"As always, the city will approach this development with patience and caution. While we welcome the return of a landmark New York City institution, we do not know much about these individuals and will have to wait and see how things develop. For now, I welcome the New York Knights back to our city and wish them the best."

"That was New York City Mayor Susan Molinari's earlier statement in response to this morning's surprise news that the legendary and controversial New York Knights super team has reformed is back on active duty after mysteriously vanishing from the public eye some twenty three years ago. The Mayor's office added that there are currently no plans to establish a formal link between the NYPD and the Knights, but that discussions are ongoing at One Police Plaza as to how to best respond officially to this monring's annoucement.

In other news..."

"In other news..."

*click*

From his perch in the tenth-floor studio window, the young man clad in crimson and midnight blue tossed the television remote across the apartment to a bouncing landing on his second-hand couch.

"About freakin' time," he grumbled before he donned a full head-covering facemask, the stylized "A" prominent on his forehead. "I need a vacation."

With that as his parting comment, Action Man leapt out of the window and into the warm night air.

"In other news..."

The talking head continued on with her news, which was anything but to the man sitting in his opulent throne-like chair. Very little escaped his watch over the city that never sleeps. How else to ensure one's control never slipped?

But still, there would have to be adjustments made, plans changed, routines altered. While his faith in God's plan was absolute, as was his certainty that his plans and God's were neatly similar, the Lord tended to help those who helped themselves. He had been helping himself to this city for many years now, and it wasn't because he failed to act prudently when the times required.

A press of a button on the phone on his antique desk summoned an acolyte from the outer office. He entered with the proper level of respect for the office and it's occupant, but the man's collar was loose. That would require correcting.

"Yes, your eminence," was the priest's reply to his summons.

"Arrange a conference call with the heads of our Manhattan dioceses. Make it for tomorrow at two. Invite NYPD police chaplain Robert Romano to lunch tomorrow."

The priest, a man who had never quite lived up to his expectations and so missed opportunities for advancement within the church, made some notes on a pad. "Will that be all?"

The insolence... "No," the cardinal-colored robed man behind the desk replied calmly, yet with a voice of cold wrought iron. "When you are finished, you will present yourself to Father Paine for pennance. I grow weary of your lack of proper dress, and address."

At the mention of his enforcer's name the Priest turned white. The pad dropped from his hand as if it had delivered an electric shock.

"B-but your eminence, I-I-I-"

The man behind the desk silenced him with a pound of his fist on the wooden surface in front of him. "You will compound your sin with excuses?!"

The priest's mouth worked silently, his head shaking slowly from side to side as his underworked mind desperately tried to think of something to say. His failure was abrupt and he managed a bow and a hasty retreat.

After the door to his office closed, the man rose from his desk and moved to the large windows overlooking Central Park West. Such things were unfortunate, but necessary. Assuming his visit to Father Paine didn't kill him, he would certainly be the better for it. His collar would surely never be loose again.

The man sighed and considered the complications which might arise from having a new super team in town while watching the sinners, the sheep, the subjects of his realm cavorting in the grass. Such were the weighty thoughts of the Cardinal of Crime.

"What do you got this time, Sal?"

The woman in the trenchcoat with a wide-brimmed fedora covering her long wavy locks of golden hair jerked her thumb towards the alley behind her. As she did so, the coat opened and the questioning detective was treated to a glimpse of her ample curves in a one-piece gold and brown bodysuit.

"Drug buy," she replied. "The dealer is Yegev Tamulevitch. He's middle management for a Russian mob outfit in Bay Ridge. The buyers are three members of the 219 Posse."

The detective made some notes and asked, "And your involvement?"

"I walked in on the deal. It was self defense - they shot first."

The detective looked around her at the five unconscious bodies in various heaps scattered near the entrance of the alleyway. Judgin gby the way they lay, at least two were primed for a lengthy hospital stay.

"Uh-huh...will you sign a statement to that effect."

"You know I will."

"Mmm-hmm...okay." He put his note pad away in his pocket. "So what do you think about the Knights?"

"The who?"

"The New York Knights. Geez, Sally, you live in a cave? It's been all over the news all day. They've reformed or something, gonna be active again."

"I sleep days," she replied, walking past him to get into her pale yellow Mustang. "When they get around to doing something worthwhile, you let me know."

Her car door closed and she sped off into the night.

"Girl you better slow that Mustang down," the detective humored to himself.

The damp, dark place could have been anywhere within the vast, uncharted underground network of tunnels beneath New York. The blood-curdling screams of pure agony could only come from a human being in the throes of ultimate torment.

When the light from the energized contact had gone out, the power to the probe placed against the inside of the man's thigh cut, the screams continued for almost a full minute before simmering down to a choking, sobbing, jerky whimper.

"Interesting..."

The man in the room not screaming, with the control to the probe in front of him, made careful annotations from his observation of the subject. When he finished, he looked up at the subject strapped to the metal exam table in front of him.

"I think we'll try one of the phrenic nerves next. Tell me, do you have any history of respiratory illness?"

Before the weeping, broken man could respond, a knock came from the rusted steel door. It opened and a man dressed for the outside came in with what appeared to be an oversized camera. He brought it to the doctor.

"Ah, Michael. Any problems at the Pier?"

"No, doctor. It worked fine, just like you said." Micheal looked squeamishly at what was left on the exam table. It had lost control of it's bladder at some point, but it didn't seem to trouble the doctor.

"Thank you. Here you are." The doctor handed over an envelope of money and Micheal wasted no time in making his exit.

"Now...let's see what we shall see..." The man in the white smock plugged a USB cable into the camera and it interfaced with his computer. A download of data took place, followed by a display of multi-leveled imagery from the bioscanner. Doctor Goodnight noted with rising levels of joy that Michael had done his work well, capturing detailed medical, biological, and most importantly to his work, metabiological scans of the entire team.

"Oh, my..." He expanded one of the images and took a closer look, a wide, feral grin spreading over his face.

"Now this is very, very interesting..."