Russell Mannix nervously jabbed his cigarette into the ashtray and glanced at the bodyguards standing near the door.

Somehow he doubted they would be enough.

Enough to stop... whatever did that to Smiles.

He looked back at the television. The news networks were running pictures, over and over, of the demolished hotel in which Smiles' body had been found.

Minus the head.

The cameras once more panned over the demolished autos, the smashed Dairy King... and the two-hundred-foot gash in the cement wall of the manufacturing plant.

There were no witnesses - the early morning hour and the reluctance of that area's citizens to speak to police had much to do with that. But something had evidently happened here.

And it was clear to Mannix that that something must have involved Americana.

It wasn't that much of a leap to make. Obviously Smiles had bought the farm brefore the hotel had gone down, but even if there had been some need to destroy the hotel it certainly wasn't neccessary to demolish the other sites. Not unless there had been a helluva fight.

And the only one he knew who could give that kind of battle was Americana.

And, obviously... her opponent.

"Don" Russ was nearly forty - ancient by gangbanger standards. Yet it was he who ensured that the Nighthawks had the very latest in weapons, who made certain that both sides kept their promises in the supplier-distributor relationship the gang shared with the Jacquot.

It wasn't easy.

Mannix knew that the punks today broke promises as easily as faces, and were under the impression that waving a gun was all one needed to have power. Respect.

Huh.

Kids don't know the first thing about respect.

And power?

Fairplay had brought in the Bull, from Atlanta. Big man, rode the wire. Drugs. Give him super strength and all that.

Fool ended up dead.

Mannix twisted the top off a Schlitz and gulped it greedily.

He had stayed quiet when Americana had shown up - unlike Fairplay and Smiles. Just stepped into the background, letting the others have the attention. Chances were pretty good she didn't really see too much of him.

And if she hadn't, chances were even better he had escaped the murderer's notice, too.

He turned the station back to the classic ballgame - if you could call the Cubs-Twins matchup "classic" - and thought a moment.

He had seen no mention of Americana actually turning in the murderer to the police.

If it were any of his associates he'd just have assumed she had killed him - but after seeing her up close, in person? No way. If she was that way why wouldn't she had just killed off the Nighthawks themselves?

No, no... that meant that this Kirby - it had to be a Kirby - had escaped, maybe even beat her.

He took another swig from the bottle.

So. Some super-powered maniac was out there. And was killing off the leadership of the Nighthawks.

Hell with that!

He finished his beer and sprang to his feet.

"We're the damn Nighthawks," he hissed to no-one in particular.

He smacked the clip into his gun - nine double armor-piercing flechettes, powered like miniature rockets. Guaranteed to blow through virtually any body armor extant.

And he'd put all nine of them in whoever dared to take on the 'Hawks.

He marched toward the door.

"Come on," he barked at his bodyguards.

"What about the - "

"Won't attack in broad daylight," Mannix said, brandishing his gun. "And I aim to make sure he never gets the chance."

"Where we goin'?"

"We," the older man said confidently as he strode down the hall, "are gonna call in some favors.

He whirled to face the men following him. "He wants to fight an army? We got an army! Let's see how funny he thinks it is when he's facing a hunnert guns!"

Thin smiles appeared on the bodyguards' faces. Get the Nighthawks all together. Sure! Like to him try -

Bwooom!

Two enormous arms crashed down through the false ceiling, one on each side of Russell Mannix's head!

Before the guards could swing their weapons around the huge fists crashed together, obliterating the Nighthawks leader!

As Mannix's gruesome coprse fell to the ground one of the bodyguards raised his weapon - the other two turned and ran!

And they didn't stop, even when they heard their compatriot scream.

"... this afternoon at the Satin Lady, a gentlemen's club on the city's lower... "

"Yes, Roswell, I have it on now..."

Astrea Starr turned down the sound with the remote.

Heavens, he was getting bolder. This one was right in the middle of the day.

"... fortunately the club was not in operation... "

Of course not, she thought derisively. Patrons only come out from under their rocks at night.

As the television panned around the demolished room, Astrea felt a pang of regret.

Careful, girl. Judge not lest ye be judged.

Easier said than done - her father and sister, both police officers, had spoken quite a few times about such places, and not in flattering terms.

She sat down on her old couch as the reporter breathlessly described the gruesome murder.

Mannix - the name was unfamiliar to her, but she recognized his photo posted on the screen; he had been at that meeting a few nights back.

Dammit.

"Americana?"

"Huh? Oh. Sorry."

"I was saying, evidently it's a power perp. You have any idea who?"

"Yeah.

"Name is Silverback. He's kind of... well, he's half-man, half-gorilla.

"I think."

"Half-man, half-gorilla."

"...yeah."

There was a pause on the line.

"That's... pretty specific.

"Are you... all right?"

"Huh?" Astrea started. "S-sure, Roswell... uh, why?"

"Since you asked," Roswell exhaled forcibly. "All that damage the other night - not like you to avoid checking it out, helping clean up or whatever. You never checked in, with the police or us - also very unlike you. Never gave us a description of the perp, though just now it's pretty evident you did see him...

He paused.

"I'm FBI, remember? We're fairly good at this sort of thing."

Astrea hesitated.

"I-I'm sorry..." she said softly.

"And given that there was a fight, and you didn't show afterwards, I'd say there's a good chance you lost this one. Right?"

"... right."

"Hey. It happens. No shame in that.

"Mind telling me what went on?"

Astrea's voice grew quieter still.

"Someone's after the Nighthawks, Roswell. Seriously, this time. They hired Skullfire to burn the gang's leaders to death. A few days ago, we fought and I ended up beating her."

"Uh, huh."

Roswell knew this much, of course, but was too polite to say.

"I thought that was that.

"But they sent another Kirby, Silverback, to kill the ones that Skullfire had missed.

"I showed up just seconds too late - he had just killed Smiles. I... guess I was pretty... shocked - he got the drop on me.

"You can tell by the... damage, that he's tremendously powerful - and he's certainly not afraid to use that power."

"Ye-e-ah. About that. You really didn't have to destroy three blocks, you know," he gently chided her. "Even in that part of town."

She took a deep breath.

"Roswell.

"Every building, that's destroyed or damaged? He... used me. To do it."

"Uh, come again?"

"He... hit me through the walls. A lot of walls."

"Ohh," he said. "Oww."

"Yeah.

"Ow."

There was an awkward silence.

"O-kay," her FBI liaison said. "And you - ?"

"He tried to kill me, Roswell.

"When pummeling me didn't work he tossed me in the Bay, tried to drown me.

"And, you know, just between us, he came pretty damn close."

Astrea stopped, and tried to slow her breathing, to calm down.

She knew what he had been hinting at - that she was too ashamed to face the police or the press. She could read between the lines.

"Okay, look. I'm sorry. Sorry you got hurt. I knew something had to have happened - "

"I'm not sulking, Roswell," she said forcefully.

"Hey, I'm on your side, remember?"

She nodded, hesitantly.

"...right. Right."

"Are you okay now?"

She sighed.

"I will be."

Roswell paused a moment.

"Okay. Look, maybe we can get a squad together and - "

"Roswell," she said crossly. "He nearly killed me. You have any idea what he'd do to your agents?"

"We got body armor - "

She exhaled forcefully.

"Body armor... isn't going to matter, Roswell.

"Remember those Four Horsemen clowns? They had armor, better armor than your boys, I bet - and I trashed them in less than a minute."

"So we'll shoot him," Roswell sighed.

"He's not going to give you the chance," Astrea said. "This guy - maybe he's as powerful as I am, maybe not - but his cruelty more than makes up for it.

"It's like... he's discovered how powerful he is, and he's reveling in it. He's practically daring anyone to try and stop him."

Silence.

"You're goin' after him."

"Of course I'm going after him."

Just as soon as she was at full power.

"...as for Americana, why couldn't she stop this brutal killing?" the newscaster wanted to know.

Jerk, Astrea thought.

"I'll ask her that, at ten tonight - "

"What?" she said quietly.

" - when I reveal Americana's true identity!"

"WHAT?"