PROLOGUE

"So ye see, Mr. Wale, I'm only askin' ye to do this because I canna do it meself."

Battleaxe took a sip of the whiskey and water sitting in front of her, and brushed a wild lock of gray-and-ginger hair from her face. She licked her lips and looked beseechingly up into the cold, animal-like eyes of the enormous man sitting opposite her.

"I understand completely, Mrs. B," Wide Wale said, laying his gigantic, webbed hand over hers where it rested on the small, round table.

They were sitting together in a secluded corner table at Battleaxe's bar. She'd called him a few days ago, needing help. Needing revenge. Needing BLOOD.

"I'm just, I'm so distraught over how he murdered me sweet Ronnie," she whimpered, tears filling her eyes, "And I'm collectin' disablity, now, on account of gettin' hurt when I crashed the Haranguetank."

She rubbed her sore shoulder, her arm still in a sling.

"Of course, my dear," Wide Wale said, sympathetically.

"And... no offense to ye, sir," Battleaxe continued, a bit nervously, "But the rest of the bloody Council don't seem keen on helpin' me with this situation."

Wide Wale nodded solemnly, taking a sip of his own drink, and glancing around the rest of the bar, watching for eavesdroppers.

"My sweet lady," he said, putting a hand over his heart, "You have Wide Wale's solemn promise that by the end of this week... the masked vigilante known as 'Kano'... will be dead."

The heavyset, redheaded woman smiled a dreadful, toothy smile, and raised her glass in a toast.

"NOW yer feckin' talkin'!" She laughed. She stood up and shouted across the bar.

"Drinks on the house! Me sweet Ronnie is goin' to be AVENGED!"

DING DING

"Junk... Junk... More junk... Aaaaaaand crap..."

"You know," 21 said, looking up from his clipboard and tapping his chin with his pen, "That's not really what they mean by taking inventory."

It was early morning in The Morpho Cave, and the The Mighty Monarch, aka The Blue Morpho, was cleaning out the closets with the help of his trusty bodyguard and chauffeur, 21, aka Kano.

They had inherited a wealth of items and equipment when they discovered this secret lair. It was once used by Monarch's now-deceased father, the original masked vigilante, The Blue Morpho.

They were currently on Day Four of the massive undertaking, and neither of them had been out of the house since they began.

21 was keen on making a detailed list of their commodities. The Monarch... not so much.

"I mean," 21 continued, "I know inventory isn't the most exciting part of being a masked vigilante, but you really need to be more specific with your descriptions."

He looked down at his clipboard, tapping each notation with his pen.

"So far I have a page full of the word 'junk', one or two 'craps', oh, and my personal favorite, 'horse shit.'"

In reply, a wooden root beer crate came sliding out of the closet, coming to rest at 21's feet like a curling stone.

"One vintage wooden Hires Root Beer crate," came Monarch's voice from the dark interior of the closet, "Circa 1966, filled to the tippy-top wiiiiith... wait for it... Junk!"

The be-masked, goateed, rail-thin redhead poked his head out of the closet with a big grin on his face.

"That specific enough, HONEY?" He tipped his blue fedora and disappeared back into the closet.

"Asshole," 21 muttered with a grin, shaking his head.

He knelt down and began emptying the contents of the crate. There was what looked like an earlier model of the Blue Morpho grappling gun, which he laid aside. Next he found a nice stockpile of sleep darts, neatly arranged in clear plastic boxes. Excellent, they were running low.

But then he saw the case. The blue velvet, brass-hinged, slightly-dusty case was about the size of a shoe-box. He lifted it out, and was excited by the weight of it. He opened the lid, and gave a shout.

"Oh, now we're talking!" He turned and yelled toward the closet, "Dude, you gotta see THIS!"

Monarch came strutting out of the closet, holding a royal blue, satin ladies' nightgown up in front of his chest. 21 laughed.

"Goofball," he said, beckoning his boss over, "Come see this."

"Watcha got," the tall man asked, tossing the nightie onto the desk and coming to kneel at his henchman's side.

Inside the box, on a beautiful bed of cream satin, lay two devices that resembled wristwatches. Arranged in a fan-shape above them were a group of about twenty oblong objects that looked like a tiny version of the Blue Morpho sleep dart. Each one had what looked like a tiny antenna on it, and a light bulb smaller than the smallest Christmas tree bulb.

"What are those things?" Monarch asked, finally showing interest. He reached out for one of the darts, but 21 gently caught his wrist and stopped him.

"Slow down, it might be dangerous," 21 said, "Let me take a closer look before we get all hands-on." He stood up and took the box over to the work table, and turned on the desk light.

"Mother Hen is in da house," Monarch grumbled in a good-natured way, coming to stand at his friend's shoulder.

"Mother Henchman," 21 corrected, with a smile as he explored their new find.

On the interior of the lid of the case was the Blue Morpho logo, but when he looked closer, he realized the logo was actually a pouch. Poking out from within was a yellowing bit of card-stock.

21 gently pulled the card out, taking care not to damage it. It was very old and slightly faded, but the upper-case title at the top was easily readable.

BLUE MORPHO TRACKING SYSTEM

"Oh, HELL yes!" the two friends said in unison.

"JINX!" Monarch barked, pointing at the other man.

"Will you fucking grow up, already," 21 chuckled, as he read the information on the card.

"This wrist-mounted unit is a combination of deployment device and tracking receiver," 21 read. He picked up one of the watch-like objects and examined it.

"Ah, COOL!" he exclaimed.

He carefully selected one of the tiny darts and loaded it into one of the six small holes that formed a row along the front edge of the watch's dial. He strapped the device to his wrist and aimed it at the back of the desk chair.

"Watch this," he said. He pushed a tiny button on the bottom edge of the watch, and with a tiny *pop*, the dart launched and embedded itself in the cushion on the back of the chair.

As soon as the dart launched, the tiny blue light upon it began to blink very rapidly. A small dot on the face of the watch on 21's wrist began to blink in perfect sync with the dart.

"That's pretty cool," Monarch said, nodding in admiration, "But what do you use it for?"

21 took his arm and guided him across the floor of the cave, holding the wrist receiver so they could both see it. The further they got from the deployed tracking dart, the slower the rate of the blinking. When they walked toward the dart, the blinking increased.

"So. Awesome," 21 breathed, "These are definitely going to come in handy."

"How?" Monarch asked, quizzically.

"Well," 21 began, thinking, "You can dart an enemy's car, and then track it. Or dart a person for the same reason."

"Hey," Monarch said, crossing to the desk and taking the other wrist receiver from the case, "This one's blinking, too. I guess it doesn't matter which unit the dart comes from?"

"Apparently not," 21 said, "Let's load them both up."

The Monarch held out the other wrist receiver, and watched as 21 filled it with half a dozen tiny beacons before handing it back to him.

"Hot dog!" he said, fastening the new toy to his wrist, and pretending to shoot it around the cave, "PEW PEW!"

21 chuckled fondly at his partner's antics, and went back to the desk. He pulled the dart from the back of the chair, looked closely at it for a moment, and then depressed and held a tiny button on its base. The dart stopped blinking, as did the two receivers.

"Reset button," 21 said, impressed, "Man, these are really well-designed."

"My dad was pretty damn lucky to be friends with Jonas Venture," Monarch admitted grudgingly, "Looks like he had a reliable supply of gadgets."

"Speaking of," 21 said, rubbing his hands together, "There's a bunch more stuff in those closets, and I can't wait to find out what it does. I think we ..."

"Yeah yeah," the older man said, waving a hand dismissively, "I'll see it all later, I have to pick up my new Blue Morpho shirt at Enzo's."

"Uhh, NO you absolutely do NOT," 21 said sternly, "You can't go out in broad daylight as The Blue Morpho. The Guild is looking for you!"

"But I need a second dress shirt, maaaan!" the super-villain whined, tugging at the collar of the shirt he was currently wearing.

"Why?" 21 asked.

Monarch stomped his foot impatiently, like a child having a tantrum.

"You know I get sweaty as hell when we're working!" he exclaimed, "Do you know how hard it is to get this shirt through the washer and dryer EVERY NIGHT without my wife finding it?"

"What's the big deal if she DOES find it?" 21 asked, spreading his hands in confusion, "You do dress nice on rare occasions. She'll just think it's a regular formal shirt."

"Oh suuuure!" Monarch retorted, throwing open his trench coat, unbuttoning the suit jacket underneath and tugging it open to point at his chest.

"A regular dress shirt with The Blue Morpho's fucking LOGO on the BREAST POCKET?"

Sure enough, there was the light-blue butterfly insignia, just like on Kano's jacket and the hood of the Morphomobile.

21 just looked at him.

"It has the logo on it?" He said quietly.

Monarch just nodded, glaring, still pointing to his chest.

"Well, I didn't know that," 21 replied, folding his arms.

The redheaded man smugly re-buttoned his jacket, walking across the lair toward the Morphomobile.

"No!" 21 said sharply, "No, you are NOT taking that, you'll have the Council all over you!"

"Oh, fuck the Council," Monarch spat petulantly, "My wife is ON The Council!"

"Yeah," 21 replied, "AND she's leading the damn charge to kill you!"

The Monarch's wife, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch, was the head of the task force assigned to take down The Blue Morpho. She was currently at a week-long conference at the Council's headquarters on Meteor Majeure.

If she only knew that she had been saddled with the task of killing her own, beloved husband...

"You worry too much," said Monarch, heading for the car again, "We've been in this friggin' cave for four daaaays, I'm gonna lose my SHIT if I don't get out for a little while!"

"Well can I convince you to PLEASE change into civilian clothes before you go out?" 21 asked, pressing his hands together as if in prayer.

"Nope!" Monarch chirped with a smirk, "I have cabin fever, I am getting out, NOW."

Now it had become a pissing contest, and as usual, The Monarch was not giving an inch. 21'd had enough.

"Well, I won't drive you!" 21 snapped, losing his temper and storming across the floor toward his boss, "And you can't drive yourself, you're useless behind the wheel!"

Monarch stopped in his path to the Morphomobile, and seemed to deflate for a moment, before turning back and stalking to stand before his bodyguard. His dark eyes were fairly blazing with anger.

"You wanna repeat that, GARY?" he snarled, clenching his fists. He was pissed.

"You're planning to do something reckless and stupid," 21 said, shrugging, with an innocent little smile, "And I won't help to place you in danger, it's as simple as that."

The Monarch was trembling with rage. When he spoke, his voice was guttural and dangerous-sounding.

"Aww, that's so cute. You think you have a choice in this," he growled, taking a threatening step toward his henchman, "I still outrank you, and..."

"Oh no. No way, dude," 21 snapped pointing a finger in his partner's face, "Do NOT even go there. I won't tolerate being abused just because I wanna protect you!"

The taller man's eyes flashed, and he stepped even closer to his mutinous chauffeur, putting them nearly toe-to-toe.

"You...," he said lowly, "Are NOT my mother."

"No, I'm fucking not!" 21 exploded, "If I were, maybe The Monarch wouldn't have wound up a FUCKING VILLAIN!"

His voice echoed through the cave, resonating off the walls. It made the dead silence that followed all the more potent.

Monarch's mouth dropped open in shock. Even behind the mask, his eyes reflected a deep, wrenching hurt. He blinked rapidly a few times, lowering his face and turning away from 21, his shoulders stooped.

21 closed his eyes, his stomach churning. That shocked, hurt look on his friend's face made his heart ache, and he immediately hated himself for his thoughtless outburst. He stepped toward the older man and hesitantly reached out, intending to lay a hand on his back.

Before he could, though, Monarch turned to him, straightening his spine and standing rigid. The slim man took a deep breath, and all emotion left his face, the coldness flowing down his body like a suit of armor enveloping him.

"I'll be back late," he muttered, and turned on his heel to head for the exit at the rear of the cave.

"Dude, wait," 21 called, feebly, helplessly.

"Oh, and 21?" The Monarch continued, pausing, but still not looking back, "I don't want you to be here when I return!"

Footsteps. The door slammed with a bang, and there was silence.

21 walked slowly back to the computer, and lowered himself into the chair, shaking slightly. He tried to continue with his work on the new equipment list, but in the end he tossed the clipboard aside and pressed his hands over his face.

"Shit," he said, succinctly.

What had he done?

"Four days I got you on this job, FOUR FUCKIN' DAYS!" Wide Wale shouted through the phone, "And you tell me you got NOTHIN? I put you, my top man on it, and you have delivered me didley-SHIT!"

Sitting behind the wheel of his Cadillac, Copy Cat winced at the anger in his boss's voice, holding the phone a bit further from his ear.

"Hey, Daddy-o, our boy Kano been a no-show," he tried to explain, "It ain't for a lack of trying, that boy just done disappeared off the face..."

His voice trailed off, and he stared through his tinted windshield. He blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

Looking around stealthily from behind his turned-up collar and tugged-down hat, The Blue Morpho crossed the alley, less than ten feet in front of Copy Cat's car. One last quick look around, and the masked man disappeared through the back door of Enzo's tailor shop.

"Uh, boss?" Copy Cat said, a smile spreading across his face, "I think our luck might be changing. I'll call you back."

He hung up the phone and just sat there in thought for a few minutes. Then he pulled out a pen and one of his business cards, and jotted a few lines on the back of it. Tucking it into his pocket, he opened the glove box and took out a small, brown, glass bottle and white cloth. Humming a little, he got out of his car and headed quickly toward the street.

"Ding ding, round one," he sang softly to himself as he strolled along the alley, "Now the battle's begun..."

"Enzo... What. The actual. Fuck."

The Monarch stood in the fitting room, arms out at his sides, trying on his new Blue Morpho shirt. The expensive, tailor-made, navy-blue dress shirt that now billowed like a tent around his slim figure.

"This... isn't right," he continued, stating the obvious.

The garment was easily eight inches too broad in the chest, the hem fluttered around his knees like a skirt, and the sleeves extended a good inch and a half past the tips of his long, slender fingers.

"Oh, my goodness, I'm-a so sorry, Signore Morpho!" Enzo cried, falling to his knees at his client's feet, "I must have-a used Signore Kano's measurements by-a mistake!"

"Ya think?" Monarch asked, looking at his reflection in the three-way mirror, swaying his hips back and forth, watching the fabric swing like a hula-skirt. He burst out laughing and motioned for Enzo to stand up.

"It's OK, dude, quit with the grovelling," he chuckled.

"I'm-a so sorry," Enzo reiterated, standing up and clasping one of Monarch's hands in both his own, "I will-a make it right, and the shirt will be on-a the house!"

"Fair enough." The tall man smiled as he unbuttoned the comically-oversize shirt, stripped it off and handed it back to Enzo.

"Just give-a me 24 hours, Signore Morpho!" Enzo handed him back his old shirt, jacket and trench coat, and then disappeared into the workroom.

Monarch stepped into the dressing room with his Blue Morpho garments, closed the yellow curtain behind him, and began to get dressed.

Walking as silently as the creature for which he was named, Copy Cat slunk through the front door of the tailor shop, reaching up to prevent the greeting bell from tinkling a warning.

He made his way through the empty shop, toward the back room. As he walked, he unscrewed the cap of the bottle he'd brought, and poured some of its clear contents onto the white rag in his other hand.

Pausing in the doorway to the back room, he snapped his fingers once, and then crept slowly up to the dressing room. He held his breath, reaching for the curtain. The element of surprise...

"You do know I'm not in there, right?"

Copy Cat whirled to find The Blue Morpho standing behind him, aiming a grappling-gun at him and looking amused.

"Awww, did Dean Martin bring a hanky to a grappling-gun fight?" The Morpho taunted.

Copy Cat just smiled at him. "Doesn't really matter, Hatter," he said, smugly.

With that, his copy came up behind The Blue Morpho, snatched the gun from his hand and cupped the chloroform-soaked rag over his mouth and nose.

"ACK! FUCK!" the vigilante gave a muffled yelp, trying to pry the hand from his face. The copy's arm slithered around his waist and held him in place, and he fought harder, trying to twist out of the stronger man's grip.

Copy Cat came to assist, grabbing The Morpho's wrists and holding them outward, preventing him from clawing at the rag. After a few moments, the desperate struggles ebbed, and the masked man's eyes slid shut.

"Motherfuckerrrrrr..."

With a chuckle, Copy Cat gave a tug on the unconscious man's wrists, and draped him over his shoulder. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the business card on which he'd written a message, and dropped it in a conspicuous spot on the polished hardwood floor. Then, with a snap of his fingers, his copy dissolved back into him.

Whistling a cheery little tune, he ducked out the back door into the alley.

Hidden behind the open door of his workroom, Enzo had watched the whole abduction transpire. He waited until he heard Copy Cat's car start up, then moved quickly to the store phone and dialed one of his confidential client's numbers.

21 sat at the computer desk, examining another of the new Blue Morpho gadgets he'd unearthed. He picked up the card attached to the device with a bit of string, and read it.

"Mini re-breather," he murmured, raising his eyebrows, "Emergency underwater air supply, max time, six minutes."

He looked at the soda-can-sized contraption that consisted of a tank and rubber mouthpiece. Six minutes? What task could you accomplish underwater with only six minutes of air? He wrote down a few notes about it and moved to the next item.

He picked up the grappling gun he'd found earlier, amazed by how heavy it was. It weighed easily five times as much as the ones Kano and The Blue Morpho used, now. The gun was made of a very heavy gauge of steel, but the hook looked too weak to support a full grown man.

The literature that came with the gun had a hand-scribbled note at the bottom, in ancient, blurry pencil.

"Ask Jonas about lighter gun, heavier hook. Must support 500 lbs. (Kano)"

No wonder this design had been scrapped for the new one. Still, it was a fun souvenir. He laid it on the computer desk as he sat back down to continue his work.

*RRRING!*

"Y'ello?" 21 answered the hotline phone, hoping to hear Monarch's voice on the other end.

"Signore Kano?"

"Enzo?" 21 smiled as the familiar voice came through the phone, "Buon pomeriggio! Come stai?"

"I'm-a fine, thank you," Enzo said quickly, "Ohh Signore Kano, something terrible has-a happened!"

"Let me guess," 21 chuckled, "The Blue Morpho came to pick up his new shirt and forgot his wallet? You need my debit card number?" He reached for his wallet in his back pocket.

"No no! Signore Morpho, he been-a kidnapped!"

21 froze as his brain processed what the little Sicilian tailor had just said.

"Tell me everything you know." He made it a point to keep his voice low and steady, even though he could already feel the anger beginning to bubble inside his guts.

"I go into the work room to make-a the alterations on Signore Morpho's new shirt," Enzo began, his voice shaking audibly over the phone, "And then I see this-a man, and this man, he make... he make-a TWO of himself!"

"Copy Cat," 21 growled, grinding his teeth, "That oily son of a bitch."

"And then he grab-a Signore Morpho and carry him away! I not know where he go! He leave-a his business card, though, and a note. It for-a you, I think!"

"Read it," 21 demanded, getting to his feet and holstering his dart and grappling guns.

"It say," Enzo read very slowly, struggling with the English, "Mister Kano, I have The Blue Morpho. I will exchange him for you. Come alone to the waterfront by the concrete batching plant at midnight. Bring no weapons. Disobey... and he dies."

21 closed his eyes, breathing deeply, calling upon his Jedi training to stay calm. His mind was racing.

"Signore Kano, you still-a there?"

"I'm here," 21 said, at last, "Thank you, Enzo, and don't worry. Signore Morpho is going to be fine."

"You bring him back-a safe for us, Kano!"

"I will," 21 said evenly. He hung up the phone, and stood very still for a long moment. He cracked his neck from side to side, and then began loading his utility belt and pockets with tools and gadgets.

As he prepared, he caught sight of the new tracking receiver on his wrist and remembered Monarch messing with it earlier. A lump formed in his throat as he suddenly flashed back to their fight.

What if he couldn't save Monarch? What if his best friend died, and that horrific comment was the last thing 21 had said to him?

He shook the unproductive line of thought from his head as he finished assembling his arsenal.

"Hang on, buddy," he whispered, setting his jaw, "I'm coming."

Monarch had a headache.

That was the first thing to register on his chloroform-addled brain as he slowly came to. The next thing was that he was laying on a very cold, very hard floor, in a room that had the dirty, musty scent of old concrete.

He carefully sat up, his head spinning, and took in his surroundings. He was in a small, bare room of some sort, with cinder block walls and a cold, smooth concrete floor. There was a single door in the far wall, and no windows. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling. He was alone.

As he got to his feet, he remembered what had transpired the last time he'd been conscious. Copy Cat had jumped him at Enzo's. He recalled the rag being held over his face, everything sliding into blackness...

But why? What on Earth could the super-villain-lounge-singer want with him?

Before he could rationalize his abduction, there was the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the heavy door swung open.

"Well, hey there, sugar bear," Copy Cat said smoothly, leaning against the doorjamb, looking down at him over the tinted lenses of his glasses. He stepped into the room, followed by three of his copies, who filed in and lined up against the wall.

Monarch stayed silent, taking in the situation, watching for a chance to try and make a break for it. Copy Cat came over to him, and he glanced stealthily at the still-open door behind him.

"My goodness, you shook off that chloroform like a champ! I figured you'd be out at least another half an hour."

"I'm big into juicing," Monarch replied snottily, folding his arms, "Boosts the immune system."

"Well, allow me to introduce myself," the super-villain said, taking a little bow, "They call me Copy Cat, and you can see why."

He gestured proudly at the trio of copies standing at the wall.

"I know who you are, asshole," The Monarch said, "We met weeks ago, remember?"

"Did we?" Copy Cat looked nonplussed, "I'm sorry, tiger, I usually have a great memory, but I sincerely don't recall us crossing paths before."

Monarch was about to remind the tall, suave villain about the time at his penthouse, but then remembered that it was The Mighty Monarch that Copy Cat had met, not The Blue Morpho.

"Well, I might be wrong," he muttered, shrugging, "Sorry."

"Anyway," Copy Cat went on, "As I was saying, I'm Copy Cat, and these are my Dupes." He pointed again to the copies, standing in waiting behind him.

"Dupes?" Monarch snorted derisively. "Most appropriate. Nickname. EVER."

"Don't be rude," Copy Cat scolded, wagging a finger.

"So where am I?" the masked vigilante asked, conversationally. He pretended to just casually move around the room, but kept the open door in his peripheral vision.

"Oh, just a little place that Wide Wale uses for his dirty work," Copy Cat replied.

"Wide Wale? Greeeeaaaat," Monarch groaned, "Of all the super-villains to piss off..."

"You have NO idea, buddy," Copy Cat agreed, straightening his glasses.

One of the copies stepped out of the room, reappearing a moment later with a heavy wooden chair and some rope. Monarch tensed, preparing to fight.

"I figured you'd still be unconscious for this part of the endeavor," Copy Cat explained, "So I hope you'll do us a favor and be a gentleman while my boys get you trussed up." He stepped aside as the copies started toward Monarch.

"Yeah, no," the masked man scoffed, "That's not gonna happen."

He punched the copy standing closest to himself, knocking him to the floor. He ducked out of reach as the second one tried to grab him, then swept his leg around and knocked the baddie off his feet.

As he stood, the third grabbed him from behind, and he kicked backwards, connecting with his attacker's knee, and rammed the heel of his hand into the copy's chin.

Soon all three of the copies lay unconscious on the floor, leaving just Copy Cat and Monarch facing each other.

The suave super-villain gave a quick snap of his fingers, and the three unconscious bodies on the floor vanished. One more snap, and three brand new copies appeared, and charged at the Monarch.

"Oh, COME ON!" he protested. He lit into the trio again, but every time he laid one of them out, the original Copy Cat just created another one.

After about five minutes of fighting the ongoing, ceaseless supply of attackers, Monarch just stopped and held up a hand.

"OK, OK," he panted, doubling over, "I give, already!" He walked calmly across the room and sat down in the chair.

"Wise choice," Copy Cat said with a smile as the copies began tying up the masked hero.

"Yeah well, clearly it's pointless going up against your lackeys," Monarch grumbled, wincing as the rope was tightened around him.

"Hands, please," said one copy, politely.

"Eat me," Monarch replied, but held his hands up all the same. The copy wound the rope around his wrists five or six times, then around his upper body.

"You were a wildcat there, though," Copy Cat said in admiration, "You're really a splendid fighter. You'd make a damn fine super-villain."

"Oh, if you only knew," The Monarch chuckled as his ankles were tied together, "But really, what's the point of fighting your copies? Wear yourself out and get nowhere."

Copy Cat laughed at him, and he glared.

"Well," the tall villain said cordially, "It's a good thing for me that most folks don't catch on as quickly as you did."

"What do you mean?"

Copy Cat came to kneel in front of the bound vigilante, reaching out to test the solidity of the chair as his copies finished their task.

"Going after my copies is, as you said, a waste of time," he explained, "But if I get knocked cold, all my copies just *poof* vanish into thin air."

He snapped his fingers, and the three copies dissolved back into him.

"Why would you tell me that?" Monarch asked, suspiciously, "Aren't you afraid I'll use it against you?"

"Naw" Copy Cat replied, shaking his head, "An enemy would need to be able to determine which me was the real me, and that's pretty darn near impossible."

Monarch just nodded. "So what do you want with me, anyway?"

"Nothing," Copy Cat said with a wry little grin, "We want Kano. You're just the bait, little fish."

"Kano?" the masked man said, in surprise, "What did Kano do? He's not nearly as big of a dick as I am."

"That's not hard to believe," Copy Cat said, with a wink, "You're the biggest I've ever seen."

"That's what your mom told me last night," Monarch laughed.

"All right, that's enough banter," Copy Cat snapped, losing his cool.

He reached into his pocket and produced a large, white handkerchief and folded it into a narrow strip.

"Oh boy, a mouthful of cliché," grumbled Monarch as the other man stepped behind him and looped the gag over his mouth.

"Honestly, with all that racket from the concrete plant, nobody could hear you holler, anyways," Copy Cat explained as he knotted the gag at the back of Monarch's head.

He stepped back around to stand in front of his captive, and leaned down with his hands on his thighs to address him face-to-face.

"But, see, I need you alive for now. And frankly, you're much more likely to stay that way if you can't speak," Copy Cat said coldly, his eyes crinkled in anger.

Monarch glared, and managed to flip off his kidnapper, despite his wrists being bound in front of him. The other man laughed, shaking his head a little.

"You just go on pushing my buttons, beanpole," he muttered, as he checked his gun, re-holstered it, then looked at his watch, "You'll see what happens."

Monarch just glared at him.

"Back in a tick," Copy Cat smiled and headed for the door.

"Ding ding, round two," he sang cheerfully, "Kano, I'm a-coming for you!"

As soon as Copy Cat turned his back, Monarch raised his bound wrists and fired a tiny, silent tracking dart from his new wrist receiver. The projectile crossed the room and embedded itself, unnoticed, in the fabric of Copy Cat's jacket, its tiny blue light blinking.

As the villain locked the door behind him, Monarch looked at the dial on his receiver, and gave a tiny, satisfied nod. The indicator was flashing in time with the tracker. The system 21 had dug up was working perfectly.

If his own watch was picking up the tracker, then so was 21's. Now, he just had to wait...

21 flew in low over the concrete batch plant, scanning the dimly-lit factory for any signs of movement. He saw a good place to set down, and landed the Morphojet. After taking a few minutes to conceal the car with some trash, he started toward the waterfront.

After only a dozen steps, his wrist receiver suddenly gave a beep, making him jump in surprise. He looked at the dial, and found it flashing.

Since he hadn't launched any tracker darts, this one must have been activated by Monarch, possibly as a way to guide 21 to where he was being held.

Keeping an eye on his wrist unit, he continued on toward the waterfront, eyes and ears on full alert. He knew Copy Cat was a slippery devil, with the added bonus of being able to replicate himself.

The tracker led him out onto the pier, where the barges came to pick up and unload for the plant. Large, ominous piles of crates were stacked here and there, waiting to be shipped. 21 made his way between them, out to the end of the pier.

At the railing, he stopped and turned, watching the light on his wrist unit begin flashing faster and faster. He was close.

"Well hey there, you must be Kano."

21 whirled as Copy Cat stepped out of the shadows.

"And here I thought you were just gonna turn out to be a big, dumb coward," Copy Cat said, "I must say, I am impressed that you came."

"OK, I'm here," 21 said, "Where's The Blue Morpho?" He flexed his fists, aching to slam them into the smug bastard's face.

"Oh, he's nearby," Copy Cat reassured, "And perfectly safe."

"He'd better be."

Copy Cat just smirked. "I assume you came unarmed?"

21 held up his empty hands. "That was the agreement. I surrender myself to you, and you let him go, unharmed."

"Really? You really came here unarmed?" Copy Cat just shook his head, "You good guys are so naive."

He drew his gun and took aim at the heavyset man.

21 dove forward and the bullet whistled over his head. As he completed the forward roll, he kicked the gun out of Copy Cat's hand and it clattered into the shadows. He rolled to his feet and took a defensive stance.

"Not bad," Copy Cat said, snapping his fingers, "But can you fight more than one at a time?"

Three copies appeared with a *pop*, and they charged at 21 as Copy Cat withdrew into the shadows.

"Oh yeah, that's fair!" 21 objected, as he launched into his attack. He elbowed the first copy in the face, spun and kicked the second one in the chest, and then tossed the third one into a stack of crates.

"Hey Kano?" Copy Cat suddenly called to him.

The henchman turned toward the source of the voice, and had a brief glimpse of the gun in Copy Cat's hand, before the villain pulled the trigger. The bullet struck him in the chest, he crashed backwards through the railing and tumbled into the murky water with a great splash.

The handsome villain came and stood at the end of the pier, looking down into the water. He kept his gun trained on the dark surface as he waited, watching.

After a long few minutes, there was still no activity from below. He smiled in satisfaction, put his gun away, and sauntered back down the pier toward the reclamation center. With a snap of his fingers, his copies filed back into him.

"Ding ding, round three," he sang cheerily, a spring in his step, "He's on the ropes, there go his hopes..."

He pulled out his phone and dialed Wide Wale, a broad, satisfied smile on his face.

"You better have good news, Copy Cat," came the other super-villain's voice through the device.

"The news you've been waiting for," the handsome villain announced proudly, "Kano... is no more."

"Excellent," Wide Wale said, the smile in his voice obvious, even over the phone, "And what about The Blue Morpho?"

"Well," Copy Cat said, "The deal was that Kano would sacrifice himself to save his partner."

"I KNOW you are not about to tell me you let The Blue Morpho go...," Wide Wale growled.

"Of course not!" Copy Cat laughed, "I got him here, boss. What you want me to do with him?"

There was silence for a minute, and then Wide Wale spoke again.

"You still got that digital video camera I lent you last year?" he asked.

Copy Cat smiled. "Of course."

"Good," Wale said, "Then I think it's time we record a little Public Service Announcement."

Monarch jumped a little at the sound of a key in the lock of the door to his cell. He looked up hopefully, expecting 21. But no, just Copy Cat again.

"Where's Kano?" he asked through his gag, but it came out as an incoherent mumble.

Copy Cat stripped the gag off and tossed it aside.

"One more time?" the super-villain asked.

"I said, where's Kano?" Monarch repeated, wetting his lips, "Isn't this a prisoner swap?"

"Change in the plan, little man," Copy Cat said, with a nasty grin and a shrug, "You're not needed, anymore. No need for bait when the big fish has been caught."

The Monarch just looked at him quizzically, confusion in his dark eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I not being clear?" The suave villain said, coming to stand over his prisoner.

"Your friend Kano isn't coming for you," Copy Cat whispered, "Kano is dead... And YOU just became disposable."

Monarch's eyes flew wide and he gave an animal-like scream of rage and anguish. He thrashed and fought against his bonds, trying to get at the gloating bastard that had murdered his best friend. All he succeeded in doing was tipping the chair over sideways to crash onto the floor.

His head struck the hard cement, and his mind went fuzzy.

With a snap of his fingers, Copy Cat created three copies. Together, they cut the sobbing, disconsolate vigilante free of the chair, picked him up and carried him, unresistant, out the door.

"Noooo, oh God," Monarch wailed, "Noooo."

Deep down in the murky water beneath the pier, 21 clung to one of the pilings, waiting. The re-breather was clamped in his teeth, and fortunately for him, seemed to be working perfectly.

When he figured he'd waited long enough to make Copy Cat think he was dead, he swam to the surface and looked around. Sure enough, the super-villain was nowhere to be seen. Most likely he'd gone to finish off The Blue Morpho.

After all, the bastard had lied about coming unarmed. No reason to think he wouldn't Welch on the rest of the bargain as well.

21 swam to shore and climbed up on the bank, placing the re-breather back into his pocket. He winced, rubbing his broad chest, finding the new hole in his jacket.

Both Kano's suit and The Blue Morpho's were reinforced with Kevlar. It could stop a bullet from penetrating the flesh, but the impact still hurt like a motherfucker. The entire left side of his chest would be spectacularly bruised tomorrow.

He wrung the water from his ponytail, and wiped off the screen of the receiver on his wrist. Fortunately it seemed to be waterproof, because the little blue dot was still blinking away. He looked around, and headed toward a building a couple hundred feet away, watching the readout.

Remembering the rapid flashing on the receiver while he was on the pier with Copy Cat, Kano decided that Monarch must have tagged the villain with the tracking dart. If he continued to follow that dart, he would find Copy Cat, and hopefully Monarch.

He watched the blinking readout as he walked along. He was going in the right direction.

Copy Cat finished mounting the camera on the hood of the grinder, angling it so that it would capture The Blue Morpho's final, terrified, agonized minutes.

His copies were busy tying the masked vigilante down upon a massive concrete slab on the conveyor that fed into the huge concrete reclamation machine. The mechanical behemoth was used to pulverize old concrete.

Copy Cat understood why this was Wide Wale's favorite method with which to dispose of troublemakers. It was such a terrifying and long-suffering way to go. The victim was pulled into the savage, mangling, chewing blades an inch at a time. Feet-first was the preferred method, to make it last as long as possible.

There was also the added bonus that DNA testing was the only way to identify what the machine spit out.

"What's with the camera?" The Blue Morpho asked, finally taking an interest in his imminent demise, "Are you... OW!" He gave a small yelp and turned to chastise the copy that was binding his wrists together.

"Easy, Irving Klaw, we're not making BDSM porn." He suddenly turned to Copy Cat with a raised eyebrow.

"I mean... we're NOT, right?"

"No, son," Copy Cat chuckled, coming to stand over his prone prisoner, laying a hand on his knee, "This is Wide Wale's idea. Make him a little Blue Morpho snuff film to dissuade anyone else from going the Masked Vigilante route."

"Clever," the vigilante said, giving an impressed nod, "I didn't realize there were that many of me out there."

"Well, there aren't, yet" Copy Cat replied, sitting next to him, "But you are definitely the word of the day in the super-villain/superhero circles right now. You're all anyone talks about."

He leaned close, putting his face inches from The Morpho's.

"Wide Wale feels that your popularity is dangerous," he said softly, "It gives people funny ideas about what they can get away with."

"Trust me, that was NOT my intention," the masked man insisted, "I took on this persona for ONE reason, and it sure as hell wasn't to inspire the masses."

Copy Cat just sat there looking at him for a long time, studying his masked face, obviously thinking something over.

"What?" the bound man asked apprehensively, "You're not gonna kiss me, are you?"

"Just thinking," Copy Cat said, "Wondering who you might be. If you and I might have met some time before."

"Why don't you take off my mask and see?" The Blue Morpho challenged.

The other man just gave a short laugh and a wave of his hand.

"Oh the thought did cross my mind," he conceded, "But then I realized you're gonna be dead in fifteen minutes, so it really doesn't matter, does it?"

The crime-fighter just blinked sadly up at him.

"No, I guess it doesn't."

"All right now, brave face," Copy Cat said, coming to stand beside his victim's head. He pointed at the camera.

"Let's say hi to the folks who'll be watching this later on." He knelt down and put his face next to the Morpho's, as if preparing to take a selfie with him.

The vigilante just looked away, silent, resigned to his fate.

"Oh come on," Copy Cat cajoled, "You been a right little chatterbox up till now."

His captive stayed silent. Copy Cat leaned over him, and poked his belly.

"What's wrong, Copy Cat got your tongue?" He laughed at his own joke, his copies joining in.

The Blue Morpho just glared silently at him, twisting his wrists, trying to loosen the rope around them.

"What, no brave, defiant speech about how I'm," Copy Cat made air-quotes, "Never going to get away with this?"

"Nope," Morpho said, shaking his head, "I can't think of any reason why you WON'T get away with this." He narrowed his eyes and glowered at the gloating villain.

"After all, you did MURDER my best friend... And he was pretty much the only chance I had of a rescue... You fucker," he spat.

"Language," Copy Cat chastised, "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"No, I kiss YOUR mother with this mouth."

Copy Cat just looked at him for a long minute, flexing his fists, grinding his teeth. Then he raised his hands and turned away.

"Nope, not worth it," he said, shaking his head, "I'll just let the machine take care of you for me."

Copy Cat left his duplicates to finish their task, and crossed the room to the metal staircase that led up to the office. He climbed up and stepped out onto the observation deck. From here he had a clear view of the entire facility, a perfect spot from which to enjoy The Blue Morpho's final minutes.

He moved to lean on the railing and watch, a cruel smile curling his lips.

Sneaking along the back of the building, 21 glanced again at his wrist receiver. He was very close to the beacon that Monarch had activated. He sneaked up to a low window, and peered inside.

It was some kind of factory. There was a huge hopper in the far corner. In the center of the room was a long conveyor belt of some sort, mounted on a metal scaffolding about eight feet high. At one end of the conveyor was a huge machine.

Going in through the door seemed like a sure way to announce his presence, so he looked around for another option. There was a fire escape mounted near the corner of the building and he moved to it and climbed up.

He slipped through the large fire exit window at the top, and found himself on some kind of observation platform above the main factory floor.

There was the sound of feet coming up the stairs to his left, and he quickly stepped back into the shadows as Copy Cat appeared. He watched the taller man move to stand at the rail, looking over the area below.

21 stepped silently up behind him. Before the other man could turn, the burly henchman locked his arm around the villain's throat and pressed the heel of his other hand against the side of Copy Cat's head.

"Snap your fingers, and I will snap your fucking neck," 21 breathed.

"Kano?" the suave hit man gave an impressed chuckle, "Well damn, son, I swear you got more lives than a cat..."

"Save it!" 21 snapped, "If you want to live, tell me where I can find The Blue Morpho."

"They're indigenous to South America, if I'm not mistaken," Copy Cat sneered, keeping his hands raised in a non-threatening way.

"This is not the time to mess with me, dude," 21 warned, tightening his arm around his victim's throat, "I am in a wet chauffeur's uniform and it's chafing the hell out of me."

"OK, OK," Copy Cat said calmly, "No need to get all..."

"WHERE IS HE?" Kano growled, shaking the taller man.

"Down there," the other man replied, pointing.

21 moved himself and his captive closer to the rail, and looked over Copy Cat's shoulder at the activity below.

A cluster of the super-villain's duplicates were down there, standing on the narrow catwalk that ran along the conveyor, crowded around one of the four or five huge slabs of old concrete upon it.

21 tried to see past them, trying to see what they were so focused upon. One of them walked along the catwalk toward the enormous machine, and climbed down the ladder to the control box at its base. He fiddled with the controls for a moment, and the machine came to life with a roar that echoed throughout the chamber.

The other copies retreated and moved toward the ladder, giving 21 a clear view of the object of their attentions. His heart slammed into his throat. The Blue Morpho was tied to one of the slabs, which was now slowly progressing toward the machine.

"Oh holy hell," 21 breathed.

He pulled Copy Cat around to face him and unleashed a right hook on his smug face that sent the villain crumpling to the floor in a limp heap. The masked crime fighter moved quickly to the stairs and descended.

"Mother... FUCKER...,"

Monarch pulled, twisted and struggled with all his strength, but the heavy ropes binding him were immovable. He raised his head and looked toward the grinder up ahead, and watched in horror as the spinning steel blades began to pulverize one of the slabs.

"Shit!" he muttered, redoubling his efforts to free himself, "Shit shit SHIT!"

Suddenly a shadow fell over him, and he turned his head toward the new arrival.

His eyes flew wide.

"DUDE!" he cried, reaching for his henchman with his bound hands, "You're alive!"

"Can't get anything past you, boss!" 21 said, with a smile, reaching down to clasp Monarch's hands in his for a moment.

"Copy Cat told me you were dead!"

"The reports of my death," 21 said, "Were greatly exaggerated."

"Really? Mark Twain? NOW?" Monarch said, incredulously, gesturing at the machine, "I am about to become a fucking SMOOTHIE!"

"Right, hold still!" 21 ordered, as he pulled out his knife and went to work on one of the many coils of rope immobilizing his friend.

He looked to his left at the mouth of the machine, trying to estimate how much time they had. It appeared that each concrete slab would take two minutes to be pulverized. There were three slabs before the one to which Monarch was bound. He had less than six minutes.

He studied the complex knots, testing the strength of the rope. Six minutes wasn't going to be enough time.

"This isn't going to work," 21 said, as he sawed at the rope, "I'm not gonna be able to cut you free in time."

"Dude, then just get out of here!" Monarch replied, grabbing the front of his bodyguard's jacket, "Save yourself!"

"Geez, quit being a damn drama queen!" 21 replied, pulling free of the other man's desperate grasp and drawing the old grappling gun prototype from his belt, "Or I'll start calling you The Blue Martyr."

He turned and fired the gun straight into the maw of the machine. Sparks flew as the grappling hook hit the blades, and the cable was instantly sucked in and entangled around the rotors like a snake. The entire mechanism locked up with a loud whine.

"Ok, that was good," Monarch said, impressed.

"Thanks," 21 said, laying the gun down on the catwalk and going to back to work with the knife.

Copy Cat groaned, rubbing his jaw, slowly sitting up. He got to his feet and leaned over the railing, taking in the scene below. Kano was down there, now, trying to rescue The Blue Morpho.

"Oh, no you don't," the handsome villain said with a grin. He snapped his fingers.

21 handed the knife to Monarch.

"Work on getting yourself free," he ordered, "I'm gonna climb down to the control panel and see what I can do about shutting this thing down."

As he jogged toward the ladder leading down off the conveyor, movement from the far side of the room caught his eye. Coming down the stairs from the observation platform were a half-dozen identical Copy Cats.

"Oh damn, dude!" 21 shouted, pointing, "We got a problem!" He quickly stepped onto the ladder and started down.

"Wait wait wait, listen!" Monarch called after 21 as he spotted the approaching enemies.

"What?" The burly bodygaurd paused, his head level with the catwalk.

"Going after the copies won't help, you have to take out Copy Cat himself!" Monarch called, as he sawed at his bonds, "He'll just keep making more if you don't!"

"Great, how do I know which one is the real one?" 21 asked, watching as the six identical villains reached the floor and started toward him.

"I TAGGED the son of a bitch!" Monarch replied, indicating his wrist receiver, "Track him!"

"YOU... are a fucking GENIUS!" 21 crowed as he slid down the rest of the ladder to the floor.

"I know, right?" Monarch called after him.

The moment 21 hit the floor, the copies came at him. He took a deep breath, focused, and attacked.

Monarch was trying to get the knife at an angle where he could cut the ropes binding his wrists, but it was proving difficult.

All at once, there was a crunching sound from the machine, and the conveyer started up again with a lurch, bringing him slowly closer to the stuttering blades. He began to panic, but then almost immediately, the rotors locked up again and the conveyer halted.

He went back to work with the knife. Inspiration suddenly struck, and he managed to raise his head enough to grip the handle of the knife in his teeth. He started awkwardly slicing at the ropes binding his wrists.

Just then, the machine went into motion again with a jerk, and the knife slipped out of his teeth to drop out of reach onto the catwalk.

"Gaah, FUCK!" he shouted. As he watched, the grinder chewed its way through the remains of the grappling cable and began to run smoothly again, going to work on the slab ahead of the one he was tied to.

"KANO!"

21 finally flattened the last of the copies, and rushed to the control panel of the grinder, looking over the multiple buttons, dials, and keypad. It only took him a moment to realize that the machine's controls had a passcode.

"KANO!" Monarch's panicked voice came from above, "PLEASE, I NEED YOU!"

There wasn't time to try and decipher the machine's control code. 21 ran back to the ladder, but before he could start to climb, a bullet ricocheted off the rung above his head.

"I have had just about enough of you, boy!" Copy Cat said as he stalked toward the henchman.

21 ducked under the back of the machine as another bullet whizzed past, nearly taking his cap off. He glanced at his wrist receiver, and noted the rate of the flashes. This Copy Cat was the real one.

As he moved further back under the grinder, he stepped in something soft, and looked down. It was a pile of gray dust, and he quickly realized it was the pulverized concrete discharged by the grinder.

He grabbed up a handful of the stuff, and as Copy Cat came around the corner, he flung it into the taller man's face.

"AUGH!" the vallain gasped, coughing, clapping his hand to his eyes as the dust blinded him.

21 used the opportunity to knock the gun from his hand, and the weapon flew to land beneath the enormous hopper against the wall.

The tall supervillain snapped his fingers again, and three copies appeared, but 21 never took his eyes off the original. He plowed through the copies with relative ease, casting their bodies aside and storming toward Copy Cat.

The supervillain looked panicked and raised his hand again to snap more duplicates into existence. Before he could, 21 kicked him in the chest and sent him flying. He hit the wall, hard, and sagged to the floor beneath the giant gravel hopper.

By chance he glanced to the side and saw his gun. He snatched it up and got unsteadily to his feet, but before he could shoot, there was a rumble from above and he looked up in alarm.

21 had pulled the chain to open the chute on the underside of the hopper, and a heavy cascade of gravel came pelting down, burying Copy Cat under a mountain of the tiny pieces of concrete.

About ten seconds later, all the remaining copies, conscious and non, vanished into thin air.

The masked bodyguard waited, watching, but no movement came from the pile of gravel. He leaned against the leg on the hopper with a great sigh of relief. Thank Lucas THAT was over...

"HEY KANO, REMEMBER ME?"

"Oh shit, sorry dude!" 21 bolted for the ladder leading up to the converyer.

"NO, NO..., NO HURRY HERE!" Monarch's voice floated down, sarcastically.

21 scrambled up the ladder and ran to his friend's side.

"I dropped the knife!" Monarch cried in panic.

"I got it," 21 said, retrieving the blade from the catwalk and setting back to work freeing his partner. He cut the ropes binding Monarch's wrists, and the other man shook his hands to restore circulation.

As his henchman sawed through each piece of rope, Monarch pulled it loose and cast it aside. All the while, the conveyer kept creeping, drawing him closer and closer to the roaring blades.

"You know," Monarch grunted, as the two of them worked furiously, "I think I speak for everyone... when I say... that this day can just go and fuck itself."

"Seriously," 21 agreed.

The grinder finished up the tail end of the previous slab, creating a short lull in the deafening noise. Then the blades grabbed the front edge of the slab on which Monarch was still tied and yanked it forward, dust flying as the first few inches were pulverized with a horrible screech.

"ACK! DUDE, HURRY!" Monarch yelled in alarm, trying to keep his feet out of the blades.

"Stay calm," 21 ordered, as he went to work on the last few coils around Monarch's body, sweat rolling down his face.

Monarch braced his feet against the machine's hood, above the deadly spinning blades. He pushed himself backwards a few inches, trying to buy more time.

21 glanced up, and knew they weren't going to make it. He looked around frantically, hoping for an idea, something. His eyes settled on the grapplig gun prototype, still laying on the catwalk. He snatched it up and flung it into the grinder.

The blades hit the heavy, reinforced, solid steel and instantly froze in place. With an ominous wail, the already-overtaxed machine began to shudder like an unbalanced washing machine.

"Oh, SHIT!" Monarch cried out, "It's gonna blow!"

"Come on, come on, COME ON!" 21 yelled, as he worked at the last loop of rope around his friend's midsection.

Smoke and sparks poured out of the machine, the wailing sound growing louder and more high pitched by the second...

21 cut through the last length of rope, and Monarch scrambled to sit up, reaching out to him. In one smooth motion, the henchman scooped him up, turned and stepped from the catwalk, dropping to the floor below.

KA-BOOM!

On the far side of the room, the pile of gravel beneath under the hopper shifted. An avalanche of the tiny rocks slid down from the peak. And then slowly, a hand emerged... holding a gun.

"Owww... Fuck, dude," Monarch mumbled.

21 opened his eyes and found himself on top of Monarch. He rolled off, and tugged the semi-conscious vigilante into a sitting position.

"Ooof," said Monarch, shaking his head, dazed, "Well that was fun."

"You OK?" 21 asked. He took the older man's face in his hands and studied his eyes, worried about a concussion.

"I think I'm good," Monarch said, "I may need a new pair of Blue Morpho boxer shorts."

21 laughed, got to his feet and helped his friend up, holding him steady as he wavered a little.

They stood in a rather awkward silence for a minute.

"21," Monarch began quietly, "I'm really... I mean, I was so..."

He paused, taking a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling as if searching for the right words.

"After that blowout at the cave...," he continued, very quietly, "When I thought Copy Cat killed you..."

His voice broke, and he lowered his face, pressing the heels of his gloved hands to his eyes.

"It's OK, dude," 21 replied softly, enfolding the other man in his arms, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat.

"How terrible do you think I felt when Enzo told me you'd been taken?" 21 went on quietly, rubbing his hands up and down his friend's back, "And I thought those were gonna be my last words to you?"

Monarch took a deep breath and nodded a little, his face pressed into his henchman's neck, hugging him with all his strength.

They just stood together for a minute, taking comfort in each other's presence.

"You're my oldest friend, dude," 21 said, at last, "More than that, you're my best friend."

"Well," Monarch replied, "I can't think of anyone else I'd be prouder to work beside than you."

"Thanks," 21 said, tightening his arms around his boss, "Same here."

"Look," Monarch mumbled into 21's neck, "I promise not to get pissed off the next time you try to protect me."

"Well," 21 reached up and touseled the back of his friend's head, "I promise not to be a raging asshole if you do." He smiled as Monarch laughed on his shoulder.

"Well, that is just too damn sweet for words."

They released each other with a start and looked over to find Copy Cat standing a few feet away, smiling at them. The suave villain was covered in dust, his hair had gravel in it, and there were numerous small lacerations on his rugged face.

"Hate to break up the love affair, Teddy Bear," the tall villain said with a reluctant shrug, drawing his gun and aiming it at them, "But I got a job to do."

Monarch quickly placed himself in front of 21, holding one arm protectively across his partner's body.

"Really, Mr. Morpho?" Copy Cat sneered, leveling the gun between the masked man's eyes, "I'm gonna kill both of you, it don't really matter to me which one goes first."

"Wait, you're just gonna shoot us?" Monarch scoffed, "What happened to The Blue Morpho's gruesome, terrifying death to teach all the good guys a lesson?"

"I'm tired," Copy Cat said simply, "And, let's face it, dead is dead."

"Hey, is your throat OK?" Monarch asked suddenly, out of the blue.

"What? The villain looked confused, blinking, "My throat?"

"Your voice," Monarch continued, "It sounds kind of gravelly."

"Duuuude," 21 said from behind him, "Not smart."

"You know...," Copy Cat growled, cocking the gun.

The masked vigilante and his bodyguard both closed their eyes and braced themselves for the shots.

Suddenly there was the sound of rending metal from above, and the three men all looked up in unison.

Weakened by the explosion, one side of the scaffolding that supported the heavy conveyer was buckling. With a great creaking, wailing noise, it tilted down toward them.

21 grabbed Monarch around the waist and dove to the floor, covering him with his own body as debris came crashing down around them.

Copy Cat took an alarmed step backwards, but it was too late. The remaining slab of concrete slid off the tilting conveyer, falling straight down. Straight toward him.

"NOOOOOOO!"

CRUNCH!

Then there was silence.

21 lay still for a full minute, making sure all the danger had passed. When the noise finally stopped, he raised his head and looked around. Where Copy Cat had stood a few moments before, there was now a broken slab.

"OK, that's two for you," Monarch whined from beneath 21's body, his voice slightly muffled, "Next time, I get to be on top."

21 quickly scrambled up and offered a hand to his partner, pulling him to his feet. Together, they made their way slowly through the wreckage toward the massive slab of concrete.

"These folks are NOT getting their security deposit back," 21 quipped, looking around at the various pieces of the grinding machine that had landed here and there, some of its blades actually imbedded in the walls.

They came to stand beside the concrete slab that had crushed Copy Cat. A wide, glistening pool of blood was seeping out from beneath the slab.

"Eewww," Monarch whined, holding a hand to his belly and choking back his gag reflex.

"So much for Copy Cat," 21 added with a grimace, eyeing the bloody mess.

"Copy Splat," Monarch corrected.

"Dude," 21 scolded, "Too soon."

"Sorry," Monarch said, looking around, "Oh, hey!"

He suddenly turned and moved purposefully toward the remains of the grinder's hood, which lay smoking nearby.

"What are you doing?" 21 demanded, "Let's get the hell out of here!"

"One second, one second," Monarch said, retrieving something from the debris. He stood up and showed 21 the camera, still recording. He grinned a mischeivious grin.

"Ohhhh no," 21 said, shaking his head, "No, whatever you are thinking, it is a BAD idea."

"Come onnnnn," Monarch pleaded, still grinning.

21 just eyed him for a long time. Finally he huffed and held up his hands in surrender.

"Fine, fine, whatever," the henchman relented, "Can we please go home, now?"

"Sure!" Monarch chirped, "I'll drive!"

"You will fucking not..."

"Excuse me, Mr. Wide Wale, sir, but this just came for you."

Wide Wale took the small padded envelope from Rocco, his henchman, and opened it. It was a flash drive.

"Ah, Copy Cat, I knew you wouldn't let me down," Wale said with a smile. He went to his laptop and plugged the drive in, waiting as the attached video file was loaded.

"Hey Rocco, DiNorio, you guys'll enjoy this," he said, calling his goons over. They all crowded around the laptop, and Wale started the video. It began with a title screen.

DEATH OF THE BLUE MORPHO: Caution, graphic content.

"Aww, this is gonna be good," Rocco said, "I wish we had popcorn."

The video started, and they all chuckled nastily as they watched Copy Cat and his duplicates tying The Blue Morpho to the conveyer. When the machine started up, they hooted, jeering as the masked hero struggled for his life as he was pulled closer and closer to the huge concrete reclamation processor.

"Yeah, go ahead and struggle, you vigilante piece of shit," DiNorio said, "You ain't going nowhere!"

And then suddenly, the image froze.

"What...what's going on," Wide Wale said, reaching out to tap the play button, "Did it lock up, what happened?"

The screen went dark, and there was a series of sharp, electronic drum beats, followed by synthisized violins and other instruments.

"Oh no fucking way," Rocco breathed.

"What? What is that?" Wide Wale leaned closer to the screen as it was filled with the image of a dancing, singing red-haired young man, "Who is THIS guy?"

"Umm," Rocco began, taking a precautionary step backwards, "That's Rick Astley, sir."

"WE'RE NO STRANGERS TO LOOOOOVE... YOU KNOW THE RULES, AND SO DO I..."

"What the fuck is going on, here?" Wide Wale demanded.

"That," Rocco said timidly, "Would be a Rickroll, sir."

"What, is it 2008?" DiNorio mumbled to himself.

Wide Wale just stared at the screen with his huge mouth hanging open. Angrily, he scrolled to the end of the video. Rick Astley faded to black, and then the screen was filled with the grinning, masked face of The Blue Morpho.

"Hello there, Wide Wale," the vigilante said with a wave, "Just FYI, Copy Cat went splat, me and Kano are both still kicking, and YOU can look forward to US being a huge pain in your ass for a long, long time."

He cackled, and flipped the bird with both hands.

"All right, dude, enough!" Kano's voice said off-screen.

"Fine, shut it off," Morpho replied. The video ended.

Wide Wale sat in silence. Rocco and DiNorio hovered nervously at his shoulders.

"Get. Out," Wale said simply.

"Right boss." Both the henchmen turned and bolted from the room without looking back.

The massive supervillain sat there in silence. Then with a great roar, he stood up, picked up the computer and flung it across the room.

"YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED, MR. MORPHO! YOU JUST FUCKED WITH THE WRONG VILLAIN!"

THE END