**********************************************************************
DISCLAIMER

1) This material is not used for monetary profit in any manner.  It is
done solely for enjoyment purposes, and as homage to the great stories
and characters of Marvel Comics Group

2)  All  the  characters,  events,  and locations portrayed within are
recognized as property of Marvel Comics Group should they so wish.
**********************************************************************

                            THE TWELVE #2

                       "...Makes You Stronger"

                         WRITER: Samy Merchi
                       EDITOR-IN-CHIEF: Kingbob

   "Twelve."
   She  placed a card onto the table with gentle motions, to accompany
several  others, looking upon them with slightly glazed eyes.  Reddish
hair  flowed  around  her  face,  framing its submissive, almost timid
features  softly.   Quietly she inspected the card, interpreting it in
relation  to the other ones and letting her instincts take over as her
lips parted to mouth yet another prophecy.
   "They will come from all around."
   Her  fingers  laid another card down.  The other figure in the room
watched  her with cold, interested eyes, taking short paces around the
dimly-lit chamber, waiting for the interpretation if this card.
   "They will oppose, and cause conflict."
   The blonde figure behind the card-reader narrowed her eyes slightly
and  her  other  eyebrow  rose  very  minutely  as she remained quiet,
turning  to  face  the  balcony  and  the moonlight outside, streaming
inside thru the thin, pale white curtains.
   "They will bring death."
   The  last  word struck the blonde's ear like lightning itself.  She
spun  around  to  face the card-reader, her eyes narrow slits, burning
like  those  of  a feral animal.  "Whose?" she hissed out, focusing on
the  cards  on  the table, attempting to decipher them herself, though
she was nowhere nearly as talented as the other young woman.  She knew
the answer full well, but asked anyway.
   "Their  own,  Darkchilde",  came a new voice from the door.  A cold
voice,  yet  full of passionate fire reflecting not only her soul, but
her  body.   Clad  in rich reds, oranges and yellows, she appeared the
embodiment  of  fire and womanhood.  Her blonde locks fell down to her
shoulders,  cascading  lightly  down  around her expression, pure fire
itself,  rage  that was barely kept under control.  "If anyone opposes
my  Mother,  they  are  the  ones  who will die - by my fire if she is
merciful, by her own hand if she is not!"
   Both  the  blonde Darkchilde, and the red-haired card-reader turned
around  to  regard  the new figure's entrance, the former with a cold,
unbothered,  almost  amused  expression.   The  latter  glanced at the
newcomer,  and then quietly lowered her eyes down to the floor, almost
apologetically in a gesture of homage and respect.
   "Calm   down,   Amara",   Darkchilde   said  lightly,  missing  any
seriousness  in  the  situation  as she turned back towards the cards,
walking  to  the  table  on top of which they were and laying his eyes
onto them.
   Amara  snorted  and  moved into the room from the entrance, closing
the  door  behind her as she softly paced towards the table, her heels
clicking  on  the  stony  floor almost reflecting her anger.  "You are
aware  of  the  prophecy,  Darkchilde",  she said, maintaning his cold
tone.  "Why is Tarot reading it for you?"
   Tarot  remained  quiet  as  ever,  unobtrusive  and fading into the
background  almost  like an object of furniture.  Like she always did.
No  one  ever  paid any attention to her.  Which was good, in that she
never received any punishment for her deeds.  Everyone else always got
blamed.   She wasn't complaining, just remained quiet as ever as Amara
faced Darkchilde.
   For a while, Darkchilde paid little attention to Amara's questions,
watching the cards herself, but gave up after a while.  "You're taking
your  new  position too seriously", she remarked as she turned to face
the  impatient  Amara,  referring  to  her  new  post as the leader of
Selene's personal guard.  "You're getting paranoid."
   "Do I have reason to?" Amara snorted in an ice cold tone and took a
step  towards Darkchilde, her eyes narrowing furiously.  "You'll never
replace  me as Mother's favorite, no matter what you're planning", she
went  on  before  Darkchilde  had time to answer the initial question.
The  seeds  of  doubt  in her mind had been sown a long time ago, when
Selene  had  announced  her  adoption of a new daughter, two years ago
when  the  little girl in her early teens - only known as Darkchilde -
had appeared from nowhere to threaten Amara's position as Selene's one
and only child.  Amara didn't like it.  Not one bit.
   With  a  slight  chuckle,  Darkchilde  shrugged  but  didn't answer
anything.  Better to keep Amara in doubt rather than to give any hints
on  what  she  was  planning.   She  placed  her  hands  onto  Tarot's
shoulders, massaging them for a while with a rough, feral touch.  "The
reading  is  over, Tarot", she said.  "You can return to your quarters
now."
   Obediently,  Tarot  nodded and collected her cards quickly, getting
up and nodding to the daughter of Selene first, as is proper protocol,
then  to  the  owner  of  the  domicile, Darkchilde.  Then, she turned
towards the door and walked out with unshown hurry in her step.
   "I  should  have  you  flayed  alive  right now", Amara said with a
disgusted face.
   "But  you  won't",  Darkchilde  replied  with  a  confident  smile.
"Selene  wouldn't  like  seeing  her apprentice and second daughter be
treated  like that.  Even by her favored daughter." She shrugged a bit
and started towards the balcony, turning her back to Amara.  "Who just
happens to be paranoid.  I think you've inherited that from her."
   Amara's  eyes narrowed at the audacity.  "Blasphemer!" she snarled.
"You are courting death, speaking such things of Mother!  I should let
her know of your words!"
   Again, Darkchilde chuckled.  "She knows you are paranoid.  You know
as  well  as  I  do  that  she'd  brush something like that off as the
overreaction  of  your little mind to something I said." She grinned a
bit as her hand pulled the light material of the curtain - keeping the
insects  away  - aside enough to watch the quiet of the night outside.
"She  knows  you  both are paranoid, but at least she acknowledges it.
You are more like pitiful, Amara."
   "One  day,  I will enjoy seeing your flesh rot from your bones, and
watch  your  bare bones bleach in the sun.  And then, I will take your
bones and have them cursed before I bury them in offal!" Comments such
as  these  were  quite ordinary between Amara and Darkchilde.  Amara's
hatred  for  the blonde outworlder was no secret in Nova Roma, nor was
it  a  surprise  to  anyone.  Selene herself seemed to for some reason
enjoy  watching  her  daughter bicker with her adopted daughter.  What
reason that might be, no one seemed to know, though.
   Darkchilde  had  grown  accustomed to Amara's comments, though, and
was  hardly  moved  by  her  words.   In fact, she almost ignored them
fully.  "You should cut down on the melodrama if you expect someone to
ever  take  you  seriously",  she remarked calmly.  "Now, if you don't
mind,  I'm  going  to  bed." She closed the curtain and turned towards
Amara,  her  hands  moving to her shoulders and slipping the straps of
her dress over her shoulders, letting the dress fall to the floor from
around her, leaving her fully nude.
   There  was  little  reaction  from Amara for a while other than her
maintaning  her angry, disgusted expression.  Then, she whirled around
and headed for the door, slamming it close behind her.
   Amusedly,  Darkchilde  shook her head after Amara, then slipped her
fingers  into  her  hair  to brush it superficially over as she walked
towards  her bed.  "She really should learn to control herself..." she
muttered  to  herself, then chuckled as she slipped between her sheets
to dream of steely warriors.

   Atlantic City, two months ago.
   The Las Vegas of the East Coast, a city famous for the lively night
life  it  provides  for  those  with  the money to spend into it.  The
glamour.   The  lights.   The  glitz.   But  there  was a flip side to
Atlantic City.  The flourishing criminal underworld which probably was
a more viable source of income for the city than most others.
   Case  in  point:   Norman  Osborn.   Publically the owner of Osborn
Industries,  a company specializing in the manufacture and delivery of
chemicals  -  but underneath lurked the man who held the underworld of
Atlantic  City in his tight grasp.  Few things in his city escaped his
notice.  Especially when that something was profit for him.
   "Bring her in", Norman said as he rose to stand up behind his desk,
leaning  forward  a  bit  in  anticipation  of  the  prize about to be
delivered  to  his hands.  A prize that he would soon put to good use,
if it should prove useful on a small scale.
   The  double  doors  opened,  and  two  large  men entered, carrying
between  them  a  young  girl,  no  older than her mid-teens.  She was
battered  and  exhausted, bruises marring her face which could only be
described  as angelic in beauty if it didn't bear a vicious expression
on  it.  Her pale blonde - almost pure white - locks cascaded onto her
shoulders, but were now covered in dirt, as she was all over.
   The  guards roughly let go of the girl at a small sign from Osborn,
and  she fell to the floor limply, not even attempting to get up.  "Ms
Stavros",  Osborn  started.   "I  have  been  told  that  your  father
attempted  to  take  you out of town without my permission." The voice
was  calm,  matter-of-fact,  stating things with analytical precision.
But  the  guards  knew,  and  the young, bruised, battered girl called
Jennifer  Stavros  could well guess that this was just calm before the
storm.
   With  a  slow  pace, Osborn circled his desk, coming up in front of
the  prone Jenny.  He quietly watched her for a moment.  "Don't bother
to answer.  We both know the answer.  And the consequences."
   The  last  sentence  was like a slap in the face for Jenny, and she
forced  herself  to  look upwards, at Osborn's knees.  "Daddy...?" she
murmured  weakly,  with  a  faint wheeze that was all she could muster
from  her  pain-wracked  torso.   All that filled her was a feeling of
dread,  and  if  she had any tears left, she would cry.  But after the
life  she  had had, there just wasn't too much left that one would cry
for.
   "Your  father  will be quite all right, Ms Stavros", Osborn said in
an  almost mocking tone.  "I am keeping him protected from his debtors
right  now,  but  should you give me any more trouble, I might have to
pull  my  men  from  protecting him into looking after you." They both
knew  full  well that he was lying his butt off, and both of them knew
the other one knew.
   Jenny  didn't  really  have  a  choice.   She lowered her eyes from
Osborn's  knees  down  to  the  floor, slumping down.  "Gotcha..." she
murmured,  and continued in a much quieter voice, little else than the
motion of her lips, "...bastard..."
   Before Jenny even knew what was going on, Osborn had grabbed her by
the  throat and lifted her up like a rag doll.  "NEVER..." he said and
slammed  her thru the glass wall between the room and the outside with
a  hideous  crash.   Glass  flew  everywhere,  and Jenny couldn't stop
herself  from  screaming  in terror as she thought she was going to be
dropped  several dozen stories down to the pavement.  "...EVER..." the
hold  on  her  throat  tightened  just  short  of snapping her neck or
crushing  her  windpipe.   "...TREAT ME DISRESPECTFULLY AGAIN!" Osborn
snarled.
   All  Jenny could do was whimper pitifully, tears streaming down her
face  and  her  heart  beating  so  fast she was going to die of heart
attack before she hit the pavement.  "Please..." she begged.  "Please,
Mr  Osborn!"  she  cried  out,  her  expression that of absolute fear.
"I'll be good!  Please!"
   Then,  again  before  Jenny had any idea what was going on, she was
flung  to the couch nearby like nothing, crying out at the pain of her
earlier  beating  at  the  hands  of  the  bruisers  combined with the
numerous  lacerations  she  just  received,  bleeding openly, plus her
almost-crushed windpipe.
   Osborn didn't even seem to pay attention to Jennifer's condition as
he  walked  to a mirror and checked himself out.  He narrowed his eyes
in  displeasure  and adjusted his tie a bit before nodding satisfiedly
and turning around to face his bruisers.  "Arthur", he said, now again
the  portrait  of  style and calm, terrifying when you know what lurks
underneath  - what monsters can lurk under perfect exteriors.  "Go get
Dr.   Milbury.   Young Ms Stavros here needs a bit of fixing up before
she can work for us in public."

   "Where is my son????"
   Emmanuel  Da Costa stormed along the corridors of the hospital with
both  fury  and  worry in his heart.  His son - his only, dearly loved
son - had been beat up.  And there was nothing between Heaven and Hell
that  would  stop him from exacting vengeance - after his son had been
attended to.
   In a room along the very same corridor Emmanuel was striding along,
lay  the  object  of  his  worry.  Roberto Da Costa, the junior league
football  star  of  Rio  De  Janeiro,  was  lying in a bed peacefully,
unhaunted  by  the  things that would soon change his life utterly and
forever.
   In  another  bed, beside Roberto's, lay the girl he loved - Juliana
Sandoval.   She  was  better  off  than  him, only suffering from mild
bruises  and injuries, and she watched him quietly, with worry tearing
at her heart.
   As  midnight approached, her thoughts began drifting.  Tomorrow, it
would be the one-year anniversary of them being together.  (What a way
to  celebrate  it),  she  thought  and  muttered a silent curse to the
Dynamos under her breath.  She hadn't had time to tell anyone yet just
what had happened, but she would.  It was just a matter of time.
   With  a quick slam, the door came open and Emmanuel rushed into the
room, two nurses by his side, attempting to calm him down in vain.  He
took  one  look at Juliana and she knew from the look in his eyes that
her  anger  was  nothing  compared  to  his.   Then,  after their eyes
meeting,  his  went  to  Roberto's  still form and the older man began
moving towards his son, now quiet as his eyes narrowed.
   The  nurses  in  hushed  tones attempted to get Emmanuel out of the
room,  but  to  no  avail.  For a moment, it seemed to Juliana as if a
fight  would break out in the attempt to get Roberto's father out, but
then suddenly the situation changed.
   No  one  could  fail  to notice the entrance.  The man carried with
himself   a   powerful   aura   of  confidence  and  power,  something
imperceptible in his very being that commanded respect.  He had native
american  features, seeming to be roughly in his mid-thirties, and was
wearing  a  doctor's coat as he stepped into the room.  "What seems to
be the problem here?" he asked.
   For  a moment, no one answered, looking at the man, and the nurses,
even  though  they knew all the hospital staff, for some reason had no
comment.   "It  is my son..." Emmanuel Da Costa started, perhaps a bit
of an apology in his voice, which astonished Juliana.
   The  doctor stepped into the room and motioned the nurses to leave,
which  they  did  without  a single word.  Neither would remember this
incident.   "Mr  Da Costa", he started, offering his hand to Emmanuel,
which   the  other  man  accepted,  firmly  shaking  it.   "I  am  Dr.
Twoyoungmen.  I am afraid I have some bad news about your son."

   Moonstar  and  Sam  sat  outside,  in the hallway, quietly.  He was
wearing  his work clothes, never having had time to change during this
ordeal, while she had picked up several things before setting her camp
afire,  to  give her friends and family a burial.  Now, she was on the
warpath.  A singular goal to exact vengeance.  And nothing would deter
her from that path.  Nothing, and no one.
   No  one  paid  any  attention  to the odd couple, thanks to a minor
illusion  cast  by the Shaman, before he went after the boy.  Moonstar
kept  fingering her war-knife with eager hands, awaiting the moment to
press  it  onto the throat of one of the murderers and feel their warm
blood  flow  out.   All  else  was  pushed  away  from her mind except
revenge.  And maybe that is how it would always remain.
   At  first  neither  of  the  teens  paid  attention  to the two men
approaching along the corridor, until the alarms went off.  Moonstar's
head  snapped  up  and her hand grabbed the knife's handle strongly as
she sprung up to look for anything threatening.
   Sam was not so alert.  He remained seated as people began screaming
about a fire and rushing towards the exits.  Only the two men who were
approaching  them, remained immobile, and seemingly unconcerned by the
ringing alarms.
   "Damn  it,  Blockbuster",  said  the other one, smaller though that
wasn't  saying much considering the one he was talking to was close to
seven  feet  tall and with a huge build that reminded him of those Pro
Wrestlers  Paige  had been so fond of watching...  Though none of them
had been THAT huge...
   Blockbuster  looked  at  his companion, slightly below six feet and
with long jet-black hair accompanied by a thin moustache just as dark.
"Maybe  there's  a  fire...?"  he said and scratched his head a bit in
confusion.
   The  other man rolled his eyes, then shook his head as he quickened
his  pace  a  bit,  moving towards Sam and Moonstar, and the room they
were waiting outside of.  "And you don't suppose for a bleedin' moment
that  they coulda found the bodies?" he asked in a deep british accent
and sighed.  "Doesn't matter now." He stopped and lifted an eyebrow at
Sam  and  Moonstar,  standing  in  front  of  the  door.  "Step aside,
kiddies.  We've gotta job t' do."
   Moonstar's  eyes  narrowed  at  the  brit  as  she took a bold step
towards  him,  her  knife  twitching  eagerly,  though  neither of the
approaching  men  saw  it  thru  the  illusion.   "I  don't  think so,
Legionnaire",  she  said  in  a cold tone, attempting a bluff based on
what the Shaman had told about their enemies.
   It  worked.   Both  of the approaching men stopped in their tracks,
and Blockbuster started to say something, but was halted by the brit's
hand  lifted  up  to  silence  him.   His mind rummaged on the mission
briefing  momentarily  before  he hazarded a bluff of his own.  "I see
Scalp and Prism messed up, Moonstar."
   There was uncomfortable silence as both sides took measure of their
opponents with cold, deathly quiet glances.  The first to explode into
action  was  Moonstar,  thirsting  for blood as she leaped towards the
brit.
   With a quick motion, the brit instinctively stepped back and lifted
his  hand  up  into  the  air in front of him, as if to grab something
invisible, which he then yanked powerfully.  Moonstar screamed in pain
at something, and fell to the floor, curled up in a fetal position.
   At  the  sight  of this, Sam's eyes widened and hesitation crept to
his  mind.   But  as  the  hulking  larger man took a step towards the
downed  Moonstar,  he  couldn't  hold  himself  back.  He hadn't tried
consciously  using  his power yet, but he had no choice.  Pressing the
mental trigger, he hoped something would happen.
   Something  did.   Sam  rocketed forward like a cannonball, crashing
into  Blockbuster.  The immense force of the blast took them both thru
the  ceiling...then  another...and another...and another...the impacts
kept  smashing  at the large man, but Sam to his surprise felt nothing
as  he  clenched  his  teeth,  hoping  this  power  wouldn't just stop
suddenly...
   Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  impacts  around them ended and Sam
realized  they were flying towards the black night sky.  (How high can
ah  go??)  he thought.  (What if ah run outta power when ah'm in air??
Can  ah  even get back??  How do ah turn back??) Thoughts ran thru his
mind  as  he tried to figure things out in near-panic.  He was snapped
back  to reality by the impact of Blockbuster's fist at him.  His eyes
went  wide,  then  closed  before the hit, but again, he was surprised
when  he felt nothing.  Hesitantly he opened his eyes and noticed that
the  field around him was protecting him from the repeated blows while
Blockbuster was hanging onto it like a bug on a windshield.
   He  watched  Blockbuster  for  a moment, soaring ever higher to the
sky,  as he tried to figure out what to do.  He bit his lip, wondering
how  to  turn,  and  attempted to veer slightly off-course, a bit back
towards  the  ground.   Again,  he was surprised as he slowly began to
change  his  course.   But  at  the  speeds  he was going, Blockbuster
skidded  off  his  field  as  he turned, and began falling towards the
streets below with a hideous bellow.
   "Aw,  shoot!"  Sam said as he watched the man fall and did his very
best to turn around to go after him.  "Hang on, mister!  Ah'm comin'!"
he  shouted and slowly turned around in a wide arc, but by the time he
had   come   around,  Blockbuster  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  having
disappeared into the darkness below.

   Back  inside  the  hospital,  when  the  alarms  went  off,  Shaman
immediately knew what was happening.  The others in his room, however,
didn't.  "I'm sorry, Mr Da Costa", he said as he reached into his coat
and  the  pouch  under it, and pulled out a handful of powder which he
flung into Emmanuel's eyes.  He was asleep before he hit the floor.
   Juliana had remained quiet, and remained so even now, just watching
calmly, somehow aware that this man pretending to be a doctor meant no
harm to her love.  Her lips parted to say something when the man again
reached  into  his  coat, and took out a wooden sculpture of a bird of
some kind she did not recognize.  But he glanced over his shoulder and
gave a reassuring smile, relaxing her slightly and keeping her quiet.
   Shaman  placed  the  miniature  bird totem over Roberto's chest and
began  chanting soft words that came from deep inside him, filling the
room  with  invisible  forces  that  began  looking  into the shaman's
request.
   Before  he  could  chant for long, the door was kicked in and a man
stepped inside.  The handsome british Legionnaire took a glance around
and focused his eyes on the Shaman, chanting over Roberto.
   Several things happened in rapid succession.
   Shaman finished his spell and glanced up at the brit, knowing there
was nothing he could do in time.
   The  brit raised his hand towards the Shaman and Roberto, preparing
to change them into worms.
   Juliana  screamed  like her heart was being torn out, and leaped at
the  brit  from  the  bed,  raking at the air in front of her with her
sharp nails.
   Everyone's eyes turned to Juliana.
   The  brit  flicked  a  hand towards Juliana, and clenched it into a
fist,  and  she  stopped  in  midair for a fraction of a second before
there  were a series of nauseating crackles and crunches.  Juliana was
being  literally  crushed.   Then,  the  brit relaxed his hand and she
slumped onto the floor, bleeding all over her body.
   Roberto  screamed  like his heart was being torn out, and leaped at
the  brit  from  his bed, pulling his fist back to deliver a blow with
all  the  anger  and  fury  of a man whose life's light had been taken
away.
   Shaman  reached  into his pouch and pulled out something invisible,
which  he  seemed  to fling into the air, which caused Roberto to turn
fully black, activating his mutation.
   Roberto's  fist  struck  home,  striking  the  brit and sending him
flying thru the wall...several walls, by the sound of it.
   A quiet descended.
   Roberto  rushed  to Juliana, his blackness fading as he returned to
human  form  and  knelt  beside  her.   "Juliana!" he called her name,
seeing her broken body lying there motionlessly.
   Her  eyes  slowly  opened,  no  pain in them.  She was beyond pain,
about to leave it behind forever.  "'Berto..." she whispered in a weak
voice,  with  some  of  the last air in her damaged lungs.  "I..." She
tried  to  lift a hand and place it onto his cheek, but her arm didn't
move.
   Roberto  saw  the  effort  in her eyes, and instead placed his hand
onto  her  bloody  cheek,  with  a  soft,  loving touch.  "I love you,
Juliana",  he  sobbed,  tears  flowing down his cheeks.  "Please don't
leave me..."
   Shaman watched quietly, knowing there was nothing he could do.  Not
his  medical  skills,  nor  his  magical ones, were enough to save the
girl's damaged body.  But there was something he could do.  He reached
once  more  into  his pouch, and pulled out two objects that he placed
together to form a wooden globe the size of a palm.
   The  two  young  lovers  suddenly  found themselves in each others'
minds,  sharing  everything  they  knew.  Everything they felt.  Every
dream  they  had.   In one brief moment, they lived an eternity, where
they were happy - together.
   (I love you, 'Berto), Juliana said in his mind.
   (I love you, Juliana), he replied.  (I always will.)
   (I'm  glad,  my love.  But my time is over), she said softly, death
liberating  her from all petty emotions like jealousy, leaving nothing
but  love in its purest, most absolute form.  (You must move on beyond
me,  and  not  let the hate corrupt your beautiful soul.  Be the noble
knight  you are, 'Berto.  Don't let my death change you.  Be the man I
love.)
   (Forever.)
   (Forever.)
   With  that,  Roberto pressed his lips onto Juliana's and the lovers
shared  their  last kiss.  Juliana faded out of this world feeling her
man's lips against hers, knowing she wouldn't want it any other way.

   Jennifer  glanced  around  the  table,  at the men and women in the
game.   Without  letting  it  show,  she  noted  the  comment  on  the
microphone in her ear to let the man in a white suit win, and gave the
man in question a seductive smile.  "Any more bets?" she asked.
   There  were  a few whispers around the table as everyone glanced at
the  man  in  the  white  suit.   He  was  black, in his late forties,
slightly  pudgy  and  bald.   Nonetheless,  there  was a confident air
around him, something that was almost magical.  No less impressive was
the stack of money he had piled on one number and one number only.
   Thirteen.   (Unlucky  number),  Jennifer  thought.   (All  the more
ironic when he gets...lucky.) She smirked and set the wheel in motion.
Of  all  the  games  this  casino  had,  this  one  was definitely her
favorite.   It  had such...excitement in it.  It didn't concentrate on
the  players.   It concentrated on the wheel.  The game.  That's where
she  was  similar.   In  other games, the players -were- the game.  In
this  one,  the  players  were the -means- to the game.  Manipulation.
That's  what  it was all about.  Not letting the players -be- players.
Using  them as pieces.  That's the nature of the game for her.  That's
why she was nicknamed after it.  The wheel of fortune.
   Roulette.

   Janos  walked  among the casino's crowd calmly, letting his trained
eye move along it with an intense stare.  He was a handsome man, maybe
somewhat  skinny,  which  irritated him to no end, but at least he had
something  else  to  bolster  his sense of superiority.  And he'd most
likely get a chance to show it off before the night was over.
   Beside  him was walking a woman too gorgeous for words.  She had an
ethereal  beauty  about  her that was accentuated by her pale skin and
light step, almost as if she were a ghost made flesh.  Her raven-black
hair  didn't have the slightest curl to them, flowing straight down to
the  small of her back.  "I love this body", she said, lightly running
her fingers over the skull-shaped stone on the choker over her throat.
"It feels like home."
   Janos  smirked  a  bit and turned his head to run his eyes over the
woman.   "I  think  I  like  that  body  as  well,  Alice my dear", he
commented  amusedly,  keeping  his  eyes  on  her  for a moment before
letting them wander to other people once more, looking for the target.
   The  woman called Alice threw her head back and laughed coldly, and
it  was  an  almost  haunting  laugh  in  its  chilling  feel.  It was
reflected  in  her  features  which  sharpened  slightly,  as her eyes
narrowed  when  she turned to look at Janos.  Her gaze didn't tell him
anything  new.  He had been on the receiving end of it a lot of times.
She  was one of the few teammates that could chill his spine.  All she
needed was one look, filled with that which she was.  Malice.
   "And  I bet you'd like to sample it in more depth", Alice commented
with  a  twinkle  to  her  eye,  then turned away, focusing on the job
again.   "Maybe  after the job's done, Janny-baby.  Get anything yet?"
she asked and resumed the pace thru the crowd.
   With  a  casual motion Janos glanced at his wrist, but instead of a
Rolex,  there  was a scanner cobbled together by Scalphunter.  So far,
it didn't show anything.  "Nothing", he said disappointedly and lifted
his eyes up again to scan the crowd.

   On  the  other  side of the casino, four more players were entering
the  game.  In a quiet alley, the descending ring of dust heralded the
entrance of the Shaman, along with Sam, Moonstar and Roberto.
   "I  know where she is", Shaman said quietly.  "The Lethal Legion is
here  as  well.  Two of their most dangerous members." He reached into
his  pouch  and  took  out three plain wooden circlets.  "Put these on
your  brows",  he instructed.  "They will prevent everyone from seeing
your true forms."
   Moonstar  nodded  and took the circlet, placing it onto her, and an
illusion  covered  her,  making  her  appear  dressed in a long, black
nightgown, drawn from her own thoughts of a classy dress.  Both of the
boys seemed slightly hesitant, but Sam stepped forward after a moment,
and  took  the  circlet,  placing  it  upon  him  and a plain, not too
luxurious suit faded out of nothingness onto him.
   Roberto  was  less eager.  "I have no desire to conceal myself!" He
brandished  his  fist  in  front  of  him.   "I  will  hide  behind no
disguises!   I  will  find  them,  and  I  will  kill  them!"  he said
viciously.
   With  a  smile,  Moonstar  walked closer to Roberto, placing a hand
onto  his  shoulder.   "Just  leave  the other one for me, kiddo", she
said,  with  an  expression  mimicking his viciousness.  "But we don't
want  to  cause  a  commotion.   We  don't  want  to give them advance
warning.   And  we  don't  want  any  trouble  from the security." She
offered him a coy smile.  "Deal?"
   "Hmph."  Roberto looked into Moonstar's eyes for a while, then took
the  circlet and put it onto his brow.  Immediately, he transformed to
be  wearing  a very classy, almost extravagant dark tux that reflected
his  flashy  nature.   He  offered  Moonstar  his arm in a gentlemanly
gesture.  "Shall we go, menina?"
   Moonstar  grinned  and  slipped  her arm around Roberto's.  "I like
your  style,  'Berto",  she said and started towards the casino's side
entrance.

                              THE TWELVE

   Okay,  time to go where no fanfic has gone before.  Namely, letters
pages!   Bet you didn't see this coming.  ;) Anyway, as is traditional
as far as lettercols go, it's time for the usual 'Name That Lettercol'
contest!!!   So,  drop  your ideas herewards and I'll see to the lucky
winner  who  gives  the  best  suggestion gets in addition to fame and
prestige, a cameo appearance in this very series!!!  What is money and
material possessions compared to such??  ;) So get cracking, and while
you're at it, drop me some lines as to the series itself.  And be sure
to  put  at  the beginning of your mail 'Okay to print' if you have no
objections  towards  having  it  printed.  I can't take the liberty of
printing  every response I get, some people might not want their words
reprinted  without asking.  ;) Anyway, I'm not good at these pointless
blathers,  even  if  I  could  fill it with pointful blather about the
future  direction  of this series.  I'll leave my teasers to answering
your  mails,  because  I'm evil that way.  So, I'm going to be signing
off  to  wait for your mails, after typing out something for the 'Next
Issue' box...

                              NEXT ISSUE

   In our tempestuous third issue, we will see Riptide and Malice take
on the fledgling Twelve in Atlantic City, featuring the fury of Norman
Osborn, and the events leading up to the origin of one of the Twelve's
foremost  enemies.   Also,  a  gang  war  in Los Angeles?  How will it
affect  the  young  man  called Angelo Espinosa?  Some more of Amara's
temper  tantrums and our first look at Selene in person, and she isn't
too  pleased  by  the  Lethal Legion's track record in eliminating the
Twelve.