The All-Star Marvel RPG

[UltimateRPGs]

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Gamemasters & Staff
Andy C. (http://forums.superherohype.com/member.php?u=37948) - Gamemaster
Eddie Brock - (http://forums.superherohype.com/member.php?u=44428) Assistant Gamemaster
Batman (http://forums.superherohype.com/member.php?u=33100) - Founder

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It all began in the harsh winter of 1940, when a young colonel by the name of Nicolas Fury oversaw the birth of America's last line of defense - The Super Soldier. As a bi-product of the infant organization known as SHIELD, a young patriot was selected for the process that was hoped to generate an army of superhuman warriors that would steer the war out of Germany's hands. But instead of several, they only got one. And he would become the standard for which every follower would be judged upon.

Steve Rogers, the iconic hero during the Last Great War, practically willed the Allies to victory in World War II. Sadly, America lost it's symbol of freedom when their "Captain America" was murdered in his own home in nineteen-sixty-eight. Some suspected anti-war terrorists who opposed the Vietnam War, but the case was never solved. Cap's only family, his wife Gail and son James, were left to grieve and pick up the pieces of a shattered life. After a failed run to keep Roger's memory alive with a squadron called The Invaders, Nick Fury disbanded the team and disappeared, seemingly putting an end to his era of SHIELD.

The death of Captain America, on top of the war slipping away in Vietnam, left much of America weary and at a loss. But some bold visionaries stepped to the forefront to help their country out of it's dire position. Master inventor and business mogul Howard Stark came forward and offered his help. His company, the fast-rising Stark Industries, signed a extremely lucrative military contract to become the country's leading supply in the business of warfare. And the reason Stark Industries was chosen above the multitude of other was the Iron Men - robot soldiers equipped with the highest grade of combat systems that only Howard's genius could create.

In the early 1990's, Professor Charles Xavier was a prominent face on the political frontline in the growing mutant problem. A supporter of the Mutant Registration Act, Xavier was the strongest voice in getting the proposed MRA made into law. Sadly though, the Professor, who had spent his life working with mutants, died before seeing the Act come to pass. Xavier's one-time friend, Erik Lensherr, who was also the acts strongest opposition, went underground. Over the years the act has been enforced, Magneto has provided a safe haven for frightened and hunted mutants, and has been fighting a war with the US government that oppresses his people.

Now, The United States has decided to fight back. At the newly founded Xavier Institute, the government trains and teaches mutants how to use their powers safely and effectively. The mutants that show the most potential are then conscripted into The X-Men, the elite branch of mutant soldiers of the United States military. Among this battle also sees the return of SHIELD's forces, now renamed HAMMER and led by an eager young woman named Sharon Carter - Director 13. Their mission is one of grave importance, and may affect the history of the world itself: To return Captain America, one way or another.

With many heroes and villains on the rise, it is only a matter of time until the world will know how it feels... to look upon Marvels.http://i781.photobucket.com/albums/yy98/DCMarvelRPG2/ASM4.png

Welcome to All-Star Marvel! This RPG is based off of a player-created continuity, similar to Hype's Ultimate DC RPG (http://forums.superherohype.com/showthread.php?t=326608). Outside of the above, and what the players themselves create, there is no pre-established continuity. As players, it will be your job to take the basic ideas and characters of the Marvel Universe, and accordingly, reinvent them into however you see fit. Though it is your choice of how drastic the alterations should be, you are free to customize everything from a character's origin to motivations, identity, mannerisms, costume, powers, and world. Let your imagination run wild.

To apply for a character, fill out the application supplied below. If your application is rejected, do not despair! Simply rework what the Gamemasters tell you is wrong with it, or in the case of multi-applications, choose another character. All players are welcome, regardless of membership status or postcount.

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* You may choose any character appearing in any strictly Marvel Universe (Ranging from 616, Ultimate, MC2, and others), and revamp them for All-Star continuity. Any character appearing outside of Marvel, such as DC or Amalgam characters, will not be applicable. You are allowed a maximum of two characters. Though it is advised that you stick to one, especially at first, you will be allowed a second if you believe you can handle the responsibility.

* In the beginning, each and every character will be up for grabs. Multiple players will be allowed to apply for the same character, leaving the best application to be judged and approved by the Gamemasters. In order to be eligible, you must post your application within 12 hours after the first was submitted.

* You must post at least once every two weeks, though it is preferred you post more, or your character will be up-for-grabs. Failure to post after a month will result in removal from the roster.

* PC's are not to be killed without permission. Nameless NPC's are fine, but PC's or important NPC's will require authorization. Don't do anything random, such as destroying the universe, either. Such behavior is frowned upon.

* Several storylines can be going on at once, in order to interact with other players. If a player's character does not want to be involved in another's storyline, they do not have to. Consultation and communication are the keys to a good PC-to-PC interaction.

* Legacy characters (IE: Sidekicks) will be required to be permitted by the player orchestrating the mentor's role in All-Star. For instance, if you want to play Patriot or Nomad, your acceptance will hinder on the player playing Captain America, and his thoughts.

* You can travel anywhere on Earth or off-planet, provided it is within your character's means. Time-travel is forbidden, unless it is specifically required of your character choice.

* You are your character, so act like them. Create or portray their mannerisms, powers, and ideals to how they have been established in the game. BE the character - do not, under any circumstances, play yourself as the character.

* Respect the Gamemasters. If they make a request of you regarding the game, listen to them. Failure to adhere to GM, AGM, and Hype! Moderator requests will result in expulsion from the game.

* Be creative, and do not be afraid to try new and exciting things with old concepts. This is a new continuity - the laws of the regular Marvel Universe are not set in stone.

* All regular Hype rules apply. And finally, the most important rule of all: Have fun. Never take the game too seriously, or you will have lost the point. Heated arguments between players can result in probations or infractions - do not ruin it for other players. It's only a game, people.

* Do not post OOC comments in this thread. If you have any questions or concerns, post them in the proper thread, located here (http://forums.superherohype.com/showthread.php?t=333091). Thank you for your time.

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[Eddie Brock]

IRON MAN

FUNERAL FOR MY FATHER: PART 1


Howard Stark. Visionary, businessman, father. At times during my childhood, I wondered which of those designations he held most dear. Now, I have no doubts. If there was one thing in this world that Howard Stark was proud of, it was being a father. Being my father.

I couldn't tell you why. In so many ways, I was a terrible son. I brought disappointment and shame to the Stark name. I took all of my father's hopes and dreams for me, and I pissed them away with cheap booze and cheaper women. After leaving the house for boarding school in my teenage years, I never came back. I never even picked up the phone and called my father. I'm sure he half-expected to pick up the newspaper and read about how I was found dead in a gutter somewhere.

Only when the money ran low did I run home to my father. And, like the prodigal son, he welcomed me with open arms. Within minutes of being home, I knew all was forgiven. I just didn't know why. Then, my father dropped a bombshell of me. He revealed that he was dying, and suddenly it all made sense. He didn't care about the past because he didn't know if there would be a future. I've gotta give the old man credit for making it much longer than the doctors originally said he would.

Like all things, though, the life of Howard Stark came and went, and here I stand at his funeral. Surrounded by a veritable who's-who of the business world - and the top one percent of the economic ladder - I find myself wondering what to say to these people. My father may have forgiven and forgotten all of my transgressions, but these people certainly didn't. I'm sure some of them think I'm just here to collect my inheritance. I don't blame them. That's the Tony Stark I presented to the public, and it's going to be a long time before I can make them see otherwise.

Today will be a good first step.

Clearing my throat, I quickly grab the attention of everyone present. Time for the black sheep of the Stark family to have his say. "My father used to have a saying," I begin, "That a man's worth could be measured by what his friends said about him after he was gone." I look over my shoulder at the casket behind me. "If that's the case, then Howard Stark has nothing to fear."

"When my father first told me about his condition, I didn't know what to make of it. To be honest, I've never really been close with the man - not like a son should have been, anyway - and I really didn't know how to feel," I explain. "That being said, I wanted to make sure I used my remaining time with him to right the many wrongs I've done. Unfortunately, some of those wrongs date back a long time..."

***

"...and I slipped out the next morning before her dad woke up," says a young Tony Stark, finishing yet another story of his exploits with the opposite sex. He's adorned in the Lieber Academy uniform - albeit with the tie loosened and the shirt unbuttoned - as he sits on the windowsill. He pours himself another glass of scotch.

Tony's friend, Ho Yinsen, scoffs loudly. "You're full of crap, you know that, Stark?" he downs his glass of scotch and motions for Tony to hand over the bottle. As he pours himself another glass, he continues, "You're lying to me - just like you lie to Headmaster Granov."

"Yinsen, I swear on my father's company! Seriously, come with me sometime," Tony offers. He elbows his friend in the ribcage and winks. "There's more than enough girls to go around."

Before Yinsen can answer, the door to the room bursts open. Tony's expression changes little, but Yinsen's eyes fill with terror at the sight of the person standing there. "Headmaster Granov!"

The cold-faced headmaster steps through the threshold, staring down the young Tony Stark. To his credit, Tony never flinches. "Mr. Yinsen, report to your room immediately," Headmaster Granov orders emotionlessly. "I'll deal with you later." Without another word, Yinsen scurries off, closing the door behind him. "Mr. Stark. In possession of contraband yet again, I see."

Tony looks down at the half-empty bottle of scotch. "You caught me," he replies flatly. "So what's the punishment this time, Granov? Going to revoke my weekend passes for the rest of the semester?"

Headmaster Granov's lip curls into a smile. "Oh, there certainly won't be weekend passes for you anymore, Mr. Stark. In fact, it gets even better!" The headmaster steps forward and snatches the bottle from Tony's hand. "Given your track record, Mr. Stark, this violation finally gives me the right to kick you out of this school."

Tony swallows a lump in his throat, but his eyes never show any weakness.

Headmaster Granov leans forward and whispers into Tony's ear. "And I don't care how much money your father throws at the Academy this time. You're not Lieber material, Mr. Stark, and expelling you will bring me great joy." Still smiling, Headmaster Granov turns and begins to leave the room.

"Granov?"

The headmaster stops.

"Can you leave the scotch?" Tony asks, clearly unfazed by the news of his impending expulsion. Headmaster Granov leaves the room, taking the scotch with him, causing the young Tony Stark to mutter, "A**hole."

[Eddie Brock]

JOHNNY STORM

LIGHTS, CAMERA...: PART 1


"Iris, what do you want from me?" I ask enraged. I glance up at a waiter passing our table before returning my gaze to her piercing blue eyes. I continue in a whisper, "I'm doing the best I can here! You, of all people, know how hard work has been! Okay? The cases just keep piling up, and I don't know what to do."

She takes a moment before leaning back and replying in a whisper of her own, "I don't think I'm asking for a lot here. Once - just once - I'd like for you to show up on time for one of our dates!" She motions to the empty wine bottle on the table. "I'm tired of feeling like I'm an afterthought!"

I reach across the table and take her hand in mine. She looks away from me. "Iris, you are never an afterthought to me. I'm doing all of this for you! I want to be able to marry you someday without thinking of stupid stuff like finances!"

"That'll be the day," she scoffs. "I doubt you'd even be able to show up to the wedding on time!" She pulls her hand away from mine and stands up. "You should order another bottle of the wine. It was very good," she says flatly before walking away.

"And cut!"

The director stands up from his chair and approaches the set. Zooey Deschanel turns around and faces me, smiling. I lean back in my seat and allow myself to smile.

"That was great, you two," the director praises. "I'm really feeling the chemistry. Keep it up!" I exchange quick glances with Zooey. "Alright, that's a wrap for today. Tomorrow, we shoot the accident scene - as long as we can get all the visual effects ready." He pats me on the shoulder and says, "You're gonna be a hit, kid."

As the director walks away, Zooey moves closer. "Hey, he's not kidding," she assures me. "You're doing really well." She looks around the set. "It's gonna be a lot of fun, huh?"

"I certainly hope so." Standing up, I offer, "Hey, if you weren't doing anything, I was going to grab a drink right after this." I put my hands in my pockets and stare at the floor.

"I can't. I've got to meet Brian," she explains. Right. Brian. The husband. How do I keep - conveniently - forgetting about him? "Maybe some other time," she adds, patting me on the shoulder as she walks away.

I sigh. "Maybe."

[Byrd Man]

Two Years Ago


"I believe in America," the Chinese man said as he stood in the large room's dim light.

His name was Shang Chi. A Chinese immigrant, he had come to New York in search of a better life and had become a successful businessman, owning and operating the three Shang-Chi Karate Studio locations in Manhattan. He now stood here before the two men hidden in the shadows because they could do what needed to be done.

"America has made my fortune, and I have raised my family in the American fashion. Three years ago, my son was killed. A drunk driver struck him as he walked home from school. He was my heart and soul, I wept for days after he died," Chi said as he swallowed the massive lump in his throat.

"The police took it from there. The man had a slick lawyer who talked circles around the defense. Instead of murder, my son's murderer was charged with 3rd degree manslaughter and received two years probation. Probation! He went free that very day! And as he left the court....the bastard smiled at me."

The two men watched as Chi's face became a mask of rage and sadness. They gave the mourning father time to compose himself.

"So...that's when I decided to seek your help. I need justice, and I know you are the ones to do it."

It was true. The two men had put surveillance on Chi for the past week, a week and a half after he hung the red rag out his apartment window.

"You say you want justice," one of the men said. His name was Luke Cage, and the debt he owed the man at his side was enormous. It had only been a few months ago that they had beaten a rapist half to death, and then did something that made him wish he were dead.

"Are you prepared to personally seek justice?"

"Yes," Chi hissed. He was a sixth level black belt, but this was the first time he ever felt the murderous rage that ate at his heart. He wanted revenge and justice. The kind of justice the courts would never let him have.

"Let it be know, Chi," the man to Cage's right said as he finally spoke up.

"That if you are prepared to take that path, then you will become one of us. A damned soul, a devil."

Chi felt his flesh break out into goosebumps as the man had spoke. He could not see his face, but he knew this man was the legendary Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

"Shang Chi....are you willing to give up everything for justice?"

Chi bit his lip and swallowed hard.

"Yes."

"Meet us at two a.m. at the place where your son's killer lives. You know where that is. You've walked by there six times in the last week."



*********




Shang Chi's heart was racing wildly as he stood outside the apartment door. He was early by ten minutes. Although he wasn't surprised as the door swung open and a large black man greeted him.

"Enter," he said as he motioned for Chi to follow him inside.

The candle light was the first thing that caught Shang Chi's attention as he entered the apartment - dozens of candles were lit and scattered around the apartment - the second thing that caught his eye was the man who was tied to the chair.

This was him. The drunk driver that had killed Jeff. He was bound by his hands and legs, a gag tied around his mouth. A bottle of whiskey stood on a nearby table.

"Shang Chi," the devil said as he stood by the apartment window, his face obscured by shadow.

"This man is accused of killing your son, Jeffery Chi. How do you find him?"

"Guilty."

"Very well. The whiskey bottle to your left is this man's brand, it was the same liquor on his breath as he struck down your son. Undo his gag and drown him in his own sin."

Chi moved quickly, grabbing the bottle and ripping off the man's gag. Before he had time to scream, the bottle of whiskey was in his mouth and Chi shoved it further down his gullet.

The man struggled as the burning alcohol went down his throat. He coughed and sputtered as blood tinted booze blew out of his nose. He shook as the liquor slowly drained into his lungs. He flinched and gave out a yelp as the alcohol in his lungs slowly killed him.

Within two minutes, he slumped forward in the chair. Dead.

"Shang Chi, has your son received justice?"

"Yes," Chi muttered as he stood over the dead drunk driver.

"You are still broken, but we can heal you...Shan Chi, welcome to the Devils."

His name had been Shang Chi. But to Matt Murdock, he was now Devil Three.

[Rain Dog]

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“No, no, no, you don’t understand. My internet, digital cable, and telephone are all out of service and I’ve already made my payment weeks ago.”

“I see…”

Click clack clack clack click click clack

“Hmm…they’re all showing up on the system. Nothing appears to be out of order.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell ya, none of them are working.”

“Alright, sir. Do you use a router?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, go ahead and unplug the router, please.”

“Sigh, ok.”

“Alright, now plug the router back in please.”

“…Ok.”

“Give it a minute.”

“…Ok.”

“Ok, can you try and access the internet, please?”

“Yeah…nope, still nothing.”

“I see…”

Click clack clack clack click click clack

“Alright, what we’re going to have to do his schedule an appointment with a technician…uh…I’m afraid the soonest he have is Wednesday from seven to eleven a.m.”

“Sigh, no, I don’t have ‘til Wednesday. I have some work I need to do right now. This is like the fifth time this has happened this month and every time I schedule an appointment with a technician, I go out of my way to change my schedule and the guy never shows up on time. This is totally unacceptable!”

“I see…”

Click clack clack clack click click clack

“Alright, I’m going to go ahead and transfer your call over to technical support. Please hold.”

“Ok.”

Beep

…

‘Cause you’re my laaaay-deh...of the moor-ning...Looove shines...in your eeeyyee-eyes

Beep

"HOWARD THE DUCK?!!"

“…Yes?”

"THIS IS THOG THE NETHER-SPAWN, OVERMASTER OF SOMINUS!"

“…H-hello?”

"HELLO."

“…”

". . . HOWARD!!!"

“Yes?”

"THE CELESTIAL ONES HAVE CHOSEN YOU TO TRAVEL THROUGH THE NEXUS OF ALL REALITIES, CONQUER SPACE AND TIME, AND FACE THE GREAT INTERDIMENSIONAL CHALLENGES OF DOOM!!!"

“…Um…is this…is this gonna fix the cable, or…?”

"NO."

“Oh…Is this technical support?”

"SILENCE! NOW PREPARED TO BE TORN APART, MOLECULE BY MOLECULE, AND HURTLED THROUGH THE INFINITE REALMS OF SPACE AND TIME!!!"

“That…doesn’t even sound…remotely pleasant…”

"I CAN ASSURE YOU IT IS NOT!!!"

I drop the telephone as my body is suddenly overcome with the maddeningly unpleasant sensation of being torn apart, molecule by molecule, and hurtled through the infinite realms of space and time.

[Watchman]

The Manhattan Apartment of Kevin Marlow, 1 AM,

So this is life, eh?

Marlow was in his 5th hour of drinking. He sat in on his couch drinking cheap beer in his bathrobe feet propped up on his dirty table. Beer cans and gun/porn magazine littered the room. Black and white photos lined the walls along with army medals and nostalgia of the old days line the walls. A few pictures of him shaking hands with presidents.

He couldn't complain though. He was in his late seventies but he felt so much younger, thank you Dr. Schmitt. Sure his life was not as fun or glamorous anymore, the day of punching Nazis and communists were far gone.

People often wondered, how do you live in such a nice place with the job you do. Working as a Mall rent-a-cop chasing punk kids and shoplifters around all day surely could not afford this place. Well this is the thanks he gets for killing and when they didn't need him anymore, when he became old and useless the put him here. They gave him a place to live but he had to provide for himself.

He was switching between late night talk shows some new hip music that he hasn't heard before, skinemax, and some old monster movie. There was a knock at the door.

"Who the hell could it be?" He got up and shuffled through his trash, picking up a silence handgun along the way, old habits die hard. He got to the door and opened it, the chain lock stop it from opening it all the way. He placed the handgun out of sight.

"Mr. Marlow?" It was a girl, couldn't have been more than twenty one. She wore a black tank top that read "Never Mind the Bollocks" in odd type, camo pants, army boots, black fingerless gloves and a black jacket. The jacket had an odd pin. A smile face with swastikas for eyes and it's tongue out. What the hell were wrong with kids today? She brushed her fire red hair out of her face.

"What do you want?" She was going for something. The gun clicked.

"Your food. Steak hoagie, bacon with bleu cheese and onion rings. That will be $9.50." He placed the gun down.

"Right," he got out his wallet, "here's twenty. Keep the change"

"Thanks man," he closed the door and dropped down back on the couch. He opened up the bag and found there was no onion rings.

"God damn it," he muttered. There was another knock on the door. He took a swig of his beer and got up, "better be my onion rings."

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He opened the door. The chain lock once again stopping it. The light in the hall was out. There stood the outline of a man. The only thing he could see was a badge: a red skull.

He went for the gun he left but the stranger kicked the door open sending Kevin flying. Kevin quicking got up and threw a punch. The man caught it. Kevin punch the man in the chest, it felt like a brick wall. The stranger punched Kevin in the gut twice before hurling him across the room. He crashed through the coffee table.

"It was only a matter of time?" The stranger tilted his head to the side. "After all these years you decided to come back?" He slashed at him but the stranger back away with ease and continued to do so after each strike. He caught the hand and twisted it. There was a crack.

"Argh!" Kevin dropped the knife. The man threw a punch and broke Kevin's nose.

"Stop...please...stop," after those words Kevin just wanted to die. The stranger picked him up and tossed him at the window. He smashed against it causing the window to crack. He lifted Kevin back up again. Kevin grabbed on to the guy's coat. Kevin was thrown and took the badge with him. Kevin smashed through the glass and fell to the street below. The man took a cigerette out and put it in his mouth. A flame appeared at his side.

"That was beautiful, baby." It was the girl. She snapped the lighter back. "Please don't we're not just going to go around killing geezers. It's fun and all but I want some real action."

"Don't worry," he kissed her, "this is only one little step one. Now do me a favor and mess his apartment up."

"Why?"

"The people who I want to know will get the message." His cellphone rang, "yes? I will be their in the morning. Duty calls," he said and left.

[Spider-Man9X17]

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SHADOWS OF THE PAST

Don’t pretend to know me, because I hardly know myself. The only thing I’m certain of is, I’m not a nice person. That isn’t to say I’m not a good person. I believe in justice. I believe in a greater good. I believe in the American Dream. I just don’t always believe in playing by the rules to protect that greater good, or preserve that Dream. The @$$h*les trying to kill that dream don’t play by our rules. If they’re willing to kill thousands of our innocents for they’re great religious war, why can’t I slit a couple of their throats. My father died fighting these b@st@rds. Disemboweled in some disease ridden, god forsaken third world jungle, by a pack of mutant terrorist pr*cks he was trying to stop from killing another pack of mutant pr*cks. He died an American hero at the dawn of this “Marvel Age”, and he got jacks**t for it, because he was just human. He wasn’t special. My mother was a saint until his death. She slipped into a downward spiral, and died a drunken whore less than a year later. I was 13. And suddenly, I was on the run. And I ran, until the old soldier found me. The man who had helped make this country great, only to be s**t on and thrown out into the cold, like my father. So for the next 10 years, the Old Soldier trained me; 12 hours a day, 7 days a week, 356 days a year. It was grueling, but I thrived on it. I almost seemed to be born for it. Most Olympic athletes would have been hard pressed to best me since I turned 12. Good genes, is what The Old Soldier tells me. Exceptional lineage. And every time he says it, I feel he’s speaking of a life I know nothing about. But why should I? I’ve suffered through hell and chaos my entire life. But it’s made me who I am. It’s prepared me for what’s next. Because now it’s my turn to unleash hell, and I won’t stop until the broken, bloody bodies of the criminals, the terrorists, the super-human scum that has destroyed the world my father and The Old Soldier built and swore to protect form a path of death and carnage across the world that points straight to me.

-

I wonder why cops get so pissed off when a perp runs. I love the thrill of the hunt. I love the challenge of lining up the perfect shot on a moving target. Which is why I’m a little more agitated than usual. Sure, the guy ran, but he was no challenge at all. Didn’t try to zig zag, ran past a ton of trash cans without creating one single obstacle. Why go through the effort of running and not follow through? If you’re going to do something, do it right and finish the job.

"You've got two choices. You tell me who brought in HYDRA's shipments last month, or I cut your d*** off and shove it so far up your @$# you'll end up giving yourself a blowj*&. And then you'll still tell me who brought the shipment in. And then, I'll kill you."

The scum in front of me is Rusty Shwartz, small time drug dealer and wanna be gun runner. Two of my arrows are stuck through either palm, pinning him the the wall behind us. I watch as a small trickle of blood runs down his neck from the small hole I poked into his neck with the tip of my blade.

"F*&$ you."

I press harder. Smart mouthed mother--

"Oh, Rusty, I'd talk now before I put this through your voice box. Because a mute can't talk, and then I'd have no choice but to kill you."

"S-some fat guy. Looks like a suit. Deals with some company downtown. Omar, Osmand, uh, uh, OSBORN! Fat guy who deals with Osborn."

"See, now was that so hard."

Rusty shakes his head. I smile, and then finish shoving my blade into Rusty's neck. The hood gurgles once, and his head rolls to the side. Do it right, and finish the job.

"Yeah, neither was that."

I sheath my knife, and pull out my cell.

"Yeah. No name, but a description, and a possible partner. Fat guy, works for some guy named Osborn. Yeah, pull any intel you can find. I'm heading in, thirty five minute ETA."

[Mr. Majestic]

BECOMING A WEAPON: PART 1

Normal, most people that take it for granted don’t even really know how much of a pleasure it is to be…normal. But then you have me and others who are like me but not really like me. Who would give anything just to be normal so they do their best to put up a good performance. They try so hard to fit in that they almost forget that they’re different. I wish I could do the same but I can’t. Every time I’m around them I get reminded of just how unordinary they are and myself. Just like them I too put up an act but one that has true importance. The few that are like me in school are more normal than they would even believe. So to protect them and myself I have to be flawless making sure to take every caution to not lose control and to help them as well to keep up the charade because with one error the gig is up. Sure I could just say forget these other people and worry about myself. If I did who would blame me for it? But an action like that it not good for my character. None of us asked to be different we just are and it’s not fair for others to decide what we will be doing with our lives. That simple fact is the reason I do what I do to help others like me, pretend they are the same as every other student that walks these halls and sits in these classrooms. Just because I can’t live a normal life doesn’t mean I can’t help my fellow mutants do so.

But then again who am I kidding? I’m just one boy, one mutant boy who doesn’t truly understand what kind of predicament he’s really in. This world is divided up by so many different variables. I don’t even know what’s up and what’s down. I only know what I’m told. I’m post to believe that what I do is better for mankind as a whole but its not how I feel. I want just run away and live my own life. If I did run away I really wouldn’t be living to much of a life. They would find me and bring me in and change me to become the real weapon they really want. I guess it pays to be the God son of a powerful man.

“Mr. Rankin, is my class boring you?” Sitting here thinking about my life I seem to have forgot that I’m in class right now.

“No your class is not boring me, I was just thinking of something else.”

Not so much as boring me as to putting me to sleep but I’m not going to say that. If I did I would get some kick-ass cool points but my job is to be the guy who sits in the classroom and day dreams and get interrupted by his teacher.

“Well Mr. Rankin you need to pay attention or how would like to be with me and the other teachers of Bayville high after school?”

“I wouldn’t like that at all.” Neither would Feral if I was late for another training exercise, she’d cut my chest open literally.

“Then you should pay attention then.”

If she only knew how much I’m really paying attention. There are three kids in this class room who are just like me and two of them are on the brink of losing control of their powers. But I won’t let that happen. A girl name Annalee in the class room has the power of projecting empathy. She is capable of converting her own emotions into a radiant psychic effect that would manipulate the feeling of others. Now to some this wouldn’t seem like a great power to have but in this situation it is. Anaalee seems to be in control of her powers but the other two are new to their powers there emotions is they’re down fault. Being angry or upset or even scared could trigger them to unleash their power. But I’ll stop them from doing that by using Anna’s power and make them calm cool and collected as myself. As i use her power i see first hand how its begins to work. The looks on their faces tells me everything I need to know. Like always it works, the more and more I use it I think about mimicking her power permanently but the truth is her power is not one that can help me in the field. When it comes down to it no one in this school really has any power that can do me some real amount of good.

As the cloak finally struck 2:45pm everyone in the class including myself got up from our seats and exited the classroom to actually go and do something with our lives instead of listing to boring teachers speak all day. As I made my way to the schools front entrance doors I pick up on a recognizable scent. It was a scent that meant one of two things. One I’m either going to do some training or two I’m going on a mission. Dear God I hope it is the first thing, I’m not in no kind of mood to take away anyone’s life how they took mine.

As I approach Feral next to her vehicle she keeps her eyes on me with a dissatisfied appearance on her face.

“What you did it not allowed Calvin.” Her voice is very stern and she doesn’t even break eye contact with me, yup she’s pissed.

“I did what I had to do to protect my cover. If those kids would have lost it there is a great chance I would be force to display my own powers to protect myself.” Some times i think she can see the future, she always seems to know when i have done something.

The way she’s staring at me I can tell that she believes my reply to be a lot of bull and it is. Feral then makes her way from the passenger side of the car over to the driver’s side and while walking she began to speak.

“Do not take me as a fool Calvin I’ve trained you well enough so if a situation like that would happen you could do what you need to do so you would come out unharmed and your cover intact. It is obvious to me that teaching survival skills is not enough you have to try and play hero and save these other mutants. Maybe I should tell Malcolm that you being here is not good for you and you should be with the others.”

“That is not needed I won’t do it again I promise.”

Before she gets in the car she gives me one last look.

“We will see, now get in the car we have a lot of things to go over.”

The truth is I know she wouldn’t report me. She may not say anything but I know she sees me like a son. This is her way of telling me I need to be more careful and she is right that’s exactly what I'll be.

[Byrd Man]

http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/DCMarvelRPG/Daredevil/DDMK-1.jpg

Matt Murdock listened from the shadows as the sounds of struggle filtered through the darkened room.

The warehouse had been condemned for over ten years before Matt had purchased it through a dummy front three years. The place stayed free of gangbangers and horny teenagers due to its reputation as a haunted warehouse, and the fact that the mysterious Devil of Hell's Kitchen had been seen here on numerous occasions helped that reputation.

The papers always called the vigilante "The Devil of Hell's Kitchen". Implying there was one man protecting the neighborhood. The truth of the matter was that the Devil was not just one man, but many others. Including Matt, Cage, and Shang Chi, there ranks were at seven. They all had different stories, but with one common link. Matt had helped right wrongs in all their lives and had brought them down the path of justice. It was the same path he had taken almost three years ago, when had strangled the man who killed his mother and had left the scars on Matt's back.

They always met at the building as soon as the sun started to set. Matt was always there waiting as they came in order. Cage, followed by Chi, and so on. They would spar and train until ten that night, when their leader finally spoke and told them of their mission that night. By Cage's clock, it was now thirty seconds until ten.

"Alright, listen up," he proclaimed as he commanded attention.

"Thank you, Two," Matt replied as the training halted and they all turned towards their leader hidden in the shadows.

No names, just numbers. If you ever met a fellow Devil on the street, you never acknowledged them. As far as the seven people in the room were aware, this group never existed until they met.

"Six, Seven. Step forward."

The redheaded woman and the skinny man with the goatee stepped forward in the warehouse's dim light. She was Dakota North, known now as Seven. Matt had stood by while Dakota had beaten her son and husband's murderer to death with a claw hammer. Six was known as Frank Brubaker elsewhere. As a young child, he had been molested by a priest. With Matt's help, Frank had beaten the elderly priest so bad that the man had been confined to a wheelchair until he died from his injuries a year later.

"Someone is in need of our help. A man named Ben Urich has a gambling problem and owes a substantial amount of money to a local bookie named Morgan."

As Matt's right hand man, Cage had made a visit to Urich that afternoon. The reporter from the Daily Bugle owed Morgan almost five thousand dollars. Urich, unable to pay, had his arm broken by Morgan's thugs. They promised they would be back if Urich did not pay his debt in three days time. Desperate, like most of those who needed his help, Urich had turned to the Devils.

"Morgan lives on 110th street. He has not killed," Matt stated. That was all he needed to say. They knew their mission. They were to "persuade" Morgan without killing him. He have been a lowlife bookie, but he was not a murderer. For their part in assisting the reporter, the group would have another person in their back pocket.

Cage had promised to have Urich's debt erased, but not without a price. Like that famous crime movie, there would be a time when the Devils would need Urich's help. A favor for another favor, one hand washing the other. That was all that they required in turn for this service. Urich readily agreed. In the two and a half years since Matt had become the Devil, he had performed favors for two dozen people in Hell's Kitchen. A grocery store owner, a police sergeant, even a city councilman. They had all been desperate and needed his help, and he had agreed. When the time was right, they would return their favor. They owed him their lives and, in many ways, their souls. Matt's moniker as the Devil was not so much a nickname, as it seemed to be a job description.

"As for the rest of you," Matt said as he turned his attention back to the rest of the group.

"Go about your business tonight. You know your neighborhoods and what needs to be done. Go do it."

The five Devils in front of Matt silently nodded at their leader and turned towards the nearby wall. Five suits were hung perfectly on hangers adjoined by staffs, knives, swords, and nunchuku.

They dressed quickly and quietly. Within five minutes, the five heavily armed men and woman had disappeared through the building's shadows, all of them in the guise of the devil. Only Luke Cage had remained at Matt's side.

"Are they gone?" He asked Cage.

"Yes."

"Good. You can leave now."

"But-"

"Go, Two. Begin your patrol."

Cage followed Matt's instructions and began to dress in the devil garb. He grabbed his weapons and left.

Matt waited until his footsteps died down before he began to dress, removing a billy club from the wall as he slipped he devil mask over his face.

The reason Cage had been doubtful to leave Matt's side, and the main reason he chose to remain hidden to his followers was because of his secret.

Matt Murdock, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, had been blind since birth. And tonight, he was going out into the sight capable world, to fight criminals who could see just fine.

For Matt Murdock, this was he penance. This was what he did for his sins and for his mother's memory.

[Eddie Brock]

IRON MAN

FUNERAL FOR MY FATHER: PART 2

The champagne room of the Indulgences Gentlemen's Club is well-stocked and well-decorated. Tony Stark stands at the minibar, pouring himself a drink. As he does so, a scantily-clad dancer enters. Tony immediately smiles. "Hello there, darling. You must be Traci." Tony picks up his drink, nearly spilling it. "You come very highly recommended."

"Oh?" Traci replies, grabbing Tony by his loosened tie. She leads him over to the leather couch and pushes him down on it. As she places a knee on either side of Tony's lap, she says, "Well, I'll try not to disappoint."

"Believe me, honey, you're off to a great start," Tony announces as she begins her lapdance. He takes his eyes off her only for a moment, so he can make sure that his drink reaches his lips. "Hey, you're not bad at this. You should try doing it for a living," Tony jokes.

Half-smiling, Traci continues to perform in front of Tony. She has her back turned when she feels fingers running down her side. Immediately spinning around, Traci masks her anger by waving a finger. "Look, but don't touch, baby."

Tony merely blinks. "What? Does that cost extra?" He ignores the outraged look on her face at this suggestion. Reaching into his shirt pocket, Tony pulls out a thick wad of money. "Trust me. I've got more than enough. Now, come on." He wraps an arm around her back and pulls her in close.

As her face draws closer to his, Traci smells the familiar scent of alcohol heavy on his breath. "Stop it!" she orders, pushing away from Tony. "You're f***ing drunk!" She begins backing away.

Tony gets to his feet. "Of course I'm f***ing drunk. I'd have to be to find a skank like you attractive." He moves closer to Traci, once again putting his hands on her. "But I'm willing to put that aside if you are," he offers, grinning drunkenly. He doesn't even see the slap coming.

Traci runs out of the room and comes back moments later with the bouncer. "There a problem here?" the bouncer asks in a deep voice, eyeing Tony suspiciously.

"There won't be once you leave," Tony hiccups.

The bouncer shakes his head as he grabs Tony by the front of his shirt. "Oh no, my friend. You'll be the one leaving." And with Traci watching, the bouncer drags Tony through the stripclub to the front door. Once there, the bouncer tosses Tony out.

"She's still a skank, you know!" Tony yells at the building. In the distance, the sun is beginning to rise. Tony does his best to try and pull himself together so he can make the long walk home.

***

"I've been granted a rare opportunity," I continue, still commanding my audience's attention. Although, frankly, they aren't my real audience. I doubt they understand me, and I don't expect them to. Howard Stark, my father, is my audience. And I know he hears me loud and clear. "I was able to say everything I wanted to my father before he died. And while I'll miss him greatly, I don't have to live with the regret of not knowing if he understood how I felt."

I turn back to my father's casket, running my fingers along the polished wood.

"I know you understood, Dad," I whisper.

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif

Picture you’re on a roller coaster, the best roller coaster you’ve ever ridden in your life. It dips, it dives, it corkscrews and loops the loop, it has you screaming your lungs out and begging for more. Now picture that there’s no track. Now picture that you and you alone are pointing where the roller coaster goes, and that the slightest mistake will see you splattered on the ground a few stories below.

That’s about the best way I can describe what it’s like to hurdle from building to building through the streets of Brooklyn, wheeling through the air like a human cannonball, before tumbling onto the next rooftop or snagging onto a nearby wall. I always wished I was athletic enough to do that free-running stuff that I used to look up on YouTube, but this….this makes those guys look like a bunch of old folks on walkers. It’s all I can do to not whoop and wail like a moron as I get in a really good leap that sends me sailing clear across the street and almost all the way over the next building as well. I grew up reading comics about guys who can fly, or who can run really fast, but I’ll take this any day. It’s like my own little extreme sport than only I can do.

And frankly, I need this. Long day at school. Fell asleep in class because I was out all last night doing…well, this. Flash was nice enough to wake me up with a football to the back of the head, and the teacher decided that detention was just too cruel a punishment for him--I’m sure the fact that the homecoming game is this weekend had nothing to do with the fact that the golden QB got off scot-free.

There’s a scream about half a block away, and I high-tail it to the source. Two hoods holding a woman at gunpoint. I really don’t like hoods with guns. I leap down behind one of them, unnoticed, then jump onto his back. Rather than do the embarrassing thing where you wrap your arms and legs around the guy and hold on for dear life, I clamp both of my hands on his shoulders, placing both of my knees into his lower back. Off-balance, the hood falls back, and there’s a noticeable crack as my knees drive right into his spine. Now it’s not the woman who’s screaming.

I roll the would-be robber off, then focus on his friend, who’s shaking like a leaf.

"Y’know, I’m starting to think these Do-it-Yourself Chiropractic books I ordered aren’t all they’re cracked up to be," I say, motioning to the crippled thug on the ground. "But I guess you don’t really get all that good at it unless you do it a lot. So whaddya say? Wanna help me practice?"

Underneath my mask, I start to grin. Like I said, I really need this.

The mugger fires his gun wildly, and that's when I start to move. You know how they do that ridiculous slow-motion effect in every action movie since the Matrix came out, where everything suddenly gets frozen in place while the camera pans around dramatically, before the hero kicks the bad guy and then everything goes back to normal speed? Yeah, I can actually do that. Well, not slow things down, but when I'm in danger, my brain processes things so quickly that it has the same effect for me.

I'm at least twenty feet away from the guy when he first pulls the trigger.

By the time he gets off his third shot, I'm sailing over his head in a picture-perfect front flip.

Then I slam both of my feet as hard as I can into the back of his head.

I catch myself into a front roll, then spin around and leap back onto the downed mugger's back.

"So," I say, putting some pressure on his spine with my elbow, "feel like joining your friend in a touching journey of self-discovery and friendship, while you both learn how to walk again? It'll make for a great Lifetime movie!"

"Aww, go to hell, Spider!"

The mugger's voice sounds a little familiar, so I flip him over to get a look at him.

"Waitaminute...Marko? Flint Marko? Jeez, what is this, like, the fifth time I've taken you in this month?"

"Ya can't keep me locked up! The Big Man'll just spring me again!"

"Heh, y'know, aside from the fact that you just gave me a really good reason to permanently injure you so you don't keep pulling this crap, I gotta wonder how long it's going to be before the Big Man gets tired of paying your bail. And for something as small-time as purse snatching? Really, Marko, I expected better from you. You and your buddy O'Hirn should be knocking over a jewelry store or something, right?"

Marko starts grinning. I don't like it when people I'm beating up start grinning.

"Speaking of, where exactly is O'Hirn tonight?"

The world goes all slow-mo on me again, and I juuuussst barely manage to leap up out of the path of a spray of buckshot. One of the lead pellets does manage to catch me in the lower calf, and I go spinning back down to the asphalt.

O'Hirn steps out from behind the corner, already cocking his shotgun for another blast.

"Right here, Spider," he says, tossing a second shotgun to Marko as he gets to his feet. "You've been gettin' in our way for too long. That don't make the Big Man happy. So we're gonna make the Big Man happy, by gettin' you out of our way."

A handful of other thugs come around the corner behind me, blocking off the alleyway. Great, this wasn't a mugging at all--it was an ambush.

I check the wound on my leg--it's painful, but not serious. And considering how quickly my other cuts and scrapes have been healing lately, I doubt there'll even be a scar left by the end of the week.

I pull myself to my feet, and check back and forth at the half-dozen or so armed thugs surrounding me.

"You morons," I say as they aim their guns, "shooting at a solitary fast-moving target from opposing angles? You're just going to create a crossfire and end up blowing each other away. I mean, really, don't you guys know how guns work?"

Marko sneers, then fires a blast from his shotgun. I pancake myself onto the ground as the buckshot whizzes over me, and clips one of the thugs on the other end of the alley. He goes down, screaming and bleeding.

"See what I mean?" I say, trying to project my voice over the guy's wails. "I think I'd better take those things away from you before you hurt yourselves!"

I dart for the guys at the end of the alley first, bouncing from wall to ground to wall to throw off their aim, before corkscrewing through a hail of pistol-fire and landing a nasty axe-handle blow that comes down on the first thug's forehead. As he crumples to the ground, I lunge right past the second, grabbing his arm at the last moment, and throw him head-first into the third, snapping his arm in two places as I wrench it to get him airborne.

That just leaves Marko, O'Hirn, and their shotguns. And I've just given them a clear range of fire. Whoops.

Both fire off a pair of shells, and I duck around the corner towards the street to avoid the lethal spray of lead. Before they can pursue me, I scramble up the wall of the building--a fortunately short two-story shop--and take my position up on the roof.

Marko and O'Hirn come to the end of the alley, each one pointing their weapons around the corner.

"Where'd he go?!"

I drop down behind Marko, then slam his head into the wall, knocking him unconscious. As he drops, I pull the shotgun out of his hands, and swing it like a baseball bat into O'Hirn's face.

"I see you forgot about the whole 'wall-crawling' thing arleady...which I guess is a good thing, since that means I can keep surprising you with it when--oh wait, you guys are unconscious. So I'm just talking to myself now, like a doofus."

I hear oncoming sirens, and quickly gather up the thugs' guns far out of their reach.

"I'd love to sit and chat, but it looks like New York's finest are on their way to pick you guys up. I'd love to know how you're going to explain to the Big Man how--let's see, onetwothreefourfivesixseven of his men all ended up getting taken down by the same guy in less than a minute. Lemme know how that conversation goes!"

The woman who they had held up at the beginning of all this gets up, dusts herself off, and approaches me.

"Who...who are you?" she asks.

"I'm no one to be trifled with," I say, before leaping as hard as I can onto the rooftop, cursing through gritted teeth as I land on my wounded leg. By the time the cops are on the scene, I'm long gone.

Welcome to an average night in the life of Peter Parker--a little bit of thrill-seeking, some unnecessary violence at the expense of some scumbag criminals, maybe the odd Princess Bride quote, and then I'm off again. It's been like this ever since I lost Uncle Ben and Aunt May, ever since I swore to do everything I can to make the criminals of this city pay for it.

I've been given great power. And I intend to keep using it.

But right now, it's almost two in the morning, I'm nearly fifty blocks away from bed, and it's a school night.

I high-tail it from rooftop to rooftop until I've put enough distance between myself and the scene of the action, then I hop down to ground level, take off the black ski mask covering my face, unzip the black hoodie with the white spider logo on it, and make my way to the nearest subway station.

Norman is going to be so pissed that I missed curfew again this week.

[Carnage27]

Wolverine: Weapon X


I finish my bench press set and put the bar back in its place, perspiration dripping down my face. I breathe heavily and look around my quarters.

"Heh...quarters...," I mumble to myself. I basically live in a Government prison room, masquerading as home base for the special forces team known as the X-Men. A team which I am a part of, yet a team that merely two years ago I was attempting to destroy.

My name is Logan, but I'm better known as my mutant name. I'm sure you've heard it on the news, or on America's Most Wanted.

Wolverine

I've been a hunted man throughout my life, never stopping in one place for more than a few weeks, never letting anyone penetrate my loner persona, until her.

Her name was Silver Fox, and indirectly because of her, I'm here now. She was the one shining light in this world full of crap. She made the savage animal inside of me purr like a tabby cat. We still ran every day of our lives together, but we were happy.

Until the day she was gunned down in cold blood. The thought of it makes my blood boil. At the time anti-mutant sentiments were at their peak, and the bastard who shot her thought he'd make a name for himself by taking down one of the biggest "mutie" fugitives out there.

"Raaaaaaggghhhh!" I slam my fists into the wall of my room, denting the metal. I never wanted to live this life again. I'm merely a weapon in a war of supremacy. A war I foresee having no end but oblivion for one of the sides. But this is a war I have a personal stake in.

The man responsible for Silver Fox's death leads the other side. A man who I used to serve under. The man who gave me the indestructible metal that now covers my bones, making me the force of destruction I am today: Magneto, the Master of Magnetism.

A small, rotating, red light above the door in my room turns on, alerting me that the door will be opening. They treat me like a rat in a cage here. They think I'm going to go AWOL, not realizing they're my best shot at revenge. The heavy door slides open and in walks Colonel David Haller, the director of the X-Men Initiative, strolls confidently into the room, two guards armed with tranquilizer guns following close behind.

"How many times do I have to tell ya, bub? The damn tranq guns aren't necessary," I growl.

"I'll stop bringing them in when you stop breaking your quarters," he sneers back. The guy hates me. He never, nor could he, say it publicly, but I see it in his eyes. I see the disdain he has for me, just like his little *** kisser Summers. "We're sending you and your...team on another assignment."

The team he speaks of isn't the X-Men, but Weapon X, a covert ops team made especially when I came on board with the feds. A team made up of members hand picked by me. A team made for tracking Magneto and his Brotherhood cells all over the country.

"Where we headed on tax payers' money this time?" I smile as I light up a Cuban cigar and puff the smoke towards the Colonel. Sometimes it's nice to being the US Governement's pet weapon.

"The Canadian Rockies," he smiles. "That's right, Wolverine. We're sending you home. HAMMER intelligence has picked up a blip that they believe is a Brotherhood cell working out of the mountains. We want you to find them, neutralize them, and bring us the leader."

"Why don't you send Summers and the boy scouts on this one?" I laugh, taking another long drag off my stogy.

"We don't want a lot of publicity on this one. We're sending you over an international border. We want this to be quick and quiet, Logan."

I smile, the cigar still pointing out of the corner of my mouth, "Come on now Colonel...That's what we do best."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

My story begins with Captain America. My father idealized the man. And truthfully, what true blooded American didn’t. He was a true hero, an everyman who became a symbol against hate. It was this inspiration and this symbolism that drove my father to join the military, and enroll in the Meta-Human Special Forces, a battalion that was just a shadow of what S.H.I.E.L.D. once was and the blueprint for HAMMER. These forces were tasked with keeping the rising radical mutant force in check. And so it was, on one of these mission, that my father was murdered by those mutie b@$t@rd$. It was his death that drove my mother to the bottle. It was the bottle that murdered my mother, and left me in the care of The Old Soldier. And now it’s my turn to take center stage, and make sure the story that started back in the earliest days of World War II, the greatest American story, lives on.

No pressure.

-

I lift my shades and look into the retinal scanner to the side of the huge blast door. After a second of humming, it beeps, and the two sets of massive doors slide open, and I’m suddenly assaulted with the sights and sounds of thousands of computers buzzing, the flickering of hundreds of huge observation screens, and about 3 dozen special ops soldiers working all the stations. The main hub of Hydro Base. The unofficial official story is that it’s a top secret military base built into a small island in the middle of the Husdon River. The conspiracy theorist say it’s the old S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier, now anchored to the bottom of the river and disguised as an island. I couldn’t say. I’ve never seen the outside of the place. I kind of have a thing about going out swimming in the Hudson River.

The official story, as far as the world at large, is that this base doesn’t even exist.

“Clint. Your files.”

I pull down my face mask and acknowledge Clay Quartermaine, third in command of Hydro Base.


“Lets see. Norman Osborn. Industrialist and scientist. More money than Bill Gates. Everything from household cleaners to military weaponry. Worked a lot of back door deals, questionable but not illegal, to open his first laboratory and hasn’t looked back. Not very loved by his board of directors, but what C.E.O. is. Everything looks in order.”

“Dead end?”

“Oh hell no. The cleanest are always hiding the most, Clay. You know that.”

I shove the files under his arm and do an about face back out the door. I take the elevator at the end of the hall down to the bottom level, The Old Soldier’s quarters. After the years of service he’s given to the country, he deserves a lot more than a single level of an underwater Special Ops base.

The first thing I hear, just like every time I enter the main living quarters, is the sound of the respirator.

“Hawkeye reporting in sir.”

I place the files on the table in front of his wheelchair.

“I’ve got a possible lead on our first connection to the new HYDRA. Flimsy at best, but better than nothing. First follow up is on for oh-six-hundred tomorrow.”

The Old Soldier says nothing, like usual, but I can read his eyes. It’s all the approval I need.

“Sleep well sir. I’ll check in before leaving in the morning.”

[Rain Dog]

http://img94.imageshack.us/img94/3980/howardbannercopy2.png



I wake up in an alleyway somewhere. I have no idea where I am or how I got here, which, I must admit, is not the first time this has happened. The last thing I remember was that I was at home and on the phone. This was especially weird because when you find yourself in these situations, the last thing you usually remember is going into a bar, or party, or feeling up some swan who happens to have an eagle boyfriend that ends up kicking your ass because she didn’t tell you she had a boyfriend and she sure as hell didn’t tell you stop and you keep trying to tell that to the guy but that just seems to piss him off more and before you know it he pulls out this lead pipe he kept in his Durango for some reason and you really wonder why but don’t ask him about it because you’re too busy soiling yourself over thoughts about the impending face smashing…

Aaanywho…I’m in this alley. I slowly rise to my feet and look around. It looks like I’m still in New Stork (Get it? ‘Cuz it’s like New York but instead of—nevermind, you get it). What exactly happened, then? I seem to remember some horrible demonic voice…and a lack of cable…

Ah, that’s right. Thong or Thug or whatever his name was. Something about…nexus’s…and molecules…did that actually happen? I step out of the alley and glance around. Cars drive by, neon signs are flashing, hairless bipedial ape-monsters are walkin’ around. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except that last one. That one scared the **** out of me.

“WAAAAAUGH!!!!” I screamed as I ran back into the alley. What in God’s name were those things?! I sat against a wall and curled up tight, rocking back and forth. My heart was racing, my mind was numb, and I couldn’t stop whimpering.

“Where the hell am I?” I say to nobody.

Suddenly, I see a tiny ball of light floats around my head, like a firefly. As it circles me, it grows larger and larger. I’m terrified at this point and want nothing more than to get the hell out of that alley. But I can’t risk being seen and subsequently torn apart and eaten by the ape monsters. So I just sit there and whimper like a punk b**** as this mega-firefly stops circling me and begins to change shape as it grows. The orb of light is now bigger than I am and has taken the shape of a person. The light fades and I’m now left facing a strange cloaked figure. Needless to say, I am ****ing bricks.

“Do not be afraid, dear creature. I am here to assist you.”

“W-what’s going on?” I said, my voice trembling.

“Where am I? Who are you?!”

“I am Oja’Mahndysa, Baron of sub-space. And you, dear creature…are in a different universe,” said the cloaked figure in a hushed, soothing voice.

“What? What are you talking about?? I don’t wanna be in another universe! I just wanna go home!”

“Calm yourself. As I said, I am here to assist. You have been chosen by the Celestial Ones—incredibly powerful, cosmic beings –to travel to this realm.”

“Wha—Why? Why me? Why this world?”

“This world, this universe…it is in grave danger. And you are the only one who can save it. The beings who inhabit it have no idea that their very existence is doomed. The Celestial Ones have foreseen that you and only you, can change that.”

“Damn…”

This was a lot to digest. I was terrified but at the same time, fascinated by all of this.

“What do I have to do, exactly?”

“For millennia there has been an invisible war waged against the Forces of Darkness. Only the few chosen ones, from all reaches of the universe, know of it. It is your job to help them conquer the forces of evil. You will travel from galaxy to galaxy, starting here, destroying the Dark Cosmic Overlords who pollute the cosmos with their evil.”

“But…how?”

“You have a great power that you are not aware. I will teach you to wield it. It is the key to defeating the Dark Lords. You are destined to become a great warrior, Robert, and soon you—“

“—Howard.”

“What?”

“It’s Howard.”

“Howard?”

Oja reached into his pocket and pulled out a small scroll. He unraveled it and quickly glanced it over.

“Oh. Sorry ‘bout that, bro. Wrong person.”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to train some guy named Robert. Probably confused the **** outta ya, sorry. Well, have a good one,” he said as he began to fade away.

“WAIT!!! I need help—where the hell am I? How do I get home?! How am I supposed to survive here?!”

“Uh…”

Oja dug around in his pocket again.

“Here’s…five bucks aaaaand…a Snickers bar. It’s been in there for a while so it’s probably kinda melted. I dunno if that bothers you or anything...well, see ya.”

“THAT’S IT?!!”

Oja shrugged as he finally vanished.

Well. **** me.

[Byrd Man]

Hell's Kitchen

The seven Devils had all gone their separate ways, but their mission remained the same.

Devils Four and Five, men named Brian and Bill, were patrolling Hell's Kitchen. Brian had already broken the arm of a mugger, while had shattered the knee of a burglar prying open an apartment building skylight.

Shang Chi - Devil Three - stalked the apartment of a drug addict who was pimping out his stepdaughter for rent money. Luke Cage, known as Devil Two, was preparing to make his move on a local heroin dealer. Before the night ended, both the stepfather and drug dealer would be severely beaten. Both men would be place in the hospital, the stepfather having permanent brain damage from his injuries.

As the two senior Devils prepared their move, the group's two newest members were racing across the rooftops of Hell's Kitchen, moving North towards 110th street.

"This man is named Morgan, right," Dakota North asked as she and Frank Brubaker. Neither knew one knew the others name. To them, Frank was Six, and Dakota was Seven.

"That's his name," Brubaker replied as they he leapt over a gap between two buildings.

"I think I've heard of his guy," Dakota said as she kept pace with Brubaker's long strides.

"He's a notable gangster in Manhattan. He runs numbers and all kinds of sports lines."

Back before the Devil had changed his life, Frank had been a pretty regular customer of Morgan's service. He had once owed the man two hundred dollars and had gotten a dislocated knuckle for his debt. What he and Seven did tonight would be savored by Frank.

While the six members of the group carried out their nightly rituals, Devil One himself was busy in the heart of Hell's Kitchen.

WHAM!

A man's crumpled body crashed against the alley's brick wall. His name was Cyrus Jones. Six years go, he had murdered a family of four in cold blood. Pleading insanity, Jones spent six years in Bellevue and was released just this week. He had convinced everyone in the courtroom to believe he was insane except for one man. That man had been a blind law school student who had been in the court room to observe the trial.

The Thompson Family, the ones Jones had murdered with a knife as they slept, would have justice.

"P-p-p-p-p-please, don't kill me," Jones begged. Matt remained silent as he quietly approached the sobbing man.

"You want mercy, but you don't deserve it," Matt said as he hoisted Jones to his feet and slammed the killer into the brick wall.

"Give me a chance!"

"Just like you gave the Thompson family a chance?"

Jones shook his head as Matt held him against the wall.

"You don't understand! My dad u-u-u-used to hit me when I was a k-k-kid. I got proof."

"That justifies you murdering four people?"

"I was sick! I wasn't right in the head," he cried out. Tears flowed freely from his face.

"I know very well about the sins of the father," Matt said with a touch of sympathy in his voice. Jones shuddered, praying that this demon would finally show him mercy.

"But unfortunately, I'm here for your sins."

Jones started to struggle as Matt pinned him against the wall and pulled out his scarlet billy club. Jones reeled as the club's first blow smacked hm hard in the forehead. Matt replied again, smacking him hard in the forehead and cracking his skull. He hit him again, and again. He only stopped when Jones' blood had run down the man's face and coated Matt's hands. If he could see, Matt would have stopped as soon as he saw Jones' brains splatter against the wall after the third blow.

He let the murderer fall against the wall, holstering his billy club as he turned to leave the alley.

"Justice has been served. May God have mercy on your soul."

That was always Matt's parting words, even though he wasn't sure that he still believed in God. His mother had raised him to be a good Catholic but, like so many other things in his life, his faith had changed when he heard his mother's dead body fall to the floor.

A nearby clock tower struck one as Matt Murdock climbed a fire escape up towards the Hell's Kitchen rooftop.

The night was growing older, and there was still work to do.

[Eddie Brock]

IRON MAN

FUNERAL FOR MY FATHER: PART 3

The Stark Mansion is located in upstate New York. Serving as the home for three generations of the Stark family, it became Howard Stark's private residence upon his father's death. It was also the childhood home of Tony Stark, though very little time was actually spent there. Howard often took his boy along for business trips, wanting to train him in the ways of the family business from a young age. Tony eventually came to resent him for it.

Now, Tony Stark stands before the mansion. His hair, usually neatly-cropped, is long and unwieldy. His eyes are sunken, hollow-looking. His clothes are dirty and disheveled. He carries a small duffel bag which contains all of his remaining possessions. The rest have been sold or repossessed. He has the look of a man who's at his end, and yet he's only in his mid-twenties.

Tony sighs as he approaches the mansion. He hasn't spoken to his father - or anyone from his old life - since leaving so many years ago. He's sure that his father has heard of Tony's infamous exploits: the drunken debacles, the arrests, the highly-publicized meltdowns. He can only imagine what his father will say to him. Yet, Tony has no choice. He has nowhere else to go.

Upon entering the mansion - much to his surprise, his key still works - he is greeted by an electronic voice with a British accent. "Welcome home, sir." The voice resonates in the foyer, bouncing off the marble floor and rebounding into the vaulted ceiling. Tony accidentally drops his bag as he jumps back.

"Who's there?" a familiar voice calls from upstairs. Tony knows that voice all too well. It is the voice of Howard Stark, his father. Tony wants to answer, but his voice is caught in his throat. Howard appears at the top of the stairs, and he suddenly looks as though he's seen a ghost. "T-Tony?"

Tony swallows the lump in his throat. His father looks just as Tony remembers him - albeit with a little more gray hair. Tony fights the burning sensation of forming tears. "It's me, Dad. I'm home," he answers in a croak.

Howard flies down the stairs quicker than seems humanly possible. He throws his arms around his son without another word. Unlike Tony, he allows his tears to flow. "Son, you're finally home," he whispers, tears dripping from his mustache. "I knew you'd come back. I just knew it."

Tony returns his father's embrace, but he offers no words of comfort. Somehow, in that moment, Tony knows that the past is past. His father - the man who brought Tony into this world - has forgiven his son, and no words had to be exchanged. After a moment, Tony asks, "What was that voice I heard?"

Breaking the hug, Howard smiles. "How did he sound? It's a little project I've been working on," he explains. He points to the sophisticated control panel on the sidewall. It looks almost like a burglar alarm. "His name's Jarvis. He's the first breakthrough in artificial intelligence in years!"

"Sir, I do hate when you describe me that way," Jarvis announces. His voice echoes through the home, as if he's speaking from everywhere. "'Artificial intelligence' makes it sound like I'm faking it."

Howard laughs. "Don't take it personal, Jarvis." He turns back to Tony, still smiling. "What do you think about the accent? Jarvis is actually an acronym: Just A Really Very Intelligent System. Jarvis sounded British to me."

Tony shrugs.

"He's been very helpful," Howard continues. "My productivity has increased tenfold with Jarvis around. Plus, he can manage the house for me, and I always have someone to talk to." At this, Howard's smile fades. The implication in his last statement is clear. Howard hasn't been the same man since losing touch with Tony. "Come on. There's a lot I need to show you."

***

I look around the mansion, wanting any excuse to get away from the casket and the crowd for a moment. Three generations of Starks have lived in here, and I would be the fourth. But I can't bring myself to live in this house. I can't seem to divorce my father's memory from these walls. This mansion is still my father's mansion in my mind, and I'm content to keep it that way. Besides, I hardly need a place this big all to myself.

"Mr. Stark?"

I turn to see a uniformed man with a bushy, red mustache.

"I'm Colonel Dugan, United States Army," he announces, extending a large hand in my direction. As I shake it, I notice how firm his grip is. "Your father was a genius and a valuable ally to the Armed Services. He will be missed." I nod. "I trust that Stark Industries will continue to pave the way in modern warfare, under your leadership."

I smile. "I wouldn't want to disappoint my boys in uniform, Colonel."

***

Camp Quesada is a military training base located in the desert. The conditions there are meant to mimick the conditions found in Iraq and Afghanistan. The days are long and hot, and there is little reprieve for the recruits. Here, recruits are turned into soldiers, and the process is neither easy nor fun.

For these reasons - and many more - Tony Stark finds himself wondering why he's standing here. As he runs a hand along his freshly-shaven scalp, Tony starts to have second thoughts. But it's too late to turn back now. Tony made a promise to his father. He was going to prove his responsibility the hard way, and he wasn't going to disappoint.

"FALL IN!" a booming voice commands, instantly grabbing the attention of Tony and his fellow recruits. They scramble to form a straight line of men, each standing as still as humanly possible. "Welcome to Camp Quesada. My name is Sergeant Hampton. You will call me 'Sergeant' or 'sir.'" The sergeant begins to pace up and down the line, eyeing up all of the recruits. "The next few weeks will be Hell. If you survive it, you will emerge as soldiers. If you don't, well, then God have mercy on your souls."

Tony's eyes follow the sergeant as he passes.

"As for living arrangements," the sergeant continues, "turn to the person next to you." The group does so in unison. "Congratulations. You've just found your new bunkmate."

"Hey. I'm Tony Stark," Tony says, reaching out to shake his new bunkmate's hand.

"James Rhodes," the man responds, shaking Tony's hand. "Good to meet you."

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif

Glancing around, it's not hard to see who's who.

The flocks of sheep.

The alpha leaders.

The predators.

And the weak to be preyed upon.

Welcome to the jungle...or as it's more commonly known, Midtown High School.

I make my way towards my locker, a slight limp from last night's shotgun pellet slowing me down just a little as I weave through the teeming masses. This isn't exactly friendly territory--in the wilderness of high school social interaction, I'm pretty low on the food chain. It's best for my kind--the endangered North American Freckle-Faced Geek--to keep a low profile.

I manage to slink past Sally Avril and her pack of cheerleaders without incident--normally, if one of them so much as makes eye contact with me, I'll spend the rest of the day hearing about how much of a perv I am for 'checking them out.'

I completely avoid Kenny 'Kong' McFarlane, who spent all last week telling me he was gonna stuff me in a trash can at today's pep rally.

So far, so good.

I get to my locker without any trouble, begin to work on my combination--

"Mornin', Puny Parker. Got my biology homework for today?"

Flash Thompson. Of course.

"Sorry, Flash, I was out late last night. Didn't have time to do my homework, let alone--whuff!"

Flash grabs me by the collar.

"Look, geek, you don't get to go out at night until you've done what the QB tells you to do. Got it?"

"Jeez! Okay, okay, take it easy! I can work on it for you in homeroom!"

"No dice, Parker. That's the third time this month you've skipped out on doing my homework. I can't afford another zero!"

"Heh, if you're so worried about your grades, then why don't you do your homework yourself?"

"Ooooh, is that sass I hear? Did Peter Parker actually grow himself a backbone?"

Of course. It wouldn't be a typical morning bully-session with Flash if Mary Jane Watson wasn't there to join in.

"Y'know, you're always so cute when you try to stand up for yourself. Of course, you know what always happens when you do that, right?"

I roll my eyes and nod, and Flash, ever the alpha-male, can't help but grin. I could fold this idiot up like origami right now, if it weren't for the fact that doing so would have those HAMMER guys from the news knocking on my door by the end of the day. So instead, I have to just take it.

"Know what I'm thinking, Mary Jane?"

"I don't know, what are you thinking, Flash?"

"I'm thinking Puny Parker needs to practice being shoved in a trash can for today's rally!"

"HEY! Do we have a problem here?"

Oh, thank God. Good old Eddie Brock is here to save the day.

"What exactly do you think you're doing with my good friend Pete, Flash?"

"Just giving the little creep what he deserves. He's got three strikes for failing to deliver the QB's homework, and that means he's going to go dumpster diving."

Eddie stares a hole through Flash and MJ for a few seconds, his arms crossed. Ever since he joined the football team, he hasn't been around as much to keep these hyenas off my back. Still, I know he's on the right side.

...then Eddie grins.

"Sorry, Pete, but it looks like you've got a date with the trash!"

"Hey, Eddie! Think fast!"

Eddie turns, then gets a blast of shaving cream right in his face.

Flash drops me to the ground, and then a jet of the creamy goop arcs through the air and coats him head to toe.

"Just what do you think you're--AAAHHHH!"

Before she can finish her sentence, she gets a glob of shaving cream in the face as well.

Gwen Stacy to the rescue.

"Don't you idiots have something better to do with your time than pick on us? Like, say, clean yourselves off before you have to go to homeroom looking like that?"

Mary Jane stares daggers at Gwen, before skulking off towards the girls' bathroom in a huff. Flash follows right behind her, just going to show who the real alpha personality is in their relationship.

Eddie wipes the shaving cream off his face, and gives Gwen a guilty look.

"Aww, c'mon, Gwen! We were just having some fun with--"

Gwen cuts him off with her legendary stink-eye, and Eddie backs off like a hurt dog.

"Hey, thanks," I finally manage, getting only my books out of my locker since I apparently left my dignity at home. "You're gonna get in trouble, though. MJ is probably going to blab to the principal, and they'll find those cans of shaving cream in your backpack, won't they?"

"No they won't," she says with a sly grin. It's just now that I realize I didn't actually see her holding any spray cans or anything.

"Wait--where did...how did you...?"

The grin on her face gets a little wider, and she rolls up the sleeve of her pink hoodie to show the contraption strapped to her wrist.

"I've been tinkering around with these in my garage for like a week," she says proudly. "Portable high-pressure spraying devices, with multiple settings for all kinds of stuff. The nozzle has a dual-action trigger preventing it from going off accidentally; it'll only spray if you cock your wrist back and press down with your middle two fingers at the same time. I made them for my dad as a self-defense gadget, meant to house pepper spray and stuff...or in this case, a few sprays of humility for Flash and his idiots."

"Heh. Gwen Stacy: Girl Genius," I say. She blushes for some reason, and I take her hand to get a closer look at her wrist-sprayers. "I cannot tell you how cool these things are. You oughta get them patented or something, have that Slap-Chop guy selling them on late-night TV!"

"I'll think about it," she says, pulling her hand back a little awkwardly. "You know...if you want, I could....I could make you a pair of them, maybe?"

"Really? That'd be great! Gwen, you rule so hard!"

"Well...hey, what are friends for, right?"

The bell rings, letting us know class is about to start.

"Well, anyway, that's class. This must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays."

"Yeah, I--wait, did you just Hitchhiker's Guide me?"

"You know you love it."

I leave Gwen with a parting smile, and head to class, still limping from last night.

Ugh. I don't even want to think about that right now. Apparently the Big Man is stepping up in his efforts to have me killed, and I don't even know his real name yet. And I'm just positive that all the morons I trounced are already back out on the streets...those that aren't still in the hospital, at least.

But that's something to worry about later. I've still got a full day of classes ahead of me...

...and let's not forget that appointment with Kong and a trash can.

[The Question]

Norman Osborn believed in having a morning routine. One that was organized, pragmatic, but left room for deviations as the situation required. He believed that it gone one's mind prepared for the rigors of both corporate america and science. That it strengthened ones ability to separate a problem into the individual necessary steps, deal with what needed to be dealt with first, and change plans as unpredicted variables arose. Of course, in one's morning routine, unpredicted variables tended to come in the form of his son eating the last poppy seed bagel before he got town for breakfast, but the scope was unimportant. It flexed the mental muscles still drowsy from sleep.

He awoke at 7:00 AM, as he did every morning, and immediately did his morning calisthenics. Quick stretches, followed by one hundred sit ups and one hundred push ups, and then a quick run on the treadmill. He brushed his teeth showered, shaved, and picked out a green suit from his wardrobe to wear to work. He always wore green suits, all of the same design, to work. He considered them to be his work uniform, and they helped him to focus his mind on the tasks at hand. He called for the car to be brought around as he walked downstairs into the kitchen to fix himself a bagel and a travel mug of coffee to have on his way to work. He noticed immediately that Harry and Peter had left the kitchen in a slight mess when they went to school. They had already left before he'd come downstairs. They usually did.

Norman pushed in the chairs, swept up the crumbs on the counter, and cleaned the two dirty plates in the sink before making his breakfast and heading downstairs.

Bernard was waiting for him with the car in front of the building.

"Good morning, sir," the valet said with a smile and a nod.

"Good morning Bernard."

Norman climbed into the back seat and began to sip his coffee. Bernard got into the front and started the ignition. There was a slight lurch as the car moved forward, and Norman almost splashed coffee into his face.

"Careful, Bernard."

"Sorry, sir."

Norman reached over to the newspaper on the seat next to him.

"Sir," said Bernard, "Mr. Menkin called while you were in the shower. He told me to remind you that there is a board meeting this afternoon at four."

"Thank you, Bernard," said Norman as he scanned the copy of The Daily Bugle in his hands.

One story, on the third page, was about the "Spider-Man" who's been sighted performing stunts and intervening in petty crimes in the late hours of the night. Norman read he whole article. It offered nothing conclusive. Only that the Spider-Man had been sighted a handful of times, never photographed, and seemed to follow no patterns of movement that can yet be discerned.

The article troubled Norman.

Still, he thought, today is going to be a good day.

[Batman]

EDIT: Starting over.

[The Question]

The first place Norman went to upon arriving at work was the lab. He missed working there. Corporate matters kept him away from there more than he liked. It was rare that he got a change to do some research, to work with chemicals and bits of machinery. He took to business very well, but there was a peace it lacked. A peace he could only find in the dull hum of laboratory busywork.

Doctor Curt Connors looked up from his papers with a surprised smile as Norman walked in the room.

"Doctor Osborn," he said. "Good to see you, sir. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Just looking for a status report, Doctor Connors."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you. If we'd made any breakthroughs with the SSM-AF15 problem, you'd be the first person we called."

"So there hasn't been any progress? Not even the slightest change?"

"Unfortunately, no. As of right now, the world's most powerful performance enhancer still has the combined psychological side effects of every other performance enhancer on the planet. Good news is it won't give you a heart attack or shrink your testicles."

"Small comfort."

"Still, DNAReflux shows promise. It's a bit of a crapshoot, but we're hoping to work around that."

Norman glanced to the side, and noticed Doctor Miles Warren studying something under a microscope.

"Doctor Warren." he said.

Miles continued to study his sample, oblivious to his employer's presence.

"Doctor Warren!"

Miles looked up from his studies and turned to Norman, a look of anger on his face.

"What?!" he shouted, before noticing who it was who had been calling his name. His expression quickly became very anxious.

"Mr. Osborn. I'm sorry. I was... yes?"

"How goes the DNAReflux research?"

Miles smiled.

"Yes. As you know, while the psychological side effects of SSM-AF15 (increased aggression, manic depression, vivid auditory and visual hallucinations, and paranoia) made it unusable in practical settings, the DNAReflux side effect has a great deal of potential. It's offered us new insights into gene splicing, and we've begun to develop methods of inserting traits of one species into another with..."

"Doctor Warren. I know all of this."

Miles grimaced.

"Sorry."

Norman rolled his eyes.

"Just get to the point."

"... the trial results look promising. While... ah, we've been able to predict, in some cases, what gene types will have what effects. There's still an element of randomness, but I'm confident that the problem will be solved with more... practice, I suppose."

"Not too much practice," said Norman. "Lab animals and gene splicing are both expensive."

"Yes, Mr. Osborn," Miles said with just a hint of venom. Norman noticed, and considered saying something, but decided against it. He turned to Doctor Connors.

"I've decided that all research in this department is going to shift toward DNAReflux. I don't think SSM-AF15 is a dead end, but right now DNAReflux has more immediate and practical potential. We'll open up full research on SSM-AF15 at a later date. In the meantime, I will be making it my personal project."

"Any particular reason?" Doctor Connors asked, suspicious. Norman Osborn wasn't known to take on other people's R&D projects for himself.

"It'll give me something to do with my free time. Is there a problem with that?"

"Not at all, sir."

"Good. Keep me updated on your work. I'll be in meetings all day if you need me."

Norman walked out of the lab, on his way up to his office. Miles Warren smirked as the doors closed.

"Hmph! There he goes. The mighty Norman Osborn."

Doctor Connors, not wanting to listen to yet another of Miles' rants about their employer, cut him off by addressing the lab.

"Okay people," he said while rubbing the bridge of his nose. Miles was feeling uppity, and he could feel a headache coming on. "Let's get back to work."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

The Oscorp Board of Directors met at a swank, state of the art office building at the far end of the industrial complex; a 10 story steel and glass building that, when viewed from the air, looled like a giant intertwined “O” and “C”.

The homeless man had parked himself outside the main gate at 6:30 in the morning, bundled up in a cocoon of heavy blankets, and building a makeshift lean-to with a tattered blue tarp along the main wall of the complex. Nobody gave him a second look or a second thought. The site wasn’t uncommon, after all. Of course, the fact that no one could see the high tech receiver and recorder underneath helped as well.

Hawkeye adjusted the shades on his head, making sure he could get a clear view and snapshot of any board member that fit the description he had obtained the day before. Employees began rolling in around 7:15, and it hadn’t taken long to pick his mark. He could have been able to see the mountain of a man, even inside his what was surely armored Rolls, coming a mile away, even without his glasses. As it was, he got a perfect view through the car, and as it approached the gate, he turned up the earpiece.

“Good morning, Mr. Fisk.”

“Fisk,” Hawkeye noted to himself, as he sent the picture and sound bite back to Hydro Base.

-

I don’t know why the Old Soldier took me in. The explanation I got was that my old man was a friend, and he felt guilty. But like so much in my life and my line of work, I feel like there’s more. I know he had plenty of friends die in the line of duty, leaving family behind, but they fended for themselves. The training was a little extensive to for just being an orphan kid who needed a roof over his head. It’s the kinda training that tells me I’m being groomed for a lot more than a special op soldier, even one who’s been thrown into the superhero game. I guess that’s why I’m here, though. I don’t accept things at face value. I delve into the story, and I don’t stop until I find the real story, no matter the cost. That’s a trait that I was born with, a trait that no level of training could have ever provided.

[Venom160]

http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b3/venom160/578191-comics_upl.png

The young man gasps for air as he continues down the rain soaked streets of New York. Hearing the footfalls of his purser drawing nearer pushes the man to run faster. He swiftly darts into traffic barely missing getting hit by a taxi. Ignoring the angered taxi driver's curses the young man never slows his stride as he cuts into an alley hoping to get to the next street over.

The stream of fire ignites with a sudden flash of heat that instantly evaporates the gentle downfall. The almost sentient stream of fire races past the fleeing man and strikes the entrance of the alley flaring up into a wall of flame that completely blocks the man's escape.

"AH! No! Dammit dammit!"

The man tenses as he hears the approaching footsteps. As he tenses thin razor sharp quills start to sprout from every exposed part of his skin. The young man grits his teeth and raises his arms at the new arrival.

"Ah ah..."

The figure raises his hand and with a sudden spark a fireball ignites in his hand. The orb of flame glows a beautiful blue as it slowly revolves around this stranger's hand.

"I wouldn't do tha if I was you mate. Trus' me you'll get off the worst for wear."

"What the **** is this!? Who sent you?! Silvermane? Fisk? That *****ucker Tombstone?"

Behind him new life stirs within the flame wall as two shapes emerge. The shapes starts to show feline features as they enlarge and the fire that consists them becomes a brilliant blue.

"Ah!"

The young man staggers back from the heat and new arrivals.

"Look I'm sure we can work something out. I have two grand is my pocket. I can get another six within the hour. Just let me walk away."

"I'm afraid tha ain't gonna happen kid."

"But....."

"Sick 'em"

With a deafening roar the fire lions finish forming and attacks tearing into the young man. His screams mingle with the creatures growls. The screams finally cease and the smell of burning flesh fills the alley. The lions finally release the charred corpse and approaches their master. The creatures purr as their master runs his hands against their flaming manes.

"Good boys. Papas real proud...."

With that the lions degenerate back into small insignificant flames before finally extinguishing. A satisfied grin spreads across the fire wielder's burned face.

"Easiest grand I ever made. If I didn't like the smell of burning flesh I might've taken him up on his offer."

Pulling a cell from his coat pocket he flips it open and hits the first preset.

"Its done. Heh oh yeah he suffered. You wanna picture? Wow you are a sick puppy."

Taking aim he clicks a few shots of the smoking corpse.

"The money better be in my account. Uh-huh pleasure doing business with ya."

[Carnage27]

I stroll through the halls of the Xavier Institute, beer in hand. As I walk the halls, the students, teachers, and X-Men give me sideways looks, some even stand aside. It's been like this since I got here. I can't say I blame them though.

Hell I probably tried to kill some of them at somepoint.

I stop out from of one of my teammate's quarters and give a quick knock, "Hank, you there?"

"Come in," the voice answers from the other side. "Ah, Logan, nice to see you."

I enter the room and find my second in command, Lieutenant Hank McCoy codenamed Beast, hanging from a bar on his ceiling, his blue fur seemingly reaching for the floor, a book in his hands. Leave it to Hank to be reading.

"Yea, how ya doing, fuzzball?" I ask looking around his room. The guy looks like he's bunked up at the Hilton, and I've got something more akin to a college dorm room. "Seriously, who do I have to talk to to get a room upgrade?"

Beast chuckles and dismounts from the ceiling, taking a seat next to me, "I believe Colonel Haller would be the one. Although I don't know if he'd be so happy to help. Maybe you could ask Captain Summers?"

"Ha! Yea that'd be great. Another reprimand from our fearless leader," I scoff. As much as I hate being here, I do like my teammates. They're the closest I've ever had to friends. "I stopped by to tell you we've got another mission. We ship out at 0800 tomorrow. Get the team ready."

"I will, sir," he nods, before raising his hand to stop me from leaving. "Oh! I forgot to tell you. We'll be receiving a new recruit for the team."

I spin around, "Excuse me? I didn't authorize a new member."

"Yes well the Colonel decided we could use some fresh blood."

I don't even respond to Hank, speeding directly towards Haller's office.

[SenseiofCheese]

Anbar,
Northern Iraq

"Gimme some of your water." Mortimer Toynbee groaned, his tongue protruding out of his mouth and hanging well past his belly. His forehead was stained with sweat, giving him an appearance of being even filthier than he actually was.

"It ain't my problem you downed your entire canteen on the flight over." the man walking a few steps ahead of Toynbee explained, not a hint of compassion for his gasping, wheezing compatriot.

"Both of you, quiet." Alexander Summers, Havok, called back. "I'd like to delay getting shot at for as long as possible."

"How long to this base, anyway?" Toynbee asked, lowering his voice but still obnoxiously loud.

"According to Magneto's coordinates we should be there soon so keep. Quiet."

The three men marched on with only the occasional complaint from Toynbee. "I'm just saying, I feel like Mags could've gotten me an outfit that breathes a bit more, you know, down there."

"Shhh," Havok ordered, not hearing a single word. "We're here."

They each knelt behind an aggregation of large rocks that stood on the edge of a small cliff. Peering down below they saw what they had come here for.
The mutant slave camp was worse than the photographs Erik had shown them. Dilapidated tents were scattered over a large field. All around the area were people, mutants. Hardly dressed, covered in ragged cloths with a metallic collar around their neck, they worked with bloodied bodies, cuts and bruises. Looming over their shoulders were men screaming obscenities at them, waving their automatic rifles in their faces and, if they should stop their work to wipe blood or sweat from their eyes, beating them mercilessly.

"Jesus Christ..what the hell kind of place is this?"

"I'm seeing 13 gunmen," Havok spoke through gritted teeth, ignoring Toynbee and focusing on containing his emotions. "maybe more inside the tents. 19 civilians by my count."

"I'm guessing those things around their necks dampen their powers, keep them from fighting back?" Havok nodded. "They're not that lucky with us."

-------

The first spray of gunfire blasted across the field and soon chaos had consumed the camp. The mutant slaves cried and screamed in fear and dropped to the ground, their slavers pointing weapons to their faces. "*Stay down! Don't move you freaks!"

The assault had started with Havok. Jumping down to the camp he had sent a wave of concussive energy to the two nearest guards. Their guns discharged as they went sailing across the camp and crashed into separate tents. Grabbing the guard closest to him Havok grabbed the man's gun and reeled it down, slamming his fist into the man's face and spinning him down to the ground. Removing a small dagger from his boot Havok slammed it into the guard's neck.

"Whoopsie-daisy!" Toynbee shrieked as he landed on one of the gunman's shoulders, dislocating them as he slammed his hands onto each side of the man's face and twisting his head 180 degrees. As the lifeless body crumpled to the ground he grabbed the rifle and let loose with a hail of gunfire and cut down three oncoming guards.

"*AH! HELP ME!" a cry came from one of the tents that, by now, was barely standing. Letting loose with a single blast from the length of his arm, Havok blew the tent away and revealed a slaver mercilessly beating a young mutant with the butt of his gun. With surgeon-like precision Alexander sent a torrent of concussive energy at the man, breaking almost everything that could be broken inside his torso. Havok couldn't help but smile as the slaver's body was thrown like a ragdoll across the camp.

*click* *click*

"*****!"

*click* *click* *click*

Spinning around Alexander saw one of the gunmen with a rifle leveled to his head. The man was frantic, terror in his eyes as he desperately squeezed the trigger of his rifle. Smiling, Alexander moved to attack but before he could do anything a set of four small daggers hit the slaver's face.

"That is some bad luck," Longshot remarked as he ran up to Havok. "his gun jamming like that."

"I appreciate the save. Now let's go. Longshot, you and I take out the rest of the guards. Toad, you go get the civilians and get them the hell out of here, we'll meet you at the extraction point."

"Babysitting duty, awesome." Toynbee wiped blood from his goggles and sped away to a group of mutants who looked on in awe.

----------

"I'm sure Erik will find this interesting." Havok remarked, more to himself than anyone around him, as he turned the device over in his hands.

The blades of the helicopter whirred outside as the team of Brotherhood mutants soared over Iraq, on their way back home with a cargo hold full of terrified mutants. "The mutant power dampener?" Toynbee reached over and inspected the device through his goggles. "I ain't no expert or nothing, but that looks like it's made in the good old US of A."

"Exactly."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarBlackWidow.jpg

MEXICO CITY

Natalia waited patiently, sipping her tea as she watched the office building across from the small café she was sitting in intently. She wore a long, ankle length skirt and conservative blouse covered by a business jacket.

“<Another refill, ma’am?>”

Natalia peered up through her sunglasses at the smiling waitress. She moved to hand her the cup before movement across the street caught her eye. A well dressed man strutted out of the office building. Caucasian, carrying himself with a great deal of swagger, and looking as if he had the world in the palm of his hand.

“No, gracias.”

Natalia placed the money for her bill on the table and handed her server a generous tip, never taking her eyes off the man across the street, who was now stepping into his car that had been driven around to him by the valet.

Natalia disappeared into a nearby alley, losing her jacket, skirt, and blouse as she did and depositing them into a dumpster. The small black leather dress she was left wearing was far less conservative, and left little to the imagination.

Natalia walked out the far side of the alley and, with and extra sway in her step, took her place on the street corner.

For a woman of her mid-sixties, Natalia’s body had not aged a day past 20, thanks to the experiments done on her by her handlers in The Red Room. And, if need be, with a little makeup and the right clothing, Natalia could look even younger, which was necessary now to attract her mark.

Victor Pulasky; High powered US business man, on the run from the FBI for kidnapping and statutory rape. He was seeking asylum here in Mexico, and had amassed quite the harem of local girls at his very large, very pricy villa.

Right on time, Pulasky’s car came around the corner, and he began to rev the engine when the beautiful young redhead flaunting her body on the sidewalk caught his eye. He pulled the car over and motioned for the young woman.

“How much, sweetheart?”

“Depends on how good it is. The more pleasure I get, the cheaper the price,” Natalia cooed in his best American accent.

“Baby, with all the pleasure I can offer you, you’ll owe me money.”

The doors to the car unlocked, and Natalia walked around the side, taking her time getting in, giving Pulasky a good long look at her leather clad rear-end.

“Oh, I promise sir,” she giggled, “you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

-

Pulasky’s villa rivaled the most elaborate palaces Natalia had ever seen. For a man of his wealth, it wasn’t too hard to imagine why, and Natalia quickly discovered his means of daily upkeep. Dozens of young girls, the oldest barely 16, milled around the estate, taking care of animals, cooking meals, gardening, cleaning, and so much more. You didn’t have to be a spy to guess what their night time duties were.

“They’re cute, yes? I would be willing to pay extra for several of them to join us.”

Natalia had to fight to keep her rage from showing.

“No, darling,” she said, her hand moving up his leg. “I like to work alone.”

-

Pulasky sat up in his bed, lighting a cigarette with extreme satisfaction as Natalia pulled her dress back on.

“I don’t think any girl has ever been quite that…animated. Perhaps that means my bill is on the house.”

Natalia chuckled.

“It was good, Mr. Pulasky, but some of the things I let you do, especially that little trick…back there, well there is definitely a price for that.”

Natalia turned and let him watch as she pulled her dress up over her bustline.

“But, it is definitely worth a discount. Fifteen-hundred.”

Pulasky thought for a moment, smiled, and turned to the nightstand beside him as Natalia seductively crawled up to him, sitting on his chest. Pulasky’s satisfaction turned to horror as he turned back around.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/BlackWidow13.jpg

Before he could make a move, Natalia shoved the needle into his neck. Almost instantly, he felt his limbs become like lead, and it took all he could do to keep his head upright.

“I think you are the worst lay I’ve ever had,” Natalia goaded in her natural, Russian accent. “That’s what happens whe you don’t have a true woman to teach you how it’s done.”

Pulasky tried to talk, but found his mouth unwilling to cooperate. He was feeling extremely groggy as he looked to the syringe.

“You’re wonder what this is? If it is going to kill you? No, it is a powerful muscle relaxant. It will leave you temporarily unable to move, or speak, and will slow your heart rate. The heart rate is what I was worried about. That way, when I slit your throat with this,”

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/BlackWidow14.jpg

Natalia flashed her knife, “it will take longer for you to bleed out and die, so you can feel the pain and suffering you inflicted on all of these girls. I must admit though, it’s still too lenient of a fate for you. But I also wonder, how does it feel? How does it feel to know that something who brought someone else so much pleasure, something that was supposed to offer you the same pleasure, has been used to hurt you, to rob you of something precious, the case here being your life?”
Natalia pushed the edge of the blade against Pulasky’s neck.

“Farewell, comrade.”

-

Natalia had to wipe a small amount of blood splatter from the cell phone as she turned it on. She took several picture of the body and sent them to her contact number. She waited a moment before her phone began to vibrate.

“Yes, it is done. Yes, I imagine he suffered a great deal. He lived for nearly five full minutes after the initial cut. My money will be at the drop in the morning? Excellent. Yes, a tip will be left for the FBI tonight. You will have your daughter back by week’s end.”

Natalia flipped the phone shut.

There had to be a better way of life than this. Was that way this much fun, was the true question.

[Venom160]

http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b3/venom160/578191-comics_upl.png

The Ash Pit. One of the seediest strip clubs in New York and one of many business fronts for the organization known as the Hellfire Club. In the pit you can get anything you want as long as you have the money and know the right people. Ofcourse this is the perfect place to find a man who has just burned someone alive not an hour ago. Hell you'd probably find more than one who fit that description in The Pit.

John groans slightly as the beautiful redhead grinds against his lap. Hes' always had a thing for redheads but this one is seriously messing with his head. Shes definitely milked more money out of him than the usual stripper. She throws her head back letting it rest on his shoulder draping her crimson hair across his face.

"Mmm lets renegotiate the no touching rule. I'm sure we could come to an.....understanding."

John puts his point across by placing a hundred in her g-string.

"Babe its gonna take alot more than a measly hundred to get me do anything more than this."

John grins as he lets his hands start to roam.

"Hey! You sonof..."

Chaos breaks out as the front door slams open and several people sotrm in. Their suits are recognized immediately among some of the club goers.

"X-MEN!"

Several mutant powers ignite as lighting starts flying though the club striking one of the X-men and sending him slamming against the wall. Another seems to be getting larger as he charges toward the group.

"Time for me to go love. We'll have to continue this discussion another time!"

Pushing the stripper off him John bolts for the back entrance pulling a lighter from within his glove. Turning a corner John sees his escape route blocked by a single uniformed man.

"Get out of my way!"

Man man simply laughs.

"I can't let ya do that."

"Like one of ya can stop me."

"Who said anything about one?"

The man raise his hand and snaps his fingers. Instantly four exact duplicates of himself appears with a pop.

"Nice trick. Let me show ya mine...."

Flipping open his lighter John lights it and finds nothing. Not even a spark.

"What the ****?!"

A fist connects with his jaw sending John reeling. The duplicates spiring into action restraining him long enough for the original to cuff him.

"Madrox to field command. Got one trying to get out the back. I think it might be one of the ones we've been looking for."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

“Now, most Fortune Five Hundred companies have massive, complex financial structure, leading to discrepancies between expenditures and income due to stock options, credit lending, things like that, so that while a company may spend more than it makes at any given time, it is still possible to make a profit…”

I hate these godd@*n bean counter hacker nerds. The stale hotdog I’m munching on is hard enough to keep down, let alone trying to keep this drivel straight in my head.

“What does this have to do with Fisk, Tapper?”

“Ah, yeah, um, Wilson Fisk is an up and coming business man himself. Chief among his properties are several shipping companies. He just bought several acres of warehousing and dock space from Oscorp, at an extremely discounted price as a sort of ‘Thanks for the hard work’ gift. Of course, both parties are benefiting from the financial gain…”

“SHORT! STORY!”

The small outburst garners some attention from the people milling around the hot dog cart I’m sitting behind. The kind of attention that says “What an ignorant @$$.” If they only knew what I had to go through.

“No matter how you crunch the numbers and figure in any wildcards, neither Osborn nor Fisk’s financial earnings make sense. They growing at an exponential rate that should be impossible for there expenditures and contracts. They should only be filthy risk, not grossly rich. And the biggest discrepancies are in the dealing with each other’s companies. My best guess, which is usually right is that both are getting huge kickbacks for bringing in imports that probably shouldn’t be unloaded. You break the jobs and earnings up between several different companies, and it’s that much harder to track. Not to mention that the whole of the state government and the entirety of the US Industrial complex is in their pocket.”

“So they’re sleazy business men working for dirty politicians…”

“There’s more. I did some digging, pretty much a genealogical excavation on Fisk. His had a Nazi grand-daddy.”

My ears peak up. Now we’re getting somewhere.

“Tapper, tell Quatermaine I need the Oscorp Complex schematics and blueprints loaded into my GPS, ASAP, as well as a full report on the entire security system.”

[Johnny Blaze]

"Madrox to field command. Got one trying to get out the back. I think it might be one of the ones we've been looking for."

"Understood", Scott replied as he turned and blasted the massive charging mutant square in the head, dropping him.

"Colossus! Cut him off before he can escape", Cyclops ordered as he ducked under a lightning bolt shot his way by a grungy, tattooed mutant.

Scott fired back, a concentrated burst of energy from his visor slammed into the mutant's chest, sending him crashing back into a nearby booth.
The massive behemoth whom Cyclops had shot in the head mere moments ago was starting to rise, and he didn't look very happy.

"Hyperion, I need some backup here, ASAP."

[Byrd Man]

"Understood", Scott replied as he turned and blasted the massive charging mutant square in the head, dropping him.

"Colossus! Cut him off before he can escape", Cyclops ordered as he ducked under a lightning bolt shot his way by a grungy, tattooed mutant.


"10-4," I reply to Cyclops as I muscle my way through the chaos, the steel covering every inch of my body as I go.

Our target is struggling against Madrox and all his dupes.

The burnt man is scrambling to his feet when he bumps into my torso.

"Hello."

http://i331.photobucket.com/albums/l449/shaksimili/colossus.jpg


"There are two ways we can do this. I assume you know what those two ways are. The choice is yours to make."

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif

The space is a little cramped, but what with me being extra-limber these days, that doesn't matter much. And sure it's dark, but sensory deprivation is supposed to be good for your mind, right? At least it's dampening out the noise, which was giving me a splitting headache.

If it weren't for the horrendous smell, this trash can would almost be downright cozy. Right now I think it's probably a good thing to focus on the positive.

Flash and Kong and the rest of their moron patrol have been rolling me and my can around the gymnasium floor for at least the last ten minutes. The fact that I've spent most of my spare time doing gut-wrenching acrobatics is pretty much all that's kept me from hurling all over myself.

Eventually the teachers finally realize that there's a person in here, and Flash and the gang are pulled away....and of course, the teachers forget to pull me out.

I spend the remainder of the pep rally curled up in a ball, occasionally trying to push off the duct-taped lid (though not hard enough to expose the fact that I've got super-strength), and trying like hell to keep the tiny pool of hideous garbage-juice from getting on me--although it's a little late for that, since half of it's already soaked into my clothes.

Finally, I hear someone cutting at the tape, just after the bell rings and everyone heads for the exits.

There's a blinding light, and then a hand reaches down to help me up.

"You really need to stop letting them do this to you, Pete."

"Didn't have much of a choice, Harry," I say, standing up and hopping out of my green-plastic prison. "You should've seen what they did to Max Dillon when he tried to resist them. I always thought the 'atomic wedgie' was just a myth or fable, but Kong and Flash made it happen."

"Youch," Harry says with a wince. "Poor guy. Anyway, we'd better get going. Liz and Gwen are waiting for us out by my car."

"Allright, but you mind if I ride shotgun today? I really don't wanna sit next to Gwen in the backseat while smelling like a trash can."

*****

The ride home is quieter than usual--Liz is on the cheerleading squad, so she had to 'fit in' by clapping and cheering along as Flash and the football team canned me. Harry turns on the radio to lighten up the mood, but stumbles onto the classic rock station, and wouldn't ya know it, the song playing is Lynrd Skynrd's "Oooh, That Smell." He turns the radio off, and we spend the rest of the ride in silence.

An hour or so and like three showers later, and I'm back where I usually am in the late afternoon: surfing the web. Now normally, I'm looking up some stuff for class, or screwing around on YouTube, or, well....getting better acquainted with female anatomy. Today, though, I'm looking up everything I can find on the "Big Man."

Every robbery, drug ring, or batch of thugs I've come across has mentioned some connection with the Big Man. Naturally, the obvious deduction would be that he's the local crime boss in Brooklyn. Aside from that, I only know two things for sure about him:

First, that he's a man....ostensibly.

Second, that he's big....metaphorically at least.

Other than that, there's pretty much no information on him. No police records, no news articles that know anything more than I do, no nothing.

Which means that there's only one way to get what I'm looking for...

...but first, Harry knocks on my door.

"Hey Pete," Harry says through the door, "in a little bit, I'm gonna go meet up with Eddie for some pizza. You in?"

"Ugh. Tell Eddie I'm still mad at him for selling me out today. Besides, I've got a lot of homework to do. Gonna be busy in here for a while."

"Errr...all right, man. Just make sure to clean up when you're done."

"I'm not looking at porno!"

"Whatever you say, man," he says as he walks off.

I wait until I hear him step onto the penthouse's elevator, then I pull a black duffle bag out from under my bed. I open it up, and inspect the contents.

Black hoodie with a white spider logo? Check.

Black ski mask to conceal identity? Check.

Black leather gloves to cover fingerprints? Check.

Red-tinted goggles for the sake of looking cool? Check.

Like I said, I've got a lot of homework to do. And my study hall is the criminal underworld of Brooklyn. Time to go do me a little learnin'.

[Mr. Majestic]

Upon entering the club I was taken off guard and hit by a lightning bolt that sent me sailing across the room. I came to a stop once my back slam up against a wall.

“That bastard is going to pay for that.” As say as I grab a near by table to help pull myself up from the floor.



Scott fired back, a concentrated burst of energy from his visor slammed into the mutant's chest, sending him crashing back into a nearby booth.
The massive behemoth whom Cyclops had shot in the head mere moments ago was starting to rise, and he didn't look very happy.

"Hyperion, I need some backup here, ASAP."

I look over in Cyclops direction as I hear him call for me. It appears that he needs help with big and ugly over there. I respond to his call by throwing the same table I used to get up. The table just barely misses Cyclops head as it went pass him and smash on the mammoth mutant’s face.

“I’ll handle him.” I say as Cyclops turns and faces me.

It very obvious with the look on my face that I wish the table had hit him by “accident”. It no secret how I feel about being on this team, upside is I get to unleash my feeling on people like ugly who is finally on his feet.

[Mr. Majestic]

BECOMING A WEAPON: PART 2
http://img706.imageshack.us/img706/9007/mimicsig.jpg


“Where are we?” I ask as we approach a mansion that’s gigantic in size.

Feral pulls the car up in front of a gate and pulls out a security card and swipes it through the card reader. The gates then opens and she drives in.

“Where are in Westchester, this place is for training mutants to help use and control their powers so there is less chaos on the streets.”

Sounds like a good place to be for those who know nothing about their abilities.

“Why are we here?”

“Because this is your new home.” She replies as she stops at the entrance of the mansion.

“New home? I thought that I’d…”

Ms. Smith then interrupts me. “You thought what? That you would be close to home for the rest of your life? Well I’m sorry to inform you that what you thought isn’t happening. Calvin you have the skills to be a very good asset to help make this country a better place. The man you are about to meet is going to help you gain those skills.”

I knew that I wasn’t going to be protected forever I just thought they would at least let me finish high school.

“So what do I do?”

“Just step out of the car and Colonel David Haller right there will tell you everything you need to know.” She point to a man who is standing just outside of the car in front of the mansion doors.

“Well, is this goodbye or will I see you again.”

“Step out of the car Calvin.”

I guess that means that we won’t be seeing each other again. I step out of the car and before I could even shut the door she pulls off. While standing there I feel a hand rest on my shoulder. I turn to my right and see Colonel Haller standing there.

“Don’t worry Calvin I promise you’ll see her again but for now come with me. We have lots to talk about.”

Moments later I and he were sitting down in his office. He had a file in his hand just giving it a quick glance.

“Calvin I must say that by reading this file I think you will fit in just fine.”

“Fit into what exactly sir?”

He then lays the folder down on the table. “ I know you are aware of what this school is for and what we do. What you don’t know is just how we run things. I got you transferred over here for me and your benefit. I know how bad you want to live a normal life and with you being here you get a chance at just that. And that chance starts with you joining one of my teams.”

Teams, is he saying that I’m going to be part of the X-Men I’ve always heard about them never thought I’d be one of them.

“Are you telling me I’m going to be an X-Men sir?”

“Not at all, that team already has there hands full. You will be joining my other team.”

Other team? I’ve only know of the X-Men.

Before I could ask my other question about this team he is referring to a man bust open the doors and he looks piss.

[Venom160]

"10-4," I reply to Cyclops as I muscle my way through the chaos, the steel covering every inch of my body as I go.

Our target is struggling against Madrox and all his dupes.

The burnt man is scrambling to his feet when he bumps into my torso.

"Hello."

http://i331.photobucket.com/albums/l449/shaksimili/colossus.jpg


"There are two ways we can do this. I assume you know what those two ways are. The choice is yours to make."http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b3/venom160/578191-comics_upl.png

John stares up at the large intimidating form of Peter Rasputin. Most would be rendered immobile with fear by such a person. John simply laughs.

"I don't know how you government *****es made one of my lighters fail me but......"

John shakes his fore and middle finger shaking free the single match he keeps lodged in his glove. The match falls out and into his waiting clutch.

"......I always come prepared."

Madrox spots the match just as John runs his fingernail across the head.

"Oh **** look out!"

The flame that ignites from the match goes off like a flamethrower engulfing acouple of Madrox's dupes and instantly melting away the cuffs. Bringing his arms and the swirling fireball to bear John launches it at the metal behemoth with the force of a cannon sending the mutant flying back down the hallway.

"Alright you mother ****ers! Time to see what happens when you cockblock me!"

[Byrd Man]

The flame that ignites from the match goes off like a flamethrower engulfing acouple of Madrox's dupes and instantly melting away the cuffs. Bringing his arms and the swirling fireball to bear John launches it at the metal behemoth with the force of a cannon sending the mutant flying back down the hallway.

"Alright you mother ****ers! Time to see what happens when you cockblock me!"

"You're funny, you know," I growl out as I shield my eyes from the flame with a metallic arm.

I clamly walk through the flames as they bounce of my steel-coated skin.

I reach out and grab the man with my right hand. The heat from the fire has left my hands red hot. My right hand burns away at the man's shirt as I grab him.

"You're also an unregistered mutant operating without sanction. Come quietly now and I won't have to break your leg."

[Venom160]

"You're funny, you know," I growl out as I shield my eyes from the flame with a metallic arm.

I clamly walk through the flames as they bounce of my steel-coated skin.

I reach out and grab the man with my right hand. The heat from the fire has left my hands red hot. My right hand burns away at the man's shirt as I grab him.

"You're also an unregistered mutant operating without sanction. Come quietly now and I won't have to break your leg."http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b3/venom160/578191-comics_upl.png

John hardly flinches as the searing hot hand burns away the sleeve of his shirt and onto his scarred skin. Behind the metal man the flames he just walked through are aleady taking shape.

"You're also an unregistered mutant operating without sanction. Come quietly now and I won't have to break your leg."

John simply cracks his neck and glare at the X-Man.

"I think not. But how about this? You let me go and I won't let him **** you up too much."

A large growl echos through the strip club as the fire finishes taking on the form of a large rhino. With a snort the rhino charges. John raises his free hand.

"Little help mate?"

As if to answer his master's request a fireball erupts from the rhino's horn. The ball flies within centimeters of the metal mutant's face before erupting in a blinding flash.

"Ah!"

John is rough dropped to the floor and quickly rolls out of way. Before Rasputen can react the fire rhino slams into him and Madrox sending them both crashing through the back door.

"Good boy."

[Johnny Blaze]

The optic blast smashes into Pyro's back, slamming the mutant into the wall.

"Stand down and surrender", Cyclops says as he stalks towards the prone mutant, crimson energy trailing from his visor.

"Or the next shot will put you down."

[Venom160]

The optic blast smashes into Pyro's back, slamming the mutant into the wall.

"Stand down and surrender", Cyclops says as he stalks towards the prone mutant, crimson energy trailing from his visor.

"Or the next shot will put you down."http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b3/venom160/578191-comics_upl.png

John pushes through the pain of the optic blast. He hasn't experienced pain like this in a long while do to his scarred skin acting as a buffer. He knows what little joking he was doing has to stop now. These X-Men mean business.

"I doubt you'd do that. I heard what your little Multiple Man said. You been looking for me? Well I'm afraid your gonna be disappointed."

John can see this new arrival tense as he gets to his feet.

"Stay down!"

Pyro grins as he flicks his lighter giving him fresh flame.

"I'm bettin your not fireproof like your boyo there huh? Well lets give it a shot either way!"

The flame quickly splits and travels over his body before becoming focused at his hands.

"HA!"

The flames go white hot as he fires them toward the mutant.

[Carnage27]

“Not at all, that team already has there hands full. You will be joining my other team.”

Other team? I’ve only know of the X-Men.

Before I could ask my other question about this team he is referring to a man bust open the doors and he looks piss.


"You're team?!" I growl, getting into Haller's face. "You've got to be kidding me, bub. The lone reason I agreed to head a division of the X-Men was because you promised me I'd have a say on who makes up the team."

"Relax, Logan," the Colonel says, cool as ever behind his desk. "Have a seat and I'll introduce you to your new recruit. I think you'll enjoy having him on the team. Logan, this is Calvin Ran-"

"What can you do, kid?" I interrupt Haller, having no desire to hear anymore blabber from him. "What's your ability? Why would you be an asset to my team."

Good lord, the kid looks like he hasn't even graduated high school. The last thing I need is some greenhorn rookie getting killed on a mission.

[Byrd Man]

"Who's there," the elderly black man asked as he sat up in his bed.

His name was Morgan Davis. For close to forty years he had Harlem and most of Upper Manhattan in his stranglehold. He owned a peice of the drug trade and protection rackets, but gambling was where his bread was buttered. At present he owned five illegal casinos scattered through Manhattan and into the Bronx and Brooklyn, a part of the horse racing track across the river in New Jersey, and there were a dozen bookies operating out of New York that owed Morgan tribute for doing business on his turf. He was a self-made man, coming up the crime ladder, as a black man in a white man's city no less, and operating the sections of town that had been seen as inferior to the white crime lords at the time. Harlem, Spanish Harlem, and on down to Midtown was Morgan's fiefdom.

"Hello," he called again as he swung his legs out of bed and allowed his barefeet to touch down on the cold hardwood floors.

His hand slowly crept to the nightstand where a Glock nine millimeter was kept. His hands were just inches away from the gun's rubber grip when the baton was pressed into his face.

"Not so fast," a voice whispered through the darkness.

Dakota North, in her devil outfit, had the tip of her scarlet billy club against Morgan's throat. Frank Brubaker stood on the other side of the bed with his nightstick at the ready.

"We're here as a professional courtesy for someone."

"Ben Urich."

Even though Morgan's heart was racing, he still chuckled.

"Ben Urich is a punk who wastes all his money on beating for sucky-ass football teams. Ain't my fault he can't pay up."

"As of now, his debt it gone," Frank said as he nodded through the darkness at Dakota. It was her cue.

WHAP!

She slapped Morgan with the club. Not too hard, but a solid blow that would rattle the man's skull.

"Man, **** ya'll. Think a couple of ****ing trick-or-treaters is gonna change my position."

Frank nodded again.

WHAM!

This time, the blow was harder and it made the Harlem crime lord's ears ring.

"His debt is gone."

"I got a business to run, man!"

Another nod and another blow. With each time the hits got harder and harder.

"We have all night, Morgan," Frank finally said after ten minutes of the exahnge with Morgan.

"The question that remains is, do you have all night. His debt it gone."

"No, please!"

WHAM!

Blood splattered across the hardwood floors as Morgan's right tooth flew out and struck the bed's headboard.

"His debt is gone."


************


It was five in the morning before Dakota and Frank had returned to the dilipdated building the Devils called home. It had taken them longer than they had anticpated, but Ben Urich's debt to Morgan had been erased. The elderly man had a few less teeth and a few more broken bones to show for it. When they arrived, the five other members of the group were waiting for them.

"Six, Seven. Report," their leader said as he stayed in the shadows.

"Ben Urich will no longer have to worry about the money he owes," Dakota said. Frank nodded silently in agreement.

"Very good. Two will report the news to Mr. Urich first thing this morning. Another favor in our pockets, lady and gentlemen."


************


It was almost six in the morning, and just the top three members of the vigilante group remained in the old building. They always left in reverse order, Seven through One.

"Gentlemen, now that is just the three of us. I have something I wish to share."

Cage and Shang-Chi turned towards Matt.

"Four's report is interesting," Matt said.

Brian, also known as Four, had told the group about watching a young man take down two armed robbers. THe vigilante's unique clothing and ability is what caught Four's eye the most.

"There has been talk of a strange indivual with powers. This Spider-Man, I believe he's called. I would like to have Three look into the matter, do as much research as you can. Find out what he does and where he patrols. A young man with abilites like that could be an asset to us."

"Yes, sir," Shang-Chi replied.

"Also...after Two is done with Mr. Urich, I want you to head downtown for some reconnaissance work. Will this interfere with your work schedule?"

"No," Cage said as he shook his head. His shift as a security guard at the jewlery store downtown didn't start until eleven in the morning.

"I want you to follow someone, based on what my source has told me."

Both men nodded. They had been involved with Matt for over two years and knew about his mysterious source. Someone who supplied their leader with intel after some sort of favor he had granted the person. His source was as reliable as it was mysterious.

"He lives on Washington Park West. His name is Silvio Manfredi. He's a tall gentlemen with snowy white hair."

Both men exchanged glances. This was the man they had heard described many times, but now they could match name and face.

"If it all pans out. Then at our next meeting, we will begin our war against Silvermane."

[Mr. Majestic]

"You're team?!" I growl, getting into Haller's face. "You've got to be kidding me, bub. The lone reason I agreed to head a division of the X-Men was because you promised me I'd have a say on who makes up the team."

"Relax, Logan," the Colonel says, cool as ever behind his desk. "Have a seat and I'll introduce you to your new recruit. I think you'll enjoy having him on the team. Logan, this is Calvin Ran-"

"What can you do, kid?" I interrupt Haller, having no desire to hear anymore blabber from him. "What's your ability? Why would you be an asset to my team."

Good lord, the kid looks like he hasn't even graduated high school. The last thing I need is some greenhorn rookie getting killed on a mission.

I can tell right away that he doesn't want me on his team. We both feel the same way about it.

"Well sir my main ability is that i can mimic the powers of others. As of right now i have super senses a healing factor and three bone claws that come out of my hand. Back home i wasn't allowed to mimic powers of others. Thats why the list is short."

[Eddie Brock]

IRON MAN

FUNERAL FOR MY FATHER: PART 4

"ROOM, TEN-HUT!" Rhodes bellows, using the military slang for "attention." He immediately snaps his heels together and locks his arms against his sides. Rhodes raises his hand to salute and holds it there, never moving it. Tony, upon seeing - and hearing - this, does the same.

The sergeant walks in, boot heels clicking against the wooden floor of the barracks. He marches in front of the two men, who are the only ones present at the time. Coming to a stop in front of Rhodes, the sergeant says, "At ease." Rhodes and Tony relax, lowering their arms. "What are you recruits doing in the barracks? You should be in the mess hall."

"We were--"

"Sergeant, Cadet Stark and I are using this time to prepare for inspection, sergeant," Rhodes answers rigidly.

"I'm not sure if you're aware, cadets," the sergeant begins, "but success in the military depends on teamwork. There is no Cadet Rhodes or Cadet Stark. There is only your squad, which is currently at the mess hall. Now, I suggest you hurry up and report in with them before I contemplate further disciplinary action." The sergeant looks over Tony's shoulder. "Cadet, I sure as s*** hope you're planning on making your bunk look better than that."

Tony turns around, examining his bunk. "Sergeant, I'm not sure--"

"He will, sergeant," Rhodes interrupts in the same rigid manner. Tony shoots Rhodes a look, but Rhodes merely continues to stare straight ahead.

"For your sake, Rhodes, I hope so. You two are bunkmates, which means his mistakes are your mistakes," the sergeant threatens. And without another word, he exits the barracks.

"Goddammit, Stark!" Rhodes exclaims as soon as the sergeant is long gone. "I know you might not take this s*** seriously, but I do! So try not to get our asses chewed out, please!" Frustratedly, Rhodes throws his belongings into his footlocker and closes it.

"You think I don't care, Rhodey?" Tony replies.

"No," Rhodes answers flatly, "I don't. And my name's Rhodes - not 'Rhodey.' Look, every man in my family has been involved in the military in one way or another. My father, my grandfather, my uncle. This is important to me."

"It's important to me, too! Trust me. I know what it's like to do something to try and impress your father, okay? I get it." Tony folds up his clothes and places them into his footlocker before closing it. "I promise, no more f***-ups. Now, let's go before we get in more trouble."

***

"Tony, I'm sorry about your father," Rhodes says sincerely, patting me on the shoulder. He's wearing his dress uniform, so I can see first-hand how decorated he's become since Camp Quesada. He's ascended his way up the ranks, too - all the way to Major. I'm truly happy for him. "I know he meant a lot to you."

I look in the direction of his casket. A group of mourners has gathered around to pay their respects. I wonder how many people here are being sincere, and how many are simply crying their crocodile tears. "I don't know if he knew how much, though," I lament. Only recently have I started to realize how much of my life I've wasted.

That's why I can't afford to waste any more.

***

"Stark, what's your status?" a voice crackles over the radio.

Tony Stark stands in the middle of an Iraqi street, squinting in the blinding sunlight. His bootheels are coated in sand, and he carries an M16 rifle in his hands. "All clear," Tony answers, almost sounding as rigid as Rhodes did during his early days at basic training. Life in the military has hardened Tony, and it has also made him more responsible.

Howard Stark will be so proud when his son finally returns home from this Hellish place.

Tony continues to wander aimlessly down the street. The past few weeks have been unusually quiet. It has everyone in the military feeling tense. The calm before the storm, Tony muses. A little further down the street, a few locals boys are running and playing.

Tony stops for a second to take a drink from his canteen. The water has gone warm from the desert heat, but even still it's refreshing to drink. Tony tilts his head back and empties the canteen. After the last drop of water hits his lips, something happens.

Tony finds himself lying on the ground. He's nearly overwhelmed by terrible pain. The air smells like burning. Tony opens his eyes and sees black smoke billowing into the sky. Looking down, he sees a gruesome sight. Where his right arm should be, there is only a stump. Additionally, his left leg is gashed and bleeding. With every intake of air, sharp pain shoots through Tony's torso. Soon, everything becomes blurry before fading out entirely.

In that moment, Tony Stark dies.

And is reborn.

[Carnage27]

http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj306/Carnage27/wolverine.jpg?t=1263414962


I can tell right away that he doesn't want me on his team. We both feel the same way about it.

"Well sir my main ability is that i can mimic the powers of others. As of right now i have super senses a healing factor and three bone claws that come out of my hand. Back home i wasn't allowed to mimic powers of others. Thats why the list is short."


My ears perk up as he explains his power to me. He's already got mine, meaning all he has to do is be in the vicinity of a mutant to obtain their abilities. A useful talent indeed. Especially if what the intel says about this next mission is true.

"Fine, Haller. The kid comes with us," I say to the Colonel, before turning to the rookie. "Follow me. I'll introduce you to the team."

We walk the halls of the Xavier Institute, the kid following close behind. He's nervous and afraid. So much so I can almost smell the fear coming off of him. He's not ready for what he's about to be dropped into, but if he sticks with me, my healing factor will at least keep him alive for it.

I enter a code onto a key pad on one of the walls, which slides open, revealing an elevator. The two of us enter and the transport begins to descend to the lower levels of the compound, where the X-Men facilities lie.

In no time at all, we enter Weapon X's team chambers, and the entire team has gathered, besides one.

"Where's Nightcrawler?" I ask Hank.

"He seems to still be on the mend from our previous mission, Logan."

"Hurm," I mutter. Last time we were deployed, one of Magneto's men broke Kurt's leg. Needless to say the bastard lost his once I caught up with him. Haller wasn't to pleased with that one.

"Before I go into the mission briefing for tomorrow, I'd like to introduce you to the newest member of our team, Mimic. Mimic is capable of copying mutant abilities and using them for himself."

I motion towards the table introducing the team.

"This is my second in command, Hank McCoy. In the field, he's known as Beast, and has heightened sense, strength, and agility."

http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c394/isil80/X%20Men/beast8nb.jpg

"Next up is Betsy Braddock, codenamed Psylocke. She's a telepath with telekinetic abilities."

http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj306/Carnage27/272px-Elizabeth_Braddock_Earth-295.jpg?t=1263417913

"And finally, Sage. Our cyberpathic warrior and technology expert."

http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj306/Carnage27/Sage_006.jpg?t=1263418566

"The final member of our team is Kurt Wagner, but he'll be on the bench for this one."

I sigh audibly before sitting down and activating the hologram generator in the middle of the table, detailing the area of the mountains we will be headed to. I press a few more buttons, and the image zooms in to a certain point.

"These are the Canadian Rocky Mountains, and this zoomed in area is where HAMMER intelligence believes one of Magneto's cells is exasperating under the command of Cane Marko, aka the Juggernaut."

After a few more key strokes, Marko's file replaces the map of the mountains, "He's super strong, super durable, and once he gets going in one direction, it's almost impossible to stop him. Once we get there, I want everyone to keep the lackeys off our back while me and the kid take on Marko."

"Understood?"

[Catman_prb]

The wind blew Erik's white hair out of his face. Looking at the elite cadre of mutants surrounding him, he slowly slid the helmet over his face, clipping it into place on the rest of his public costume. He blinked a few times as he adjusted himself to the bizarre vision that the helmet gave him. It was like looking through two holes cut in a bucket. He nodded at his personal bodyguard.

"Start the feed please Ororo," he said with a wan smile.

The African mutant pressed a button on the camera and a red light blinked on. Erik's smile dropped out of sight.

"People of America," Erik said, his voice sounding an odd mix of grandfatherly amusement and cold steel "A new age is dawning. There has been talk of a race of so called Homo Superior walking amongst us. I would not use any term so vulgar. We are Homo Prestans, and we have adapted to this changing world. We have developed powers to help us survive in a world riddled with danger and death and decay. We can make the world a better place. And yet you try to stop us,"

Erik briefly let a frown of discontent cross his face.

"You oppress us. You herd us like animals into your...'mutant' prison on Genosha Island. You force us to register with the government, like we have commited a crime by being born. You take us and turn us into your government's lapdogs, these X-Men. The Brotherhood are not terrorists. We are freedom fighters, in the most literal sense. You call us mutants? Fine, then we are mutants. We have the power to change the world, and we will not let you stop us,"

Erik took a deep breath, calming himself and then smiled at the feed.

"That said, we are not savages. Tomorrow, at 3 pm there will be an...event at the White House itself. I suggest that you evacuate the surrounding area, because you cannot and will not stop us. This is merely a demonstration of power by one of we 'mutants',"

Erik stepped to one side of the camera, gesturing to the breathtaking view of Washington DC that was available from the skyscraper upon which he was stood.

"You must mend your ways humans of America. Because believe me; we are watching you,"

Ororo cut the feed and Erik removed his helmet, smiling at the most loyal of the Brotherhood.

"Well that went well, didn't it," he said, the cold edge removed from his voice now.

"It did Brother Magneto," said the sallow, dark haired man standing to his right.

Erik repressed a sigh. He had the upmost distaste for the names that his people adopted for themselves. He knew that Charles would turn in his grave at the thought of adopting a new sense of self. Within his own head, Erik most certainly thought of himself as Erik. However, it was necessary to adopt certain customs to retain control, and so he had become 'Magneto' to the world. Still, one must respect the beliefs of one's allies, no matter how pretentious they seemed.

"Tomorrow, Brother Avalanche, you shall have the honour of striking the first blow against this corrupt and pathetic little species," Magneto said.

[Mr. Majestic]

My ears perk up as he explains his power to me. He's already got mine, meaning all he has to do is be in the vicinity of a mutant to obtain their abilities. A useful talent indeed. Especially if what the intel says about this next mission is true.

"Fine, Haller. The kid comes with us," I say to the Colonel, before turning to the rookie. "Follow me. I'll introduce you to the team."


With this being the first time meeting Logan, it’s obvious that he’s not the type of man who likes unsuspected change. After he found out what it is I can do it must have gave him a change of heart. Guess what Feral said was true, that anyone would be glad to have me on there team.

We walk the halls of the Xavier Institute, the kid following close behind. He's nervous and afraid. So much so I can almost smell the fear coming off of him. He's not ready for what he's about to be dropped into, but if he sticks with me, my healing factor will at least keep him alive for it.

I enter a code onto a key pad on one of the walls, which slides open, revealing an elevator. The two of us enter and the transport begins to descend to the lower levels of the compound, where the X-Men facilities lie.

In no time at all, we enter Weapon X's team chambers, and the entire team has gathered, besides one.

"Where's Nightcrawler?" I ask Hank.

"He seems to still be on the mend from our previous mission, Logan."

"Hurm," I mutter. Last time we were deployed, one of Magneto's men broke Kurt's leg. Needless to say the bastard lost his once I caught up with him. Haller wasn't to pleased with that one.

"Before I go into the mission briefing for tomorrow, I'd like to introduce you to the newest member of our team, Mimic. Mimic is capable of copying mutant abilities and using them for himself."

As everyone's eyes were on me i lift my left hand and wave to everyone nervously.

I motion towards the table introducing the team.

"This is my second in command, Hank McCoy. In the field, he's known as Beast, and has heightened sense, strength, and agility."

"Next up is Betsy Braddock, codenamed Psylocke. She's a telepath with telekinetic abilities."

"And finally, Sage. Our cyberpathic warrior and technology expert."

"The final member of our team is Kurt Wagner, but he'll be on the bench for this one."

I sigh audibly before sitting down and activating the hologram generator in the middle of the table, detailing the area of the mountains we will be headed to. I press a few more buttons, and the image zooms in to a certain point.

"These are the Canadian Rocky Mountains, and this zoomed in area is where HAMMER intelligence believes one of Magneto's cells is exasperating under the command of Cane Marko, aka the Juggernaut."

After a few more key strokes, Marko's file replaces the map of the mountains, "He's super strong, super durable, and once he gets going in one direction, it's almost impossible to stop him. Once we get there, I want everyone to keep the lackeys off our back while me and the kid take on Marko."

"Understood?"

With a name like Juggernaut he sounds pretty powerful. Wait a second, did he just say me and the kid are going to take him on?

"I understand but you should know sir I haven't been on a mission before. The only thing Feral ever had me do was training. She always thought that i wasn't ready."

[Carnage27]

http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj306/Carnage27/wolverine.jpg?t=1263414962


"I understand but you should know sir I haven't been on a mission before. The only thing Feral ever had me do was training. She always thought that i wasn't ready."

I laugh, "Of course you're not ready."

I lead him back to his quarters, and before I leave I say, "This mission will get you ready. You stick by me and you'll come out of it fine. And I'm going to need your help to bring down Juggernaut."

"Don't let me down."

I head back into the hallway alone, and make a beeline for the elevator back to my quarters, when I'm stopped by Haller, "Logan, my office. Now."

I enter, and Haller points to his TV, where I see a familiar face.

"People of America," Erik said, his voice sounding an odd mix of grandfatherly amusement and cold steel "A new age is dawning. There has been talk of a race of so called Homo Superior walking amongst us. I would not use any term so vulgar. We are Homo Prestans, and we have adapted to this changing world. We have developed powers to help us survive in a world riddled with danger and death and decay. We can make the world a better place. And yet you try to stop us,"

Erik briefly let a frown of discontent cross his face.

"You oppress us. You herd us like animals into your...'mutant' prison on Genosha Island. You force us to register with the government, like we have commited a crime by being born. You take us and turn us into your government's lapdogs, these X-Men. The Brotherhood are not terrorists. We are freedom fighters, in the most literal sense. You call us mutants? Fine, then we are mutants. We have the power to change the world, and we will not let you stop us,"

Erik took a deep breath, calming himself and then smiled at the feed.

"That said, we are not savages. Tomorrow, at 3 pm there will be an...event at the White House itself. I suggest that you evacuate the surrounding area, because you cannot and will not stop us. This is merely a demonstration of power by one of we 'mutants',"

Erik stepped to one side of the camera, gesturing to the breathtaking view of Washington DC that was available from the skyscraper upon which he was stood.

"You must mend your ways humans of America. Because believe me; we are watching you,"

My claws involuntarily spring through my skin, and my muscles tense up at the mere sight of him, "I want to be there."

"No. You're going to the mission I've already laid down for you. If we send anyone it'll be Scott and his team. Not you."

I turn to leave, and look over my shoulder, "If your little lap dog messes this one up, expect me to send a message to HAMMER about your negligence. My team is the one supposed to be finding Erik, not your pet X-Men."

[Eddie Brock]

JOHNNY STORM

LIGHTS, CAMERA...: PART 2

"Johnny, my boy! Come in!" my agent, Herbert Sun, announces happily. He throws his arm around my shoulder and leads me into his office. I wink at his smoking hot secretary Nancy on my way in. Herbie sits me down and practically jogs around his desk. Someone's in a good mood. "You're just in time!"

"...For?"

Herbie beams. "Just this morning, I received this in the mail," he explains, holding up an unmarked CD. I stare at him blankly. "You know what this is, Johnny? It's a teaser trailer for The Flash."

"What?" I react excitedly. "They've got one together already?" I'm surprised. We haven't been filming that long.

"The boys in postproduction worked overtime to get the effects ready for a couple of scenes," Herbie says. He walks around his desk and sits down on it in front of me. Leaning in, he continues, "And do you know why they wanted to get a trailer ready so fast?"

I shake my head.

Herbie reaches out and grabs my shoulder. "Two words, Johnny. Comic. Con."

My eyes light up excitedly. Comic-Con is the hottest comic convention out there. Everyone who's anyone in comics - whether it be the books, the movies, or even television - shows up for Comic-Con. And for anyone involved in a comic-book adaption, the power of the fanbase is undeniable. They're a tough crowd to win over, but if you have their support...

Well, let's just say Spider-Man didn't set those records by accident.

"That's right!" Herbie laughs, sensing my excitement. "You and Zooey are expected to attend Comic-Con and premiere the trailer." Herbie bottles up his excitement for a moment. "Now, I don't need to warn you that the comic-book crowd is one of the most critical fanbases on the planet. I mean, look how they reacted to Heath Ledger getting casted as The Joker."

I smile. Man, people can be really wrong sometimes.

Herbie punches me in the shoulder lightly. "Don't worry, though. I'm sure you'll knock 'em dead." He smiles mischievously. "So...you wanna watch the trailer?"

"You even had to ask?"

[Rain Dog]

http://img94.imageshack.us/img94/3980/howardbannercopy2.png

After several hours of serious contemplation, crying, and quick Snickers (BAR HUNGER) break, I decided to venture out of the alley and into the Planet of the (bald) Apes. Partly because I needed to get acquainted with my surroundings, partly because I was in need of food, but mostly because the homeless guy that wandered into the alley just now began taking a piss dangerously close to my face. I walked down the streets takin’ in the sights and sounds of this new world. Not impressed.

It all seemed just like home, except everything was taller and the people were hideous. Other than that though, it wasn’t too different—angry foreign taxi drivers, obnoxious douchebags in track suits, annoying tourists. And then it happened.

I was walking pass an electronics store with t.v.s on the display window. Crowds were gathrein’ from all around to watch this gem:

The wind blew Erik's white hair out of his face. Looking at the elite cadre of mutants surrounding him, he slowly slid the helmet over his face, clipping it into place on the rest of his public costume. He blinked a few times as he adjusted himself to the bizarre vision that the helmet gave him. It was like looking through two holes cut in a bucket. He nodded at his personal bodyguard.

"Start the feed please Ororo," he said with a wan smile.

The African mutant pressed a button on the camera and a red light blinked on. Erik's smile dropped out of sight.

"People of America," Erik said, his voice sounding an odd mix of grandfatherly amusement and cold steel "A new age is dawning. There has been talk of a race of so called Homo Superior walking amongst us. I would not use any term so vulgar. We are Homo Prestans, and we have adapted to this changing world. We have developed powers to help us survive in a world riddled with danger and death and decay. We can make the world a better place. And yet you try to stop us,"

Erik briefly let a frown of discontent cross his face.

"You oppress us. You herd us like animals into your...'mutant' prison on Genosha Island. You force us to register with the government, like we have commited a crime by being born. You take us and turn us into your government's lapdogs, these X-Men. The Brotherhood are not terrorists. We are freedom fighters, in the most literal sense. You call us mutants? Fine, then we are mutants. We have the power to change the world, and we will not let you stop us,"

Erik took a deep breath, calming himself and then smiled at the feed.

"That said, we are not savages. Tomorrow, at 3 pm there will be an...event at the White House itself. I suggest that you evacuate the surrounding area, because you cannot and will not stop us. This is merely a demonstration of power by one of we 'mutants',"

Erik stepped to one side of the camera, gesturing to the breathtaking view of Washington DC that was available from the skyscraper upon which he was stood.

"You must mend your ways humans of America. Because believe me; we are watching you,"

Ororo cut the feed and Erik removed his helmet, smiling at the most loyal of the Brotherhood.

"Well that went well, didn't it," he said, the cold edge removed from his voice now.




What. The. ****. Now, at first it was some lame show on Syfy but no. The bald chimp-demons around me were genuinely terrified. I suppose in this America, rather than being under threat of attacks from Muslims extremists, it’s under threat of…old guys.

“If he’s that close to the White House, wouldn’t it be easy for the feds to find him and take him out?”

And then they all took a good look at me.

“There’s one of ‘em! Keep walkin’ you goddamn mutie!”

“What? What are you—“

He hurls his soda can at my face.

“Ow! Watch it dips***!”

“You don’t talk to me that way you feathered freak!”

“Hey, leave it alone,” says one monkey to the other, “It’s prolly got some powers or something, don’t piss it off.”

“Could you stop calling me ‘it’?”

“Listen, pal, we don’t want any trouble.”

“Whatever,” I say, shaking my head.

“Jerk**fs,” I mutter under my breath. Apparently this universe is not only inhabited by hairless monkeys but violent, retarded hairless monkeys. I continue walking when my belly starts to grumble. I’m starvin’. I reach into my coat pocket and pull out a crumpled up five dollar bill. I thought I’d go grab something cheap at the ol’ greasy spoon. And then I looked up.

O’GRADY’S IRISH PUB

I should get some food but…a beer or two sounds so much better.

[Eddie Brock]

IRON MAN

FUNERAL FOR MY FATHER: PART 5

The funeral is emptying out now. As the guests and mourners leave, they approach me to give their final condolences. I reach out and shake their hands with my right hand. Of course, it's not my right hand anymore. Little do they know that what they're shaking is actually prosthetic flesh covering a highly-advanced metallic alloy, powered by a revolutionary "clean energy" reactor located in the middle of my chest. I'm living my father's legacy.

An attractive blonde woman approaches me. Her face is a blank slate, zero emotion. I can't see her eyes through the dark sunglasses she wears. "Howard Stark was a visionary. His presence will truly be missed," she says, still no sign of emotion in her face or voice.

"I don't think we've met," I answer.

"We haven't," she replies flatly. She reaches into her jacket and pulls out a small business card. Offering it to me, she continues, "Sharon Carter. I respected your father's work greatly."

The business card is strange. Lacking color or style, it merely says, "Director 13." There's no kind of contact information or anything. "Sharon Carter" never appears anywhere on the card, either. Suspicious, I announce, "You know, I don't recall my father ever mentioning a 'Sharon Carter.' How did you say you knew him again?"

The woman half-smiles. "We'll be seeing you, Mr. Stark." And with that, she walks past me and exits the mansion, leaving me to wonder who "we" is.

"Is there anything I can do for you, sir?" the electronic voice of Jarvis asks. I never did find out where his speakers are. It still sounds like the entire house is speaking to me.

"As a matter of fact, there is. I want you to pull up all the employee files on Stark Industries engineers, but don't include any who have worked on the 'Iron Men' project," I order. "Send it all to my personal storage drive, so I can access it from my penthouse."

"Working on something, sir?"

I smile. "Not yet, Jarvis."

[Red_Robin77]

The Lost Warrior
Part One

The bar was quiet tonight. Joe, the barman, hadn't served a drink in an hour. He was leant against the bar, newspaper in hand, flicking through. One or two patrons were scattered along the wooden counter, saying nothing as they nursed their drinks. A storm was brewing outside, the wind whistling loudly through the walls. Joe could hear the rain pounding on the roof. A rusty bucket sat in the middle of the small, cramped bar, water occasionally dripping into it from the ceiling.

Thunder and lightning struck outside loudly, and the wooden door to the bar swung open, and a bulky man stepped into the shady bar, closing the door behind him. The man looked strange compared to the usuals, or anybody, as he was dressed in armour, a cape, long messy blonde hair with stubble on his face, and a hammer hanging from his belt. He made his way up to a stool and sat down with it, leaning on the counter.

"Your finest ale, good barkeep."

Joe turned his attention from his newspaper to the new arrival, putting down the paper. He grabbed a glass and filled it with the usual beer and gave it to the man.

"That'll be $5.20," Joe told him wearily, looking at the newcomers armour.

The man merely looked at Joe and gulped the beer down, before hitting it back down on the counter.

"Another."

"Hey, you haven't paid for th-"

"Another," the man insisted.

"I'll set you up a tab then..." Joe sighed as he refilled the glass.

The man hastily grabbed the glass and threw it vertically, drinking down as much as he could, before putting it down again, a crack showing in it.

"Haven't seen you around before. Not local?" Joe asked, watching the lines of a crack go through the glass.

"I am not of this kingdom, no."

"Oh. You British? You sure sound British," Joe noted in boredom, head held up by his hand on the bar.

"I am Asgardian."

"That in Europe?"

The man gave Joe a look of confusion and pushed the glass in his direction.

"I am in need of more."

Joe took the glass and looked closely at the cracks. He looked back to the man and put the glass a way, getting a new one. He went through his routine again and handed the drink to the blonde man. As he did so, the door to the bar opened again, and a middle aged man in a red cap strolled in, hands in his pockets.

"Hey Frankie," Joe nodded to the new arrival.

"Hey. Got a shipment to NYC, so get me a bottle of that scotch of yours."

"You drinking on the way?" Joe asked as he grabbed a bottle from the shelf and went to a till, adding up the cost.

"A bit of both. Who's the new guy?" Frankie replied, pointing to the armoured man.

"Not a clue," Joe sighed as he put his hand out, waiting for Frankie to pay.

Frankie pulled a couple of notes from his pockets gave them to Joe, keeping his eyes on the new guy.

"Thanks Frankie." Joe nodded thankfully as he shoved the money into the till and closed it up.

"Seeyah around," Frankie smiled and began to make his way to the door.

"Enjoy New York, bring me back some of that good stuff."

"What is this, New York?" the mysterious man spoke up.

Frankie turned to him in confusion, cringing slightly.

"Well, it's ur...a city," Frankie stuttered.

"And a state," added Joe as he returned to his position slouched over the bar.
"I was gonna say that," Frankie insisted.

"You will take me there," the man barked and stood up, finishing his drink and made his way over to Frankie.

"Well, ur..I dunno..." Frankie said in shock.

"Come, I must explore this place, and you are the perfect man to aide me," the man boomed and lead Frankie out of the door.

"Hey! What about your tab?!" Joe yelled angrily, to no avail.

[Eddie Brock]

IRON MAN

REINVENTING THE WHEEL: PART 1

"Sir, your requested download of Stark Industries employee files is complete," Jarvis announces. Just in time, too, as I had just finished rearranging the things on my desk. It's been some time since I've been able to clean my penthouse, but I've taken steps in the right direction while the download was underway. "Might I ask what you need these files for, sir? Planning on some light reading?"

I smile. Jarvis and I have established a rapport. In fact, the more comfortable he's gotten with me, the more sarcasm he's been willing to use. I think he's learned that my feelings don't get hurt easily. "Just working on a project and need another set of eyes, Jarvis," I answer, quickly adding, "Besides yours, of course. How's the integration coming along?"

I've asked Jarvis to integrate his system into my penthouse. He's very helpful, and - frankly - I could use the company. Besides, he's already integrated into the Stark mansion and my office at Stark Industries. It didn't seem right not to invite him into my home.

"Sixty-seven percent complete, sir," he answers. "I think my first order of business after getting settled will be to upgrade your software. You know, for the son of a technological genius, you're quite behind the curve."

Frankly, I haven't had the time to update my penthouse with all the fancy amenities that my father liked to take advantage of. However, after spending some time in the mansion, I've almost become dependent on the ease of living that Stark technology supplies. Now, if only I could find a way to make most of it cost-effective. I'd be rich.

Well, richer.

The business card from that mysterious woman is resting against my desktop. I pick it up and examine it once more, still not seeing anything I might have missed the first time. "Hey, Jarvis, think you can do something else for me?"

"Of course. I live to serve."

"Run a spider search of all known databases for the keywords 'Director 13' or 'Sharon Carter,'" I order. I have a feeling that I already know how this is going to end, but it's worth a shot. I don't like the idea that this woman is running around with information about me or my father, and yet I have no clue who she is or who she represents. "Let me know when you're done."

***

I'm in the kitchen, cooking - barely - when Jarvis announces, "Your search is complete, sir."

"Okay. What are the results?" I ask.

"That's just it, sir. There are none." It's the answer I was expecting. Of course, I still can't say that I'm not disappointed. "Although, I did manage to stumble across a nasty IP tracer. It took every ounce of my not-inconsiderable programming to evade it. I dare say that whoever this woman is, she doesn't want anyone looking for her."

Figures. Oh well. It was a worth a shot. I guess I've got to let it go for now.

"Shall I run another search with different keywords?" Jarvis offers optimistically. However, he knows as well as I that it would be a futile waste of time.

"No thanks, Jarvis. That'll be all for now."

[Mr. Majestic]

Wasting no time I go on the attack running straight at the powerhouse mutant. Once he believes I was in striking distance he swung wildly with his left arm as his fist was zone into my face. At the last second I evade his punch by ducking under it and I countered with a strong upper cut right to his chin. The blow sent him off his feet crashing into some tables in the corner of the bar.

I stare at him for a couple of seconds to make sure he’s unconscious and he appears to be so. I go to join the others.

While fallowing the same direction I seen Cyclops head, out of know where I get snatch up by the back of my uniform collar and threw backwards into a wall. The mutant I thought I left motionless on the ground seemed to have been deceiving me.

“These sneak attacks are starting to get old.” I told him as got myself from out of the wall.

First the lightning bolt to the chest and now him throwing me in a wall. This time when I hit him I’ll make sure he’s down for the count.

“Then do something about it.” He replies as he taunts me to come get him. I’m more than happy to oblige.

We both charge at each other with our fist waiting to strike each other. Once there were only a couple of inches between us he throws a straight right that I easily dodge. Right as I was about to counter with a left hook I realize it was a faint at the last second. He then hit me with a double axe handle attack to that top of my head that sent me to the ground face first.

[Byrd Man]

http://i210.photobucket.com/albums/bb232/byrdRPG/colossus.png





The flame quickly splits and travels over his body before becoming focused at his hands.

"HA!"

The flames go white hot as he fires them toward the mutant.

Befrore the flames can reach Cyclops, my forearms bats the fire away safely from any club patrons.

"Madrox, are you in position," I ask into my ear piece as I continue to buffer the fire from Cyclops.

"Roger that, Big C."


"Do it!"


Through the haze and the flames of the fire, I see Madrox, or one of his duplicates, stab the flame-wielding mutant in the neck with a syringe. A horse tranquilizer designed to bring down...well, a horse.

[Venom160]

http://i210.photobucket.com/albums/bb232/byrdRPG/colossus.png




Befrore the flames can reach Cyclops, my forearms bats the fire away safely from any club patrons.

"Madrox, are you in position," I ask into my ear piece as I continue to buffer the fire from Cyclops.

"Roger that, Big C."


"Do it!"


Through the haze and the flames of the fire, I see Madrox, or one of his duplicates, stab the flame-wielding mutant in the neck with a syringe. A horse tranquilizer designed to bring down...well, a horse.http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b3/venom160/578191-comics_upl.png

Pyro didn't even feel the pain of the needle entering his flesh. The effects of the tranquilizer on the other hand he feels instantly. The flames still raging in his palms diminish drastically going from miniature white hot infernos to barely there embers.

"Madrox you little *****!"

With what control he had left of his power Pyro throws one of the flames he still holds. The flame hits the Madrox dupe and intensifies flash frying him. Fighting the growing effects of the tranq Pyro glares at the two X-Men standing before him.

"You *****uckers aren't gonna get me! I'll bring this whole ****ing place down! You hear me!"

The remaining flame intensifies but immediately extinguishes.

"You hear....me......"

Everything goes black.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

I have been pegged as a mutant hater. I wouldn’t say that is true…not completely, anyway.

My father’s last mission was to a small island in the Pacific called Krakoa, a US territory acquired during WWII, in the early 90’s. Krakoa had a large mutant population, the largest population density per square mile on Earth at the time, and was a hotbed for the rising mutant militant movement, in response to the chrome-dome Xavier and his actions is Washington. The mutants of the island of the island spilt pretty much 50/50 on the issue and, fearing the political implications of a large scale mutant civil war, sent my father’s Special Ops squad to quell any uprisings and provide protection detail for the Capital Hill fat cats that would be attempting to negotiate a peace.

The mission never went anywhere but belly up. The residents of Krakoa, human and mutant alike, were not happy about United States leadership to begin with, so they were viewed as invading forces. The militants, eager to poind their chests and show they would not be pushed around, ambushed the base camp on the second night, and the non-militant, well, that says it all. No help. No back-up. A total massacre. My father and his men were there under orders, there trying to help, and they were shot down as examples.

That’s not to say I hate mutants for that reason. For a long time I did. I despised them. The primary goal I hoped to achieve from my training was the means to kill all the b@$t@rd$. But it didn’t make sense. The Old Soldier pulled me aside one day, asked if a group of humans had killed my fathers unit, would I have been as angry. Would I hate human. HE warned me into watching my step, checking my hatred, warned me against letting it develop into a prejudice, a racism.

So, I don’t hate mutants. I hate the unjust. I hate the evil in the world, the terrorists. I hate the mutants who feel they are superior, and we should bow to them. I hate them not because they were born different, but because of their ideals. They are no better than the Nazi’s, the KKK, the humans that would oppress them for the same reason.

But, you know, if they decide to kill each other with their fancy new government training, I won’t lose any sleep over it.

-

It was too easy getting into Osborn’s office. Easy is boring. Easy makes me twitchy. And that’s bad news…for other people.

Why am I in Osborn’s office, instead of looking for Fisk? Fisk was fingered as the connection to HYDRA, so of course he is not going to be forthcoming. He has the most to hide and the most to lose. Osborn, I’m guessing, is just an associate, making a few side bucks off of any dealings. As nice as the kickbacks may be, he isn’t going to risk losing his company and his fortune covering for a business associate, a man who stands to be a rival some day. There are no honor among these men. I have a better chance of breaking Osborn and obtaining a better case from him. Plus, the guy looks like a d**k. Stupidest damn haircut I’ve ever seen. He’s one of those guys you just wanna punch for the hell of it.

Of course, I find nothing in Osborn’s office. Now that…that would be ridiculously easy. And stupid. And stupid men don’t build and maintain multi-billion dollar companies from the ground up. So I’m sitting her, waiting.

I hope Osborn has a strong constitution. Easy jobs make for fun interrogations.

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif

The Big Sky Lounge.

Picture the Mos Eisley cantina from Episode IV, right? Okay, now remove all the awesome Rick Baker aliens, the music that gets stuck in your head for months, and any bit of charm or magic from the greatest movie ever made, then replace the aliens with wanted felons, the John Williams soundtrack with some awful Southern rock, and the charm and magic with enough seediness to grow a Chia pet.

Okay, so the comparison's not exactly an apt one, since the only thing the two have in common is that they're both bars. Well, that and the fact that there's a plucky young hero who obviously doesn't belong there, and a super-powered warrior roughing up the local thugs. It's just that in this particular scene, the plucky kid and the super-powered warrior are the same guy.

"Okay, I've got two words for you goons," I say as I crawl across the ceiling, hopping down right next to the doubled-up heap that was a surly bouncer just a second ago. "Big. Man. I know this place is a front for his organization, so unless one of you starts talking, I'm gonna make this neighborhood a lot less friendly for him and anyone on his payroll."

One of the mooks sidles up to me, thinking he's sneaky enough to pull a knife. Three seconds later, he slams flat against the wall, then slides down like a looney toon. Heh, I didn't think that actually happened in real life.

The sound of him hitting the floor might as well be the opening bell of a prize fight, because everyone in the bar gets up and pulls one weapon or another. Knives, pool cues, broken bottles, the works.

I was wondering how long I'd go in my career before I got into a real, genuine bar brawl--looks like I made it to one before I'm even old enough to drink.

The first to come at me swings with a pool cue. Too easy--I dip right under it, roll forward into a front hand spring, and catch him with both boots right into the gut, sending him flying across the room.

I land in front of a guy who's in the middle of drawing a gun.

"Not a smart idea," I say as I yank the gun out of his hand before it's even all the way out of the holster. "Bad things happen to goons with guns when I'm around. Like this!"

There's a nasty crunch as I smash the butt of his pistol into his face, catching him just under the eye.

As he goes down, three relatively big guys all try to bum-rush me at once, one grabbing me from behind, a second latching onto my arm, and a third going for the throat. I'll give 'em credit; at least they're not sticking to the "let's fight the superhero one at a time" routine. And true, I'm not exactly the most physically imposing specimen in the room. However, just because I'm not as big as any of them doesn't mean I'm not a hell of a lot stronger. I fling off the one that's got hold of my arm, headbutt the one trying to throttle my neck, and then shatter the shins of the guy grabbing me from behind.

"I can keep this up all day, fellas," I say, driving my fist into another unfortunate face. "You guys know if there's a limit on how many ambulances can show up to the same place? Because otherwise you might have to carpool."

While I'm busy wise-cracking, the bartender reaches under the bar, and comes back up with an assault rifle. I guess it's a little less cliche than having him just break a bottle over my head when I'm not paying attention, but still...

He sprays out a few panic rounds, and before he can actually draw a bead on me, I duck under the nearest pool table. Bullets thump against the felt and slate, and crash through the wooden table legs. It won't be long before he gets a good shot in.

Of course, that's assuming that I went under the table for cover. Truth is, I went under the table because it's the easiest way to pick it up and throw it at him.

There's a thunderous crash as I do exactly that, the heavy pool table slamming against the bar, shattering bottles and spilling drinks and making all kinds of a mess, and most importantly pinning down the guy with the machine gun.

*CRACK!*

That wasn't me hitting anyone--that was someone cracking a bullwhip. Not at me, but just to make noise to get my attention.

The man with the bullwhip is wearing a tasteful three-piece suit, off-set by the single tackiest cowboy hat in existence. To his left is a massive slab of a man with one of those Civil War moustaches that connects directly to his sideburns. To his right is a shifty-eyed black man with a grin like someone who's doing your sister, and a suit that looks like it cost more than Uncle Ben's house.

"Well, well, well, boys, lookie what we got here," the man says in what is either the best fake or worst genuine cowboy accent in the world. "Big Man tells us to keep an eye out for a wall-crawlin' bug, and wouldn't ya know it, he comes right to us."

I straighten up to face the three newcomers, trying to put on my big chest-puffing-superhero mode. Then I punch out the loser who thought he'd be slick enough to sneak up on me with a chain, and then go right back to staring down these guys.

"Please tell me you guys are better fighters than the rest of these morons," I say, "because I'm honestly starting to feel like having superpowers is kind of a waste. I mean, sure it's fun beating up Marko and O'Hirn every week, but--gyaaah!"

The guy with the whip actually manages to catch me almost off-guard, interrupting my rant with a lash that I just barely dodge.

"Those two punks are nothin' but two-bit amateurs. Us, though? This is our profession. And like any professionals, we've got ourselves a reputation to maintain."

The big guy with the hilarious moustache lifts up a table and flings it at me. I hop over it, landing on the tabletop in midair to springboard myself at him, but then the guy in the Armani-and-Gucci-had-a-lovechild suit catches me by surprise with a flying Bruce Lee kick to the chest, and I go tumbling to the floor.

...they actually managed to hit me. Hmmm....I may be in trouble.

"Name's Montana, bug. The big'un goes by Ox, and that there's Fancy Dan. We're the Enforcers. An' that means you're dead."

[Rain Dog]

http://img696.imageshack.us/img696/2853/docockbannercopy.png

Watching the reactor start up was a marvelous sight. The turbines began spinning as the reactor heats up. Inside, a stream of tritium and deuterium fuel is blasted with particle beams. The fuel is approaching 100 million Kelvin, nearly six times hotter than the sun’s core. Once heated, it will be transformed into a powerful plasma.

"Activating poloidal…now…Activating toroidal…now. Magnets set," Dr. Anders said.

The magnetic fields generated are now providing the pressure needed to squeeze the atoms together. Despite the fascinating process that was taking place before my eyes, I found myself looking elsewhere. I was just a bit distracted.

“It’s looking unstable. More power to the coils…good…looking good…there’s a slight increase of tritium.”

"Blanket modules are working, then."

She turns and smiles at me and then looks back at the reactor. My gaze is still fixed on her though. Perhaps I was more than just a bit distracted. Doctor Mary Anders has been a colleague of mine for years now. And still, I’ve never felt totally comfortable around her. It’s not her that’s the matter.Nothing’s wrong with her. Nothing at all...

"Power yield is at 220 megawatts and rising…280…320..300.......250…100…"

“What?! What’s wrong?!”

"Er…not sure…looks like there’s something wrong with the divertors. Helium level is higher than it should be."

“Damn! Shut it off. Now we’re going to have to pull the thing apart again.”

"I don’t see why you don’t just repair it while it’s working"

“That’s a good one. Alright, wait for it to cool down, pull the cassettes out and get maintenance in here.”

"I’m not kidding."

“Then why don’t you find a repairman willing to fix an active nuclear reactor? No one is going to go near that thing, Otto.I’ll make sure of it.”

"You wouldn’t have to be near it."

“How do you suppose we fix it then?”

"I believe I have a solution to your problem, Dr. Anders," I say with a smirk.

[Johnny Blaze]

http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b3/venom160/578191-comics_upl.png

Pyro didn't even feel the pain of the needle entering his flesh. The effects of the tranquilizer on the other hand he feels instantly. The flames still raging in his palms diminish drastically going from miniature white hot infernos to barely there embers.

"Madrox you little *****!"

With what control he had left of his power Pyro throws one of the flames he still holds. The flame hits the Madrox dupe and intensifies flash frying him. Fighting the growing effects of the tranq Pyro glares at the two X-Men standing before him.

"You *****uckers aren't gonna get me! I'll bring this whole ****ing place down! You hear me!"

The remaining flame intensifies but immediately extinguishes.

"You hear....me......"

Everything goes black.

Scott straightened himself and slapped Colossus on the shoulder.

"Thanks for the save, Peter", he said with a nod.

Cyclops walked over to the unconscious mutant sleeping soundly on the ground at his feet.
How this man would ever fit in with them was beyond him.

"Raven, this is Scott", Cyclops stated over the comm channel.
"What's the situation out there?"

"We're in position and are just waiting on you to start bringing them out, Fearless Leader."

"Excellent. We're bringing them out now."

"Tag 'em and bag 'em, gentlemen", Cyclops ordered as he walked away.
"Gather all the unregistered mutants and escort them outside. Mystique and the collection crew are ready and waiting."

[Byrd Man]

"Tag 'em and bag 'em, gentlemen", Cyclops ordered as he walked away.
"Gather all the unregistered mutants and escort them outside. Mystique and the collection crew are ready and waiting."

"Yes, sir. Madrox, you heard-"

A dozen dupes run past me and start arresting mutants.

"We heard 'em, Big C,"they all say in unison. I grab Allerdyce and sling the unconscious mutant over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

I walk outside the club and brush past the soldiers standing guard and holding back the media.

"I'll take the prisoner off your hands if you want, Sergeant Rasputin," a timid voice calls from behind me.

"Drake, you don't have to address me by rank," I say to the blonde haired soldier who's barely old enough to be in the Army, much less with the X-Men.

"Well, I'll take him off your hands if you want, Colossus," he mutters as ice starts to cover his hands.

I sling the mutant off my shoulder and had him to Drake.

"You can also call me Peter or Pete, Bobby."

Madrox and all his dupes come flying out the club with mutants restrained.

"How many more we got left?"

"Just a handful more," one of the dupes replies as he rushes by. "Hyperion's in the middle of a fight with a big nasty."

"Alright, I'm going back in to give him a hand."

[Byrd Man]

http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/DCMarvelRPG/Daredevil/Other/dd9.jpg

"I know that look," Franklin "Foggy" Nelson said as Matt walked through the door. "That look means someone had a good night."

"It wasn't too shabby," Matt said with a shrug. Friends since college, they were into the third year of their law firm, Nelson & Murdock.

"I had an interesting night. Karen and I went to this new restaurant in SoHo. Good Italian. Sometime you and your lady of that particular night should come with us on a double date."

Matt shook his head as he used his cane to navigate through the cluttered office to his desk.

"You and Miss Paige have something special, I don't want to interfere on that."

"Two things, buddy. First off, her name is Karen. We've been together two years, you've met her many times and you calling her 'Miss Paige' is a little creepy. Also, it's a double date. I don't think in the process of a two hour dinner you could wreck our relationship."

"Well, then you don't know about my raw sex appeal towards women."

"Oh, God."

"You know it's true, Foggy."

"Yeah, yeah. I need to roll up my pants. The bull**** is flooding the floor. Anyway, You want to look over the filing with the Cathcart will. It's going to probate next week. I've got a meeting with the Lower Manhattan Zoning Committee this afternoon, anything you want me to say?"

"Just remind them that Nelson & Murdock should be their number one choice when it comes to legal representation. Also, I'll go over the braille copy I have of the Cathcart will and make sure everything is good to go."

Foggy nodded his head, a gesture of reassurance for his own sake instead of Matt's. Both men sat in silence, letting it hang between them before Matt finally spoke.

"What's on your mind?"

"You know."

"Come on, Foggy. We've been over this."

"I know. But what was the point of both of us majoring in criminal law if we have a law firm that does everything but criminal law?"

"I'm sorry if I don't want to become a soulless defense attorney who'll defend Hitler for a quick buck."

"It's business. It's good to have morals, but you don't mix them with business."

"We've been over this before. We make good money doing what we're doing right now, and if we can get the zoning board to approve us it'll be that much more income coming in. We don't need to lose our souls over a quick buck."

"Okay, drama queen. I'll put the idea on the back burner again," Foggy muttered as he checked his watch.

"I've got to head to the courthouse. Mister Campbell's suit is going before an arbitrator."

"Okay. I'll go over the Cathcart will and then work on any corrections in the probate filing."


************


From the corner of the park, Luke Cage tried his best to blend in as he watched the action on Washington Square. The elderly man was flanked by four bodyguards as they walked from the stately house to the black limo idling at the curb.

From Cage's count, all four men were armed, the bulge on the suit jacket's shoulders were dead giveaways for shoulder holstered guns. He pretended to read a copy of the Daily Bugle as he watched the five men pile into the limo. The man had visited this morning had a story on the fifth page. According to the content in the paper, Ben Urich was more than a deadbeat gambler. From what Cage had read, the man was a pretty good writer as well. His beat was Manhattan's crime scene, an asset that would come in handy for the group in a time of need.

Cage threw the paper into the trash as he emerged from the park on to Washington Square. The man he was told was Silvermane was moving uptown in the limo. It took Cage almost a full minute to flag down a taxi, a time that would have been impressive if he was in Harlem. The limo was a half block away from the taxi as the car pulled off from the curb. The Arab man driving told Cage that it was no problem to follow a gaudy car like that. He just hoped he had enough money to pay for a chase all the way uptown. Cage just nodded his head as the taxi began its chase at ten in the morning.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarBlackWidow.jpg

Natalia almost hated to leave the Midwest. It was so quiet, so serene, and so full of opportunity; rural farm boys and community college students willing to do and pay anything for a woman, local law enforcement so over tapped they would go through any back channels for some relief, and bloody family feuds galor. There was no shortage of frat boy wanting to hire entertainment for his next party, the disgruntled husband who had married too young, the father who wanted the neighbor boy sleeping with his daughter killed, or the land owner feuding with a rival family. So many opportunities, so much fun.

But, alas, she had to move on to the next mission, a mission proposed to her by perhaps the best in the spy game, a mission she had been tasked with setting up for herself. Though given the basics of means, she had spent the better part of the last three years creating the trail, the back story, the identity that would land her an assignment in HAMMER. And not just get her a job, but have HAMMER actively pursuing her. We Paying off contacts, bribing and blackmailing high ranking officials worldwide, forging and falsifying the proper documents. And finally, the contact had been made, a month prior. They had heard wonderful things about this young American girl of Russian decent, trained in her ancestor's home as a spy, trained at the end of the Cold War only to defect and, since the attacks against America in 2001, had been working as a free lance liaison with various European agencies in the fight against terror abroad. And now HAMMER wanted to bring her, or, her new identity as Natalie Romane, in to use her skills on a more structured basis. It had taken work, and a great deal of money, but the payday she could expect in just a year of service to the international peace keeping organization, both legitimate and under the table, could afford her to retire for the rest of her life. Not that she would, but it was nice to have the security.

She smiled as the ticket attendant handed her a one way ticket, free of charge, to New York city with one hand as he zippered with the other. Ok, so not exactly free of charge, she mused as she placed a peck on his forehead before exiting the bathroom stall, but it had been beneficial to her as well.

Yes, it certainly was sad leaving this place.

[Mr. Majestic]

Wasting no time I go on the attack running straight at the powerhouse mutant. Once he believes I was in striking distance he swung wildly with his left arm as his fist was zone into my face. At the last second I evade his punch by ducking under it and I countered with a strong upper cut right to his chin. The blow sent him off his feet crashing into some tables in the corner of the bar.

I stare at him for a couple of seconds to make sure he’s unconscious and he appears to be so. I go to join the others.

While fallowing the same direction I seen Cyclops head, out of know where I get snatch up by the back of my uniform collar and threw backwards into a wall. The mutant I thought I left motionless on the ground seemed to have been deceiving me.

“These sneak attacks are starting to get old.” I told him as got myself from out of the wall.

First the lightning bolt to the chest and now him throwing me in a wall. This time when I hit him I’ll make sure he’s down for the count.

“Then do something about it.” He replies as he taunts me to come get him. I’m more than happy to oblige.

We both charge at each other with our fist waiting to strike each other. Once there were only a couple of inches between us he throws a straight right that I easily dodge. Right as I was about to counter with a left hook I realize it was a faint at the last second. He then hit me with a double axe handle attack to that top of my head that sent me to the ground face first.


I can’t believe I’m eating the ground right now. I know I should have been able to see that faint coming, there is no way I shouldn’t have reacted in time.

“Guess it looks like I’m the one doing the handling huh boy? They shouldn’t have let a boy do a man’s job.”

While face down on the ground I slowly begin to pick my face up from the floor. Out of the corner of my eye I notice he has just lift his right foot in the air. I quickly avoid the bottom of his foot from crushing my skull by rolling to the right and popping back to my feet stumbling backward. I came to a stop when my back hit up against a table that was just sturdy enough for me to catch my balance. I stood there a couple of moment to collect myself.

He looks down at his foot and with the appearance on his face I can tell he is disappointed that he got to crush the ground and not the head.

“Come on boy I don’t have all day.” He stated.

Now he’s getting cocky, I really need to shut him up. I rush off at him in anger with my right fist pull back clearing letting him know that I’m going to hit him with one hell of a right hook. While heading towards him he just stood there bracing himself for impact. Which is a stupid move last time I didn’t hit him with everything I got but I won’t make the same mistake twice.

Once I was in close range I shifted my weight forward and put everything I had to my punch. My right hook landed right on its target, the left cheek of this big mutant mother****er. But to my surprise his head had barely moves as if my punch was nothing.

“Seems as if you got soft on me boy that barley tickled.”

He then responds to my punch by kicking me in the chest lifting me off my feet soaring through the air. I just knew I was about to go through a wall or two but to my surprise I felt someone catch me. I look over my shoulder and see Colossus standing there.

[Rain Dog]

http://img94.imageshack.us/img94/3980/howardbannercopy2.png



“Yo…uh, could I get a bottle of Miller? Do you guys have Miller? Do you know what that is?” I ask the barkeep as I climb onto the barstool. It feels odd talking to these monkeys like they were people.

“Uh, no, no kids. Need to leave, bud, sorry.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Do you have I.D.?”

“Where would I keep it? You see pants on me? No!”

“He’s one of them furries,” says some drunk prick.

“What?” me and the bartender say in unison.

“Those weirdos who dress up in kinky animal costumes and bang each other. Buncha freaks ifyask me,” he belches.

“**** you, pal.”

“Why’s he so small, then?” the barkeep asks. Apparently he buys into drunk prick’s hypothesis.

“Prolly a midget. Midget furry,” he says matter-of-factly.

The bartender shrugs then grabs a cold one and slides it over to me. I didn’t like the idea of a drunk labeling me a deformed sexual deviant but if it’ll get me a beer, I’m a midget furry.

“So what are you things called exactly?”

“What?”

“You things. You hairless apes.”

“The hell you talking about?”

“It’s his schtick,” prick says.

“They act like they’re animals. *Hic* We’re huuumans. You’re…you’re a ducky,” he says laughing stupidly.

“Humans, eh?” I say as I guzzle down the beer, “Where am I right now? And could I get another one?”

“What the hell do you mean ‘where are you’?” the barkeep asks as he slide me another beer.

“Yew Nork.”

“Yew Nork?”

“New York,” the barkeep corrects, “How do you drink with that mask on?”

“This ain’t a mask bub,” I say as I finish the second brew. Already, I’m feeling a bit buzzed. I’m kind of a light weight. Probably because I’m literally a light weight. Seriously. I’m like 48 pounds.

“What do I owe ya?”

“Four twenty-six.”

I hand him the five dollar bill. All I have left now is the clothes on my back and seventy five cents in change. Do I regret my choice? Hell no. Well…maybe a little bit. Actually, yeah, I do. What the **** was I thinking?

I walk out the pub, head hung low, as two frightening realizations hit me. One: I have no place to stay for the night. Two: I have no money. So what’s to become of poor Howard? Am I going to become some bum in this freakish world and die, poor, alone, and unnoticed? Do people back home know I’m gone?

Forget it. Thinking about dying and home are just depressing the hell out of me. If I’m gonna survive in the planet of the apes, I need money. If I need money, I’m gonna need a job. Where the hell does a duck go for a job?

[Byrd Man]

“Seems as if you got soft on me boy that barley tickled.”

He then responds to my punch by kicking me in the chest lifting me off my feet soaring through the air. I just knew I was about to go through a wall or two but to my surprise I felt someone catch me. I look over my shoulder and see Colossus standing there.

"You look as if you need some help," I say as Hyperion and I stare at the large mutant in front of us.

"Do you remember the Double Fist routine we went through last week? Let's try that."

He nods and we both charge the unregistered mutant. The big man has to pick his poison, me or Hyperion. Since I look more intimidating, he turns to square off against me. He's big and not too fast, giving me plenty of time to duck an oncoming punch and ram my metal fist into his face. Hyperion contributes with a powerful punch of his own, together we drive our fists into the mutant's face and send him reeling into the wall.

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Right, Private?"

Hyperion and I go back on the attack, pummeling the large mutant with our fists.

[Mr. Majestic]

"You look as if you need some help," I say as Hyperion and I stare at the large mutant in front of us.

"Do you remember the Double Fist routine we went through last week? Let's try that."

He nods and we both charge the unregistered mutant. The big man has to pick his poison, me or Hyperion. Since I look more intimidating, he turns to square off against me. He's big and not too fast, giving me plenty of time to duck an oncoming punch and ram my metal fist into his face. Hyperion contributes with a powerful punch of his own, together we drive our fists into the mutant's face and send him reeling into the wall.

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Right, Private?"

Hyperion and I go back on the attack, pummeling the large mutant with our fists.

With a couple more power blows the mutant stumbles backwards and looks at us as if he wants to continue. It must have took his mind a moment to register what just happen to his body because when he seem like he was going to carry on he drops like a sack of potatoes.

Normally in situations like this one I would be some what pleased but not today.

“I should have been able to take him, alone.” I stated to Colossus with a little aggression.

Me and Colossus do a lot of training and even though I’m not stronger than him I can hold my own and this guy is no where close to Peter’s strength. This fight shouldn’t have gone down the way it did. Only explanation is something is something must be wrong with me.

“Did we get what we came for?” I ask while still looking down at the fallen mutant.

[Byrd Man]

“I should have been able to take him, alone.” I stated to Colossus with a little aggression.

Me and Colossus do a lot of training and even though I’m not stronger than him I can hold my own and this guy is no where close to Peter’s strength. This fight shouldn’t have gone down the way it did. Only explanation is something is something must be wrong with me.

“Did we get what we came for?” I ask while still looking down at the fallen mutant.

"Yeah. The target's contained and we're just cleaning up."

I take glance at Hyperion, noticing the frown on his face.

"Something bothering you?" I ask Hyperion as a containment team rushes in to take care of the unconscious mutant at our feet.

Something I've discovered about being a leader in the Army and the X-Men, a good leader should be able to take care of his men in regular situations as well as the dangerous ones. That was something I did a as Staff Sergeant in the Army and something I'm trying to do on the X-Men.

"I'll understand if you don't tell me, Mark," I mutter to him as we walk through the club's front door and shuffle past the Multiple Men dupes running past us.

"Don't think that I'm trying to play crying shoulder just because I'm your sergeant."

[Venom160]

"Yes, sir. Madrox, you heard-"

A dozen dupes run past me and start arresting mutants.

"We heard 'em, Big C,"they all say in unison. I grab Allerdyce and sling the unconscious mutant over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

I walk outside the club and brush past the soldiers standing guard and holding back the media.

"I'll take the prisoner off your hands if you want, Sergeant Rasputin," a timid voice calls from behind me.

"Drake, you don't have to address me by rank," I say to the blonde haired soldier who's barely old enough to be in the Army, much less with the X-Men.

"Well, I'll take him off your hands if you want, Colossus," he mutters as ice starts to cover his hands.

I sling the mutant off my shoulder and had him to Drake.

"You can also call me Peter or Pete, Bobby."

Madrox and all his dupes come flying out the club with mutants restrained.

"How many more we got left?"

"Just a handful more," one of the dupes replies as he rushes by. "Hyperion's in the middle of a fight with a big nasty."

"Alright, I'm going back in to give him a hand."http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b3/venom160/578191-comics_upl.png

Private Bobby Drake brings the unconscious Pyro outside where a couple containment vans await. Other X-Men agents are already processing and loading the apprehended mutants.

"Ah so this is Mr. Allerdyce?"

A beautiful blue-skinned agent approaches the young private.

http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b3/venom160/76322-156930-mystique.jpg

"Uh yes Ms. Darkholme."

Agent Darkholme reaches out and lifts Pyro's head to get a better look at their target.

"Real looker isn't he? Alright bring him to the Blackbird. I'd like Elixer to check him and make sure we didn't put him into a coma with all that tranq."

"The Blackbird?! We're not taking him to Genosha Bay with the rest?"

"'fraid not Bobby. This ones coming back to base with us."

A couple minutes pass and Pyro sits in a pull out gurney within the Blackbird where a golden-skinned young man stand before him, his arms extended over the unconscious mutant. Mystique leans against the wall with her arms crossed watching him work.

"Well?"

"Hes' fine. But we need to get more tranquilizer."

"More?! Why?"

"His body is burning away the tranq. It's like he has fire in his veins. I'm surprised he isn't conscious already. I also found these hidden in his clothes."

Elixer points to a small pile of lighters sitting beside the body.

[The Question]

"That covers everything. We're adjourned."

The board members quietly rose to their feet and exited. Norman Osborn, as usually waited until everyone had left before doing so himself. However, one person stayed behind.

"Is there something you need, Wilson?" Norman asked.

The mountain of a man in a business suit at the other end of the table smiled.

"Norman. I thought we could talk."

"Alright," said Norman. "We're talking. Is there something you want to talk about?"

Wilson chuckled quietly.

"Yes. Well. You do recall our off the books transactions last month, yes?"

"Yes."

"I thought, perhaps, that you would wish to once again earn some extra profit."

"Wilson, I did you a favor, helping you move your merchandise..."

"... and if I do recall you made quite a lot of money. What I have in mind is potentially more lucrative. In pertains to one of our R&D projects. I believe you call it "SSM-AF15."

"No," Norman said very flatly.

"But you haven't heard my proposal."

"I'm not The Tinkerer. I don't sell military grade bio-weapons to the mob."

Wilson gave a gentle smile, like a chess player who'd been quite cleverly put into check. Norman didn't acknowledge it.

"Certainly not to neo-fascists," he added. Wilson laughed.

"You're not usually so hyperbolic..." he began.

"Wilson, I've heard the rumors."

"I have no idea what..."

"HYDRA. That you've been associating yourself with HYDRA. That you're posed to become the leader of the local chapter. I thought supporting terrorism was beneath you."

Neither man spoke for a few moments. Wilson's smile did not fade, but the look in his eyes grew cold.

"I assure you," he said, not taking his eyes away from Norman's, "I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about."

"Right. Of course. The answer is still no."

Wilson stood, letting his presence fill the room.

"Are you quite sure?" he asked in an unusually quiet tone.

A fraction of a second after Wilson spoke, the intercom next to Norman buzzed.

"Mr. Osborn," came a voice from the other end, "You're son is on line one."

Norman looked into Wilson's eyes, willing himself with every fiber of his being not to flinch.

"Excuse me. I have to take this," he said, his casual tone barely masking fear.

"Another time, then," said Wilson, as he gave a large, sweeping bow. He turned to the door, but immediately turned his head back towards Norman.

"One more thing, Norman. What is your opinion of this Spider-Man fellow?"

"Wilson, I..."

"Such an unusual figure. Most assume him to be a mutant. But if my, admittedly limited, knowledge of biology serves, mutancy is quite rare, and rarer still is such a complex set of unique attributes. It almost reminds one of Doctor Connors' work. Albeit, his was with lab animals, of course."

Norman paused for a moment, taken aback by Wilson's words.

"... yes. Quite interesting. I... I haven't given it much thought."

"It might be worth looking into," Wilson said with a smile.

"Yes. Perhaps. Now..."

"Oh, of course! Excuse me! Until later, then."

Wilson gently exited the board room, taking only slightly longer than it should. Norman stared at the door for a moment. Then, remembering that his son was waiting, he pressed the button for line one and picked up the phone.

"Harry. Hello. I'm sorry I took so long. One of the board members needed to speak with me. I... no.

Norman fixed his eyes on the door.

Nothing urgent. I'll be home soon..."

[Eddie Brock]

IRON MAN

REINVENTING THE WHEEL: PART 2


"You wanted to see me, Mr. Stark?" a soft yet confident voice announces, interrupting my train of thought. I look up from the employee file on my desk to the woman standing before me. She's certainly not what I expected. Her red hair is pulled back into a bun as she stares out at me from behind thin-rimmed glasses. Being the way I am, I can't help but notice how form-fitting her purple pantsuit is on her slender form.

I smile warmly. "That I did." I pause, glancing down at the employee file once more. "Now, do you prefer to be called 'Ms. Potts' or 'Virginia?'"

"Actually," she smiles, "Most people call me 'Pepper.' You know, for the freckles." Those freckles, actually, become less noticeable as her cheeks turn slightly pink. I turn my attention back to her hazel eyes to try and relieve her of some of her embarrassment and nervousness.

"Okay. Pepper, then." I turn the page on her file. "I see here that you've applied on at least two separate occasions to be placed on the 'Iron Men' team," I announce as I look at written documentation in Pepper's own handwriting. It's neat and clean, much like her appearance.

"Is that what this is about?" she asks brightly.

"Not quite," I answer, trying not to disappoint her. Her smile fades, so I continue. "You see, genetics have been very unfair to me. While I inherited my father's dashing looks--" At this, Pepper laughs uncertainly. "--I only received but a small fraction of his brilliant intellect. I have a project that I'm dying to work on, but I can't do it alone."

I stand up from my desk, closing Pepper's file.

"After reviewing all the possible candidates, I have chosen you. Your qualifications speak for themselves: perfect SAT score, top of your class, MIT graduate. But it's your love and desire to work with the 'Iron Men' which really set you apart."

"Set me apart for...what?" Pepper asks hesitantly.

I smile. "I'm glad you asked."

[Mr. Marko]

http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y55/Cyclone1906/680429-ultimate_spider_man__046__jh.jpg?t=1263842604

"Y'know, Flint. We almost had him last time. That little arachnid punk is ours next time. He-"

"Shut up, O'Hirn. No we didn't." Flint Marko sighed as he pressed his forehead against the cold steel bars. "He's a superhero freakshow and we're not. As long as he's out there Big Man ain't gonna be able to go about his business."

O'Hirn went silent. "Well...we just need to get bigger guns then."

Flint turned around, amazed at the stupidity of his partner. "Did you even get a chance to shoot him?"

"I...well..."

Flint scoffed, turning his back once again to him. "Exactly."

Suddenly, the door to the small hallway of cells opened, and a familiar face entered alongside a cop. "Hey-a boys. We meet again so soon?"

"Put a cork in it, Hammer," Flint snapped.

"Oh, come on, baby! I'm here! Your savior! The bringer of your freedom!" Justin Hammer, the Big Man's legal advisor and right hand man, was a sneak and a weasel. Flint didn't like him.

The cop opened the cell and Hammer wrapped his arms around both Flint and Alex. "Come on, boys! You're gonna be late for supper!"

[The Question]

It had been one week since the monks had saved Victor's life, and he found himself wondering why he had not already left. He hadn't come there seeking enlightenment, simply shelter from the storm. He rationalized that the paths were still treacherous, that the monks' hospitality had yet to wear out, and that food and a warm bed while waiting for a clear path and a solid plan was... well, there it was, he thought. A solid plan. He didn't have one. He had no idea where he would go next, or what his goal was. He was starting to wonder why he decided to travel Asia in the first place.

The one monk who spoke english and thus shared a language with Victor entered his room, carrying a tray of food.

"I thought you would be hungry," he said.

"Thank you," said Victor.

The monk turned to leave.

"Wait," said Victor.

"Yes?"

"Perhaps... I was wondering if perhaps you could teach me your practice. While I'm here."

The monk smiled.

"Yes," he said. "That can be arranged."

[The Question]

Norman Osborn made a quick stop by his office to collect his briefcase before going home for the evening. He was very surprised to discover a man in purple tactical gear and a mask sitting in his chair.

"You're going to have to tell me what you're doing here."

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif

Okay, so it's three on one, right? That's nothing I'm not used to; if there's one thing I've learned in all my little ventures of going out and brutalizing idiot criminals, it's that they're almost always pack hunters. Most of the time, they're untrained, unprepared, and usually can only hang with me for a few seconds.

These Enforcer guys, though? They actually know what they're doing.

Montana there is obviously the leader, as Fancy Dan and Ox don't make any moves without him calling them out like a quarterback. It makes sense to take him out first. When I lunge for him, though, the big guy gets in the way.

"You want him, you gotta get through me," he says with a voice like a diesel engine.

"Hey, suit yourself," I say, then land a punch to the chest with enough force to have been from a baseball bat. Ox doesn't even flinch.

Great. Maybe he's a mutant? Or ignores pain like all those videos I've seen of North Korean bodyguards or something? Either way, the tried-and-true approach of "hit him really hard" probably isn't gonna cut it.

He swings a big haymaker at me, and I easily roll out of the way...only to run straight into another kick from Fancy Dan. I manage to land on my feet, catch his next attempt at a whirling kick, and hurl him across the room....leaving my back exposed to Montana, who gets in a really nasty lick with his whip.

"YEEEEOOOOWWWWW!!!!!" I yelp before hopping back up onto the ceiling, out of reach. "Okay, dude, that actually really freakin' hurt. So yeah, kudos for that. But I can still see a few problems with where this fight is going for you."

"Way I see it, we're doin' just fine, bug," Montana says with a smirk.

"Okay, well, problem one? You've just given away your whole playbook."

The tactics they're using are ridiculously familiar; they're the same ones that Midnight Sons used to use.

Oh man, the Midnight Sons--now that was a great campaign, probably my favorite times around the D&D table. Eddie ran the game as the Dungeon Master back before he went all beautiful-people on us, and the rest of us were the adventuring crew out to stop the resurrection of the dragon king Fin Fang Foom. Gwen was an Elven Sorceress who did ranged attacks and basically directed the fight, I was the big Half-Orc Barbarian who would soak up damage and pin the baddies down, and then Harry was a Goblin Rogue who would sneak in from the side and do nasty sneak-attack damage.

That's exactly what these guys are doing. Montana's the ranged-attack guy, Ox is the big tank, and Fancy Dan is the sneak-attacker. Now I just gotta remember how Eddie managed to get around our group tactics, how exactly we lost a fight.

Ox throws another table at me to get me off of the ceiling. I spring down, right into the path of Montana's whip again. This time, I twist around it, just narrowly avoiding another really painful welt. I catch Fancy Dan in the middle of a wall-run, before vaulting at me with another one of his whirling kung fu kicks. I clip his leg with a kick of my own, sending him to the floor...then Ox smashes his big huge ham-sized fist into my face, and I go flying back into a pool table.

Oh crap, now I remember....the Midnight Sons never lost a fight.

"Seems to me like all your jawin' about how we gave away our playbook ain't amountin' to much," Montana says as he winds back his whip for another lash. "An' it seems like you're just about finished here, bug."

"You kiddin' me? I'm just getting warmed up," I say, rolling backwards and standing on top of the table. "Because I haven't told you problems two through four yet."

Fancy Dan leaps up at me.

"Problem two? You might be fast,"I say as I duck and weave past a flurry of attacks, "but I'm really really strong."

I grab both his arms, then roll back so I can plant both my feet into his abdomen, and launch him up with a kangaroo kick that smashes him up into the ceiling. Gravity delivers the second half of the combination as he falls and lands face-first into the floor.

So that takes care of Fancy Dan, but Ox charges right at me before I can get off a good zinger.

"Problem three? You might be strong," I say, easily leaping over his bull rush and then doing a Liu Kang bicycle kick combo to his face, "but I'm really really fast."

I stomp down with both feet to cap off my little jaunt into Riverdance combat, and Ox collapses. Which just leaves me and Montana.

"And problem four? You might have a whip," I say, before he cuts me off by lashing it right at my face. I catch it, let it wrap around my arm, and yank it out of his hands. "Oh, my bad--problem four, you don't have a whip."

Montana pauses for a second, then goes for a gun. I, on the other hand, grab a cue ball from the pool table, and whip it right into his face. He goes down, a spray of blood jetting out from his broken nose.

"Now then, as I was saying, the Big Man--awww, man! Did I knock everyone out again?!"

Great. Now I can't get any information that I need. Which means all this wanton violence was just for the sake of making me feel better. To be fair, I do feel better, though.

I make it a point to leave through the back door of the now completely trashed Big Sky Lounge, just to make sure I don't run into any reinforcements en route. I scale the nearest wall, and then start to book it back to the Osborns' place. Especially since I actually do need to study tonight.

While i'm thinking about it, I also have to figure out what I'm gonna do for this year's science fair--winner gets a scholarship to ESU and an internship with Doctor Connors. I'm gonna have to come up with something really good if I want to avoid losing to Max Dillon for the third year straight.

I guess the Big Man can wait for a little while. At least until I figure out how to subdue bad guys without just KO'ing them and ruining any chance of a worthwhile interrogation.

[Eddie Brock]

IRON MAN

REINVENTING THE WHEEL: PART 3

"It...it can't be done!" Pepper exclaims flabbergasted. She stares so intently at the proposed design specs that I half-expect them to burst into flame. "You're asking me to retrofit the 'Iron Men' armor for a human controller? I mean, it's just impossible! The sheer power needed to run one of these things necessitates an internalized reactor!" She points adamantly at the blueprints for one of the newest 'Iron Men' models. Indeed, there is a sizable power source located at the heart of the armor. "In order to fit a human controller comfortably and safely inside, you'd have to move the reactor - and there's just no way to make it work otherwise!"

I merely smile. I expected this reaction. "What if the controller himself could provide the energy? A living power source?" She looks at me like I just told her to build a time-machine. I unbutton my shirt - at this, Pepper shifts uncomfortably - and reveal my father's crown jewel. "Well?"

Pepper stares in astonishment. "It...it looks like a tiny electrical fusion reactor," she remarks. She reaches out and touches the cold metal. Her finger seemingly glows blue in the reactor's light. "What...is this?"

"I'm not the only one with pet projects. This was my father's," I explain. "When I was overseas - I served in the Army, for a short time - I had a small accident." At this, Pepper finally takes her eyes off the reactor and meets mine. "A car bomb nearly blew me in half. My father did what he could to save my life. He replaced my damaged limbs with new ones." I ball my right hand into a fist and release. "And to keep these high-tech prosthetics running, he installed this." I tap on the reactor. "Revolutionary, isn't it? Capable of producing upwards of 3000 gigajoules per second."

"That's 3 gigawatts!" Pepper exclaims. She immediately reexamines the design specs. "With that kind of energy, you could easily operate the suit with little to no reserve power!" She then pauses. "Wait. You're not thinking of doing this yourself are you?"

I tap on the arc reactor once more. "Only one in existence."

"Tony, your father made that reactor for you! So that you could live!" she argues. "I hardly think he'd approve of this! The 'Iron Men' were made so that human lives weren't at risk! Not so that the only son of their inventor could put himself on the frontline!"

"Pepper, do you want to know what I saw overseas?" I ask calmly. "I saw this company's weapons - my father's weapons - being used to kill soldiers and civilians. I saw a world in which the guy with the biggest gun makes the rules, and America isn't that guy anymore. Not over there, anyway." I've given this mission a lot of thought. "Now, I fully intend on finding out who is selling my weapons to terrorists, but I can't simply cure the symptoms. I have to go to the source. I have to destroy those weapons and all who would use them for evil."

Pepper stares at me, not saying a word.

"I came to you because you have vision. I thought that you could understand my mission. I knew you could design this suit. Now, if you're unwilling to do it, I won't force you to. There are plenty of engineers who would die for this project. I simply ask that you don't say a word about it to anyone. This conversation never leaves this room."

Pepper remains silent for a moment, and I can't help but feel like she and I are competing in a big chess match. I've made my move. Time for hers. "Even if I wanted to help, it's just not possible," she reasons. "The 'Iron Men' require teams of engineers. And this project is far more sophisticated. I could never do it alone."

"And I don't expect you to."

"Hello, Miss Potts," Jarvis announces. "My name is Jarvis, and I'm the brains to Mr. Stark's brawn. I'll be assisting you every step of the way. I just need hands, you see, and that's where you come in."

Pepper looks around the room with a shocked expression. "Who was that? What was that?"

"Like he said, that was Jarvis. You two are going to be seeing a lot of each other over the next few weeks, and I think you'll find he's a great assistant."

"Oh, please, sir. You're flattering me," Jarvis deadpans. "Very nice to meet you, Miss Potts. Shall we get started, then?"

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

Norman Osborn made a quick stop by his office to collect his briefcase before going home for the evening. He was very surprised to discover a man in purple tactical gear and a mask sitting in his chair.

"You're going to have to tell me what you're doing here."

"Well, right now I'm admiring the very large TV hanging in the corner. I'm guessing, what, seventy-two inches, LCD. Most people don't have TVs this night in their houses."

I spin around in Osborn's large, plush chair and kick my feet up on the desk.

"Was it a little gift to yourself? A little splurging with some of the dirty money you made helping Wilson Fisk move some of his less than legal goods into the country? Goods that can and, unless found and destroyed, will be used in the deaths of millions of innocent people."

"Now, a man of your already massive wealth and darling stature, I can't imagine what you could possibly hope to gain in your dealings with scum of the earth terrorist. You don't need the money, so why risk your squeaky clean good boy image? So what I'm doing here, Normy boy, is waiting for you to start talking, or else I will not only make sure that everything I have hits the front page of tomorrow's Bugle, Times, and Post, but people will actually be interested in what Katie Couric has to say tomorrow night at 6."

A bluff, yes, but I know I caught the dork off guard, so I'm at least going to get some of the truth.

[The Question]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg


SHADOWS OF THE PAST



"Well, right now I'm admiring the very large TV hanging in the corner. I'm guessing, what, seventy-two inches, LCD. Most people don't have TVs this night in their houses."

I spin around in Osborn's large, plush chair and kick my feet up on the desk.

"Was it a little gift to yourself? A little splurging with some of the dirty money you made helping Wilson Fisk move some of his less than legal goods into the country? Goods that can and, unless found and destroyed, will be used in the deaths of millions of innocent people."

"Now, a man of your already massive wealth and darling stature, I can't imagine what you could possibly hope to gain in your dealings with scum of the earth terrorist. You don't need the money, so why risk your squeaky clean good boy image? So what I'm doing here, Normy boy, is waiting for you to start talking, or else I will not only make sure that everything I have hits the front page of tomorrow's Bugle, Times, and Post, but people will actually be interested in what Katie Couric has to say tomorrow night at 6."

A bluff, yes, but I know I caught the dork off guard, so I'm at least going to get some of the truth.

Wilson Fisk's earlier, thinly veiled threats had already saturated every cell in Norman's body with fear. As the masked man's words bounced around his head, it felt as if that fear had begun to boil. Norman's mouth twitched slightly. Before he was fully aware that he was doing it, the tension in his body releasedn itself as laughter.

Norman staggered slightly, trying to catch his breath, trying to keep his body from shaking, his loud, manic cackle seeminmg out of place in the otherwise quiet room.

"I... I'm sorry," he said, panting and holding back a chuckle. "There's a mini-bar over there." He pointed to the back corner of the room to the left of the desk.

"H-help yourself..." he said, his voice trailing off into another burst of laughter.

He took a moment to compose himself, taking a deep breath, and looked right in the stranger's eyes. He found that he wasn't afraid of the man in the purple mask.

"You're here about my "off the books" transactions with Wilson Fisk, Mr... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

[RamsesIII]

1658
My gun is lodged into his face. I can nearly feel his perspiration from here, as my gun pushes down onto his cheek. I've gotten myself into the thick of things, this time. I'm an English soldier, fighting at the Battle of the Dunes, and I tower over my enemy. I can see his bright blue eyes clearly, as they are popping so far out of his head it seems as if his eyelids are near the point of breaking. His gun is right next to him; his hand is so close to it. But he knows to touch his gun is to die. I start sweating, too. I've killed many a man before, but this one looks so... young. I think back to my youth, being hunted down by the Catholics. I think back to my youth, being nearly killed by the Catholics. I must apologize to myself: I simply can't do it.

"You can get up," I say, as I stare at him with a grave intensity. My brown eyes pierce his blue ones. A brown moustache hangs on my face, beaming with authority. "Don't ever let me see you here, again," I say. I pause for a second, lowering my gun. "You almost died, you know." The Good Samaritan that I am, I turn around and get ready to leave. I don't take more than three steps before I feel a bullet in my back. I am in complete shock. I watch in horror, gasping while the bullet exits out my front. A scarlet river flows out of my body in more ways than one, and my brown eyes are flung open. It's not so much fright as betrayal that I feel. I had trusted this stranger. I had been wrong. He snatches my gun from me, as I'm too weak to do anything.

He looks proud and triumphant, as he declares, "Damn swine. You think you're so much better than anyone else? You think you can turn your back on an armed soldier? Here's my response to your 'kindness'." My wound is beginning to patch itself up, but it's difficult because he repeatedly kicks me in the stomach. I surprise him by grabbing his ankle. He hits the ground, fast. With what little strength I have remaining, I take his gun which is now strewn on the floor. I aim it at his head. I don't miss. A tear flies down my cheek, as I begin getting up. I'm swaggering, but I manage to kick him in the back. I step on his stomach, making sure the blood flows out nice and quickly. My wound doesn't feel as bad as before, but I've still lost a lot of blood. I need to retreat.

I can't. This bastard betrayed me. I kick him again. My hand is keeping the blood from leaving my stomach, but my back is another matter entirely. I swoon, as I begin feeling more and more dizzy. Another kick in the back. A stomp on the groin. Finally, I'm satisfied. Stumbling back to base, I realize that is one of the closest times I've ever come to dying. I vow from then on never to trust my enemy...

Never again.

2010
I listen to Pyro's startling rehabilitation. The tranquilizers aren't enough for him, huh? He's too hot-blooded for a sleep of reason? Alright, then. It seems it's time to throw a little insanity into the mix. "Elixir, get more tranquilizer ready," I say, as I walk over to Pyro. Opening the cell door, I look down at him, his pathetic countenance there for all to see. Who does this two-bit crook think he's messing with? I'm in utter shock that he actually thought he could take down all of the X-Men. I stoop down to his level and whisper sultry and smooth in his ear, "Hey, handsome." I begin rubbing his thigh. "You sure are a tough one, aren't you? You just had a big bad fight with the X-Men and you're still ready for more. You can handle a lot," as I speak, I pick him up and knee him in the balls. "I like that in a man," I say, as I slap him in the face. I pick him up and throw him back onto the floor. "Now things are really heating up, huh?" I kick him in the face. "That was just sexy..." I look down on the shrivelling visage of a man before me.

I spit in his face. I'm satisfied. I lean back against the wall, letting myself feel the relief. I sigh. Life is good.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

Wilson Fisk's earlier, thinly veiled threats had already saturated every cell in Norman's body with fear. As the masked man's words bounced around his head, it felt as if that fear had begun to boil. Norman's mouth twitched slightly. Before he was fully aware that he was doing it, the tension in his body releasedn itself as laughter.

Norman staggered slightly, trying to catch his breath, trying to keep his body from shaking, his loud, manic cackle seeminmg out of place in the otherwise quiet room.

"I... I'm sorry," he said, panting and holding back a chuckle. "There's a mini-bar over there." He pointed to the back corner of the room to the left of the desk.

"H-help yourself..." he said, his voice trailing off into another burst of laughter.

He took a moment to compose himself, taking a deep breath, and looked right in the stranger's eyes. He found that he wasn't afraid of the man in the purple mask.

"You're here about my "off the books" transactions with Wilson Fisk, Mr... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"You don't read the dirt mags do you, Normy?"

I shift in the chair as I uncross and recross my legs. This guy is totally Looney Toons and a lot more dangerous than anyone would ever imagine. He's not intimitdated. Or, if he is, his eyes don't betray him. That, and I don't think he's the only one inside his head with him.

He's not afraid of me. I'm certainly not afraid of him. This stands to get very interesting. And very, very fun.

"Hawkeye. I don't have time to delve into too much more right now, but I recently found out I have a Wikipedia page if you'd like to check it out later. It's surprisingly accurate."

I crack my neck. I really need to look into those Tepus-Pedic mattresses or whatever.

"And yes, I'm here for Fisk, and only Fisk. I don't believe you have any involvement with his...'dealings', other than owing a business partner a favor and looking to make a little something off of it. You confirm what I know, you fill in any details and my people and I determine it all to be on the up and up, and you don't hear from us again. We might even be able to make any descrepencies in you expenditures and earnings disappear."

I don't like offering up anything to sleezy little corporate weasels like this, but you gotta give up a good faith offering to get anything back. And, of cousre, I did say "might."

"But, when Fisk goes down, and he will, and you haven't cooperated, you will be linked to one of the biggest terrorist organiztions of the twentieth and twenty-first century. That'sa not a threat, I'm not here to play the heavy or to strong arm, I'm just telling it how it is."

[Carnage27]

http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj306/Carnage27/wolverine.jpg?t=1263950135

I wake up early the day of the mission and head to the hanger. Once I get there, I begin checking Weapon X's Blackbird jet. I run the normal diagnostics, making sure all the systems are in working order.

The Blackbird is one serious piece of machinery, and it's one of the reasons I kind of enjoy working for this group of government boot lickers. I've never flown anything like it.

I see the other 'bird is missing, meaning Summers and his team are most likely out on one of their shakedown runs.

"Hope he gets home soon...I'd love to see the fearless leader before heading out," I say sarcastically to myself.

[Eddie Brock]

IRON MAN

REINVENTING THE WHEEL: PART 4

"Hey, when did I say the board meeting was?" I ask aloud, shuffling through the various papers on my desk. For the life of me, I can't find the Post-it note I made for myself. I really need a better organization system. "Jarvis, do you know?"

"I believe you mentioned Thursday, sir," Jarvis answers obediently.

"That's right! Thank you, Jarvis." I pick up a pen and quickly scribble, "Thursday - Board Meeting!" onto the nearest sheet of paper. As I move the paper aside, I discover my original Post-it. Sighing, I announce, "I really need an assistant."

"I could be your assistant," Pepper chimes in, lifting the safety goggles from her eyes. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. "Really, it's no problem."

"I appreciate the offer, but I need a real assistant," I answer. I quickly add, "No offense. But you know I need you here, doing what you've been doing these past few weeks." I get up from my desk and stride across the office to where Pepper is working. For the time being, with no better alternative, I've turned half of my office into a workshop for Pepper. She's been able to make great strides forward with our project. "How's it looking?"

Pepper lifts up a metallic glove for me to see. Taking it from her gently, I examine the glove thoroughly before slipping my hand into it. I twirl my wrist and make a fist, releasing while twisting my wrist in the other direction. There's a gaping hole in the palm where the repulsor beam/flight-stabilizer will be installed.

"The joints on the individual fingers feel stiff," I remark, "But overall, flexibility is good. Nice work, Miss Potts."

Pepper smiles, taking the glove back. "Hey, you know what? If you really need an assistant, I know someone you can call," she offers. Grabbing my hand, she holds it out and writes a phone number on my palm. "He's great, and I know he could use the work."

"He?"

Pepper's smile fades slightly. "We have something of a history, I suppose."

"Would it interfere with either of your abilities to work?" I ask. Pepper shakes her head. I stare down at the phone number written on my hand. "Alright, then. I'll give him a call."

[Mr. Majestic]

http://img193.imageshack.us/img193/7695/hyperionsig.jpg
Hyperion


"Yeah. The target's contained and we're just cleaning up."

I take glance at Hyperion, noticing the frown on his face.

"Something bothering you?" I ask Hyperion as a containment team rushes in to take care of the unconscious mutant at our feet.

Something I've discovered about being a leader in the Army and the X-Men, a good leader should be able to take care of his men in regular situations as well as the dangerous ones. That was something I did a as Staff Sergeant in the Army and something I'm trying to do on the X-Men.

"I'll understand if you don't tell me, Mark," I mutter to him as we walk through the club's front door and shuffle past the Multiple Men dupes running past us.

"Don't think that I'm trying to play crying shoulder just because I'm your sergeant."

Maybe if we were in a different situation I’d tell Pete what it is that’s troubling me but with all these people around, there is absolutely no way I’d display any weakness.

“I’m fine, I was just off my game perhaps. The same mistake will not be made twice.” I say to Pete as I begin to walk off.

As I was walking away I stop after just taking four steps.

“Colossus…” A side of me wants to think him for even having a interest in wanting to know what’s bothering me but for someone reason I can’t allow myself to do so, which is funny to me because out of all of the X-Men he is the only one I can stand being around.

“…never mind.” I tell him as I go off to join the others.

[The Question]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg


SHADOWS OF THE PAST



"You don't read the dirt mags do you, Normy?"

I shift in the chair as I uncross and recross my legs. This guy is totally Looney Toons and a lot more dangerous than anyone would ever imagine. He's not intimitdated. Or, if he is, his eyes don't betray him. That, and I don't think he's the only one inside his head with him.

He's not afraid of me. I'm certainly not afraid of him. This stands to get very interesting. And very, very fun.

"Hawkeye. I don't have time to delve into too much more right now, but I recently found out I have a Wikipedia page if you'd like to check it out later. It's surprisingly accurate."

I crack my neck. I really need to look into those Tepus-Pedic mattresses or whatever.

"And yes, I'm here for Fisk, and only Fisk. I don't believe you have any involvement with his...'dealings', other than owing a business partner a favor and looking to make a little something off of it. You confirm what I know, you fill in any details and my people and I determine it all to be on the up and up, and you don't hear from us again. We might even be able to make any descrepencies in you expenditures and earnings disappear."

I don't like offering up anything to sleezy little corporate weasels like this, but you gotta give up a good faith offering to get anything back. And, of cousre, I did say "might."

"But, when Fisk goes down, and he will, and you haven't cooperated, you will be linked to one of the biggest terrorist organiztions of the twentieth and twenty-first century. That'sa not a threat, I'm not here to play the heavy or to strong arm, I'm just telling it how it is."

"Hawkeye. Hmmm. Well, I have heard of you. Modern day Robin Hood with a bit of a hate on for mutants."

Norman smiled. He suddenly found himself with the advantage, something he liked a great deal.

"Hawkey, I'm sad to say I can't help you. My off the books dealings with Wilson? I helped him move some perscription pharmisuiticals he acquired from questionable sources. Nothing dangerous to public health. I don't know anything about HYDRA. I've heard rumors from people we both know, that he's looking to become leader of the New York chapter. I believe them, but I haven't seen anything incriminating. You know more than I do."

Norman put his hands on either side of his desk, leaned over, and looked Hawkeye straight in the eyes.

"If we're finished, you might want to leave before I have security escort you out."

[Mr. Majestic]

http://img59.imageshack.us/img59/9007/mimicsig.jpg
MIMIC


For the pass several hours I have been laying here just looking at the ceiling thinking about my first mission. I couldn’t sleep a lick because of what Logan said to me kept running through my head over and over all night long.



I laugh, "Of course you're not ready."

I lead him back to his quarters, and before I leave I say, "This mission will get you ready. You stick by me and you'll come out of it fine. And I'm going to need your help to bring down Juggernaut."

"Don't let me down."


Don’t let him down. How does to aspect me not to? I’ve never been on a mission, hell I never fought anyone in a real fight. Only thing I have come close to that would be considered a fight would be my training sessions with Feral but even then I knew she was talking it easy on me. And this Juggernaut I can assume is not a type of person who likes to take it easy on people.


“Man I’m really in some deep stuff this time.” I utter as I lean up from my bed and rest my back against the wall.

Only thing I can do is just sit here and wait for Logan to come get me and hope for the best.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"Hawkeye. Hmmm. Well, I have heard of you. Modern day Robin Hood with a bit of a hate on for mutants."

Norman smiled. He suddenly found himself with the advantage, something he liked a great deal.

"Hawkey, I'm sad to say I can't help you. My off the books dealings with Wilson? I helped him move some perscription pharmisuiticals he acquired from questionable sources. Nothing dangerous to public health. I don't know anything about HYDRA. I've heard rumors from people we both know, that he's looking to become leader of the New York chapter. I believe them, but I haven't seen anything incriminating. You know more than I do."

Norman put his hands on either side of his desk, leaned over, and looked Hawkeye straight in the eyes.

"If we're finished, you might want to leave before I have security escort you out."

"Oh, I have more than enough for now, Normy my boy. You've been more helpful than you probably realize."

I stand up and head for the window, pushing it open before hopping up on the ledge.

"Just a word of advice, Norman..."

I fire off a quick arrow from my wrist gauntlet through the middle of his television screen.

"...pictures a lil fuzzy. You may wanna get it checked out."

I shimmy down the maintenence ladder to the side of the window, and make my way over the outer wall of the compound. Obviously, Osborn has more invested in this than I thought. The mission wasn't a complete failure though.

"Clay. Yeah. No, not exactly, but I do have a few sound bites to leak to the media. Yeah, and a nice little video clip too. How does 'Norman Osborn: Drug Dealer' sound for tonight's headlines? No, I don't, but that's the cover story he copped too, so why not run with it. Uh huh. Oh, and tell R-and-D the new video shades work great."

I pull my mask off and step into an idling taxi.

"Yeah, I'm in transport now. Be there in ten. Hawkeye out."

[Catman_prb]

The five black garbed mutants approached the police gathering on the White House lawn in a tight group. One of the heavily armed police officers raised his gun at the lead mutant, who raised his hand idly. The gun went flying from the man's, who was then downed by a solid punch that made Erik's arm hurt. Dust moved behind the armed officers, snapping two necks efficiently, whilst Gambit span his bo-staff in a circle.

"Do it now," Ororo said, calling up black storm clouds over head, crackling with lightning.

Avalanche stretched his hands out towards the White House, gripping them suddenly. The earth shook as the building began to collapse in upon itself.

"And now we wait for a response," Magneto said quietly.

[Mr. Marko]

http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y55/Cyclone1906/680429-ultimate_spider_man__046__jh.jpg?t=1263842604

"It wasn't our fault! He's a super-powered menace and we don't stand a chance against him!"

Big Man sat at the table with his arms folded. He let out a sigh. "You're exactly right, Flint."

Flint looked up, surprised. "Really?"

Big Man nodded. "Yes, which is why Mr. Hammer and I have agreed that you are the perfect man to spearhead our new project."

"Project?"

Big Man smiled. "Let's call it more of an experiment." Suddenly, two large men grabbed Flint from behind, shoving him from the room and out the door. Behind him, Flint could hear Big Man chuckling as he left the room.

"Wait, what the hell is going on here?" Flint struggled as the men led him down the hall to the back door of the building. "BIG MAN! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

"Shut up, pal. Its gotta be one of us."

Flint turned around, recognizing O'Hirn as one of the men hauling him away. "O'Hirn! What the hell? Where are you taking me?"

Alex shoved Flint slightly. "I said shut up."

Flint let out a harsh grunt, then flung himself around, punching Alex square in the nose, sending him sprawling. "F*** YOU!" He spun around, however, just in time to see the butt end of the other man's sawed off shutgun come straight for his forehead.

After that, everything was black.

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif

...ow....ow....ow....ow...

I look into the mirror, and see that I look just about as bad as I feel.

A big black eye from Ox clobbering me, a fat lip from one of Fancy Dan's whirly kicks, and a nasty gash/welt going all the way down my back from Montana's whip.

At least I'm not bleeding anymore, and my accelerated healing will take care of it over the next couple of days. But until then, how exactly do I explain this? Yeah, I tripped and fell down the stairs...and then got lashed with a bullwhip? I'm auditioning for the all-white version of Roots? There is absolutely no scenario I can think of which would end up with me getting a wound that looks like I was hit by a whip, that doesn't directly involve me getting hit by a whip. Which is especially bad considering I told everyone I was just staying at home--now Norman and Harry are gonna wonder just what it is I'm doing when they're not around...

...I guess I could say I'm getting into S&M?

There's a buzzing sound coming from the bedroom--my cellphone vibrating on top of the dresser. I dash out of the bathroom to get it before the call goes to voicemail.

"Hello?"

"Peter? God, where have you been? I've called you like five times by now!"

D'oh....guess I didn't really notice the phone going off when I was trashing that bar full of thugs.

"Jeez, I--I'm sorry, Gwen, guess I kinda spaced out. Anyway, what's going on?"

"I dunno, I don't really want to talk about it over the phone. Can I come over?"

"Err, yeah, why not. Just lemme get cleaned up and stuff, and head on over."

A few minutes later, I'm heading down the stairs to answer the doorbell. I open the door, point my finger at Gwen like a pistol, and put on my best scummy alien voice.

"Oota goooota, Solo?"

"...did you really just Greedo me?"

"Heh, you know you love it."

She rolls her eyes, and we head upstairs to the rec room. I pull a pair of Mountain Dews from the mini-fridge, hand one to Gwen, and then plop down onto the couch, gritting my teeth really hard and trying not to wince from the welt on my back.

"So what's up? Something happen?"

"Well...kinda, I guess. Harry invited me out for pizza, and Eddie was there. Nothing really out of the ordinary, and then...Eddie made a pass at me."

"Wait, what now?"

"I shrugged it off at first, but then he just wouldn't stop. Like, every other sentence that came out of his mouth was him 'finally expressing his true feelings' or just plain hitting on me like some brain-dead jock. The whole thing was just so uncomfortable that I had to get out of there. I mean, sure, I like Eddie and all, but only as an Oh my God what happened to your face?"

...oh yeah. My black eye and fat lip.

"Oh...I, err, I took a break from studying to go get a burger, and I kinda got mugged on the way there."

"What?! Oh my God, Peter! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine--turns out I didn't even have my wallet on me when they jumped me. Saved me a little embarrassment at the burger joint, I guess. It's just a couple of bruises, I'll be fine. Promise."

"...okay. Still, you should put some ice on it or something."

"Why do ya think I haven't opened my Mountain Dew yet?" I say, before pressing the cold can up against my eye. "So yeah, about Eddie. You want me to, I dunno, set him straight or something?"

"No, don't worry about it. I just needed to tell somebody. Ugh. So creeped out right now."

There's a pause big enough to drive a reasonably-sized convoy of semi trucks through, before Gwen switches gears like a Hollywood stunt driver.

"So anyway, the Homecoming dance is this Friday, right? Are you going?"

"Eh. Paying twenty bucks for a ticket to the gym, so I can stand around in an uncomfortable suit and pretend like I'm having a good time? No thanks. Besides, I'm not exactly up to my neck in dates. Why, are you going?"

"....guess not." she says, a little deflated. This time, the pause is big enough to accommodate eight lanes of freeway traffic.

"...well, if you're not going and I'm not going, maybe we can both not go together? I mean, I was planning on spending my weekend coming up with a project for the science fair, and I could always use a heavyweight brain like yours to help me out. What say we meet up, order a pizza, and do some brainstorming?"

Gwen finishes chugging down her soda, and then smiles at me.

"Yeah, that sounds good. I can't wait to---*URRRP!*"

I can't help but laugh, and she starts cracking up right with me. After a bit, the laughter subsides, and we catch each other's eyes. There's another big long pause, but not a bad one. Like, we just found ourselves on the same brainwave and are trying to ride it out as long as we can.

She scoots a little closer....

I pull the soda can off of my fat lip...

....and then we hear Harry step out of the elevator downstairs.

"Oh, right, Harry. I kinda left him back there with Eddie...oh jeez, I hope Eddie's not with him. I should...probably go."

"Wha--okay, I guess, I mean....yeah, allright, see ya. Heh."

"....yeah. Heh."

She hops up and briskly walks out. I hear a couple of awkward mumbles between her and Harry as they pass each other on the staircase, then she's out the door again.

"Man, Pete," Harry says as he comes into the room, "Eddie's gonna freak when he finds out that Gwen went straight to you after Oh my God what happened to your face?"

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST


"My off the books dealings with Wilson? I helped him move some perscription pharmisuiticals he acquired from questionable sources."

"Shocking video today of Oscorp CEO Norman Osborn seemingly admitting to aiding and profiting from a drug smuggling ring operated by business partner Wilson Fisk…"

I kick my feet back in my chair, propping my feet up on m6 bed and giving a little smile to the TV as I continued to clean his sidearm. It may not get Osborn to fess up to anything, but it sure will make his life a living hell for the foreseeable future. Even when I lose, I make sure I win.

“…recent reports of major fiscal discrepancies will also surely garner the interest of the FBI. We will have more on this story as it becomes available. In other news, the city is eagerly anticipating the arrival of film crews for the latest “Swordsman” movie. The filming will coincide with the fundraiser gala organized by the film’s star and president of the Screen Actor’s Guild Bernard Barton to jumpstart his newest, and as yet unnamed, charitable foster organization…”

Bernard? Really? I used to get my fingers stomped on when I called him that as a kid. Of course, I used to kick him in that…special…place when he called me Clinton. Ah, brotherly love. Still, the one regret I have in life is I haven’t spoken to my older brother in ten years. Not so much as a letter to say I’m alive. We’re the only family we have, something we promised never to forget. We, uh, didn’t do too good on that promise.

I guess this is fate blasting a bull horn in my ear.

“…filming will be in town for the next three weeks. ‘Swordsman 3’ stars Barton as the title character, Kevin James as the main antagonist Trickshot, and US teen gymnast and Hollywood newcomer Bobbi Morse as Agatha Harkness, a young sorceress who holds the key to the universes survival or destruction.”

[Andy C.]

Nick Fury


America is in a state of crisis. Not merely the economic downturn that is played up to 'crisis' level, but a very real and very serious threat to its very existence.

The President of the United States is a Marxist fool, who has filled his administration with the corrupt and the incompetent. The country has let down its guard, tried for too long to play nicely with those who want to see it all destroyed.

As a result, a gang of mutant terrorists now stand on the White House lawn.

For decades, we have proudly served and protected the country I love, both with and without its consent. We have been the invisible hand keeping the enemies of this land at bay, doing what needs to be done in order to keep the Shining City on the Hill from sinking into the mire. The government may wield a mighty hammer...

...but I am America's shield.

I watch the story unfold as Magneto and his band try to bait the military into a confrontation. One of my aides asks if we should activate our agents in Washington.

"Not just yet," I advise. "The combat-zone is too public to risk exposing our agents' identities. HAMMER or the X-Men will be on it soon, I'm sure."

"Yes sir."

I consider it for a second, then take a drag from my cigar.

"Just to be safe, though, I want a team on standby with a vial of Legacy...just in case the White House itself is breached."

"Yes sir. Understood, sir."

Legacy is quite possibly the most effective anti-mutant weapon anywhere on the planet...and it is only in the hands of my organization. The rest of the world doesn't even know it exists so far, and that is precisely the way I want to keep it. After all, no one else can be trusted with a weapon of that power.

In the meantime, I'm sure HAMMER or the X-Men will be more than up to the task of running off Lensherr and his thugs. The worst part about all of this is that there was a time when I was actually on his side...until they began attacking civilian targets.

I turn my attention away from the situation in the White House, and read the debriefing report from our agent in New York about a possible HYDRA chapter cropping up. If there's any organization in the world more deserving of complete destruction than Magneto and his 'Brotherhood,' it's them. Leftovers from a war that they never stopped fighting. Fortunately for the world, it's a war that we never stopped fighting either.

The time will come for us to step out of the shadows and take our rightful place as America's defenders.

Before that, though, there are still plenty of loose ends to tie up. And there's one very big one that I want to see resolved before anything else.

I open up a line on my wireless earpiece, and contact our best agent.

"Hawkeye," I say, acknowledging him only by his call-sign. "Fury. Hope you're not too attached to the Osborn assignment. Because I have a new mission for you."

[The Question]

Norman scowled as Hawkeye climbed out the office window. He walked over to his now ruined television and pulled the arrow out of the screen. Shooting it had been... unnecessary was the word that came to mind. He had felt very good almost a moment ago. Buzzed. Satisfaction from sending an intruder away empty handed, he supposed. This pointless act of aggression soured his mood. But that was a sign of Hawkeye's weakness of character; his immaturity, his lack of threat, Norman thought to himself.

He ran the arrow through his fingers. He had always been amazed by projectile weapons. How something so simple could be so deadly.

Fear struck him again.

He, truly, was not afraid of Hawkeye. But people were trying to attack Wilson Fisk through him., and it was wise to fear The Kingpin.

He dashed out of the office, grabbing his briefcase and tucking the arrow in his coat pocket as he hurried out the door.

He had to get home.

******

He smiled warmly at Bernard as he drove around to park the car in the garage. His presence, his service, was very briefly reassuring to Norman. He headed to the elevator with a sense of urgency. It felt like Wilson's thinly veiled threats were a ghost that was haunting him, but if he could just see Peter and Harry, he thought, it would at least give him the sense of calm and focus needed to think of a way out of the situation he was finding himself in.

The elevator doors opened before he was even five feet away from them. Out ran Gwen Stacy, Harry and Peter's friend.

"Hi Mister Osborn."

"Gwen? Wh..."

"It's getting late, I have to get home, see you later," she said almost to quickly to be heard.

"Do you need a ride..."

"Bus is fine, bye!"

She sped out the door onto the street, looking very nervous, Norman thought.

"Strange girl," he said.

A few minutes later, the elevator door opened and he got out on his floor. The living room was empty when he entered the apartment.

"Boys?" he shouted.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor.

"Peter? Harry?"

He heard voices coming from Peter's room. He pushed the half closed door open as he walked in.

"There you two are, I..."

Peter sat before him, his face covered in bruises.

"Peter, what happened?"

[Andy C.]

"Peter? Harry?"

He heard voices coming from Peter's room. He pushed the half closed door open as he walked in.

"There you two are, I..."

Peter sat before him, his face covered in bruises.

"Peter, what happened?"

"It's nothing, Mr. Os--...Norman. I just went out for a burger run, and I kinda....got mugged."

Hey, it fooled Gwen, right? Might as well keep my story consistent if I'm going to get through this without them asking too many questions.

"Pair of crack-heads jumped me and tried to get my wallet. I managed to get away from them, and just ran straight back here."

I look from Harry to Norman and back, just hoping one of them buys it.

"Funny thing is, I get back, and find out I left my wallet right there on my dresser. Just my luck, huh? I got knocked around for something I didn't even have."

[Byrd Man]

Maybe if we were in a different situation I’d tell Pete what it is that’s troubling me but with all these people around, there is absolutely no way I’d display any weakness.

“I’m fine, I was just off my game perhaps. The same mistake will not be made twice.” I say to Pete as I begin to walk off.

As I was walking away I stop after just taking four steps.

“Colossus…” A side of me wants to think him for even having a interest in wanting to know what’s bothering me but for someone reason I can’t allow myself to do so, which is funny to me because out of all of the X-Men he is the only one I can stand being around.

“…never mind.” I tell him as I go off to join the others.

"Okay, Mark. Like I said, I've always got an open ear."

"Angel to Sergeant Rasputin," the voice of the Blackbird's pilot crackles in.

"This is Colossus, Warren. What's going on?"

"The Colonel is pulling the team off the ground. We need to be in DC within the hour."

"What the heck, why?"

"It's Magneto. He's on the White House lawn."

"Colossus out."

I severe the connection to Warren and switch over the Cyclops' frequency.

"Sir, just got a report from Angel, Magneto and his followers are on the steps of the White House. Colonel says we're supposed to be in DC airspace within the hour. Orders, sir?"

[Byrd Man]

Marhsall Bradford shivered in the cold night air as he stood on the street corner in Lower Manhattan. It was nigh on ten in the evening and he still had another kilo of heroin to sell before his "shift" ended. As a drug dealer in Silvermane's organization, he worked the corner here in Chinatown from eight at night to three in the morning. It was an okay job, sure has hell beat working a grease trap at Mickey D's. He made points on the packages he sold, and the guy he always called for re-ups bailed him out when the cops got in his face. Silvermane's people got most of the money he made, and he understood that's how it worked. Marhsall may have dropped out of school in the 11th grade, but he knew how business worked.

A cold brezze rippled through the air, causing Marshall to tighten his coat around his chest. Marshall's focus on the cold and the breeze distracted him long enough for the man dressed as in a devil costume to step out of the shadows with piano wire.

"Hu-," was what the drug dealer gasped as the man slipped the wire around his neck and tightened it around his windpipe.

"You poison our streets and citizens," Shang-Chi whispered into Marhsall's ear. "This is your reward."

He twisted the wire and let go of the man in one seemless motion, slitting Marshall's throat with the wire. The drug dealer collapsed to the ground, blood pouring on the ground as the last moments of his life slipped by him.



*************



William Mize remained silent as he sat in his car. It was hour twenty-two of his stakeout in front of the apartment building. Silvermane told him two days ago to take care of the guy who ran the Unions for the crime boss. The guy was feeling the pressure from the cops, and the old man was afraid he was going to crack. Will now was waiting for him to come home from work, the pistol on his lap was a Glock Nine with the serial number filed off, untraceable and the perfect weapon for a gangland style execution.

Will shifted in his seat, cursing the increasing pressure on his bladder. He had to piss, and piss bad. Goddamn 7-Eleven and their cheap Big Gulps. He took the chance, placing the gun on the passenger seat as he got out the car. He bounded down the alley way towards a trash can he could hide behind and do his business. He stopped on the other side of the trash can and undid his belt, sighing with relief as his bladder let go on the ground. He closed his eyes and smiled. He didn't see the crimson billy club.

WHAM!

The club connected with his jaw, dislocating it was a sickening pop. The hitman stumbled backwards as piss dribbled on his pants.

"You're a killer, William Mize," Luke Cage said calmly as he struck the man again with a blow to the back of his right knee. Will stumbled forward and fell hard to the ground as his knee gave way.

Luke Cage delivered a kick to the man's nose, breaking it with a loud crack.

"This is your reward."

Cage came down hard on the man's face, his size 14 boots crushing the hitman's skill against the hard pavement.



*************



That night through the island of Manhattan, Silverman's low and mid-level employees all met with horrific deaths. A man that was an enforcer for the crime lord was found with his chest caved in, his heat and lungs ruptured from repeated blows to the chest.

A drug lieutenant was found dead, the coroner ruled he died from blunt force trauma after having his head repeatedly slammed against a brick wall.

One of Silvermane's capos was found two days later floating in the Hudson, dead from repeated waterboard style torturing.

The only survivor of the attacks was the crime lord's head bookie, who suffered severe bleeding and internal injuries after being dropped from a sixth floor window. According to police reports, he was beaten and pushed out the window by a devil. The monster had made it a point to leave him alive, his job was to be a messenger. Right before he was pushed out the window, the devil who assaulted him gave him a message to pass on to his boss.

The devil's words were simple to remember, the bookie repeated them endlessly as he lapsed in and out of consciousness.

"I'm coming for Silvermane," is what he muttered from his hospital bed.

"Justice will find him."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"Hawkeye,"

Ah, the gruff, gravely voice is music to my ears.

"Fury. Hope you're not too attached to the Osborn assignment. Because I have a new mission for you."

"Osborn is a meaningless pawn, good for a little mild amusement. I won't remember his name in the morning."

I slide the clip into my .45 and holster it onto my thigh. If it's Fury contacting me, it's important. Probably straight from the Old Soldier himself.

"I'm listening."

[Andy C.]

"I'm listening."

"Chicago," I say to the Old Soldier's favorite toy. "In recent weeks, Chicago has become a virtual war-zone. Shootings, bombings, mass-killings. All of it directed against the city's gang population. All of it perpetrated by one man.

"Your target has been a member of the Chicago Police Department for almost ten years. Just a run-of-the-mill traffic cop, no commendations, no medals, no heroics or anything out of the ordinary, until about two months ago. The man's home was invaded by local gangsters, who then proceeded to shoot his wife and daughter. Since then, the man's become a killing machine, crippling not only the gang that killed his family, but every criminal group in the city. There have been close to a hundred deaths already....no civilian casualties, no non-lethal injuries. The local authorities have no idea what to do, and civilians are panicked. There's a war going on between one man and the entire criminal population of Chicago...and right now, the criminals are losing. Badly."

I pause to let Hawkeye piece together what I'm telling him.

"Normally, this is not the sort of thing our organization would intervene in. But of course, as you've likely already figured out, there's far more to it than that...."

[The Question]

"It's nothing, Mr. Os--...Norman. I just went out for a burger run, and I kinda....got mugged."

Hey, it fooled Gwen, right? Might as well keep my story consistent if I'm going to get through this without them asking too many questions.

"Pair of crack-heads jumped me and tried to get my wallet. I managed to get away from them, and just ran straight back here."

I look from Harry to Norman and back, just hoping one of them buys it.

"Funny thing is, I get back, and find out I left my wallet right there on my dresser. Just my luck, huh? I got knocked around for something I didn't even have."

"A mugging..." Norman muttered.

"Peter," he said, "we should get your injuries looked at."

Norman's eyes fixed themselves on Peter's wounds, on the blood trickling from his lower lip.

"Maybe... maybe have one of the doctors at Oscorp look at you."

He smiled, weakly.

"Why pay medical bills when you don't have to?"

[Andy C.]

"A mugging..." Norman muttered.

"Peter," he said, "we should get your injuries looked at."

Norman's eyes fixed themselves on Peter's wounds, on the blood trickling from his lower lip.

"Maybe... maybe have one of the doctors at Oscorp look at you."

He smiled, weakly.

"Why pay medical bills when you don't have to?"

"Okay, I guess...I mean, it's really nothing. Just a fat lip and a black eye."

And a big long gash from a bullwhip going down my back, but let's not bring that up.

"I thought OsCorp's doctors were more along the line of geneticists and physicists and all the other specialized kinds of -cists....but hey, a doctor's a doctor, right?"

I guess Norman means well, but I'm not sure I like the idea of someone like Doctor Connors suddenly getting to do bloodwork with the mutated freak-boy. Not a knock against Doc Connors, the guy's a superstar in the genetics field, but I mean, it'd raise a lot of rather embarrassing questions. Not to mention it was his lab where I had the accident with that spider.

On the other hand, getting into that lab might mean I can get a closer look at some of the things that OsCorp isn't telling the public. Maybe find out exactly what the heck was in that spider that gave me these super-powers...

"...yeah. Yeah, sure. If it'll get you to stop worrying, then sure...let's go to OsCorp and see what's wrong with me."

[Red_Robin77]

The Lost Warrior

Part One

The bar was quiet tonight. Joe, the barman, hadn't served a drink in an hour. He was leant against the bar, newspaper in hand, flicking through. One or two patrons were scattered along the wooden counter, saying nothing as they nursed their drinks. A storm was brewing outside, the wind whistling loudly through the walls. Joe could hear the rain pounding on the roof. A rusty bucket sat in the middle of the small, cramped bar, water occasionally dripping into it from the ceiling.

Thunder and lightning struck outside loudly, and the wooden door to the bar swung open, and a bulky man stepped into the shady bar, closing the door behind him. The man looked strange compared to the usuals, or anybody, as he was dressed in armour, a cape, long messy blonde hair with stubble on his face, and a hammer hanging from his belt. He made his way up to a stool and sat down with it, leaning on the counter.

"Your finest ale, good barkeep."

Joe turned his attention from his newspaper to the new arrival, putting down the paper. He grabbed a glass and filled it with the usual beer and gave it to the man.

"That'll be $5.20," Joe told him wearily, looking at the newcomers armour.

The man merely looked at Joe and gulped the beer down, before hitting it back down on the counter.

"Another."

"Hey, you haven't paid for th-"

"Another," the man insisted.

"I'll set you up a tab then..." Joe sighed as he refilled the glass.

The man hastily grabbed the glass and threw it vertically, drinking down as much as he could, before putting it down again, a crack showing in it.

"Haven't seen you around before. Not local?" Joe asked, watching the lines of a crack go through the glass.

"I am not of this kingdom, no."

"Oh. You British? You sure sound British," Joe noted in boredom, head held up by his hand on the bar.

"I am Asgardian."

"That in Europe?"

The man gave Joe a look of confusion and pushed the glass in his direction.

"I am in need of more."

Joe took the glass and looked closely at the cracks. He looked back to the man and put the glass a way, getting a new one. He went through his routine again and handed the drink to the blonde man. As he did so, the door to the bar opened again, and a middle aged man in a red cap strolled in, hands in his pockets.

"Hey Frankie," Joe nodded to the new arrival.

"Hey. Got a shipment to NYC, so get me a bottle of that scotch of yours."

"You drinking on the way?" Joe asked as he grabbed a bottle from the shelf and went to a till, adding up the cost.

"A bit of both. Who's the new guy?" Frankie replied, pointing to the armoured man.

"Not a clue," Joe sighed as he put his hand out, waiting for Frankie to pay.

Frankie pulled a couple of notes from his pockets gave them to Joe, keeping his eyes on the new guy.

"Thanks Frankie." Joe nodded thankfully as he shoved the money into the till and closed it up.

"Seeyah around," Frankie smiled and began to make his way to the door.

"Enjoy New York, bring me back some of that good stuff."

"What is this, New York?" the mysterious man spoke up.

Frankie turned to him in confusion, cringing slightly.

"Well, it's ur...a city," Frankie stuttered.

"And a state," added Joe as he returned to his position slouched over the bar.
"I was gonna say that," Frankie insisted.

"You will take me there," the man barked and stood up, finishing his drink and made his way over to Frankie.

"Well, ur..I dunno..." Frankie said in shock.

"Come, I must explore this place, and you are the perfect man to aide me," the man boomed and lead Frankie out of the door.

"Hey! What about your tab?!" Joe yelled angrily, to no avail.


The Lost Warrior
Part Two

A truck ploughed through the rain as it travelled along the road ahead, surrounded by the darkness of the night. At the wheel of the truck, a middle-aged man named Frankie, squinting at the road as tiredness began to set in slightly. Beside him, sat a man with long blonde hair and stubble, a red cape and heavy armour covering him. At his belt hung a hammer and in his hand was a half empty bottle of scotch. This to all men of Asgard was Thor, God of Thunder. To Frankie, he was a drunk who he was giving a lift to New York City.

"What're you doing in New York, then?" Frankie asked, hoping a conversation would keep him awake.

"It is a place to explore, and maybe a place for me to train," Thor explained as he drank some more of the drink.

"Sounds cool," Frankie nodded wearily, watching Thor drink out of the corner of his eye.

"That stuff is real strong. You might want to watch it."

"Hah. I doubt the ale of mortals could affect me."

Frankie frowned slightly as he kept his concentration on the road ahead. The slowly rolled out into view of the headlights, the road barely interesting. In the distance, a faint flicker of lightning. Frankie barely noticed, but beside him, Thor's eyes narrowed on the distant lightning.

"Stop."

Frankie looked over to him in confusion, before quickly turning back to the road. A blur of colours moves quickly towards the truck and before Frankie can react, it collides with the truck, sending it spinning it out of control. The truck skidded to the side of the road and rolled off of it. In the space where the truck was, a heavily armoured god carrying an axe stood in its place.

The door of the truck facing upwards was smashed off its hinges into the air, and clunked down in the middle of the road. Thor pulled himself out of the cabin of the truck, the top of a broken bottle in his hands. He leapt down onto the road and faced the Asgardian opposite him angrily.

"A servant of Loki? I thought my fellow Asgardians had more sense than to follow my foolish brother."

"Loki requests your head, Thor. I am merely doing what my Lord says."

"Loki is no Lord."

"Enough of your ignorance," growled the Asgardian who charged viciously, axe in hand.

"Agreed..." Thor muttered in reply and watched as the god charged, not even moving into defence.

As the axe swiped at the Son of Odin, Thor threw out his fist in an uppercut, striking the chin of the Asgardian.

"HAVE AT THEE!" Thor bellowed as the Asgardian was knocked back across the road.

He walked over to the Asgardian as he tried to stagger up. Thor kicked the being in the chest and knocked him back down.

"Tell Loki he can send as many as he so please, but he shall never stop me. Now. Go."

Thor glowered down at the god who looked up at him, before charging off down the road into the distance. However much Thor wanted to beat the betrayer, he needed somebody to send the message. The God of Thunder turned back to the overturned truck and ran over to it, sticking his arm into the open space where the door was. He pulled out the weak body of Frankie, a small trickle of blood crawling down his head. He helped Frankie down away from the truck and by the road.

"My apologises good Frankie, it would seem that you got slightly caught up in my business..."

[The Question]

"Okay, I guess...I mean, it's really nothing. Just a fat lip and a black eye."

And a big long gash from a bullwhip going down my back, but let's not bring that up.

"I thought OsCorp's doctors were more along the line of geneticists and physicists and all the other specialized kinds of -cists....but hey, a doctor's a doctor, right?"

I guess Norman means well, but I'm not sure I like the idea of someone like Doctor Connors suddenly getting to do bloodwork with the mutated freak-boy. Not a knock against Doc Connors, the guy's a superstar in the genetics field, but I mean, it'd raise a lot of rather embarrassing questions. Not to mention it was his lab where I had the accident with that spider.

On the other hand, getting into that lab might mean I can get a closer look at some of the things that OsCorp isn't telling the public. Maybe find out exactly what the heck was in that spider that gave me these super-powers...

"...yeah. Yeah, sure. If it'll get you to stop worrying, then sure...let's go to OsCorp and see what's wrong with me."


Interesting phrasing, Norman thought to himself. 'What's wrong with me.'

"Well then..." he said.

Norman took out his cell phone to call the family Valet.

"Bernard? Yes, I need you to bring the car around. Peter had an accident. I'm going to take him to see Doctor Warren back at Oscorp."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"Chicago," "In recent weeks, Chicago has become a virtual war-zone. Shootings, bombings, mass-killings. All of it directed against the city's gang population. All of it perpetrated by one man."

"Your target has been a member of the Chicago Police Department for almost ten years. Just a run-of-the-mill traffic cop, no commendations, no medals, no heroics or anything out of the ordinary, until about two months ago. The man's home was invaded by local gangsters, who then proceeded to shoot his wife and daughter. Since then, the man's become a killing machine, crippling not only the gang that killed his family, but every criminal group in the city. There have been close to a hundred deaths already....no civilian casualties, no non-lethal injuries. The local authorities have no idea what to do, and civilians are panicked. There's a war going on between one man and the entire criminal population of Chicago...and right now, the criminals are losing. Badly."


"Normally, this is not the sort of thing our organization would intervene in. But of course, as you've likely already figured out, there's far more to it than that...."

Gang war. Dirty, gritty, dangerous. Right up my alley.

"Sounds like this guy has the right idea."

I holster a Glock to the small of my back, and an MP5 into the holster built into my quiver. My bow folds up and sits in the holster on my other leg.

"I providing a little assistance? Though I gotta say whoever it is, it sounds like he has things well under control."

[Andy C.]

Gang war. Dirty, gritty, dangerous. Right up my alley.

"Sounds like this guy has the right idea."

I holster a Glock to the small of my back, and an MP5 into the holster built into my quiver. My bow folds up and sits in the holster on my other leg.

"I providing a little assistance? Though I gotta say whoever it is, it sounds like he has things well under control."

"The gang war is not the issue, Hawkeye. It's the man." I say. "He's one of ours. And not just one of ours, but one of our very best."

"I'm sure you're familiar with our sleeper agent program. Before joining our organization, this man was the definition of the hero soldier. Former Delta Force, decorated with the Congressional Medal of Honor for actions in North Korea--really scary crap that would've started a world war if it went public. Once we contacted him and took him in, his capabilities only grew. A natural marksman, an expert with any weapon you put in his hands, and a devastating martial artist, specializing in urban combat. Your target specifically volunteered to be a sleeper agent. We have over 100 agents operating in New York, and twice as many in DC. Chicago only has him; he's that good."

"The trauma of his family's murder must have set him off...but it didn't trigger him cleanly. We don't know how much he remembers about us or what we do, but it's clear he remembers his training....and what's more, he knows the locations of our network of safehouses and weapons caches in the city."

I motion to one of my tech officers, who proceeds to upload the intel wirelessly to Hawkeye.

"There are dozens of covert locations spread across Chicago for our operatives, inaccessible and impossible to find unless you've been specifically been told how. The weapons caches in particular are of interest. They contain everything from small arms to heavy artillery...and special weapons to resolve any situation...including vials of our Legacy anti-mutant virus....and including a small tactical nuclear device."

I take another drag from my cigar, while the rest of the info is sent.

"Your mission is to locate and secure these special weapons before the target reaches them...then neutralize the target himself. Lethal force is authorized if necessary--and it almost definitely will be--but if at all possible, I'd prefer it if you bring him to us alive....the man was something of a protege of mine."

The man's face displays on the monitor before me, as well as his last known vital stats and location.

"This man is not to be taken lightly, Hawkeye. He was trained to be the perfect soldier, and before his current breakdown, that's exactly what he was. If you make the slightest mistake, give the slightest indication that you're on his trail...he will kill you."

I look at the display of the target's face, and steel myself. He may be an old friend, but as long as he's out there, he's a jeopardy to our mission.

"Castle," I say finally to Hawkeye. "The target's name is Frank Castle."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"The gang war is not the issue, Hawkeye. It's the man." I say. "He's one of ours. And not just one of ours, but one of our very best."

"I'm sure you're familiar with our sleeper agent program. Before joining our organization, this man was the definition of the hero soldier. Former Delta Force, decorated with the Congressional Medal of Honor for actions in North Korea--really scary crap that would've started a world war if it went public. Once we contacted him and took him in, his capabilities only grew. A natural marksman, an expert with any weapon you put in his hands, and a devastating martial artist, specializing in urban combat. Your target specifically volunteered to be a sleeper agent. We have over 100 agents operating in New York, and twice as many in DC. Chicago only has him; he's that good."

"The trauma of his family's murder must have set him off...but it didn't trigger him cleanly. We don't know how much he remembers about us or what we do, but it's clear he remembers his training....and what's more, he knows the locations of our network of safehouses and weapons caches in the city."

I motion to one of my tech officers, who proceeds to upload the intel wirelessly to Hawkeye.

"There are dozens of covert locations spread across Chicago for our operatives, inaccessible and impossible to find unless you've been specifically been told how. The weapons caches in particular are of interest. They contain everything from small arms to heavy artillery...and special weapons to resolve any situation...including vials of our Legacy anti-mutant virus....and including a small tactical nuclear device."

I take another drag from my cigar, while the rest of the info is sent.

"Your mission is to locate and secure these special weapons before the target reaches them...then neutralize the target himself. Lethal force is authorized if necessary--and it almost definitely will be--but if at all possible, I'd prefer it if you bring him to us alive....the man was something of a protege of mine."

The man's face displays on the monitor before me, as well as his last known vital stats and location.

"This man is not to be taken lightly, Hawkeye. He was trained to be the perfect soldier, and before his current breakdown, that's exactly what he was. If you make the slightest mistake, give the slightest indication that you're on his trail...he will kill you."

I look at the display of the target's face, and steel myself. He may be an old friend, but as long as he's out there, he's a jeopardy to our mission.

"Castle," I say finally to Hawkeye. "The target's name is Frank Castle."

"No faith, Fury. Don't you read the dirt mags. I'm a super soldier, this'll be a cake walk for me," I say, with more than just a hint of sarcasm. I chalk the stories up to jealousy. People just don't want to admit I'm as good as I am on natural talent alone.

Still, the pause on the other end is noticeably awkward.

"Anyway, have transport be waiting in Hanger Bay Six in five minutes."

I take a good look at the target in the lenses of my glasses. He's a mean looking muther...I hope I can get in a little scrap with him before I have to kill him.

"And what do you need another protege for? You got the best in the world going to tie up your loose ends."

[Andy C.]

"No faith, Fury. Don't you read the dirt mags. I'm a super soldier, this'll be a cake walk for me," I say, with more than just a hint of sarcasm. I chalk the stories up to jealousy. People just don't want to admit I'm as good as I am on natural talent alone.

Still, the pause on the other end is noticeably awkward.

"Anyway, have transport be waiting in Hanger Bay Six in five minutes."

I take a good look at the target in the lenses of my glasses. He's a mean looking muther...I hope I can get in a little scrap with him before I have to kill him.

"And what do you need another protege for? You got the best in the world going to tie up your loose ends."

"You'd goddamn well better be as good as you think you are, Barton," I say, losing enough of my composure to call the agent by his real name, "because I don't feel like having to explain to the Old Soldier that we need another operative because the last one let his own hype get to his head. You get cocky, you get killed."

With that, I cut off the transmission and stew for a minute. I still don't see what the Old Soldier sees in Hawkeye, aside from the kid's obvious connections to the past. He may be talented, he may be skilled....he may very well be the best we have.

But at the end of the day, he's a rock star.

Frank Castle is a warrior.

And Hawkeye is going to find out the difference, the hard way. I only hope he manages to make it out of Chicago alive.

[Batman]

Homecoming: Prologue

"I won't ask again, creep. Give the lady her purse back."

Four hours after he had stepped off of the plane, and he was already getting himself into trouble.

The knife and it's obviously untrained wielder darted it's way towards him, but he only saw it coming in a fraction of it's speed. Effortlessly, he only had to move aside and seize the arm, twisting it hard and giving it a loud crack before he had made his way out of considerable peril. He then countered it with a steady right jab to the neck and a hard elbow to the gut - two moves of which the attacker hadn't seen coming. The mugger fell down hard, looking up in astonishment at the dark haired man's extraordinary agility. He had never seen anything like it, and he was right to be scared. There wasn't anything like it.

"Holy #%@^,", He muttered under his breath. "How the hell'd you do that?!"

The only response he was given was a swift kick across the chin, the force of which immediately knocked him unconscious and square onto the ground. The attacker's friends turned around from harassing a helpless old woman to see what had happened, only to stare in shock. But it was only a momentary lapse of focus.

"What the hell?! He took out Danny! Waste him!"

The thugs each grabbed a concealed firearm from their jackets and clicked the hammers, ready to fire. But before they could even blink, the man was gone. Vanished into thin air. The muggers looked around and at eachother, utterly confused. "Where'd he go?"

"Nowhere."

The first thug felt the full force of what have might aswell been a train, as the dark haired would-be hero rammed his shoulder into the back of his head. Stumbling forward and off balance, the winded crook gave the man the perfect segway into an opportunity that he took next by grabbing the thug's leg and pulling him sideways, tossing the grown man into the wall as if he were nothing. The second thug tried to fire his weapon, but the man was already on him, slamming his knee down into the arm joint and hitting him with enough force to flip him over, forcing him on the ground and onto his back with a hard landing. The man kicked the thug in the temple for good measure, knocking him out aswell.

There was one more assailant left, and despite his quaking shock at what was happening, he wasn't about to move. The would-be hero looked back at him as he raised his gun, clearly intimidated. Almost as if it hadn't been the first time that he had been in the midst of such danger.

"Look, I know you're trying your best, but you've got to face facts. This isn't worth your dignity."

The thug began to sweat, keeping his finger trained on the trigger. "@#!% you, man! @#!% you! You just stay back, you hear?!"

"Just trying to give you a fair chance, kid. You put the gun down now, and I'll let you walk away."

Despite momentarily considering it, the gunman raised his weapon once more, getting angrier by the moment. "I ain't putting this down for *@$#! I ain't going to jail!"

The man sneered. "Better than the alternative."

Enraged, the thug fired his weapon at point blank range with a sure shot to the chest. But the bullet didn't so much as graze the man's arm, as he vaulted forward and kicked the gun out of his hands. The mugger tripped back in surprise, landing flat on his ass and at the mercy of the towering presence standing over him. But the man only stared, looking at the hood like he was more pitiful than dangerous. Which was probably the truth. The thug crawled backwards, scared.

"*@$%, man... @#%$, don't hurt me! Please!"

The man looked back at the traumatized woman that had been mugged, as she weakly bent over to pick up her purse off of the ground. He looked back the thug, bitterly. "I probably should, but I won't. Get out of here."

For a moment, the wordless thief did nothing. Until the man kicked over a nearby trash can, intentionally spooking him enough to at least get to his feet. "Go!"

The mugger nodded and took off, leaving his unconscious accomplices ready for the police. The elderly woman watched him go before walking over to the man that had saved her life, hesitantly grateful.

"Oh, bless you, sir. Thank you. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come along."

The man smiled. "No problem, m'aam. Happy to help."

"I honestly didn't think there were any decent young people left in this city."

With a chuckle, the man brushed off his jacket's arm, ignoring the small wound he had recieved from the gunshot. "Well, I'm older than I look. Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you. And thank you again for helping me."

As the woman turned to leave, she turned back around, curious. "If you don't mind my asking, what is your name?"

"It's Bucky."

"Bucky. My... I haven't heard a name like that in awhile."

"My dad had a good sense of humor."

"Well thank you very much, Bucky. You have yourself a nice day."

"You too, m'aam."

As the woman walked away, Bucky's smile faded into growing concern, as he looked back at the thugs that he had just taken out with ease. He hadn't been back in New York for very long, yet already stared down the barrel of a gun on his first day. This wasn't what he left his third yearly tour in Bagdad for - he had actually wanted to get away from the action for awhile. But for the past three years, trouble had seemed to have a way of finding him. Or the other way around.

"Nicely done."

Bucky didn't even turn to greet the voice from the shadows. He knew it all too well. "Been following me long?"

"Long enough. But even I didn't think you'd get yourself into a fight with some hoodlums this early."

"She was in trouble. What was I supposed to do?"

"Could've let me handle it. You've known I was here the whole time. Just didn't want to tip your hand if you didn't feel you needed to."

He didn't reply. He simply stared out at the busy streets ahead of him. "Guess the war doesn't leave you as much as you leave it."

"Now you're starting to sound like your old man."

"I've noticed that. And honest to god, that's what's starting to get to me."

"What do you mean?"

Bucky looked out at the skyline of Manhattan, seeing the Empire State and Chrysler buildings clash against the clouds. "I'm not my father. And this isn't a time that I can imagine him fighting his fight. So many things have changed so much since 1940... and, well, it makes me start to wonder if what I'm about to do is even worth it. Much less necessary."

The man in shadow narrowed his eyes. "The country needs hope, Buck. We tried so many times before to achieve what you are with others, but Project Rebirth might aswell have been lightning in a bottle. You might be the only man alive who can give it to them now."

"Maybe. I'm not totally convinced about that, but..."

"But what?"

http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/DCMarvelRPG/Captain%20America/Misc/RPG9-1.png

"But I guess we're about to find out."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"You'd goddamn well better be as good as you think you are, Barton," I say, losing enough of my composure to call the agent by his real name, "because I don't feel like having to explain to the Old Soldier that we need another operative because the last one let his own hype get to his head. You get cocky, you get killed."


Jeezus, somebody's on the rag. Moreso than usual. This Castle guy must really be that important, not justy some hype to keep me focused on the mission.

I wonder almost for a second how wise a choice it is to send one agent, especially a sleeper, to fulfill one mission, until I stop myself and think about how many partners I've had on my mission. That number stands firmly at 0, and falling.

The blast doors to the hanger bay groan open. Unlimited, top secret technology and we still haven't discovered WD-40.

"Oh yeah, the private jet. Flying in style."

"Military transport has been deemed too risky. Castle is definitely going to be watching out for us. Your going in as just another everyday executive stiff in a suit."

You can almost hear my ego deflating.

The pilot hands me a dark garment bag.

And it keeps getting better.

"Wheels up in T-minus three."

[Watchman]

The elevator passed the basement and into the hidden floors below. Old, fat men would stick their fingers into the world here. He was at their beck and call ever since the end of the war but at first it had purpose. It was a prestigious organization of hate and war. Now? Wanton violence with no message. Flash with no substance. They were there for one reason to secure their own greed and power base. There was going to be a reckoning.

There was a beep and the Red Skull slipped his glove off and pressed his fingers in the reader. If he didn't the elevator would have filled with gas. Unwanted visitors would be taken to dark room on even lower floors. The doors and there stood Albert Malik.

Malik's parents had arrived from Russia after being chased out by gangsters. His parents were poor their entire lives, his father was a drunk and his mother was a basket case from certain pills. It was no surprise that he turned to a life of crime where a young cutthroat Malik had an unbelievable rise to power. He even was able to order the hit of the group of men who drove him out of his home country.

He now deals in exotic weaponry, death rays, sound blasters, Star Wars type deal. Something that granted him an invitation into the organization. Although due to his descent he was always viewed as an outsider. He planned on strengthening his power in the organization and using the Red Skull to do so. They were both playing each other.

"My boy, your shenanigans have made the news."

"Good," the Red Skull continued down with Malik trying to catch up.

"Good? The council is furious. You can not keep stepping out of line like this when I am so close."

"I do not care what the council thinks. As for you what I am doing has nothing to do with your plans. The council will continue to think that I am doing this for fun." John Maxton had appeared before them. Maxton, was a top man here. One of the very few that could put a leash on the Skull.

"You," he was pointing his finger at the Red Skull.

"Me, Herr Maxton?"

"Don't get cute with me. I should hang you...." The Red Skull pressed Maxton against the wall and placed a knife by the side of his head.

"Nein, that will not be happening."

"What the hell do you think you're planning, Skull. I can see it in your eyes, the way you're acting lately."

"Maybe I'm just bored with killing drug dealers or reporters over dead hookers? Maybe I'm just giving myself more of a challenge? I am merely having fun," he smiled which made Maxton very uncomfortable. He dropped Maxton

"Fine, Skull," he got up and fixed his tie, "carry on." Maxton left.

"He will surely inform the council..."

"Who will do nothing. Has the package come in yet?"

"Fifty authentic Hydra uniforms and ten HAMMER uniforms with forged security codes."

"Very good, Malik, let's go burn the world down."
******
The Greenwich Village Apartment of Roy Chambers,

There was a knock at the door and an elderly man answer. Standing before him was another old man smiling.

"Hell, Roy, don't you recognize me?"

"Naslund? William Naslund? Christ, it's been years. You look horrible."

"Ha, so do you."

"Well, come on in." He led him to the living room where the news was running. The costume of the Blue Blade and two swords were placed over a mantle. They talked about the war, kids today, grand kids, and family.

"Did you hear what happen to Marlow?" asked Naslund

"Read it in the paper the other day. Said there was a break in and scuffle. Bastards threw him out the window and then rob him."

"Which I think is a load of ****. When was the last time you saw Marlow?"

"Oh not for a few years."

"Guy had the strength of ten men. Man could have arm wrestle Captain America and win. So tell me do you actually think a few junkies could have picked him up and toss him threw the window. Let alone fight him."

"I guess not. That what happened?"

"Somebody wanted Marlow dead. I have an idea."

"A conspiracy theory."

"I once heard Nick Fury and Captain America..." There was knock at the door.

"Hmmm, hold on." Roy shuffled to the door. He looked through the key hole and saw two men at the door. One was holding a bible.

"Can I help you?"

"We were wondering if you heard about the good word of Jesus Christ."

"Oh yes but..."

"Than if I can have a moment of your time th..."

"No thank you."

"Sir, the gates of Heaven are so close. If you do not listen you take your chances with the devil."

"Then I'll take my chances with the devil."

"Very well," the one man holding the bible nodded to the other man. A lumbering beast which was funny sight seeing him in the suit. Like dressing a ape in human clothing. They both took out mask and the big man kicked down the door.

"Well the hell?"

"I have come to teach you the word of Jesus Christ!" The one man holding the bible held his arms out. He wore a ceramic red skull mask on the top half of his face, like the one seen from the Day of the Dead festival. The bigger man wore a gas mask with a skull and crossbones painted on the front.

"Will! Will?!" He turned back to his living room. Will was holding his head which was now bleeding. A red headed woman in a nun costume was spray painting a green symbol over his costume and his walls. Three serpent heads and a green skull.

"Hail Hydra," the Red Skull shouts, throwing his arm into the air in salute. He produced a handgun from the bible. "Now say your prays, ha." Two shots rang out. The cops would be there in under two minutes with nobody notice anyone escaping.

[Rain Dog]

http://img94.imageshack.us/img94/3980/howardbannercopy2.png


I found myself perusing the mall. Buch a stores here. Surely one of them will be hiring. As I walked along, I noticed more and more of these humans staring at me. Pointing at me. Laughing at me. At first I let it slide, I mean it’s understandable. Something like me walking around in a world full of freakish monkey things would seem strange to them. Back home, one of these things walking around would be strange to us. But then…the kids. The ****ing kids.

“Mommy, what is that?”

“Mommy, can I play with it?”

“Mommy, can I pet it?”

And of course, all these eager-to-please aging trophy wives say, “Yes, of course.” Before I knew it, I was surrounded by a mob of human…larvae. They pet, poked, and prodded at me with their grubby little hands.

“Hey! Stop! Quit it! OW!”

One of them began pulling my tail. Another one grabbed by bill and started yanking. I quickly shoved the nasty little thing away from me.

“Get your stinking paws off of me to damned dirty apes!”

“Oooooh you said a bad word! I’m telling mommy!”

“Do you want some bread? Mommy, can we get him some bread?”

“No! No, I don’t want any ****ing bread! Just get off of me!” I shout as I try to shove more out of my way. But that just riles up the maggots. These creatures were surprisingly powerful, especially in large numbers. In moments I was pinned to the ground as the monsters pulled, punched, and kicked me, laughing gaily as if we were playing a game. F***ing sadists.

“Ack! Stop! Please!” I say, nearly in tears as one kicks me in the ribs repetitively and another jumps up and down on my stomach.

“Please! Ugh! Stop killing me!”

Then the trophy wives called off their offspring and dragged them off to buy **** they don’t need while I laid on the floor, moaning in pain and coughing. Is that blood I taste?

“Sir, that is an exquisite costume!” says a pair of shoes. I look up and see that they’re connected to the legs of an all-too-chipper middle aged man with a name tag reading “Dan” in frilly, cursive letters.

“Please help me…”

“I was wondering, if you were interested in a job here, maybe? The customers would absolutely love to have you around! The children would be able to interact with one of their favorite characters!”

“Wha...What’chu talkin ‘bout, Dan?”

Dan steps aside, allowing me to see the store behind him. It was large, filled with all sorts of merchandise featuring a bunch of gay cartoon animals and other weird looking characters. The store window featured mannequins of a happy black mouse and his mate, some sort of autistic dog thing, and duck in a sailor outfit.

“The Disney Store would be happy to have you as a member of our team! What do you say? Should I get you an application?”

“ Uh-huh,” I said nodding as I tried to sitting up. Dan lent out his hand and helped me to my feet. He then shook my hand and smiled.

“It even feels life-like! What’s your name, sir?”

“…Howard.”

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

“Godd@*&it.”

I run my hand through my hair, staring down from the observation deck of the Sears Tower at the ants scurrying around below. Agent Pym reattaches the face of one of those goofy looking binocular things that charge you a dollar so you can look at the far away parts of this dirty God forsaken place. This particular telescope thingy was also housing a small grade uranium bomb, planted here as a last ditch alternative, during the Cold War, in case of an invasion. Key word ‘was’. Only four people in the world would know about this location. Nick Fury, myself who was just told en route by Nick Fury, Agent Pym who poses as the coin collector to check the status every other week, and Frank Castle. The bomb is now in the hands of one of us four. Guess who.

“Fury is going to be pissed.”

“No Hank? Really? I never woulda guessed. I guess that’s why your have the friggin’ PhD.”

“You’re an ass, Barton.”

“Pr*ck.”

I stare up at the radio tower looming into the sky. Perfect place to put a bomb. Highest point in the city, maximum blast radius, radio receiver right over head. It would be scary enough here, let alone now in the hands of a blood thirsty sleeper agent. He wants to end this gang war bad enough, he just obtained the means.

So, he has a nuke. And an entire arsenal of highly secret, technological advanced super weapons.

I have 2 pistols, and bow, a quiver full of arrows, and an annoying, bitter lab rat.

I wonder if I slept with one of Fury’s ex-wives again.

[Andy C.]

Interesting phrasing, Norman thought to himself. 'What's wrong with me.'

"Well then..." he said.

Norman took out his cell phone to call the family Valet.

"Bernard? Yes, I need you to bring the car around. Peter had an accident. I'm going to take him to see Doctor Warren back at Oscorp."

The ride to Oscorp is quiet and uncomfortable. I seem to be having these same kinds of awkward non-conversations with just about everybody these days. Norman, Harry, Gwen, Eddie; the only common denominator in these equations is me. Whether it's because of the whole weird foster-father-and-brother thing, the increasingly confusing signals I'm getting from the girl who's been my best friend for as long as I remember, the admittedly over-dramatic sense of betrayal from my 'big bro' suddenly winding up in the same camp as Flash Thompson and Mary Jane...

...oh, and the fact that I'm a mutant freak who blows off steam by putting petty crooks in the hospital, and can't tell anyone for fear of being dragged off to jail or some HAMMER lab.

The Oscorp building draws closer, and I clench my teeth behind my lips, trying to maintain my poker face. Keep cool, Parker. Just a few stitches, a quick peek into Dr. Warren's notes if I can get away with it, then back to bed.

Just don't let Norman see how much you're freaking out right now.

[Johnny Blaze]

"Sir, just got a report from Angel, Magneto and his followers are on the steps of the White House. Colonel says we're supposed to be in DC airspace within the hour. Orders, sir?"

Great, Cyclops sighed.
When it rains...

"I want Madrox, Hyperion, Colossus, and Mystique on the Blackbird immediately. We're heading to Washington ASAP", Scott said into the comm link as he walked up the landing ramp and into the co-pilot's seat next to Warren.

"Iceman, you're in charge of the operation at the club. I want it wrapped up and all unregistered mutants on the trucks heading back to Westchester in fifteen, understood?"

"You got it, Cyclops."

"Warren, I want us airborn as soon as everyone's on board", Scott stated.

[Venom160]

2010
I listen to Pyro's startling rehabilitation. The tranquilizers aren't enough for him, huh? He's too hot-blooded for a sleep of reason? Alright, then. It seems it's time to throw a little insanity into the mix. "Elixir, get more tranquilizer ready," I say, as I walk over to Pyro. Opening the cell door, I look down at him, his pathetic countenance there for all to see. Who does this two-bit crook think he's messing with? I'm in utter shock that he actually thought he could take down all of the X-Men. I stoop down to his level and whisper sultry and smooth in his ear, "Hey, handsome." I begin rubbing his thigh. "You sure are a tough one, aren't you? You just had a big bad fight with the X-Men and you're still ready for more. You can handle a lot," as I speak, I pick him up and knee him in the balls. "I like that in a man," I say, as I slap him in the face. I pick him up and throw him back onto the floor. "Now things are really heating up, huh?" I kick him in the face. "That was just sexy..." I look down on the shrivelling visage of a man before me.

I spit in his face. I'm satisfied. I lean back against the wall, letting myself feel the relief. I sigh. Life is good.http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b3/venom160/578191-comics_upl.png

Pyro reflexively curls into a ball trying to block out the pain in his groin. His heavily hazed mind flashes with the many pains he plans on inflicting on this blue skinned witch. Elixer walks back into the Blackbird with a fresh syringe. He looks down at the curled form of Pyro than back to his commanding officer. Knowing better then to say anything Elixer quietly pulls the burned man to his feet and helps him back onto the gurney.

"Here we go this should be enough to keep him out until we get back to base."

Just as Elixer pushes the needle into his arm Pyro's eyes snap open letting his gaze fall on Mystique.

"When I get out of here your cute little ass will be the first one I fry....."

Pyro's vision blurs as Elixer injects the tranquilizer.

[Johnny Blaze]

"Uggh...such a wonderful smell", Deadpool exclaimed to himself as he pinched his nose and turned his head away from the dead body.

It was midnight in Hell's Kitchen, and the body at the hitman's feet with the caved in skull was once Vincenzo Lipazzi, one of the higher ranking guidos in Silvermane's outfit. An underboss, Lipazzi ran very popular strip club called Oz, one of Silvermane's many fronts and a very lucrative establishment for the mob boss.
This had been the sixth one of Silvermane's men that have been murdered over the past two weeks, and definitely the most notable of the deceased thus far.

Deadpool had been quietly stalking Silvermane's operation for a week now, having been given orders to take care of the old school Italian boss by his employer, the infamous Kingpin of Crime.

It was obvious though that he wasn't the only one after Silvermane.

"Let's see what you've been up to, Vinny", Wade said as he knelt down next to the body and began rummaging through his pockets.

"Ooooooh, I am so keeping this", Deadpool smiled as he pulled out Lipazzi's black leather wallet and put it in a belt pouch.

"Here we go..."

Pulling out the man's cell phone, Wade began going over his call and text history. Lipazzi didn't have much in the phone's history, but there was a name that stood out to Wilson.

"I had a dog, and his name was bingo", Deadpool smiled as he put the phone in his pocket.
"If anybody can get to the old man, it'll be little Joey."

The Merc with a Mouth disappeared in a puff of red smoke, leaving the body of Vincenzo Lipazzi to sit festering in the back alley with the rest of the garbage.

[Byrd Man]

http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/DCMarvelRPG/Daredevil/Other/dd444.jpg

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Matt said as he paced in front of the jury booth.

"I am here today for one reason only. Justice."

Many of the jurors were impressed by the sight of this seemingly blind attorney easily navigating through the courtoom.

"My client, Mister Oliver demands justice. For thirty-two years he worked for Con Ed, that's thirty-two years of back-breaking labor in the name of electricty. He helped power many of your homes. Now, after all his time working for Con Ed and dangerous electricty, he devlops a side-effect of those powerlines is the cancer that is running through his body. How does Con Edison repay Mister Oliver, after all those years?"

He paused for dramatic effect, letting the jury soak in his every word.

"They give him a gold watch and send him on his way. That is not justice."

Many of the jurors began nodding at his words. If he could see, Matt would be hard pressed to contain a smile.

"As you go to deliberate the fate of Mister Oliver and his family, think about justice. Remember that you have the ability to decide."

With that, he turned and walked to the plantiff's table, finding his seat with ease. Another small act that impressed a few jurors.

In an hour and a half the jury was ready to rule.

"In the case of Stanley Oliver versus Consolidated Edison, we the jury rule in the favor of the plantiff, Mister Oliver in the amount of damages no less than two hundred an fifty thousand dollars."

Foggy Nelson cheered and pumped his fist, reaching over to shake the hand of the sickly Stan Oliver. Matt remained seated, smiling to himself as the celebration around him continued.


**********

Frank Brubaker was on break from Morgan Stanely's when he bought a copy of today's Daily Bugle.

He was a male nurse at the children's hospital, assisting the doctors as well as doing other duties in the hospital's burn ward.

Now he was at the deli across the street, two bites into his sandwich when he read the news about Vincenzo Lipazzi. The man had been murdered late last night/early this morning. The paper mentioned that he was reputed to be a member of Silvermane's mob, and the story went on to note that many of Silvermane's "associates" had been murdered in the last few days.

What worried Frank was that he didn't kill Vincenzo. He was supposed to kill Vincenzo tonight, him and the girl that everyone called Seven, but he knew as Dakota. It was against the rules for Frank to even know here name, but he thought she was cute and what harm could come from knowing her name....or where she lived..or her cellphone number...or other stuff.

Frank made a note to bring up the Lipazzi murder tonight, although he was sure that the scary BBMFIC already knew about the murder, him and the black guy who always acted like his bodyguard.

Frank wolfed down the rest of his sandwich and pulled out his phone, dialing the number he was too afraid to save in his contacts.

"Hello?"

"Dakota, it's Frank."

"The hell is your problem? We're not even supposed to know each other. You're breaking so many rules right now!"

"Listen to me....do you have a moment to talk?"

"Yeah...my class is in gym right now."

Last week, she told Frank she taught 2nd grade at P.S. 112 somewhere in Midtown.

"You remember that thing we were supposed to do tonight?"

"Are you retarded?...Yes, of course I remember. Why?"

"Check today's paper. Someone already did it for us."

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"What do we do?"

"One of us will bring it up tonight, that's not if you-know-who already knows about it. Something tells me he does."

"Well, we'll see. Bring it up if he doesn't."

"Sounds good."

"I gotta go. My class is coming back in."

"Okay. I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah, I'll see you too."

The connection cut off and Frank tucked the phone back down into his scrubs. Wiping off his face, he threw down some money on the deli table and crossed the street to the hospital with the paper in hand.

[Byrd Man]

"Iceman, you're in charge of the operation at the club. I want it wrapped up and all unregistered mutants on the trucks heading back to Westchester in fifteen, understood?"

"You got it, Cyclops."

"Warren, I want us airborn as soon as everyone's on board", Scott stated.

Jamie (all by himself this time) and I walk up the Blackbird's ramp. My metallic coating evaporates away as I sit down next to Multiple Man and strap myself in.

"What's exactly going on in Washington, Angel?"

"Five targets on the White House lawn is all I know," the winged pilot replies.

"Colonel Haller is supposed to brief us once we get airborne, that's the way I take it anyway."

[Johnny Blaze]

The car's tires screeched as the driver slammed on the breaks, stopping out front of an apartment building. Out of the sedan stepped a lanky, dark haired man with a trim goatee. Pulling his leather jacket tighter around him to fight off the cold night breeze, the man ducked his head to look back in through the car window.

"Preciate the lift, Carmine. I'll call ya when I'm ****in' done, and we can meet at the club."

"Sounds like a plan to me, Joey. Talk to ya later", the driver said with a nod before stepping on the gas and racing off.

Joey walked up the steps of the building, pulling out a smoke and lighting it up. Quietly, he made his way up to the third floor, to room sixteen, and slowly opened the door as he knocked.

"Just me, baby", Joey cooed with a smirk.
The apartment was dark, so Joey made sure to turn on the living room lights as he entered and moved into the abode.

"Got a few hours of free time...figured I'd spend it with my favorite girl..."

Joey's words trailed off, as the man noticed movement in the kitchen. With a smile, Joey strode confidently into the kitchen, hitting the light as he entered.

"You playin' it hard ta get with me, are ya Ashley..."

Joey froze, his eyes wide in surprise as he saw the man in the red and black costume sitting in front of him at his girlfriends kitchen table.

"Joseph Manfredi...", Deadpool said coolly as he tapped his fingers on the table.
"So nice to finally meet you. Took you long enough too. Was going nuts sitting here waiting. Your girlie would not shut her ****ing *****ucker though. Kept going on and on about this and about that...please don't hurt me Mr. Deadpool...not in my hair, Mr. Deadpool..."

"Which reminds me", Wade smirks, "your girl made you dinner, and I gave her a hand. Should be about done by now. Why don't you be a dear and take it out of the oven for me?"

Joseph Manfredi didn't move a muscle, he was still frozen in fear as he never took his eyes from the killer at the table.

"I said, check. The. Oven", Deadpool's eyes narrowed.

Joey shuffled his way over to the oven, still never taking his eyes off of Deadpool. Joseph reached down and grabbed the door handle. Slowly he opened the oven door and peered inside. Joey gagged and covered his mouth as he stumbled backwards as quickly as he possible could.
Inside the oven was the body of his girlfriend, Ashley, shoved into the appliance like a mangled pretzel.

"It's ****ing sweet, I know. You don't have to tell me", Deadpool giggled.
"I got the idea from a comic book."

"Joey, Joey...relax...", Deadpool said as he sat up, shaking his head at the suddenly pale man who looked like he was about to hurl and pass out.
"Just calm down, okay? Jeez, like you've never seen a dead body before. With your old man, I've bet you've seen plenty of action."

"And that leads me in to why I'm here", Wade explains to Joey as he calmly pulls out a katana and rests it across his lap.
"You've got one chance at this, Joey, and one chance only. If you don't tell me what I want to know, you end up like the human brisket there. Capice?"

Joseph nodded his head, or rather it looked as though as he was simply shaking in panic.

"Good...now, where can I find that no good, rat bastard you call 'daddy'?"

[Mr. Majestic]

http://img193.imageshack.us/img193/7695/hyperionsig.jpg
HYPERION


I over hear Sgt. Rasputin chatting with our field commander about the mutant Magneto. From what I gathered it seems like the **** is about to hit the fan. This is exactly what I need to redeem myself from that humiliation of a fight.

Cyclops voice comes over on the comm link.


"I want Madrox, Hyperion, Colossus, and Mystique on the Blackbird immediately. We're heading to Washington ASAP"

I make way onto the Blackbird right behind Colossus. Once on board I take my seat across from Madrox.

“It seems like the work of a X-Men is never done.” I say out loud not really directing it towards anyone, while fastening my seats belt.

[Mr. Majestic]

http://img59.imageshack.us/img59/9007/mimicsig.jpg
MIMIC



While waiting I hear a knock on the door. I quickly get up to open it thinking that this is finally it. As I open the door I see the one Logan called Beast standing in front of me.

“Hello sir.” I say as we make eye contact.

“Hello yourself young man, I came to retrieve you for the mission briefing.”

For a guy who looks like an animal he seems nothing like it. It must be the glasses that seem to be throwing me off.



http://media.comicvine.com/uploads/1/19940/739629-beast_02_super.jpg


“Now if you fallow me we’ll join the others in the assembly room and just wait for Logan to finish up in the hanger.”

I give the one known as Beast a head nod as I closed my quarter doors and fallow him to meet up with the others.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

For a man causing so much terror and mayhem, Castle is leaving absolutely no trail.

Not that I’m surprised. We’re trained not to leave a trail. What is frustrating me is, I should be able to track him. He doesn’t have any tech that I don’t. Truth be told, I probably have more.

Which means Castle is just that damn good. And getting more dangerous by the second. Every single hidden weapon cache has been cleaned out. Everything from trip wires, to the nuke, to countless vials of Legacy. He can keep that though.

I’ve had agents staking out every single known mobster and lowlife hot spot for the past 9 days, and all we have to show for our efforts is Fury’s growing agitation.

So here I am, freezing my ass off, on the shores of Lake Michigan, hoping that my years of killing brain cells watching old mobster flicks will pay off. If Castle wants to hit the mob hard, I’m gonna guess he wants to hit their lifelines; stop the flow of money and merchandise.

I check my watch. Ok, five more minutes and I’m hitting up the strip club I saw on the way over here.

*BLAM* *BLAM* BLAM*

*RATATATATATATAT*

I guess the dirty pillows will have to wait.

[Byrd Man]

Luke Cage and Shang-Chi silently stalked through the shadows of the rooftop. The news they had received earlier this evening had worried their leader. Apparently, their group wasn't the only ones killing members of Silvermane's organization. Vincenzo Lipazzi's death was to handled by Four and Five, men named Bill and Brian. But the news of a murder had disturbed their leader to the point where he sent his two best men to take care of Lipazzi.

Both men crept through the shadows towards Lipazzi's apartment window when they heard a voice.


"Good...now, where can I find that no good, rat bastard you call 'daddy'?"

Both men exchanged a glance before Cage led the way, leaping through the window with a crash.

[bkhedr]

http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg



"C'mon Eric, this is it." Simon Williams said as he crept forward and gestured for his brother to follow him.

The older of the Williams' brothers Simon had always been bigger and more extroverted than his younger sibling. There was an air of giddy excitement about him that seemed not to match with his all black attire and gloves.

His younger brother, hesitated for a moment, scanning the darkened warehouse with his flashlight, before edging forward carefully. The boys had been nearly inseperable their whole lives, and Simon had always played the part of the leader.

Strung out behind the brothers in a ragged broken line, where a half dozen more youths. Young men and women who shared the brothers' revolutionary idealogy and had joined them in sneaking into the warehouse.

For months the youths had made their case against the millitary industrialist complex, first with fliers and online blogs, then with acts of simple vandalism and inciting civil disobdience. Time and again they had found themselves largely ignored.

Tonight that would change. The Williams Brothers, having spent freely from the sizable inheritance their Father had left them, were able to buy information on out of use military facilities throughout the state where evidence of wasteful use of taxpayed dollars could be found. This was the largest of these facilities. The plan was to expose the facility, embarrass the military, and perhaps, shift public opinion towards a cutback of military spending.

It was a bold plan, ambitious. But no more so than the two brothers themselves.

The warehouse had been out of use for decades, and the two guards at the main gate had been careless and uninterested, making evading them a simple matter indeed. Two foreign wars meant that security on the homefront, especially in such a remote and disused facility, where not as they should have been.

Now the sounds of light footfalls echo gently through the facility as many in the group spread out and begin taking pictures and video of boxed projects and obsolete weapons designs. All proof of military spending gone out of control.

"Remember everyone, quick but thorough. Let's see those fat cats dodge this bullet." Eric said to the group in a hushed tone and was quickly answered with quiet acknowledgment.

"So what have we got?" He then asked his brother.

"A gold mine Eric. Its like every super weapon that was supposed to win the cold war but they could never get to work ended up in here. Just think what our country's education system and health care would be like right now if they had only invested all that money into something worthwhile." Simon replied. He had been flipping through an inventory of items stored in the warehouse that sat on a clipboard hung to the wall.

"Yeah, and that's decaded ago, imagine how much money they're dumping down that drain now?" Eric muttered.

"Uhhh..guys...I think you'd better come take a look at this." came a voice from the darkness before Simon could reply.

"What have you got Mike?" Simon asked as he and Eric followed the voice to its source.

"I-I have no idea." came the stammered reply as both brothers came face to face with a large steel cylinder with a glass window near its top.

The cylinder was slightly larger than the size of man and as Eric shone his light on the glass window a grim red face came into view.

"Oh my God." someone whispered and for moment the group stood in stunned silence before Simon moved forward and began to inspect the cylinder.

"Simon? Simon what are you doing?" Eric asked urgently

"What does it look like I'm doing?" came the reply "I wanna get a closer look at this thing."

"A closer look?" Eric said in disbelief before rushing to his brother's side and continuing his objection in a hushed tone so that the others would not over hear.

"Are you out of your mind? Look at that face? What if its some kind of demon or something crazy like that!"

"Demon?" Simon scoffed

"C'mon Eric why does your mind always go there. Its probably a suit, or statue, or maybe a robot." he mused. "Whatever it is, its not listed in the inventory, and I want to know why."

"Simon...." Eric said as he took a hold of his brother's arm

"Gotta be someway to unlock it." Simon said singlemindedly, ignoring his brother as his hands searched the cylinder for some means of access before his fingertips found what seemed to be a release switch.

"Sorry Eric." He said without taking his eyes off the crimson face that lay lifelessly below him before pressing the release.

The container let loose an audible hiss that caused the gathered youths to jump back.

Suddenly there came a digital voice. It was cold and mechanical.

Locking mechanism breached. the voice droned Security clearance code requested.

It took a brief moment for the youths to realize that the voice was coming from the container and with that realization came the first hints of fear.

"Simon what did you do?" Eric demanded nervously

"I'm...not sure." came the answer as he container slid open revealing the bizarre and garishly colored figure within.

Clearance Code not acquired buzzed the voice of the cylinder Security Breached. Initiating seconday security measures. Self Destruct imminent.

Now panic washed over the gathered youths, and many of them turned and ran, hoping in vain to live beyond this day while Eric Williams stood his ground and directed all his anger and fear at his brother.

"SIMON!!!" came the accusing roar in the instant before the whole structure was swallowed up by an intense white heat.

But Simon Williams never heard his Brother. The last thing he saw was the mouth of the artifical man as it opened up, and the last thing he heard was the imagined sound of its first breath as it inhaled.

[bkhedr]

http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg



I am alive.

It took exactly 2.64 seconds after my activation for me to make the conclusion with certainty.

2.64 seconds to establish that I am not merely an automoton or tool. I am aware. I have a sense of self. A sense of my own sentience.

I stand alone in the desert. It is night. The stars hang overhead, shining their long lost light down upon me. The air is cool. The Humidity is significant. Soon it will rain.

From somewhere deep within my neural core comes the knowledge. The urge to act on the knowledge is too great to overcome and I gleefully surrender to it, speaking for the first time. Affirming my existence with my name.

"I am the Vision." I say to the universe, addressing the wind, the sky, the long dead stars, the desert around me. Announcing myself to it all.

I am instinctivly aware of the...artificial nature of my voice. There is no alarm, for I know I am a synthezoid. A man of wire and plastic. I know who and what I am.

What I do not know is why I am here, or where I came from. I do not know my purpose.

There is no confusion, only dissapointment at not knowing, followed by a desire to know.

I concentrate, keenly aware of my internal functions, of what I can do. I concentrate and I hear them, see them.

Currents of information, waves of data. Some race through wires and cables in the distance. Others simply race across the sky, invisible to all others but myself.

I reach out to them, seeking a connection, and it comes all too easily. Information at my virtual fingertips. There is so much....

....and I learn.

I learn much about the world and its people. I discover whispers, encrypted whispers on military frequencies. They refer to this place. To the burnt out warehouse in the valley below. I remember the boys who unknowingly activated me. I begin to make sense of what has happened today, but still I learn nothing about myself and where I came from. I dig deeper, poring through the data stream, and still I find nothing. It is maddening.

Now I find a set of communiques, orders. Someone knows, and they are sending someone after me. To box me up. Having only just tasted life I find myself unwilling to relinquish it, to risk having it taken away from me.

It starts to rain. Lightly and sparingly at first, then in a steady shower that becomes a deluge of water. It is wonderous. I allow the water to hit me, to run down my face. The experience only reaffirms my will to live.

With a thought I lower my body's density, willing the molecules to widen and expand until I am eathreal and the rain passes through me.

In this state I am unimpeded by the planet's gravity and with a simple gesture I take to the air, rising steadily, gaining speed as I go.

I head East towards the rising sun. I am unique, but there is a city where there might be others like me, other marvels of creation. It is towards this city that I now travel. It is to New York that I have decided to go.

http://home.flash.net/~jeanneb/vihz.jpg

[Rain Dog]

http://img696.imageshack.us/img696/2853/docockbannercopy.png




“What the hell is that?” Dr. Anders inquires with a puzzled expression.

“This,” I say as I strap on the metallic harness, “Just happens to be my latest invention."

I slide the power gage on the harness’s torso to maximum.

“Behold!” I shout in an ironically boisterous voice. Dr. Anders smiles. And I instantly find myself doing the same.

Four stubby metallic protrusions with three-clawed pincers on each end suddenly come to life. The pincers open and close as the “tentacles” elongate, each one stretching out to a length of two meters. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. Two of the tentacles move about, seemingly on their own, stretching and twisting upwards, while the other two lower themselves and clamp down onto the ground. The lower tentacles then push downwards, lifting me off of my feet.

“My God…how are you doing that?”

The upper tentacles slowly bend downwards, heading for the ground. One by one, carefully placing each tentacle in front of the other, I begin to “walk” on them.

“Well…”

I lower myself to the ground beside Dr. Anders. She is absolutely astonished.

“As you know, I’ve been doing quite a bit of experimentation with and cybernetics. Their military applications, mostly. This here is a prototype I designed to test the application of machines remotely controlled by a neural interface.”

“Neural interface?”

“You are familiar with radio-frequency identification implants, correct?”

“Oh, yes. I believe it was Dr. Kevin Warwick who implanted tiny RFID transmitters under his skin and could use them to remotely control lights, door locks, heaters, and the like.”

“Correct. But Dr. Warwick and company have gone even further with cybernetic implants. They were able to successfully implant an electrode array into his nervous system to monitor his median nerve. His arm movements were then able to remotely control a robotic arm.”

“Is that how the harness works? Cybernetic arm implants?”

“Close. I have improved on their design.”

I cross my arms (my real arms) as another pair reach outwards and ensnare Dr. Anders, lifting her up into the air.

“Otto!” she cries out, half-laughing, half-terrified.

I chuckle and slowly set her down.

“As you see I did not have to move my real arms to manipulate my metal ones. It is done mentally. The neural interface communicates directly with my brain, not just a few nerves. “

“My goodness…Otto, that’s amazing….but I don’t quite see how that will solve our reactor problems.”

“Ah, well, with these ‘tentacles’ one would be able to perform maintenance on an active reactor from a safe distance. I have been doing a lot of practice with these fellows,” I say gesturing to the tentacles. Two of them stretch to opposite ends of the room and then retract, now with a clipboard and pen in their pincers. One tentacle steadily holds the board while the other scribbles away. I turn the clipboard towards Dr. Anders—revealing my signature. Perfect penmanship. It was if I had used my actual hand to write it.

“I could fix it for you. Even while it was running. It would eliminate the hassle of dismantling it every time a problem arose.”

“I’m still not so sure that’s safe, Otto. What if there’s a leak or something?"

I draw the tentacles in towards me. I bend the four of them upwards revealing their “underside”. There are rows of circular “holes”, almost resembling suction cups.

“These are what I call ‘ion ports’. I can use the control panel on the torso to activate ion beans that will be emitted from these ports. The beams will, of course, contain the plasma in the vacuum chamber.”

“My goodness,” Dr. Anders said with a smirk, “You sure do think of everything, Dr. Octopus.”

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

So, unfortunately, there is no Frank Castle here. I had the distinct pleasure of walking into the middle of a drug drop gone wrong.

There is a light at the end of this tunnel, though. I get to kill a whole lot of Chicago’s finest gangland scum.

“Get him, you sonsab*%^#es. He’s one little *** in purple.”

I put a round straight through this guy’s left eye.

“I like purple.”

The hail of gunfire all around actually gets me pumped up. It always has. I discovered early on I thrive from the thrill of battle. It keeps me focused, keeps me alive. That, and my uncanny ability to break down everything around me. I don’t know what it is, an innate sense of my surroundings or something, but everything seems…slower…in battle. The Old Soldier says it’s the adrenaline, the trait of a true soldier. Fury says it cockiness.

If he could only see me now, as I holster my gun, pull the bow from it’s holster, and pop it into place. Even I have to admit a bow and arrow in the middle of a war zone is f*&^ing crazy, but this is how I feel most natural. There’s so much more you can do with a bow and a fist full of arrows. It’s a much more versatile form. When’s the last time you ever heard of a trick bullet. You know, except for Dallas, 1963. Or maybe that one was magic…

Tonight though, it’s just good old flesh tearing, blood letting, arrow heads. I can take out six of these thugs in the time it takes me to fire one bullet. These guys start thinning out in no time, and after a minute or so, they’re running for the hills…good god…running for the hills. I’m turning into Fury.

“Your friends have the right idea.”

They aren’t running from me, are they?

I snap my head around, but all I see is the RPG hurtling toward me. And this b@$t@rd isn’t moving slower.

The shipping container directly behind me explodes like Chinese New Year, sending enough shrapnel into the air the keep that creepy guy in the neighbor stocked up for ten years worth of Halloweeens. I ditch the worst of it, but I can’t avoid the shockwave as it slams me first into another of the hundred of containers around the dockyard.


Even with Tweetie chasing the Milky Way around head, I know exactly who’s turning this into world war three.

I gotta say though, I dig the new threads.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/43728310dv6.jpg

[The Question]

IC: Norman Osborn

The car stopped outside the front door of Oscorp's R&D lab.

"Wait for us out here, Bernard. We won't be long. Peter, I want you to wait in the lobby while I talk to Doctor Warren. He's very protective of his workspace. Come on."

Norman stepped out of the car.

[RamsesIII]

“It seems like the work of a X-Men is never done.” I say out loud not really directing it towards anyone, while fastening my seats belt.

I follow Hyperion into the Blackbird. As I strap myself in, I can't help but state, "You're right. It was so much easier when I was a prostitute. If only I'd stuck with it..." I look up for a moment, smirking. "That was a joke."

[Carnage27]

http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj306/Carnage27/wolverine.jpg?t=1264982795


I see a few squads of mutants scrambling in the hanger, telling me something somewhere is going down. I flip on the jet's view screen and see Magneto and a few of his lackeys standing on the White House lawn, the building shaking and shuddering.

"Terrific," I say to myself before switching on a communicator to Beast. "Hey Hank! Get down here. We're leaving now, I'll brief everyone en route."

"Oh, and Beast. Remember to bring the kid."

[The Question]

IC: Victor Von Doom

He practiced. Every day, for weeks, he would join the monks in their daily routine. He worked with them, trained with them in the martial arts, sat in meditation with them. He spent his evenings in the library, studying their ancient scrolls and texts. He thought he would enjoy those times, alone in the library, the most. But it felt more like an aimless search.

He was looking for something he couldn't find.

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif

IC: Norman Osborn

The car stopped outside the front door of Oscorp's R&D lab.

"Wait for us out here, Bernard. We won't be long. Peter, I want you to wait in the lobby while I talk to Doctor Warren. He's very protective of his workspace. Come on."

Norman stepped out of the car.

Oscorp.....

....hooooo boy.

Y'know, it wasn't really all that long ago that I loved the idea of coming to Oscorp, always hoping I'd get to sneak a peek at some of the crazy futuristic world-of-tomorrow technology being developed there. Whenever Harry and I were hanging out and he'd have to go see his dad at work for something, I'd practically beg him to let me come along.

Now though, I think I'd rather be back at the Big Sky Lounge handing out my name and address to all of the Big Man's thugs.

I fidget in my chair in the lobby as Norman goes off to talk with this Dr. Warren guy. I don't remember a whole lot from the last field trip we took to Oscorp--other than the spider bite, of course--but I do remember the two head brains in the lab that day. One was Dr. Curt Connors, a regular all-star in the genetics world and a hell of a nice guy from what I remember. The other guy, though....he was like the Baskin Robbins of shady--he gave us 31 flavors of the creeps. If that guy was Dr. Warren, I may be in trouble.

The pudgy balding man at the security desk thumbs through some nudie-mag, barely even looking up when I approach him.

"Err, hi. Um, so...I know I'm supposed to wait here, but I've really gotta take a leak. Can you tell me where the nearest bathroom is?"

Tubby there sighs like I just asked him what the phone number for 911 is, and motions down the hallway with his thumb.

"Down to the third intersection, take a left past the sample storage room, fourth door on the right. If you're not back in ten minutes, I gotta come looking for ya."

"Allright, thanks, Mr......Gargan," I say, reading his name off of his badge. "I'll try and keep it quick so I don't...err, disturb your reading."

Gargan grunts in response, and I make my way towards the bathroom. As I do, I feel a shiver go up and down my spine.

Here I am, deep in potentially-unfriendly territory, about to willingly get a physical from a genius geneticist who isn't going to take long to piece together that the kid with the screwy DNA just happens to be the one that one of his spiders bit a year ago. And while that's going on, I'm actually about to try the old 'lemme just go to the bathroom in your highly-secretive labratory complex' routine to snoop around and find something.

All of this not two hours after tangling with a bar full of gangsters and the Big Man's trio of Enforcers...

...and it's a school night.

I finally find the bathroom and head inside, just in case there are cameras watching. Once inside the bathroom, I pull out my Spider-Man mask from my backpack, hop up on the ceiling, push one of the panels inside, and begin crawling around in between floors, hoping I can find a room where I can find something useful.

About five minutes later, I peer down into a small office, and see a picture sitting on the desk that tells me exactly where I am.

"Jackpot," I say quietly to myself. Dr. Connors' office.

I poke my head down and scope around for cameras, then hop down into the office. I don't have a whole lot of time to dig around, so I all I can really do is give the place a really quick once-over and just snag something that catches my eye at first glance.

I find a jump drive marked "DNA Reflux," and pocket it before hopping back up into the ceiling back towards the bathroom.

Okay, okay, found something that may be an answer to a lot of my questions. Or it could be completely unrelated. Either way, it'll give me something interesting to read. Oh, and I guess this would also be Spider-Man's first case of criminal theft...maybe they'll let me off if I give the drive back once I'm done with it?

Once back in the bathroom, I climb down, put my mask and the jump drive back into the hidden pocket of my backpack, and make my way back to the lobby, running into the chubby security guard Gargan on the way back.

"Sorry for taking so long," I say. "Trust me, you do not want to go in there..."

Now let's just hope that Norman and Dr. Warren aren't quite as curious as I've been this evening.

[The Question]

"You are struggling."

The monk sipped his tea quietly. Victor stared at him, taken aback by what he had just said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

The monk put down his cup of tea.

"The practice," he said. "You are struggling with it. It is plain on your face when you sit and when you train."

"But I have made great strives..."

"You have mastered the technique. But you gained little from it. You are afraid and that fear burdens you."

"I am not afraid of anything."

"Fear is nothing to be ashamed of. As was said, you struggle with the practice."

"I know fear is not shameful. I understand that. But right now I am not afraid of anything."

The monk shook his head.

"No no no. It is very obvious. When you spend your hours in the library, you do not search for wisdom or enlightenment. You search for knowledge and power. That is not the point of the practice. You are running, Victor Von Doom. To or from something, I do not know. Perhaps both."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

The monk took another sip of his tea.

"I am telling you," he said as he set his cup down, "That I believe you should leave. You are not ready to be here. There are conflicts in your mind you must resolve, and I believe you are unable to resolve them here. First, you must face those things that brought them about in you, out in the world. When you have faced them and have let go of them, I believe you will be ready to return to us."

Victor sat there in silence. He searched for words. He wanted to prove the old monk wrong. Wanted to prove his worth and skill.

"May I go now?" he asked, coldly.

The monk smiled.

"Do as you wish."

Victor stood up, calmly and gently, and swept out of the room at a slightly quickened pace.

The monk took another sip of his tea.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.

Actually, I think a bus would be preferable to this. The only reason I have a second to think between the barrage of grenades and hail of bullets is that tall, dark, and pissed off has to subdue the SWAT team at the front gate, and he has to make sure not to hurt any of the fuzz. What a sweetie.

This guy is armored from head to toe. Even if my bow hadn’t been blown to bits in his last grenade attack, it wasn’t going to do any good. As it is, I don’t know what bullets are going to do, but I have to try something. I pull the MP5 off my back, and fire a volley into his thigh.

The look I get is that off a housewife that’s tired of dealing with that pesky fly. I’m pretty sure I’m about to get swatted unless I bail, or I finally swat the housewife.

I line Castle’s head up in my sights. Sorry, Fury. Deadly force just became the name of this game.

KRAKOW

I have no idea were the latest explosion came from, only that I’m flung to the side, through the doors of an open shipping container and into a pile of crates. It wasn’t Castle. I was watching him the whole time. Another SWAT team?

I shake the cobwebs from my head and crawl behind the crates. Maybe I can get a moments breath.

But oh no, that would be too easy. I catch a glimpse of the small logo in the top of the crate in front of me. I scan to the next crate, and the next, and the next.

This wasn’t some gang deal gone bad. This isn’t some revenge seeking sleeper agent out to take down the mob. This is much, much worse.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/Crate.jpg

[Andy C.]

FURY


I watch the proceedings in Chicago, via Hawkeye's audio/video recording goggles--he doesn't know that I can access them remotely. I see what he sees, I hear what he hears. In a normal engagement, having the eyes and ears of every soldier in the area is a huge asset to get a proper picture of the battlefield, though with just a single operative, it's not exactly an ideal perspective.

Still, Hawkeye seems to be doing about as well as to be expected. I'd figured Castle would have him outgunned, relying on heavy weapons and armor instead of that damned gimmicky bow and arrow. That being said, at the very least, he's surviving, and might even last long enough to get an answer or two.

I see Hawkeye draw a bead on Castle for a killing head-shot. I bite down on my lip; killing my old protege might be necessary, but I damn sure don't like it.

Suddenly, there's a blast that knocks the feed offline for a few seconds. When the picture restores, I see something that shakes even me.

"Christ almighty..."


http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/Crate.jpg

"...HYDRA."

This definitely changes the scope and seriousness of the situation. Did HYDRA get a hold of Castle? Doubtful; he was always particularly resistant to mind-altering drugs or other forms of reprogramming, something that made him an ideal sleeper. Has he been taking them on solo to stop them from getting a foothold in Chicago? Possible, but a major breach of protocol--even sleepers are ordered to call in for reinforcements when HYDRA is involved.

Too many questions. I don't like it one bit.

I open up a private channel on my wireless earpiece, tuned to one specific frequency. All of our sleeper agents are surgically implanted with receivers that directly vibrate their eardrums, making them able to hear my voice wihout being audible to anyone else. He hasn't answered any of my signals yet, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let this go without saying something.

"Castle!" I call out to him. "I want some goddamn answers and I want them now. What the hell is HYDRA doing there? Why didn't you call it in? You will answer me, soldier!"

Nothing. Just the pops and chattering of gunfire as the battle in Chicago rages on.

Then, I hear his voice.

"Sorry, Director Fury," he says via the small microphone embedded in the roof of his mouth. "I'm a little busy right now. But don't worry; you'll get your answers soon enough."

Then the channel goes back to static.

Damn.

[Mr. Majestic]

WEAPON X: BECOME THE WEAPON


http://img59.imageshack.us/img59/9007/mimicsig.jpg




As me and Beast enter the meeting room the woman Sage stood with her eyes lock on me as if I done something.

http://img269.imageshack.us/img269/8499/sageo.jpg


I was going to ask Beast if I had in some way made a mistake of some kind but before any words could escape my mouth she makes her way towards me.

“How are you doing today, Calvin?” She asks once she’s face to face with me.

“I quite fine.” I reply.

“Good.” She states as she grabs my hand and pulls me along with her.

“If you don’t mind Hank I will barrow our new recruit for a moment.”

Me and Sage went walking down the hall together for what I have no clue. I really don’t like being the new guy.

“I realize that someone has altered your mutation Calvin.” Sage states.

“Has done what?” I ask not knowing exactly what it is she is talking about.

She then goes to explain. “Calvin I’m able to detect and manipulate the genetics in others. In layman’s terms Calvin I can unlock the hidden aspects of your mutant powers.”

Hidden aspects of my power?

“I’m not to sure on what to say.”

“There is nothing for you to say, all you have to do is listen. With time I’m going to help you unlock the true potential of your powers.”

“If you don’t mind me asking why can’t you do it now?”

“Being that someone has altered your D.N.A I will need to be very careful not to make a mistake because if I do you won’t have any powers at all.”

Can’t say I was expecting for her to say that. If that is the case why would she have me walk with her? She could have told me this in the conference room.

“Why did you have me fallow you then?” I say as I stop walking waiting for her reply.

She stops as well to turns to face me. “There is someone I want you to meet.”

“To meet?” I question.

She then face forward and a young man turns the corner. He looks almost my age but seems to have a couple years on me.

“Hello Ms. Hartley these are the papers you wanted.” He says as he hands her the folder.

She then takes the folder in her right hand. “Thank you Jean. Oh how rude of me, Calvin this is Jean-Paul a new recruit just like yourself. Jean is better known as Northstar.”

“Hi.” I say as I extend my hand for his to give it a shake. As me and his hands grab Sage give me a funny look. She looks down at my hand and back at me. She must want me to copy his powers.

“Nice to meet you Calvin, now if you both will excuse me I have to go and finish my training in the danger room.”

Within a blink of an eye he was gone.

“Did he disappear?” I ask in amazement.

“That he did not.”

“What did he do?”

“Did you happen to acquire his power?”

“I wasn’t sure if that was what you wanted me to do but I did mimic his power.”

She didn’t reply she only looks at me with a smile.

“Come we have to go join the others.”

I assume she wants me to figure out what the power is for myself.

Moments later we rejoin the others and they were all in gear really to go. Before I could even think of sitting down Beast throws some new clothes my way.

“Put that on.”

“What is this for?”I ask as I begin to unwrap it.

“That’s your new uniform.”

“My uniform?”

“Yes Calvin your uniform, your apart of the team now so you must look like it. Now hurry up and put it on we have to meet Wolverine in the hanger.”

[Optikal]

GLADIATOR

To die for the cause was the greatest honour befitting a Strontian.

But Kallark was denied that honour.

He was the only one left. A lone wolf. A man with no home and no life. An existence that yearned for death ot take him.

But he was a God.

The power gifted to him from heritage and experience. Other species cowered before him. They knew the dark legacy of his kind and the violence they so readily wrought. The universe despised Strontia and her bastard children.

And so he flies, with no destination or course. A relic of a lost culture. A curiosity of the past. Centuries old and yet still so young. A mind as strong as the physical body it was encased in.

Kallark.

Lost son of Strontia.

And as he stares at his hands and sees the echoes of blood upon them he knows that there is no place for him. Not for people like him. Too much blood. Too much death.

So he travels to the farthest reach of the universe. To the system ruled by the star they call Sol. And he finds a planet as blue and as vibrant and as full of life as Strontia once was. He knows of these 'humans'. Short lived and weak. A mere speck in the corner of the great blackness. But yet full of hope and wonder.

He descends to look upon them and search for his place.

But to them, even a lonely God is still one to be feared.

They level their weapons at him and order his surrender. But surrender is never an option for him. It is treason to his fallen blood kin. He does not surrender, but also he does not fight.

He extend his arms outward, a gesture of openness. "Fear me not, Earthers. I mean you no harm. My name is Kallark, but those who know me call me The Gladiator".

[sabetoonth]

http://img8.imageshack.us/img8/2481/rpgsabretooth.jpg

The woods around the compound were calming for Victor, they reminded him of his time as a trapper, when he fended for himself, a simpler time. He approached the war room of the complex, the bunker was only the entrance, 50 feet under ground was the war room chamber system itself. The gaurds standing outside where invisible to everyone who couldn’t smell them or see in more then one light spectrum.
“Magnesium” Victor said so that the gaurds could hear him. They stepped aside and Victor opened the thick door hearing all the gears turn as those inside unlocked the vault like door. He walked down the steps, the business of preping for war hummed all around him, his senses were aflare with activity, the running of messengers between rooms, the hum of computers, and the planning of battles.
“You wanted to see me Marko?” Victor stepped into the last room at the end of the hall.
“Intelligence tells us we should be expecting company soon, Weapon X” Marko’s large form walked from behind the table. “Get the Marauders ready, the rest of us will work to get everyhting out or destroyed.”
“ And the new recruits?” Victor cared for the recriuts as if they were his own children, trainign them with his own signature discipline able to drop it and give in to feral rage as easily as he might breathe.
“They take what they can carry and head off into the tunnels and wait at the landing pads in Cache Creek” Marko calmly walked over to his helmet. “Get your team together, we don’t have much time to get things moving and still be safe, from you and me, to Blink and Kyle Gibeny.” Marko turned around, Victor was walking down the hall to the door out.

[Byrd Man]

70,000 Feet Above ashington D.C.

"Gentlemen...and lady," Colonel Haller says from the video screen.

"Twenty minutes ago, Erik Lensherr and four members of his Brotherhood approached the White House lawn and began an attack. So far we've made positive ID's on mutants codenamed Storm and Gambit. Based on video, we also believe that Quicksilver is among them. We've yet to get a positive ID on the fifth mutant of the group."

"Our objective," Cyclops asks

"Same old, same old. Maintain order, keep the peace, and prevent as many Brotherhood members from escaping as possible."

"Can't beat the classics," Madrox says with a wry grin.

"One additional note. I want Sergeant Rasputin to remain in the Blackbird while Angel takes his place on the field team."

"Why?"

The colonel shoots me a look that pretty much tells me all I need to know.

"Lensherr can tear a tank apart like it's paper. Need I remind that your body is covered by liquid metal?"

"Need I remind you that I'm a fully trained soldier that can rely on getting things done with out my abilities?"

"Duly noted. We currently don't have any of the plastic rounds at hand. So, just keep the plane in the sky and you'll earn your keep."

I just shake my head and slide into the co-pilot seat next to Angel.

"We should be getting ready to land in two minutes," Warren says.

"Alright. You know what to do, good luck....and above all, don't keep any metal objects on your person," he grumbles as he flickers off the screen.

Warren unbuckles from his seat and lets his wings spread wide.

"Let me know when we hit five hundred feet, Pete. I'm going to do some scouting."

I dip the jet down into the sky and level it out as we fly above the Washington Monument.

"Get going, Angel."

He hits the button on his chair and a hole in the top of the plane opens. The chair springs him forward and he leaps out into the air.

I bring the plane even farther down and it hovers to a stop just above Pennsylvania Avenue. I hit a button the plane and the side door opens up to the street below.

"White House is five hundred feet down the road. Good luck!"

[sabetoonth]

http://img23.imageshack.us/img23/7162/sabretooth1.jpg
The entire compound was aflutter with activity, mutants running all about carrying anything they could, most darting off into the woods. Victor with swift of foot made his way to all the members of his team, Scalphunter, former soldier in WW2, has the ability to technomorph, morphing the configuration or shape of technology.
“John, duty calls” Victor tapped on the door to John Grey crow’s bunker and alerted the mutant to prep his armor.
Victor walked up to the bunker Blink shared with other younger mutants, he tapped on the door like he was her father and she had spent too much time in her room. The young mutant opened the door and looked up at her adoptive father.
“ Yes Victor?”
Creed answered back “We have to prep for a fight Clarice, be ready in 5” Victor hugged his adopted daughter and went off to ready the rest of the team. Before she closed the door though, he came back, having nearly forgot that another member of the team shared the same bunker, “That means you too, Rahne.”
Kyle Gibney was a recent recruit to the brotherhood, he was a good fighter that’s was for sure. But was he in anyway someone Victor would trust with his life, not really the man was a psycho path, Victor was still in the process of “training” Wild child to conform to the teams rules.Victor didn’t choose most of the team, but he was placed at its head, that was an honor to know Erik trusted him enough to lead a whole strike team.
The team was a mix and match of Erik’s and Victors choices, Victor had chosen Blink and Wolfsbane because they could bounce of each other and himself, Blink also could get the team in and out of places as fast as her name suggested. Wolfsbane had the heart-of-a-lion personality, she was a good fighter too, her werewolf like mutation was only a bonus in addition to the fighting skills h had taught her. Scalphunter was Erik’s choice. Rumor was he was attacked by his fellow soldiers in WW2, he killed and scalped them all, when they managed to get him locked up, he stayed that way for 20 years, waiting patiently for his chance to escape. That’s were the rumors ended, the rest Victor remembers, because he recalled breaking guards necks, and cutting throats, and crushing bones as the brotherhood’s then small force broke the man out of prison. And Gibney, dubbed Wild child, was a peculiar choice by Erik, he was extremely violent, to the point Victor became uncomfortable, but Victor agreed to discipline and train the young mutant to control the inner beast, just as he had learned in Hong Kong.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

“Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.”

This is not good news. HYDRA’s moving shipments in now, stocking supplies. How did we miss this? How long have this been right under our noses. This is a lot more than chatter and chest thumping.

“Dammit, Nick! What the Hell have you gotten me into!”

Castle’s firing away like a nut, but not at me. Spastic, wild bursts in the direction of the last blast. Something tells me whoever else has joined the fight has a great interest in these containers. This is probably my last, best chance to bring him in alive. I think he remembers everything, he’s just pissed off and looking for revenge. I don’t blame him, except for the whole shooting at me. But I’m also going to guess he has intel we need.

I pop open the cross bow on my wrist gauntlet and pull a small vial of tranquilizer from my belt and set off my GPS.

“Hawkeye to base. I need underwater transport at my location. One minute.”

There’s one soft spot on his neck visible above his collar. Maybe a sixteenth of an inch, barely big enough for the needle to hit, on a violent, moving target.

At least something tonight has been easy.

I take a breath, and fire. Castle falls quick. The science geeks don’t fool around. Almost makes me nervous picking on Pym. Almost.

Whoever was firing at us must be gone, because when Castle’s gun goes silent, a calm washes over the docks. I know that won’t last long. Chicago’s finest is waiting to barge in here. I grab Castle quick, and start to drag his dead weight toward the dock.

“Mini sub waiting, Clint. Get your ass moving.”

[The Question]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif



Oscorp.....

....hooooo boy.

Y'know, it wasn't really all that long ago that I loved the idea of coming to Oscorp, always hoping I'd get to sneak a peek at some of the crazy futuristic world-of-tomorrow technology being developed there. Whenever Harry and I were hanging out and he'd have to go see his dad at work for something, I'd practically beg him to let me come along.

Now though, I think I'd rather be back at the Big Sky Lounge handing out my name and address to all of the Big Man's thugs.

I fidget in my chair in the lobby as Norman goes off to talk with this Dr. Warren guy. I don't remember a whole lot from the last field trip we took to Oscorp--other than the spider bite, of course--but I do remember the two head brains in the lab that day. One was Dr. Curt Connors, a regular all-star in the genetics world and a hell of a nice guy from what I remember. The other guy, though....he was like the Baskin Robbins of shady--he gave us 31 flavors of the creeps. If that guy was Dr. Warren, I may be in trouble.

The pudgy balding man at the security desk thumbs through some nudie-mag, barely even looking up when I approach him.

"Err, hi. Um, so...I know I'm supposed to wait here, but I've really gotta take a leak. Can you tell me where the nearest bathroom is?"

Tubby there sighs like I just asked him what the phone number for 911 is, and motions down the hallway with his thumb.

"Down to the third intersection, take a left past the sample storage room, fourth door on the right. If you're not back in ten minutes, I gotta come looking for ya."

"Allright, thanks, Mr......Gargan," I say, reading his name off of his badge. "I'll try and keep it quick so I don't...err, disturb your reading."

Gargan grunts in response, and I make my way towards the bathroom. As I do, I feel a shiver go up and down my spine.

Here I am, deep in potentially-unfriendly territory, about to willingly get a physical from a genius geneticist who isn't going to take long to piece together that the kid with the screwy DNA just happens to be the one that one of his spiders bit a year ago. And while that's going on, I'm actually about to try the old 'lemme just go to the bathroom in your highly-secretive labratory complex' routine to snoop around and find something.

All of this not two hours after tangling with a bar full of gangsters and the Big Man's trio of Enforcers...

...and it's a school night.

I finally find the bathroom and head inside, just in case there are cameras watching. Once inside the bathroom, I pull out my Spider-Man mask from my backpack, hop up on the ceiling, push one of the panels inside, and begin crawling around in between floors, hoping I can find a room where I can find something useful.

About five minutes later, I peer down into a small office, and see a picture sitting on the desk that tells me exactly where I am.

"Jackpot," I say quietly to myself. Dr. Connors' office.

I poke my head down and scope around for cameras, then hop down into the office. I don't have a whole lot of time to dig around, so I all I can really do is give the place a really quick once-over and just snag something that catches my eye at first glance.

I find a jump drive marked "DNA Reflux," and pocket it before hopping back up into the ceiling back towards the bathroom.

Okay, okay, found something that may be an answer to a lot of my questions. Or it could be completely unrelated. Either way, it'll give me something interesting to read. Oh, and I guess this would also be Spider-Man's first case of criminal theft...maybe they'll let me off if I give the drive back once I'm done with it?

Once back in the bathroom, I climb down, put my mask and the jump drive back into the hidden pocket of my backpack, and make my way back to the lobby, running into the chubby security guard Gargan on the way back.

"Sorry for taking so long," I say. "Trust me, you do not want to go in there..."

Now let's just hope that Norman and Dr. Warren aren't quite as curious as I've been this evening.

"Doctor Warren?"

Miles Warren looked up from his mountains of paperwork.

"Yes? Mr. Osborn?"

"Doctor Warren, Peter, my son's friend who's been living with us, was mugged on his way home. I was hopping to save a trip to the hospital and have you look at him. Patch him up."

"...of... of course. Sure. Yes. I'll go get the med-kit."

Doctor Warren rose from his seat. He walked past Norman to get his supplies. Norman quickly clasped his hand on Doctor Warren's shoulder tightly.

"One more thing," Norman said.

"Wh-what?"

"I want you to draw some of Peter's blood and put it in storage. I want you to tell him that you're going to test it for infections."

"You think he might be infected..."

"I gave you an order. You best follow it. I'll go get Peter."

Norman strolled out of the lab and into the hallway leading to the lobby. He peaked his head into the brightly lit room and looked at Peter.

"Pete? Come with me."

[bkhedr]

http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg




I am alive.

It took exactly 2.64 seconds after my activation for me to make the conclusion with certainty.

2.64 seconds to establish that I am not merely an automoton or tool. I am aware. I have a sense of self. A sense of my own sentience.

I stand alone in the desert. It is night. The stars hang overhead, shining their long lost light down upon me. The air is cool. The Humidity is significant. Soon it will rain.

From somewhere deep within my neural core comes the knowledge. The urge to act on the knowledge is too great to overcome and I gleefully surrender to it, speaking for the first time. Affirming my existence with my name.

"I am the Vision." I say to the universe, addressing the wind, the sky, the long dead stars, the desert around me. Announcing myself to it all.

I am instinctivly aware of the...artificial nature of my voice. There is no alarm, for I know I am a synthezoid. A man of wire and plastic. I know who and what I am.

What I do not know is why I am here, or where I came from. I do not know my purpose.

There is no confusion, only dissapointment at not knowing, followed by a desire to know.

I concentrate, keenly aware of my internal functions, of what I can do. I concentrate and I hear them, see them.

Currents of information, waves of data. Some race through wires and cables in the distance. Others simply race across the sky, invisible to all others but myself.

I reach out to them, seeking a connection, and it comes all too easily. Information at my virtual fingertips. There is so much....

....and I learn.

I learn much about the world and its people. I discover whispers, encrypted whispers on military frequencies. They refer to this place. To the burnt out warehouse in the valley below. I remember the boys who unknowingly activated me. I begin to make sense of what has happened today, but still I learn nothing about myself and where I came from. I dig deeper, poring through the data stream, and still I find nothing. It is maddening.

Now I find a set of communiques, orders. Someone knows, and they are sending someone after me. To box me up. Having only just tasted life I find myself unwilling to relinquish it, to risk having it taken away from me.

It starts to rain. Lightly and sparingly at first, then in a steady shower that becomes a deluge of water. It is wonderous. I allow the water to hit me, to run down my face. The experience only reaffirms my will to live.

With a thought I lower my body's density, willing the molecules to widen and expand until I am eathreal and the rain passes through me.

In this state I am unimpeded by the planet's gravity and with a simple gesture I take to the air, rising steadily, gaining speed as I go.

I head East towards the rising sun. I am unique, but there is a city where there might be others like me, other marvels of creation. It is towards this city that I now travel. It is to New York that I have decided to go.


http://home.flash.net/~jeanneb/vihz.jpg


Five Days Later:

http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg


New York City. My vocabulary is extensive, but I can find no single word to descripe it. I have been in the city for less than an hour, but it already feels like an eternity.

A never ending array of sights, sounds, and smells bombard my senses continuously, always changing, never growing stale. I do not want to miss any of it. My artificial senses strain to take it all in, my mind works feverishly, analyzing the data.

I watch and listen and learn in silence for several minutes that feel like millenia. Soon I can no longer contain myself. I have been alive for days, and in that time I have been wholly alone. Now as I watch the city from above, fascinated by its people, fascinated by their lives, I know that I can not live seperate from them.

I had considered it seriously on my journey East. I am, afterall, a hunted synthezoid. The whispers are still there in the data stream. References to my existence, to the hunt for me.

If I wanted to I could keep ascending and leave the Earth behind, but if there is one thing I have truly learned about myself in the first days of my existence it is this...I do not want to be alone.

Perhaps my creator foresaw this desire, this need for sentient contact, why else would I have been built with a holo inducer and voice synthizer.

A thought is all it takes.

The change comes easily to me. It is, to me, as natural a processs, as the one by which I shift my density.

So simple, in fact, that I do both at the same time. Increasing my density even as my visage warps and changes.

By the time my feet have touched the ground it is not the Vision who walks the streets of New York, but an unassuming slender man with graying hair named Victor Shade.

[Andy C.]

"Doctor Warren?"

Miles Warren looked up from his mountains of paperwork.

"Yes? Mr. Osborn?"

"Doctor Warren, Peter, my son's friend who's been living with us, was mugged on his way home. I was hopping to save a trip to the hospital and have you look at him. Patch him up."

"...of... of course. Sure. Yes. I'll go get the med-kit."

Doctor Warren rose from his seat. He walked past Norman to get his supplies. Norman quickly clasped his hand on Doctor Warren's shoulder tightly.

"One more thing," Norman said.

"Wh-what?"

"I want you to draw some of Peter's blood and put it in storage. I want you to tell him that you're going to test it for infections."

"You think he might be infected..."

"I gave you an order. You best follow it. I'll go get Peter."

Norman strolled out of the lab and into the hallway leading to the lobby. He peaked his head into the brightly lit room and looked at Peter.

"Pete? Come with me."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, okay, let's....let's do this."

Is it too late to just make a run for it? Probably--at any rate, it'd be even more difficult explaining that to Norman once he got back to the penthouse. Nevertheless, I follow him straight to the one place in the world that's exactly where I don't want to be: an Oscorp geneticist's laboratory.

When we enter the lab, Dr. Warren already has a first aid kit open and set up, an air of extreme annoyance hanging over him. Oh man, looks like I remembered right; he's the exact same guy from the field trip last year, the one who couldn't come off as more of a mad scientist if he had a big neon sign flashing "I Am A Mad Scientist" over his head. He gives me a glance like I'm an unwanted chore getting in the way of his actual work...which I guess I am, technically.

Here's hoping a little irritation is all Dr. Warren gets from me tonight.

Norman leaves the room to go do his other Norman-Osborn stuff, and Dr. Warren and I make our awkward introductions.

"So you must be Peter Parker," he says, inspecting me like an uninteresting diagram. "I'm Dr. Miles Warren, one of the key project leads of some of the most cutting-edge scientific breakthroughs soon to be coming out of Oscorp. I understand you had a rather nasty run-in with some muggers? I was mugged once, actually--some filthy Puerto Rican thug held a straight razor to my throat and took my wallet. Took me nearly three months to get my security clearance keys back. Anyway, if you're looking to get your wounds inspected, you've come to the right place, I suppose. I know my way through the human genome inside and out, forwards and backwards. That's not meant as a boast, but just assurance that you're in good hands here. So...let's take a look at those bruises, shall we?"

"...okay, yeah."

He gives my black eye and fat lip a quick once-over, looking like nothing's out of the ordinary. So far, so good. Then he furrows his brow, like something's out of place. He doesn't even know the half of it...not yet, at least.

"Now, Mr. Osborn told me you received these injuries tonight, correct? Just a few hours ago?"

"Yeah...is something wrong?"

"Well, not wrong per se, but definitely interesting. The swelling and inflammation typical with such wounds has already gone down dramatically. If it continues to clear up at this rate, I'd be surprised if you even have those marks by tomorrow morning. Granted, some people do heal more quickly than others, but like this? Are you sure you don't have any mutation floating around in your bloodstream?"

Oh crap.

Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap he knows, he freaking knows!!! Okay, maybe he hasn't put the two and two together about me being the same kid who got bitten, but he can already tell that I'm an illegal unregistered genetic mutation! That means I'm going to be dragged away to some lab for the rest of my life, or shipped off to the X-Men or something, and I'll never get to go to college, I'll never see Harry or Gwen again, and--

"Relax, Mr. Parker, I was trying to tell a joke," Dr. Warren says. "You'll have to forgive me, but I'm afraid I'm not particularly witty when it comes to humor."

"...oh, right, heheh. Funny stuff. So...I'm going to be okay, right?"

"I should certainly think so," he says, handing me a handful of disinfectant wipes. "Just use those every now and then to keep them clean, and put some ice on it, and you should be just fine. Physically, at least--considering how jittery and distant you're acting, I imagine you're going through some post-traumatic stress. I'm sure Mr. Osborn has more than enough money for a good psychiatrist to help you with that, however--Lord knows he can afford a foreign boarding school for his son and that penthouse apartment, while I haven't had a raise in--never mind, I'm going off on a bit of a tangent."

Yikes. Sounds like someone's got resentment issues.

"Anyway, we're just about done here. Well, there is one more thing. We'd like to get a little blood sample from you....you know, to make sure you haven't gotten an infection."

He produces a small needle, and I go white as a ghost.

"Is that....do you think that's really....y'know, necessary?"

"If you want my honest opinion, no, but I'm just following orders. Mr. Osborn wants to make sure that you don't have any sort of infection from your encounter with those thugs, so who am I to argue?"

"Norm--....Mr. Osborn ordered you to take my blood?!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to give off any sort of sinister implications. We're just going to confirm that your injuries aren't more serious than they appear. Infections are nothing to take lightly, you understand. You'd be surprised how much bacteria can get into an open wound. Tetanus, gangrene, and Lord knows what else. If you learn one thing as a scientist, it's that it's always better to err on the side of caution."

"Okay, I...I get that. It's just, I ummm--I really don't like needles."

Especially needles in the hands of a scientist who's going to take one look at my DNA and then take what he finds directly to Norman Osborn.

"Honestly, Peter, you seem like a strong young man. You shouldn't be afraid of just a little prick."

Oh, but I am. I'm afraid of the little prick holding the needle--okay, that one was uncalled for.

"I mean, you said yourself that I'd be fine. There was barely any bleeding, nothing could've gotten into my bloodstream, right? I mean, it's not like they bit me or anything..."

...not like that spider that was running around in your lab last year. God, subconscious, shut up. You're lucky this guy's not a telepath or something.

He grabs hold of my forearm, and gives me the world's least reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, this will just take a second."

Oh God oh God, what do I do? If I let him get a hold of my blood, they'll find out about my mutation before I can even get home. If I get up and bolt right now, they'll get suspicious and come after me. Maybe I can pack up and get out of town before Norman makes his move? I doubt I'd get very far before HAMMER comes looking for me. Maybe I can sneak back in later and steal the samples like I did with the jump drive? Somehow I imagine it'll be under tougher security than Dr. Connors' office.

My brain comes up with a dozen different instinct reactions all at once, but I can't pick one out. I freeze up.

And Dr. Warren draws his blood sample without a hitch.

"There we go. That wasn't so bad, was it? Now I'll just let Mr. Osborn know we're finished here, and you'll be good to go."

I hang my head, and try to think of what I'll say to everyone.

I'm sorry, Aunt May. I'm sorry, Uncle Ben. I thought I could use my powers to make things right, to find the people who took you from me and make them pay for it. It looks like my little crusade is getting cut short. Once Norman sees what's happened to me...

...I'm a dead man.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

“I know who you are, Frank, at least on paper, but I gotta say, just reading your file would make the most hardened terrorist piss his pants. And we both know that’s the water-downed version of the story, only what can be put on record. You’ve been S.H.I.E.L.D. since before S.H.I.E.L.D. dropped off the grid. The best of the best on the inside. You know how to play the game, and bend the rules, and you damn sure know what HYDRA is, what it means that they’re here. Any other day, no one gives a damn what personal vendettas any of us go off on, but you single handedly emptied an entire city’s worth of weapons stockpiles and went on a one man war with no intel against the deadliest terror organization since the Third Reich.”

“How the f*&% old are you? Fifteen? They got you barely out of diapers coming to hunt me down?”

“Last I checked, ya old s*&%, I’m the one that has you tied to the chair.”

I barely step out of the way of the wad of spit that comes flying at me. Two cracks later, by knuckles are busted open, and the stream of blood from Castle’s crooked nose is flowing into his mouth through a fat lip and a few chipped teeth.

“Your good, old man, no doubt, but you’re the old breed. I’m newer, I’m better. It’s not bragging, it’s a fact. Now, any other day, I’d be right out there by your side, letting you think your still as good as you used to be while we took these asses down together. But Fury wants you in, and I’m the man whole handles the jobs no one else can or wants.”

“You wanna stay alive to get your driver’s license kid, you’ll lose the attitude quick.”

“I dunno. If dying young means I don’t have to become you, it might be worth it.”

“Keep it up. I’ll grant your wish.”

“I hate to interrupt this lover’s quarrel…”

“And I hate putting up with you Pym.”

“That hurts. I value this time together.”

“If you value your balls, you’ll tell me why you’re here running your mouth.”

I love watching this little piss ant squirm.

“We found all of the missing weapons, except the nuke.”

“Shoot first, ask later. It’ll always get you young guns in trouble.”

I turn to Castle. The smile is…scary.

“Where is it, Castle?”

“I don’t know anymore. It left the city last night. I had a tag on it and was just about to intercept the HYDRA shipment it was leaving on when you rode into town to 'save the day'.”

My heart jumps up into my throat before plummeting into to vicinity of my left pinkie toe.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying the you let HYDRA walk away last night with a nuclear bomb.”

Ah, dammit…

[Mr. Majestic]

He hits the button on his chair and a hole in the top of the plane opens. The chair springs him forward and he leaps out into the air.

I bring the plane even farther down and it hovers to a stop just above Pennsylvania Avenue. I hit a button the plane and the side door opens up to the street below.

"White House is five hundred feet down the road. Good luck!"

Cyclops gets up from his seat and then walks over to the edge of the door looking at us as we all unbuckle our seats belts.

“Okay everyone we have our orders, let’s do what needs to be done.” He says as he jumps out of the plane and onto the street.

As everyone else fallowed Cyclops out I made my way to Peter’s side.

“Since you’re on the bench I’ll make sure to kick double the ass.” I tell him as I speed off to join the others. He can consider it my way of say thank you for what he did for me earlier.

Soon as I catch up with the others Angel comes down from the skies.
http://media.comicvine.com/uploads/0/77/237451-191155-angel_super.jpg


“It is just like Colonel Haller said there are only five of them, from what I could see.”


“Good job Angel. Alright X-Men lets go pay the brotherhood a visit.”



Moments later we finally made it to 1600. It would have been nice if they dropped us off a little closer but that doesn’t matter because now we are approaching Magneto and his gang of brotherhood of mutants. I’m going to enjoy putting foot to ass on these b****es.

[bkhedr]

Five Days Later:

http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg


New York City. My vocabulary is extensive, but I can find no single word to descripe it. I have been in the city for less than an hour, but it already feels like an eternity.

A never ending array of sights, sounds, and smells bombard my senses continuously, always changing, never growing stale. I do not want to miss any of it. My artificial senses strain to take it all in, my mind works feverishly, analyzing the data.

I watch and listen and learn in silence for several minutes that feel like millenia. Soon I can no longer contain myself. I have been alive for days, and in that time I have been wholly alone. Now as I watch the city from above, fascinated by its people, fascinated by their lives, I know that I can not live seperate from them.

I had considered it seriously on my journey East. I am, afterall, a hunted synthezoid. The whispers are still there in the data stream. References to my existence, to the hunt for me.

If I wanted to I could keep ascending and leave the Earth behind, but if there is one thing I have truly learned about myself in the first days of my existence it is this...I do not want to be alone.

Perhaps my creator foresaw this desire, this need for sentient contact, why else would I have been built with a holo inducer and voice synthizer.

A thought is all it takes.

The change comes easily to me. It is, to me, as natural a processs, as the one by which I shift my density.

So simple, in fact, that I do both at the same time. Increasing my density even as my visage warps and changes.


By the time my feet have touched the ground it is not the Vision who walks the streets of New York, but an unassuming slender man with graying hair named Victor Shade.


http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg



It has been several hours since I slipped in amongst the pedestrian masses. I do not tire, and have no need for sleep or sustenance save the solar energy my body absorbs for power. So I walked, and continued to walk, traversing the city's streets and subways, listening to conversations, watching people. I now understand why this city is referred to as the greatest city on Earth.

There is a satisfaction in the understanding. A validation of my decision to come here. Though I have come across no other unique individuals like myself, I have seen much proof of their existence. They are here. The knowledge is reassuring.

I continue to walk, for I am still without purpose, and have not much else to do. I stop and watch the sun set, disapearing behind the city's gleaming towers. Watch the stars as become visible once more. I then carry on.

It is not long after the sun sets that the city shows me its other face. It starts simply enough. A siren in the distance, an argument down the street. The police radio waves coming to life. Reports of crimes in progress come in increasingly quickly. It is...astounding... to watch the city change, and I freeze in my tracks, listening intently, sifting through the information, concentrating.

Reports of a stolen vehicle seem to demand my attention. From what I can ascertain a high speed chase has developed, and the perpetrators of the crime are armed.

My mind immediately goes to work calculating percentages based on the information available. I take into account the specifications of the stoeln vehicles, the road, pedestrian traffic, the psychology and personnel files of the perpetraors and the law men pursuing them. Nothing is left to chance.

The result of my calculations is not encouraging.

But what to do?

Do I intervene and reveal myself in the process? Do I endeavor to save human lives that are finite, that will inevitablly end anyway, that are, afterall, easily compenstated for by the human birth rate?

Government Agents continue to search for me. The logic of self preservation dictates that I keep as low a profile as possible.

And yet....

[RamsesIII]

I take my gun out and toss it on the floor, as we get ready to move out. I quickly jump out of the airplane with all the rest. It's strange, seeing this place. I've heard about it for centuries from various people. I even remember when it burned down in the 1800s. But now, being here... it's strange. Somehow it's not quite as grand as I would have expected. I mean, this is the place where America conducts its politics? Louis XIV would have disapproved...
*****
1698
All of the wealth. All of the beauty. Sometimes, the directions life can take you surprises even me. Eighty years ago I was thrown out of a window and into a dung heap. Now, here I am, a noble surrounded with luxurious beauty. The gold and the marble mix in my eye, and they blend together to create some overpowering amalgam of beauty which drowns my eyes. One marble bust in particularly manages to stick out: that of Julius Caesar. It looks so regal. I can't help it. I'm drawn to it.

Walking up to it, I ask, "Et tu, Brutii?" I look at it for a second, whispering, "It's nice to know at least someone whose time I wasn't around for." I smile. Composing myself, I then make my way to Louis XIV's room. "Greetings, your majesty. You said you wished to see me?" I see Louis, lying on his bed. There is something about the way the man carries himself. He’s charming. It’s strange that all the nobles are obsessed with him, but it’s also unsurprising.

"Thank you, sir. I was hoping you could... blow out my candle?" I smirk, Louis always made these requests.

"Yes, your majesty." A quick blowing out of the candle, and I leave the room. It’s funny. Some of the nobles here are so desperate to appease the King, with even such a frivolous task as that. I can’t help but wonder what we could do if we united our energies towards a more noble cause. If only we weren’t so concerned with trivialities.
*****
I snap out of it. I'm falling into one of my reveries again: I’ve been prone to dreaming a lot, recently. I have to re-orient myself: I’m in Washington D.C., on a mission with the X-Men. Yet I just can’t bring myself to care. It’s so pointless. I’ve tried saving the world, but you know what? The world sucks, and there’s nothing we can do about it. I feel hopeless as I look towards this forthcoming mission. Even if we stop the bad guys this time, the next time it’ll be the same old same old. Some new terrorist will come up and eventually someone will just blow us all up.

Yet despite all that, I resign myself to my fate. I was born to help the world. Guess I might as well have fun while I attempt the impossible. “I call the Cajun piece of crap,” I say, as we near our opponents.

[Rain Dog]

http://img94.imageshack.us/img94/3980/howardbannercopy2.png



So the job problem has been settled. I’ve been adapting to this new world pretty well, I think. It’s not that different, just uglier. Now all I needs is a place to sleep. Now, normally I would bite the bullet and find a cardboard box to huddle up into for the night, but I just couldn’t seeing how I was certain I’d be mugged, raped, and killed (not necessarily in that order). After skimming through the classifieds Daily Bugle, I found an apartment complex that was leasing studio apartments. The ad assured me it would take just about anyone, so I thought, why the **** not?

After gettin’ there, I realized I made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake. The building’s exterior was covered in cracked bricks and graffiti. Wasn’t much better inside. Smelled like piss and asbestos. I was greeted by a surly Armenian gentleman who didn’t seem all too pleased to look at me.

“What? What is this?”

“What is what?”

“No children. Go now.”

“I’m not a child. My name’s Howard, I called earlier.”

“Howard? Ah. Howard. You, eh, want apartment yes?”

“Um, yes can I get a look at one of the studios you’re leasing?”

“Why you so small? Why you wear the duck costume, hmm?”

“Because I’m a duck.”

“You…You’re a duck?!”

“I…I just said that…look, can I just see the room, please?”

The hairy bastard eyed me suspiciously for a while then gestured me to follow. We went up a flight of stairs. The pissbestos smell intensified. His large ring of keys jingled and jangled as his fat ass lifted itself up each step. We finally came to a door on the second floor. He unlocked the door and we ventured inside. What a sight to behold. Tiny. Grimy. Roaches scurried into the shadows as the light from the hallway peered into the room.

“Looks…cozy.”

“Come inside. I show you around.”

We stepped inside and the gentleman beside me put his hands on his hips as he looked around the room.

“This is living room. That is kitchen,” he said, pointing to a small oven and microwave sitting in the living room.

“And that is bedroom,” he said pointing to a corner of the living room. He then walked towards a door on the eastern wall and pulled it open.

“This is closet.”

It was filled with dust and cobwebs. I was surprised a rigid corpse didn’t fall out of it.

“And this,” he said moving around the corner of the wall and opening another door, “This is bathroom. You like? Yes?”

“Uh…”

I tried to answer but was distracted by what sounded like two people screaming from the other side of the wall. Looks like I have some nice neighbors.

“What, uh…what do you think is goin’ on over there?”

“Oh. Lot of young people live in studios. Very hip. Very cool. They very cool. They play loud music.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not music…”

The screaming grows louder and is followed by thumped and crashing noises.

“Sure it is. You like apartment? Yes? No?”

“I really think you should call the police or something…”

“Yes? No? Stop wasting time, you like apartment?”

“Um…what’s the rate for this one?”

“Two hundred per month.”

“Two hundred?”

“Yes? No?”

The place smelled horrible, was roach infested, resided in a terrible neighborhood, and had neighbors who had no qualms with beating the crap out of their spouses. But at that price, I couldn’t say no.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

“Wheels up in fifteen, Barton.”

“Yep.”

I nod to Castle as he’s escorted up into the jet. He shoots me a look of…I don’t know. It’s a little eerie. Not intentionally, though. He gives me a look like a light bulb has just gone on, and I’m the switch.. Maybe he has a crush on me.

“Wow. The Beatles in town?”

Valeri Tessa Fawntaini; She is some kind of women. Beautiful, Italian, jet black hair straight down to the beautiful round butt formed by the longest, shapeliest pair of legs I’ve ever seen. And boy, does she know how to use both of those body parts like a pro…

“Are you thinking about my ass again?”

“More your legs this time. I‘m beginning to forget what they look like. I might need my memory jogged.”

“Keep wishing there, sweetie. Sometimes they do come true.”

Her wandering hand as she walks past almost makes me forget about what she was originally talking about. I glance across the tarmac at the massive, screaming crowd surrounding the private jet backing out of the hanger. Rock stars get all the fun…

That’s not a rock star.

I know who the man is walking up into the jet instantly, waving to the fans and playing it up for the crowd, but it takes a few seconds for my heart to settle down and my mind to stop buzzing before I can comprehend. Ten years, and the first time I see my older brother in person is across the tarmac at O’Hare while I’m sneaking a deranged sleeper out of the city. All the times I’ve seen him on TV, I didn’t think it would be this strange.

I don’t have time to worry about long lost family or my broken heart and lost childhood. I have a mission to finish. Besides, I know where that jet is going.

“Sit back, Frank. Enjoy the ride. As I’m sure you know, we don’t get the luxury of private jets all the time.”

He’s still giving me that stare.

“Barton.”

“…yeah…”

“Clint Barton.”

Getting creepier.

“…yyyyeeeeaaaahhhh…”

“Should figured. Only way you coulda pulled this gig while still sporting that soft little baby face.”

He is hitting on me.

“I expected you to be wearing a different uniform though.”

“And what uniform would that be?”

“Hmph. Your old man still hasn’t told you?”

“My dad’s dead. He died over a decade ago.”

“Really?”

I stare at Castle. That isn’t a question. Still, I answer it.

“Yeah, killed on Krakoa.”

A smugness washes over his face, like he knows something I don’t. And just as quickly, it’s gone.

“That’s right. Sorry kid, head’s still messed up.”

He’s lying. This is a joke to him. I can almost smell the sarcasm pouring out of him. He knows a lot more than just about the current mission.

He knows a lot more about me than I do.

[Optikal]

GLADIATOR

To die for the cause was the greatest honour befitting a Strontian.

But Kallark was denied that honour.

He was the only one left. A lone wolf. A man with no home and no life. An existence that yearned for death ot take him.

But he was a God.

The power gifted to him from heritage and experience. Other species cowered before him. They knew the dark legacy of his kind and the violence they so readily wrought. The universe despised Strontia and her bastard children.

And so he flies, with no destination or course. A relic of a lost culture. A curiosity of the past. Centuries old and yet still so young. A mind as strong as the physical body it was encased in.

Kallark.

Lost son of Strontia.

And as he stares at his hands and sees the echoes of blood upon them he knows that there is no place for him. Not for people like him. Too much blood. Too much death.

So he travels to the farthest reach of the universe. To the system ruled by the star they call Sol. And he finds a planet as blue and as vibrant and as full of life as Strontia once was. He knows of these 'humans'. Short lived and weak. A mere speck in the corner of the great blackness. But yet full of hope and wonder.

He descends to look upon them and search for his place.

But to them, even a lonely God is still one to be feared.

They level their weapons at him and order his surrender. But surrender is never an option for him. It is treason to his fallen blood kin. He does not surrender, but also he does not fight.

He extend his arms outward, a gesture of openness. "Fear me not, Earthers. I mean you no harm. My name is Kallark, but those who know me call me The Gladiator".



GLADIATOR

"I don't care if you're Father F-ckin' Christmas, Son! In the name of the United States Military, I am ordering you to stand down and surrender! Failure to comply will result in affirmative action!"

Kallark eyed the silver haired man without emotion. He did not want to fight the humans but equally, he would not be bound by their shackles. He gazed around the soldiers surrounding him, their weapons levelled in his direction. Finally, he settled back upon their leader. "I have told you once Earth Man that I mean you no harm. I am here in peace but if your men do not lower their weapons, there will be violence. Hear my words and know the truth of them".

"You'd better listen to the man Colonel Talbot, The Strontians aren't really known for their tolerance".

Kallark watched as a new man strolled up behind the Colonel, patting the man on the back before stepping up front and center to Gladiator.

"Kallark you said your name was? I'm General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross and I may have a job for you...".

[The Question]

Doctor Warren approached Norman, who was standing outside of the lab in the hall.

"Peter is fine. No serious damage. I doubt he has any infections but I'll do the blood work anyway."

Norman grabbed Warren's shoulder and pulled him in close.

"What...?!" exclaimed Doctor Warren.

"Listen to me," whispered Norman. "Do the blood work. Don't use the entire sample. Analyze what's left on a genetic level. Call me when you have the results for both and do not tell anyone anything about what you've found, or I will ruin you. I want this done before tomorrow."

"But..."

"Order. Understand?"

Doctor Warren seethed.

"Yes. Sir."

Norman let go of Doctor Warren and smiled.

"Good."

He peeked his head into the lab.

"Let's go home, Peter."

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif

I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm so freaking dead.

That's all I can think of as Dr. Warren talks with Norman. I face down heavily armed thugs and hired killers on a more or less nightly basis, but it's a fellow scientist with a little needle that does me in. Now it's only a matter of time before--


He peeked his head into the lab.

"Let's go home, Peter."

"Sounds good...I could probably use a little sleep."

The ride home is even more deafeningly silent than the ride here. Norman seems pretty pleased with myself, while I just want to crawl into a hole and die. I tell him it's my phobia of needles and the shock of getting roughed up, but I get the feeling he doesn't buy it. What's really unsettling, though, is that he's perfectly content to play along.

Then again, I mean, Norman may be a little creepy at times, but he's not exactly a bad guy. Even if he does find out my little genetic discrepancy, what's to say he's going to just lock me up? Maybe he'll help me, or find a cure.

Or maybe I'm just being paranoid.

By the time we get back to the penthouse, I'm starting to feel a little goofy about getting so worked up in the first place. I mean, blood testing isn't even done on a genetic level, so why would they think to look at my DNA at all?

....unless they remembered the spider-bite from last year, and it has something to do with that "DNA Reflux" jump drive I stole. Okay, getting paranoid again, might need to blow off a little steam.

I head to the rec room, and see that Harry's on the PS3, whomping some schlub he created for Fight Night. I plop down on the couch next to him, and realize his computer opponent looks awfully familiar.

"Sup."

"Nothing much. Anything interesting happen at Oscorp?"

"Not really. Caught the security guard looking at a porno mag."

"Nice. Was it one you already had?"

"Oh, you're funny. My sides, they split."

Harry shrugs, and goes back to wailing on his scrawny red-headed foe in the game.

"So, I couldn't help but notice that the guy you're whooping up on there...looks an awful lot like your dad."

Harry just kind of grunts as a response.

"....something wrong?"

He pauses the game, and lets out a weary sigh.

"I dunno, man, it's like....I had to work my whole life to get his approval, make him proud. He always told me never to do things the easy way if it wasn't the right way, that I had to earn what I got. Then you come into the picture and he's doting on you like crazy."

"Whaddya mean?"

"Well, like tonight. Remember back in sixth grade when Flash and Kong broke my foot during their game of 'Smear the Queer'? It took a day and a half of trying to walk on it without passing out before Dad was convinced it was broken. Then you come back with a couple of bruises and he takes you to one of his privately-owned doctors even after you yourself said you were okay."

"I'm sure he doesn't mean anything by it, Harry. I mean, maybe he's just trying to make a good impression with me, y'know?"

"I guess...you'd think he'd try a little harder to make a good impression with his son, though."

I really have no idea what to say, so I clam up and we both sit there in silence for a bit.

"I mean, I guess I'm not being very fair. I know he tries, and I know he loves me and all. It's just...it always seemed to me like he's more concerned with proving he's a good father than he is with actually being one. If that makes any sense."

"No, I...I think I get it."

Actually, I can't really relate to that at all--Uncle Ben did everything he could to be a good father to me, and he didn't have anywhere near the wealth that the Osborns do. Not to mention I never even really met my real dad.

"Anyway, I didn't mean to create a wedge between you and your dad, if that's what happened. Once we graduate and I have a job and all that, I'll get my own place and be out of your hair."

"It's not you, Pete--it's been like this for years, ever since Mom died. I guess it wouldn't be so bad if it was just him and me, but it's the name that comes with it. Everyone I've talked to about my future sees 'Osborn' before they ever see 'Harry.' I can't ever do anything for myself without someone standing there with a tape-measure, to see how far the apple fell from the tree."

"C'mon, man," I say, giving him a shove on the shoulder. "You think any of your friends care about your 'family name' or anything? When you came back from England, you'd turned into one of the coolest guys at Midtown. You're even hooked up with Liz Allen, for cryin' out loud! I asked her out once Sophomore year, and she laughed at me for like a week. That's not something you inherited from your dad, man. That's all you. If you don't wanna follow Norman's footsteps, then don't. Pick out a future that makes sense for you, and you'll be just fine."

"I guess, yeah," he concedes. "Now I just gotta find that future. What about you, Pete? I mean, you always kinda seemed like you knew what you were doing, so I'm sure you've already got a future picked out. Gonna keep plowing ahead with the science thing?"

"Y'know, I honestly don't know. I mean, I'm pretty good at science, and I've always liked it, but as a career? I think that's more up Gwen's alley than mine. And now that I think about it, I think a lot of the reason I like science so much at all is because she likes it."

"Ah-ha, the plot thickens," he says with a grin. "So what's the future hold for you and Miss Stacy, anyway? Maybe get a house in the suburbs and raise a litter of little nerdlings?"

"Heh, like she'd be up for that..."

Harry doesn't say anything to that, like he knows something I don't.

"I mean, I just...well, never really got the chance to think of her like that. Between her mom dying, and you going away for half of high school, Eddie turning to the dark side, and well...Aunt May and Uncle Ben...we were pretty much the only friends we had left. I like Gwen, yeah. I love her to death, but..."

"Oh Lord, don't tell me you've relegated her into the 'like a sister' category."

"No no no, she's not 'like a sister' at all....maybe like the uncomfortably-hot stepsister you have weird feelings about, though. I dunno, she's just been my best friend for so long, I'm worried I might screw that up. Besides, I think if anything was supposed to happen between me and her, it would've just sorta happened by now."

Harry smirks.

"Pete, I'm gonna give you the one good piece of advice that Dad ever gave me. Stuff doesn't 'just sorta happen.' If you want it to happen, you've gotta make it happen. So the real question is, do you actually want it to happen?"

I sit there for a second, trying to figure out the answer to his question. Harry gets up and yawns.

"Well dude, it's getting pretty late, so I'm gonna hit the sack. Good talk, man."

"...yeah, good talk."

How exactly did this go from me trying to help my friend out of his funk, to him throwing me for a loop about my own personal life? I always seem to wind up on the short end of these sort of conversations.

After a good while of mulling over Harry's question and coming up short, I brush my teeth, take one last shower to rinse off the stank of all my panic-sweat from Oscorp, change into my pajamas...

...then hop onto my computer instead of going to bed. I'm such an insomniac.

I pull the stolen jump drive out from my backpack, and am just about to plug it in to see what it's all about, when I'm interrupted by an instant message.


NrrrdGrrrl65 has opened a conversation with Amazular15

NrrdGrrrl65: Feeling better, Peter? Harry said you were getting checked out at Oscorp.
Amazular15: Hey Gwen. Yeah, it was nothing big. Just some disinfectants and they said I'll be okay.
Amazular15: Was kinda weirded out by one thing though.
Amazular15: They took a blood sample, for who knows what reason. I mean, they said it was to just test for infections, but still, I don't like the idea of Oscorp having my DNA on file.
NrrrdGrrrl65: Paranoid much? Worried they're going to churn out an army of Peter Parker clones or something?
Amazular15: LOL, now that would be a sight to see, huh?
NrrrGrrrl65: Maybe they can use them for the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, carrying a giant balloon shaped like your DNA.
Amazular15: I'd buy that for a dollar!
NrrrdGrrrl65: ...did you really just Robocop me?
Amazular15: You know you love it.
NrrrdGrrrl65: Oy.
NrrrdGrrrl65: Anyway, blood testing isn't done on anywhere near a genetic level, so I really don't think you have anything to worry about.
Amazular15: I guess so. Maybe I just got weirded out by getting looked over by that Dr. Warren guy. Remember him from that field trip?
NrrrdGrrrl65: Oh yeah, guy gave me the creeps. Wouldn't stop staring at me the whole time.
Amazular15: Yeah, he wasn't much better this time around either.
NrrrdGrrrl65: Oh hey, are we still on for tomorrow night's study session?
Amazular15: Definitely.
NrrrdGrrrl65: Awesome! I've got a surprise for you then! ^_^
Amazular15: Can't wait to see it. Actually, I think there's something I need to ask you about then, too. Something, well....unscientific.
NrrrdGrrrl65: ...what is it, Peter?
Amazular15: Well....I'll talk to you about it tomorrow. I'd feel more comfortable asking you in person, I think. Besides, it's getting late, and I don't wanna keep you up.
NrrrdGrrrl65: Yeah, I'm already in bed actually. Just chatting with you on my phone, since Dad already had me turn off the computer for the night.
Amazular15: ...lying there in bed, eh? So...what are you wearing? :hehe:
NrrrdGrrrl65: Perv. :nono:
Amazular15: You're wearing a perv?!
NrrrdGrrrl65: Yeah, I skinned the last guy who asked me what I was wearing, and wear his pelt as a trophy.
Amazular15: Well played, Miss Stacy. Well played.
NrrrdGrrrl65: I thought so.
NrrrdGrrrl65: Anyway, I guess it is getting kinda late, so I'm going to try and get a little sleep.
Amazular15: G'night then
NrrrdGrrrl65: Cya tomorrow!

NrrrdGrrrl65 has signed off.
Okay, okay, no more distractions. God, she's so awesome. I can't wait to tell her--what did I just tell myself about no more distractions?

I shake my head, then plug in the "DNA Reflux" jump drive and begin going through the files.

A lot of the equations and compounds that Dr. Connors talks about are way, way over my head, stuff that you need at least one or two doctorates to even come close to deciphering.

The more I read, though, the more I start picking up on.

Some compound called "SSM-AF15."

Animal hosts experiencing "genetic reflux reactions."

Cross-species injections producing unpredictable results...

...a memo from last year, regarding one of the Reflux spiders escaping its habitat....













....oh ****.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

I know that I don’t know much about my own life, and what I do know is a lie. I was wisked away in the night by a man who didn’t exist hours after my mother died under suspicious, at least by my account of things, circumstances. I don’t know why Fury really did it. The story is, he had a hand in sending my father into the s*^&storm that cost him his life, and sent my mother into he downward sprial, and he felt guilty. I’ve never openly questioned the story just to avoid the can of worms I know doing so would open, but I also know it’s total BS. Fury wouldn’t feel guilty for running over an invalid grandmother in a wheelchair trying to cross the street just because waiting for her to cross would mean he had to wait an extra thirty seconds to get to the tobacco shop to buy a pack of cigars. He’s lost plenty of men in the field without ever adopting the spawn of their loins, and he left my brother behind. He wanted me for a reason, but I never questioned it because I had a safe place to live and the best training in the world. It wasn’t my place to question, until my training was over, until I became the best and could take care of myself. I hear the rumbles growing, I feel that itch in me. The world is going to hell and we are one flip-of-the-switch away from World War III, which I have no intention of coming back alive from. I want to know who I am before I go down in my blaze of glory.

-

“Clay, tell Fury his boyfriend will be chilling in cell six,” I yell to Quartermaine.

“You can tell him yourself. He’s waiting in debriefing. He told me to send you down as soon as you landed.”

“Yeah, well I have my own orders.”

“From who?”

“Me.”

-

The ride down to the Old Soldier’s private floor seems a whole lot longer than usual, which makes me even more agitated as I burst through the sliding doors.

“Why me? Ten years ago, why was it me? Why, old man?! I know the rumors are more than just some middle-aged virgin sitting behind his computer at night, typing his s&*^ up waiting for his porn to load. There’s a base somewhere, and now I have Fury’s little stooge spewing the same crap. I’m sick of it and I want some godd@*^ answers.”

I don’t know why I’m so fired up. It’s always been more of a natural curiosity. Maybe it was the punk little guido b*%^h running his mouth, so smug because he thinks he knows so much. Maybe it was seeing my brother. I don’t know.

I glare down at The Old Soldier. All I see is myself glaring back in the reflection of his mirrored sunglasses. The only sound in the heavy wheezing of the old man and the clicking of his respirator. I know he can answer if he wants. The whole silent thing is just an act to add to the mystery. I don’t buy the mystery and he knows it, but it still doesn’t stop him. Or maybe he’s just asleep. Can’t be lucky enough for the old fart to have kicked the bucket.

“You trained me to be the best. You trained me to go fight this next war and save the world. You want me to go run as the new coming of the old regime. Someday, your going to have to tell me, why me, or else your little experiment is going to come crashing down harder than before.”

[Byrd Man]

Seymour, Indiana

I wake up to the morning and the news that a man named Frank Castle has become crazy and is currently on a killing spree in Chicago. SHIELD has dispatched someone, but I don't know who. The only reason I know about Castle at all is because I helped program him. The man has all kinds of passcodes and information about SHIELD, and he's turned Chicago into a war zone....well, more of a war zone than usual. I feel a slight pang of regret, I helped turn Castle into what he is. Like I said, my regret is only slight. I did it for America, to help protect the country.

"Will?" my wife asks from across the kitchen table.

"Yeah, hon?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I say with a reassuring smile.

"Are you sure you're fine to fly today?"

"This mess isn't going to get sorted out by itself."

My wife thinks a lot of things that aren't true. She thinks my name is William White, a sixty year old travelling salesman. She thinks I sell computers for Microsoft. She doesn't know that I'm in my seventies, and a veteran of the Cold War. While she was chanting 'Burn Baby, Burn' in California, I was torturing VC leaders in the Mekong Delta.

"Just make sure everything is good to go and you're back home this weekend. Mark is bringing Jen and Larry."

I smile at the thought. Jennifer and Larry, my two grandchildren ages five and three, are the main reason why I continue to do what I do. I don't want them to grow up in a world where their lives are in danger. The world isn't much different than it was during the height of the Cold War, but there's still some hope. I was in Kabul the night they killed Bin Laden, watching the Afghani people's utter joy in being liberated gives me hope.

"I'll be home as soon as I can, hon."

I finish off my cup of coffee and give my wife a peck on the lips.

"Love you. Be safe."

"Love you, too. I'm always safe."


San Diego, California
18 Hours Later

The small room actually smells like a dentist's office. The reason beind that is that it used to be a dentist's office before I bought it. The fake diplomas on the wall state that I'm Dr. John Poe DDS.

Decked out in the white smock and latex gloves, I smile at the young Asian girl that enters the room.

"Nice to see you again, Miss Lee."

"Please, Doc. Call me Jubilee."

"Alright, Jubilee. Sit in the chair for me, and we'll work on getting that tooth filled."

She smiles and sits in the comfy chair. Instead of placing the gas mask on her face, I lean close to her face and whisper.

"Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, Strawberry Fields Forever, Help, Get Back, Hold You Hand."

Jubilee's eyes roll into the back of her head. The codewords are Quartermain's idea. He's a big Beatles fan and figured a nineteen year old girl would never listen to any of these songs, let alone say them all in the same sentence.

"What is your name?" I ask, pulling away from the girl.

"My name is Jubilation Lee," she replies in a hollow voice.

"Are you a registered mutant?"

"Yes. I have been since my powers manifested when I was fourteen."

"What can you do?"

"I can create concussive blasts of energy."

"Do you know the mutant leader known as Erik Lensherr?"

"Magneto? Yes."

"When you hear the words 'Doctor Strangelove', you will suddenly get the urge to become involved in Mutant affairs, becoming politically active and attracting the attention of Magneto's Brotherhood. In a few weeks, you will meet agent codenamed Forge. The agent is a mole inside the group, he will help you infiltrate the group and feed your information. Once established as a Brotherhood memebr, Forge and only Forge will provide you with the words 'Clockwork Orange'. At these words, you will carry out your mission. What is your mission, Miss Lee?"

"To kill Erik Lensherr," she replies in that hollow voice.

"Excellent. Jumpin' Jack Flash, Gimme Shelter, Wild Horses."

Her eyes roll forward and she shakes her head.

"Jeez. I hate that knock out gas."

"You were out like a light, Jubilee. You probably don't feel any pain at all."

"Huh...that's weird. You're right."

"Doctor Strangelove, Jubilee."

Her eyes glaze over for only a brief moment. They flicker back with recognition and she looks up at me.

"We done here, Doctor? I uhh...I kinda, need to get going."

"We're done. Just make sure you come back for your check up in six months."

Jubilee only nods faintly as she leaves through the door. The code is working, with thoughts about her life as a Mutant filling her head. Within the week, she'll be rallying for Mutant rights on the street.

She's only nineteen and I'm sending her off to her death. She's no older than the soldiers LBJ sent to Vietnam, or the Cubans that Kennedy killed in Bay of Pigs.

I think of Kennedy, seeing the back of his head blast out in a pink mist of blood and brain.

I remind myself that it is was all for the greater good. America prevailed, like she always does and always will.

[J'adore]

Scarlet
Scarlet hovers silently over the Brotherhood. Her astral looks on with no one's eyes not even laying one quick glance on her. Her thoughts could easily be manipulated and charm the X-Men, but then what would be the fun of that? She hovers down and stands opposite her master, Erik. She then watches on and fixes her eyes on the Cajun man, his astral is very strong indeed.

My presence is not with the X-Men, but why would I want to fight with my own team? But I knew we would come to a crossroad soon enough.

Scarlet lifted her hood up, the top half shadowing her forehead, the battlefield soon faded away from her vision and now within her sight is the base of operations for H.A.M.M.E.R. The Director - Sharon Carter- stands before Scarlet's astral.

Much to my dismay young lady, you're actions will soon tremble beneath the grounds of good and evil and this...all of 'this' will disappear.

Sharon Carter sharply turns around, quickly getting out her gun.

"Who's there!?" She calls out. But, by this time Scarlet's astral has traveled back to the grounds of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

[sabetoonth]

http://img535.imageshack.us/img535/5987/sabretoothrpg3.jpg

Victor walked around and made sure the team was ready. he hated the waiting game, unless he was hunting, he always had, being the hunted was no fun.
“marauders, find cover, its hunt or be hunted today” Victor went around and checked the gear, to make sure everyone was set up right, it was a useless habit, the team was made of the most prepared soldiers in Magneto’s brotherhood. But Victor had gotten used to it fro when they were still a new team, it almost become a team ritual.
“Whos company should we be expecting, Colonel?” Scalp Hunter brandished his knife taking a seat agaisnt a nearby tree, running his thumb across the blade slowly.
“Weapon X, and they wont be friendly” Victor turned the soldier, then to the rest of the team, “in fact, some of us may not even make it out alive, but if we die, we die fighting for the liberation of our species, for our kind, for our children, grandchildren and the ones we love, fighting for our freedom.”

[Mr. Majestic]

http://img59.imageshack.us/img59/9007/mimicsig.jpg


We all make it to the hanger to see that Wolverine has the jet fired up and ready to go. He stands just at the entrance of the jet while we’re approaching.

“Bring your asses. We have to move out.” He orders.

As he goes to make his way to the pilots seat we all go in after him. Once on board I make sure to take the first seat I come across so I won’t be in anyone way. Beast takes his place beside Wolverine at the other pilot’s chair.

As the jet takes off in the air Wolverine lets Beast fly the plane and he makes he way towards the rest of the group to tell us about our mission.

“As you’re all aware we have Intel on the location of one of Magneto’s bases. Our main focus is Marco. If we can take him down it would put a big dent in his plans.”

Marco if I recall that’s the big guy who goes by the name Juggernaut. He makes it seems real easy.

“I and the kid are going to take him on. The rest of you will pick up the slack.”

He then turns around and goes back to his seat.

I look around at the others and they are all looking just as casual, everyone but me.

“That’s it?” I say to Sage.

“What else would you like for him to say?”

“I don’t how about a plan of attack? We just can’t just go in there blind can we?”

Everyone seems to be real calm cool and collected about this. I must be the only one who feeling bad.

“Believe me when I tell you, were not going in blind. If you are able to stay alive long enough you will come to understand how this team operates.”

What have I got my self into?

We finally made it to our destination and my legs won’t stop shaking. This is it, my first mission.

“Hank, land us down at that area over there.” Wolverine tells Beast while leaning over his shoulder.

As Beast lands the jet every one else checks their gear. As they’re getting ready Logan makes his way to the back with us.

“When we go in there let’s go in there with the assumption that they know we are. When we hit them we are going to hit them hard and hit them fast.”

Once the jet lands everyone gets out of there seats and jumps out. As we are all together Wolverine takes a moment. From my experience with Feral I know what he’s doing. He’s using his senses to see if he can pick up on anything. And by the look on his face and the growl sound he makes he must have.

“Change of plans. We are all sticking together, for now. Stay close we’re going this way and kid, make sure to stay close to me.”

We all took off fallowing Wolverine.

[sabetoonth]

http://img535.imageshack.us/img535/5987/sabretoothrpg3.jpg

Victor sniffed the air, he caught a familiar scent, his head tilted as he thought about it, he identified it in his memory.
“Ok boys and girls, time to play,” Victor spoke into the small radio, its frequency goin out to the other marauders. He looked over to his adopted daughter and her best friend. “be careful yout two, theyre Xmen, its better to die then have them take you prisoner, come back home girls, or else I may need to bail your asses out of there” he hugged them both tight, and dashed off into the woods

[bkhedr]

http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg




It has been several hours since I slipped in amongst the pedestrian masses. I do not tire, and have no need for sleep or sustenance save the solar energy my body absorbs for power. So I walked, and continued to walk, traversing the city's streets and subways, listening to conversations, watching people. I now understand why this city is referred to as the greatest city on Earth.

There is a satisfaction in the understanding. A validation of my decision to come here. Though I have come across no other unique individuals like myself, I have seen much proof of their existence. They are here. The knowledge is reassuring.

I continue to walk, for I am still without purpose, and have not much else to do. I stop and watch the sun set, disapearing behind the city's gleaming towers. Watch the stars as become visible once more. I then carry on.

It is not long after the sun sets that the city shows me its other face. It starts simply enough. A siren in the distance, an argument down the street. The police radio waves coming to life. Reports of crimes in progress come in increasingly quickly. It is...astounding... to watch the city change, and I freeze in my tracks, listening intently, sifting through the information, concentrating.

Reports of a stolen vehicle seem to demand my attention. From what I can ascertain a high speed chase has developed, and the perpetrators of the crime are armed.

My mind immediately goes to work calculating percentages based on the information available. I take into account the specifications of the stoeln vehicles, the road, pedestrian traffic, the psychology and personnel files of the perpetraors and the law men pursuing them. Nothing is left to chance.

The result of my calculations is not encouraging.

But what to do?

Do I intervene and reveal myself in the process? Do I endeavor to save human lives that are finite, that will inevitablly end anyway, that are, afterall, easily compenstated for by the human birth rate?

Government Agents continue to search for me. The logic of self preservation dictates that I keep as low a profile as possible.

And yet....


http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg


The late model sedan speeds dangerously down the city streets, veering through traffic and narrowly avoiding a collision every few seconds.

A man in a ski mask leans out of the driver window periodically to pepper the pursuing police vehicles with semi automatic weapons fire. The shots are semi wild, and do little damage, but every round serves to send the police further back in their pursuit.

They are clearly anxious to mitigate any risk to the city's civillian populace. It seems the two fugitives have already claimed one life, that of the manager of the jewellery store they robbed before stealing the vehicle they now drive.

I watch the chase from my vantage point for a few more moments then resolve to act.

I begin a slow delibirate dive, compensating for the vehicle's erratic movement, while maintaining my intagible state.

In the car the gun man shouts to be heard over the pursuing sirens, calling for his partner to hold the car steady.

The partner curses through gritted teeth an instant before his eyes go wide and his skin goes ashen.

He keeps his foot on the gas pedal and his hands on the wheel but that is all. He swallows hard and tries to speak, but he can not find the saliva he needs to warn his partner, who is anyway too busy shooting at the pursuing police to notice that I am hovering just above the hood of the car, matching its speed and trajectory, staring silently at the driver.

A moment later the driver regains his wits, and his ability to move. With a shaking hand he reaches below his seat, no doubt for a weapon.

I remain expressionless, watching silently, but I bring an arm up, moving faster than the driver, before driving the intangible limb into the hood of the car. I then solidify my fingers slightly, the whole gesture is silent, and without undue flair. Now the driver finds his voice and lets out a terrified shout that brings his partner swivelling around only for him to mimic his partner's shocked outburst.

The car engine sputters and pops as my digits impede its operations, and cuts off its flow of fuel. A moment after that the engine cuts off meekly and the car begins to slow.

"My god what is it?!" The gun man shouts at his partner accusingly, as if he had somehow driven them into my path.

"I don't know man! I don't know! It just showed up and now the car's dead!" The panicked driver responds.

"And so's this red faced freak!" The gun man responds as he levels his weapon at me and fires.

I could remain intangible, and simply allow the bullets to pass harmlessly through me, but the city around me teems with life, and for the second time today I find myself....unwilling, to allow the humans to come to harm.

And so I shift my density once more, going from ghost like intagibility to diamon hardness in less time than it takes the bullets to penetrate the windshield and come barreling towards me.

The rounds bounce harmlessly off of my super dense form as the car continues to slow, prompting both men to roar agressively as they both emptied their clips in my direction even as I slowly brought my feet down to the asphalt and placed a solid hand on the hood of the car, bringing it to a gradual stop even as the two thieves expended the last of their ammunition and several police cruisers pulled up around us.

The officers hurriedly exit their vehicles and surround us. I am not surprised when many of them level their side arms at me.

"You!" One of them shouts in my direction "You in the cape! Hands in the air!"

I turn my head ever so slightly in his direction, taking stock of him and reading his identification. Officer Stewart McTavish of the NYPD.

"I said hands up!" He repeats prompting me to let out a quiet sigh.

"Another time perhaps." I say to no one in particular before I drop my density once more and allow myself to sink below the city's streets, and into the sewer tunnels beneath

[sabetoonth]

http://img535.imageshack.us/img535/5987/sabretoothrpg3.jpg
Victor dashed through the brush and grass, he leaped at a large redwood, sinking his claws into he bark and wood of the ancient natural pillar. He scaled it quickly, making a leap to another nearby tree. He could smell Logan not far away, the same smell he had in World War 1, and the same scent he had as a member of the brotherhood, but now, there was an additional scent, it was new, it wasn't’t the other X-Men, he knew their stench well, this was a new recruit to Weapon X, and he Victor was eager to either convince the mutant to join Eric and his brotherhood, or if need be, if he be brainwashed by the humans already, kill him. But only if he had to. His mission, and that of his team, was to keep the government lackies from completing their mission, this wasn’t a diversion, Wanda would have warned them about that, and all the scents were coming from the same direction.

“Blink, Wolfsbane stay together, they're all coming this way, and we have some fresh meat too Sabretooth out.” Victor put the small radio in his belt, he leaped from tree to tree Logan must have caught his scent, cause he was coming in fast, with the new guy right behind him.

[Byrd Man]

Wyatt Wingfoot
Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.


8:55 AM
September, 11th 2001

"This just in. You are looking at obviously a very disturbing live shot there. That is the World Trade Center, and we have unconfirmed reports this morning that a plane has crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. CNN Center right now is just beginning to work on this story, obviously calling our sources and trying to figure out exactly what happened, but clearly something relatively devastating happening this morning there on the south end of the island of Manhattan. That is once again, a picture of one of the towers of the World Trade Center."

My wife and I watch in stunned silence as the images roll across the screen. Smoke pours across the New York skyline, and I feel a sense of suspicion setting in. There's no way a plane could fly into the World Trade Center accidentally. The phone rings in the house.

"I'll get it."

The voice on the other end of the line confirms my beliefs.

"Will. It's Clay."

Quatermain, a man I haven't seen in three years, is calling me on a hard line. A serious breech like this means what's going on in New York is serious. The clicking on his end means the line we're on is secure, free of wiretaps and impossible to trace.

"You know already?"

"Our contacts are working on it right now. We believe they're Islamic terrorists, working for a group called Al-Qaeda."

I close my eyes and shake my head.

"I take it from your silence you remember them?"

"Yes. From Afghanistan."

"Do you still have your contacts in Afghanistan?"

"Some of the Mujhahideen, but I haven't been in the country since the Russians turned tail and ran."

"Chances are they're still there. How soon can you meet me at the airport in Indianapolis?"

My wife screams in the next room as the second plane crashes into the other tower.

"Jesus Christ. They hit the second tower."

"I'll be in Indy by noon."

"Good. This is high priority stuff. The man himself is taking part in it."

"Jesus."

I haven't seen Fury since my deployment to Afghanistan is 1982. Nineteen years. I figured him for dead.

"Also, Will? Make sure to bring The Rifle. We're going to find out who did this amd we're going to make them pay."

I peek into the living room and see the fire rising from the two buildings, and see the replays of the plane crashing into the tower.

"Good."

[The Question]

Norman's mood, which had been pleasant on the ride back from Oscorp, has soured as soon as he caught the highlights of the evening news.

"Shocking video today of Oscorp CEO Norman Osborn seemingly admitting to aiding and profiting from a drug smuggling ring operated by business partner Wilson Fisk…"

Norman felt a tightness in his chest. He was afraid. More so than he had ever been in his entire life.

“…recent reports of major fiscal discrepancies will also surely garner the interest of the FBI. We will have more on this story as it becomes available…”

Wilson Fisk would kill him, Norman was certain.

Norman sat down behind his desk. I need a plan, he thought to himself. The board and the FBI can be dealt with but Wilson Fisk will murder me, he will murder Harry and Peter I need a plan I need a plan I need...

He began pounding his fist against the desk, over and over again until the skin on his knuckles went numb, breathing hard and making no other noise.

He pulled his hand back. He stared at it, three open wounds, skin torn open in a most ghastly manner, dripping blood down his arm. He barely noticed the pain. All his mind could register was the blood, and the heavy, toxic feeling the sight of it left in his stomach. All of his schemes fell from his mind as he watched life drain from his hand.

The phone rang.

Norman's head snapped quickly at the sound. He looked at it for a moment. It was intrusive. A reminder of the world, of how it functioned in spite of the danger he was in. The thought of simply not answering it crossed his mind. But the sound of it grew tiresome, and he knew he had to keep up appearances. If he did, he might survive. Harry might survive, at any rate. And Pete.

He picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Osborn, it's Miles Warren."

"Yes?"

"I... well, I ran Peter Parker's bloodwork, and how... where... what happened to him?"

"What?"

"His DNA isn't even like a mutant's, it's like it belongs to an entirely different species. It's what we've been trying to accomplish with DNA reflux."

"Yes..." murmured Norman.

"Excuse me, sir?"

At that moment, Norman had a plan.

"I'll explain later. But that sample is the key to DNA Reflux. It is your number one priority. Good night."

He hung up before Warren could say another word. He had a plan. It could save his life, his family, and his business. He would be safe. He could not bring himself to smile.

He continued to sit in his office, in the dark, for another hour. He had no urge to move, or do anything besides look into the shadows.

[Optikal]

GLADIATOR

"I don't care if you're Father F-ckin' Christmas, Son! In the name of the United States Military, I am ordering you to stand down and surrender! Failure to comply will result in affirmative action!"

Kallark eyed the silver haired man without emotion. He did not want to fight the humans but equally, he would not be bound by their shackles. He gazed around the soldiers surrounding him, their weapons levelled in his direction. Finally, he settled back upon their leader. "I have told you once Earth Man that I mean you no harm. I am here in peace but if your men do not lower their weapons, there will be violence. Hear my words and know the truth of them".

"You'd better listen to the man Colonel Talbot, The Strontians aren't really known for their tolerance".

Kallark watched as a new man strolled up behind the Colonel, patting the man on the back before stepping up front and center to Gladiator.

"Kallark you said your name was? I'm General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross and I may have a job for you...".




GLADIATOR


"I'll be honest with you here Kallark, our intel told us that you were all wiped out".

Gladiator nodded and bowed his head. "Your intelligence was right General Ross. I am the last of my kind. I was Preator of the Imperial Guard. Personal protection to the Majestor. I was off planet when the... tragedy happened".

"Well Son, I'm guessing you survived for a reason and my country could use a man like you. If you agree to the job I'm offering then I'll make sure that you're free to stay here for as long as you like. Sound good?"

The Strontian gave the General a curt nod of acceptance. "Now General, tell me, what is this job you have?"

"To be honest Kallark, it's more of a 'problem' than a job. We've named it 'The Abomination'".

[The Question]

The smell in the hostel was heavy. Most people felt it before they could smell it. The moment you walked in it hit you, like a greasy mist. The man, who had just entered, noticed but was not bothered. He had worked on a factory chicken farm for fifteen years, and was accustomed to foul odor. He was a large man, with simple clothes and graying hair like many of the residents, but it was obvious from the look of him that he did not belong in their world. It was that he stood with his back straight. Everyone around him was hunched over, eyes cast down, wishing there was no one else in the world to see them. Weighed down by the chains of their regrets. This man, however, never had the time for such a luxury. He made his way through the building, walking past the shadows all around him. At the end of what seemed to be the darkest of the hallways, he stopped in front of a door, squinting at the room number through the darkness. He knocked.

"Go away," came a voice from inside.

He opened the door. Huddled on the bed on the other side of the tiny room was a younger man, his face hidden by the hood of a green cloak. The older gentlemen said something to him in Hungarian. There was a moment of silence, as the words were digested.

"Go away, Boris," was the young man's response.

"Speak only English now, Victor, hm?" Boris replied.

"Leave me alone, Boris," Victor said, now in his native tung.

"What are you doing here, Victor?"

"I came here to be alone."

"No, I believe you came here to hide from the world, because you are embarrassed of what your life has become."

There was a pause. After a moment, searching for words to respond, Victor broke the silence.

"Well... yes," he said. "The way I phrased it, however, sounded less pathetic."

Boris laughed, not a loud belly laugh as befitted his appearance, but a simple, quiet chuckle. He walked further into the room and sat on the bed beside Victor.

"Let me see," he said.

Victor remained motionless.

"I am not a pretty girl you're trying to impress. Let me see."

Slowly, reluctantly, Victor sat up and pulled down his hood. Even in the dark, it was a ghastly sight. Boris frowned.

"I am so sorry," he said.

He put his arm around Victor and pulled him into a tight hug.

"My boy," he said quietly. "I am so sorry."

He let go of Victor, and moved back to look him in the eyes.

"You should have called me right away."

"I'm aware..."

Boris cut him off.

"What is this, walking across two continents to find yourself?" he said. "What did you find in Tibet?"

"Very little," murmured Victor.

"Hm? Speak up."

"The monks and I did not share common viewpoints. We parted ways."

"So you learned nothing?"

"I learned quite a lot. Just nothing that kept me from sleeping in places like this."

Boris made a noise, a very sudden exhalation of breath forced from the back of his throat, which Victor knew was a sign of disapproval.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it was to find you?" asked Boris.

"How did you find me?"

"I had to hire a woman, a Symkarian bounty hunter, to track you down. Who knew you would be here, so close to the border?"

"Boris, you can't afford something like that."

"Of course I can," said Boris. "For you, I can."

Victor did not know how to respond to that. They sat there for a moment, each waiting for the other to say something.

"You came so close to the border, and then stopped," said Boris. "Were you ever going to cross over?"

"I honestly don't know," replied Victor.

Boris made the same harsh breathing noise again. He stood up, the bed retaining the impression he left in it, and turned to the door.

"Come. We are going home."

"What?" asked a surprised Victor.

"This is no place for you to be living," said Boris. "Especially so close to home, where there is food and a warm bed. A warm clean bed. One that does not sag."

"The entire reason I left for America was for my own safety."

"You were sent to get an education, and to keep you out of trouble. No matter how much you would like to be, you are not an enemy of the state, Victor Von Doom, simply a young man who enjoys getting into trouble."

Boris held out his hand to Victor.

“Come. We will go home. You will have the chance to shower, which you need, and I will cook you a good meal. Valeria will want to see you, of course...”

“I don't want here to see me like this!” snapped Victor.

“That is too bad. She will want to see you. We must sometimes make sacrifices for others. Now come. Let us go home.”

There was a moment, a brief moment, where Victor did not move, simply looked at Boris' hand before him. But soon, slowly, he took it in his and rose to his feet. Boris patted him on the back, and led him out of the room, past the shadows of that place, toward home.

[J'adore]

http://i47.tinypic.com/2h3c5xe.png

"Oh, it's just you Wanda..."

Crimson was the head of all Magical Ops in the HAMMER organization. He had made a great alliance with Wanda herself and she hated the thought of betraying him.

"I am on the job, Crimson. Address me by Scarlet."

Crimson shut his office door and started walking down the long silver corridor. Scarlet was hovering beside him.

"Ok. What do you want Scarlet?"

"Stop, here." Scarlet lowered her feet to the ground and bowed her head in the direction of a round silver door.

Crimson and Scarlet came to a halt.

"The training room?" Crimson arched an eyebrow, his glasses resting on his nose.

Taking down her hood, Scarlet smiled. "May you teach me how one teleports to one's destination within the surroundings of the substance of smoke, as I am needed within the X-Men."

Scarlet's Russian accent thickened as she spoke higher class English.

"Ya coulda just said that in the first place."

Mount Wundagore

"I have you now, gypsy!"

The cackling voice of an old witch boomed around the cave in the Mountain. The young woman grabbed a rock, sticking out of the arched walls of the cave. Her sight was limited as she could only look into the pure darkness of beyond and hope for light. Her hand was scruffy and her feet were pumping pain continuously. Her breathing patterns weren't normal and she felt like her lungs were stabbing her chest every time she took a breath. Claw marks throbbed on her left arm, red scruffy lines all diagonally pointing downwards. She had rapped up the wound with her cape. Her hair was a dirty mess and a few locks of her hair dangled before her eyes.

"NEVER!" The young woman lashed out her right arm from the direction she came from, her eyes darkening and an 'M' shaped tattoo forming on her forehead. A dark crimson light shone from her hand and soon engulfed herself.

"NO!"

Agatha Harkness. Protector of witch craft. Defender of Wicca.

[Optikal]

GLADIATOR


The town of Carlsbad, New Mexico was a sleepy place. Consisting of a mix of native American and Hispanic peoples, its residents lived normal, everyday simple lives.

This morning however, the wail of sirens and screeching and destruction woke the town from its slumber. Local law enforcement was helpless and the National Guard, though quick to respond proved just as ineffective against the threat the people of Carlsbad faced.

"WHAT DID THEY DO TO ME?! WHAT HAVE THEY DONE?!"

The monster was once respected genetic scientist and researcher, Chang Lam. For the past two years Lam had worked at a restricted US Military base 50 miles outside of Carlsbad. His research, to perfect and diversify the application of the coveted Super Soldier Serum had gone awry. Fearful of his project being cancelled, Lam had tested the application upon himself, the results of which were now tearng the once sleepy town apart.

"I WANT ROSS! I'M GOING TO KILL HIM! THIS IS HIS FAULT!"

A contingent of National Guard had blocked off the end of the road, leaving Lam nowhere to go. At once, they opened fire. Standard issue assault rifles, shotguns and .50 calibur machine guns assaulting that marauding beast. Lam fell back and roared his frustration before hurling a pair of abandoned cars towards the personell. Explosions rocked the defensive line as Lam prepared to charge.

http://images.rockytoptalk.com/images/admin/abomination.gif



Suddenly, the dust and smoke and grime of the battle kicked up in thick, heavy wisps as a dark shape descended from the sky.

http://images1.wikia.nocookie.net/marveldatabase/images/thumb/4/4d/Kallark_%28Earth-616%29_002.jpg/250px-Kallark_%28Earth-616%29_002.jpg

"Your rampage stops now monster. Yield, or face the wrath of the Gladiator".

[Andy C.]

FURY

It's days like this that really make me hate my job. And that remind me just how necessary my job is.

The mission in Chicago was a complete mess. Sure, Hawkeye recovered most of the stolen weapons, the missing vials of Legacy, even brought in Castle with hardly a scratch on him....but he completely blew a critical component of the operation. By engaging Castle without attempting to extract intel, Barton allowed himself to get blindsided by HYDRA operatives.

And now the world's most dangerous terrorist organization has a nuclear warhead in their hands. Worse, one of our nukes. Meaning that every single person that HYDRA kills if they set that thing off can point the finger straight at me when I get to hell.

As I wait for Castle to be brought to me, I check the feed from our scouters across the country. An awful lot going down, all at once.

Seems General Ross has found himself a Strontian. I'll be damned; I thought they were all dead. Yet there he is, kicking up dust with the Abomination creature in New Mexico. Not the strangest thing to happen in that state, that's for damned sure.

Some more activity in New York, of course. Another 'Spider-Man' siting in a bar in Brooklyn; seems he hospitalized nearly two dozen thugs all by himself, including a trio of the "Big Man's" top enforcers. He could prove to destabilize the organized crime structure of the city if he really tries, especially with the Big Man's rival Silvermane suddenly being targeted by the 'Devil' vigilante...or vigilantes. I'd have an operative look further into it if it were a matter of greater importance. The Spider-Man, though, might require a closer look before too long.

I glance over a few of the other goings-on in Manhattan before something catches my eye: an unidentified, red-faced man who stopped a high-speed pursuit. According to the spotter, the man passed right into the car like a ghost, and later had bullets bounce off of him like nothing. A red face....able to change its molecular density....

....dear God, someone actually managed to activate it.

"Special order to all operatives in New York area," I speak into my headset, broadcasting a notification on a secure line. "All spotters are to be advised of a new object of interest. Keep eyes peeled for possible friendly, possible hostile, appearance and abilities matching the description I'm uploading to you. Those without proper clearance will get a truncated version of what to look for. If target it spotted, observe and report all activity, but do not engage, repeat, do not engage. Fury out."

After all these years, the Vision is awake, active, and running around in the largest city in America. The last thing we need is for someone to set him off.

As I file through the rest of the reports, keeping up to speed with the situation in Washington, there's a knock on the door to my office. They've finally brought me Castle.

"Send him in."

The door creaks open, and a handcuffed and halfway bloodied Frank Castle is shoved in.

"Take a seat, Frank."

He eyes me like he's sizing me up, spits out a wad of blood, then staggers over to the nearest chair and sits down.

"You've got a hell of a way to treat your old friends, Colonel Fury. Especially ones who were just doing what they were ordered to do."

"What you were ordered to do? Sorry, Frank, I don't recall giving you an order to shoot up half of Chicago."

"I was ordered to keep the city safe, and that's exactly what I was doing until your goddamn golden-boy hero brought me in."

"For starters, Hawkeye is anything but my 'golden-boy.' You can thank the Old Soldier for that, if he ever allows you to even look at him again. And secondly, you know damn well what the protocol is regarding HYDRA, especially when they have a nuke in their possession! You can blame Hawkeye all you want for tranq-ing you, but at the end of the day, the whole reason he was even there was because you went haywire. And because you breached protocol, because you decided to take the greatest threat to human civilization on all by yourself, HYDRA now has the ability to kill millions of people in seconds."

"If I'd contacted you, they would've gotten away with it even easier."

I give him a hard stare.

"Are you saying my men aren't fit for the job, Castle?"

He doesn't even flinch.

"Not at all, sir. I'm saying that security has been compromised. I'm saying that you have a mole in SHIELD, Colonel."

The silence that fills the room for the next minute or so tells me all I need to know. Someone's been feeding intel to HYDRA, but Castle hasn't figured out who.

"....get yourself cleaned up, have our psychoanalysts pick your brain, and prepare for a new assignment. Provided the Old Soldier still wants you alive, you're--"

"No."

"....excuse me, Castle?"

The bloodied rogue soldier straightens himself up.

"Sorry--no, sir. I'm heading back to Chicago, to finish what I need to do there. My family died back there. My wife, my daughter. HYDRA was running weapons into the city, but the gangs that did it are still out there. Frank Castle did his duty to SHIELD and to his country for God knows how long...but when the Frank Castle you knew went under to become a sleeper, he never really came back. I never 'activated' the way I was meant to. I'm not an operative for your organization anymore. I'm a cop who loved his family, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let the people who did it go unpunished."

"...so that's it, then. You're just walking away."

"Yeah, that's it. Frank Castle fought your war for decades. The Punisher has his own war to fight."

I take a moment to think it over. Letting him go means losing one of our very best soldiers, just so he can go get himself killed a month or a year from now when some pathetic gang-banger gets lucky. Forcing him to stay on is no good either--he'll be too distracted for the job at hand. Besides, SHIELD doesn't take conscripts. One of the first rules the Old Soldier ever put into place: no non-believers, volunteers only.

"Then you know your way out, Frank. Just know that if a single civilian in Chicago gets killed because of your war, I'll have you put down within the hour."

Castle says nothing as he stands up, hands me the handcuffs that he'd picked and escaped from while we were talking, and walks out the door. The guards move for a second to stop them, but I wave them off.

So now HYDRA has a nuke, the organization is compromised, and one of the best operatives we've ever had is turning in.

Like I said, it's days like this that make me really hate my job.

If we've been infiltrated, then the usual channels of command can't be trusted. Which means we'll need to look to outside help to deal with what's to come....

"Hawkeye," I say into the headset, opening up a line with Barton, "Fury. I'll tear you a new ass-hole about your failure in Chicago later. For now, I've got a new assignment for you."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST


"Hawkeye,""Fury. I'll tear you a new ass-hole about your failure in Chicago later. For now, I've got a new assignment for you."

I feel a small twitch in my eye. My failure? MY failure?! Oh, hell no.

I storm out of the room, sensing just a twinge of regret in the feeble old man confined to his wheelchair.

I don't even give Fury a chance to speak, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him right into the wall.

"F&^% you, you geriatric pr*$%! If anybody failed on the Chicago job, it was you and your lousy intel and lax security! Who in the hell plants a nuclear bomb in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world, and then depend on some poindexter punk to check on it every few months?! You told me I was looking for an amnesic sleeper who had a hard on for some low level mobsters! How the hell did that work out, Fury? Huh? I'll tell you. I walked into a war between a pissed off nut ball and HYDRA!"

I toss Fury down into his chair.

"Then I have your little golden boy taunting me, telling me you and him are keeping secrets and I'm the pitiful little dope. This isn't the first time you lied to me, you selfish b@$t@*d, but you tell me why the f&%^ I shouldn't walk out that door nd make it the last?"

[Byrd Man]

Wyatt Wingfoot
Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.


Salt Lake City, Utah

"Morning, Doc," the heavy-set man says as he waddles through the examination room.

The man's name is David Goldman. He's twenty-eight years old, a divorcee with a three year old daughter he has joint-custody of along with his ex. He works as a clerk for the Mormon Church in downtown Salt Lake. One of the few non Mormons involved in the church's affairs.

"What seems to be the problem today, David?" I ask with a kind smile as he hops up on the examinaton room table.

"For the past two days, I've had this awful pain in my big toe. I think it might be gout."

"Strange. Have you been eating an awful lot of red meat lately?"

"That's the damn thing about it, Doc. I've been a vegetarian for a month now. Been trying to lose weight."

The pain is a a fabrication, a mental suggestion placed in his mind nine years ago. From a payphone in Indianapolis, I called David two days ago and activated his trigger.

"That is interesting. Although with Gout, it has been known to take its time before it properly manifests. Sins of the past, I'm afraid."

"Well, what should I do?"

I clear my throat, adjusting the reading glasses on the bridge of my nose.

"Simple. Take a hot bath, wrap a hot towel around your head, eat some hot soup, and then eat a big piece of pound cake."

Goldman's eyes glaze over slightly.

"Pound cake?" He asks dreamily.

"Pound cake. Make sure to add plenty of nuts, whipped cream, and strawberrys on it."

"I understand," the dreamy voice replies back.

According to my last dead drop, a businessman here in Salt Lake City has been manipulating the funds of the Mormon Church for use by HYDRA. The church here isn't as rich as the Vatican, but they're certainly not hurting financial wise. All that money in HYDRA's hands? I don't think so.

"So you know what to do, yes?"

"Yes," Goldman replies in his robotic state.

I give him the codeword to snap out of it. Goldman blinks around in surpise, amazed that his toe has stopped hurting. I tell him that's my job and thank him for coming in and seeing me, the bill will be covered by his insurance and my office will send them the bill.

After Goldman is gone, I head to the restaurant where the businessman in question eats lunch every day. Halfway through my Reuben sandwich, the target comes in. I ask for the check and leave just as David Goldman is walking into the restaurant. Our eyes meet, but Goldman's eyes carry no acknowledgement of me in them.

I manage to flag down a taxi. It pulls away from the sidewalk just as the gunshots ring out inside the retaruant. The businessman dies on the way to the hospital and David Goldman isn't really sure why he killed him, or even if he killed him. The only thing he remembers of that day is preparing to go see his doctor. His toe was hurting that morning.

He tells the police the doctor's name is Edward Wolfe. No doctor with that name exists in Salt Lake, and since Goldman cannot describe what this doctor looks like, the police ride it off and charge the man with first degree murder.

By the time Goldman sees a judge for his crime, I'm back home in Indiana. I leave a note for Quartermain at the dead drop in Indianapolis.

Check the papers, it reads. Mission accomplished.

[sabetoonth]

http://img535.imageshack.us/img535/5987/sabretoothrpg3.jpg
Victor heard the brush crunching underneath the feet of his foe and former comrade. He loosened the muscles in his body, he positioned himself just right, he leaped to a tree to the left of logan’s projected path, using his superhuman leg strength to hurtle hiimself at his now in-sight foe.
Victor pounced on Wolverine, rolling off and leaping back into the trees.
“Kid, this way!” Logan growled, unsheathing his claws he leapt after Victor, just as the colonel planned. Logan sunk his claws into each tree as he chased after the enemy colonel. Mimic did as Lgan did, though slower, having roughly textured bone claws to Logan’s smooth adamantium. Victor landed in a clearing prepared for a handicap match.
Logan burst through the trees lunging at Victor, he ran the mutant through the blades peircing his chest. Victor fell back and kicked the mutant off sending him into a tree. Mimic came running through the trees Victor caught the scent and heard the falling of his steps and clotheslined the young mutant knocking him on his back.
“Ever think your fighting on the wrong side kid?” Victor questioned Mimic before Logan hurled himslef into Victor. Sending them both over the edge of a ravine. Victor landed like a cat on all fours, Logan did likewise, mimic jumped off the edge relying on his barrowed reflexes and healing factor to keep him alive after the fall. Victor launched himslef at Logan, he grabbed his arm, pulled it out, and and slammed his left arm into it. Wolverine growled in pain as his soft tissues were crushed between his adamantium laced bones and the arm of his foe. He lashed out with his good right arm, slicing across Victors chest. Victor grimaced in pain and growled low in his throat. He lunged forward with a kick, Logan went to slice and Mimic fell hard on the earth, startled slightly logans arm went off track and Viktors kcik made contact with Loagn’s gut. Logan staggered.
“kid offset your balance?” Victor taunted Logan.
“We’ll see if your standing stright after the kid and I get you back to the mansion, bub” Logan snarled.
“Does the ‘the kid’ have a name?” Vicotr charged at the still down Mimic, who had landed harder then he intended to. He snatched him up and held him tight in a bear hug so they both faced Logan. “So whats the name, kid?” Victor questioned into Mimics ear. Mimic froze in terror, he thought he would be ready for a hostage situation if there ever was one, but he didn’t expect himself to be the hostage.
“They call me Mimic, and this is why,” Victor felt a sharp stabbing pain in his thigh. The kid had reached down and sunk large felid-like claws into the musles in Victor's left thigh the blood trickled down his flesh. He growled as he took his head and headbutted the young mutant. Victor let the kid fall as Logan launched himself into Sabretooth. Victor caught Logan but went reeling into the rock wall of the ravine. Logan sank his claws deep into Victors shoulder.
“AHHHRGH!” Victor cried out in pain as the admantium sank through his shoulder and into the rock on the other side. Logan sent his knee flying into Victors stomach, another yelp of pain as adamantium crushed soft tissue between rock. He threw his left fist into Victor skull, bone cracked and broke with a crunch.
“Want to tell us anything about were the rest of the herds goin Vic?”Logan pushed his fist and blades deeper into Victors shoulder, Victor gritted his teeth,
“out to pasture, with the likes of you castrated government lackies” Victor spat in Logan's face. He sent an unexpected knee into Logan's gut and took a large leap scaling the rock face.

[Andy C.]

FURY


I feel a small twitch in my eye. My failure? MY failure?! Oh, hell no.

I storm out of the room, sensing just a twinge of regret in the feeble old man confined to his wheelchair.

I don't even give Fury a chance to speak, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him right into the wall.

"F&^% you, you geriatric pr*$%! If anybody failed on the Chicago job, it was you and your lousy intel and lax security! Who in the hell plants a nuclear bomb in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world, and then depend on some poindexter punk to check on it every few months?! You told me I was looking for an amnesic sleeper who had a hard on for some low level mobsters! How the hell did that work out, Fury? Huh? I'll tell you. I walked into a war between a pissed off nut ball and HYDRA!"

I toss Fury down into his chair.

"Then I have your little golden boy taunting me, telling me you and him are keeping secrets and I'm the pitiful little dope. This isn't the first time you lied to me, you selfish b@$t@*d, but you tell me why the f&%^ I shouldn't walk out that door and make it the last?"

After he finishes his little temper tantrum, I pull out a small device from my pocket and press the red button on it...activating the electrode that I stuck onto Hawkeye's neck while he was roughing me up. The brat spasms for a moment before falling to the floor.

"First of all, Barton, if you ever take that tone with me again, I'll put two rounds through your goddamn skull. I don't care one bit that the Old Soldier's taken a shining to you right now, the fact of the matter is that I am in command of this operation, and you are acting like a spoiled child. Come in here, throw a hissy-fit, think you can just intimidate me? Sorry, but I'm not Norman Osborn. I don't scare easy."

I straighten my uniform, level the pictures on the wall....then give Hawkeye another shock for good measure.

"Look at you, the big rock star, thinking that because you're a good shot means you get access to anything and everything your superiors are doing. Like you've completely forgotten the meaning of 'eyes only' and 'need to know' information. So let me make it perfectly clear: you'll learn all about what Castle and I were doing, what really happened in Chicago, and any other need-to-know information, when you need. to. know. I don't keep secrets because I think it's fun. I keep secrets because if they get out, people die. Are we clear?"

For a few seconds, Barton and I just stare each other down. I'll give him some credit: he's reckless, he's stupid, and he's a self-entitled little snot, but he's got nerves of steel. Makes sense, considering where he gets it from.

"Now on your feet, soldier," I practically spit out at him, since he's hardly worthy of the title. "You're right on one count: security isn't what it needs to be. I have reason to believe that there's a mole in the organization, feeding intel to HYDRA. Until we find out who it is and silence him, we can no longer rely on the usual channels to deal with the threat. We need a third-party, one that can act independently from central command and still achieve the needed effects. We need outside help, one that HYDRA won't see coming until they come busting the doors. So brush up on your recruiting manuals, Hawkeye. You're about to commandeer HAMMER's favorite pet project."

I hand him a dossier of the person of interest.

"Training from CIA and HAMMER agents, expert martial artist, has proven exemplary in field exercises. Fortunately, he's not another Frank Castle--the man's a regular boy scout psychologically. He's not to be underestimated, however--the man you're looking for is everything the dirt mags say you are: a real, genuine Super-Soldier. Any other time, I'd jump at a chance to see just how the two of you stack up in a fight, but you're not there to capture him. You're going to bring him in voluntarily, understood?"

He doesn't even look at the dossier. Kid is still putting on a show, being defiant. Fine. He doesn't respond to the stick? I'll offer him the carrot.

"You want to know what Frank Castle thought was so funny about you? Then here's the deal: if you can convince James Buchanan Barnes, real name James Steven Rogers, to join this new operation to take out HYDRA, then the information is yours."

I turn my back on Hawkeye, signaling that the order is not open for negotiation.

"Bring me the son of Captain America, and you'll get every answer you're looking for."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

FURY




After he finishes his little temper tantrum, I pull out a small device from my pocket and press the red button on it...activating the electrode that I stuck onto Hawkeye's neck while he was roughing me up. The brat spasms for a moment before falling to the floor.

"First of all, Barton, if you ever take that tone with me again, I'll put two rounds through your goddamn skull. I don't care one bit that the Old Soldier's taken a shining to you right now, the fact of the matter is that I am in command of this operation, and you are acting like a spoiled child. Come in here, throw a hissy-fit, think you can just intimidate me? Sorry, but I'm not Norman Osborn. I don't scare easy."

I straighten my uniform, level the pictures on the wall....then give Hawkeye another shock for good measure.

"Look at you, the big rock star, thinking that because you're a good shot means you get access to anything and everything your superiors are doing. Like you've completely forgotten the meaning of 'eyes only' and 'need to know' information. So let me make it perfectly clear: you'll learn all about what Castle and I were doing, what really happened in Chicago, and any other need-to-know information, when you need. to. know. I don't keep secrets because I think it's fun. I keep secrets because if they get out, people die. Are we clear?"

For a few seconds, Barton and I just stare each other down. I'll give him some credit: he's reckless, he's stupid, and he's a self-entitled little snot, but he's got nerves of steel. Makes sense, considering where he gets it from.

"Now on your feet, soldier," I practically spit out at him, since he's hardly worthy of the title. "You're right on one count: security isn't what it needs to be. I have reason to believe that there's a mole in the organization, feeding intel to HYDRA. Until we find out who it is and silence him, we can no longer rely on the usual channels to deal with the threat. We need a third-party, one that can act independently from central command and still achieve the needed effects. We need outside help, one that HYDRA won't see coming until they come busting the doors. So brush up on your recruiting manuals, Hawkeye. You're about to commandeer HAMMER's favorite pet project."

I hand him a dossier of the person of interest.

"Training from CIA and HAMMER agents, expert martial artist, has proven exemplary in field exercises. Fortunately, he's not another Frank Castle--the man's a regular boy scout psychologically. He's not to be underestimated, however--the man you're looking for is everything the dirt mags say you are: a real, genuine Super-Soldier. Any other time, I'd jump at a chance to see just how the two of you stack up in a fight, but you're not there to capture him. You're going to bring him in voluntarily, understood?"

He doesn't even look at the dossier. Kid is still putting on a show, being defiant. Fine. He doesn't respond to the stick? I'll offer him the carrot.

"You want to know what Frank Castle thought was so funny about you? Then here's the deal: if you can convince James Buchanan Barnes, real name James Steven Rogers, to join this new operation to take out HYDRA, then the information is yours."

I turn my back on Hawkeye, signaling that the order is not open for negotiation.

"Bring me the son of Captain America, and you'll get every answer you're looking for."

"You're only in charge because the old man says you are...for now. Don't thump your chest in front of me Fury, because I know it's just an act with you. And I also know you can't hand down any order to me unless you clear it through the Old Soldier first. I only listen to you out of respect for him."

I pick up the dossier. S.H.I.E.L.D. created Captain America. Why is his son in bed with H.A.M.M.E.R.? Which also then makes the question of why I'm here all the more confusing.

I look at the loose cannon in front of me. So smug, so arrogant. There's a screw loose in there somewhere. Heh, the thought is almost too funny. If they only knew.

"Careful getting all worked up, old man," I call on my way out the door. "Your age, you don't want to blow a fuse."

[Andy C.]

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"You're only in charge because the old man says you are...for now. Don't thump your chest in front of me Fury, because I know it's just an act with you. And I also know you can't hand down any order to me unless you clear it through the Old Soldier first. I only listen to you out of respect for him."

I pick up the dossier. S.H.I.E.L.D. created Captain America. Why is his son in bed with H.A.M.M.E.R.? Which also then makes the question of why I'm here all the more confusing.

I look at the loose cannon in front of me. So smug, so arrogant. There's a screw loose in there somewhere. Heh, the thought is almost too funny. If they only knew.

"Careful getting all worked up, old man," I call on my way out the door. "Your age, you don't want to blow a fuse."

It's all I can do to not draw my sidearm and put a shot through the back of the little punk's head. "Respect" for the old man. Bulls&*t. Brats like Barton don't know anything about respect--they just expect to be handed whatever they ask for, and then go tattle to whatever higher-up they can find the second they hear something they don't like. If the Old Soldier were still strong enough to make a fist, he'd knock the pissy little bastard's teeth out for talking to a superior officer like that.

I sit down at my desk, reach down into one of the lower drawers for the flask of whiskey to calm my nerves...

...and the next thing I know, I'm on the floor. There's a frantic knocking from the outside my office, followed by the near-panicked voice of one of my lieutenants calling my name.

"Director Fury!" Agent Bridge calls for me. "Director Fury, are you in there?"

"Calm down, I'm here. Just make sure Hawkeye is prepping for his damn job, and tell him if he's not active within the hour--"

"Sir?" He says, a look of confusion on his face. "Hawkeye prepped and departed for his mission...three hours ago."

....what in God's name?

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif

"Are you freaking damaged, geek? Can't you see I'm trying to have a conversation with actual people here?!"

"Right, sorry, Sally, but you're....well, kinda standing right in front of my locker. And I sorta need my books. Y'know, for class. And the bell rings in, like, five minutes."

"Then that's five minutes you're gonna have to wait. We're in the middle of discussing critical information for tonight's dance. You know, the thing that those of us with actual lives are going to be going to?"

"*sigh*....whatever. Guess it's a good thing I read ahead and don't really need the book anyway."

"There ya go, that's a good little geek. Now get out of my sight!"

Ah, another soul-satisfying morning at Midtown High. You'd think that with Flash and his idiot patrol nowhere in sight that I'd be in the clear, but leave it to Sally Avril and her pack of hyenas to run down and rip apart what trembling remains of self-esteem I have left.

At the very least, jumping back into the shark tank that is high school class-warfare takes my mind off of everything that happened yesterday. Nearly twenty of Big Man's goons in the hospital, Harry and Norman and Gwen seeing me all busted up afterward, my fun little field trip to Oscorp and getting all creeped out by Dr. Warren...then all the stuff I read off of Doctor Connors's jump drive....

...I get the feeling that I oughta relish what little time I may have left as an unassuming high school loser.

I cut across the courtyard to save time on my way to class, and that's when I see why Flash's crew wasn't going after me today. They've picked themselves a new target: Max Dillon.

"Back off, I mean it!" Dillon practically whimpers. "I'm so sick of you guys, I just...hey, stop laughing!"

"Jeez, you gonna cry, Maxie? Gonna go run off into the A-V room and squeeze out a few tears like last time?" Flash keeps egging him on.

"I said SHUT UP!"

"Wow, get a load of Mr. Mood-Swing," Mary Jane chimes in. "If that embarrassing dust-stache he's got wasn't a sign that he's a guy, I'd swear he was on his period."

"Huhuhuh, maybe we should call him Maxy-pad," Kong jokes, and Flash and MJ pretend to laugh just to humor him.

"I swear, if you don't leave me alone..."

"You'll what, huh?" Eddie steps forward, giving Max a hard shove. "What exactly is Maxy-pad here going to do?"

"Hey! Seriously, back off!" I hear myself blurt out. The whole gang turns their heads towards me in disbelief, before Flash and MJ and Kong bust out laughing.

I can't help but notice that Eddie doesn't laugh. My old 'big bro' just gives me the single deadliest stare I've ever seen in my life--and that's coming from a guy who's had people actually try to kill him with rather alarming frequency these days.

"Oh man, this is too much!" Flash says once he catches his breath. "Puny Parker steps in to save the day? Like, a day after we rolled him across the gym in a trash can?"

"Guess the poor kid's just desperate for attention," MJ snickers. "What say you fine gentlemen give Peter here the attention he apparently needs so badly?"

Flash and Kong sneer, and Eddie actually cracks his knuckles. God, now I remember why I didn't start playing hero before I had super-powers...

TWO CLASS PERIODS AND ONE SWIRLIE LATER....

Mmmmm....Salisbury steak with mashed potatoes and brown liquid that might be mistaken for gravy somewhere in the world, and a greenish substance that I'm assured was peas at some point. Kong made a big show out of eating my packed lunch earlier, so I get to sample the house cuisine today. The price I pay for sticking up for a fellow geek, I suppose.

I pick at the dubiously-titled 'food' on my tray with a spork for a few minutes, all alone in the corner table since neither of my two actual friends have the same lunch period as I do. Then, much to my surprise, Max actually comes over and sits down next to me.

"Hey, umm...thanks for sticking up for me earlier, Parker."

"Not a big deal, man. I mean, hey, everyone knows that Flash and Mary Jane are supposed to be picking on me, and I can't have people horning in on my territory, right?"

I laugh uneasily at my own joke for a second, hoping it'll get him to laugh too. It doesn't.

"I just....rrrrgh. They're so stupid and full of themselves, and we can't do anything about it because they've got all the muscle. I just wish that somebody would...give them what they deserve."

"Heh, you should've been there yesterday, when Gwen doused them all in shaving cream. The look on MJ's face was gold."

"...that's not what I meant."

....o-kayyyy, changing the subject.

"Soooo.....planning on beating me for the third year straight in the Science Fair? You kept going on and on all last month about how you'd gotten your hands on some kind of 'bio-electric amplifier' formula from your internship at Tri-Corp. Gonna do something with that?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna do....something with that."

"You're ahead of me then, 'cause I still have no idea what--"

"Look, Peter, I'm really not the socializing small-talk type. I just wanted to thank you for getting Flash and the other jocks off of my back for a little while. Doesn't make us friends."

"....okay, jeez, just trying to relate, man."

"Right. Anyway, I'm going to return the favor to you, and give you a little piece of advice. Don't go to the dance tonight."

"Wasn't planning to, Max. No girl in this school will get within a ten-foot radius of me, remember?"

"No, I mean don't. go. to the dance. Trust me."

With that, Max picks up his lunch and walks off, leaving me to sit with my nasty mystery meat and ponder what exactly that means. Whatever it is, it can't be good. Maybe I should mask up tonight and stay close by, in case something happens and Spider-Man is needed....or I could just tell the principal.

I fiddle with the milk carton for what seems like entirely too long before I finally manage to open it, then I sip it and think. Now I'm waging a one-man crusade against a crime lord who wants me dead, living with a man who owns a company that can probably turn my DNA into a monster-cocktail or just have me thrown in prison for the rest of my life if they so choose, and now scrawny little Max Dillon of all people (like I have any room to talk) comes to me all ominous-like and implies he's going to do something stupid and probably hurt someone, meaning I've got to stop him from doing it.

...I swear, I'm going to end up having a nervous breakdown before I even make it to college.

[Byrd Man]

Wyatt Wingfoot
Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.



Garfield Park
Indianapolis, Indiana


A cup of coffee in my hand, a newspaper tucked under my arm, I walk down the park path towards a string of benches. Joggers nd mothers pushing strollers pass by me as I sit down on an already occupied park bench.

"The sun is shining," I say to the man sitting next to me.

"But the ice is still frozen," he replies automatically.

"Clay. Always good to see you."

"Likewise, Wyatt....Sorry, I meant William."

"That's fine. I was Wyatt Wingfoot for the better part of my life. I even have trouble remembering my new name."

"How's life?"

"Fine. My grandchildren just spent the weekend with my wife and I. My daughter is about to graduate from IU with her doctorate in American history."

"Congrats."

"You know what she wrote her thesis on? The Kennedy Assassination, and how Oswald acted alone."

"You're ****ting me."

"Out of the mouths of babes, Clay...so, why did you call for a face to face meet?"

"Something's come up. Something big."

"How big? Last time we met was on 9/11."

"Not as big, but just as important."

Clay swallows hard, his eyes checking to make sure that the joggers in the park aren't lingering to listen in to our conversation.

"Fury thinks there's a mole in SHIELD."

The sentence hangs in the air for a long minute.

"How sure is he?"

"As sure as you can be in this business."

"Where do I come into play?"

"You really are getting old, Wyatt. We have a mole and you're one of our most senior agents, as well as one of our most isolated agents. Hell, you're almost like the sleeper agents in your program. If there's one person we know isn't a mole, it's you."

"And I'm betting my relationship with Gabe Jones has something to do with this?"

"Well, you did study at the foot of SHIELD's counter-intelligence guru. If anyone is qualified to help us with a mole hunt, it's you."

"What are my orders?"

"That's above my pay grade. Let's hit the airport. We're going to see the man."

[bkhedr]

http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg








The late model sedan speeds dangerously down the city streets, veering through traffic and narrowly avoiding a collision every few seconds.

A man in a ski mask leans out of the driver window periodically to pepper the pursuing police vehicles with semi automatic weapons fire. The shots are semi wild, and do little damage, but every round serves to send the police further back in their pursuit.

They are clearly anxious to mitigate any risk to the city's civillian populace. It seems the two fugitives have already claimed one life, that of the manager of the jewellery store they robbed before stealing the vehicle they now drive.

I watch the chase from my vantage point for a few more moments then resolve to act.

I begin a slow delibirate dive, compensating for the vehicle's erratic movement, while maintaining my intagible state.

In the car the gun man shouts to be heard over the pursuing sirens, calling for his partner to hold the car steady.

The partner curses through gritted teeth an instant before his eyes go wide and his skin goes ashen.

He keeps his foot on the gas pedal and his hands on the wheel but that is all. He swallows hard and tries to speak, but he can not find the saliva he needs to warn his partner, who is anyway too busy shooting at the pursuing police to notice that I am hovering just above the hood of the car, matching its speed and trajectory, staring silently at the driver.

A moment later the driver regains his wits, and his ability to move. With a shaking hand he reaches below his seat, no doubt for a weapon.

I remain expressionless, watching silently, but I bring an arm up, moving faster than the driver, before driving the intangible limb into the hood of the car. I then solidify my fingers slightly, the whole gesture is silent, and without undue flair. Now the driver finds his voice and lets out a terrified shout that brings his partner swivelling around only for him to mimic his partner's shocked outburst.

The car engine sputters and pops as my digits impede its operations, and cuts off its flow of fuel. A moment after that the engine cuts off meekly and the car begins to slow.

"My god what is it?!" The gun man shouts at his partner accusingly, as if he had somehow driven them into my path.

"I don't know man! I don't know! It just showed up and now the car's dead!" The panicked driver responds.

"And so's this red faced freak!" The gun man responds as he levels his weapon at me and fires.

I could remain intangible, and simply allow the bullets to pass harmlessly through me, but the city around me teems with life, and for the second time today I find myself....unwilling, to allow the humans to come to harm.

And so I shift my density once more, going from ghost like intagibility to diamon hardness in less time than it takes the bullets to penetrate the windshield and come barreling towards me.

The rounds bounce harmlessly off of my super dense form as the car continues to slow, prompting both men to roar agressively as they both emptied their clips in my direction even as I slowly brought my feet down to the asphalt and placed a solid hand on the hood of the car, bringing it to a gradual stop even as the two thieves expended the last of their ammunition and several police cruisers pulled up around us.

The officers hurriedly exit their vehicles and surround us. I am not surprised when many of them level their side arms at me.

"You!" One of them shouts in my direction "You in the cape! Hands in the air!"

I turn my head ever so slightly in his direction, taking stock of him and reading his identification. Officer Stewart McTavish of the NYPD.

"I said hands up!" He repeats prompting me to let out a quiet sigh.

"Another time perhaps." I say to no one in particular before I drop my density once more and allow myself to sink below the city's streets, and into the sewer tunnels beneath





http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg



Manhattan. Two Hours Later....

The aged man's health is not good, and he is frightfully thin. So much so that he appears as if he might shatter if bumped into.

At first glance one might consider this Russian immigrant an object worthy of pity, but that would be a terrible mistake, for though time and disease have taken their toll on this man's body and mind, but his eyes burn with awareness, declaring to any astute enough to notice, that this man, despite his apparent frailty, whithered skin, and thinning hair, is still a force in his own right.

Two hours ago he had been downtown, in the back of a chauffered limousine, watching the city go by, when his serenity was interrupted by sirens. His driver informed him that some petty thugs were in the process of commiting a crime and that the police were giving chase. The information could not have bored him more.

Of course matters did get more intersting, if only marginally so, when the thugs in question pulled into an intersection just across from his limo. It was then, that the evening truly became interesting, and the old man felt a rush of excitement he had not felt in years, decades. A rush that brought him racing here, to the one man who could make use of his revelation. The man who had once been his protege, and had long since surpassed him.

"I'm telling you it could not have been anything else." he said insistingly. His voice raspy and used up.

He sat in a darkened office near the top of the Roxxon Energy building in New York. In front of him, sitting behind a grand oak desk, was the man he had come to see. Beyond that man was a large glass wall behind which the city skyline was displayed.

"And I'm telling you must be wrong old friend." the man behind the desk said shaking his head "It is too much of a coincidence. I do not believe in coincidences."

The man behind the desk was not a young man, but compared to the older man he was in the prime of his life. His jet black hair and beard were starting to show streaks of grey, but his frame was still powerful. He downed a shot of vodka, then took a long satisfying drag on the cigarette he held.

"Besides you and I both know that that project never did produce any usable results" he added as he exhaled smoke through his nostrils.

"Only because the Americans were afraid of what they had!" The older man answered quickly "Only because they did not have the necessary will!"

"Come now Vasily, you want me to believe that the product of the American Ultron project happened to be playing superhero across the street from you earlier this evening? After 30 years of nothing?" The man asked incredulously as he leaned forward in his chair.

"Yes dammit yes!" The older man, Vasily Karpov, replied. "What do you take me for? I have spent decades searching, trying to recover that which was taken from us so long ago, and now I have found it. I tell you it altered its density! It was clearly synthetic! The Americans will surely be trying to reacquire it, and now that it has revealed itself, it will not be long before they do. We must get to it before the Americans, and if you will not do what needs to be done, then I have wasted my time here, and perhaps another of my former students is more worthy of this information."

The last words were spoken with a cold fury. They were meant as a threat, and a serious one at that. Whatever the truth of the matter, Vasily Karpov truly believed what he was saying, and if he believed it then going against him would be both dangerous and foolhardy.

The man behind the desk considered this in silence as he locked eyes with his mentor before nodding subtly.

"Very well old friend. I will find this red faced ghost." Aleksander Lukin said as he took another drag off his cigarette "I hope for your sake, that this is not a waste of my time."

http://media.comicvine.com/uploads/0/9241/600148-440px_lukin_super.jpg

[Red_Robin77]

The Lost Warrior

Part Two

A truck ploughed through the rain as it travelled along the road ahead, surrounded by the darkness of the night. At the wheel of the truck, a middle-aged man named Frankie, squinting at the road as tiredness began to set in slightly. Beside him, sat a man with long blonde hair and stubble, a red cape and heavy armour covering him. At his belt hung a hammer and in his hand was a half empty bottle of scotch. This to all men of Asgard was Thor, God of Thunder. To Frankie, he was a drunk who he was giving a lift to New York City.

"What're you doing in New York, then?" Frankie asked, hoping a conversation would keep him awake.

"It is a place to explore, and maybe a place for me to train," Thor explained as he drank some more of the drink.

"Sounds cool," Frankie nodded wearily, watching Thor drink out of the corner of his eye.

"That stuff is real strong. You might want to watch it."

"Hah. I doubt the ale of mortals could affect me."

Frankie frowned slightly as he kept his concentration on the road ahead. The slowly rolled out into view of the headlights, the road barely interesting. In the distance, a faint flicker of lightning. Frankie barely noticed, but beside him, Thor's eyes narrowed on the distant lightning.

"Stop."

Frankie looked over to him in confusion, before quickly turning back to the road. A blur of colours moves quickly towards the truck and before Frankie can react, it collides with the truck, sending it spinning it out of control. The truck skidded to the side of the road and rolled off of it. In the space where the truck was, a heavily armoured god carrying an axe stood in its place.

The door of the truck facing upwards was smashed off its hinges into the air, and clunked down in the middle of the road. Thor pulled himself out of the cabin of the truck, the top of a broken bottle in his hands. He leapt down onto the road and faced the Asgardian opposite him angrily.

"A servant of Loki? I thought my fellow Asgardians had more sense than to follow my foolish brother."

"Loki requests your head, Thor. I am merely doing what my Lord says."

"Loki is no Lord."

"Enough of your ignorance," growled the Asgardian who charged viciously, axe in hand.

"If you so wish..." Thor muttered in reply and watched as the god charged, not even moving into defence.

As the axe swiped at the Son of Odin, Thor threw out his fist in an uppercut, striking the chin of the Asgardian.

"HAVE AT THEE!" Thor bellowed as the Asgardian was knocked back across the road.

He walked over to the Asgardian as he tried to stagger up. Thor kicked the being in the chest and knocked him back down.

"Tell Loki he can send as many as he so please, but he shall never stop me. Now. Go."

Thor glowered down at the god who looked up at him, before charging off down the road into the distance. However much Thor wanted to beat the betrayer, he needed somebody to send the message. The God of Thunder turned back to the overturned truck and ran over to it, sticking his arm into the open space where the door was. He pulled out the weak body of Frankie, a small trickle of blood crawling down his head. He helped Frankie down away from the truck and by the road.


"My apologises good Frankie, it would seem that you got slightly caught up in my business..."


http://www.seeklogo.com/images/T/The_Mighty_Thor-logo-D7A930D558-seeklogo.com.gif

The Lost Warrior
Part Three

A bus pulled up to the curb of a New York street, the rain hammering down on the metal hard. The doors opened and Thor stepped off the vehicle, Frankie standing by the door.

"There's some places around here where you can stay. I need to go up to tell the Boss about...well, y'know...the fact my truck is wrecked," Frankie told the God.

"I understand, my friend. Good luck," Thor nodded, and stepped away from the bus as the doors closed, and it moved off into the night.

The Asgardian began to walk down the pavement, heading in no particular direction. He was lost. In a mere day, he had gone from the great warrior Thor, Son of the late Odin, to an outlaw. It was all Loki's fault. He'd twisted everything. He would pay. That was something he was sure of.

[J'adore]

http://i46.tinypic.com/2v9vrbr.png

"Extra shot."

Emma looked over at the thin young girl, her hair pixie like, blond and spiked. The young girl was a pole dancer at the bar. Smoke filled the air, smoke from heavy cigars smoked by the old gentlemen in the corner of the room.

"Do I know you...?"

"No."

"You look familiar..."

"Listen lady, just leave me alone, yeah?"

Emma chuckled, her black boots were poking out the end of her coat, which dropped down to her knees. The young girl looked over and rolled her eyes, having a quick glance of the catsuit-like boots.

"You a dancer?"

"I thought you said I should leave you alone"

"You must be the newcomer. The name's Esme."

Esme ignored and Emma and stuck out her hand, awaiting Emma to shake her hand.

"Hah, dancer. Far from it 'Esme'. Just keep up your work, I would hate to see a girl like you on the streets."

Emma hopped off her stool and walked towards the door, a bright light shone through the glass window. She turned round for one quick glance at Esme then walked out to the daylight, carrying on with her business.

[Optikal]

GLADIATOR

Gladiator levitated just a foot or so off the ground watching the monster before him carefully. All around the chaos, civilians were fleeing in panic. Some of them watched from nearby windows, others refused to leave thier vehicles. The situation was fragile at best. Gladiator had offered a peaceful resolution, but it seemed no matter which planet you were on, no one ever wanted to come peacefully.

Today would be no exception.

"WHO ARE YOU? I WANT ROSS! I WANT MY REVENGE!" The monster leapt, his motion carrying him high into the air and brought him down in front of Kallark. As he landed, he caught Gladiator with a right hook, sending the Strontian flying back into the side of a tank. Abomination snarled and cracked his knuckles, "WELL IF ROSS WON'T COME TO ME, I GUESS I'LL HAVE TO SETTLE WITH KILLING HIS BOY SCOUTS! STARTING WITH YOU!"

Kallark freed himself from the wreckage and cast a cold smile towards his foe. "You may try, but I am the Gladiator!"

http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a105/optikal101/664880-180px_gladiator01.jpg

Kallark flew at the beast and smashed a series of heavy fists into the enemy. Abomination fell back under the flurry before taking a hard uppercut that took him off his feet.

Abomination crashed hard into a bus full of people but recovered his feet quickly. The civilians swarmed from the bus, screaming their panic as Lam grabbed it and hurled it away in a fit of rage.

http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a105/optikal101/240355-43140-abomination.jpg

"IS THAT THE BEST YOU HAVE?!"

Kallark shook his head and surged towards the Abomination. "I haven't even warmed up yet!"

[Watchman]

"Hello, Brock," the Red Skull said, "there has been an incident. Yes, it seems that Hydra has found us out. I do believe it was him. He wanted us out of the way permanently. What are we going to do about it? Well, we are just going to have to push our plans forward. When? Immediately."

The Red Skull hung up on Crossbones. He placed his phone back in his pocket and surveyed the scene that he created. Some weeks ago, he, Sinn, and Crossbones pinched a shipment Hydra's weapons and equipment. Hydra was not happy and went on the hunt but it was difficult.

According to all records: The Red Skull does not exist. Only one crazy old soldier believes in him. He was the Santa Claus of Terror, the Easter Bunny of Death.

For years he had served the Geist. Ever since they brought him up from the fire and ashes he was their attack dog. Now he was committed to cut that leash.

The group was once a respected name of terror. The guiding black hand of horror through the twentieth century since their birth after the fuhrer's "death", the imbecile . Now fat, lazy old men heading behind their bloody corporations. Now, to be disrespected by Hydra, the bastard rival of terror. He spat on one of the corpse of a Hydra agent.

He was going to blaze a new age of death and destruction. The streets will run red and the men, women, and children will scream his name. This was a start of something new.

This was year 0.

[J'adore]

"How's it coming along?"

"Not easy. But, I've managed to locate one of them."

"Get her. We have no time to waste"

***
Crimes everywhere nowadays, back in my day crime rate was very poor.

Emma walked down the dark street, she unbuttoned her coat and chucked it into the road, continuing to walk. Fluffing up her hair, she swiftly turned round a sharp corner, into a compact alleyway. There, a young girl was screaming for her life, two gruesome men mugging her and possibly trying to commit rape. Stretching out her fingers, her skin slowly shifted into her Diamond substance. She grasped one of the men on the shoulder and pulled him back, slamming him against the brick wall.

"HELP! HELP ME!"

The other man span round, confused to where his counter part.

"If you're looking for Tweedledee, he's over there."

The man chuckled and shot his fist towards Emma. Emma stood there, smirking. As his fist slammed into her body, she heard the satisfying sound of a crack.

"Big mistake"

Emma slammed her fist right up his stomach, causing him to shout in pain the stumble to the floor. His fellow companion who Emma had dealt with a few seconds ago, came back for more.

"It's O.K, I forgive you. It must be hard to see me in this light"

In the meantime, the young girl stood against the wall, shaking and wimping in fear. The man slowly raised his arm forward towards Emma, in his hand he held a small pocket knife. Smirking, Emma grabbed his wrist, with one swift movement, the man was clutching his wrist in pain.

"Th-thank you" The girl cracked a gentle smile.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Ce-Celeste"

"Be safe, Celeste. I wont always be here to help"

Marching out the alleyway, Emma dispersed into the darkness, leaving Celeste alone. Celeste grabbed all her stuff and quickly rushed out the alleyway.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

“Voluntarily. I guess roughing him up is ok if that’s what it takes to have him volunteer.”

I flip through the dossier. Nothing that really stands out, you know, pretty standard stuff for the ageless son of a Super Soldier. Dad gets assassinated, government hides mother and son, super new task force recruits son.

It’s what’s at the end of the dossier, or more correctly what’s not there, that intrigues me. There are several pages missing, hastily torn out. The only clue I have as to what was there is the cover page and first insert which had stuck to the back of the final page of Barnes’ bio, and whoever did the cover up missed them in their haste. Project Reboot, typed in neat, tiny letters on the middle of the cover page. The other insert look like lab results, a paternity test I think, and if I’m reading it right, Steve Rogers also reared a female air.

God only knows when the pages went missing, but I’m guessing that besides myself just now, Fury is the only man to ever handle this dossier, which leads me to believe he tore the pages out before it was handed off to me. The old guy is slipping, but not enough to keep from infuriating me anymore.

[Byrd Man]

Wyatt Wingfoot
Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.


West Berlin, Germany
1960

"Wo ist Jones?" I ask the secretary in my best German.

"In seinem Büro Herr Wingfoot ," she replies back.

Most of the locals working for the US Embassy here in Berlin think I can't speak or understand the language. I let them think that, and I don't respond to the jabs they make at me in their native tongue. They call me "savage" and Gabe, the SHIELD station chief, "monkey".

I let it all roll down my back, because I don't want them to think that Cultural Attache Wyatt Wingfoot is actually an agent for SHIELD, codenamed CHIEF. Gotta love Fury's bluntness when it comes to codenames.

"What's going on, Wyatt?" Gabe asks from behind his desk. His small office is filled with the sounds of opera singers belting their hearts out on the record player. Nice little cover just in case Ivan has any bugs in the walls.

"I just got back from a meet."

"TEARDROP?" He asks with an arched eyebrow. I nod and he chuckles.

"She is a man-eater, boy. You know her and Fury were an item during the war? One of our most valuable agents on the other side of he curtain, make sure you handle her with care."

"I can handle my own out there, Gabe. Don't worry."

"Tough talk for a guy just barely a year into a posting."

"Always good to be confident."

"Pride cometh before a fall. Now, sit down and let me teach you something."

The fat woman singing in Italian gives way to a fat man singing in Italian.

"What have you got for today's lesson?"

Gabe hands me a file full of papers.

"Time to learn about a barium meal..."


Now

"Wyatt...Wyatt."

Clay's voice, combined with the gentle shaking, wakes me.

"Must have dozed off. How about taking off this damn blindfold?"

The darkness of the blindfold goes away...and the darkness remains.

"Where the hell are we? It's darker than a woodchuck's ass****."

"We're at an undisclosed location. Classified."

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

I follow Clay through the darkness. The smells of coal and what little bit I know about the director gives me a good idea of where we are. West Virginia, maybe.

"So how does Fury look?"

"Pretty much the same as he looked back in 2001. Maybe a few more wrinkles and gray hairs."

"Incredible."

"Tell me about it."

I follow Quratermain for what seems like a long time. Finally, he comes to a stop at a steel door just off the mine shaft.

"This is where my security clearance ends. This is all you."

Clay walks back into the darkness as the door opens with a hiss. I walk into the room and stand at attention in front of the one-eyed man.

"Colonel Fury."

[Rain Dog]

http://img94.imageshack.us/img94/3980/howardbannercopy2.png


Today was my first day on the job and already it was off to a bad start. I got an estimated total of four hours of sleep, kept up to the waning hours of the night by the constant scritch-scratch of cockroaches scurrying up and down my walls. That and my neighbors' howling like baboons during a raucous make-up sex session.

I woke up, terrified I'd slide my legs out of the stained covers to find the rats had eaten a chunck of my foot while I slept. Fortunately, it was only a smidgen. I splashed some water on my face and headed out. It'd be a long walk to the mall, seeing as how I had no money for a cab. A bus or subway ride would have eaten up my last seventy-five cents, so I decided I'd hoof it.

I've started getting used to the bald monkey world. Aside from being stricken by a wave or disgust every time I have to look into their faces, I was pretty much getting the hang of this place. It's not all that different from home.




http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg





The late model sedan speeds dangerously down the city streets, veering through traffic and narrowly avoiding a collision every few seconds.

A man in a ski mask leans out of the driver window periodically to pepper the pursuing police vehicles with semi automatic weapons fire. The shots are semi wild, and do little damage, but every round serves to send the police further back in their pursuit.

They are clearly anxious to mitigate any risk to the city's civillian populace. It seems the two fugitives have already claimed one life, that of the manager of the jewellery store they robbed before stealing the vehicle they now drive.

I watch the chase from my vantage point for a few more moments then resolve to act.

I begin a slow delibirate dive, compensating for the vehicle's erratic movement, while maintaining my intagible state.

In the car the gun man shouts to be heard over the pursuing sirens, calling for his partner to hold the car steady.

The partner curses through gritted teeth an instant before his eyes go wide and his skin goes ashen.

He keeps his foot on the gas pedal and his hands on the wheel but that is all. He swallows hard and tries to speak, but he can not find the saliva he needs to warn his partner, who is anyway too busy shooting at the pursuing police to notice that I am hovering just above the hood of the car, matching its speed and trajectory, staring silently at the driver.

A moment later the driver regains his wits, and his ability to move. With a shaking hand he reaches below his seat, no doubt for a weapon.

I remain expressionless, watching silently, but I bring an arm up, moving faster than the driver, before driving the intangible limb into the hood of the car. I then solidify my fingers slightly, the whole gesture is silent, and without undue flair. Now the driver finds his voice and lets out a terrified shout that brings his partner swivelling around only for him to mimic his partner's shocked outburst.

The car engine sputters and pops as my digits impede its operations, and cuts off its flow of fuel. A moment after that the engine cuts off meekly and the car begins to slow.

"My god what is it?!" The gun man shouts at his partner accusingly, as if he had somehow driven them into my path.

"I don't know man! I don't know! It just showed up and now the car's dead!" The panicked driver responds.

"And so's this red faced freak!" The gun man responds as he levels his weapon at me and fires.

I could remain intangible, and simply allow the bullets to pass harmlessly through me, but the city around me teems with life, and for the second time today I find myself....unwilling, to allow the humans to come to harm.

And so I shift my density once more, going from ghost like intagibility to diamon hardness in less time than it takes the bullets to penetrate the windshield and come barreling towards me.

The rounds bounce harmlessly off of my super dense form as the car continues to slow, prompting both men to roar agressively as they both emptied their clips in my direction even as I slowly brought my feet down to the asphalt and placed a solid hand on the hood of the car, bringing it to a gradual stop even as the two thieves expended the last of their ammunition and several police cruisers pulled up around us.

The officers hurriedly exit their vehicles and surround us. I am not surprised when many of them level their side arms at me.

"You!" One of them shouts in my direction "You in the cape! Hands in the air!"

I turn my head ever so slightly in his direction, taking stock of him and reading his identification. Officer Stewart McTavish of the NYPD.

"I said hands up!" He repeats prompting me to let out a quiet sigh.

"Another time perhaps." I say to no one in particular before I drop my density once more and allow myself to sink below the city's streets, and into the sewer tunnels beneath


I was wrong. Holy ****, was I wrong. Bystanders scattered, screamed, or stared with awe. The police stood there, searching for the vigilante, utterly baffled. Then, after a few minutes, they resume whatever menial activity they were partaking in before the action.

I, however, was ****ting bricks.

"What the--what the **** just happened?!"

People within earshot quickly turned towards me.

"Haha! Look at the duck!"

"No! No, now's not the time to get into that ********!! A Cirque Du Soliel performer just dropped from the skies, stopped a high speed chase, and then sunk into the ground! You people saw that, I know you did!"

"Look! He's angry. Haha!"

"**** you, pal! Am I going insane here?! Am I the only one who wants answers?!"

Mr. Douchebag just struts past me, grinning like a...well, douchebag. Confused and mortified, I decided to just get the hell out of there. No one there had answers or seemed to care too much about that whacked out **** that just went down. I better just get to the mall quick, before I'm late. I'll try to make sense of this later.

Not one block down the street, I nearly walk into some tool with his eyes glued to his iPhone. He's watching some sort of news clip, I can hear it...

"The mutant confrontation in the nation's capital continues..."

Mutant confrontation? At the capital? Wait...was that about the crazy old guy I saw on t.v. on the White House lawn? Is that still going on? It feels like three ****ing weeks since I've heard anything about that!

"That should have been resolved by now! And what's all this 'mutant' business?!"

"Yeah, I know. It's almost like the X -Men and Brotherhood are just sitting there, not doing--"

He stops once he finally looks up from his wonder phone and gets a load of me.

"Holy crap! Haha! Wait, let me take a picture of you!"

I give him the finger as he snaps a picture. That just seems to amuse him.

"Haha! Awesome sauce."

I walk away, shaking my head, and overcome with a sense of crippling, unyielding horror. This place isn't anything like home. Freaks in multi-colored tights are flying around, terrorists can just waltz up to the White House lawn and camp out for three weeks while the National Guard and CIA just sit on their asses. And apparently there are mutants involved or something. And no one gives a ****--it's like it's nothing out of the ordinary. I want out. I want out NOW.

[Optikal]

Frank stepped out of the car and into the midst of one of the worst rainstorms of the season. Behind him, another man emerged from the other side of the car.

"Typical ain't it?" He called. Frank glanced over his shoulder as he made his way to shelter. The man followed behind, jogging a few paces to catch step. "We finally get let into the inner circle an' trusted with a big score. Then the man upstairs turns the waterworks on us!"

The mans name was Joey Laverne, a small time crook hired by a shadowy group known only as the Organization. The group had a whole portfolio of genuine business interests around the east coast, but behind it all lay less-than-scrupulous dealings. Frank had spent the past three months infiltrating the Organizations operations and now, he was standing on a rain soaked dock with Joey 'The Rat' Laverne waiting to finalise their first arms deal.

"This is the big time y'know?" Joey grinned, showing off the buck teeth under the crooked nose that earned him his nickname.

"Is that right?" Frank replied dryly.

"Yeah man! For sure! We pull this thing off tonight and we'll be livin' the high life on the Organizations money. I already got my stake all planned out!"

Frank eyed the man as he shuffled about, his hands in his leather jacket trying to stay warm. In the distance, the drone of a speedboat engine cut through the darkness. Frank tipped his hat back and pulled the collar of own jacket higher. "You got the money Joe?"

"Yup. Feels heavy Franky, can't even begin to wonder how much is in this case".

"Yeah? Well get your game face on and we'll be counting our dollars and knocking back brews before you know it".

The boats engine cut as Frank and Joey made their way back out into the rain. A quartet of heavy-set men in dark overcoats stood alongside a long metal crate. One of the men stepped forward. "Let us see the money".

Not taking his eyes from the men, he nodded towards Joey. "Show 'em".

Joey opened the the case and held it forward. Even in the rain, Frank knew Joey was sweating. The man in the overcoat ran a black light over the cash, determining its authenticity. After a few seconds and with a small, satisfied grimace, he snapped his fingers and signalled the men to open the crate. Within it, sat a cache of guns; just assault rifles and a couple of handguns. Sat in the middle though was another, smaller, silver case.

"What's in that case?" Frank asked, his voice a cautious growl.

"It is the order. For your superiors eyes only, I believe".

Frank eyed the man carefully for a few seconds, saying nothing. He preferred to see what they were buying. "Open it" he said finally.

The man stared back for a moment or two before nodding again. As the case was opened, Frank could see it contained a suit of some kind. Better than a bomb he supposed. His fears eased he glanced up at the man once more.

"So we have a deal?" the dealer asked.

"Yeah. We have a deal".

The two men briefly shook hands and exchanged the cases.

In that instant, spotlights filled the rain soaked dock. The sound of sirens, boat engines and rotor blades filled the night.

<THIS IS THE POLICE. WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED. GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!>

The dealers turned and tried to flee, but the main man spun on Frank and Joey, pulling weapons from underneath their coats. "You sold us out!" he roared.

Joey leapt forward with his arms spread. "No we d-"

Frank leapt into action as Joey fell in a hail of gunfire. Knocking the dealer down, he dived for the weapons crate and grabbed the case from inside. The police were closing in, but Frank had to maintain his cover. Quickly, he turned back and collected the money case before ducking into a labirynth of shipping containers. Frank ran for all he was worth, ducking and sprinting with no idea where he was going or what he was going to do. He could hear the police all around him, the copter overhead was searching, lighting up the dark maze. Frank ducked and dipped, pushing his body to the max in order to escape the closing net.

"FREEZE!"

Frank just had time to recognize the rain-soaked officer before he barrelled into him, knocking the man over and sending his weapon skittering across the dark concrete. Without looking back, Frank raced onwards.

Suddenly, he burst out of the maze of containers and after a quick leap over a chain security fence, was racing for cover in the industrial sector of the city that sat next to the docks. Gladly, the sirens and ruckus of the police bust was fading into the distance. Frank stopped for a moment to catch his breath. He pulled out his cell phone and dialled a number, waiting for someone to pick up the call.

"It's Payne. There's been a problem".

...

"Yeah. I'll be there right away".

Frank flipped the cell phone closed and stuffed it back in his jacket pocket. The Organization wouldn't care about Joeys death. To them he was just another street level grunt. Frank knew though that they would be pissed at losing their new weapons. Still, he'd managed to recover their money and the mysterious case for them. With both of those, he knew there'd be opportunity to move deeper into the Organizations inner circle and finally get the evidence he'd need to take them down once and for all. First though, he needed some dry clothes and a stiff drink.

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif
AGENT OF S.H.I.E.L.D....nah, just kidding


Classes go by about the same as usual. Teacher asks a question, I'm the only one who raises my hand to answer, everyone stares at me for it like I just let out a big wet fart. It's funny how keeping to a routine, even the routine of having everyone around you think you're a dork--scratch that, know that you're a dork--can keep you from flipping right the hell out about everything else that's going on around you. I guess it's like a take on the old "just ignore him and he'll go away" line of thinking: pretend that there's not an organized crime unit out for your blood and a super-science firm that has your blood, and maybe you won't go crazy thinking about it. Until the bell rings, those are all Spider-Man's problems, not Peter Parker's.

Speaking of the bell, there it goes, saving us from the dry repetition of Mr. Bendis' history lecture for the rest of the day. I stow my books away in my locker and head out towards the parking lot, where Harry, Liz, and Gwen are waiting for me by Harry's car.

"Interesting new hairdo, Pete," Harry says, noticing my hair is still all matted and wet. "you go to the salon in the middle of class?"

"Yeah, Messrs. Thompson and Brock introduced me to Le Boutique de Latrine."

"Translation?" Liz asks.

"Flash and Eddie stuck my head in a toilet."

"Oh man, again?! Why haven't you stood up to those guys yet?"

"That's the thing, I kinda did. They were shoving Max Dillon around and I tried to step in. Shows what I get for playing hero, right?"

"Well, at least your heart was in the right place," Gwen says, hooking her arm around mine and giving me a big wide smile, "even if it led to your head going into the wrong place. But seriously, you get mugged last night, and now this?"

"Hey, it wouldn't be my life if it weren't for a daily dose of needless abuse, would it?"

"Attaboy, Pete. Shrug that off with a wink and a grin, so you can make some psychiatrist very very rich in a few years when you finally crack."

"Harry!" Liz scolds him. "Don't talk about Petey like that!"

"You do it all the time," Gwen points out.

"Yeah, but not to his face!"

"Thanks, Liz, you're all heart. Now can we please get going so I can clean the Ty-D-Bowl formula out of my hair before my scalp turns blue?"

The ride home is about the same as it always is, Liz in the front seat talking Harry's ear off about what Sally said about what Mary Jane said about what Glory said about Oh-my-God-I-forgot-to-tell-you-this, Gwen and I texting snarky comments about it all in the back seat. On more than one occasion, though, Gwen throws off our usually spot-on comedic timing, not seeing the last line I just sent her. I glance away from my phone to see what's up, and catch her staring at me, a big grin on her face. Once she catches herself, though, her face goes all red and she turns her eyes right back to her phone like nothing happened.

Harry drops off Liz first so she can get ready for the dance, we do the Chinese fire-drill thing so Gwen takes the front seat while I stretch out in the back.

"So, what's with your face, Pete?" Harry asks as he pulls out of Liz's driveway.

"Huh? You calling me ugly now, on top of already calling me crazy?"

"I think he means your bruises and stuff. They're completely gone now."

"Well no, I was just calling him ugly. But yeah, did you really heal up that quickly?"

Crap. I noticed they'd healed completely in the morning, even the big welt from that Montana guy's whip, so to keep up appearances I actually had to punch myself in the face a couple of times and re-bruise myself. Guess they didn't last the whole day.

"Huh...guess so. I mean, getting whomped on by half of the school for most of my life, I guess I just became a fast healer."

"Nice," he says, apparently deciding he's not all that interested after all and turning on the radio.

We pull up to Gwen's house next, and after she gets out, she pokes her head back in through the back window where I'm lounging, her face less than a foot away from mine as she looks down at me.

"Still on for the big brainstorm tonight?"

"Yes, Gwen, for like the third time, we're still doing it. Oh! I, err, I'm gonna be a little late, though--Glory wants me to snap a couple of pics at the dance for the school paper."

That's technically true, but I told her no because I didn't want to miss this. But if Max Dillon is actually planning on doing something stupid, I need to be there to at least talk him out of it.

"Shouldn't be too long, though: just enough to get a couple of usable photos and then I'm on my way back to Harr-I mean, back home. Should be back around seven, seven thirty? And then we'll do our brainstorming session. That okay?"

"...yeah, sounds good."

"Not just a brainstorm--a total brain-icane. Heh."

"I'm so using that from now on. Heh."

She leans her head in a little closer for....I dunno, something...then decides against whatever it is and heads out towards her house. Harry backs the car out of the driveway and we make our way home.

" 'Total brain-icane?' " he says with such a smirk that I can practically hear it.

"Shut up."

"So what exactly are you two little scamps going to be doing in lieu of the big dance? Just skipping past the formalities and getting started on making the world's dorkiest baby?"

"Nothing like that, you freaking horn-dog. She's coming over to help me come up with ideas for the big Science Fair next month."

"...wow, you ditch the Homecoming Dance for the Science Fair. You really are hopeless, Pete."


"Hey, the Homecoming Dance won't get me a full-ride scholarship to Empire State University and an internship at one of the most prestigious labs in America. This isn't just a cardboard-diorama, baking-soda-volcano thing: this one's on a national level, the big leagues trying to find the next Howard Stark or Reed Richards."

"Didn't you say just last night that you weren't really looking at a career in science?"

"Honestly, Harry, I have no idea what career I actually want, so I might as well do what I'm good at, right?"

"Eh. Whatever works for you, dude," he says before turning up the radio.

We make it home, I spend an hour or so knocking out my homework, then just screw around on the computer waiting for Harry to finish getting ready and head out the door to pick up his date. Then, when no one's in the house but me (and Bernard, but he's downstairs and he knows that I don't like being butlered or whatever you call it, so I don't think he's going to knock on my door any time soon), I pull out my mask and hoodie, and make my way out the window.

Peter Parker may not be attending the Homecoming Dance...but Spider-Man can log in a little bit of time.

THREE HOURS LATER...

....*sigh*

Well, this was a tremendous waste of time.

For half the evening, I've been sitting idly on the roof of the Midtown gymnasium, waiting for....I have no idea, actually. Chances are Max was just talking nonsense at school today, or maybe he chickened out, or maybe I just read too much into what he said. Either way, the only thing threatening my classmates is over-exposure to crappy music.

There's like a billion better things I could be doing with my time right now. I could be investigating the Big Man's organization, find out who he is and how to take him down. I could be snooping around Oscorp all black-ops, finding out how much they know about me and what they're going to do about it. I could be getting a hamburger. I could be sitting at home in front of the computer, watching a dirty movie and strummin' on the old banjo. I could actually be thinking of ideas for my Science Fair project.

...screw it. I'm giving this five more minutes, and then I'm going home. I should still get there on time to meet up with Gwen and--

*ZZZZZRRRRRRRRT-KA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOMMM!!!*

The music in the gym cuts off--as well as the lights throughout the whole building-- and I hear people screaming. Well, guess it's a good thing I'm so paranoid.

I leap from the rooftop, cling onto the wall with my hands just long enough to swing my feet forward, then kick through one of the windows and somersault into the gym. I throw my hands up as a "Ta-daaaa!," but nobody seems to notice the superhero who just jumped into the room.

The arcs of blue-white lightning streaking across the gym, and more accurately the person that they're coming from, pretty much tell me why nobody's too impressed with my acrobatics.

"I just wanted to be left alone!" he bellows, screaming at nobody in general and everyone in particular. "But no! None of you could just let me be! You all had to point and laugh, to cast me out, to persecute me for being different! Well now it's my turn to persecute you!!!!"

Oh boy....

http://www.horrorstyle.com/game/infamous/art/infamous-0052.jpg
http://www.horrorstyle.com/game/infamous/art/infamous-0052.jpg


...looks like Max was up to something after all.

[Andy C.]

FURY



"This is where my security clearance ends. This is all you."

Clay walks back into the darkness as the door opens with a hiss. I walk into the room and stand at attention in front of the one-eyed man.

"Colonel Fury."




"Wingfoot," I acknowledge him and gesture for him to take a seat.

"It's been a few years, hasn't it? Haven't seen you since Kandahar-- thank you for bringing that sonofa***** to me alive, by the way; carving him up was the closest I've come to enjoying myself in years."

Wyatt smirks grimly, mostly for my own sake than any enjoyment on his part, I think.

"But, of course, I didn't call for you so we could think back on the one good moment of the last decade. You're here because we've got a mole to find. You were trained by Gabe Jones, the very best counter-espionage officer we ever had. I'm trusting some of his talent rubbed off on you, Wyatt."

I offer the Indian a cigar.

"So first things first: let's talk strategy. Anything come to mind?"

[Byrd Man]

"But, of course, I didn't call for you so we could think back on the one good moment of the last decade. You're here because we've got a mole to find. You were trained by Gabe Jones, the very best counter-espionage officer we ever had. I'm trusting some of his talent rubbed off on you, Wyatt."

I offer the Indian a cigar.

"So first things first: let's talk strategy. Anything come to mind?"

I decline the cigar, wondering if a cigar will make me look like one of those cigar store Indian, and remove my reading glasses from the side pocket on my jacket.

"No thanks, sir. I smoke some during the Afghanistan op...but that's because I needed it. Other than the occasional lapses, I've been a non-smoker since 1984. Few years after the first mess in Afghanistan."

Slipping on my reading glasses, I let Fury take a few more puffs off his smoke.

"I may have a way to walk back the cat and flush a mole out, sir...but it'll cost SHIELD some secrets, some real juicy secrets. We can't feed this guy junk, because he'll know it's junk. You have to realize that what we give up in finding this traitor will be worth it in the long run. Better give up today's big ops instead of having this bastard ruin twenty ops down the road."

[Mr. Majestic]

Victor heard the brush crunching underneath the feet of his foe and former comrade. He loosened the muscles in his body, he positioned himself just right, he leaped to a tree to the left of logan’s projected path using his superhuman leg strength to hurtle hiimself at his now in-sight foe.
Victor pounced on Wolverine, rolling off and leaping back into the trees.
“Kid, this way!” Logan growled, unsheathing his claws he leapt after Victor, just as the colonel planned. Logan sunk his claws into each tree as he chased after the enemy colonel. Mimic did as Lgan did, though slower, having roughly textured bone claws to Logan’s smooth adamantium. Victor landed in a clearing prepared for a handicap match.
Logan burst through the trees lunging at Victor, he ran the mutant through the blades peircing his chest. Victor fell back and kicked the mutant off sending him into a tree. Mimic came running through the trees Victor caught the scent and heard the falling of his steps and clotheslined the young mutant knocking him on his back.
“Ever think your fighting on the wrong side kid?” Victor questioned Mimic before Logan hurled himslef into Victor. Sending them both over the edge of a ravine. Victor landed like a cat on all fours, LoganhimselfleapedLogan did likewise, mimic jumped off the edge relying on his barrowed reflexes and healing factor to keep him alive after the fall. Victor launched himslef at Logan, he grabbed his arm, pulled it out, and and slammed his left arm into it. Wolverine cgrowled in pain as his soft tissues were crushed between his adamantiumpiercinghimself bones and the arm of his foe. He lashed out with his good right arm, slicing across Victors chest. Victor grimaced in pain and growled low in his throat. He lunged forward with a kick, Logan went to slice and Mimic fell hard on the earth, startled slightly logans arm went off track and Viktors kcik made contact with Loagn’s gut. Logan staggered.
“kid offset your balance?” Victor taunted Logan.
“We’ll see if your standing stright after the kid and I get you back to the mansion, bub” Logan snarled.
“Does the ‘the kid’ have a name?” Vicotr charged at the still down Mimic, who ha dlandedharder then he intended to. He snatched him up and held him tight in a bear hug so they both faced Logan. “So whats the name, kid?” Victor questioned into Mimics ear. Mimic froze in terror, hethought he would b ready for a hostage situation if there ever was one, but he didn’t expect himself to be the hostage.
“They call me Mimic, and this is why,” Victor felt a shapr stabbing pain in his thigh. The kid had reached down and sunk large felid-like claws into the musles in Victors left thighthe blood trickled down his flesh. He grolwed as he took his head and head butted the young mutant. Vicotr let the kid fall as Loganborrowedhimselfgrowled launched himself into Sabretooth. Victor caught Logan but went reeling into the rock wall of the ravine. Logan sank his claws deep into Victors shoulder
“AHHHRGH!” Victor cried out in pain as the admantium sank through his shoulder and into the rock on the other side. Logan sent his knee flying into Victors stomach, another yelp of pain as adamantiumLogan'sVictor'skickLoganstraightVictorla nded harderhe thoughtdidsharpfelidmusclesthigh thegrowledVictorLogan crushed soft tissue between rock. He through his left fist into Victor skull, bone cracked and broke with a crunch.
“Want to tell us anything about were the rest of the herds goin Vic?”Logan pushed his fish and blades harder against Victors shoulder, Victor gritted his teeth,
“out to pasture, with the likes of you castrated government lackies” Victor spat in Logan's face. He sent an unexpected knee into Logan's gut and took a large leap scaling the rock face.

That fall did take a lot out of me and I’d probably still be on the ground waiting for my powers to heal me but when he took it upon himself to put me in a bear hug I figured I’d imitate his powers as well. After seeing him taking all those slashes to the chest and didn't have one single wound to show for it I figured he must have and healing power. By looking at my body and how I feel I was correct. Now I’ll heal just as fast as him and Wolverine.

I look up and Wolverine scaling the mountain casing behind our enemy. I got to do the same to catch up with them. I take a couple of step back, and then take off running. As I’m approaching the mountain side I jump up in the air to starting scaling the mountain myself but to my surprise I keep going up in the air.

“What hell is going on?” I say out loud freaking out. This totally got me by surprise. But when could this have happen? Then it hit me.




She stops as well to turns to face me. “There is someone I want you to meet.”

“To meet?” I question.

She then face forward and a young man turns the corner. He looks almost my age but seems to have a couple years on me.

“Hello Ms. Hartley these are the papers you wanted.” He says as he hands her the folder.

She then takes the folder in her right hand. “Thank you Jean. Oh how rude of me, Calvin this is Jean-Paul a new recruit just like yourself. Jean is better known as Northstar.”

“Hi.” I say as I extend my hand for his to give it a shake. As me and his hands grab Sage give me a funny look. She looks down at my hand and back at me. She must want me to copy his powers.

“Nice to meet you Calvin, now if you both will excuse me I have to go and finish my training in the danger room.”

Within a blink of an eye he was gone.

“Did he disappear?” I ask in amazement.

“That he did not.”

“What did he do?”

“Did you happen to acquire his power?”

“I wasn’t sure if that was what you wanted me to do but I did mimic his power.”

She didn’t reply she only looks at me with a smile.



Now i remember but i don't recall him flying but on the other hand it's not like i watch him do anything. It has to be more than flight because when I was standing beside him he didn’t fly away. It almost seemed like he teleported. It doesn’t matter, right now I got to catch up with them.

This is more difficult than it seems. I slow progress higher and higher and with each passing time I begin to get the hang out it and then within a matter of seconds I’m flying.

I begin to creep up on Wolverine and Sabertooth. I then increase my speed. I increase it so much that I go flying pass Wolverine and within an instant I was coming up on Sabertooth I put myself in a cannonball position and slam my self into Sabertooth’s back. After impact I was sent rolling a couple of feet away from him. Once I finally come to a stop I slowly begin to get to my feet. While doing so i realize that my right arm limp.


“I think it’s dislocated.” Within a seconds my healing abilities took place to fix my little problem.


“AHHH!" I scream in pain as it went back into place. "Yup it was dislocated.”

I then focus my attention back on Sabertooth as I see him also healing from the injuries I cause him.

“Where are you going in a hurry? I’m just getting warmed up.”

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif

The air hums and crackles with a deadly hum, the gym smelling like fumes of ozone. The lights flicker on and off like a bad sci-fi horror movie.

Somehow or other, Max Dillon has turned himself into something really, really dangerous. And if I don't stop him, he's going to hurt an awful lot of our classmates.

...man, I never thought I'd see the day where I'd have to protect Flash Thompson's crew from the hapless geek. Part of me wants to find that really funny. The rest of me tells me it's not funny at all when people's lives are in danger.

"You don't want to do this, kid," I say, calling Max out in my best edgy Christian Bale voice. 'Kid,' though? Really? I'm pretty sure Max is older than me by about a year--fortunately he doesn't know that it's Peter Parker under the mask...I hope. Guess there's no better place to test a secret identity than surrounded by a bunch of people who see your face every day.

"Who says I don't?" he says, turning his attention away from the terrified crowd and towards me. "Come to think of it, who the hell are you at all?!"

"I'm the reason the Brooklyn mob is running scared. I'm the man who keeps these streets safe from scum and psychos. I'm...SPIDER-MAN."

Dillon snorts and bites down on his lip to keep from laughing. That speech sounded so much cooler in my head; maybe if I could get Steve Blum or Peter Cullen to do voice-overs for me.

"Oh, and I suppose your name is so much cooler?" I say, a bit more defensively than I'd like, and letting my 'gritty' voice slide a little.

"You can call me....the ELECTRO-CUTIONER!!!"

He marks his hilariously awful name with a very-not-hilarious-but-still-awful blast of electric current, blue-white arcs dancing all around me. Contrary to what you hear in movies or games, the sound of electrical current is not some booming thunder or a cool crackling, but a loud, angry buzz, like you just answered wrong on a game show. The acoustics of the gym just amplify the buzz as he attacks.

My reaction timing slows the world to a crawl, which, when combined with heightened perceptions and enhanced muscle structure, lets me move exponentially more quickly than a normal guy would, so I'm on the move as soon as he lets out his first electric blast.

Unfortunately, being extra-fast doesn't mean jack when trying to dodge something coming at you at the speed of light. One of the random bolts strikes me in the side--




...I come to maybe three or four seconds later, still spasming on the floor. Oh, that sucked.

"You really should just leave, Spider-Man," Max says, standing over me with a grim tone in his voice. "You can't stop what's going to happen here, what has to happen here. The Electro-cutioner will have his reven--"

While he's monologuing, I sweep his legs out from under him and spring back to my feet, hopping over the heads of Sally and Glory before perching myself on the basketball goal...basket...thing...I never learned proper sports terminology.

"Okay, boys and girls," I call out to the student body of Midtown High, "Exits are there, there, there, and there. Calm and orderly fashion, people, no trampling! I'll deal with ....*snicker* Electro-cutioner."

"STOP LAUGHING AT ME!!!!!"I hear him roar before a tremendous buzzing blast of electricity blows the basket to pieces, sending broken and melted glass onto the crowd of panicked kids. Fortunately, my enhanced reflexes and sensitivity--for the sake of convenience, I'll just refer to the whole package as my "Spider-Sense"--alerts me to the danger before he fires, and by the time the glass hits the floor, I'm shoving Kong and Rand out of the way of the falling debris.

"Okay, first of all? I wouldn't be laughing if you didn't pick such a goofy name," I say, darting back and forth to keep his attention, trying to keep myself (and his electric bolts) away from the scattering students. "I mean, 'Electro-cutioner?' I mean, I get it--electrocution, executioner--but it makes you sound like a pro wrestler. Heck, just shorten it to 'Electro' and you'd be fine. It's shorter, it's snappier, it's got more zap...pardon the pun."

"I'll show you 'zap' all right!" he says, lashing out with both hands and hitting me with two thick white arcs of pure pain. I slam against the bleachers, tumbling head over heels up three or four rows before coming to a halt.

Most of the other students have been able to get out safely at this point, but not everybody. He scans the room like a predator picking out his prey, before his eyes lock on his target of choice.

"Mary Jane Watson...." he calls her by name, hands crackling and buzzing with murderous intent as he closes in on her. "Homecoming Queen, the quarterback's trophy girlfriend, and the most cruel and heartless bit--"

"Back off, Dillon!" someone says, trying to stand in front of Mary Jane to get between her and Max. Oh God....it's Harry.

"Harry please, let's go!" Liz pleads, holding open the emergency exit.

"Max is crazy, Harry," MJ says. "I don't know what he wants with me, but you need to go before--"

"I'm not running away," Harry cuts her off, a half-crazy glint in his eye. "Osborns don't run from bullies."

"Oh please, Harry the Rich Kid is going to save the day?" Dillon mocks him. "I really wanted Electro's first kill of the night to be someone who deserved it a little more, like Flash or that skank you're trying to protect, but if you're going to get in my way--oof!"

Harry making a stand was enough of a distraction to allow me some time to recuperate, and plow into Electro from behind--in the back of my head, part of me is kinda glad he went with calling himself Electro now, because I don't think I could keep calling him 'Electro-cutioner' without laughing again.

"Too bad for you, Spider-Men don't run from bullies either!" I say, grabbing him in a bear-hug and hoping my increased strength will be enough to get him to pass out. While I struggle with Electro, I call out, "Good going, Harry---....err, you said your name was Harry, right? (smooth cover, Parker) Now get going! I don't know how long I can---YYEEEEEEAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!"

That last part was me learning the hard way that it's a really bad idea to try and grapple with a guy who's got electric hands. God knows how many volts course through my entire body, my clothes start to smoke and my black hoodie actually catches on fire before he blasts me across the gym.

I manage to beat the flames out before it burns me or completely destroys the jacket, but it's ruined now--and I really liked this jacket, too. Harry and MJ run out the door, and the good news is that Electro isn't following them...

...the bad news is that he's got all his attention on me now.

...the worse news is that the smoke from my hoodie igniting triggered the gym's sprinkler systems.

Water sprays down all over the gym, dousing the hardwood floor, the overturned chairs and tables, the DJ stand, every inch of the place. Now I'm trapped in a big room that's being hosed down by an extremely conductive liquid, facing off with a man who shoots electricity.

This....isn't going to be fun at all.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"Are you sure I can't get you something while you wait, sir?"

I glance up at the waiter over the brim of my glasses. He's a short, portly Jewish man, nearly in his seventies, a genuine smile adorning his face, his voice offering up nothing but the sincerest wish to make sure I'm comfortable. You can't help but be happy around here. I feel a little guilty, taking up a seat and his time with no desire to really buy anything, but there is a mission at hand, and that's why I'm here. The waiter in also part owner. Albert Oltenstein, who was rescued, along with his whole family, from a concentration camp by Steve Rogers himself in the waning days of the European campaign. His father, Eli, brought the whole family to America after the war and opened this deli in 1951. The Roger's family came here every day from the time it opened until the assassination of Steve Rogers. Once Jamess was tapped by H.A.M.M.E.R., he made sure to start stoppping by again every day for lunch. I know it's not the best piece of intel, but it's the only sure thing I have to go on, aside from storming the H.A.M.M.E.R. Helicarrier, but as fun as that would be, I have the pesky no violence clause for this mission.

I smile up at Albert. A genuine smile, something I don't think I've done in quite sometime. This man is more of a hero than any of us could ever hope tp be.

"How bout an order of chicken strips."

[Watchman]

"Gentlemen."

This was the Geist. A secret organization that have existed since the end of World War I. Made up at first of what was once the higher echelons of German society it soon included the most influential people in the world. It saw potential in Adolph Hitler's mighty war machine and placed much on the line in funding and orchestraing the Third Reich. They found useful tools in fear and terror.

Then came Captain America, the super soldier. The ideal that they created was now being used against them. They scrambled to find new ways to fight and according to one source, they turned to a dark master to help them fight the new type of warefare.

One file buried deep within the Pentagon recounts the event of the night that birth the Red Skull. Army intelligence was able to gather evidence of the Nazis using the black arts but nothing to this effect. A young private named Johann Schmit was sacarficed to the dark man and the Red Skull was raised out of the flame and brimestone.

The Red Skull was the perfect example of the Aryan. Tall, strong, blonde hair, blue eyes, he was an unstoppable killing machine. He came to blows with the original Captain America but they never seem to kill each other. Usually ending with the Captain stopping Skull's schemes.

The Geist were worried with Hiter's performance. After the failure of Operation Valkyrie many of the members went into hiding. Hitler's death in the bunker was labeled suicide.

The years after War World II, though, the Geist remained at large and regain a the power they once held. Launching terror plots, aiding various terrorist groups, and installing figure heads. They profited from terror. They would also developed a rivialry with the terrorist cell, Hydra.

Through the years the Geist slowly moved away from their terror tactics. They've built a financial empire through hundreds of corporations. The Red Skull detest their new ways. He was now a lapdog for killing drug dealers and hookers. That is until he secretly hatched his plans. Running weapons and gathering loyal men, sending out the correct messages, and now the best part: ruining their business deal.

John Maxon, the head of the Geist, stood at the head of a table. Lights dim surrounded by other men. A holograph displayed letters in the middle of the table.

"Gentlemen, I present you the group that will propel us into the future. I give you Advance Idea Mechanics. A.I.M!" The letters A, I, and M appeared before them and the shots of people in yellow jumpsuits working on various projects.

"A super scientist think tank of some of the greatest minds of our time. Working in unrestrained workspace with an unlimited budget. Prepare to be very rich." The men clapped. When they ceased, one man was left clapping. Maxon looked up, his face pale.

"You...you are suppose to be..."

"Dead? What's the matter, Maxon? You looked like you seen a geist."

"Call security, now!" A knife flew across the room and stuck into the intercom.

"Does she look familair. The interm? The girl who worked in the copy room. I picked her up at M.I.T. I guess school was boring and she decided to take a ride with the devil She's is Sin incarnate, not to mention a computer genius. She was able to fool around with bank accounts, A.I.M is working for me now."

"Impossible!"

"You should have done your background checks. A.I.M was using you. Once they were finish their project you would've been their dog."

"You son of a *****! You will never get away with this"

"Stop being so cliche."

"A heavily armed team is going to be on its up here in a few minutes to put you down for good."

"Ha, you know that giant janitor? The one that you always looked away from? He's killng all that are not loyal to me."

"No..." Red Skull took out a handgun and fired two shots each one hitting Maxon's knees. He fell to the ground.

"Sin, honey, plese take care of this mess." Sin drew two automatic pistols and fired upon the crowd of men. Red Skull walked up to Maxon.

"You kept yourselves so hidden that no one will notice a change in management. Hydra? Remember them I guess they have a nuke. I have things that will turn water into wine, I will be able to control concept. Here is gift from A.I.M." He opened up his palm and had a small metal disc. He placed it on the man's forehead and he burst into flames. He screamed and ran around for a minute before falling to the ground. Crossbones appeared at the door with a group of men clad in black.

"What do you want us to do with these bloody bodies, boss."

"Dispose of them, all but five."
******
Cops all over the city surrounded the crime scene. Five points all making a very familiar shape. Five very important men all crucified upside down. One of them that was identified as John Maxon had a letter pinned to his head.

Dear boss,

Nick, old chum, I'm back. I was wondering if you're in town that maybe you wanted catch up? For old times sake.
Your's Always,
It was signed with a picture of a skull.

PS. I have some new toys that we could play with...

[Optikal]

http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a105/optikal101/asmgladiator.png

Gladiators fist connected with the Abomination, sending the monster reeling. Landing in the center of the street, Gladiator stared down at the beast. "Yield" he growled.

Lam struggled to rise but Gladiators eyes grew red. "Yield" he repeated.

Abomination, on one knee, lowered his head, but replied with a stiff uppercut. The force of it sent Gladiator into the air and crashing into a nearby building. Abomination charged towards the wreck but was met by red optic blasts. Gladiator emerged from the rubble with his optic blasts blazing out. Lam flew back, but Kallark continued the assault, marching across the width of the road until he was standing over the fallen, smoldering form of The Abomination.

"Yield"

Abomination tried to answer but could only let out a pained groan.

Gladiator turned to the remnants of the National Guard contingent. "It is over. Restrain him". Before anyone could argue, The Strontian took to the skies.

[Andy C.]

I decline the cigar, wondering if a cigar will make me look like one of those cigar store Indian, and remove my reading glasses from the side pocket on my jacket.

"No thanks, sir. I smoke some during the Afghanistan op...but that's because I needed it. Other than the occasional lapses, I've been a non-smoker since 1984. Few years after the first mess in Afghanistan."

Slipping on my reading glasses, I let Fury take a few more puffs off his smoke.

"I may have a way to walk back the cat and flush a mole out, sir...but it'll cost SHIELD some secrets, some real juicy secrets. We can't feed this guy junk, because he'll know it's junk. You have to realize that what we give up in finding this traitor will be worth it in the long run. Better give up today's big ops instead of having this bastard ruin twenty ops down the road."

"You're talking about a Barium Meal, aren't you?"

It's an old spy-catching technique, first put to real use by MI5. The CIA and KGB were pretty handy with them as well, and we've used the technique more than once. It's a simple but incredibly effective technique--distribute multiple copies of the same classified document, each with a different watermark unique to it...and then wait and see which version shows up in enemy hands. Once you see which copy they have, it's easy to trace it back to the leak.

"HYDRA might expect to see this play coming, but it's better than nothing. Run with it and find out what turns up. Keep any and all information you gather to yourself. I don't even want to know the mole's name until you report to me that you've killed him."

[bkhedr]

http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg




Manhattan. Two Hours Later....

The aged man's health is not good, and he is frightfully thin. So much so that he appears as if he might shatter if bumped into.

At first glance one might consider this Russian immigrant an object worthy of pity, but that would be a terrible mistake, for though time and disease have taken their toll on this man's body and mind, but his eyes burn with awareness, declaring to any astute enough to notice, that this man, despite his apparent frailty, whithered skin, and thinning hair, is still a force in his own right.

Two hours ago he had been downtown, in the back of a chauffered limousine, watching the city go by, when his serenity was interrupted by sirens. His driver informed him that some petty thugs were in the process of commiting a crime and that the police were giving chase. The information could not have bored him more.

Of course matters did get more intersting, if only marginally so, when the thugs in question pulled into an intersection just across from his limo. It was then, that the evening truly became interesting, and the old man felt a rush of excitement he had not felt in years, decades. A rush that brought him racing here, to the one man who could make use of his revelation. The man who had once been his protege, and had long since surpassed him.

"I'm telling you it could not have been anything else." he said insistingly. His voice raspy and used up.

He sat in a darkened office near the top of the Roxxon Energy building in New York. In front of him, sitting behind a grand oak desk, was the man he had come to see. Beyond that man was a large glass wall behind which the city skyline was displayed.

"And I'm telling you must be wrong old friend." the man behind the desk said shaking his head "It is too much of a coincidence. I do not believe in coincidences."

The man behind the desk was not a young man, but compared to the older man he was in the prime of his life. His jet black hair and beard were starting to show streaks of grey, but his frame was still powerful. He downed a shot of vodka, then took a long satisfying drag on the cigarette he held.

"Besides you and I both know that that project never did produce any usable results" he added as he exhaled smoke through his nostrils.

"Only because the Americans were afraid of what they had!" The older man answered quickly "Only because they did not have the necessary will!"

"Come now Vasily, you want me to believe that the product of the American Ultron project happened to be playing superhero across the street from you earlier this evening? After 30 years of nothing?" The man asked incredulously as he leaned forward in his chair.

"Yes dammit yes!" The older man, Vasily Karpov, replied. "What do you take me for? I have spent decades searching, trying to recover that which was taken from us so long ago, and now I have found it. I tell you it altered its density! It was clearly synthetic! The Americans will surely be trying to reacquire it, and now that it has revealed itself, it will not be long before they do. We must get to it before the Americans, and if you will not do what needs to be done, then I have wasted my time here, and perhaps another of my former students is more worthy of this information."

The last words were spoken with a cold fury. They were meant as a threat, and a serious one at that. Whatever the truth of the matter, Vasily Karpov truly believed what he was saying, and if he believed it then going against him would be both dangerous and foolhardy.

The man behind the desk considered this in silence as he locked eyes with his mentor before nodding subtly.

"Very well old friend. I will find this red faced ghost." Aleksander Lukin said as he took another drag off his cigarette "I hope for your sake, that this is not a waste of my time."


http://media.comicvine.com/uploads/0/9241/600148-440px_lukin_super.jpg



http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg


A woman screams. The sound of her voice echoing off the walls of the alley and away into the distance. Just another night in New York City.

I came to this city, nearly two weeks ago, in search of others like me. Hoping that in finding them I would discover my purpose, my reason for existing.

So far all I have found here is violence and depravity.

I hear the scream again and I take to the air, making my way towards its source.

Every night is the same. The sun sets and the facade of civility fades away to reveal humanity uglier side. Certain parts of the city are worse than others, but there seems to be no inch of the globe where humans do not prey on one another.

I can not help but wonder whether their glass towers, their cities, their very society are truly the achievements of a proud and well developed species or simply chaos given a sembelance of meaning by beings incapable of working together towards a common good.

More and more I begin to suspect it is the latter. It is as if humanity can not help but barrel headlong towards self destruction.

As I was created by a human, and humans are, to my knowledge, this planet's most intelligent life for, the suspicion is dissillusioning. Clearly more research is required before I can make a final judgement.

I have, in any event, arrived, at the source of the disturbance. Below me a woman with dark hair has been backed into a corner by four men in jackets. One of the men brandishes a knife and steps towards the woman threateningly.

I react instinctively, increasing my density and landing firmly between the woman and her attackers who jump back at my sudden appearance.

"Leave the woman alone-akgh!!" Pain shoots through my neural net mid sentence. A sharp and sudden pain that forces me to cry out and fall to my knees.

Self diagnostic programs are running... I have been infected with some kind of virus injected through my upper back. I reach over my shoulder and run my hands over the small metal stud stuck therein.

Behind me the woman who had only recently been screaming for help glares at me with a cold profesionalism. In front of me the men who were her attackers throw off their coats to reveal some kind of powered armor weave.

Internal alarms demand my attention. The virus has thrown my operations into dissarray. I must escape.

<CRITICAL ERROR>

I can not change my density. The virus is comprimising my ability to function, and it is spreading.

I try to rise to my feet but one of the men in front of me swings a powered fist that strikes me in the jaw and drops down to my knees once more.

I was wrong. This is not just another night in the city.

[Byrd Man]

"HYDRA might expect to see this play coming, but it's better than nothing. Run with it and find out what turns up. Keep any and all information you gather to yourself. I don't even want to know the mole's name until you report to me that you've killed him."

"So I get to look at the stuff-labled "Above Top-Secret: Director's Eyes Only'?"

I give Fury a small smirk. "Good thing I'm not the mole, huh?"

From the look on his face, he doesn't seem to find the joke that funny.

"So, yeah. I'll get right on it. I'll have my list of people who are actually allowed to see some of SHIELD's most sensative documents. It'll take awhile, sir. Back in 1961, right before the mess in Cuba, Gabe and I helped the CIA walk back the cat on a KGB mole. It took us close to six months to find the son of a *****."

I pause to lick my lips. I can still feel the pistol buck in my hand and the warm spray of blood splatter on my face.

"Counter-Intelligence is like fishing. You cast out your reel, knowing you might not get anything that cast...but if you keep at it and be patient...."

I look directly into Fury's eye.

"You've got that prize bass mounted on your den wall. That's where the mole from HYDRA will be when I'm done. Stuffed on your den wall."

[Optikal]

Frank Payne stepped out of the shower and threw his damp towel against the wall, not watching it clatter onto his already overflowing laundry basket. Padding into his lounge-come-bedroom of the tiny apartment he was renting, he eyed the two cases on the bed. In one was the cash The Organization had provided for the weapons deal. In the other was the mystery equipment Frank was growing to suspect was the real meat of the deal.

He moved to the cases and flipped the latches. He opened the lid and stared at the contents. Inside, what appeared to be a blue suit connected to a series of technology. Frank pulled the contents out and held them up. The tech rolled and whirred and clicked into place, standing almost erect on its own. Frank knew that he was staring at top end military grade hardware.

Whatever the Organization was planning, it was definitely more than he had ever imagined. And by the looks of things, they'd pay more than a small fortune for this tech. Frank glanced at the clock on the wall. He was due at the Organizations rendevous point in less than an hour. He knew that he should be putting it back in the case and taking his mind from whatever end the Organization was going to use it for. But the suit reeked of power and possibilities. Three months ago he'd entered this world as an undercover cop. It was something he'd done time and time again, penetrating the criminal underworld, uncovering evidence, putting away criminals. But as years go by, like the fabled Hydra, every time you cut off a head, the beast grew two more. It was the same with the filth that controlled the city.

In the past three months he had been witness to drug dealing, prostitution and gun running. He'd had to get his hands dirty in order to keep his cover, but to hand tech of this nature over to criminals was something else. But if he could somehow use it himself, he could potentially do far more good than he could with his current methods.

Frank took a deep breath and with shaking hands, climbed into the suit...

[sabetoonth]

http://img535.imageshack.us/img535/5987/sabretoothrpg3.jpg

The kid had come out of no were, barrelling into Victor fom above and behind. Victor healed from a few broken bones and torn flesh. he looked to one side. From one direction Logan was chasing him down, in the other the kid had already relocated his shoulder. Vicotr got back to his feet and hurled himself at Mimic, slamming him into a tree. he yelled out in pain and Victor grabbed him and threw him at the incoming Wolverine; quickly darting off in the direction that had once been the campsite of the Brotherhood. Logan and Mimic quickly got back up from their places knocked over on the ground after colliding with each other.

Victor could hear the sounds of combat coming close as he neared the battle. When he reached the violence all hell had broken loose it had seemed. Most of the bunkers had been leveled by a small explosion and most likely used to disorient the tem and think they were under attack from the air too. Gibney was fightin Beast, the brutes size being the only advantage, though WildChild’s smalelr size allowed him to move faster. The discipline Vicotr had taught him seemed to be retaining him, Victor could see that Gibney was picking his moves as more then just reactions, but also has actions to get reactions. Perfect.

Clarice and Rahne had engaged Psylocke in combat. Rahnes werewolf mutation was not in effect, she was simply using her learned combat training. Clarice was using her hardlight daggers and her training. Scalphunter had taught her to use them like he used his knife, and she was damned good with those things. Greycrow himself was engaged with Sage inhand to hadn combat. Victor smelled the kid coming up from behind him, he spun on his heel and lashed out with his open deadly clawed hand. He made contact and mimic fell back, flipping and landing on his feet. He launched himself forward, if the kid had leanred how to fight like Logan, this was goin to be short. Sabretooth fell backwards rolling Mimic over him and into McCoy.
Sabretooth ran at Beast, tackling him into a tree.
“Wild Child, switch to Mimic, he’s a power replicator!” Victor alerted Gibney as he picked up Hank and threw him into a tree waiting fro him to get back up. He roared like a tiger taunting and antogaonizing the furry mutant.

[Byrd Man]

http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/DCMarvelRPG/Captain%20America/Misc/AllStarBanner.png


New York City
Now

Navigating through the crowded streets of Manhattan, I keep my head down and focus on the words echoing through my head.

The Skull


Moscow
48 Hours Earlier

"Operation: Cherry Picker," CIA Agent Isiah Bradley says to the small group in the briefing room. The dozen people are American and Russian military and intelligence members.

Behind Bradley is a satellite photo of the Georgia/Chechnya border.

"Sixteen hours ago, NSA satellites picked up movement of the Russian 15th Armored Division. The unit, which is based in Georgia, is currently moving North towards Chechnya. Repeated communication attempts with Moscow have been ignored. Based on GRU intelligence, their destination is Grozny, the capital city of Chechnya."

The photo behind Bradley changes to a picture of a gray-haired man in a military uniform.

"General Grinka Andropov, commander of the 15th Armored Division. A Colonel in the Red Army when the Soviet Union collapsed, Grinka is believed to have been a member of the group that attempted to force Gorbachev out of office in '91. A hard-line Stalinist, Grinka has been pleading with Moscow to invade Chechnya and have the former Soviet republic under Russian thumb once more."

The picture changes again, showing an aerial photo of an encampment.

"This is Andropov's mobile HQ. His tanks are on the move, but GRU sources say that they will make camp tonight shortly before sundown and invade Chechnya at dawn's first light. Study the layout of the HQ well. Your mission is to infiltrate the camp and relieve Andropov of his command....by force. Any questions?"

"How do we know that taking Andropov away will end the Armored Division's advances?" A Russian sergeant asks in his native tongue.

"Uhh...for that, I'll defer to GRU Major Souslov. Major?"

A skinny, sallow faced man in Russian military dress stands up next to Bradley.

"Andropov's executive office is Colonel Mikhail Sokolov. I do not wish to go into detail...but Sokolov is GRU's source of information. He will pull guards off duty and allow you to enter camp unharmed."

"Any more questions?"

I raise my hand.

"Cap?"

I shake my head, still having trouble getting used to my codename.

"When do we start?"


Chechnya
40 Hours Earlier

The trees and mountains that make up the former Soviet Republic whiz by the helicopter's window. A dilapidated farm house looms in the moonlit night.

"We are almost past the fail-safe point," the pilot says in broken English.

I hold my breath and wait for the official green-light to come across the wire.

"Cherry-Picker is a go," a Russian communication officer chimes into the headphones.

I exhale and look out the window as the farm house whizzes by.

"We are two kilometers out," the pilot announces ten minutes later. I turn to the six soldiers. Three Russian and three American.

"You know the routine," I say in flawless Russian.

"Primary is to be taken alive, and there are to be no casualties."

"Thirty seconds," the pilot announces again. Making sure the shield is strapped tightly to my back, I grab my M4 and sling it around my shoulder.

"NOW!"

Sergeant Zukov slams open chopper's door and leaps out as the helicopter hovers ten feet off the ground. We all follow and creep through the woods towards the camp.

"Left flank, clear," Private Baker says in Russian.

"Right flank, clear," Private Beria says.

Coming to the edge of the camp, I hold my hand out and squat down.

"Hold until we get a signal."

A few minutes pass and finally, a flashlight lights up and blinks off two times.

"Let's move."

The seven of us glide silently through the sleepy camp and arrive at the HQ.

"Gas mask on," I say as I slip the mask over my face.

Corporal Micheals tosses the gas canister into the tent and charges in. Andropov, coughing and sputtering, cries out in surprise as Private Beria pins him to the ground and handcuffs him.

"Captain America to Big Bird, package is secure."


Moscow
36 Hours Earlier
"I do not know what you hope to gain by interrogation," Andropov says from the other side of the table. Andropov sits across from Bradley, Major Souslov, and myself.

"We have reason to believe you are under orders from someone else, Grinka."

"You are military man. True soldier. Soldier always need someone to tell what to do."

"Chechnya had to be taken care of," Andropov spits out in Russian. "They are dogs who must be put down."

"Think that once you get them in line, the rest of the old republics will fall in line and you can get the USSR back into shape?"

"You think I am Communist?" Andropov says with a bitter laugh. "I cannot stand the Communist. I represent the Fourth Reich."

I exchange glances with Souslov and Bradley.

"Grinka Vladmirovich...you are Fascist?"
"Da," Andropov replies coldly. "I care only for the new Thousand Year Reich. The and only then can w-" is about as far as he gets when my gun enters his mouth.

"BARNES!"

"Know who else are Fascist?" I ask Andropov. "HYDRA, that's who. WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?"

Andropov starts to cry and shudder as I push the gun barrel deeper into his mouth.

"Tell me about HYDRA!"

Bradley pulls me back and takes the gun from me.

"What the **** is your problem?!"

Souslov starts to mutter curse words in Russian and Andropov shakes his head.

"The man is garbage. He wanted to kill untold amounts of Chechens for HYDRA."

"I am not HYDRA!" Andropov yells in Russian.

"Череп! Красный череп!" The Skull! The Red Skull!

New York
Now

After the fiasco with Andropov, Bradley sent me home. This mess will blow over, I'm sure of it.

Pulling away from the crowds, I glide into the deli and sit down at the lunch counter.

Albert Oltenstein, the guy who runs the deli waves.

"The regular, Al. A nice big Reuben with some extra sauerkraut."

[sabetoonth]

http://img684.imageshack.us/img684/5003/hulkbanner.jpg

Banner kept running, it was a long dark hallway. There were many doors, at the end of the hallway stood one door imperticular. It was large and heavy looking. It seemed to be the kind of door you would put on the cell of a dangerous animal or criminal.
The goliath continued to run. There was an infinite expanse of void desert to roam. But there was one thing which he was looking for, the only coherant thought he could muster.
“STOP LAM!” the green brute growled as he ran in the direction of the sound of gunfire and explosions.
Bruce ran up to the door, he strained to open it. It groaned on its hinges as it started to move. A bright green light shone through the cracks. Bruce squeezed inside, something started to coem for him from the other side of the hallway, something big and scary.
The creature came to the wreckage of a small town, there were fires, and people scremaing, and sirens too. It made his head hurt. Another coherant thought came to mind.
“STOP MAKING NOISE!” the hulk of flesh riased his fist and growled into the sky.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"Well, I'll be damned."

I scarf down my last piece of chicken as I see my target take a seat at the counter. This was a little easier than it should have been, so it's a pretty good bet this next part is going to be a b*&#^.

I make my move, and take a seat beside Barnes.


"The regular, Al. A nice big Reuben with some extra sauerkraut."

"Put that on my tab, will ya?"

I turn to James, and bring my voice down so only the two of us can hear.

"It would be my honor to buy lunch for the son of Captain America."

I can feel his body tense. I get a good look at hs face. It's...

...Wow...it's...very familiar...

[Byrd Man]

"Put that on my tab, will ya?"

I turn to James, and bring my voice down so only the two of us can hear.

"It would be my honor to buy lunch for the son of Captain America."

I can feel his body tense. I get a good look at hs face. It's...

...Wow...it's...very familiar...

I keep my eyes looking straight ahead, not speaking to the stranger and calmly waiting for Al to bring me my Reuben. When the sandwich arrives, I take a bite out of it and finally address the man next to me.

"You should know I'm armed. I have a gun hidden underneath my shirt and a back up on my ankle. I'll give you a chance to explain yourself and why you know who I am. If I don't like the reason, or you attempt anything funny, I will pull one of my guns and shoot you."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

I keep my eyes looking straight ahead, not speaking to the stranger and calmly waiting for Al to bring me my Reuben. When the sandwich arrives, I take a bite out of it and finally address the man next to me.

"You should know I'm armed. I have a gun hidden underneath my shirt and a back up on my ankle. I'll give you a chance to explain yourself and why you know who I am. If I don't like the reason, or you attempt anything funny, I will pull one of my guns and shoot you."

"You forgot to mention the blade strapped to the small of your back."

The eyes. That's the most prominent feature. I almost...it seems like a remember them, from a safer time...God, did that sound as gay as I think.

"I can tell you, nobody has ever accused me of being funny, nor have the countless people who pulled a gun on me ever been successful. If I meant you any harm, you'd have never seen it coming. And as much as I'd really like to show all that off for you, I'm here under very specific, very direct orders from a man your father knew quite well. I'm here, Steven, to arrange a meeting between you and Colonel Nicholas Fury."

[Byrd Man]

"I can tell you, nobody has ever accused me of being funny, nor have the countless people who pulled a gun on me ever been successful. If I meant you any harm, you'd have never seen it coming. And as much as I'd really like to show all that off for you, I'm here under very specific, very direct orders from a man your father knew quite well. I'm here, Steven, to arrange a meeting between you and Colonel Nicholas Fury."

"Nick Fury? I guess he's hanging out with the Tooth Fairy and Bigfoot, right? If Fury is even alive, he'd be somewhere in his 90's now and not running this shadow organization of secret agents he's rumored to be running."

I take another bite from my sandwich and look over at the stranger. His eyes seem kind of familiar.

"You want me to come with you, show me some proof that SHIELD still exists and Fury is still sucking air."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"Nick Fury? I guess he's hanging out with the Tooth Fairy and Bigfoot, right? If Fury is even alive, he'd be somewhere in his 90's now and not running this shadow organization of secret agents he's rumored to be running."

I take another bite from my sandwich and look over at the stranger. His eyes seem kind of familiar.

"You want me to come with you, show me some proof that SHIELD still exists and Fury is still sucking air."

"You like to assume a lot, don't you? I never said what shape Fury was in, only that he wanted to meet you."

I take a sip of the water in front of me.

"This is all rich, too, coming from the senior citizen who still gets IDed when he slaps that Playboy on the counter."

Still, I humor him, making sure no one is looking before I give him a glance at my badge and his dossier.

"I gotta wonder though, are you a little scared. I mean, if you're as tough as you claim, even if this is a trap, you shouldn't have any trouble getting away, right?"

I know now, I think. Those are the eyes that sung me to sleep every night, those are the soft, kind eyes that bid me farewell as I drifted into my sweet slumber.

Those are the eyes that, even as the rest of her lie dead and broken amid a puddle of vomit and blood, still shone brightly.

"I know you have questions," I say, almost offhandedly, not so much talking to Barnes anymore. "We all do..."

[Byrd Man]

Still, I humor him, making sure no one is looking before I give him a glance at my badge and his dossier.

"I gotta wonder though, are you a little scared. I mean, if you're as tough as you claim, even if this is a trap, you shouldn't have any trouble getting away, right?"

I know now, I think. Those are the eyes that sung me to sleep every night, those are the soft, kind eyes that bid me farewell as I drifted into my sweet slumber.

Those are the eyes that, even as the rest of her lie dead and broken amid a puddle of vomit and blood, still shone brightly.

"I know you have questions," I say, almost offhandedly, not so much talking to Barnes anymore. "We all do..."

"Alright...what the hell? I don't have anything better to do until my partner/handler gets back from Moscow."

I finish off the last of the Reuben and turn to the agent.

"Since you seem to know everything about me, mind telling me your name?"

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"Alright...what the hell? I don't have anything better to do until my partner/handler gets back from Moscow."

I finish off the last of the Reuben and turn to the agent.

"Since you seem to know everything about me, mind telling me your name?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Clint Barton. Codename: Hawkeye...Do you have any family in Iowa?"

[Byrd Man]

"S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Clint Barton. Codename: Hawkeye...Do you have any family in Iowa?"

I shake my head as I toss down a few bills to pay for my meal.

"Just my mom...but..."

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. The last time I saw my mother was two months ago, she was still brain dead an laying in the bed with tubes keeping her alive.

"But that's it. All my relatives are from New York. We...uhh, me and my mother kept to ourselves after what happened with my father."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

I shake my head as I toss down a few bills to pay for my meal.

"Just my mom...but..."

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. The last time I saw my mother was two months ago, she was still brain dead an laying in the bed with tubes keeping her alive.

"But that's it. All my relatives are from New York. We...uhh, me and my mother kept to ourselves after what happened with my father."

My heart races.

"Living or...?"

[Byrd Man]

"To be honest, I'm really not sure. We severed ties after we moved to Iowa, and I haven't really thought about reconnecting with them. I think I had an uncle on my mother's side..."

I scowl slightly and try to recall a memory.

"Herbert? Does that sound right? I don't know. I was still kind of young when my father died, even though I really wasn't that young."
I'd have been in my 20's when my father, the first Captain America, was gunned down. But I was barely past eight years old, physically as well as mentally.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"To be honest, I'm really not sure. We severed ties after we moved to Iowa, and I haven't really thought about reconnecting with them. I think I had an uncle on my mother's side..."

I scowl slightly and try to recall a memory.

"Herbert? Does that sound right? I don't know. I was still kind of young when my father died, even though I really wasn't that young."
I'd have been in my 20's when my father, the first Captain America, was gunned down. But I was barely past eight years old, physically as well as mentally.

And I thought my family was bad.

"Your mother, though. Is she still with us."

Why do I feel such a connection with him.

"I'm sorry, you just seem...familiar."

[Byrd Man]

And I thought my family was bad.

"Your mother, though. Is she still with us."

Why do I feel such a connection with him.

"I'm sorry, you just seem...familiar."

"My mother is...," I swallow hard. "Comatose. Has been for the last three years. The doctor's say there's a chance she could wake up...but odds are slim that she actually does."

I clear my throat, doing my best to purge all emotion out of it.

"I think that's enough about me, right now. When do you plan on taking me to Nick Fury?"

[Rain Dog]

http://img94.imageshack.us/img94/3980/howardbannercopy2.png



“Heeeey, Howard! Good morning! How are you? Oh, the costume looks great as ever!”

“This isn’t a…sigh.,.thanks. I’m fine, thanks, Dan.”

“This is Darleen.”

“Hello!”

“Hey, Darleen.”

“Darleen’s a store associate but, God bless her, she went through the trouble of making you a little costume to wear! Isn’t that nice of her? That’s so nice of her!”

The thing called Darleen blushed. I’m not so sure what you’d call her in this world but back home, Darleen would have been what we refer to as a “cow” or perhaps even “whale.” Her went-out-of-style-in-1987 hairstyle and “cute” sweater depicting a cross, diminutive, malformed human with a long white beard and a caption reading “I’m really GRUMPY in the mornings!” suggests a harmless, sweet, and simple nature. This however, cleverly disguises the vicious and ravenous beast that emerges whenever the subject is in the proximity of its staple food source (presumably deep fried Twinkies and/or mayonnaise balls. Or pickles. Deep fried anything, really) or the latest animated classic on probation from the Disney Vault.

The amorphous blob trapped in a sweater pulled out a box from underneath a desk and from it drew a small, blue sailor’s outfit and bright red bowtie. The only other time I’ve seen anything like it was the time I got lost in The Castro back in ’92.

“It looks…great.”

“Oh, thank you!” she giggled, causing her first few chins to vibrate.

“Ugh…”

“What?”

“Nothing…so what do I do, Dan, I just slap that thing on and dance like a monkey in front of the store or what?”

“Haha! You’re so funny, Howard! Well, sort of. We created this position especially for you, so there isn’t really anything you have to do yet. You’ll mostly, as you said, stand outside of the store to attract customers. And sometimes you can sit inside here and interact with the children.”

“Interact? And what does that entail? Do they sit on my lap and tell me what they want for Christmas or some ****?”

“Oooh! Howard! Watch your language around here! I’ll give you warning now but if we hear any of that naughty language on the job, we’ll dock your pay! It could even cost you your job!”

“Ok, ok. Sorry.”

“When you interact with the children, just have fun with them! Act like your character! Ask them questions about themselves, answer their questions, play with them with some of the toys in the shop, just have fun!”

“That sounds…great, Dan. Really great.”

“Doesn’t it?! Alright, it’s time! Go get ‘em, Howard, heh, I mean, Donald! Haha!”

“…Ok, Dan.”

* * *
Hour one. I stand in front of the store, waving to the various mall-goers that stroll by. A young woman approaches. She looks like she’s been drained of all her energy, emotion, hopes, and aspirations. Beside her walks the perpetrator. A three-year old gremlin in a Jonas Brothers t-shirt. The creatures catches sight of me. She stops. Observes. Then, lunges at me at full sprint.

“DONALD!!!” she screams in a pitch so high, it would have made a dog’s ears bleed.

“Little girl,” I replied, in a rather lackluster manner. She rushes at me for a hug. Her arms rap around me, but I notice the lower half of her body was still running. Her tiny sneakers crushed my foot.

“AAAH! F—”

Before I can finish, Dan’s eerie omnipresent smiles flashes in my mind.

“Fffffffffrog prince dolls are sold inside! Consume!”

Some people would have called that a nice save. You know what I call that? ****ing brilliant salesmanship.

“Mommy, I want a Princess and the Frog doll!”

The mother lets out a defeated sigh and let’s her diminutive tyrant drag her inside. This is gonna be harder than I thought.

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif

If there's one thing that never ceases to amaze me about life, it's how quickly things can go from bad to worse.

Take right now, fr'instance. For those of you just joining my little inner narration, I'll recap: about twenty billion years ago the universe came into existence, and over billions and billions of years a lot of the matter coalesced into stars, and around those stars formed little planets. And on one tiny planet in one tiny galaxy, life emerged and evolved, especially during the Cambrian Explosion. After hundreds of millions of years and a few mass extinction events, a specific breed of mammal developed a large and sophisticated enough brain that it could make use of tools, develop a language, and eventually form what we know now as civilization--okay, maybe I backtracked a bit too much.

Anyway, long story short, I'm at my high school's Homecoming Dance, Max Dillon has gone all kill-crazy and started shooting electricity out of his hands, and now the sprinkler system is dousing the whole gym in water. Short story even shorter, I'm in trouble.

The area around Electro sizzles as the electric field vaporizes the water drizzling on him. Little sparks and arcs dance around his whole body, electrifying the puddle in which he's standing. I doubt I'll even be able to touch him without getting fried, let alone actually take him down.

"Okay," I say, frantically looking around for something that isn't soaked and turned into a nice big electrical conductor. If I'm gonna come up with something, I need to stall him. Get him talking. "So I gotta know two things before we really do this. Namely the why and the how. What exactly did these kids do to you that got you this bent out of shape?"

"They ridiculed me, harassed me, tormented me! All because I was smarter than them, better than them! I just wanted to be left alone, but they never let up! Every day, every single day, for years! You can't possibly imagine what I went through!"

Oh, dude. You have no idea.

"'kay, so the popular kids picked on you, so you decided it'd be fair play to roast them alive? That doesn't seem particularly like an even trade...or, y'know, sane. Hence, the whole superhero-trying-to-stop-you thing, I guess. That still doesn't explain how you got all sparky."

"Just a little miracle of modern science," he says, blasting bolts into the ground to propel him upwards, using his powers to jump high into the air at me. Using a strong electromagnetic force to negate gravity...guy's insane, but at least he's creative. I jump out of the way as electrified water splashes everywhere when he lands. "See, I'm not just good at science, I'm brilliant. A prodigy. Enough of one to get me an internship at the chemical labs of Tri-Corp, a year before I was supposed to."

He lashes out with blue-white arcs, but the water actually starts pulling the electricity down before reaching me. Thing about electric current: it always seeks the shortest path to complete a circuit, and that usually means going to the ground. Electro has to really crank up the juice to get the right range as I bob and weave and try like hell to stay on the walls and out of the puddles on the floor.

"While I was there, I got to do some low-level testing on an experimental formula of theirs. A bio-electric amplifier compound, which multiplies the electric fields generated by organic life exponentially. It was meant to be a cheap alternative-energy solution, turning livestock into batteries. At least, on paper. Some of the shadier people I worked with said it was being tested for a super-mercenary project. So over the summer, I went online and downloaded a leaked copy of the chemical formula."

"Wait, what?!" I say, jumping back and forth across the rafters. "You downloaded a top-secret and probably illegal formula over the internet?!"

"What, you can download the leaked blueprints for Air Force One on the internet if you look hard enough."

"Okay, fair enough. Still, you were able to make the stuff from scratch, I'm assuming in your basement? That's a bit of a stretch."

"I pocketed small samples of the base components from Tri-Corp until my internship ended. When you've got a knack for chemistry and parents willing to buy enough equipment to run a small lab out of your garage, it was just a matter of trial and error getting the mixture right. Needless to say, a lot of the neighborhood cats went missing while I worked on it."

Electro flings another bolt at me, and though it doesn't hit me, it does hit the metal girder I'm grabbing onto. I spasm for a second, grit my teeth to prevent from screaming, then involuntarily let go. The hardwood floor closes in on me awfully fast...

...then the whole world explodes around me.

A few seconds later, I realize the world is right where it was, and that I'm just in an unbelievable amount of pain. I must have fallen a good twenty feet, landed face-first onto the floor...and right into the electrified water.

"AAAAAAAGGGHHH!!!!!!" I finally manage once I'm able to speak. That REALLY hurt. I stop spasming enough to pick myself off the floor--no broken bones, imagine that--and leap out of the way of the charging Electro, who's making use of his electro-mag-lev power to basically skate across the floor, super-charging the water in his wake.

"Once I perfected the formula, I was going to use it as my ticket to ESU, beating Tri-Corp to the patent and winning the national Science Fair! But then I realized I could just use it as the instrument of Max Dillon's bloody revenge! That is, until you got in my way..."

"Well, that's kinda what I'm here to do. Public safety and all that."

"You should worry more about your own safety first!" He says, before crashing headlong into me, the combined impact and shock like getting hit with a train and standing on the third rail at the same time. I tumble head over heels, smack into the wall, and fall down behind the bleachers.

Once I'm no longer seeing double, my vision focuses on the janitor's cart, stored under there in case somebody spilled punch or puked or something. Hanging over the lid of the mop bucket, I see my salvation...a pair of big thick rubber gloves.

"Okay, Electro..." I say between ragged breaths, "the gloves are coming on."

I put the gloves on, the thick green rubber creaking and groaning as I flex my fingers. Now on top of having super reflexes and enhanced strength, I've got the one thing that'll really give me the edge here: insulation.

Electro peeks his head under the bleachers, hands crackling with deadly bolts, ready to finish me off.

"Heads up, Sparky!"

I spring out from overhead, my feet still clinging onto the underside of the upper bleachers, and land a punch that sends him tumbling to the floor.

"Wh--whaaa?"

I hop out from under the bleachers, actually running on my hands to keep my non-insulated feet out of the conductive water. I'm sure it must be one heck of a freaky sight as I charge towards him like a disgruntled reject from Cirque du Soleil.

"And for my next trick, the coup-de-grace!"

As Electro gets to his feet, I hand-run at him, before pushing up with both hands to get airborne, flipping forward, whipping out one fist to deliver a crushing knockout punch, then catching myself with my other hand as he hits the floor. Thank God being super-electric doesn't also make him super-strong, because I really don't think I can do that more than, like, four or five more times before I slip and just break my neck.

"TA-DAAAAAAAAA!" I say to no one but the unconscious Max Dillon. That would've been so much cooler if someone had actually seen it.

Two minutes later, I emerge triumphantly from the high school gym, the defeated Electro slung over my shoulder, his hands covered up by the rubber gloves and stuck in place by a pair of zip-ties that I've been using as handcuffs. At this point, I see the whole place has been cordoned off by the police, although there are still about a hundred high schoolers being looked at by the cops and EMTs.

"He's all yours, officers," I say, flopping Max down on the ground in front of the nearest squad car. "I'd suggest you keep those gloves on him for now, at least until you've got a better solution for an electric-powered supervillain."

Behind the line of cops, I see Harry, Liz, Flash, Mary Jane, and Eddie all huddled together. Okay, I know it's bad form to grandstand, but I can't help it.

"Well, kids," I say to them, striking a big heroic pose. "looks like he won't be bothering you again any time soon. Thanks in no small part to yours truly, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!!!"

I'm about to turn and leave, when Mary Jane calls out.

"Wait!" I stop and turn. "Who...who are you?"

"No one of consequence."

"Come on, I must know!"

"Get used to disappointment," I say, grinning under my mask. Never ever turn down the chance to use a good Princess Bride quote.

"Hold on there, son," I hear an officious and extremely familiar voice say. Oh, crap. It's Captain Stacy...Gwen's dad. "You've got an awful lot of questions to answer before you're going anywhere. Your real name, for starters, since you're not registered on any of the mutant or metahuman lists."

"....errr, sorry, but I think I'm gonna have to take a rain check on that!" I say before leaping over his head, and springing again from squad car to squad car until I make it to the nearest building to climb.

"Stop him! Don't let that vigilante get away!"

Cars peel out, sirens wailing, as I scramble up the walls and start a dead run as I make it to the roof.

Like I said, I never cease to be amazed by how quickly things go from bad to worse. Spider-Man was an unregistered mutation, a wanted-dead target of the Big Man's gang, a likely object of increased scrutiny by Norman Osborn and his company...and now he's a fugitive to boot.

New challenge tonight: see if I can make it home without getting killed or arrested.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"My mother is...," I swallow hard. "Comatose. Has been for the last three years. The doctor's say there's a chance she could wake up...but odds are slim that she actually does."

I clear my throat, doing my best to purge all emotion out of it.

"I think that's enough about me, right now. When do you plan on taking me to Nick Fury?"

"What the hell we're you thinking, dumbass. That some stranger was suddenly going to be the key to your puzzle."

I throw a $50 dollar bill on the counter.

"Keep the change," I tell Albert, and then turn to address Barnes.

"Transport's waiting."

[Byrd Man]

What the hell we're you thinking, dumbass. That some stranger was suddenly going to be the key to your puzzle.

I throw a $50 dollar bill on the counter.

"Keep the change," I tell Albert, and then turn to address Barnes.

"Transport's waiting."

Hawkeye and I exit the diner and travel down the Manhattan sidewalk. I takes me about a halfblock before I notice the man lingering a few hundred feet behind us.

"We've got a tail. The folks at HAMMER keeping tabs on me after the little incident in Russia."

Like all intelligence officers, he doesn't pry. I can tell he's interested by the curious look on his face.

"I stuck my gun in a Russian general's mouth when he wouldn't give me the answers I wanted. Come on, follow me."

With Barton in my wake, I head down into the subway station, pay for two tickets and hop on to the C-Train just as the doors shut. Hawkeye's right behind me and the tailing officer is left back at the station. Sitting down, I turn to Barton as the subway whisks away into the darkness of the New York underground.

"This line lets out around Battery Park. Think you can radio your transport to meet us there?"

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

Hawkeye and I exit the diner and travel down the Manhattan sidewalk. I takes me about a halfblock before I notice the man lingering a few hundred feet behind us.

"We've got a tail. The folks at HAMMER keeping tabs on me after the little incident in Russia."

Like all intelligence officers, he doesn't pry. I can tell he's interested by the curious look on his face.

"I stuck my gun in a Russian general's mouth when he wouldn't give me the answers I wanted. Come on, follow me."

With Barton in my wake, I head down into the subway station, pay for two tickets and hop on to the C-Train just as the doors shut. Hawkeye's right behind me and the tailing officer is left back at the station. Sitting down, I turn to Barton as the subway whisks away into the darkness of the New York underground.

"This line lets out around Battery Park. Think you can radio your transport to meet us there?"

"I'm sure he can, but it really wouldn't have been needed iof we had just gotten into the flight-ready cab sitting right outside the door, instead of going all 'Secret Agent Man'."

God, I hate breaking in new blood. He may be the golden boy on the flying hunk of scrap hovering over the city, but he's entering my playground now.

"I really hate to break it to you anyway, but your boys in H.A.M.M.E.R. aren't as intuitive as you think. In fact...they pretty much suck."

[Byrd Man]

"I'm sure he can, but it really wouldn't have been needed if we had just gotten into the flight-ready cab sitting right outside the door, instead of going all 'Secret Agent Man'."

God, I hate breaking in new blood. He may be the golden boy on the flying hunk of scrap hovering over the city, but he's entering my playground now.

"I really hate to break it to you anyway, but your boys in H.A.M.M.E.R. aren't as intuitive as you think. In fact...they pretty much suck."

"They have a few bright bulbs, but the downside is that most of them are government employees. Bureaucrats who are too afraid to risk their pensions to actually get out there and fight the good fight."

The subway comes to a stop and the driver announces we're at the Battery Park stop.

"They care about America....as long as everything is filled out in triplicate and filed fourteen working days before the specified date on the paperwork."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"They have a few bright bulbs, but the downside is that most of them are government employees. Bureaucrats who are too afraid to risk their pensions to actually get out there and fight the good fight."

The subway comes to a stop and the driver announces we're at the Battery Park stop.

"They care about America....as long as everything is filled out in triplicate and filed fourteen working days before the specified date on the paperwork."

"I'm sorry, but that is so much f*&^ing bull$*&^. Actually, no, I'm not sorry, and I think I'm more than a little disgusted you would even try to defend that. That is the same kind of thinking that prevented the CIA and FBI, and your Helicarrier buddies, from coordinating their efforts and saving thousands of lives in September of Oh-One. That's the kind of bullcrap that keeps FEMA out of New Orleans for almost a week. That's the kind of bullcrap that your father, and my father, and Nick Fury were fighting against. You can't see the forest for the trees, and for the last forty years, you haven't been able to see the predeccesor to your little boys club working in the shadows cleaning up your messes."

God, this guy is an abomination to the very name of Captain America. He's every bit as much a brainwashed Washington puppet. I hope Fury saved the receipt on this one.

"The only triplicate I need is the paper to wipe my @$$ after a Taco Bell dinner."

And I thought this douche might be family.

[Byrd Man]

"I'm sorry, but that is so much f*&^ing bull$*&^. Actually, no, I'm not sorry, and I think I'm more than a little disgusted you would even try to defend that. That is the same kind of thinking that prevented the CIA and FBI, and your Helicarrier buddies, from coordinating their efforts and saving thousands of lives in September of Oh-One. That's the kind of bullcrap that keeps FEMA out of New Orleans for almost a week. That's the kind of bullcrap that your father, and my father, and Nick Fury were fighting against. You can't see the forest for the trees, and for the last forty years, you haven't been able to see the predeccesor to your little boys club working in the shadows cleaning up your messes."

God, this guy is an abomination to the very name of Captain America. He's every bit as much a brainwashed Washington puppet. I hope Fury saved the receipt on this one.

"The only triplicate I need is the paper to wipe my @$$ after a Taco Bell dinner."

And I thought this douche might be family.

"Jesus, and I thought I had a chip on my shoulder. Just because I said I tolerate the bureaucracy, doesn't mean I like it one bit. There's rules we have to follow, that's what separates us from the people we're fighting."

I roll my eyes as I climb up the subway stairs.

"Did you come here to take me to Nick Fury or have an ideological debate? How about you stick your self-righteousness where the sun doesn't shine and take me to Fury."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"Jesus, and I thought I had a chip on my shoulder. Just because I said I tolerate the bureaucracy, doesn't mean I like it one bit, but there's rules we go to follow, that's what separates us from the people we're fighting."

I roll my eyes as I climb up the subway stairs.

"Did you come here to take me to Nick Fury or have an ideological debate? How about you stick your self-righteousness where the sun doesn't shine and take me to Fury."

"News flash, genius. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't follow yoru rules, but if you wanna sit down and compare notes, I'd be more than willing to bet my less than stellar salary that what we get done in a week would make the last decade's worth of H.AM.M.E.R. ops look as productive as Larry Flynt's legs."

I motion toward the cab that will get us back to Hydrobase.

"We have a different way of doing things, and while we may not live up to today's standards of political correctness, we still keep the people safe and perserve the values of the men who paid the ultimate price to protect the beliefs that this country was founded on. Because I have to be honest, I would be embarrassed for a man like yor father to see what became of the country that he loved so much, he took it's name."

[Byrd Man]

"We have a different way of doing things, and while we may not live up to today's standards of political correctness, we still keep the people safe and perserve the values of the men who paid the ultimate price to protect the beliefs that this country was founded on. Because I have to be honest, I would be embarrassed for a man like yor father to see what became of the country that he loved so much, he took it's name."

"Yeah."

That's all I want to say. I really don't want to say what I'm thinking. Every one who finds out my real identity always likes to talk about my father and all the good he did, putting him up on a pedestal like some kind of God. He was a regular man.

This would-be fratboy in front of me never knew my father, he doesn't know what he was like living with a soldier who never wanted to have to fight another war. He didn't hear my father cry for the men he killed and the men he sent to their deaths. Steve Rogers, the great Captain America, a victim of Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. He didn't know my father, hell I didn't know my father that well.

The only person who really knew him was Nick Fury, and it's about time I find out who Steve Rogers really was.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"Yeah."

That's all I want to say. I really don't want to say what I'm thinking. Every one who finds out my real identity always likes to talk about my father and all the good he did, putting him up on a pedestal like some kind of God. He was a regular man.

This would-be fratboy in front of me never knew my father, he doesn't know what he was like living with a soldier who never wanted to have to fight another war. He didn't hear my father cry for the men he killed and the men he sent to their deaths. Steve Rogers, the great Captain America, a victim of Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. He didn't know my father, hell I didn't know my father that well.

The only person who really knew him was Nick Fury, and it's about time I find out who Steve Rogers really was.

It doesn't occur to me until this moment, as we crawl into the cab: This kid is green. As green as they get. I've spent half of my life training and studying and fighting. I haven't known anything else since I was 13 years old. He's over sixty, but not a day past 18 physically, and I can't imagine too much older mentaly. This isn't a life he has lived in, and I don't think he really understands it yet.

I remember what I was at that stage in my progression. A danger. A liability.

He's not ready for the mantle that he bears. He's not a defendent of the current system; he's just another piece of political propoganda.

Maybe the kid has the goods. He certainly has the means to grow into it. Maybe Fury knows what he's doing after all. He needs to be trained, not paraded as a poster boy.

Another thought suddenly occurs then.

He's the public face of what I was trained to be. The savior of this country, and while his job is to inspire the feelings of years past, my job is to actually restore that time.

I know he looks down on me. I'm a tough guy running my mouth about legends I never even knew. I'm not saying I can't understand who that may irk him just a bit, but I have lived the life of those men, I have been raised and trained by the man who is responsible for turning his father into Captain America. I know about that life because I have lived it.

Yet, for some reason, today I don't feel like rubbing that in.

The windows begin to darken as we approach the exit in the tunnel that will take us out into the Hudson. Hydrobase's location is need to know, and until he's on board 110%, he doesn't need to know.

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif



From rooftop to rooftop, I vault and hurdle and do all the other synonyms for "jump" as I run from the police on the ground below. I really wish I didn't have to just blow off Captain Stacy like that, but there's no way I'm turning myself in. I've heard all about what happens to unregistered mutants these days...

I keep waiting for the sound of the police sirens to fade, but the squad cars are doing a good job keeping up with me as they race down the streets and criss-cross through the alleyways. A spotlight shines down on me as I try to keep ahead of the cops: the news chopper that had been called in during the attack on the school. I guess they're just trying to keep an eye on me until the cops can get their own chopper airborne.

I bob and weave out of the spotlight to try and throw them off, darting at off-angles, even leaping across the street once it narrows down to two lanes, but each time it only works for a second or two before they're right back on me.

I can't shake them on foot. Gotta find a faster escape.

As I make a jump just a little too far for my own tastes, I make the cardinal mistake of doing these kinds of acrobatics: I look down. And it's a really lucky thing I do, because otherwise I wouldn't have noticed the subway tracks under me. And the oncoming train.

I barely manage to stick the landing on the ledge of the other building, but rather than keep going, I push off into a backflip, sending me right down towards the tracks. Several hundred tons of speeding metal get closer and closer as I approach the ground. On the plus side, if I time this wrong, I'll probably be dead before my brain can register how much it would hurt.

I stretch out my hands...and feel them cling to the side of the car. I hold on tight with both hands and then my feet, my whole body being buffeted by the wind as the train speeds off into the night, far away from the cops...

....then I realize that it's heading in the complete opposite direction of home.

GOD KNOWS HOW LONG LATER...

After navigating the tangled web of the New York subway system and changing out of my mask and hoodie, I finally arrive back at the Osborn penthouse--crawling in quietly through the window rather than risk making noise by coming in through the door. I glance over to my desk and see the time: almost 11:00.

Right next to my clock, there's a little gift-wrapped box...

....and that's when I remember that I told Gwen to come by almost four hours ago.

....damn.

I stash my Spider-Man outfit into a duffle back and tuck it under the bed, then get on the computer to see if she's on.

Amazular15 has signed on

Amazular15: omg Gwen, I am so, so sorry about that. I was taking pictures for the dance, and then...well, you heard about what happened, right?
NrrrdGrrrl65: .....
Amazular15: Everyone was freaked out, the cops made us stay so they could ask questions about what happened. I didn't know it was going to take this long. I mean, everyone was okay, but I should've called and let you know that I was going to miss our brainstorming session.
NrrrdGrrrl65: .....you're an ass, Peter.
Amazular15: Wait, what? I told you, I was stuck there after the attack!
NrrrdGrrrl65: I called your phone EIGHT TIMES when I heard about what happened. You NEVER picked up. So I called Harry. You know what he said?
Amazular15: ....
NrrrdGrrrl65: YOU WERE NEVER AT THE DANCE AT ALL!
Amazular15: ....okay. I can explain.

NrrrdGrrrl65 has signed offI slump forward and clunk my forehead against the desk. I stare holes into the artificial grain of the particleboard desktop while I think, not even moving for several minutes. So much for my big 'brain-icane.' And I guess I can forget about all the other things I wanted to tell her.

Out in the hallway, I hear Harry stomping out of his room then pacing recklessly around the rec room as he mutters to himself.

" 'Osborns don't run from bullies.' What the hell was that, Harry?! You go on and on about how you want to carve out your own identity, get out of dad's shadow, and then when things get real, you throw up your last name like a shield? Jesus Christ...and Liz is all mad at me cause she thinks I like Mary Jane...and God only knows what Mary Jane meant by..."

Eventually he remembers to close the door behind him, and he continues rattling off his own personal issues in privacy.

I finally look over to the gift-box sitting next to my alarm clock, hop up out of my chair, and open it up to see what's inside. In the box is a pair of metallic bracelet things, with a little mechanism on the front ends to loop around my fingers. Oh God, that's right: Gwen's wrist-shooter contraptions, just like the ones she used yesterday to spray shaving cream all over Flash and his gang. She said she was going to make a second pair for me.

I slip one on, and it fits perfectly. I press down on the trigger mechanism with my middle fingers, but nothing happens. Then I remember what she said, about them being dual-action triggers. This time I pull my wrist back, then press down, and compressed air spurts out the nozzle with a *THWZZZZZZZZZZ*

These things are amazing. And I couldn't even tell her why I couldn't be here with her tonight. Gwen's right: I am an ass.

Thoroughly exhausted both physically and mentally, I flop down onto the bed. Oy...what a frakking day. I get the crap knocked out of me by a maniac with lightning powers, I manage to get like half of the NYPD out looking for me, and now my best friend hates my guts for standing her up.

On the other hand, if I hadn't gone out there, there's no telling how many people Electro might have hurt. I know he wanted to kill Mary Jane, and probably a whole lot of others. The fact that everyone got to go home safe, not to mention will have a pretty awesome story to tell about--heh, well, me, is a sign that I'm on the right track, or at least somewhere near it. And hey, I fought and beat my first supervillain today!

So okay, yeah, life is going to suck for a little bit for Peter Parker. But as long as Spider-Man can do some good, then it's worth it.

.....now here's hoping all my new cuts and bruises and burns heal up as quickly as my last ones.

[sabetoonth]

http://img684.imageshack.us/img684/5003/hulkbanner.jpg

The creature rushed towards the source of the noise. The smoke billowed into the air, there were soldiers and debris everywere. Somehtign flew over head. The hulk of gamma radiated flesh moved towards the epicenter of destruction, he could see military personnel loading a large mass into the back of a large mover truck. The sirens continued to blaire, the creature was enraged still from the noise; The fight was clearly over.

Banner slammed the portal shut behind him. The new enviroment was familiar, but at the same time terrifyingly new. It was large, spacous; Bruce searched around, there were physichs books, a poster on the wall of Einstein, a weight set. It was still dark even though the room has let a bright light into the hall way, Bruce carefully walked into the darkness, a cool breeze came up from no were. He stumbled, and shuffled his feet to regain his balance. Just then bruce realized he was on the edge of the floor which made a steep sudden drop.

The brute grew angrier at the ceaseless sirens. He lifted his fists intot eh ait and swung them into the ground with great enough force to crack steel.

“SHUT UP!” the roar rang throught he air intot eh ears of everyone in the town. The hulking behemoth grabbed a nearby Ford truck and flung it across the street into the adjecent building. The soldiers went into high alert as the vehicle exploded and blew out the corner of the building causing it to collapse into the street. They aimed their firearms on direction: at the monster, and they fired.

Bruce fought for balance on the ledge, he leaned back and fell over on his backside his head hitting the floor.

“the wasn’t pleasant.” Bruce stated to no one in particular since it seemed he was alone in this great space. He got back up, he didn’t move, it seemed he was in his bed room from 15 or more years ago, when he was in highschool. He pondered were exaclty he was, it looked like his old room, it smelled remotely like his old room, but his old room didn’t have a steep ledge on one end. Just as he pondered this, someone must have turned on a light. All of a sudden Banner could see the infinite exspanse of dark clouds and cliffs, and jagged shapes. Going on forever Bruce saw no end in sight.

[Andy C.]

FURY


"So I get to look at the stuff-labled "Above Top-Secret: Director's Eyes Only'?"

I give Fury a small smirk. "Good thing I'm not the mole, huh?"

From the look on his face, he doesn't seem to find the joke that funny.

"So, yeah. I'll get right on it. I'll have my list of people who are actually allowed to see some of SHIELD's most sensative documents. It'll take awhile, sir. Back in 1961, right before the mess in Cuba, Gabe and I helped the CIA walk back the cat on a KGB mole. It took us close to six months to find the son of a *****."

I pause to lick my lips. I can still feel the pistol buck in my hand and the warm spray of blood splatter on my face.

"Counter-Intelligence is like fishing. You cast out your reel, knowing you might not get anything that cast...but if you keep at it and be patient...."

I look directly into Fury's eye.

"You've got that prize bass mounted on your den wall. That's where the mole from HYDRA will be when I'm done. Stuffed on your den wall."

"Good to hear," I say, glancing over to an empty spot on the wall. "I've been meaning to throw up some more decorations."

Inwardly I do what I can to contain my frustration. Ops like this take a lot of time, and if HYDRA has their hands on one of our nukes, time is one thing we most certainly do not have in surplus. Still, I can tell that Wingfoot knows what he's doing.

"This operation is strictly between you and me. Under no circumstances is anyone else allowed in on this without my direct order. I want results fast, but more importantly, I want them right. So work as quickly as the job will allow, but don't get impatient. Of course, I'm just telling you what you should already know, so I won't waste any more of your time. Get to work, soldier."

Wyatt salutes, which I return in kind, before slumping back into my chair as he leaves.

The situation is bad, about as bad as anything this organization has seen. Security has been breached, allowing HYDRA chapters to proliferate on our home soil. They have someone feeding intel, showing them our weak spots, allowing them to short-circuit men like Frank Castle and walk away with a weapon of mass destruction.

For the first time since our war began....we're in very real danger of losing it.

Finding the mole will go a long way to patching up holes in our armor. What worries me more is how someone like that even got into SHIELD's ranks. How could this happen? How could I let this happen on my watch?

I reach into my jacket pocket, pull out my flask, and start looking for answers from the contents inside.

[J'adore]

http://i41.tinypic.com/1oaeft.png


BANG BANG BANG

The sound of the gun shots ran in everyone's ears. There eyes wide and there mouths long and loose. The sound of Emma's body slamming into the glass and falling back behind the desk echoed around the room.

"Now everybody, who chooses to follow in Blondie's footsteps?"

A tall masculine masked man held his shotgun up in the air, his fellow partner stood behind him. He looked back at Emma's body, giving a quick glance, he edged his body away again. Having a sudden double take, he swung back round and glared at where Emma's body once was, instead now just her beige coat she was once wearing.

"She's gone!" His hissed to his partner.

"*****"

"Hello boys."

Her skin in her diamond substance. Giving a cheeky wink, she pulled her arm back, curling her arms into a fist.

"Naughty boys."

Emma smirked as she slammed her fist into the first masked man's face and watched as her shrieked in pain and slammed to the floor, dropping his shotgun. Emma slowly bent down, watching the second masked man back into the corner, afraid. She gently wrapped her hand around the handle of the shotgun and picked it up, cocking it back and aiming it at the masked man.

"Go, run. Give yourself into the cops."

***

"Run the analysis. This one's not exactly an angel."

"Yes sir. But, I do have some bad news. Mike and John failed their mission. Mike's been arrested and John's critically injured."

Laughing, the man turned around.

"And that is what I wanted."

Walking out the room, the other young man was left looking at the subject. A golden pure face, pixie-like blonde hair, her eyes closed and her dark lips sealed.

"Esme Cuckoo, it's time for you to wake up."

[Byrd Man]

http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/DCMarvelRPG/Captain%20America/Misc/AllStarBanner.png


Hawkeye and I ride in silence as the transport takes us south of New York to....

"A mineshaft?"

I look over at Barton.

"You're telling me the most effective intelligence and paramilitary force on the planet is run at the bottom of a coal mine?"

I smile and shake my head.

"Good thing we lost my tail. The people at HAMMER would be convinced I'm on crack."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/DCMarvelRPG/Captain%20America/Misc/AllStarBanner.png


Hawkeye and I ride in silence as the transport takes us south of New York to....

"A mineshaft?"

I look over at Barton.

"You're telling me the most effective intelligence and paramilitary force on the planet is run at the bottom of a coal mine?"

I smile and shake my head.

"Good thing we lost my tail. The people at HAMMER would be convinced I'm on crack."



"Ok, yeah, sure. A mine shaft..." I roll my eyes under my sunglasses.

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/DCMarvelRPG/Captain%20America/Misc/AllStarBanner.png


Hawkeye and I ride in silence as the transport takes us south of New York to....

"A mineshaft?"

I look over at Barton.

"You're telling me the most effective intelligence and paramilitary force on the planet is run at the bottom of a coal mine?"

I smile and shake my head.

"Good thing we lost my tail. The people at HAMMER would be convinced I'm on crack."



"Ok, yeah, sure. A mine shaft..." I roll my eyes under my sunglasses.

[Byrd Man]

"Ok, yeah, sure. A mine shaft..." I roll my eyes under my sunglasses.

"Lemme guess, there's a secret base hidden at the bottom with all kinds of advanced techology and equipment?"

Hawkeye remains silent, looking at the mine as the transport lowers to the ground.

"Oh, dear God you're actually serious."

[Spider-Man9X17]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v313/Spider-Man9x17/AllStarHawkeye.jpg

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"Lemme guess, there's a secret base hidden at the bottom with all kinds of advanced techology and equipment?"

Hawkeye remains silent, looking at the mine as the transport lowers to the ground.

"Oh, dear God you're actually serious."

"You still assume this is a mine. Where, in your infinite information gathering skills, did you ever find reason to guess that there is some kind of secret mine shaft under New York City."

It's petty, but Jeezus, this guy is really getting under my skin now. Who the hell does he think he is to look down on us. What grounds does he have to even begin to try and discredit S.H.I.E.L.D.'s existance. Pretty good coming from a yuppy who takes orders from an organization that owes it's very existance to the group that he is so eager to snub.

And seriously, mine shafts in New York City. Dumb@$$.

[Optikal]

http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a105/optikal101/asmgladiator.png

Kallark marched thorugh the complex towards the Generals office where Ross would be waiting. Without knocking, he entered the room. The General was stood by a window, a glass of liquor in his hand and a cigar clenched between teeth.

"Good Job on the Abomination problem, Kallark. You did well out there".

Kallark folded his arms across his chest. "The monster wanted you, General. He said that his creation was your fault. Was it?"

Ross took a lungful of smoke and blew it out slowly, watching it hit and spread around the glass. Keeping his back to the Strontian he let out a deliberate sigh. "This world you've come to Kallark, it's a world in flux. The natural order of things is upset and no matter how hard we try, the world isn't safe. The bad guys don't play by the rules and we constantly have to find new ways to beat them. The work that Chang Lam was doing was not meant to create the monster that he became. The whole thing was just a mess".

"So I'm tasked with cleaning up your messes, General?" Kallark asked quietly, his harsh features forming into a frown.

Thaddeus rounded on the Gladiator, his eyes blazing. "This is a war, Kallark! There are casualties in war, there are great lengths that we must go to in order to ensure that they do not win!"

"I know of war, Ross. I have spent my whole life fighting one. I lost my people to war. And now, I find myself coerced into another".

"Well if you know the way of things so well Kallark, you will help me. You are a great asset and a man like you, with the right guidance, can make a real difference".

Kallark eyed the General for a moment. "I'm a soldier, Ross and fighting is all I know. We are borne from fire and battle and I will likely pass from life in the same manner. I will fight your war, Ross. But I am not beholden to yuor whims. I have spent centruies fighting other peoples battles and now, on this adopted world, I will fight for what is good and right. So long as your objectives remain on that side, then I shall remain by yours".

Thaddeus took another mouthful from his cigar and nodded. "I'm glad to hear that, son".

Kallark nodded and turned and left the room. In the relative darkness, the General knocked back his whiskey in one swift shot and shook his head.

http://blog.newsarama.com/gallery/albums/userpics/10046/Thunderbolt_Ross.jpg

"God damned aliens". He growled.

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif

It's almost one in the afternoon by the time I finally wake up. Man, I guess that fight with Electro and the subsequent police chase wore me out a lot more than I thought. I get up, stretch, mull over whether or not it's worth starting off the day with a little one-man-handshake, decide against it on the grounds that my tube sock probably doesn't need the abuse, then head to the bathroom to clean up.

Looking in the mirror, I see that most of my bruises and cuts from last night are already healed up, but some of the bigger ones are still there (especially the ones on my cheek and down my chest from splatting face-first onto the gym floor after falling from the ceiling). They're fading, but still noticeable. Guess I'm lucky it's Saturday, then; plenty of time to heal up before heading back to school.

After a quick power-shower, I head downstairs and see that I've got the penthouse to myself. Norman's off at Oscorp doing his Oscorp thing, Harry's probably out with Liz or Eddie or some other cool people that don't want me around, and Bernard's getting groceries. Once I raid the fridge and make a sandwich for myself, I begin the arduous process of figuring out how to kill time.

I turn on the TV.....aaaaaand nothing. 700 channels, including 150 premium movie channels, and there's not a single thing that catches my attention. Man, guess that $200 a month cable bill is really worth it.

Beaten all my video games, and don't have enough money in the bank to download any new ones.

Read all of my books at least five times by now, and as mentioned before, my monetary woes keep me from getting any new ones.

I guess I could call Gwen and see if I can try to smooth things over with her....nah, knowing her, she's not going to talk to me til at least Monday, and then only so she can give me the stink-eye in person.

I glance over to the coffee table and see today's edition of the Daily Bugle. God, I must be really stretching for something to do if I'm actually considering reading a newspaper. Then again, I notice a big article about Spider-Man on the front page (not the main story, but an editorial on the side at least), so hey, it might be worth a look to see how the adoring press sees me.

SPIDER-MAN: THREAT OR MENACE?
An Editorial by J. Jonah Jameson


Last night, the students of the Midtown Manhattan Magnet High School were supposed to be creating the memories that most of us associate with the Homecoming Dances of our youth: your first big night on the town, getting dressed to the nines, having your first real brushes with romance. Instead, what they got was a traumatic experience that will likely haunt these youngsters for years to come.

As many of you may have seen, the high school's dance was attacked by a crazed metahuman student who, adopting the moniker "Electro," attempted to go on a killing spree for as-of-yet undisclosed reasons. This attack, however, was stopped by the masked vigilante Spider-Man, and the two proceeded to beat each other senseless while the horrified teenagers looked on. While it's true that Spider-Man's interference very likely saved lives, a look at the larger picture may cause readers to reconsider their branding the vigilante as a 'hero.'

We live in extraordinary times, a day and age where men and women can do fantastic things for good...or for evil. With the spike in the mutant population and other such paths to super-powers, the need for increased regulation over these kinds of people is absolutely urgent. I was one of the leading proponents of the Mutant Registration Act in the 1990s, and I still stand by my stance. There were many who believed that doing so was standing in the way of civil rights, but one must remember that Martin Luther King never shot electricity out of his hands. Terrorist organizations like the Brotherhood have made it all too evident that mutant and super-human threats can be a very serious danger to our society...but what about people like Spider-Man? Should a violent and potentially dangerous vigilante be given a free pass simply because he's one of the "good guys?"

In one newsman's opinion, no.

Society only works if the law applies to everyone, with no exceptions. More importantly, there must be consequences for breaking these laws, or for taking the law into one's own hands. Soldiers and police officers must answer to superior officers. HAMMER and the X-Men must answer to officials in the government. The government must answer to the American people.

Spider-Man, though, answers to no one. And that sets a dangerous precedent.

Let's not forget that this is the same Spider-Man who has put dozens of people in the hospital, many of them in critical condition. While it's true that his victims have all been confirmed as wanted criminals, the fact that he assaulted them without following any sort of due process means his actions hardly count as any sort of law-enforcement. As long as this vigilante is allowed to operate as an unregistered and anonymous bogeyman, he serves to entice other mutants or other super-humans to do the same. This could lead to a deluge of men and women who believe that they can act with impunity, their masks hiding them from the repercussions of their actions, the damage they cause...or the people they hurt.

While Spider-Man may have acted like a hero for the kids of Midtown High, we cannot forget that we don't know who is behind that mask. We have no idea what his motivations may be, or how far he is willing to go to impose his own personal moral code on others. Until he is willing to unmask himself for the world and register like a responsible super-human, he represents a cloud of anarchy that threatens to swallow our society whole.

......

I'm not one to swear too often; I find it cheapens the effectiveness of the words, and makes one sound like an idiot when another more clever word or phrase could be used instead. So it's really something when the only thing I can manage to say is:

"What. The. ****."

I crumple up the copy of the Bugle and toss it at the garbage can (I say 'at' because it doesn't actually land anywhere near it). Where does this guy get the nerve to attack me like that? If I didn't do something, half of my friends would be dead right now! The cops wouldn't have gotten there in time to do anything but clean up the bodies and call a hundred grieving families. Spider-Man had to take the law into his own hands, because no one else could!

Sorry, Mr. J. Jonah Jameson, but I don't buy it. I've been given great power, and with great power comes...I dunno, an obligation. A duty to use it for the people you care about. I'm sure I can think of a better phrase for it later; right now, I'm too mad to do anything about it but stomp back up to my room and stew for an hour or so.

[Byrd Man]

Wyatt Wingfoot
Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.



I spend what feels like days inside the retrofitted mineshaft that's become SHIELD HQ.

Hours upon hours are spent combing through the computer files and all the SHIELD opeations that went bust over the last ten years. The information combined with the long hours and I find myself nodding off.....



Sa Đéc
Vietnam
1967

the VC soldier says inside the small bamboo hut.

Gabe Jones and I are tied to chairs made of bamboo, rags soaked in gasoline in our mouths. The soldier pulls Gabe's rag out and lets him speak.

"Chúng tôi là thành viên của Sears and Robebuck đây là một phần của United States Economic Summit meeting," Is Gabe's reply in flawless Vietnam. I don't understand what he's saying, but he's sticking to our cover story.

"Không có bạn không. Bạn thành viên của SHIELD. ác man Nick Fury cố gắng tiếp quản vinh quang Việt Nam."

The VC places the rag back into Gabe's mouth and then pulls a rusted revolver out of his waistband. To make sure we get it, he opens up the chamber and shows that there's only one bullet in the gun. Spinning the cylinder, he closes it with a snap and palces the barrell to my head.

"Hãy cho chúng tôi ngay bây giờ!"

CLICK!

I won't lie. I pissed myself out of fear.

He places the gun on Gabe's head.

"Bây giờ!"

CLICK!

My eyes snap open, sweat covering my face. My heart's racing and I take deep breaths to get my pulse back under control. Last thing I need is a heart attack.

I'm still sitting in front of the computer. In front of me are the Barium Meals. All the finest secrets SHIELD has to offer. I spend the next few hours checking and rechecking that all the info is correct and that it's all going to the right place. I finish the paperwork and make sure all the suspects are getting the information.

Then I go back to the computer for something else, something that ever Fury won't know about: a printout of all SHIELD's operations in the last fifteen years. If this guy is as high up as Fury think he is, then he'll have been with SHIELD atleast that long....hell, maybe just as long as I have, then he'd have his hand in alot of cookie jars. They all couldn't have gone bad, that attracts too much attention.

Either way, I take the list of all the operations. The ones that went good would have furthered the moles career, and the bad ones were part of his mission to HYDRA. This way takes much longer than the meals, but if this guy is as smart as Fury thinks he his then he'll smell the trap pretty quickly. This is my back up plan, and it'll all but certain to find me my mole. The one downside is time, and the lengthy process of combing through all the names....but nobody said it was easy.

[sabetoonth]

http://img535.imageshack.us/img535/5987/sabretoothrpg3.jpg
Beast launched forward, Victor caught him in the air, falling back and rolling in top of the furry mutant, beating him repeatedly with his fists. McCoy fought back reaching up and grabing Victor by the throat and squeezing Victor remained councous. The adrenaline runnign through his body only heightening his abilites, he grabbed Beast’s arms with his hands and tore them away from his throat, opening it up blood spurted out over the ground and his opponent. Beast hit Victor with a rigid kick to the chest, causing him to take wing across some fifty feet of open expanse of ground. Victor rolled in the air and landed on his feet, cluthcing his throat as it healed. Beast monkey flipped over, and flipped into a cannonball kick, sending Victor realing again, this time into a large tree. Victor recovered quick with his throat fully healed and launched into the blue beast. He dug his claws deep into McCoys back, drawing the red blood out of the blue mutant. Victor let go, tearing some of the flesh from the other duellist’s back. Beast fell tot eh grround bleeding profously.
“Stay down.” Victor ran over to the fight between Wolverine and Wolfsbane, Logan was moment from putting in a kill blow when Victor charged into him with his shoulder knocking hi off his feet and on his back.
“Leave the girl along Logan, you fight me, not a girl whos not a match for you in combat.” Victor took a very formal combat stance, logan got up and took a strong stance informal stance.

[bkhedr]

http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg





A woman screams. The sound of her voice echoing off the walls of the alley and away into the distance. Just another night in New York City.

I came to this city, nearly two weeks ago, in search of others like me. Hoping that in finding them I would discover my purpose, my reason for existing.

So far all I have found here is violence and depravity.

I hear the scream again and I take to the air, making my way towards its source.

Every night is the same. The sun sets and the facade of civility fades away to reveal humanity uglier side. Certain parts of the city are worse than others, but there seems to be no inch of the globe where humans do not prey on one another.

I can not help but wonder whether their glass towers, their cities, their very society are truly the achievements of a proud and well developed species or simply chaos given a sembelance of meaning by beings incapable of working together towards a common good.

More and more I begin to suspect it is the latter. It is as if humanity can not help but barrel headlong towards self destruction.

As I was created by a human, and humans are, to my knowledge, this planet's most intelligent life for, the suspicion is dissillusioning. Clearly more research is required before I can make a final judgement.

I have, in any event, arrived, at the source of the disturbance. Below me a woman with dark hair has been backed into a corner by four men in jackets. One of the men brandishes a knife and steps towards the woman threateningly.

I react instinctively, increasing my density and landing firmly between the woman and her attackers who jump back at my sudden appearance.

"Leave the woman alone-akgh!!" Pain shoots through my neural net mid sentence. A sharp and sudden pain that forces me to cry out and fall to my knees.

Self diagnostic programs are running... I have been infected with some kind of virus injected through my upper back. I reach over my shoulder and run my hands over the small metal stud stuck therein.

Behind me the woman who had only recently been screaming for help glares at me with a cold profesionalism. In front of me the men who were her attackers throw off their coats to reveal some kind of powered armor weave.

Internal alarms demand my attention. The virus has thrown my operations into dissarray. I must escape.

<CRITICAL ERROR>

I can not change my density. The virus is comprimising my ability to function, and it is spreading.

I try to rise to my feet but one of the men in front of me swings a powered fist that strikes me in the jaw and drops down to my knees once more.

I was wrong. This is not just another night in the city.





http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/2839/visionwhiteorange.jpg


I am still on my knees when the man who threw the first punch hits me again. The force of his blow slams my face into the pavement.

He raises his fist to strike again when the woman speaks, her tone sharp and commanding.

< Enough Sergei!> She barks < He is disabled already, damage him unduly, and I will have your hide!" >

The man freezes and as I look up from my position below him, I can see that he is tryin, and failing to mask his displeasure at the command.

He gives me another look then delivers a kick to my midsection before straightening up.

< Da Widow > He says speaking the same Russian dialect as the woman < I won't break the tin man >

< You had better not. Our orders are to bring him in, intact, and that is what we will do > She say as a black van appears on the street and backs into the alley towards us.

<Now take him. > She adds just before two of the men grab me by the arms and pick me up off the street.

They drag me towards the back of the van. I am still unable to phase, and many of my functions remain compromised, but my strength remains, and I consider using it to fight, to overpower my attackers; but if the woman's words are true I am in no immediate danger, and I am curios.

I had expected an attack against me, an attempt by my creators to reacquire me, to come soon. But I had expected it to come from the US Millitary.

My attackers, whoever they are, are clearly not US Millitary. They know of me, indeed they have targeted me. They are possesed of significant tactical prowess and have access to sophisticated equipment. They also speak Russian.

Risky though it may be, I determine my best course of action is to allow them to take me, and see what happens next.

With my mind thus made up, I offer no struggle as I am dragged to the van.

Feigning more weakness than I am feeling, I allow my head to drop to one side so that I am facing the blonde woman.

She eyes me coldly, harshly, and says nothing.

If I am to have any information, it seems I will have to ask for it.

"Who are you?" I ask weakly "Why...are you doing this?"

I speak in English, not wanting to tip them off to the fact that I am fluent in Russian.

The woman's stare does not soften as she continues to glare, but she does deem me worthy of one answer at least.

"It is only fair that you know who bested you. I am the Widow Maker machine man." she says in perfect English "As for the why of it, my employer will be answering that question for you soon enough."

http://media.comicvine.com/uploads/2/25807/672213-ybpage_large.jpg

Before I can reply I am thrown into the back of the van and chained to the floor therein. The bonds are made of a titanium alloy, not unbreakable, but clearly meant to hold me.

I settle in for the ride as best I can as the van begins to move; interested to see just what will happen next.

[sabetoonth]

http://img535.imageshack.us/img535/5987/sabretoothrpg3.jpg
Victor waited for Loagan to make the first move, which he did. The small feral mutant launched at Victor, throwing a right hook with his extended adamantium claws. Victor sidestepped and swung his right leg into Logan, who glanced it off his foreman and slashed upwards cuttin Victor across the chest, who then spun around and swiped at Logans face. Logan staggd back his face not having the time to bleed as it healed. He rushed forward and sent a knee intot he air, Victor duct under and reached up to grab Logan and throw him abck to the ground. He placed his boot on Logans throat and stepped hard enough to cut off his air supply.

“I’ll be seeing ya ‘round Logan.” Victor wathced as Logan struggled to get free, Victor only used more effort. Beast was down, he had Logan under his boot, the fight seemed to be goin Victors way.

[Andy C.]

http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b73/nowhereman716/Comics/PeterParkerSpider-ManLogo.gif

INTERLUDES:

The garage resounded with the piercing whine of the Dremel tool as it ground into the steel coupling, metal sparking and smoking as the rotary tool did its work.

For the last five hours, Gwen Stacy had been working nonstop on her latest project, cannibalizing her father's old lawnmower into a self-propelled mowing robot. Using instructions and blueprints from her last year's Christmas present, The Complete Illustrated Works of Howard Stark, she was already nearly finished putting together the new chassis. Programming the thing would still take at least a week by herself, but it kept her busy.

More importantly, it kept her mind off of being stood up last night. And not just stood up, but then flat-out lied to. That was what hurt her the most.

Gwen bit down on her lip and focused on shaping the housing for the lawnmower's motor.

Honestly, she knew that Peter had been running off at weird times, sometimes for hours on end, but this was important to her. Sure, it was great to just be with him like always, but it finally looked like he was going to open up, give her the chance to say how she really felt...and not only did he never show up, but he couldn't even be honest about where he was!

Naturally, she was mad, but beneath that, she was worried about him, what it was that he was doing whenever he ran off. Especially if those cuts and bruises on his face the other day had anything to do with it. She'd have to sit him down and actually confront him about the whole thing soon, before whatever it was got any worse, but for now, she just needed to be mad at him.

"Gwen? Pumpkin?" Her father called from the kitchen. "You've got a phone call."

Gwen frowned. She really didn't want to talk to Peter right now.

"Who is it?"

"It's some guy named Eddie."

Furrowing her eyebrows for a moment, she shrugged, then stepped into the kitchen to grab the phone.

"...hello?"

"Oh, ermm...hey Gwen. It's me, Eddie. I, uh, I wanted to apologize for the way I acted the other night at the pizza place. I know I was way out of line, I said some stuff I shouldn't have, and some stuff that I should have said a long time ago but came out all wrong. I know I made you uncomfortable, and, well...I'm sorry."

"Hey, no, I mean, it's...it's okay. It was just a little sudden, I didn't really know what to say, so..."

That was a little bit of a lie; it really did make her uncomfortable. But she did feel bad for just walking out on him like that.

"....yeah. So....are we cool?"

"Of course. We're cool, Eddie. And hey, thanks for being honest with me. ...At least somebody is."

"Huh? What, is something wrong?"

"No, just...nothing."

"Okay. Well, I guess I'll see you Monday, then."

"Wait. Look, I kind of need someone to talk to right now. Wanna meet up somewhere, say, later tonight?"

"Really? Sure, yeah, sounds great. I'll pick you up and we can...y'know, talk things out."

"...sure. Sounds good. See you then."

Gwen hung up, regretting what she had said almost immediately. On the one hand, she really didn't think of Eddie that way, but on the other hand, at least she knew that he felt something for her at all. If Peter was going to keep jerking her around, then why keep carrying a torch for him? And she had to admit, of the two, Eddie was definitely the better-looking. Even if she was a little creeped out by his sudden confession two days ago, she didn't see why she couldn't give Eddie Brock a chance.

Still.....

She sighed, then went back into the garage to work on her mow-bot. At the very least, this would get her out of the house.

How bad could it be?

*****



"This is...troubling."

Sitting in his high-backed chair in the back office of his Brooklyn hideout, the Big Man steepled his fingertips and thought.

The territory war with Silvio Manfredi had remained at a stalemate, his own organization still unable to gain any ground outside of Brooklyn, Silvermane's family unable to move in on his turf. What was alarming, however, was the loss of personnel from both sides.

Dozens of his own men had been hospitalized by an unknown vigilante, a 'super-hero' the news had dubbed Spider-Man. Mostly low-level muscle, but even the Enforcers were ineffective at ridding the Big Man of this pest. Silvermane, however, was losing men permanently, another player (or players) thinning out the old crime lord's numbers with extremely lethal methods. A lesser man would jump at the opportunity of seeing someone else draw blood from the enemy camp, but he knew that this unknown 'ally' was only a temporary one. Once the Manfredi family was down, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen would come after the Big Man next.

Despite his reputation, the operation was still a relatively small one, puffing itself up mainly on word of mouth and some extremely good muscle that defected during his initial coup against Silvermane. If he was going to survive the onslaught from Manfredi's old guard and the new threat of Spider-Man and the Devil, he would need to step things up.

Fortunately, he was already working on it.

The Big Man's phone rang, and he picked it up.

"Tinkerer, what do we have?"

The Tinkerer was one of the FBI's most wanted criminal minds, an extremely sophisticated inventor with a knack for coming up with new weapons and devices. The CIA trained people like him all the time to devise methods of removing threats, so rumors were abound that he was a rogue agent. The Big Man never believed rumors, however. Tinkerer could keep whatever his mysterious past may be, as long as he delivered results.

"More than expected, Tombstone," the Tinkerer said on the other end of the line.

"I've told you once," the Big Man cut him off, "do NOT call me Tombstone. Tombstone was a lackey, a yes man, a glorified stooge. The Big Man is none of those things."

"Right, sorry, Big Man, sorry. As I was saying, we've been making a lot more progress than we'd hoped with the experimental silicate materials, and the applicator device is just about completed. We should have it ready for testing within the week, in no small thanks to the guinea pig you sent us."

The Big Man smiled, his pale albino lips curling up to reveal a row of sharp fang-like teeth.

"And how is Marko doing?"

"Same as always-- won't shut up about how he's gonna bust out and kill us all. Once we're done with him, though, he'll fall in line like the good little enforcer he is."

"Good to hear. And the dreadnought assault unit I commissioned?"

"Oh, it's absolutely gorgeous. The carbon nanotube weave acts as its skin and its power source, overlaying plates of synthetic diamond and nano-spring muscles. This thing will be able to plow through anything in its path, like a goddamned rhino. The catch, though, is the brain itself. I absolutely do not trust an AI in my rhino suit; AIs can be reprogrammed or knocked offline. I want a human brain, preferably a dumb one that'll follow orders, to be hard-wired into the circuitry."

The Big Man's ghastly smile widened.

"I have just the person in mind."

With that, he hung up on the Tinkerer, and paged one of his men. A few minutes later, Alex O'Hirn stepped into his office, led in by Justin Hammer.

"You wanted ta see me, Big Man?"

"I do," the crime boss said, standing up and pacing in front of him. "As you're aware, our organization is beset by enemies on all sides, on both sides of the law. The police, Silvermane, and now these vigilantes. Simply put, we're outnumbered. So what we need is to go for quality over quantity. After all, why build an army when a handful of super-soldiers will do?"

Before O'Hirn could respond, Justin Hammer jabbed him in the neck with a syringe.

"Congratulations, O'Hirn," the Big Man said as the hoodlum faded into unconsciousness. "You're being promoted."



*****


"Thanks for listening, Doctor Hamilton," Mary Jane Watson said to the psychiatrist as she got up from the couch. "So am I going to be a great big old bag of crazies or what?"

"I seriously doubt it," Dr. Bart Hamilton said. "In fact, you seem to be dealing with the trauma far better than most of your fellow students. Still, I want you to schedule another appointment soon, just to make sure your recovery proceeds the way we hope."

Mary Jane nodded, and headed out the door. In all honesty, the whole incident had shaken her up for most of last night--Flash was barely able to get her to stop shaking after Harry got her out of the gym, away from Max Dillon or "Electro" or whatever he was calling himself now. She went to bed just knowing she was going to spend the rest of the night waking up screaming, having one nightmare after another...

...instead, she had the best dreams of her life. In fact, when she woke up this morning, she had never felt better. Because it wasn't Electro that stood out about that night to her.

Her dreams were full of a masked man in black, leaping and wheeling through the air and past a thousand dangers, meeting near-certain death with a snappy remark. Even when visions of the revenge-crazy Max Dillon did manage to shove their way into her head, the hero would send him packing, just like he had done in the waking world.

Her dreams that night were amazing.

They were spectacular.

And as the psychiatrist could see, she no longer had anything to fear when she was awake.

From that point on, Mary Jane Watson would dream of Spider-Man.



*****


"Quick question! What do you think about your father admitting to having deals with an alleged drug lord?"

"...what? Look, I don't--"

"Is it true that your father is helping fund illegal drug smuggling into New York?"

"My dad wouldn't...look can you leave us al--"

"What's the connection between your father and the Spider-Man vigilante that saved you last night?"

"Look, I DON'T KNOW! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Harry Osborn got up from the table and stormed out of the restaurant, Liz Allan in tow, and a slew of paparazzi on their tails.

He didn't get it, all the hype about some off-handed comment his dad made, all the attention he was suddenly getting, and why apparently the news wanted to know what his slacker son thought about it. You spend your whole life keeping people employed, making products that the world needs, and nobody says anything, nobody even knows your name. There's even the slightest whiff of scandal, and suddenly you're front-page news.

The thing that annoyed Harry the most was that all this was actually making him feel sympathy for his dad.

"Harry, is it always going to be like this now?" Liz said, pulling up the collars of her jacket to cover her face from cameramen.

"Just til they get bored with the story and find someone else to harass," he muttered. "Get that damn microphone away from me!"

All he wanted to do was take his girlfriend out to lunch, get a sandwich, see if she was okay after last night (and if she was still mad at him for risking his life for Mary Jane), and now he was shaking off a dozen wannabe reporters and bloggers to find some scoop on a story he barely knew anything about. His dad didn't even tell him about the normal stuff that went on at Oscorp, so how would he know if there was anything shady going on?

As they got near Harry's car, one of the reporters grabbed him by the arm.

"Look, we all just wanna know what Norman Osborn's son is--"

Before he could complete the sentence, Harry's fist slammed into the reporter's mouth, knocking a tooth loose.

Harry, Liz, and the reporter stood there stunned for a moment, before the rest of the paparazzi started hounding them again. Fuming, Harry and Liz ducked into the car and drove away.

"Oh my God, Harry! You hit that guy!"

"Screw him," he said, an icy tone to his voice.

"You know he's gonna sue you and your dad now, right?"

Harry couldn't help but think about the last thing the reporter said before he decked him.

Norman Osborn's son...

"You know what?" Harry asked, his hands clamping down on the steering wheel. "Screw him too."



*****



Sulking in his room of the Osborn penthouse, Peter Parker flopped onto his bed.

"God, I wish there was something actually going on today..."

[TrueMastermind]

Sabretooth had won. A ferocious reformed scofflaw against a hideous savage, Logan and Victor's rumble might have been brief and laconic, but still came to a calmatious finale. Logan couldn't breath, Hank was down, and Victor could deliver the finishing blow at any time now. Wolverine's story had seemingly reached the final chapter, a premature conclusion.

But Wolverine had other plans. "I...won't...let you...win!" Using all the strength in his body, Logan thrust his bony claws into Victor's massive leg.

"Get...the...hell...off of me!"

[J'adore]

http://i41.tinypic.com/1oaeft.png

"Say hello to Emma and mother for me, Chris..."

"Yeah, yeah...same old, same old...Rest In Peace"

Cordelia shot a cold look over at Adrienne.

"Don't you care that he was younger than you? That he died before you?"

"Darling, I am a piece of work. I run Frost Enterprises. This is years of yoga, healthy eating, exercising and a bit of the nip/tuck if you do." Adrienne gestured towards her self.

Cordelia looked over at Christian's husband, now a widower. His eyes were swelled and he had dropped to his knees. She turned to look at Adrienne, who was focused on the screen of her BlackBerry.

"Got to go darling, business to attend."

Adrienne walked through the graveyard. As her back was turned from Cordelia, a single tear fell onto the screen of Adrienne's BlackBerry. Cordelia's slightly wrinkled face started to tremble again. It felt like she was an only child.

"THAT DOESN'T CHANGE WHO YOU ARE!"

Cordelia called after Adrienne. She had screamed the reply to Adrienne's earlier statement about how she was a piece of art.
Coming to a hault, Adrienne slowly turned around.

"You don't think I know that? You don't think about how I know that my company was built around my curse. Our curse."

"My curse has gone Adrienne, it went a long time ago."

"They don't just go, Cordelia. You've just forgotten how to use it...and the day you remember, is the day you die."

***

"It's been great talking to you Ms Frost, maybe we can meet up again soon...and this time with my boss."

Emma Frost smiled and waved, she watched as Jake Oh and his accomplices stepped into the lift, the doors slowly closing. Emma turned away, running over the conversation she had with Jake Oh. Jake had mentioned something about becoming part of a new family, if Emma was interested. She turned to the stair doors and pushed them open, beginning to walk down the stairs. This gave her some time to think.

No family left. My sisters don't even know I exist, yet Adrienne co-runs Frost Enterprises with Cordelia's daughter. Typical Adrienne, no children of herself. But yet unlike Cordelia - letting her own daughter work for her arch rival? But I guess it runs in the blood, Cordelia and Christian were just lucky to get mother's sweet and soft side. Oh and dear Christian, the last time I tracked him down he was in Hospital, Cordelia, the warming fifth grade teach, of course by his side and Adrienne no where to be seen. But this new family Mr Oh had told me about seemed quite welcoming...but aren't I still loyal to Mr Fury? I once was a server of SHIELD, back when I was happy...

The sound of Emma's heels echoing through out the cold staircase made Emma slam back into reality. Whizzing past her was a young blonde girl. Emma's eyes widened as she watched the girl trip over her own ankle, twist and tumbling to the ground, rolling down the bottom half of the stairs, letting out a shriek and a gentle thud as she got to the square landing at the 3rd floor.

"Holy crap! Are you O.K!?"

Emma questioned, rushing to the injured girls side.

"I...Wh-What's going on?"

Blood poured out the girl's nose. Emma bent down beside her, in the corner of her eye she caught a name tag on the girl's blouse collar.

Phoebe Cuckoo

"O.K, listen to me Phoebe...I'll get you out of here, just hang on, kay? Don't panic I'm going to go get help."

-

Emma ran back to the scene, no one was by her side. She had found nothing, the place had been deserted, run down and evacuated. But the biggest shock came to her when Phoebe's body was no where in sight. Just a few speckles of blood left where Phoebe's body once was.

[sabetoonth]

double post

[sabetoonth]

http://img535.imageshack.us/img535/5987/sabretoothrpg3.jpg
“AAARGH!” Victor cried out as the claws penetrated his soft flesh, he staggered off of Logan, cluthcing the fast healing wound, it sealed up in seconds. Logan came up is a fast charge, the runt had gotten a sudden adrenaline surge was fighting like he hadnt fought at all. He slashed across victors face, the wouds healed in less then secodns but it took longer then that for Victor to find Logan again, who soon leaped up and drobe his knee into Victors chin. Vicotr flipped back onto his hands., kicking Logan in the same instance. Victor rushed Logan and slammed his palm into his face, breaking the the cartilage, Logan’s reaction time wasn’t good enough to avoid a few other gods shots, a rob breaker punch, a knee into the gut. The rob breaker hurt Victor slightly puttin that must force into punching adamantium.

“Looks like the little runts still got some fight in him don’t it?” Victor taunted Logan tryin to get him to loose focus on the fight. Logan rushed at Victor again, who lifted off the ground and planted the sole of his boot in Logan’s face, knokcing him over, and down for at least a little while. “Team, fall back. This aint a fight worth winning!” Victor cried out over the battle. Rhane and Clarice were first to drop the fights and run, however they did take running shots as they disappeared into the forest. Blink throwing her Hardlight daggers and Rhane tking the time to transform her hand and slash Psylocke across the face and change fully letting the Rocky Mountains envelope her. Scalp hunter didn’t listen as well, he knocked Sage down with a big hard kick, he mounted her holding her down, he leaned in close to her, smelled her, smiled at her, making her uncomfortable, he put the blade of his Biggest Hunting knife to her throat. “John! RUN!”Victor screamed again. Runing up to him and ripping him off of the intended victim. “John, run now or ill throw you to the sharks” Victor snapped at Greycrow. Scalp hunter looked at the leader he was to take orders from in the field with a look of malcontent, before turning and darting off into the greenery.

“Gibney!” Victor looked over as Mimic was ontop of the more feral mutant, Victor had to choose in less the a second, save Gibney or beat down on the other members of Weapon X.

Victor dashed up behind Mimic and picked him up and anotehr bear hug, but this time he taunted with “funny we keep running into each other like this” before throwing him into a tree.

“Wildchild” Victor said wistling, Gibney took the command like a dog and rushed up to Victors side. Victor grabbed gibenys smaller form and threw him at the oncoming Psylocke. Kyle unfolded from a ball and tackled Braddock to the ground. Victor made a turn as he smelled Sage coming up behind him. He spun on his heel, she lunged forward a knife in hand. Victor grabbed her by the wrist. She swung her right leg in a kick into Victor’s gut. He faltered back a few steps. The black ops X-man came flyin through the air and brought her fist into Victor’s face. Victor’s head snapped back as he grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him thrusting his fist into her stomach. She let out a scream, it made the blood in his veins hot, he shivered as he resisted giving into his feral nature.

“heah there missy.” Victor grinned menacingly at the young girl, remember me? What your daddy did to me?” Victor opened up his shirt, there were scars from were the girls father had shoved a pitchfork into his side nearly a decade ago.

“I-I-I-I don’t know anything, please don’t hurt me sir.” Victor’s dirty clothes hung on his form, he hadnt bathed in a very long time.
“Of course you do, you know me , you know how to walk, and how to talk, and you know what im talking about.” Victor got into the girls face, it was still soft, like it had been when he first met her. “You were right you saw him stick me with that pitchfork over and over and over again.” The girl struggled against her bonds.

“Please let me go, ill do anything, my father will do anything, just let me go” the girl started to sob, Victor looked at her, at first his hate for her father brought a sinister smile to his face. But after several minutes, her cries broke through the hate. Victor walked over to the girl, he kneeled down in front of her, he untied her hands, and gave her some food and some water.

“Im sorry Elizabeth, the world I live in, is very different then yours” the girl was weary of Victor, not touching the food or water. “ Its ok, the food and water are fine, see?” Victor took a piece of the bread and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly . “See, its fine to eat.” Victor looked at the girl with soft ember eyes. She looked into those eyes and understood how different they were. She raised her hand to his grizzled face. He hadnt shaved in months, but his beard was still only as short as it was as if he had shaved two days ago.

“Victor…” Elizabeth trailed off still mesmorized by his eyes.

“VICTOR!” a powered knock came on the door. “OPEN UP THE DOOR, YOU HAVE MY DAUGHTER YOU DEVIL BEAST!” Elizabeth’s father was angrier then usual. Victor undid Elizabeths bonds and let her walk up to the door.

“It’s ok father, I am fine”Elizabeth attmepted to calm her father down. A look or worry in her eyes.

“Elizabeth, come outside dear” her father ordered. Elizabeth did as she was told. Looking at Victor for approval first however. He nodded for her to go. As she opened the door her father charged in inconsiderate of his daughter’s well being.

“YOU DEVIL!” he bellowed, his face red and flustered.“WHAT IN GOD’S NAME HAVE YOU DONE TO MY DAUGHTER?” he accused Victor, Victor, remained silent, this man he hated, who hated him, was standing there with a pistol, a silver bullet loaded into it.

“im no monster to be killed that easily Sir” Victor informed the gentleman infront of him. “Put the gun down sir, I'll leave”

“No you will die, you mosnterous devil!” he rasied the flintlock to be parralel with the floor, and fired. The shot pierced Victor’s chest, pasing through his heart and out his back. He fell on the floor, dead by looks of it. Elizabeth’s father turned to leave the ramshackle hut. As he came to the doorway, he was taken to the ground by a heavy force, the clawed clutches of an animal wrapped around his ankles. The last time the men outside that shack saw him alive, he was being pulled in screaming like a little girl.

Victor came out of that shack an animal. A man ran him through with another Pitchfork, it peirced his side, Victor howled out in pain as he turned to the attempted assailant. Who screamed out in terror as he was hoisted off of the ground in Victor’s hands. Victor bit into his neck ripping out his throat as the man screamed. The blood was warm, it flowed forth Victor tasted it, and it made him hungry. That’s night, he earned his name, because Elizabeth survived, and said he fought like an animal, and his eyes were like a cats, he became known as the Tiger, and when he fled to Mexico then Canada, El Tigre, even, the Wendigo, for he was a man beast who ate other men. But never again did he taste man-flesh, but that never stopped the reputation.

[TrueMastermind]

Lifting himself from upon the ground, Logan just managed to witness Victor hurling Mimic into a nearby tree. This infuriated the already short-tempered Wolverine, convincing him that there was absolutely no reason to give Sabretooth any form or shape of mercy. But first he had to subtract Wildchild from the equation, as to make the fight fair.

Gibney was too enveloped in his one-sided wrestle with Psylocke to even detect Logan queitly approaching him. "This is gonna hurt," Wolverine seized the Wildchild off of Psylocke before vigorously slamming him into a nearby, snow-covered tree. As to use the unconcious Gibney to full affect, Logan hoisted the Maurauder and flinged the piliferous profligate towards the distracted Victor.

[Mr. Majestic]

I rise to my feet holding my side knowing full well that a few ribs are… well was broken. This healing ability is really something else. Now that I have Sabretooth ability along with Feral’s I’m healing faster than ever.

I look over in Wolverine’s direction and notice him taking out Wildchild and then throwing one of Sabretooth men in his direction. Wasting no more time I run to Wolverine side.

“I think I’m ready for another round.” I tell Wolverine as my bone claws rip its way through my flesh.
http://img401.imageshack.us/img401/382/clawsd.jpg

[sabetoonth]

http://img535.imageshack.us/img535/5987/sabretoothrpg3.jpg
Victor came back to reality to late for his senses to save him. Kyle Gibney slammed into him from behind. ,lying in a heap they both got back up. Sage charged at Victor again pulling out a knife and attemptin to slit Victors throat, in a instant of cold calculation Victor grabbed the woman by her throat growling as he started to choke the life out of her.

“Maybe the fates would veiw you more favorably had you chosen to side with your own kind” Victor said to Sage as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. He let her drop into unconsciencousness.

“Come on!” Victor growled at Weapon X. He snarled as Psyclocke flew at him with her psychic knife, he sidestepped, he kneed her in the abdomen. He pulled her head back by her hair. “Hi betty, miss me?” He flung her on her back by her hair.

“Come on! Cant you fight me all at once?” He roared. Gibeny floated back into conscienceness as Victor through around the still functioning members of Weapon X. He slipped off into the woods with the rest of the team to rejoin the rest of the brotherhood.

“Come on you human lapdogs, let play!” Victor leaped into the air at Logan and Mimic, the kid has extended bone claws like Logan, those will hurt when they get broken.

[sabetoonth]

http://img684.imageshack.us/img684/5003/hulkbanner.jpg

Bruce found a way down off the cliff face. The surrounding expanse was emense, clouds filled the sky, lightening flashed in them. Thunder rolled through the air. It was dark, the rock was purple, which intrigued Bruce, he ran his hands along it. He picked at a bulge in the rock, it crumbled to the touch. The whole wall gave way to an empty expanse of black. Banner, in all his curiosity walked into the darkness.

“PUNY HUMANS SHOOT? “ the moster roared out “ME SMASH PUNY HUMANS!” the creature grabbed a soldier that was firing at him and squuezed him til he exploded. He rushed forward, the bullet fire rippling on his skin as the projectiles fell harmlessly on the street pavemet. Soldiers ran every which way. Some of the unlucky ones werent crushed by the humvee that came crashing down on them. The metal twisting and the glass bursting. Any survivors of that were crushed as the mosnter landed on it and it exploded. He walked out of the wreckage his skin crackling and turnign black, the stretched and ripped jeans burned away.
http://th05.deviantart.net/fs23/300W/f/2008/027/7/6/Hulk_by_andyparkart.jpg
A grenade thrown in his direction opened up a water hydrant. The water put put the fire. The skin falling off and the new underlying layer exposed, a brighter green then had been overlaid on it. “GRRRRRR” the soldier stared back forzen in terror. The hulking behemoth grabbed the hydrant itself and chucked it at the soldier. The force threw him some 25 feet, dead and every part of his body broken.

A few brave soldiers reached into the back of a jeep. They fumbled with locks, and latches, pulling a rocket launcher out of the case. They loaded a rocket, and took aim at the creatuere as it through more soldiers through the air, even bitinng one in half even as he screamed and fire at it til the monster took its bite. They leveled the weapon on the target, and fired after the scremaing comrade was silenced so brutally. The brute noticed the explosive just as it went off. He threw up his arms in a sheild, closing his eyes.

The smoke clouded around where the monster was standing. The soldier stood there awaiting to see if they had succeded in stopping the beast. As the smoke cleared, the car door came hurling their way, catching one of them and slicing his arm off.

FORT HOOD MILITARY BASE
Ross stared out his window. Kallark had brought down Lang. a good job for a god damned alien. He looked at his desk. He picked up a report that had been sent by Talbot about Lang’s research partner, and both their pasts. He read down the lines. He fiddled with the file and the name on the top of the page caught his eye immediately.

“Banner.” Ross searched his mind, the name was familiar, the face even was remaniscent. To the old soldier. “Damnit” Thunderbolt Ross went to his phone, he pressed a button, “Marie, get me all files related to the name Banner.” He let his finger off the button. “Damn family Business.” Ross stared out his window again, starting to fume at his new “luck”. First, lead sceintist on the SSP:Rebirth goes AWOL after being mutated by his own failed process, and then his research partner is part of an old “friend's” family. “Why couldn’t the kid have been dentist?” Ross thought aloud to himself.

“General!” Talbot swung the door open and charged into Ross’s office“Banner,Lang’s research partner-”

“Hes gone?” Ross stared out he window. Hiding his fury from the colonel. “Get me a chopper, I want to him, before we take him down”

“How’d you know about the mutation?” Talbot asked anxously.

“Mutation?” Ross growled at Talbot, “the hell are you talking about? I was goin to shoot him myself!” the Thunderbolt lived up to his name as his voice boomed trhough the room. “GET ME THAT CHOPPER!”
http://media.comicvine.com/uploads/1/11863/565723-565705_hulk_6_7_1__super_1__large.jpg

[TrueMastermind]

http://img535.imageshack.us/img535/5987/sabretoothrpg3.jpg
Victor came back to reality to late for his senses to save him. Kyle Gibney slammed into him from behind. ,lying in a heap they both got back up. Sage charged at Victor again pulling out a knife and attemptin to slit Victors throat, in a instant of cold calculation Victor grabbed the woman by her throat growling as he started to choke the life out of her.

“Maybe the fates would veiw you more favorably had you chosen to side with your own kind” Victor said to Sage as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. He let her drop into unconsciencousness.

“Come on!” Victor growled at Weapon X. He snarled as Psyclocke flew at him with her psychic knife, he sidestepped, he kneed her in the abdomen. He pulled her head back by her hair. “Hi betty, miss me?” He flung her on her back by her hair.

“Come on! Cant you fight me all at once?” He roared. Gibeny floated back into conscienceness as Victor through around the still functioning members of Weapon X. He slipped off into the woods with the rest of the team to rejoin the rest of the brotherhood.

“Come on you human lapdogs, let play!” Victor leaped into the air at Logan and Mimic, the kid has extended bone claws like Logan, those will hurt when they get broken.

http://img693.imageshack.us/img693/7407/wolverinebanner5.jpg
Wrong move. Leaping in the air leaves you vulnerable for an easy counter move, and Wolverine would plan to take full advantage of this oppurtunity. Victor never had been a intellectual, of course neither had Logan. But Logan seemed to have outsmarted him in this particular instance.

"Move out the way!" Logan shouted over to the kid. With the situation being two versus one, the odds were with them but you can never expect anything when you're dealing with Sabretooth.

Taking an enormous risk, Logan slid under the savage and thrust his claws into his bushy chest. "Get him from the back!" Logan commanded Mimic to attack Sabretooth's vulnerable back while the oppurtunity was still present. All the while, Sabretooth dropped to the ground, grasping his punctured chest.

[sabetoonth]

http://img535.imageshack.us/img535/5987/sabretoothrpg3.jpg

“MOTHER ****ER!” Victor howled as Logan’s Blades peirced his chest. He rolled over landing on his back. Logan rolled with him and slashed at his head. Victor blocked that and punched Logan square in the chest knocking him off. Victor caught the kid’s scent, and rolled back launching himself in an upside down missle dropkick. Mimic fell over on his back and Victor flipped over him, he went to stomp on the kid’s head but he rolled. Victor kicked him I the shoulder, and the kid put up his arm. Mimic took his other arm and plunged his bone claws into Victor’s. “GARRRRGH” Victor let out a cry of roar of pain. He rasaied his foot up and brokem them off in his leg. The kid cried out in agony. “Hurt don’t it kid?” Victor pulled hi up of the ground, “This experience aughtta teach ya something.” Victor smashed his head into Mimic’s he went limp in Victor’s arms. He staggered a bit, ‘kids head is harder then I expected’ he thought to himself.

Logan came up from behind, His blades peircing htrough Victor’s abdomen. “****!” Victor threw his left elbow into Logan’s face. Pulling himself off of the claws, Victor started to feel fatigued, his eyes heavy, his muscles sore. The wound in this abs healing, Victor reached down and yanked out one of the bone daggers in his leg. He threw it at Logan with pinpoint accuracy.

[TrueMastermind]

http://img693.imageshack.us/img693/7407/wolverinebanner5.jpg

"****!" Logan cried in agony as the bone dagger punctured his gut, forcing him to clutch his stomach. However, with his amazing healing capabilities, this pain soon turned into an afterthought.

"Kid, copy Psylocke's powers and get into his head! I'll hold him off!" Wolverine yelled over to Calvin before lunging at Sabretooth, claws outstretched.
************************************************** ********

OOC: Back at Westchester...

Kurt is sitting in the medical center, staring a hole right thourgh the adjacent wall. A bad feeling was rising within him, as if his team was in trouble. He felt obliged to help, but there's the possibility that more pain could be caused to his already aching leg. Plus, he doesn't even know their exact location. Still, if his team needs help...

"I guess I got to guess..." Kurt mutters before disappearing in a bright flash of light.

[TrueMastermind]

http://img693.imageshack.us/img693/7407/wolverinebanner5.jpg

"****!" Logan cried in agony as the bone dagger punctured his gut, forcing him to clutch his stomach. However, with his amazing healing capabilities, this pain soon turned into an afterthought.

"Kid, copy Psylocke's powers and get into his head! I'll hold him off!" Wolverine yelled over to Calvin before lunging at Sabretooth, claws outstretched.
************************************************** ********

OOC: Back at Westchester...

Kurt is sitting in the medical center, staring a hole right thourgh the adjacent wall. A bad feeling was rising within him, as if his team was in trouble. He felt obliged to help, but there's the possibility that more pain could be caused to his already aching leg. Plus, he doesn't even know their exact location. Still, if his team needs help...

"I guess I got to guess..." Kurt mutters before disappearing in a bright flash of light.

[Andy C.]

FURY

The news feed is troubling, at best.

The stalemate between the X-Men and the Brotherhood continues, no side making any real progress against the other. At the very least, the government's men have been able to avoid civilian casualties.

Out west, the Army is attempting to rein in a massive green monstrosity, one not too different from the one General Ross's Strontian brought down.

More unsettling....I've had another blackout. I lost nearly two hours, and have no goddamned idea what happened. I'll be scheduling an appointment with our medical branch to get checked out, see what's happening to me.

But first, I'm informed that Agent Barton has completed his mission. I open up a line to the first security checkpoint.

"Once Rogers is checked out and inspected for any surveillance equipment, send him directly to me, along with Hawkeye. I think the three of us need to have a little sit-down."

[sabetoonth]

Double post

[sabetoonth]

http://img684.imageshack.us/img684/5003/hulkbanner.jpg

The town’s sky was filled with smoke, people screamed in terror as a monster destroyed their community. Ross hung onto the choppers interior as he peered out at the scene.

“my god” he muttered under his breath as they flew over head.

“RAAAAAWRRG” the roar came from below the chopper. Ross looked down and was taken aback at what he saw.
http://i.annihil.us/u/prod/marvel/i/content/st/3691header_banner1471464.jpg
“OH MY GOD, IS THAT-?” Ross started as he stared at the tank of flesh as it tore through unit after unit of military forces.

“That’s Banner General.” Talbot sat next to him in the chopper, staring down at the hulking monster.

“RAAAARGH!” the monster.

“CUT HIM IN HALF!” Ross yelled at the machine gunner. The gun heated up and the end glowed as sot after shot fire from the gun and made contact with the beast.

“HHHRRR?” the creature looked up at the chopper as it shielded it’s eyes from the bright light. He let down one hand to wander around for a projectile. He found a small bit of rubble and chucked it at the flying machine.

“Jump!” Talbot hollered as he leaped out of the chopper, and landing motionless on the roof of a building. Ross held on as the chopper took a nose dive towards a building, jumping out a dozen feet above the ground.

“GRRRR” the monster spotted Ross as he limped away from the crash. Marching forward with malicious intent.
Ross limped away fast as he could. The monster Banner has become was walking towards him. A look of intense anger in it’s eyes.

“Go away! Banner! Don’t do this!” Ross hollered, the monster stopped as it loomed over him. Staring at Ross with a confused look. “Banner? Are you in there?” Ross slowly back away and stumbled over falling back. The monster stepped closer.

“BANNER!” the voice rang through the empty darkness.

“Whats that voice?” Bruce said aloud, he came to a set of windows. He looked out to see the form of General Thaddeus T-Bolt Ross.
“Ross?”

“Ross?” the creature grunted staring down at Ross.

“the hell have you done Banner?” Ross rose his voice up and stood on his one good leg.

Bruce looked around, all he saw was darkness. He heard a roar in the distance. Banner ventured further into the darkness. He the darkness began to lighten up as Bruce continued walking, then he found a sudden drop as the floor gave way beneath him.
Ross looked up at the beast. Soldiers were running in every direction. He monster seemed to be calm, he even seemed to shrink. The mass of muscle started to deteriorate. The color of his skin became fleshy in color. He took a new and shrunk more. 10 ft, 7 ft, 5’11’’,

“Banner?” Ross was stilled in shock at what he was witnessing. Banner got up from his knees, staggering towards the general.

“G-g-general.” Banner shook as if he were freezing. Ross was in shock, there standing before him is a possibly replicatable super soldier. He just needed to have it dissected. Ross reached behind himself, he undid the strap over his belt, he had two pistols with him, one was live ammunition, the other was a tranquilizer, just in case he decided to keep Banner after this. He pulled the tranq from the holster, then drew the pistol and fired the dart into Banner’s neck.

“Lights out Dr Banner.” Banner fell to the pavement limp. Ross staggered over to him, and watched as he drifted into unconsceinceness. “This is General Ross, all units move in on the target, target is down, repeat target is down, bring him into custody, and get Talbot off of that roof!” Ross walked off away from Banner as armed soldiers surrounded him. “This should be a promising accident.”