It was hot and musty in the Courage Crew's underground base. It was always hot and musty, as heat from the abandoned warehouse above them crept down into the basement. The room was little more than bunks, a fridge and freezer combo, and a rack for spare equipment. In the center was a large table with folding chairs, and the Courage Crew, Fergus, and Roger discussing their next move.

“We’re going to what?” Battle Lad balked.

“We’re going to take the fight to Exigent Circumstances, to get my stuff back-” Fergus said.

“And to rescue the city from Exigent control,” Battle Lad chided.

“Sure, that too,” Fergus said, waving off Battle Lad’s comment, “But in order to do that, we need a bigger team.”

“And that’s where you come in!” Roger cheered.

“Exactly,” Fergus said.

“Hold on a moment,” Night Walker said, “What exactly are you suggesting?”

Fergus opened the trench coat that held his many communicators.

“That we team up,” Fergus explained, “I’ve met a lot of small teams, and my plan is to attack the villains they're fighting in a blitzkrieg offense, add them to our ranks, and then attack Exigent Circumstances bases till we find my stuff."

"Do we actually know where they're holding your equipment?" Battle Lad asked.

"Do we need to?" Roger countered.

"Yes?" Sword Princess hoped. "I'm supposed to have homework done by next Monday, and I really don't want to stay up all night fighting."

"Also," Night Walker said, "If we ran around attacking Exigent Circumstances at random, we'd die."

"It's not random," Fergus grumbled, "I have a plan."

"Can we see it?" Power Jack asked.

"Of course," Fergus said, rolling a map out over the table, and pointing towards the path he had drawn on it. The map had marked every Exigent Circumstances base and stronghold Fergus could find, and Fergus had drawn a line from the Courage Crew base that passed through every E.C. site.

"Not a bad idea," Roger remarked.

"That's your plan?" Battle Lad shouted, "Pick a fight with every E.C. until we find your equipment?"

"Yep," Fergus said.

"What are we going to do after?" Sword Princess asked.

"My plan was to continue to fight until I win," Fergus explained.

"What are you going to do once they start using indirect fire?" Night Walker asked.

"Or air superiority," Power Jack added.

“Or sniper nests,” Battle Lad said.

“Or armored cars,” Sword Princess said with a shiver.

“Or hostages,” Roger said.

“Hey!” Fergus said, turning on Roger. The rogue merely shrugged.

“And you!” Fergus said, bearing down on Power Jack, “You have a flying machine! Use it to fight theirs!”

“I have a helicopter,” Battle Jack said, “The singular. I can’t fight off E.C. jets and attack choppers.”

“Interesting,” Fergus said, “Because I can probably fight off all the infantry they send my way.”

“I mean, I’d be there to help,” Roger said, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Thanks,” Fergus said, “Anyway, the plan is a blitzkrieg attack on E.C. strongholds. People who know the lay of the land can be in charge of escape routes in case things take a turn for the worst. Roger and I will take point in attacks.”

“How come you suddenly get to lead us?” Battle Lad asked.

“I have more combat experience than all of you combined, except Roger,” Fergus explained, “And it’s my stuff we’re fighting for. Now, who’s with me!”

Fergus and Roger walked down the road, the sun setting on their backs.

“I can’t believe they just kicked out like that!” Roger shouted, “The nerve!”

They had been complaining about that for quite some time.

“Battle Lad?” Fergus scoffed, “More like- Bad Ol’ Lad!”

“You already said that one,” Roger said.

“Oh,” Fergus rubbing his jaw in thought, “More like- more like- buh, bah, buh- whatever.”

“I say good riddance to them,” Roger said.

“Bunch a spineless good for nothings,” Fergus grumbled, “You know, whenever other people have some sort of personal investment in whatever we’re fighting, they demand a piece of the action.”

“Which is a nuisance,” Roger said.

“Which is a nuisance,” Fergus agreed, “But whenever we have a personal investment, suddenly it’s too much effort.”

“Like we’re too much effort,” Roger said, “Oh, no, don’t bother helping the greatest heroes in the realm. They’re just trying to save the realm! No need to lend them a helping hand!”

“It’s insulting,” Fergus said.

“It’s insulting,” Roger agreed, “Anyway, you said you had other friends you could message? Other teams?”

“I do,” Fergus said.

“But you’re thinking it won’t be worth it,” Roger guessed.

“I’m thinking it won’t be worth it,” Fergus agreed, "If all we find is more people who aren't willing to fight, I don't want to give our enemies time to prepare.”

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“That sounds a lot like how we thought, before,” Roger said, his voice trailing off. Before was a strange jumble of conflicting emotion, ideas, experiences and desires.

“Before,” Fergus agreed, waving his hand dismissively, “All this.”

“But don’t you think we should try anyway?” Roger asked.

“Why bother?” Fergus asked.

“Because-” Roger started, “Because we’re not going to be here forever. Because some of them might say yes. Because if we don’t even bother, what did we really learn after Before? Because if we don’t bother with this, why bother with anything?”

Fergus fell into a pensive silence, quietly weighing his options. He tried hard, he really did, to fight Roger’s reasoning. To return to the simple existence, and self reliance, of the fighter, but he just couldn’t. The more Fergus rolled Roger’s words around in his head, the more Fergus realized that it wasn’t just that he cared.

Fergus wanted to care.

“Alright,” Fergus said, pulling out a communicator, “Let’s bother.”

Cybersaur was in need of two things: power and components. Cybersaur was always in need of power, his metallic body, a rampaging beast of rending claws, snapping teeth, and laser guns was a hungry thing. Cybersaur was always in need of components, as powerful as his body was, he had not yet achieved the perfected form of battle that he so dreamed of. In the hopes of gaining power and components, Cybersaur had set his sights on a warehouse owned by Vitra Development, one of the forerunners in weapons technology and energy solutions.

Arnold McNaw was the head of security for this particular facility, former U.S. marine turned engineer turned P.M.C. personnel. He had run into Fergus a few days ago, when the vagabond hero was looking for something to do. Arnold recognized talent when he saw it, even if that talent was hungry, tired, and generally unwashed, and gave Fergus a burner cellphone incase he wanted consistent work. The idea of contracts didn’t sit well with Fergus, who grumbled something about warlocks, devils, and nobility but took the phone anyway. Arnold hadn’t seen the Combatant since, and largely assumed the hero had died.

As Arnold was preparing the facility’s defenses, directing men to battle stations, and calling for reinforcements, he heard his phone ring.

“Combatant?” Arnold said, his voice a strained yell, “Not a good time!”

“What’s going on?” Fergus asked.

“Cybersaur is approaching the base,” Arnold barked, “If you want to make some quick cash, you could lend a hand!”

“Be there soon,” Fergus said, moving into a sprint, “Oh, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“Can it wait?” Arnold yelled.

“I guess so,” Fergus said, waving Roger to follow, “Try to not die.”

Fifteen minutes passed, Cybersaur probing defenses as gunfire and laser beams lit up the night. News helicopters covered the fight from overhead, giving the fight a wide berth as the police worked to evacuate the area of civilians and set up a defensive perimeter. Everyone watching the battle knew that Exigent Circumstances could arrive in a blaze of glory to swing the fight, but that they weren’t going to. It had become clear to everyone that the only thing Exigent Circumstances cared about was killing vigilantes.

“Sir, you can’t-” a police officer said as Fergus barrled past him at a dead sprint.

“By the way, Roger,” Fergus said, “I know we don’t normally do this, but I have a favor to ask.”

“What’s the favor?” Roger asked.

“I need one of your spares,” Fergus explained, “I’m lacking proper weapons right now, and I promise I’ll give it back.”

"Oh, sure," Roger said, tossing a knife for Fergus to catch.

"You're sure?" Fergus asked, effortlessly catching the knife as it spun through the air, "This isn't something we normally do. Lending each other gear, I mean."

"Well, right now we're doing a lot of things we don't normally do," Roger explained, "And you do need a weapon. How's the balance on the messer?"

"Perfect, just like all our weapons," Fergus answered, "Though it doesn't fit my hand quite right."

"Well it was made for my hands," Roger said, "Oh, is that the target?"

Cybersaur turned his colossal head as Fergus and Roger charged the huge, metallic beast. The supervillain wasn't sure what to make of the pair, and readied a target lock on the adventurers. Cybersaur's great maw opened, the cannon hidden inside glowing with deadly red light as the air took on a burning smell.

Eye witness reports would swear that a volley from McNaw and the P.M.C. soldiers knocked Cybersaur off balance, causing the laser cannon to misfire, and in all fairness a volley from McNaw did knock Cybersaur off balance. Less than a second before McNaw's attack, Roger hurled his knife toward Cybersaur. The knife embedded itself on the focusing lens on the laser cannon, slicing through the sensitive electronics behind it. It even took Cybersaur a moment to realize what had happened, so subtle was Roger’s throw.

Not that Cybersaur had seconds to spare. By the time he had rebalanced his hydraulic legs, Fergus had reached him. Cybersaur lashed out with snapping jaws, only for Fergus to drive his knife into Cybersaur's head. As the magical metal plunged into Cybersaur's hardened shell, the huge supervillain reared back, lifting Fergus into the air. Fergus was quick to straddle Cybersaur, using one hand for balance as his messer tore into the robotic dinosaur.

What happened next would have been called brutal and gruesome, if Cybersaur was made of flesh and blood. Fergus hacked and tore and gouged Cybersaur, oil, coolant, and hydraulic fluid pouring from wound after wound. Weapon and targeting systems failed under Fergus' violent assault.

The supervillain's mechanical body had reached critical systems failure multiple times, and it was a stroke of luck that Cybersaur was able to report his destruction to the hidden production facility, ensuring he would return, stronger and tougher than ever.

Fergus and Roger jogged down towards McNaw, the adventurers giving the soldiers a few friendly waves.

"Combatant, did you manifest again?" McNaw asked, his voice crackling through the intercom at the gate.

“I had a good night’s sleep,” Fergus said, “Felt very refreshed afterward. Oh, my friend here also lent me a weapon."

“Let me guess,” McNaw said, “His name’s Aggressor or something?”

“Actually, it’s Cloak and Dagger,” Roger said.

“Oh, that’s actually pretty good,” McNaw said, “Sorry, it’s just that Combatant didn’t really strike me as the creative type.”

“Anyway, we’re looking for people to help in the fight against Exigent Circumstances,” Fergus explained, “I want to get my stuff back. You in?”

Fergus and Roger strode down the road, grumbling to each other.

“I can’t believe they just turned you down like that!” Roger shouted, “The nerve!”

“Well, I suppose it was worth a shot," Fergus grumbled.

"I thought that after Before, people would like us a lot more," Roger said.

"It will just take awhile," Fergus said, "Probably as long as it took for us to become as powerful as we are."

"Well that's never going to work," Roger said, "We'll just get even more powerful, and then it will take even longer."

"Sirs!" A shout came from behind them. "Sirs!"

Fergus turned to look, one hand reaching for his knife. It was a burly man, dressed in tactical gear and carrying a rifle, chasing after them.

“You got a name?” Fergus called.

“Diego, sir,” Diego answered.

“And just why are you following us?” Roger demanded.

“I want help,” Diego said.

“What?” Roger said.

“Help?” Fergus asked.

“Now listen here, we only take the best-” Roger said, Fergus slapping a hand over his mouth.

“You,” Fergus said, “Want to help.”

“Yes sir,” Diego said, “I want to help you fight Exigent Circumstances.”

“Why,” Fergus said.

“Why?” Roger demanded.

“Exigent Circumstances let supervillains kill my parents,” Diego said, “Let them destroy my home, my community, let them murder my neighbors, the whole community I grew up in!”

Roger and Fergus had heard all this before, more than once, more than they cared to remember. They had heard it from peasants, princes, and everything in between. Someone had killed someone’s dad, or brother, or mother, or sister, or friend, or whatever, sometimes even a pet, and now the survivor wanted revenge.

But this was still the first time either of them had really paid attention. Fergus noticed the shake in Diego’s hands as he was pulled back into the memory, Roger seeing his bloodshot eyes and listless stance.

“If you come with us,” Fergus said, “You probably won’t survive.”

“I know,” Diego said.

“It probably won’t even work,” Roger added, “We might not even win.”

“Someone has to do something,” Diego said.

“Well then,” Fergus said, putting a hand on Diego’s shoulder, “Let’s go do something.”