Apollo III was vacuuming the house. It wasn’t the greatest job in the world, but it was something which he was programmed to do. It’s not that he minded much, after all his mental skills were along that of a six month old infant. After he was done Apollo III shakily walked into Dr. Edwards room.

When Apollo III entered Dr. Edwards room, he noticed that the good doctor was laying on his stomach on his bed. Doctor Samuel Edwards had always been a smart man, even at a young age. His physical abilities might never have developed but that didn’t bother Samuel Edwards. He graduated top of his class and went on to Princeton where he studied computer programming and biology. A few years later he would end up graduating and going to get his pH. D. from Harvard, which he got.

The robot had been standing there for five minutes before Dr. Edwards rolled over and saw his machine standing there.

“Ah! How long have you been here?” He asked. The machine only stood there, for it had no concept of time, it had not been programmed in.

Edwards rolled over, and pulled his glasses on.

“Apollo III, come here.” Stiffly it walked over to him. He sat the machine down and pulled out his small laptop computer. Skillfully, Dr. Edwards opened the Apollo III’s chest and hooked in his modem.

He started reviewing the program and rewriting it in some places. A grin formed on his face, this is what he loved to do.

Jeffrey Stevenson was on his way home when two thugs leapt out from an alley.

“Give us your money,” one of the said, pulling out a small pistol and pointing at it Jeffrey. The other one, about four inches taller, just stood there and tried to look menacing, which he did quite badly. Jeffrey looked from one of his aggressors to other, trying to judge them.

In one quick fluid motion, Jeffrey spin kicked the gun out of one of the thug’s hands. He then punched the taller one in the face. The tall one fell to his knees, holding his bleeding nose.

Jeffrey dropped to the ground, and with a sweep of his leg, brought the short villain to his knees. He then leapt to his feet and sucker-punched the mugger in the face.

With lightening speed he brought his foot up and kicked the taller one of the face with his boot. The tall man fell onto his back, hitting his head on the pavement.

He stood up and brushed himself off and headed home.

Ultraman flew along the New York skyline. This was one of his favorite past times. It both relaxed him and got him tons of recognition. He even wore his usual clothes while flying, so that everyone who saw him would recognize him on the street. He thought it odd how most super-heroes hid behind masks. He felt that it was great that people knew you were the guy who saved them from that asteroid which was going to destroy the Earth.

He landed on the ground and walked over to a small hot dog vendor. The vendor, was a small man with black hair and a three or four day old stubble. A toothpick rested on the corners of his mouth.

“All that flying around makes me hungry,” he said to the vendor. He always tried to make his voice deep and to stick his chest out so that it appeared more barrel like. “I’d like a dog, please.” He pulled his wallet out of his Jean pocket, and opened it. “How much?”

“One fifty,” the guy replied in his quick New York accent. Ultraman pulled out two dollars and handed it to the vendor who gave Ultraman his hot dog and his change.

“Yes, a good hot dog is what I need after I fly around the city a few times, looking for villains.” Ultraman flashed his regular cheesy grin, which was jokingly referred to as the “ultragrin” behind his back. The vendor looked unimpressed.

Ultraman ate his hot dog. “Mmmmm. This hot dog is just what I need before I fight crime.” Still, the vendor didn’t look impressed.” “As a super-hero,” he added. The vendor shifted the tooth pick he had in his mouth.

“Yes, well...” Ultraman started looking for a good excuse to run away from embarrassment. “What? A little girl’s cry for help!” He lied. “I best attend to it!” With that he flew off.

Roger Clark was sitting at a red light in his ‘94 Nissan, when he lit up his cigarette. He took another swig off of his beer bottle. They called him Speed, because he had the ability to move at incredible speeds.

Now, the only thing he was moving at incredible speed was cheap alcohol through his system. He took another swig and threw the now empty bottle out of the window. He opened the car door and stepped out. He hated using the car when he was drunk, he prefed to run.

Only, when Roger Clark ran, sound barriers broke. It was his curse and his blessing. He was born a mutant, gifted with the ability to move at uncanny speeds.

He started running, windows on cars and on buildings suddenly crack, fracture, and then bust. Just as suddenly as he had begun running, he ceased. He fell over on the ground moaning and holding his head in pain.

“That’s one of the problems,” he always said, “of having super-speed. You work through you liquor a whole lot quicker.” He’d always joke. Whenever someone asked what another one of the problems was he’d always manage to change the subject with a joke and a smile. It almost seemed like he has hiding something.

Adam Woods had always had trouble stopping himself. When he was younger he was constantly in trouble with the police for shoplifting. When he was in school, he would often pick pockets and steal people’s things. If not for his outstanding academic career and his parents’ deep pockets he would have been kicked out of school.

In college he majored in engineering where aced all of his courses. However, he still occasionally got in trouble with the law for shoplifting. It was about this time he wrote three or four papers which impressed everyone who read them and he made two inventions which would change his life forever.

The first one was an exoskeleton for a human. It was gigantic and clunky, but it was still usable. It would allow humans to work with heavy objects without strain or chance of injury. Afterward, Woods would make the suit only slightly bigger than human, so that it fit made him only a few inches taller and wider. He would also added small booster jets and energy beams for punching through walls.

The second was a artificially intelligent machine. He named it Apollo after his favorite space missions. All the machine could do was play chess, but it proved Woods’ genius to the world. Later on, Woods would improve and update Apollo, renaming him Apollo II. He allowed Apollo to do small house duties and built Apollo a body. Not that Apollo II looked even remotely human. No, his legs and arms were rectangles. While he had smaller fingers and toes, they too were rectangles.

It wasn’t until Adam Woods was admitted onto the government funded team Champions that Adam Woods’ inventions made leaps and bounds forward. It all happened when Adam Woods met Dr. Samuel Edwards.

Using Dr. Edwards’ knowledge of biology and computer programming he managed to increase both of his inventions. Apollo was updated and renamed Apollo III. His body appeared completely human except for its hard metallic ‘skin.’ It also possessed fingers capable of fine motor control.

His own armor, as he had taken to calling it, was helped with inner circuitry and even installing a computer to handle more of the navigation work. Eventually, the two of them even installed weapons, armor, and weapon controls into the suit, thus enabling to work better in a fight.

He now sat around all day making more and more improvements on his suit. It was what he loved to do.

Samantha has problems feeling. Not the kind of problems that involve emotion mind you. Actually, she was quite emotional. But, she was super strong and impervious to harm. You could fire a gun into her stomach and the bullet would bounce off. She could also lift cars one handed if she wanted to.

When Samantha was young and had her first boyfriend, they would go on dates all the time. They were young and flirtatious, meaning that they were very physical together. Then one day as they were kissing, Samantha lost all of feeling in her body. She was completely numb. She broke off the kiss with her boyfriend. For a moment she couldn’t understand what was going on. She was so confused and numb that she didn’t notice that her boyfriend was kissing her again.

She pushed him off of her and he flew across the car. Ever since that night, Samantha has rarely felt anything. Once she was picked up and thrown through a window. She felt the tiny shards of the glass as they cut her and the sidewalk when she landed on it. But otherwise, nothing.

She was seeking a cure for this when she came across a government agent, Special Agent Watson, who told her about a new government funded team, the Champions. He promised that they would find a cure for her, but in the meantime she would have to serve on the team.

She readily agreed.

Roger Clark was running around his bed at about fifty miles per hour when Special Agent Watson entered his home. As soon as the door had been knocked down, Roger hurried to his couch, and tried to look as if he had been siting on it the whole time.

However, Special Agent Watson came in early enough to see Clark a blur that seemed to be ho running around the couch. He drew out his gun and pointed it at Clark. Clark immediately raised his hands and surrendered.

That was how the man who become known as Speed got his start fighting crime. He was later sent to the government funded super-team known as the Champions.

Ultraman smelled the flames from the fire when he was about a mile or so away. Quickly zeroing in on his target, he flew to site of the conflagration and got there quickly.

The smoke from the fire irritate his eyes, he was forced to squint. He got his bearings and searched around, looking for anyone who could use his help. A small feminine figure, waving her arms, finally caught his eyes. He flew over to her window and she leapt into his arms.

He gently swooped down and placed the young woman on the ground. She lay there coughing for a moment, while Ultraman simply stood there with his hands on his hips.

“My baby,” she gasped. “You’ve got to save my baby.”

“Yes, ma’am.” With that he flew back into the inferno. He stayed low to the ground, seeing through the smoke only bits and pieces of what was around him. Then the he heard the baby crying. He quickly located the crib, which he took outside.

Once outside, Ultraman gently hands the crib to the mother.

“I said I wanted my baby, not her crib, you idiot!” Ultraman frowned for a moment, before flying back into the flames.

He heard the crying, this time more loudly. He located and managed to pick up the baby. On his way out a quick blur of body and fur dashed at him. Then before he knew it, a cat had latched onto his face.

He got outside and handed the baby to her mother.

“Here you go, and ma’am, I found your cat.” The mother grabbed the cat and quickly yanked it off, scratching Ultraman. The woman looked at the cat, then threw it over her shoulder.

“That’s not my cat.” She said in her soft motherly voice.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Ultraman asked.

“That’s the neighbor’s cat. I hate that fuckin’ cat, I wish you’d let it burn in that infero.” Her voice never altered from it’s sweet and sugary feel.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“You didn’t save my cat did you?” The woman asked, crossing her arms in front of her.

“I didn’t know you had a cat, ma’am.” At this the woman only raised her arm and pointed back at the house. Ultraman sighed and returned into the burning house.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty. Here kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty.” He said. The familiar screech and another flash of fur, and Ultraman had another cat riding his face.

He flew the cat out to safety. The woman again ripped the cat off.

“Where’s Jerome? You didn’t bring Jerome?” The woman asked impaitently.

“Who’s Jerome?”

“My daughter’s pet hamster.”

“A hamster?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with a hamster?”

“Nothing, it’s just a little furry rat, is all.”

“Shut up and save my hamster!”

Ultraman turned to face the building only to see it fall to cinder and ash.

“Shit,” he whispered under his breath.

Jeffrey was on his lawn when he saw that a note had been attached to his door. He quickly ran up his stairs and pounched upon the note. As he read it his heart sadden, for it read:

“We know what you are. Leave, or face the consequences.”

It was unfortunatly something that he had heard all of his life. He was half-Korean, but he’d been raised by his American mother. People often had a tough time dealing with people that looked different from them.

He crumpled the note and droped it to the ground. When it landed Jeffrey stomped on it. He wouldn’t let it bother him. It was just some dumb rednecks who were too cowardly to face him.

He was still reassuring himself of this a few hours later when he was in his room, laying on the bed trying to go to sleep. He had started to believe himself and was dozing off when the sound of glass being shattered came to his ears. He tossed off the covers to see three big bellied men with twelve-gauge shotguns, all pointed at his head.

“We told you to leave,” one of them said.

“Look, why are you doing this? What is so wrong about being...” Jeffry started.

One of them cocked his shotgun and brought the barrel closer to my face.

We don’t need to hear any of them words. We know what you are.”

“And what am I? What am I that deserves this?” Jeffrey asked.

“You know what you are, prevert.” The first man said.

“Pervert?”

"Yeah, you’re a prevert!” Another of them yelled.

“But what...?” Jeffrey started. But then the butt of the closest man to him hit him in the head, knocking him unconcious. While he was fading out, he heard the distinct word which had also plagued him his whole life:

“Faggot.”

Jeffrey awakened in a government hospital. A man stood over him smilingly.

“Hello, Mr. Stevenson. How are you doing?” He asked, raising his hand to be shook. Jeffrey accepted it and shook it gently. Jeffrey’s head was still ringing and it was hard for him to make out everything that the man who claimed to be Special Agent Watson.

“We’ll help protect you from those out there who would wish to do you harm. We’ll help train you and keep you in tip-top fighting condition. We can also introduce you to your father,” Special Agent Watson offered.

“My father?”

“Yes, he was an operative of ours. He’s been away since your birth, but we can arrange a meeting between the two of you."

And with that, Jeffrey Stevenson joined the Champions.

It was dark when Ultraman had recieved the call, but he answered it anyway. Finding out he was a fan, he quickly hurried to meet the caller. Ultraman had been flying above the street when he saw the limousine that held Special Agent Watson in it. The agent got out and called Ultraman.

“On the phone you said you’d heard of me?” Ultraman asked.

“That I have. You even made it into the papers, this morning.” he said.

“I did?” Ultraman asked again.

“Yes, you did,” he answered. He picked up the paper that was seated next to him. “Why don’t you get in and read all about it?” Special Agent Watson scooted over, giving Ultraman room to get it. Which he did.

The paper said that there had been a bad fire at the Police Commissioner’s house. According to it, the fire department came in time to douse the flames before too much damage was done. Also, a super-zero barely managed to save the commissioner’s wife and child, when he then refused to go back and save her daughter’s favorite pet, Jeremy.

“They got i all wrong,” Ultraman said. “For one thing, the hamster’s name was Jerome not Jeremy.”

“Glad to see you have an eye for detail.”

“Who are you again?” Ultraman asked.

“A man with a job offer. Do you want to become a full time hero?”

“I am a full time hero.”

“Fair enough. Would you like to become a government funded full time hero?”

“Sounds good. What would I be doing?”

“You’d be heading up a team called the Champions. Sort of a sibling to the Avenger’s team.”

“So, I’d be like Captain America?”

“In a sense, yes.”

“Cool.”

David Masters could control gravity. It wasn’t a power he used often or regularly. Only when he saw a girl he liked, would he try to impress her. And if he couldn’t do that he could still pick up her dress and see her underwear.

He worked at a small university, making horrible wages. He was a Dorm Advisor, who would usually join the late night parties instead of bust them up. He was having the time of his life.

Then Special Agent Watson came. He offered a better job. A chance to be famous. A chance to really score with the chicks. All he had to do was occasionally save the world.

It was an offer he couldn’t refuse.

“Look, team, we’ve just received orders that a small band of terrorists have taken control of a small island in the Florida Keys.”

“How many people does a ‘small’ band of terrorists include?” Gravity asked.

“About sixty to a hundred men.” Watson responded.

“Sixty to a hundred? Jesus Christ, you must be out of your mind! Why don’t you get the Avengers to do it?” Gravity whined.

“The Avengers are currently occupied. Not even they can be everywhere at once. We are the next best option. All of you are due to leave the hanger in fifteen minutes,” He said looking at his watch. “So, hop to it,” he added.

The team jumped and ran their separate directions. Each one getting ready for their first mission.