StarFall Comics
A Division of Pullemouttayerhat Productions
A Wholly-Owned Subsidiary of StarFall Innovations
Proudly Presents:

Silver Arrow

#5: Betrayal

Cover: Silver Arrow impaled on the blade of a polearm held by a young Asian woman dressed in a sleeveless white miniskirted battle dress, black elbow-length gloves, black fishnets and heels, a white domino mask, and a flowing black sash around her waist. Across the bottom of the cover are the words, "White Crane Strikes to Kill!"


Los Angeles has a lot of run-down neighborhoods, places where trash lines the streets, the homeless beg for handouts, and gang tags decorate the boarded up doors and windows of abandoned and condemned three- to six-story brick buildings that look ready to fall apart in the next minor quake. And no one ever seems to do anything about those buildings.

Simple fact is, most of these buildings are owned by those who prefer to keep these buildings in such a state, paying off those in city offices to look the other way for as long as possible. Abandoned buildings, while providing shelter to the homeless, are the perfect place for criminals, especially organized crime, to hide their drug labs.

Silver Arrow thought about all this as he observed such a building from a rooftop across the street. For two hours, he'd been watching as people went in and out through a door which opened into the alleyway behind the building. So far, he'd identified three of Sun Li's dealers going in, but only workers coming out.

All this added to the tip Jade had given him. Even if this wasn't the secret Sizzle storehouse, it was a drug lab.

Taking aim with his bow, he fired an arrow across the street. The arrow flew through the air, planting itself firmly over a second-floor window; a cord trailing behind it stiffened as he pulled back on it, then tied the other end to an open pipe. Taking a deep breath and strapping his bow across his back, he pulled out a handle from one of his pouches and leapt. The handle caught the cord, and he flew across the street.


Inside the drug lab, the workers were hard at work refining the drugs. Cases marked with different color bars on them sat off to one side. Guards stood at the rear door with sub-machine guns at the ready. All in all, about twenty people were present.

In through one of the windows above the crates crashed Silver Arrow. He let go of the handle and landed on the floor, landing in a crouch.

"You're all under arrest," he said as he stood up.

Gunfire erupted from the guards, but Silver Arrow was nowhere near where they fired. Fortunately, the guards didn't connect with him, or with the workers as they all dove for cover or raced to one side of the building or the other to avoid getting shot.

Arrow dove and rolled to the right, drawing his bow at the same time. He fired off a pair of arrows in rapid succession, which knocked the guns from the thugs' hands.

"Might as well give up," he told them. "Police will be here in five minutes."

"More than enough time to kill you, hero!" came a feminine voice from above them. With that, White Crane dropped from the rafters and landed between him and the guards. She wielded a wide-bladed polearm, which in a flurry she sliced at Arrow's bow. She caught it in the middle, right above his hand, slicing it in two. With a flourish, she ended with the blade behind her.

"Nice naginata," he told her, dropping the pieces of the bow.

"Pudao," she corrected him.

"Same to you."

"Pudao!" she hissed. "It's a Chinese pudao, not a Jap knockoff!" She brought the blade in front of her. "And you're weaponless. This'll be too easy."


Fran stepped out of the bathroom of her low-rent studio apartment, wrapping a towel around her, to answer her cell phone which sat ringing incessantly on the kitchenette counter.

"Doorway Deliveries," she said in greeting, rubbing her hair dry with another towel as she talked. "Yes, Mr. Sakamoto, you heard right. Instant delivery within ten miles, within fifteen minutes out to a hundred miles. Yes, I can meet you in your office. Tomorrow at nine, Two California Plaza, suite 3220? I'll be there. Good day."

As she sat the phone back down on the counter, she felt herself getting slowed down. She stumbled slightly, as the door to the apartment seemed to fly open.

"Hi, sis," she heard from that direction.

"No," she muttered. She lifted the phone, but even raising her hand seemed to take forever. She hit a button on the side, and started pressing it in a rapid pattern. *beep beep beep* *beep*beep*beep* *beep beep beep*

"I'm afraid you're going to miss that appointment tomorrow," Franklin St. Claire stated, walking into the apartment, closing the door behind him. He seemed to be moving quickly, but Fran knew better: he was moving normally; he'd slowed her down. Moving far quicker than she could think, he crossed the distance between them, and lifted the phone out of her hand. Glancing at its display, he smiled. "As always, sis, one step ahead. Just who I wanted to meet."


Silver Arrow heard the buzzing of Fran's SOS in his bluetooth headset, but couldn't respond at the moment, then frowned as it went stopped. At the moment, though, he had more pressing business to attend to, as he avoided his assailant's thrusts and swings. Fortunately for him, her pudao - a weapon better known in the West as a Chinese Horse-Cutter - left openings every time she swung, thanks to the oversized curved chopping blade.

Taking advantage of a brief opening, he stepped forward and grabbed it with both hands. For a brief moment, they fought together for control over the pudao's pole; she proved stronger than she looked, as she held on tight as they fought over it.

"If we're going to fight like this, pretty lady," he asked her, "mind telling me who you are? I didn't think the Tong went in for hiring our kind."

"White Crane," she answered. "And no, they didn't hire me. I'm doing this for the bounty they have on you."

"How much am I worth?" he asked.

"What?" In that moment of hesitation, he tore the polearm from her hands and backed away quickly. Slamming it against the concrete floor, he snapped off the blade before spinning the pole expertly.

"How much am I worth to you?" he repeated, dropping into a defensive crouch. "Surely you can tell me that."

"Twenty thousand," she told him. "But then, I believe you already knew that. Didn't Hugh? ... And don't call me Shirley."

He tensed at this. She'd said, "didn't you," but he could have sworn there was a bit of extra breath at the start of the first word. Subtle, but there.

He didn't get an opportunity to answer, as she pulled out a pair of butterfly swords and attacked him. He barely managed to fend off the blows with the pole from the horse-cutter.

This isn't good, he thought to himself. She knows who I am. She looks familiar. Then a thought occurred to him, Jade? Can't be. Can it? She wouldn't. Not like this.

White Crane smiled, looking very much like a predatory cat. "Figure it out, hero? Too bad you won't live long enough to tell anyone."


As Robert Knight entered the office, he noticed an air of tension that had not been there before.

"Good morning, Rob."

"Morning, Jim." He paused, reading his friend's face. "What's wrong? Everyone seems tense."

"Tabitha's back from her vacation." came the reply as they walked around numerous cubicles.

"That's good news."

"And she's . . . different."

"Cosmetic surgery will do that," Robert admitted.

Turning a corner, they were greeted by an attractive young woman dressed in a business casual camisole, blazer, and skirt combination, but the ensemble wasn't what grabbed their attention. Large cat-like ears sat atop her head, and she had large, almond-shaped, vertically slitted green eyes. A light coat of silver-gray fur covered her arms, legs, and neck; and a long tail in the same color fur swished from side to side from under the skirt. To top this off, her fingers ended in sharp, claw-like fingernails.

"Good morning, Mr. Knight, Mr. McBride," she said in greeting. "Coffee?"

Robert blinked for a moment; the changes were not what he expected. "I would love a cup, Tabitha," he answered, "thank you. Bring it to my office?"

"Of course, sir." Her voice trembled nervously as she replied to him.


Robyn Holworth, the Sentinel, strode into the Oval Office. As the Sentinel, she wore a suit made of an advanced, experimental lightweight body armor designed to be proofed against conventional small arms. Although it was armor, it looked and felt a lot like conventional synthetic stretch fabrics, but would harden upon impact, spreading the energy of the blow away from the impact spot. The suit was colored blue, with red gloves, boots, and belt, with the US warplane logo on the chest. Originally, the suit had been a full-face cowl, but after a recent battle she had redesigned it to be a half-mask that let her breathe easier and her shoulder-length brown hair flow free.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes I do." The President of the United States turned to lift the stopper off a half-filled carafe. "Care for some?"

"No thanks, sir." The President shrugged, and poured himself a glass, then sat at his desk.

"Have a seat," he told her, motioning her to a chair. "Are you aware of an organization calling itself Wild Force?"

"Wild Force?" Sentinel thought for a moment. "Yes, sir. Super-powered eco-terrorists. They blame the government for everything from global warming and the hole in the ozone layer to the price of coffee."

He handed her a folder. "Two of them - calling themselves Frostbite and Venus Flytrap - were arrested in Los Angeles recently. They're going to be transferred to the Federal Penitentiary in Nevada shortly, and I want you in L.A. overseeing things."

"Sir, if I may ask, why the concern?"

"There is no real concern, Sentinel," he replied calmly. "But as you were briefed when you took the position, the role of the Sentinel includes public relations. By having you there overseeing things..."

"You show you're being tough on super-crime," she finished. "Understood, sir." I understand that you're just a politician hoping to keep Congress on your side following the mid-term elections, she thought to herself.

"And another thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't get the local showboater out there involved." He handed her another folder. "He goes by the moniker 'Silver Arrow'. Everything we have on him is in that file.

"Dismissed."


As Silver Arrow and White Crane faced off, each sizing up the other looking for a potential opening to end the fight, the wail of sirens approaching grabbed their attention.

"Your five minutes are up, Crane," he told her, as he swung the pole at her. She easily jumped over it, but the swing burst open a bag of white powder which hung behind her, creating a cloud of white dust. She leapt straight up, catching herself on a slack cable and using that to vault upwards onto a nearby beam.

"Another time, then," she taunted, running across the beam and out an upper window.

As the police burst in, guns drawn, Silver Arrow sneezed from the powder. His eyes watered as he breathed in immediately afterwards. "Sizzle," he read on the bag's label.

Then all his senses kaleidescoped, and he collapsed.