The night was cold, the air biting into his lungs as the masked man made his way up the fire escape to the penthouse.


Seeing his prey’s shadow fall across the window, the Green Hornet burst into the room in an explosion of glass, catching the hood off guard.


The thug took a boxing stance and threw a series of punches at the Green Hornet, catching him in the shoulder and jaw.


The Hornet staggered back, then lunged forward, pummeling the man with a flurry of blows before spinning and catching him in the throat with a fast chop.

“All right Roscoe, where’s Falcone?” he asked.

“I ain’t tellin’ you nothing punk! You’re not so tough without your sidekick.” the man said as he pulled a gun from his coat pocket.

“I won’t ask again. Where is Falcone?” The masked man asked in a low growl.

“Get lost Hornet, I ain’t no stoolie!” the thug said defiantly.

“Drop the gun before I really get mad, Roscoe” The Green Hornet said, moving his arm and letting three darts slide into his hand, each shaped like a stylized hornet.


Sending the darts flying towards the thug with a flick of his wrist, the Green Hornet watched as they penetrated Roscoe’s coat, the drug laced tips sending their venom to work on poor Roscoe.

“Don’t…..matter…….ain’t…..a….rat…..” Roscoe said as he began to lose consciousness.

As he moved to check the sleeping thug’s pockets for any information he might have, the Green Hornet found a small envelope, addressed to, surprisingly, The Green Hornet

Opening it, he was surprised to see note inside, “You are invited into the Circle. – Burbank.” Below this was a telephone number and a stylized circle emblem.


“Klondike5-8743……that’s New York.”


He tucked the envelope into his jacket pocket.

“The Circle eh? Seems the Green Hornet has business to attend to.”


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