When it comes to battling the extraordinary, there's always a risk that one might lose sight of the everyday. Planetary defense becomes meaningless if the planet's individual residents are beset by evil. Maybe that was why, Rust thought, he was part of the equation that made up Magnetar. The human element of humankind's protection.
It was that human element which drew the Front Line together over California, called from their secluded island base on a mission to investigate - and if need be, neutralize - the threat posed by a being known only as the Executioner. The team sat in the back of Nicolas Pendragon's stealth jet, reviewing footage of the Executioner found in two places.
The first was Aberdeen. Magnetar and Atlas had been present there, warring against the uncanny horrors brought forth by the ARMADA. It had been the Executioner, though, who delivered the killing blow, displaying an inordinate amount of power that had simply ripped through the massive beast. At the time, Rust had considered her admirable, another superhero possessing great strength who put her life on the line to protect the innocent.
That had changed, though, when the fledgling superheroine Prism relayed a dire message - that the Executioner, true to her name, now sought to lay blame upon an innocent, and complete her task. From the way Kelly had spoken of her, she didn't sound human. In fact, nobody seemed to know what she was. All that power packed into a single being, now threatening to go after someone who was for all intents and purposes a civilian, meant it was time for the Line to step in.
The second block of footage was more mystifying. It seemed that the Executioner was fond of partying, and in uniform, too. Trying to track her down had only turned up videos of drinking and dancing, usually in the United States. If that was how they'd find her, so be it. Terminus had gotten to worrk immediately, processing the data with times posted in order to triangulate an approximate location. Using the open internet to hunt down a suspect was child's play for the renowned machinist, after all.
Now they waited quietly within the jet for a hit. It could be a blurry photo taken at a bar, or maybe a video of a beer chug; anything tagging relevant results would pop up, and they'd close in.
For now they waited. Rust tapped his massive booted foot on the plane floor, eyes on the holograms. Thinking of what Prism had said, and what he'd promised in return.
We'll handle it, he'd said. That was it. She'd asked him not to do to the Executioner what she was going to do to Arin. He knew they'd try their best. There was right and wrong, and he had to do right. He had the strength to do it. All three of them did. They were going to handle it.
That was just a fact, he told himself. They'd handle it.
