Phil Urich was feeling pretty damned good, all things considered. The attack by the Hobgoblin had, somehow, turned out to be just random lunacy. He'd woken up still in the warehouse, right where he'd fallen. He'd sent word to Harry, but had refused to go into hiding. He had important work to do ( Read more... )

Most people scoff at the idea of a real Santa Claus. There simply is no way that an immortal elderly-appearing fat-man could travel the world in one night, giving gifts to good boys and girls all over the planet in a flying sleigh pulled by reindeer... and that's even before one considers the difficulties in spying on all the children of the world ( Read more... )

When Phil Urich followed the address that Joy Mercado had given him at his interview at the Bugle earlier that day, he would find himself at a classy lounge called The Excelsior ( Read more... )

Phil looked around in confusion amidst the bustle of the office. Dropping his uncle's name, at his reccomendation, had gotten him up to the editorial offices, but now what? No-one could seem to point him towards Uncle Ben, or anyone he recognized from his internship at the Bugle before. Granted, it had been quite a while since then, but it was a ( Read more... )