Juggernaut flipped through the index cards, nodding at some and rolling his eyes at most. PR was good at pre-writing speeches, but as the years went by, he'd found himself wanting less and less to adhere to them. They were just outlines now.

He was sitting in an empty conference room, tweaking the cards and throwing away the ones that were pointless. This specific set was for the banquet on the night before the anniversary. It was Celestro's private pre-celebration, with a guest list of two hundred people who Fox had decided were important enough—or advantageous enough—to be there. Juggernaut wasn't sure which he would end up hating more: the banquet, the actual anniversary day, or the busy times leading up to both.

He quickly counted all the cards he still had left; half done, half to go. The soundtrack to his edit session was the wall of screens, each one playing a different bit of media on anything that had to do with him or heroism. They were all old segments he'd probably seen already, but he kept them on in the background in case any interesting talking points popped up. There were a lot of appearances on the way, and he wanted to be prepared for any left-field questions.

He was crossing out an entire sentence when he heard something that made him freeze.

"I think we're forgetting the fact that he could annihilate a city within minutes, and no one would be able to stop him?"

Juggernaut looked up, eyes narrowing at the screen on the upper left, showing a segment from only two years ago. It was Lisa Pokoly, his biggest critic, who'd said it, and the other talk show guests were alarmed.

"But why would he do that?" one of them pointed out with an awkward laugh. "He's had his chance for thirteen years, and he hasn't taken it. In fact, he's done nothing but helpful acts, none of which were obligatory."

"That's just it!" Lisa exclaimed. "I'm not denying that he's done a lot for us, but the dependence and praise are out of hand. Stopping runaway trains, holding up collapsing buildings—the things he does are very easy for him, and he's indestructible, for crying out loud. He's never actually risking anything."

Except his time and sanity, but...whatever.

"I'm not saying we should consider him a criminal, of course not, but we can't let ourselves be blinded by the shiny altruism. We should be cautious."

Juggernaut turned it off and watched that screen go dark. Yes, he thought bitterly, I suppose you should be.

Not even a minute later, the door handle jiggled.

Juggernaut stared at it. He was in a random conference room instead of the Marvel meeting room, at nine in the evening instead of a conventionally reasonable time, solely because he wanted to be left alone. Evidently, he'd become predictable. Kristen walked in, and following her was the head PR team, Emika, and Fox, who took one look at the screens and immediately turned away to prevent a headache.

"You shouldn't be watching this," she said.

"I'm preparing," he countered, but he turned the rest off.

They settled around the table, pulling out folders or laptops. One was even setting up a whiteboard. Kristen gathered up his cards—in the completely wrong order, but it was his fault for chaotically spreading them out like that—and moved the stack aside.

"We've got a lot to discuss," Fox said, cleaning an invisible speck off her glasses. "Kristen, do you want to start?"

Juggernaut was still holding one card, and he turned it around in his hands as he listened to them go back and forth. He glanced at his pager every now and then in case there was a mission to check over.

"We're changing the order of the Midwest talks," Kristen said. "I'll have the dates for those in a few hours."

Talks. Plural. Yesterday it was just talk. Juggernaut decided against asking how many there would be and simply nodded.

"Won't that interfere with Orlando?" Dawson pointed out.

"No, we canceled that. The Marvels, except Frostbite, are going to the convention center in Anaheim instead."

"But we didn't book—"

"Yes, we did."

"You have to talk to Kennedy before that," Emika said to him in between subjects. "And the police would like a word with you and Lady Marvel about the break-in at Magnum's evidence storage."

Juggernaut nodded again. He listened and answered when they needed him to, and then they stopped asking things and kept discussing tasks and scheduling, keeping him around only so that he knew what was going on and what work he had coming up.

He was used to it. Like everything else, he was used to it. But as the seconds ticked by, everything seemed to get more complicated: talk kept turning into talks, there were so many people he needed to meet with, so many supervillains he had to investigate before fighting, and all of it was in the midst of and because of the anniversary. It was too much. Their words were starting to blend together, and Juggernaut widened his eyes at nothing.

Kristen turned to him and said, "You need to—"

"What I need," he interrupted, having no idea what the end of that sentence would be until he stood up, decided he didn't want to be here, and sighed. "Is a desk cactus."

He made his way to the door, leaving them all blinking and looking at each other. "Where are you going?" Fox asked.

"Wherever they sell desk cactuses," he said, already in the hallway.

_________________

Echo pressed his palm against the ground until he felt a pebble, and then he picked it up and launched it as far as he suspected it would go, considering he couldn't see it very well.

Sitting at the Port of LA, legs bent over an edge with his feet dangling above the water, he impatiently drummed his fingers on the ground. This terminal of the port was mostly dark, and behind him was a vast, shadowy array of cargo container stacks. Next to him was a line of looming shipping cranes, looking monstrous in the dark. The rest of the port, across waterways and bridges and paths, was lit up by a series of lights that cast the other terminals in a yellow glow, and he could hear the mechanical noises of the night-shift dockworkers operating lifts, their shouts unintelligible from this distance.

He picked up another pebble and tossed it, squinting. It was too dark here for him to see the water as anything other than a black mass. This terminal was devoid of people and light—aside from two tall lamps that were placed too far apart to do anything—because of Achilles. The very waterway Echo was looking at now was where the dead hero's body had been found, and even though the investigation was stagnant and there was nothing much the city could do to help, they'd shut down the terminal anyway.

What a nice gesture! was what everyone thought. Echo thought so, too, until dispatch got word that people were taking advantage of a closed terminal and using it to store and transport drugs, weapons, and who knew what. He wouldn't be shocked if it was an intentional move on the city's part, if there had been one corrupt politician who used the crime scene angle as a way to secure a great temporary location for their business ties.

He checked his pager. Nine-fifty. He'd give it another hour. If this turned out to be nothing, he'd be annoyed, but he had high hopes. Out of the containers in this terminal, at least one had to be full of something illegal, but he wasn't about to break them all open to find it. He only needed to wait for the people to show up, in a car with its headlights off or by foot or even by a skiff coming from up or down the coast, and they would lead him to all he needed.

It was six minutes to ten when he heard a car quietly pull in. Echo stood and turned to face the terminal, watching as the front of a car poked out of the space between two rows of container stacks. The engine turned off, doors opened, and Echo walked slowly to one of the cranes and stood behind the ladder, peering through the rungs.

Four people. They were talking in hushed whispers, but Echo already knew why they were here: to check up on the already-delivered product. No dealings, no shipping or receiving, just a plain and simple check-up so that future transfers would go off without a hitch, without the buyers accusing them of skimming and opening fire. Echo had to hand it to Silvera—the rat had given them so much useful information. He didn't say a word about his own operations, of course, but he spilled plenty about his rivals, including Sal taking advantage of the terminal.

Echo waited until the guy in front pulled a keyring out of his pocket and pointed at something down the way, and then he actually tried to listen, leaning as far out as he could without being seen.

"It's the one down there," the guy said, and the others followed him.

Echo followed their line of sight, unable to identify the exact container, but he understood that it was one of the cluster of four they were walking toward. He tapped his foot, sending the smallest shockwave through the ground to see how the terminal reacted. Nothing. Everything here was too heavy to be shaken by a little tremble, and even the guys hadn't noticed it, aside from one who glanced at the ground, shrugged, and kept moving.

Good.

Echo came out from behind the crane, following them quietly. Luckily, the direction they were going in was closer to one of the lamps, so he could see much better. He grabbed hold of the two in the back before they realized he was there and slammed their heads together. One had a flashlight in his pocket—Echo grabbed it, turned it on, and shined it in the eyes of the two who were still standing. He snapped with both hands, and they all shrieked as their eardrums throbbed from the sudden wave of pressure. The one holding the keys dropped them while trying to cover his ears, and Echo caught them close to the ground and drove his elbow into that guy's nose as he stood back up.

That one stayed down, but the others were getting back on their feet. One got close and started wrenching the keys out of his hand; Echo glared at him, irritated, but the other two were closing in and were more immediate issues, so he kicked one in the shin and snapped again, and they both flinched and finally ran away.

In that short time, the one who was trying to get the keys managed to gain the upper hand. Before Echo clapped his hands around his head, the guy yanked his entire arm back, tipping them both toward the ground, and threw the keys as far away as he could. Echo watched as they sailed high into the air and clanged against the upper trusses of a crane, settling into a little nook.

Echo sighed. "Come on," he grumbled, slamming the last guy into a container and watching him slump to the ground. "You just had to do that."

At least the crane was the one closest to the light. Echo climbed the ladder, and he was almost at the last rung before he realized that the keys were sitting on a metal beam that wasn't even accessible by the ladder. It was a support beam at the very top of the crane, a place people weren't meant to reach. Echo wrapped both hands around a rung and sent a gentle shockwave through the crane. It did nothing, and the keys didn't budge, and he understood that it was no use: a shockwave big enough to shake off the keys would also be big enough to damage the crane, or at least alert the dockworkers. He sighed again and climbed down. After fighting off four assailants, he was going to have to ask for help from a flyer to get a damn pair of keys.

He took out his pager and put in a request to have Frostbite come and help him. He would ask Juggernaut, but he knew he was busy, but hopefully not so busy that he didn't check his watch. If Juggernaut didn't see the request and approve it, then it would never get sent to Frostbite, and Echo would be left waiting around for nothing.

Echo leaned against the ladder and watched the sky, waiting for a shape to fly overhead. Apparently he was watching the wrong direction, because he didn't see anything but heard a soft creak as feet landed on the crane above, and just as he was turning around, the keys were already being dropped.

Echo caught them and looked up, surprised. Juggernaut was crouched on the beam where the keys had been; he was holding something in his closed hands, but Echo couldn't make it out from down here. What he could make out was an annoyed expression.

"Hey, don't be mad at me for disrupting your schedule," Echo snapped. "I asked for Frostbite, not you."

"Did you really think I'd send Frostbite to you after what you said to her at the mall?"

Echo scoffed; he probably shouldn't have told Juggernaut about that conversation. "I was being honest!"

"You could've been nicer about it." Juggernaut stepped off the beam, landed on the ground, and started walking away. "People don't deserve mercy—who says that to a child?"

Echo stared at this stranger, eyebrows raised. "Since when have you cared about being nice?"

Juggernaut whirled around. "Since when have you cared about being honest?"

Echo narrowed his eyes. "Touché," he said finally. "Anyway—come on, I think it's that container over there."

He didn't wait for an answer and went to where the men had been going. He stopped between the ends of two rows; each row was two containers high, so it was one of these four, probably one of the two bottom ones for easier access. One of the keys said Ford—it was for the car—and he slid the other one into the lock of the bottom-left container first. Figures, it didn't work, so he stuck it into the padlock of the bottom-right and watched it unlock.

He opened the doors and was hit with a blast of cold air. Whoever had been in charge had decked out the interior with motion-sensored white lights that flickered on when he stepped inside and an impressive cooling system, but why? There were several boxes that looked vaguely like freezers, and Echo kicked one over. It was full of packaged animal products—livers, lungs, other things he couldn't identify. So that was what they were smuggling—fancy, illegal meats?

He righted the box, shoving everything back inside, and a nasty-looking cheese caught his eye. He picked up the package with the tips of his fingers. Casu marzu, it was called, from the island of Sardinia, but the rest of the label was in another language.

Echo looked up to check if Juggernaut was still there. He was just outside, leaning against the edge of the opening; Echo could only see the back of his arm and a heel.

"Do you know Sardinian?" Echo asked.

"Why would I know that?"

Echo shrugged. Juggernaut knew so much random shit that it had become a joke. Need to figure out the control panels of the trolleys in Philadelphia? Ask Juggernaut—he probably knew them. It was one of those quirks that were admirable but also annoying, because just how many things was this guy inexplicably perfect at?

Echo pulled out his phone, took a picture of the label, and ran it through a translator. He waited a few minutes, beginning to wonder why he was even bothering with this, but the cheese looked so weird that he just had to know what it was.

When the translation finally came through, he read it out loud. "Casu marzu is a traditional Sardinian delicacy, made from native sheep's milk and softened by..."

"By what?" Juggernaut asked when the silence stretched on too long.

"Nothing," Echo said quickly, tossing the cheese back into the box and slamming it closed. "Nothing."

Juggernaut turned his head in, eyes narrowing. "Softened by what?" he repeated, confused.

"It's, uh.."

"Spit it out."

"Maggots! It's...cheese filled with live maggots." Echo cleared his throat, feeling guilty. "Ah, sorry."

Juggernaut stared at him. Then he turned away and laughed. "I'm not afraid of maggots."

"You fucking should be," Echo said, shuddering. If it were him who'd flown through Maggotzilla, he would've quit right then and there.

Echo moved through the rest of the container, taking count of the boxes and venturing to open a few more. The ones that didn't contain exotic food were lined with thin plastic bags full of powder. His guess was that Sal supplied an underground restaurant that catered to the high-class—and frankly, disgusting—tastes of ultra-rich and ultra-lawless patrons, and he had a drug ring on the side. Echo supposed it was efficient to deliver both in the same container, at the same time, especially when the terminal was closed and the authorities were busy. There was a lot of money on these things, and depending on the relationships between buyers, sellers, and supplies, lives were at risk, too.

He hoped one of those lives was Sal's, and he hoped that once his associates realized they'd been busted, they'd send hitmen after him. Or vice versa, and Sal sent hitmen after his 'friends.' The more they took themselves out, the easier it was for everyone else.

Done counting, Echo turned around. Juggernaut stood at the opening, eyeing the boxes with disinterest and a little disgust. Now that he was in the light, Echo could make out what he was holding.

Echo raised an eyebrow. "Is that a mini succulent?"

Juggernaut blinked, looked down at it, and let out a quiet, exasperated, "Yeah."

Echo was starting to realize how off this was. If Juggernaut had stuck around this long, then whatever he was actually supposed to be doing right now—or whatever meeting he'd walked out of—must be exhausting as hell, and he was in no rush to get back to it. He just looked so...dead.

"Are you okay?" Echo asked carefully.

Juggernaut gave him a cold look. "Of course I'm okay, Echo," he snapped, turning to go. "That's my entire fucking gimmick. I'm always okay."

Echo stood there for a moment. He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. Instead, he silently followed Juggernaut out, locking the container doors behind them.

I don't know what you were expecting when I said this chapter would be Guy's Night, but I hope this was at least somewhat entertaining :)