'You realise we're taking a big risk bringing you in on this, Foster.' Andrew Hudson was a squat, square-faced man with a sparse topping of almost-blonde hair. His face was always flushed pink, creased with laugh lines. If he weren't a three-star general, Foster would have called him a friend.

This wasn't the time or place for friendship. 'Yes sir.'

'We're putting you in charge of Team Theta. Right now they're Rebirth's big ticket item, you hear me? Do not drop the ball on this one.'

Foster raised a brow. He knew all about Project Rebirth, their successes and failures. So far the project had managed to field three teams of mind-wiped, rejuvenated supervillains, but they weren't ready for the public eye. Epsilon, Zeta and Eta were theatre-specific specialists, tasked with assisting their related branch of the armed forces.

Epsilon in particular were already a badly-kept secret, beloved by the troops they were sent to assist.

'I'll have the relevant files sent to your people. Coordinate with Lt Batcher. He'll get you settled and run introductions.

= = =

Introductions.

Foster kept his ear to the ground, he knew who these kids were. Or had been. Hell, one of 'em had been on his own team, not that long ago. He couldn't imagine Samantha Eagle had volunteered for this project, no matter what lies they'd told her. Sam was an empath - she could see through bullshit in a heartbeat.

He didn't need to wait for the files to be sent over, either. He already had slightly-redacted copies hacked from the system. The so-called Green Book files were supposed to be in a green binder, but Foster had scans tucked away on his own cybernetic data storage.

He called up the summaries while he walked. Team Theta were a pretty standard super-team lineup, conceptually. A tactician, a blaster, an inventor, a brick, and a monster. The project's eggheads had hashed out the formula years ago, probably after arguing for hours over comic books. On paper, Theta were the best combination of individuals to suit these roles.

Theta one, the tactician, was literally an angel. Or a former-angel. It was complicated, apparently, because this one was on earth, wearing flesh, and apparently determined to eradicate the human race.

Theta two, the blaster, had a magic gem lodged in her sternum, which let her fly and fire energy blasts that could rearrange matter. She could turn steel into feathers, or anything into anything else. Useful.

Theta three, the inventor, was his old employee, Sam Eagle. She had an innate talent for building vehicles and guns, but mostly she had lived up to her 'Eagle' codename by being a very hot, confident woman who could fly and manipulate people's emotions. Everybody loved her. Everybody did as she asked. She was great for herding crowds of civilians away from danger while the blasters dealt the damage. It worked great, until it didn't.

Theta four was an old enemy, Nikoli Goryushka, aka Constellation. A towering catastrophe of genetic engineering, partly shunted into a different dimension. She was pretty strong, a fast flier, and she was extremely tough. Not invulnerable, but solid enough. She'd never flinched when he'd fought her in the past, no matter how many bullets, lasers or blades he'd put into her.

She was also pretty memorable, visually. She looked like a woman-shaped patch of night sky. At night, flying in the air, she was practically invisible.

Theta five was a mystery to Foster. The files called it Visceroid, named after its first appearance. A six-foot sphere, floating around a ranch in Texas, picking up cattle with telekinesis and shredding them into food. It was a colony of some kind, alien snakes. The squirming, blood-soaked mass had looked like a ball of guts, hence the name.

After blasting it to crap with thermobaric weapons, they'd loaded the surviving bunch into the Rebirth machine and now it called itself Meghan.

Foster suppressed a shudder. It was lethal, no doubt, an ideal shock troop.

Indeed, the entire group had a lot of potential. Now all they needed was training.

= = =

Lt Batcher was pretty busy, but gave Foster directions and clearance to go find the girls. They were currently being kept in some isolation cells, because while initial testing was "largely positive" they hadn't met each other yet, and they were leaving that duty to their new caretaker.

Whatever. Big deal. Girl 1, meet your new teammate, Girl 2. Rinse and repeat. Foster knew how to put a super-team together - he'd wrangled some of the biggest names for about eighteen months, before it had all turned to shit while his back was turned.

He blink-clicked the map onto his optical overlay and jogged to the holding area. It seemed a suitable site - a sports hall with adjoining cells. He chose a door at random and slid back the small viewing door to find Constellation sat on a small bunk. She was wearing a loose black jumpsuit - even at six foot seven they'd managed to give her a size too large - but her long blonde wig was recognisable. She turned to face him, and he narrowed his eyes. It was her all right, but instead of her usual homicidal rage this kid looked... nervous.

'ID?' he barked.

'Theta four, sir. Constellation.'

'You know who I am?'

'No sir.'

'I'm your new commander. Name's Foster.'

Her eyes flashed, a pale blue pulse, and she blinked. 'You're a cyborg, sir?'

'Good catch.' Given how much of his body he'd replaced and upgraded, most casual scans would assume he was a robot.

'Thank you sir?'

'Hang tight. I'll be back. I'm getting you out of here.'

= = =

The next cell over held Theta three. Sam. He slid the hatch open and she was already stood by the door, looking into his eyes.

Damn.

Same brown eyes, depthless. Deep. He blinked, and let his automated defences apply a small electrical shock. 'Knock it off, Eagle.'

She gasped and stepped away from the door. 'What do you mean?'

'Your empathic shit won't work on me,' he scowled. She was, what, fifteen, and already stacked. Her perfect face was one of her powers - she was simply gorgeous, but also had empathic projection that could seduce a person from twenty paces. Foster had known her when she was an adult, and after unwittingly approving her third raise in as many months he'd ordered his maintenance crew to design him a defence. It still worked, which was just as well.

'Have a seat, Sam. I'll have you out of there in a minute.'

= = =

Cell number two revealed a girl with short brown hair. She didn't react when he slid the hatch open. Instead she was staring at the wall with an expression of mild horror.

'Hey. Eyes front.'

Nothing.

'Theta two!'

The girl whirled around as though slapped, her wide eyes darting around the room before noticing him.

'Yes?'

'You okay?'

'...I don't think so. Where am I?'

Foster frowned. Yeah, whatever this was, he didn't have time for it now. He slid the hatch closed.

= = =

The door on the end held his team leader, the angel. Foster had encountered a creature that called itself Throne, an incomprehensible monster of blinding light and sharp edges. He doubted Rebirth had something like that tucked into a rumpled jumpsuit. He slid the door open and saw a scowling kid with dark hair. Her suit was sharply pressed, her boots gleaming and perfect. Her dark eyes bored into his, and he felt a deep sense of disapproval, down in his soul.

Yep. Angel.

'Theta one,' he challenged.

'I am Savael,' her voice was astonishingly deep, the voice of an adult.

'You're Theta one,' he corrected her.

A sigh. 'Very well. I know you, creature.'

'Yeah? What is it you think you know?'

'You are a Fool.'

Foster gave a wry smile. 'I won't argue with that. You wanna get out of here?'

'We were instructed to wait.'

'Well now I'm instructing you to leave.'

The girl stepped forward, and the door latch clunked open of its own accord. Foster jumped clear, yelling into his internal radio. 'Who opened that door? Security breach, Theta one!'

Savael gently pushed the door open and stepped out to stand before him. She pulled a face and stood at ease, hands behind her back.

Foster tilted his head. 'You opened that?'

'Doors will not hold me,' she growled, making it clear that doors were the lowest of the low.

'That one didn't even try,' he noted.

She didn't bother answering. Typical sulky teenager.

'Wait here. I'm gonna check the last one.'

'Fine.'

= = =

Foster swallowed as he approached the final cell. He'd seen grainy footage from the team that captured this thing the first time - a floating ball of blood-soaked snakes, some kind of alien weapon that weaponised telekinesis and ate everything in reach.

If it retained even a fraction of that power it was going to be devastating. He slid open the hatch and grimaced.

A black jumpsuit lay empty on the bunk, and the room was full of weird little snake-things. A cursory glance took in the sight and his combat computer catalogued the critters. No two seemed exactly the same. They were a random collection of pastel colours, green and blue and pink. Some were ribbed, or ridged, some has fins like a fish, or protruding spikes, and the heads, with beady little blood-red eyes, were hideous.

'Jesus. Theta five! Report!'

Before his eyes, the snakes darted into the suit, slipping through the openings and filling it out, like an inflating balloon. Within seconds an approximate human shape was struggling to stand. Five seconds later the form was complete, or as good as it was getting. It stood by the bunk, large red eyes eventually aligning to look at him. He took a breath.

'Meghan?'

'We. Are Meghan.' The response was halting, uncertain. The voice was oddly pleasant, an almost melodic harmony as the snakes formed speech.

'I am Foster. You obey me. Do you understand?'

'It is Foster?'

'Uh, yeah.'

'What is Foster?'

'Me. I am Foster.' He blinked. Wait, what was she asking? 'Foster is your commander.'

'Understand. Commander is not food.'

Good enough, for now.

The creature tilted its head, eyes wide and attentive. 'Where is food?'

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