"He's wrong, you know," Chloe said, a few seconds after closing the door. Her uncle had made a quick departure after receiving a text message on his phone, barely saying goodbye. She looked over to Clark, who was staring out the sliding glass door that lead to her balcony.

"Clark," she said after he didn't respond. "He is wrong."

"Not all of it," Clark said.

"What do you mean?"

"There will be more," Clark said.

"More heroes?"

"Yes, and I think we need to find them. We need to find those who will want to help others. We especially need to find those who will abuse their abilities."

"That might be kind of tough," Chloe said.

"My best friend in high school had an almost uncanny ability to find those with meteor powers back home." Clark said and winked at Chloe. "I'm sure that you will be surprised to find how easy you are able to start locating these metahumans."

"What do you want to do when we find them?"

"Nothing, for most. But for those that desire to use their abilities for good, maybe we'll approach them. Maybe, we'll offer to help. For those that use their abilities to harm; those we'll stop."

Chloe nodded. "Where do you want to start?"

"In my world, I met a couple individuals that could be allies. I need you to locate Bart Allen and Arthur Curry." Clark glanced at the television. "Then we look at Gotham. Let's find out what we can about this Batman."

Chloe nodded. "We'll start in the morning," she said. "What about the envelope?" She held up the envelope that her Uncle Sam had given her.

"Oh, that. I scanned it as soon as he offered it to you. The President has invited me to Camp David in three days."

Chloe opened the envelope so she could read the note herself. "Say you are to come alone. The White House photographer take some pictures and those will sent to the Daily Planet as well as a briefing on what occurred." Chloe put the letter down on her table and shrugged. "Not much of an exclusive."

Clark chuckled. "Knowing the government, that's quite a concession," he said. Then he chuckled and said, "But if you play your cards right, I'm sure Superman will fill you in on all the details."

"Careful Kent, I'm quite the negotiator," she said as Clark grinned in return. She walked over next to him and nestled in close when he put his arm around her.

They stood at there for a couple minutes, just looking out into the night "You going out tonight?" she asked after a couple minutes.

Clark nodded. "I should," he said.

"I'll run comms again," she said. Since he went public she'd taken on the responsibility of monitoring the emergency bands and contacting him with any issues that might need his assistance. It was a way to stay close to him, even when he couldn't be there.

"Ok, but only for a little while. You need more sleep than I do," Clark said.

"Deal," Chloe said.

Morgan Edge leaned against the two crates, casually chatting with one of his men. According to the plan, about a dozen top members of Intergang were to attack and kill the Vice President. They were to be accompanied by four of Webber's men, which Edge considered expendable.

If all went according to plan, the attack would begin about eight minutes after his phone call and conclude about fifteen minutes after that. Then Webber would transfer the remaining forty million owed. Edge had briefly contemplated having one of his men put a bullet in Webber's head afterwards, just to clear up loose ends, but Edge was unsure where Webber's money was coming from.

Edge glanced at his watch; so far only three minutes had passed. Edge heard the door to the warehouse open. He turned to see the shadow of a large man enter and was walking towards them.

"One of yours?" Edge said, turning to Webber.

Webber sneered. "Not mine."

Edge looked back at the man walking in their direction. His men reached for their submachine guns. "Stop right there," one of them yelled.

The man darted forward in a burst of speed that was inhumanly fast. Edge's men fired their weapons, but the man darted back and forth and then leapt into the air, landing near one of the men. Faster than Edge could process, his man's gun was on the ground and this new person was using Edge's man for a human shield while point a pistol at the other three in the room. Somewhere in the process Webber had drew a pistol and had it leveled at the man.

"Next person to move dies," the man said.

Edge recognized the outfit the man was wearing. He half black, half orange was the trademark mask of only one person. Thankfully his other guard and Webber were smart enough not fire their weapons. "Deathstroke," he said.

"Hello, Edge," Deathstroke said, as shifted the pistol back and forth, almost daring them to make a move.

"You know him?" Webber yelled.

Edge remained calm and ignored Webber. Deathstroke was extremely dangerous but he'd dealt with Deathstroke's type on many occasions. If Deathstroke wanted him dead, he would be dead; losing his composure wasn't going to help either way.

"My man outside?" Edge asked.

"Still alive," Deathstroke said. "I'm just hired to take Webber in… After finding out what he's been up to."

Edge looked from Deathstroke to Webber and then back to Deathstroke. He really didn't like Webber and had his doubts about this deal the whole time. Perhaps he should cut his losses.

"Does anyone else know I'm here?" Edge said.

"Not yet," Deathstroke said.

"Perhaps we can come to an arrangement then," Edge said.

"Edge, what are you doing?" Webber said. His voice was extremely angry and it appeared that he was realizing what was about to happen.

"I'm listening, Edge. But talk fast, because you won't have my attention for long," Deathstroke said.

"We were here to talk about a job. Webber's made the down payment and my men are about to execute the mission. Here's my terms. I give you the mission details and you take Webber. And the down payment." Yes, it was definitely best to cut his losses and let nothing be tied to him on this one.

"Don't you dare, Edge. If you think you can betray me, you have another thing coming." Webber yelled.

Edge nodded to his guard, who shifted his aim from Deathstroke to Webber. Deathstroke steadied his gun solely on Webber as well.

"How much?" Deathstroke said.

Edge briefly thought about holding back, but he feared Webber would shout out the real amount out of spite. "Four million."

Deathstroke chuckled, released Edge's man and gave him a rough shove that sent him stumbling. "You have a deal," Deathstroke said.

"If you think I'm coming quietly…" Webber started, but didn't get a chance to finish. Deathstroke's hand flashed forward and then there was a blade sticking out of Webber's hand; his gun clattered to the floor. Then Deathstroke was on him in a flash. There was bigger struggle between the two than Edge would have expected. Webber got a good solid hit in on Deathstroke that made Deathstroke grunt. In response, Deathstroke roared and struck Webber in return, again and again, pummeling him into unconsciousness. Seconds later Webber's hands and feet were tied with zip ties.

Edge stared hard at the blood oozing form Webber's injured hand. "Have you ever seen that before, Deathstroke?" Edge asked. "His blood…" It looked orange in color.

Deathstroke stood up straight and looked at Edge. "Webber has a few secrets that I'm sure he'll be giving up over the next few weeks. You don't need to worry about it Edge. Money," he said.

Edge nodded and motioned to the laptop. "Give me an account and we'll move the funds right away."

Deathstroke rattled off an account code as he lifted Webber and slung him over his shoulder. Edge entered the account information into the laptop and showed the funds being transferred to Deathstroke.

"And the mission?" Deathstroke asked.

"Intergang was hired to kill the Vice President of the United States. They're at his vacation home in Connecticut right now."

"That's a bold move, Edge." Deathstroke said.

"Intergang is ready to start making some bold moves," Edge said.

Deathstroke turned and started walking towards the door. After a few steps he stopped and looked back at Edge. "If you need my services… I'll be willing to listen to offers from you," Deathstroke said.

Edge smiled. That offer alone was almost worth the the downpayment he lost. "I'll be in touch," Edge said.

As Deathstroke left out the door, the guard that had lost his weapon retrieved it while the other guard grabbed the laptop and Webber's weapon.

"Let's get out of here," Edge said as the three walked towards the door.

Outside, they found the driver unconscious next the car. His two men loaded him into the front passenger seat and then opened the back door for Edge.

Edge slid into the backseat; one of his men closing the door behind him. Calmly he drew the phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He flipped it open, thumbed in a number, pressed connect and brought the phone to one ear. The phone rang twice before it gave the telltale click of being answered on the other side.

"Sir?" asked the voice on the other end.

"Abort," Edge said and closed the phone with a snap. He handed the phone to one of his men to dispose of. He then nodded to his men, "Take me home."

The man who called himself Weston stood dressed completely in black from head to toe stood in the woods near a large manor in rural Vermont. Clouds covered the night sky, making the lights coming from the manor house the only lights available. But Weston wore infrared vision goggles, making the dark an ally, not a hindrance. In his hands he gripped a sub-machine gun equipped with a sound suppressor.

From his vantage point he could see everything going on the north and west sides of the manor. A couple figures were visible, moving back and forth within the house as well as several more walking the grounds in a semi random pattern.

Quietly, he shifted his gun to hang loosely on a strap from his shoulder. He pulled back his sleeve just enough to reveal the watch he wore and checked the time. The signal he was waiting for was late.

From somewhere behind him he heard a soft "click-clack" sound. Without turning as he reached to his belt and squeezed the small item of metal and plastic attached to it, which responded in its own "click-clack."

Silently he turned and made his way through the brush of the woods and approached the area where he heard the sound. After walking about ten yards he spotted another figure, also dressed in black and wearing night vision goggles well. As he came closer, the figure lowered the sub-machine gun that had been leveled at him.

With a quick movement of his hand, the figured motioned for Weston to follow him, in the opposite direction of the manor. He hissed in anger.

Quickly, but silently Weston and his companion moved through the woods. Their pace quickened as they got further away and until finally they were at a jog.

About ten minutes later they crossed a dirt road before arriving at their destination, a somewhat mud covered Jeep Cherokee. Nearby stood two more men, both dressed in black as well and also wearing goggles.

"What happened?" Weston said.

"The men from Intergang didn't arrive at their positions when they were supposed to. We've seen no sign of them," one of the two new men said. Parks, Weston guessed from the sound of his voice, though none of them removed their masks.

Weston swore. "Have you tried to contact Webber?"

One of the men nodded. "No answer."

Weston swore again. Six months had gone into planning and it was all for nothing.

The first of the two men said, "Someone needs to send word to the master." His hatred and disgust clearly apparent as he mentioned the word "master."

Slowly the anger he felt was replaced by fear and his breath quickened. The master would not be pleased. They should have never tried to include Intergang, but Webber had been so sure that they'd be able to shift all blame of the attack to Intergang.

Slowly, one of his companions spoke, "I'll make contact with him right away and let him know how we plan to fix this. Maybe he'll go easy on us."

"Us?" spoke one of the others. "This was Webber's plan."

Weston turned to face the figure, "You think that matters?" he hissed.

The figure shook his head and looked at the ground.

One of the men got a tripod out of the Jeep and set it up. At the top was attached a holo-communicator. The man tapped one of the buttons and then stepped back. A dim ray of light swept the area around them, scanning each of them and then winked out.

The image of a woman appeared. She wore a long red dress with intricate gold patterns decorating the fabric. She was light skinned with dark brown hair that was pulled tight. She had cold brown eyes that stared at Weston and the men like she was shooting daggers at them.

The four men each fell to one knee and stared at the ground. "Mast… Mistress." Weston said. The master had altered his form again. There must not be much time left.

"Report," the woman said.

"The attack on the Vice President failed before it could begin. Intergang pulled out and Webber is not responding to our calls.

"Webber has been lost to us," the woman said.

"Yes, Mistress."

"At least you did that right. However, you wasted too much time for so little knows too much about each of you. They may come for you next. Get in your vehicle leave the area. Find a safe place to firebomb it and destroy anything else related to tonight's mission. Do not go back to your covers."

"Understood." Weston asked.

"I'm disappointed though. This was Webber's plan, but each of you had a responsibility in making sure it was completed successfully. You've failed me.

"What is our punishment?" Weston asked. He feared the answer but was compelled to ask.

"I'm feeling merciful. After you destroy all the other evidence, you may make your own deaths painless."

Slade stood in the shadows just inside the doorway to one of the warehouses, one foot on the ground the other foot pressed into Webber's back, waiting and scanning the area. Webber lay on his chest, hogtied with zip ties and had a canvas hood pulled over his head.

Soon three vans appeared from around one of the warehouses. Driving at a steady pace, they approached the warehouse where Slade stood and then slowed to a stop. The side doors of each van quickly opened and several plain clothed men carrying sub-machine guns unloaded from each one. Moving quickly and efficiently, they took up positions around the area, looking ready for a possible fight.

From the middle van General Lane stepped out. Slade opened the door the rest of the way, reached down with his left hand and dragged Webber out into the open.

"Any complications?" Lane asked.

"Not for me. You'll probably want to have the Vice President moved right away though," Slade said.

"The Vice President!?"

"Seems Webber was working to have him killed."

"He told you this?"

"No, but his accomplice did."

"Who?"

Slade gave Lane a hard look. "You're paying for me to bring Webber in and to find out what he was up to. We're square."

"Wilson, I'm warning you-" Lane said.

Slade put his hand on the knife that was strapped to his belt. "Sam, you don't have enough men with you." He let the comment hang in the air.

Lane sneered and stared at Slade. Finally he turned in the direction of a couple of his men and said, "Load him in to the van."

"One more thing you should know, Sam," Slade said. "Webber's strength and speed are way beyond normal. He's a meta."