"He begged to see me. What kind of monsters did we allow to replace us, Scott? It's all wrong. Nothing is right. I'm out of my mind but I know nothing is right anymore."
"I know, John. I know."
Mr. Baker was as shocked as Mr. Wakefield. He hadn't seen that giant beast in decades. Mr. Baker was about to suggest they take the car to the site of the battle, and then the New Freedom Five began to drown the upset giant and Mr. Baker almost thought there wouldn't be a chance to get John to calm the giant down. Mr. Baker thought he was about to see the end of him, but that Eagle Eye girl stopped it. He would have leaned back in relief on his wreck of a wheelchair if it had a back. Mr. Baker wasn't sure whether he'd wanted to see Fritzie; or as his official name was supposed to be, Panzer; dead or alive. Back then, they usually split the fight to one on ones to keep things under control, but fights tended to cross into one another. Scott had been picked up and thrown by Fritzie more than once when he wasn't able to shoot the giant in the eye fast enough to force him to let go. A few of those throws knocked him around pretty badly, too. John on the other hand was beyond agitated. He yelled at the television when Fritzie was in danger. That fear was almost parental.
The image on the television went back to the news reporter announcing an "all clear" when Scott felt things had calmed down enough for an insult.
"Those little shits aren't fighting to protect the city. That whole fucking fight was just a light show to tell everyone how fucking great they are so the city'll piss more attention onto those glorified little cocksuckers."
Mr. Baker had to admit he was pretty pissed over it too. Not as far gone as Mr. Wakefield, though. John had a personal stake in the fight, Mr. Baker just plain hated these kids. The whole thing had left John pale as a ghost.
"Let me get you a drink. You could use one. Shit, I could go for one too."
Mr. Baker squeaked back into the kitchen to give John some privacy. On the way, he passed a fridge with a white piece of paper with a childish drawing. A crude drawing of Fritzie next to a figure in a lab coat. Both wore happy faces and there were building blocks in Fritzie's hand and a clipboard in the other figure's hand. Around them were various rainbows and other happy faces. The text written in blue crayon underneath said it all.
FrizEE AnD joNN
Another reminder. Great. Mr. Baker turned away from it and rolled over to the table they'd been sitting at with Ridley. He separated another two cups from the stack and poured from Ridley's confiscated bottle. He began to anticipated the drink; the last time he drank had been four years ago, when he snuck a few sips from an irresponsible janitor's hidden stash. It was a shame that janitor has lost his job and taken his stash with him. Now, he had most of a bottle right here, right now.
He downed the contents on his cup and poured himself another round. He put the drinks between his legs so they wouldn't spill while he rolled his chair back to John.
-----------------------------------------------
"And what is the address of the phone he used?"
"Well, let's see. He used a phone booth on 568 Oregon Drive. It's in the Edric Estates."
"That will be all."
Delroy Roche hung up the phone in the dark room he sat in. The first sign of Scott Baker in years was of huge importance to this man. Something he checked the network for every few weeks. Luck would have it that it that he calls on the day Baker finally reveals himself. Roche knew he wasn't dead. Nothing could kill Baker, except him.
Nightwatch was looking for someone. A friend. A former team member most likely. This "Ridley Leppelman" is the person Scott Baker happens to ask about on the same day Dragon is murdered? It had to be related to Freedom Squad. Roche guessed this Leppelman must be Sacrifice's name. The rest had their names out there, it made Sacrifice the only choice. Not that it mattered to him. Leppelman wasn't the target. It had always been Baker. And it seemed now, he'd finally have his kill.
Roche's dark silhouette glanced at the newspaper lying on the cot in the corner. Dragon dead. She had never been a target either, so he'd never had a reason to kill her, but he couldn't deny that Dragon would have made a challenging kill. He was almost impressed at whoever managed to get her. But now, his time had come. He'd asked about whatever Baker had asked. Seems he was concerned over an assassin. Someone may be killing old Freedom Squad. He didn't care if they got Wakefield or Sacrifice. But Baker was his kill. And he would rip it out off any would-be murderer's hand.
Roche clenched his fist at the thought of anyone interrupting his hunt. He swore, Nightwatch would be slain by the hand of Delroy Roche. Or as Freedom Squad had known and feared him... Razor.
Razor dropped the weight he'd been lifting with his free hand and let it clatter to the ground. There was no one around to hear anyway. He walked over to a small mirror on the concrete wall of the room. On the wall behind him, dozens of weapons, both martial weapons as well as firearms for every situation hung from the wall. There were more spread throughout the room. The dim lighting hid his face in the mirror, but it was his body he needed to see. His body was muscular, but agile and flexible. Just like Nightwatch had been. No, better than Nightwatch had ever been. He would have his kill.
--------------------------------------------------------
Norman Coleman rubbed the tired fuzz out of his old eyes. He checked to make sure his tie was on straight before he opened the door. Norman Coleman was in his 50's and in the middle of a long government career. His hair was already completely gray and had thinned out from years of continuous stress. His face was wrinkly and droopy; in fact some would say he looked like a bloodhound with big sad eyes and a tired face. Norman had once been a tall, muscular man, but now he was just tall. And a little flabby from a job behind a desk. When he opened the door, a young Scott Baker stood there, the newest member of Duke's ambitious superhero team. A project only Norman had believed in enough to support.
"Come in, come in. Have a seat."
Norman's voice was deep, and he spoke slowly. It made him seem even more tired than he was, but asking if he in fact was tired would always result in a "I'm fine." Scott sat down and looked around the office. There were several photographs ranging from a young man in an army uniform, to an older man in a suit with various important people in the frame. A photographic record of Mr. Coleman's career.
Scott asked,
"You a military man?"
"I was. Till I got too old. I'm Norman Coleman by the way. I'm Freedom Squad's handler."
"Handler? Like what, you make sure we're following the rules or something?"
"Don't worry. It's just a fancy way of saying I take care of the paper work."
Norman Coleman went on to be Freedom Squad's man in the office throughout their entire superhero career, from their early days fighting in the streets, and even when they were asked to help with the war. While they were out fighting, he made sure to take care of all the official things. Speaking with politicians on their behalf, taking care of financial tasks, making sure Freedom Squad was kept out of legal trouble, and acting as an adviser to the team. When Doctor Nucleus needed grant money, he'd find investors, let John give them the idea and tell them why it's great, and then he would take over and speak with the investors to make sure they made funded the project. When Eve began to involve herself in pro-women rights, Norman would stand behind her in the background, speaking with the right people to help this gain traction, taking Eve to the most promising meetings, or just stand and watch her with his old dog face. He was also there if someone needed to talk. He wasn't just there for the papers, he was a wise man. He gave good advice, no matter how small or personal a problem was. Over the years, Freedom Squad felt comfortable with him. Norman was the unsung hero of Freedom Squad. Mr. Coleman performed a countless amount of tasks that made Freedom Squad possible, all behind the scenes. He didn't take credit for their achievements, and he didn't ask for it. He was always happy to help, despite how tired he seemed.
Norman began to fetch the correct documents from his desk. He spoke while he looked for them.
"So, I assume you've met David."
"Yeah, I did. He's uhh, he's something."
"He's idealistic." Mr. Coleman placed the documents on the desk, "But that's a good thing. He's a good man. I've known him for a very long time."
"Oh yeah? And what's with all the papers?"
"A necessary evil. For the superhero team to work, we need to fit you snugly within the justice system. You won't need to sign much, I can do most of this. I can run you through what you're agreeing to, but that'll take some time."
They spent a good hour and a half. Norman explaining the various benefits and rules that came with being a real superhero, as well as the extra ones that were made exclusively for the creation of this team. This included the option of revealing his name to the public. At the time, Scott saw no harm in it, and Norman Coleman assured him that the government would make sure it wasn't a problem.
Soon, Scott was bored out of his mind, but he'd agreed to this with that Dragon lady, so he might as well go through with it. Deep down, he had to admit, he was a little excited about this bold step to actually become a hero; just not at this very moment.
"All right, well. You're done. I'd let you leave, but you need to meet someone else?" Norman checked his watch, "He should be here any minute. Or second. He likes to be early."
The door was practically thrown open when a chubby man with quite the baby face marched in with his own briefcase full of documents. This was Buck Lawson. Or Bucky. Buck Lawson was the other person who handled paperwork, but a different kind. While Norman Coleman spoke to politicians and investors, Bucky spoke to radio hosts and magazine editors. He handled the media relations of Freedom Squad. Or at least, he would when it got off the ground. Right now, he just filed the possibility of media. In the years to come, he would handle how Freedom Squad was represented and where. Someone wanted to make a Freedom Squad cartoon? They had to talk to him first. A Freedom Squad comic series? Had to talk to Buck "Bucky" Lawson. He was an enthusiastic man, with a very loud voice and spoke very quickly. Almost the polar opposite of Mr. Coleman. Additionally, and perhaps unfortunately for some, he had similar tastes to Duke. Cheesy and very child friendly. It led to the green lighting of a lot of cartoons and comic books, as well as toy lines and similar endeavors. Freedom Squad was witness to David and Buck's overwhelming enthusiasm for Freedom Fries. As explosive as he was, Buck was a good guy. Freedom Squad had liked him for the most part, and he did his job well. He also organized the best parties. Despite their attempts, Buck always planned the best celebrations. The ones without usually just ended in punch, chips, and cake. Buck Lawson would become a good friend to Freedom Squad.
Buck Lawson shook Scott's hand with plenty of vigor.
"Scott Baker, right? Heard a lot about you, kid. You're gonna make a great addition to our little family. Now, you look kinda bored cause of all the paperwork, but we got a little more before I let you go, alright?"
Unlike Mr. Coleman, Buck blazed through most of the paperwork with Scott. It left a few things unexplained, but at this point Scott was just glad to get it over with. This moment of hastiness would later lead to a lot of surprises for Scott when he found out he'd signed up for toy lines, cartoons, and lunchboxes. Even years later, Scott still wasn't completely sure what else Buck had signed him up for. All the things that never got made, but Buck had gotten his signature for.
The next day, newspapers following the ever growing hero team story had a new headline.
Vigilante Nightwatch joins Duke's New Team.
The vigilante, called Nightwatch by police officers and imprisoned criminals alike, agreed to join Duke's superhero team yesterday. The vigilante, who agreed to reveal his name as Scott Baker, was made an official superhero and cleared of any charges he might have incurred during his career as an illegal crime fighter. Nightwatch will now be aiding this team's current members, David Jeremiah Duke also known as "Duke," and Evelyn Grace also known as "Dragon". Until recently, both Dragon (formerly "Impulse") and Nightwatch worked alone, although Nightwatch did so illegally without registration. The team is still looking for skilled supers, although Duke has stated,
"As much as we love the few superheroes out there, I've gotta be very picky with who I choose. We've only got a few spots..... but the ones we pick have gotta be good. Dragon and I will continue scouting for potential supers."
On the paper was a photograph of Scott Baker, in his slapped-together vigilante costume, but without the mask.
Somewhere else, a few miles away from Scott's apartment in the slummier part of New York, James "Jim" Aldo, one of the five top heads of the Italian mob in New York could hardly believe what he was reading. Jim Aldo was a bald, gaunt man, with a very long mean streak. He took handled the mob's weapon business, whether the guns were comin' in or goin' out. Jim Aldo himself was one of the rather vicious mob bosses. He was known to cut off the hands and feet of the people who caused him trouble and have them thrown in a river tied to a sack of bricks. He got up from his leather chair in his office; he was furious, but excited.
He made his way into one of the rooms where some of his men were sitting around a poker table or lounging around on a few armchairs. They all stopped chatting and laughing and looked at their boss. Jim Aldo spoke first.
"Which one of you has seen that Nightwatch prick in person?"
One of the men sitting on an armchair tentatively raised his hand. Jim Aldo threw the paper onto the poker table.
"Is this him? He the guy that busted Lou?"
Lou was currently sitting in a cell in prison with a broken arm and nose.
The hesitant goon got up from his chair and walked over to have a look. He walked with a noticeable limp. He only needed to see the photograph for a few moments to recognize the man who'd given him the limp.
"Yeah. Yeah that's him, boss. He ain't wearin' the mask, but that's the costume and everythin'. Came into Lou's with that Impulse girl and beat the livin' snot outta everybody. Barely managed to get outta there before the cops showed up."
Jim Aldo licked his lips and ran his tongue over his teeth, "Scott Baker huh? Alright. Alright, then. Guess The Nightwatch ain't too clever after all, is he boys? Dumb fuck's got his name all over the papers."
James Aldo had enough connections to get an address from the name. He rounded up his men and in less than two hours, they'd gathered up in front of an old apartment building. Scott Baker was supposed to live on the third floor. Room 35.
The group of mob thugs made their way into the building. The residents locked their doors and kept quiet. It wasn't the first time someone in this building got a visit from some goons. The group made its way up, holding baseball bats, chains, a couple of knives, and a few guys with guns. Finally, they arrived at room 35. Scott Baker's room.
"We're gonna get him this time. This time for sure."
"Shut the fuck up. Everybody get ready. We fuck this up, boss is gonna be real pissed. Let's do this."
They kicked the door down and poured into the apartment. They didn't see anyone in the living room.
"Look for 'im!"
The living room was sparse. A small table and a single chair. The windows had the curtains drawn over them. The bathroom was similarly empty. In the bedroom, there was a simple bed and wardrobe, as well as Scott's makeshift gym. An aged punching bag and a pull-up bar. Scott would spend a lot of his free time honing himself here. A bag and bar were enough. You didn't need equipment for push-ups, and Scott had done hundreds, maybe thousands in this room; all to get ready for the night. However, Scott Baker was nowhere to be found.
"Where the fuck is he?"
"Maybe he ain't home?"
"Then we'll wait for him! When he gets back, we'll give him a beating so bad, he'll wish he was dead."
The goons waited for almost an entire day before they gave up. Scott Baker wasn't coming back to that apartment.
Several miles away, Scott walked into a new apartment with Mr. Coleman. It was inside a pretty pricey building in the more respectable part of town. When the door opened it revealed a spacious living room with plenty of room and very good looking furniture. The kitchen was behind a bar and everything. It even had a large window that looked down over the street with brand new blue curtains.
Mr. Coleman said,
"We took the liberty of moving most of your belongings here, but we left the furniture behind and bought some new furnishing. If there's anything you'd like us to get, let me know, but they made sure only to leave things if they couldn't be replaced or carried out. Noticed you had a sort of a exercise area. We've got a new room over here for that, got a new bag and new equipment. Weights and everything."
Scott was speechless. He'd been moved out of his old apartment into this bigger, newer one just for signing some papers. He'd grown up in that shitty part of town, so he'd gotten used to bad conditions. Sure, his parents had done their best, but a shoemaker of a father could only provide so much. That upbringing made this a little more awe inspiring than usual. This apartment wasn't ridiculously big, but it was spacious. More so than any place Scott had ever lived in.
"And I can just stay here? No catch?"
"No, no catch. Gotta make sure your address is unknown now that your name's out. Even if it wasn't, this is pretty much standard procedure if you're going to be part of this new team. Your name isn't tied to this place in any way, and the only people who know you live here are you, me, and the other team members. Give or take a few workers if they figure out who's stuff they were moving. Don't worry about paying for this place, I'll take care of the paperwork."
"I uh... don't really know what to say. Thanks, I guess."
"Don't mention it. Just part of the job. Yours is coming up soon. I'll leave you be now. Here." Norman produced a business card from his suit jacket and handed it to Scott. It contained an address and number. "You need anything, just get in touch with me. Enjoy the place. It's yours."
Mr. Coleman placed the key to the apartment on the kitchen counter before he left, but Scott stood where he was a little longer.
"This place is big enough to get lost in."
