To the world he was known as "the Revenant", a hero of few words, manifesting as a simple shadow, featureless. Like many heroes he had a sanitized origin leaked to the public; in his case the story told of a private detective investigating the mob, buried alive who then tore free of his own grave to bring justice to the criminals that killed him. In truth he'd been one of the criminals, left for dead after being caught snitching to the cops. Powers kicking in as he started to suffocate in his shallow grave, he found himself able to pass through solid objects, fly and disintegrate with a touch. In a fugue state he murdered the mobsters, convinced he was nothing more than a ghost, unable to ascend heaven without finishing his business here on Earth.

He was nearly starved by the time they caught up with him, nearly feral and impossible to reason with. Ampere, now his colleague, knew on sight that he was a phaser. How do you deal with a phaser? You can't touch them. A suitably powerful field manipulator (an Altered person whose powers sprang from an energy pattern emanating out from them) could hit a phased individual, even kill them, but that wasn't the way to go here. That's why Amp was the one to make the apprehension; you shock a phaser. It makes them solid.

These new killings were rolled into his existing deal and he finished testifying against his former boss before disappearing. Who was he before? Doesn't matter. The boss knew who iced his boys, knew the rat that sold him up the river was supposed to be dead a week when they were killed. Didn't take a rocket scientist. Who was he now? Only the government knew; them and the corporation that kept his secrets and signed his paychecks. Yeah, Sal, as he called himself now, had an unusual kind of Witness Protection as his powers made him of unique use to his government and the Zorman Corporation. Today they had a real doozy of an assignment, straight from the big brain they had advising the New York Nine.

Walking the hall from his quarters after starting his shift he heard a voice. "Rev. Good. I've been looking for you." It was Simon, AKA Simple Simon, whose ironic name had been feared some decades back as he tried to end the Solar Scion. The Scion, somehow, had convinced him to go legit and now his technology, insight and intelligence made him the most valuable member of the Nine; even though he'd never be officially recognized as being on the roster. "Need you to make contact with a Heavy Omni." Heavy Omni (omnipotent) was code for an Altered with greater ability in all normal human areas physically and with additional powers. Usually this meant someone like the Solar Scion; faster, stronger, flight and maybe energy projection. "He ... made quite a show of butchering a Kaiju on the Turnpike this morning. Did you by chance see the news break?"

"What? No. How did he even get the chance to see a Kaiju? I thought we always intercepted those big freaks before anybody else could even detect 'em."

"Yes, well, there were multiple fires being put out at the time, this one came from an underground bear den just off the Jersey Turnpike and the National Guard was on the scene in under ten minutes. It's unclear how they found out first but, even if our sensors were tripped before the government found out, every active member of the Nine was in action. Scion, unwisely, by himself took on a supervillain team whose leader, Messiah, had a brainwashing voice, microwave palms and some bruiser credentials."

"Jesus!"

"Yes. That's right. He thinks he's Jesus. Or, rather, that Jesus was fake and he, instead, is the real deal."

"Wha ... huh!?"

"It is a little ... wacky, I guess? But he had a heavy, like a dragon-man or some such, a regenerator out of a Cronenberg movie and two dozen normals brainwashed utterly."

"Is he okay? Any casualties?"

Simon chuckled as he swiped his finger up and down the strange, transparent display in his hands. In 1989 your average computer monitor was over a foot deep and Simon was reading on what looked like a window pane. "He most certainly is not. The pigheaded lout had to be bailed out by Ampere. Their heavy pitched one of the normals at him, he caught the normal, the regenerator clamped down on Scion's leg with a claw then the other two piled on.”

Eyes big, Revenant covered his mouth. “How bad is he? Did they do any real damage?”

“Yes and no.” Simon shook his head. “Heavy had a venomous bite and, between the three of them, they had him down for like two minutes straight pummeling. He’s bruised and embarrassed and trying to hydrate since the venom was a diuretic. Meanwhile Amp's battlesuit is completely drained even though Amp is her own power source. Let's see ... Messiah took like two punches, so he’s actually not much of a solo threat per se, but then the Leper and Nephilim, the regenerator and the heavy, got on top of the suit and, between them, started to peel Ampere."

"Shiiit..."

"So, full panic mode, since, no suit, she’s just a humanoid electric eel about to be chopped up by a sashimi chef, Ampere ionized the entire surface of the suit and didn't stop discharging into them until both the suit and wearer were completely drained. Both her targets are hospitalized and comatose right now."

“Still, she’s just a kid and she bails out the big guy? Talk about raising your stock.”

“Uh … yeah, let’s say that. But, Rev, I know the Scion better than you … don’t talk about any of this within earshot of him, okay?”

“You sure? Maybe I just want to check on him.”

“No, and nothing; not why he’s sidelined for now and not the Heavy Omni I’m sending you to find.”

This perplexed the Revenant. “But … he’s our field leader. Shouldn’t he know about anybody we bring in?”

Simon peered over his glasses, impatience showing on his face. “It’s just first contact, Rev. We don’t know if we need to recruit this guy, keep tabs on him or lock him up. Plus, our fearsome leader is both very pissy and a Heavy Omni himself.”

“And … that’s a problem.” Rev pursed his lips, staring intently at Simon.

“Just get the guy, nice and quiet, bring him here so we can ask him some questions. People like you, Rev. I have faith that you can do this.”

Uneasy as he felt, Revenant complied. His body turned translucent as he fell out of phase and began to fly, first down through the floor then through the lobby and out the door, a few members of their normal human security force scarcely looking up to see him leave.

“I’ve fed the data for his energy pattern into your tracker. Just follow the trail it makes for you. We already know he’s within five miles.”

“Oh, he came closer. That’s useful.” This was, apparently, going to be very quick as the ping in his ear and directional indicator on his wrist ceased and a rough map display appeared on the fabric of Rev’s wrist, complete with a destination icon. “Oh, I’ve got him … he’s in the Battery.”

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“Odd.” Simon sounded concerned. “I assumed he’d gone to whatever base he had. Apartment, maybe? What’s he doing? Smelling the flowers? Skipping stones?”

“Hold on. Should have a visual in … now…” From his view, up in the air, the man he saw looked scarcely human. Caked in filth, dressed in tatters, he looked up at a statue and seemed to hold a conversation. “He’s … homeless!?”

“Okay, that tracks. Make your approach, Rev.”

“But, fuck, Simon, what do I say? He’s talking to a fuckin’ statue right now!”

“Try smalltalk first, then tell him who you are and what we need from him.”

“I think he’s covered in shit. I mean a lot of shit, Simon! Some of it’s blood but … what have you got me doing, man?”

“Offer him a shower. Offer him a sandwich. Something! We can’t just ignore him, Rev. If someone has to take him down later because we ignored him … that’s the kind of fight that can level city blocks.”

“Fuck” moaned Revenant, drawing the word out, thinly, quietly, through his teeth. “Fine. I’ll keep you posted. Over and out.” It was as polite as he could make cutting the conversation off entirely but he had no desire to hear Simon’s weasely voice any longer. Descending, Rev was careful to make no noise at all. Even phased he wasn’t untouchable by someone with so strong an energy pattern; just slippery and mostly shielded.

“I don’t know, John. The Monitor seems strong but I’ve seen the Merrimac. Once they put her to water, I’m not sure these armaments can penetrate that iron.” the homeless man was entirely detached from his surroundings. The statue he spoke to, of John Ericsson, certainly wasn’t talking back. Up close he was an absolute beast; maybe six-and-a-half feet tall, three feet wide and all man, as the saying goes. The thought of tangling with him was terrifying and, Revenant realized, he could definitely fly. At that very moment he hovered inches above the ground, not even at rest even when he thinks he’s completely alone.

“Hey there, buddy, can I bend your ear for a second?”

No reaction, not a flinch. “Come on, man, I didn’t fly up to New York to hear about explosive shells. Some of the shrapnel got in my eye but, otherwise, not a scratch.” He chuckled unsettlingly.

“Eh, sir? You with me? Hello!?” Revenant floated up and between the homeless man and his subject. Finally looking at him, line of sight blocked between himself and the statue, he saw Revenant. “Hey. Eye contact. That’s an improvement.”

“Who are you, good sir?” his accent was funny. Not foreign but wrong. Off. He was like a character from a period piece. Can you not see that I’m speaking to the inventor of the Ironclad, John Ericsson, on a matter of great import?”

“Huh? Uh. No. No, I cannot see that. It’s a statue, buddy.” Revenant made the connection as he turned and saw the plaque on the statue. Just because he knew who the statue was of though didn’t mean he knew what was going on. “Listen, you and me gotta have a little chat. See, you really made a mess on the Turnpike. Capiche?”

“'Capiche?' Ugh … an Italian.” The homeless man curled his lip.

“The fuck you say to me? Yeah, I’m Italian. I … hold on. Wait a second.” Revenant glanced back at the statue, then at the clueless, filthy hobo and finally something clicked. Just a little something. “Say, champ, what year you think this is?”

“Is this some sort of wop game I’m not familiar with? I’m here on business from the President, sir. Be on your way!” The big beast was definitely not all there as he chose to look past Revenant and back to the statue.

“It’s 1989, bud. July 18, 1989 to be exact. On the news today we got Becky Schaeffer gettin’ shot, Angels pitcher shot his own self and some bruiser turned a giant monster into barbecue pulled pork all over the Jersey Turnpike. First two I don’t expect you to know about but I need you to talk to me about the third one, right now, or I gotta start making calls I don't’ wanna make.”

Flinch. “No. I … but, it’s 1861…” The mystery man seemed to deflate a little, slouching and descending to the earth. Reaching up, filthy hands grabbed filthy face and he grunted, twitching as if trying to shake something off.

“Hey … whoa, you okay? I don’t blame you for the weird racism, pal, you clearly got issues to deal–”

“It happened again.”

“Oh…?”

“Stop. Stop talking. Someone’s here. Someone real!”

“And you ain’t talkin’ to me again.” Revenant came down to the hobo’s level but just out of reach. “Who you talkin’ to?”

“I don’t know!” he replied, a note of panic in his voice. “I don’t know who they are. Who I am. Sometimes I’m helping the North win the war against a demon-possessed Jefferson Davis. My name’s John. I think … it always is John? But sometimes I’m Megadude. Sometimes I’m older and they call me the Progenitor. But there are so many and they’re … they’re always talking!” It was pitiful; the homeless man was weeping openly now.

“Hey! Hey now. Lookit me, eh?” John lowered his hands. “It’s 1989, right? You’re in a park and, as you might expect when a giant floating man starts talkin’ to statues, nobody else is anywhere near you. Just me. I’m, ah, I’m here to help, okay?”

“Okay…” Sniffling, John smiled a little.

“Look, you and me, we gotta head up to the other side of Manhattan, okay? My boss saw the way you … stopped, yeah, let’s say stopped, that kaiju. Real impressed, y’know? Wants to talk to you about it. How’s that sound?”

“Good, John. Real good.”

“Uh, no, you’re John.”

John squeezed his eyes shut “John Ericsson. Man. I can’t … grn…”

“It’s okay. Look, they call me the Revenant. I can’t really give you my real name for security reasons. Can you just follow me back to my base? I’m one of the New York Nine. Would you like to see the Nine’s headquarters? It’s in the Zorman Building.”

Relaxing a little, John took a deep breath. “I think I’d like that.”

“Okay, well, follow me.” Taking off, Revenant was shocked as John passed him at a high rate of speed. “Whoa! Follow! Follow!” and the big man drifted back.

“Sorry” he shouted. “I forgot.”

“Forgot … no shit, forgot.” The shock wasn’t fading. Revenant could fly at about one hundred miles per hour, nothing to sneeze at, and this new guy, clearly without trying at all, had left him in the dust. “Simon, come in.”

“I read you. Contact has been made, I assume?”

“And how. You owe me, man. This guy is out of his mind and I’m pretty sure he’s off the scale in terms of power.”

“Oh, that much was not in question. His mental state is unfortunate, however.”

“Hold on, hold on … what you mean it wasn’t in question?” Revenant felt the hackles on the back of his neck stand up.

“Rev, I got a reading on the man they’re calling ‘Megadude’ and I can tell you that, in terms of raw power, we’re going to have to redefine where Omega, the final evolution, can go. His energy pattern, his potential energy, for example, ranks up there with a large nuclear payload.”

Revenant all but choked on his tongue, scoffing, looking back at poor, trusting John, AKA “Megadude”, who followed him effortlessly as he traveled at full speed. “So, what, he could’ve killed me at any time?”

“There was no reason to think he would become aggressive against a fellow human being, especially one in a black bodysuit identifying as a super hero.”

“When I came up he thought he was a Civil War soldier who had a problem with Italians, Simon!” he hissed.

“Oh. Well … that’s unexpected. Right, Italians weren’t considered ‘white’ in the 19th century. So, an anachronistic delusion?”

“Delusion?” Revenant pondered. “I dunno … he had some real detailed knowledge of ironclad boats and was talkin’ to the guy what built the Monitor. Or … the other one, I forget.”

“Merrimac or, well, the USS Virginia later on. You’re no student of history, Sal, what makes you think he had accurate information?”

“You tell me, Simon. In 1861 where was John Ericsson?”

“Why, New York City. Why? Did our homeless powerhouse reference Ericsson?”

“He was talkin’ to his statue, Simon, about explosive shells not bein’ able to punch through the other boat’s armor. Lot of real exact details. Real familiar like.”

Dead air. At top speed it was only about seven minutes from the Battery to the Zorman building. Revenant was not comfortable with a lack of communication on final approach.

“Simon. Please respond. This guy’s got me freakin’ out.

“Apologies. I am here. Simply making … preparations.”

“Uh, okay. Please tell me you’re preppin’ to keep things friendly.”

Simon waited a moment before responding. “I’m preparing to gather an immense amount of data from a fourth-or-possibly-fifth-dimensional being who, thusfar, reads like a walking, talking nuclear power plant. How can that be anything but friendly?”

“Fucking hell, Simon. Just don’t cause another Three Mile Island.”

“He's not literally giving off Nuclear radiation, Rev. Besides, preventing an incident has been my goal from the very start. Why do you think I sent you in the first place?”