The Players

The mission was simple: Find Jackknife and stop him from detonating the psionic bomb that would kill everyone in Atlanta. To Nate, that was the easy part. The hard part came when he discovered that the madman was hiding out in the Lakewood Amphitheater. Of course, with Nate’s luck, there was a huge concert there that night. That meant thousands of people. Or, as Nate saw it, thousands of potential victims for Jackknife. Not a good thing.

That was how he found himself backstage, disguised as a stage hand. It hadn’t been difficult. A few mental suggestions to the men in charge, and he had instant access. Now he had to find Jackknife, and fast. Chances were, the guy didn’t know he was there. So the element of surprise was on Nate’s side. For the moment, anyway.

The crowd surged with anticipation. Though the concert wasn’t to start for another half hour, no one really seemed to care. They shouted, shoved, and screamed for their favorite artists. All the big names were supposed to be there, from Redman to Method Man, DMX to Jay-Z, Pras to Wyclef Jean. Aside from that, it was all free. Who could resist? Certainly not the 10,000 present.

She wasn’t anyone famous, just another face in the crowd. To most, she was a stranger. To her friends, she was Gaia. She knew no other name. Not that she needed one. She was tired enough of her friend, Angelo Espinosa, calling her Skittles. Another reason he wasn’t here tonight, along with the fact that he hated crowds. It would’ve been to difficult to focus and keep his skin together, and the last thing they needed was another battle to get stuck in.

So she’d decided to come with Jubilee instead. She glanced at the young Asian girl, only to find that she, too, was caught up in the excitement of the crowd. Jubilee was one of the few people she knew that could truly appreciate the concert. By her side was her closest friend and constant, Everett Thomas. He wasn’t really paying attention, just glancing around randomly. Gaia smiled, wondering if he’d ever been away from her side for more than an hour.

High above, twenty-seven armor-clad figures scanned the crowd. “Find him!” their leader barked, losing what little patience he had, if there was ever any to begin with.

“Yes, sir,” they responded almost robotically, doubling their efforts.

“We’ve got to get closer, boys,” one of them said.

“And risk being spotted?” another asked. “No way!”

“Quiet!” the leader snapped. “I lead this team, and we’re going in. You either go with us or your carcass lands smack dab on that stage, boy. Now, are you a Psi-Op or a dead man?” he demanded, shoving the barrel of a large gun in the second man’s face.

“Psi-Op,” the man said slowly, staring at the barrel.

“Good soldier,” the leader grinned, lowering the gun. “Let’s move, men!” Without hesitation, the rest followed him as he glided lower. The man paused for a second, watching them. Then, swallowing nervously, he dove to catch up with the team.

“Anything yet?” the big man asked, his cape flapping in the wind.

“No, Al,” the young girl said, adjusting the binoculars. “I really don’t know if he’s coming.”

“He’ll be here,” Al assured her. “But you forgot something.”

“What’s that?” she asked, glancing back at him.

He pulled the mask over his charred face. “It’s Spawn when we’re on a mission. Not Al.”

“Sorry,” she said, turning back to the crowd. “I suppose you’re going to call me Darkchylde from now on?”

“It’s fitting,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“I guess you’re right,” she sighed, clapping her hand over his. “I’ll do better next time. Promise.”

“You’re doing fine,” he said. “Just focus. It’ll come to you. Always has, always will.”

“Thanks,” she said, a grim smile on her face.

From her perch in the rafters, Monet St. Croix could see the strange pair very clearly. She didn’t know either of them, but she figured they were there for a good reason. If not, she’d stop them. Just later. She turned her attention back to the stage hand that had been giving off psionic waves for the last ten minutes. Upon closer inspection, she saw through his disguise and smiled. “So we meet again, Nathan,” she murmured.

Nate’s presence there only meant that something bad was definitely going to happen. If nothing else, Monet knew one thing from experience: wherever the X-Man went, trouble followed, and vice versa. Still, it was good to see a familiar face, aside from the small number of teammates she had tagged along with. With its reduced numbers, and Jubilee’s short attention span, Monet was sure that they could use the help.