(from the song SuperHero by Jane's Addiction)

Monday's are as bluesy for heroes as they are for the average Dick and Jane. More often than not, a Monday resonates with the same ringing death knell that indicates the end of the weekend, the same starter pistol cacophony that signals the beginning of another excruciatingly long work week, and for some unfortunate few - the dull thud of a pounding headache after another night of drinking.

After a long weekend of bashing Skulls, disrupting Hellions, and laying waste to those Nazi-wannabe Council members, one would think I'd be able to slumber the nights away. Instead, I've been besieged by bizarre dreams about something just off the virtual horizon... waiting. Three nights in a row now I've seen the same helmeted figure standing on the shores of some forgotten isle as his skittering, multi-legged minions scurried about him in a dance of wanton destruction.

Each time my wife, whose name I have yet to remember, and my dog Grendel - who I now remember with such clarity that I recall the chunk of flesh missing from her left ear (taken by her bitchy mother when she was but a pup) - are in mortal danger. As feisty as both of them are, and Grendel more akin to a true dog of war... they stand no chance against this oncoming menace.

And each of those nights I've woken up screaming in a cold sweat. So last night I drank heavily in hopes of finding some relief. It never came, and I still can't make out what - if anything - these damnable dreams mean.

But with all of the weird goings-on in Paragon of late, it can't be a coincidence. As I was cracking the heads of a rather scruffy pack of Hellions the other day, I was surprised to find them loaded down with all kinds of incendiary devices: Molotov Cocktails, cans of gasoline, lighters, etc. As one slipped off into unconsciousness he muttered something about a trial-by-fire. That can't be good.

If that weren't bad enough, something is pissing off the Trolls. There have been scattered reports of their regular raves getting out of control, and the appearance of some kind of "Super Troll." But no one knows what that means, why these things are happening, or what's causing them to get so riled up. Knowing them... I wouldn't be surprised if it had something to do with Superadine.

Then there's the grand reopening of the rail line that once ran upstate to the quaint village of Salamanca. Prior to the Rikti War it was one of those richy-rich vacation places, comparable to the Hamptons, but had to be abandoned due to the damage it took during the alien's initial invasion. That rail line has been closed for the past three years, and based on the recent newspaper article by ghost hunter extraordinaire - Skipper LeGrange, I'm not sure opening it back up is such a good idea.

As you can see, it's not just within my mind's eye that things are at unrest. The entire city is swirling in a miasma of impending doom, like a tropical storm building up into a ferocious hurricane that will eventually seek a destructive refuge on the shores of our great city. Ironic then that what comes to mind is the famous line from the legendary bard, William Shakespeare: "And Caesar's ghost, roaming about in search of revenge, with hate at his side still hot from hell, will in these boundaries with a ruler's voice cry 'HAVOC' and let slip the dogs of war, so that this terrible action will smell above the earth, with rotting corpses, begging to be buried."

Let's hope we don't have to bury too many...