steps out from the shadows. He’s dressed in white pants with a red stripe along the side, a blue top with red gloves, and a blue and red full facemask with a white star in the center of his forehead.

“Who are you supposed to be?” asked Janice. “Bucky?”

“You can call me Patriot,” he replied. “I came here to make you an offer, Janice. I trust you still have your Joystick equipment?”

“I don’t do the crime thing anymore, so you might as well just turn me in,” she said.

“I’m not asking you to revert to your former ways, but I do need your help,” said Patriot. “Do you still have your Joystick gear?”

“I do,” said Janice. “What do you want me to do?”

“Have you ever heard of the New Warriors?” asked Patriot.

“Yeah, who hasn’t?” asked Janice. “A bunch of teen superheroes who used to run around New York. Why? What do the Warriors have to do with anything?”

“I’ve come to ask you to join my New Warriors.”