A collaborative effort between myself and  

Appearing after the events of

Art by   , Go check out his awesome gallery of work.

Text by

Taking place in the setting

and I would like to thank for allowing us to be part of this great storyline.  We hope our contribution adds a little something to her tale.

Soviet Superwoman mentioned is property of and used with permission



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Walkiria paused her flight, hovering over the turbulent waters of the Urim Strait. The waters below her were dark and angry, a recent storm combined with the outgoing tide made the waves rise up in series of large swells. The westerly winds whipped the white caps, blowing puffs of sea foam across the angry waters. The red-haired heroine cocked her head to one side as she listed to the communication from the Yoyodyne artificial intelligence. As O.D.I.N. finished his report and went back to searching for Olga’s whereabouts Walkiria floated in the air over the churning seas. She clenched her hands into tight fists, the leather-like material of her gloves squeaking as it was stretched over her knuckles.

Unclenching her hands, Walkiria grabbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. Closing her eyes, she repeated the words "I love my stubborn Russian wife" over and over. Walkiria repeated the mantra until the pain between her temples began to subside. The heroine had felt trapped; she had suspected it was only a matter of time before Olga’s house arrest would chaff the Russian too much. But asking someone to baby-sit or stand guard over Olga would only make her wife feel worse. That had led Walkiria to take this desperate course of action. Olga’s actions; fleeing the relative safety of their secure apartment only confirmed to Walkiria this action was necessary. Resolved to do whatever she could to get help for her wife, the ionic-powered heroine took flight towards her destination, skimming the wave tops to reduce the chances of her ionic energy trail being spotted.

Urim Island was a lonely desolate place. A barren spit of rock, coral, and sand topped with an automated lighthouse and the remains of some long abandoned military buildings, it was surrounded by warning buoys and floating security sensors. The currents and reefs surrounding the island made the waters incredibly dangerous. The number of recorded shipwrecks in this area made it clear this was an area to be avoided. If the navigational hazards weren’t enough, the tainted nature of the island was the most powerful reason to keep clear of the island. In the late 60’s a munitions ship leaving Navarone Island lost power in a storm and struck the reefs around Urim Island. The stricken vessel was destroyed when a large portion of its cargo exploded. That resulted in a double disaster; much of the unexploded cargo was chemical and biological munitions. That deadly cargo was scattered all over the surrounding area, poisoning the land and rendering it uninhabitable for generations. The military did a incomplete decontamination and marked the area as a federal quarantine zone. Over the passing years, a few foolhardy artifact seekers had visited the island. Those that survived the reefs and currents found the toxic chemicals saturating the soil were still very active. To date 37 people had been killed or suffered life long disabilities from the chemical exposure. Nowadays only the service crew for the lighthouse, dressed in double layer protective suits were the only visitors to the island. Those brave souls only came out when the automated light house suffered a breakdown, averaging less than a single visit every four years.

Walkiria looked around as she landed on the island’s windswept beach. The dark grey soil looked sterile and lifeless. Only a few stunted and twisted trees managed to survive somehow in spots, their leaves and bark looking sickly. She strode forward towards the decrepit dock jutting out into the waters of the strait as the wind made her hair fly wildly around her face. Flying low of the water had left her soaked to the bone from the sea spray, the green fabric of her costume clung to her body like a second skin. The wind on the wet fabric chilled her to the core. Her body’s discomfort was matched by her emotional state. Walkiria had already had to agree to pay a price for this meeting. That had left a bad taste in her mouth as she considered what she would have to do to pay for this meeting. Then there was the price she would undoubtedly be asked to pay if she got the assistance she had come here seeking.

With that less-than-happy thought rattling around her brain, she waited for her "guest" to arrive. Walkiria didn’t have to wait long, at the agreed upon time, a flying figure circled the island before landing softly about twenty feet away from the red haired heroine. With her blonde hair and black cape blowing in the breeze, the villainess known as Dark Star smiled a predatory grin as she walked closer to Walkiria.

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