The All-Star Marvel RPG: Season 2.0

[Andy C.]

Gamemasters & Staff
Andy C. - Game Master
Eddie Brock- Co-Game Master
Batman - Founder

Since the rise of numerous heroes and villains began, great upheavals have occurred in the structure that government organizations like HAMMER had strove so hard to maintain. Captain America, the son of the original Captain and HAMMER's pet project, has broken free from his masters and declared independence with the formation of a vigilante group called The Avengers, after standoffs between the heroes and Director 13 in the middle of attacks carried out by Super Skrull and the Red Skull. Likewise, the mutant task force known as the X-Men has staged a mutiny and become a civilian force, attempting to balance the delicate standoff between humans and mutants.

Organized crime syndicates in New York have toppled due to the actions of vigilantes like Spider-Man and The Devil of Hell's Kitchen, while the Fantastic Four has journeyed through time and learned of an impending doom....the coming of the planet-devourer Galactus.

Across the country and around the world, a new day breaks across the horizon.

The Age of Marvels has begun.

Welcome to All-Star Marvel! This RPG is based off of a player-created continuity, similar to Hype's Ultimate DC RPG. 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.

* 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. Players are allowed two characters, with the option to play a third becoming available if they have proven themselves able to consistently post with their first two characters for at least 30 days.

* 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 30 days, 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. You can re-apply for the character, but you will have one "strike" against you. Once you reach three strikes, you will not be allowed to re-apply for said character.

*On a similar note, once your character's application is approved, you must post in the IC thread within three weeks of its approval, or the application will be considered null and void, and you will have to re-apply.

* 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 hinge 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 Out-of-character comments in this thread. All questions, comments, and character applications should be made in the OOC/Sign-Up Thread, located here.

 

[Andy C.]

"Richard, what are you doing with the camera?"

"What else would I be doing with it? I'm recording the moment for future posterity. So go on, Mary, tell the world why we're here today."

"Well, we're here because I needed to get an ultrasound done, to get our first look at the baby. And not only that, but now we know what gender the baby's going to be."

"And? Don't leave us in suspense, honey!"

"And......it's a boy!"

"A boy! Oh my God, this is amazing! We're going to have a boy!"

"And we've got a name all picked out, don't we?"

"Yup. He gets his first name from your dad, and his middle name from my big brother."

"Peter Benjamin Parker."

"Peter Parker........I can't wait to meet him."

I don't dream, exactly. I have brief recollections, sensations of feeling.

Everything is warm and soft. I haven't felt this good in all my life.

I feel another heartbeat, pulsing alongside my own.

Images and sounds....panting and sweating....the soft touch of lips and hands....

Gentle rays of sunlight peer through the intoxicating darkness, bearing down on my shut eyelids to coax them open.....to pull me out of my sleep....

I open my eyes.....and I wake up next to an angel.

Last night, Gwen and I made love for the first time.

More importantly, last night, I realized not just how much I love her, but how much I've always loved her. The feelings I have for her have pretty much always been there, only now I know what they are and can actually express them. So in a way, things between us will be just the same.

In other ways, though, everything's different. I mean, before, Gwen was one of the gang to me, someone who I could relax and be myself around without worrying about being judged or looking cool. She's always been my friend, and not just because we have the same hobbies, but because we thought on the same brainwave, we had that kind of special connection that I'd call 'soul-mates' if I didn't think it sounded cheesy as hell.

Now, though? We've....connected, on a whole different level. And that could open up an entire new world of things that might make our relationship a lot more complicated. As if being a superhero weren't complicated enough.

I watch her sleep until her eyes finally flutter open. When her eyes meet mine, she gives me a smile that melts my heart, and I realize I've got nothing to complain about.

"Hey," I say, grinning from ear to ear.

"Hey," she says, snuggling against me and giving me a soft kiss on the lips. "So.....this is it. Our first day together. You and me against the world."

"I'll take those odds," I say. "I mean, your dad is absolutely going to kill me. I think I'd rather go another round with the Green Goblin than have that conversation."

"He'll come around," Gwen says, "he always liked you anyway. But what's really going to be interesting is the look on everyone's faces at......"

Gwen trails off, a look of startled realization across her face.

"....at school."

At the same time, we both look over at the clock. Nearly 10:30.

"Oh, crap, we're late!" I yelp, and we both leap out of bed and frantically start putting our clothes on. Granted, I take a little bit longer because I stop to get a better look at Gwen in the daylight, but still.....

"How are we going to get there?" Gwen says as she slips on a T-shirt and pulls up her pants. "We've already missed the bus, and Harry's already there, and Dad's at work--"

As I put on my first layer of clothes--namely my Spider-Man gear--I stop as I strap on my web-shooters, and grin.

"I think I've got an idea," I say, loading a pair of fresh web-fluid cartridges. "Hope you're not too scared of heights."

A minute later, we're swinging towards Midtown High at rooftop level, Gwen clutching onto me for dear life and letting out an exhilarated scream like she's on a roller coaster. I glance at her face and see she's still smiling, not afraid in the least, but genuinely excited.

I let out a wild "WA-HOOOOOOOO!" as we swoop and hurdle above the mid-morning traffic. We may be late for school, but I've had worse starts to a day.

And this is a big one, too. Our first day together, come what may, whether it's supervillains or high school drama.

A brand new day in the life of Peter Benjamin Parker.

I can't wait to meet it.

 

[Eddie Brock]

[YT]Pn2-b_opVTo[/YT]

Clean shirt, new shoes;
And I don't know what I am gonna do.
Silk suit, black tie;
I don't need a reason why.
They come runnin' just as fast as they can;
'Cause every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man.

"So, let me ask you this!"

"Go ahead."

"Do you think Captain America would let me have his shield? 'Cause I have a perfect spot for it right there on the wall."

"Haha. I'll tell you what, Stephen, I'll ask Cap if he has any spares lying around. Sound good?"

"Fantastic. Now, let's talk about the Avengers."

"Okay."

"Why do you hate America?"

"Haha. Well, I don't think I hate America at all. I think the Avengers is just what America needs."

"Okay, but what's wrong with the Ultimates?"

"Well, I don't think anything's wrong with them, per se. I just think we don't know where their orders are coming from."

Gold watch, diamond ring;
I ain't missin' not a single thing.
Cuff-links, stick pin;
When I step out, I'm gonna do you in.
They come runnin' just as fast as they can;
'Cause every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man.

"Tell me about Stark Enterprises. What are you working on?"

"I'm glad you asked. Right now, I'm overseeing a project involving bionic limb replacement."

"Bionic limb replacement?"

"See this arm? It's fake. So's my right leg. Underneath a little bit of artificial flesh, there's just metal and circuitry in there."

"Oh my God! Can you tell?"

"Not at all. The circuitry is wired into the appropriate nerve endings. It moves and feels like a real arm. Unfortunately, I'm the prototype, and it did come with side effects."

"Such as?"

"This little glowing gadget in the middle of my chest? Miniature arc reactor, the power source for the Iron Men units. It helps my heart handle the added stress of my bionic limbs."

"That is amazing."

Top coat, top hat;
And I don't worry 'cause my wallet's fat.
Black shades, white gloves;
Lookin' sharp, lookin' for love.
They come runnin' just as fast as they can;
'Cause every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man.

"Alright, here we go. The Top 10 Things Going through Tony Stark's Mind when He's Out as Iron Man. Number 10!"

"I sure hope Black Sabbath doesn't file a suit against me."

"Number 9!"

"Who am I kidding? I'm Tony Stark. I could own Black Sabbath if I wanted to."

"Number 8!"

"Does this qualify as a tax write-off?"

"Number 7!"

"I don't see why everyone's complaining so much about gas prices."

"Number 6!"

"Let's see your precious iPhone do this!"

"Number 5!"

"Can I give myself frequent flier miles?"

"Number 4!"

"Thank God. Life as a billionaire playboy was really boring me to death."

"Number 3!"

"Dammit! Why did I make Vista my operating system?"

"Number 2!"

"I can see Russia from here!"

"Here we go! The Number 1 Thing Going through Tony Stark's Mind when He's Out as Iron Man!"

"I really have to take a leak."
​

 

[Byrd Man]

Nebraska


The Geiger counter in my hands ticks in a steady and rapid rhythm. I look down at the irradiated soil and whisper words of encouragement.

"I don't think it's working, Reed."

I look up at Sue and scowl slightly, even though the gesture is wasted from behind a HAZMAT suit. "Patience, dear. All we need is a little more patience."

We've been out here in Nebraska for a week, helping with the fallout from a nuclear explosion. It was a good thing the bomb went off out here where only a relatively few people were exposed to the explosion and radiation. The bad news is that the fallout from the blast has effected major parts of Nebraska, as well as farmlands in Iowa and Kansas. Almost all of America's major food producing lands are close to being poisoned by radiation.

That's where Sue and I come in. Sue's double doctorate in Biology and Biochemistry come in handy, as well as my degrees in similar fields come in handy. Together we've been crafting a chemical solution that should be able to quicken the radioactive half-life of all the fallout from fifty years, to just fifty hours. We're currently on test trial 243. All in all, not a bad way for two nerds to spend their honeymoon.

I keep staring at the soil and listening to the rapid ticks of the Geiger counter. After a full minute without any change, I shake my head.

"I guess we'll rule trial 243 a failure. Time to move on to 244."

"Wait!" Sue shouts with a hand up. "Listen to the Geiger."

I lean in to listen. It's slow at first, but I finally hear what Sue heard: the counter's ticking is slower than it was just a few minutes ago.

"It's....It's..."

"Working! Reed, it's really working! Slowly, but it's working."

"Foolish for me to think it'd work so suddenly. Based on the decrease of radiation at the current rate, then the fallout should be erased in about-"

"Six months, give or take a few weeks."

"We can do better, but it's a start."

Sue and I turn at the sound of a steady thumping of a chopper. A helicopter kicks up dust and lands a hundred feet from our location. Another doctor in a HAZMAT suit leaps out and stomps up to meet us. "Doctors, I have a message for you from a General Lumpkin. He needs to speak to you as soon as you can get back to the camp."

"Right. Here," I reach into my pocket and pull out a dropper. I hand the dropper and the Geiger counter to the doctor. "Spread that around the soil and monitor the Geiger counter as you do."

"What's in the dropper?"

"The way to revert the irradiated soil."

I turn to Sue and smirk as we walk pass the stunned doctor and head across the field to the idling helicopter. As soon as we're secured, the pilot lifts off and heads towards the base camp outside the irradiated zone.

******

​

"Doctors," General Lumpkin says from the laptop monitor. "You two are looking lovely. A nice, healthy glow. I assume that's from the new marital bliss?"

"Try radiation poisoning, that might be it."

"You kids. Back in the day, newlyweds used to go to Hawaii. Now a trip to a radioactive wasteland constitutes a romantic outing."

"It does for us. Hawaii will always be there. How many times are you going to get a chance to check out the effects of a nuclear weapon firsthand?"
"You really worry me sometimes, Richards. On to business. I need your report on the situation in Nebraska. I need to run it up to my bosses on the Joint Chiefs and the folks at HAMMER."

"I'll be sure to email the report to Lieutenant Vaughn as soon as possible."

"Scratch that. Lieutenant Vaughn is no longer my executive officer. He was transferred down to South Carolina to work at Shaw, a base they got down there. My new XO is Captain Raye. She should have already sent you an email breaking the news."

"How are things at the Baxter Building?"

"Wouldn't know. I've been in DC most of the week. I assume it's been quiet. Major Grimm is out on the west coast, training on a sim they have at Edwards. It's supposed to be a new cockpit and set of controls made for his...uhh, unique makeup. Storm? Heh, your guess is as good as mine. Last time I spoke with him, he was out in California, too. He was supposed to be training on the sim as well, learning to be Major Grimm's co-pilot, but I doubt he's still there."

"Knowing my brother, you might want to check some budding starlet's legs. Odds are he's somewhere between them."

"Why were you in Washington, general?"

"I've been attending confirmation hearings. They want to promote me to Major General. Get a second start on my collar."

"Congratulations! You deserve it."

"Don't celebrate just yet. The Senate has to approve it, first. Speaking of that, we need to get down to the real reason I called. I need you two on the next flight to New York."

"What? We just made a real breakthrough, sir. It'd be a shame to stop now."

"Sorry, but you got to. Secretary of State herself wants you at the UN. The Security Council is meeting in thirty-six hours, and you're taking part with the US delegation."

"Why me?"

"You haven't heard?"

"General, we've been away from tv and internet all week. We have no idea what's going on."

"Well, let me break the news. Forty-eight hours ago, Latverian forces crossed the border into Hungary and are preparing to drive all the way to Budapest. Your old school chum, Von Doom, is putting Latveria back in the spotlight. You're currently the world's foremost expert on the enigma that is Victor Von Doom. UN wants your opinion on the situation before they take any action."

"Alright.....I'll be there."
​

 

[Catman_prb]

It's my first night out with the 'gang', which constitutes the ambulance crews on my shift. Charlie (from Brooklyn) is my partner, and also what appears to be the groups leader, deciding to take us to their usual bar. I notice a number of other hospital staff who are off duty in amongst the crowd, greeting barstaff with a familiarity that implies they are regulars. I noticed one female doctor in particular, laughing with her friends in a booth in the corner. Charlie (from Brooklyn) put his arm around my shoulder.

"Who you eyeing up Don?" he asks.

"Over there," I say, inclining my head before taking a sip of my beer. It doesn't have the same flavour that ale does, but it suits its purpose.

"Oh Janey?" Charlie says, and a few of the guys laugh.

"You know her?" I ask, not lifting my eyes from her. Something about her seems very Old World; the pale colour of her hair, the way her cheeks redden so easily, her huge...tracts of land...

"Good luck there, kid," Charlie says, despite the fact that Donald Blake is only two years younger than him, and I am hundreds of years his senior "Doc Foster don't put out for anyone, let alone Eurotrash like you,"

I chuckle along with the guys then head off to buy the next round. The sport on the TV ends and the news comes on.

"Reports are coming in that Latverian forces have already crossed the border with Hungary, early speculation being that Latveria has mobilised a large armoured force in response to last week's diplomatic incident. In New York City, the NYPD is boasting to have caught half of the city's gang leaders in one major bust. We are coming for you Thor, God of Thunder. No place is safe for you. We shall send our servant to hunt you to the end of the Earth, and when we find you, we shall skin you alive. Asgard's grasp of this world is weak. We hold all the cards. We are watching,"

All the warmth seemed to be sucked out of the bar. My head swivells around like a piston, but no one else seemed to notice anything wrong. I shivvered involuntarily. It was not unheard of for my people to communicate through technology, but something about the newscasters words being mangled like that makes my spine crawl. I suddenly notice the amount of people in the bar. Any one of them could be an agent of the Olympians who were now out for blood.

"Hey Don, you getting those beers?" Charlie (from Brooklyn) shouts over at me. I fix a smile to my face and walk over with the tray. Let them come. Let them all come.

 

[Byrd Man]

The Devils

Manhattan Detention Complex
"The Tombs"

"Open D-Block, 321!" The guard yelled out. The electronic door unlocked with a pop and slide open. Two correctional officers escorted the large, black man down the cellblock catwalk. His arms and legs were shackled, he was clad in an navy blue jumpsuit and the words MDC were stamped on the back.

"We know who you is," a prisoner catcalled as the trio walked by his cell.

"Big shot hero!" Came another yell. "We gonna show you how we do heroes up in the Tombs, baby."

The guards led the man down to the cell at the end of the catwalk. "Open D-Block, Tier 2, 21!"

The cell door slid open and the man stepped in. The guards unlocked the hand and leg restraints before stepping back. "Close D-Block, Tier 2, 21!"
The door buzzed and rolled shut with a loud thud. The catcalls grew louder as the guards left the cellblock. Prisoners shouted threats of murder and rape at the man. He remained oblivious, looking forward with dull eyes.

For now, anyway, Luke Cage was home.

*****
​

St. Patrick's Cathedral

The screen separating the priest from the sinner slide back.

"Bless me, Father Miller, for I have sinned."

"How many days since your last confessional, my son?"

"Too many, Father."

"And what are your sins, my son?"

"A man sits in jail, accused of my crimes."

"And what crimes are those?"

"You know what crimes I speak of," Matt Murdock whispered. "You've know of those crimes for sometime."

"They're crimes are they?" The priest replied in an almost mocking tone. "Two weeks ago, they were something else entirely. 'God's work' I believed you called it. And right here in the confessional booth! Blasphemy, on top of murder!"

"If I wanted to hear a sermon, I'd go to mass."

"And the Lord knows you need it. I never see you at any of the masses, Matthew, just here in the booth. It's alright to use me as a place to file away all your dirty secrets, but do you really care about the Lord or doing His work?"

"I do, Father. It's just.....it's become complicated. My followers have stopped following. I discovered they were all guilty of breaking rules I had set. Rules important to our survival. I cast them out, and they didn't seem too upset."

"Better to rule in Hell, than to serve in Heaven. What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. I've lost my way, Father. I can feel my faith eroding with each passing day. My faith in God, my faith in humanity. It's getting worse out there every day. I thank God every day that he struck me blind just so I don't have to witness it. I don't think I can live with it."

"Is it the world you can't live with...or is it yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"Those people, Matthew, you were their shepherd, and now your flock has gone astray. One in jail, the others scattered across the city, just as confused and lost as you. It was you who twisted their lives and turned them into tools for your use. The guilt is beginning to sink in. Just because your mother's death left you so broken you couldn't be fixed, doesn't mean they can't be fixed. Any chance they had of being normal is now gone. It's up to you to make things right."

Murdock remained silent for minutes, contemplating over he priest's words. After several long minutes of silence, the priest finally spoke up. "Matthew....are you still-"

"I'm still here. I know what I need to do, Father. Thank you."

*****​

Spanish Harlem

The woman pushed the empty shopping cart down the sidewalk, the brim of her baseball cap pulled low over her face. She walked past the bodega where the two Latino men sat on the stoop. They eyed the woman as she walked past them. The looked away after she was halfway down the block.

Turning the corner, Dakota North came to a stop next to the taxicab where Frank Brubaker sat in the front seat.

"Two men at the door," she said

"Could you tell if they were packing?" He asked.

"I know one is for certain. I saw the handle of his nine sticking out of his waistband."

"Didn't see anything inside?"

"Nope. The re-up showed up this time two days ago. Figured it would again today."

"Maybe they don't run out of dope until after three days. Well, we always got tomorrow."

North pushed the shopping cart away from her and climbed into the back of Brubaker's taxi. "Tomorrow's another day."

*****​

Manhattan Detention Complex
"The Tombs"

Detective Sergeant Lester Poindexter stared across the table at Luke Cage. It was the same routine going on four days now. Poindexter would bring Cage into the Tombs' interrogation room and try to talk to him. Cage wouldn't say anything past the fact that he was the man they were looking for, he was the Devil.

"C'mon, man," Poindexter started again. "You can sit across the table talking all that bull****, but you and me both know just one man isn't responsible for all these murders. There was more than one of you, we know that."

Poindexter motioned towards Cage's face and the purple bruise on his eye.

"That bruise? The one on your face? That bruise is what you get for being in gen pop. I know you ****ers killed a lot of scumbags, but some of them lived. Those that did, a few of them are housed right here in the Tombs. We got a section called protective custody. That's for former cops and guards, child molesters, and anyone that's went ape-**** crazy. People who couldn't be in gen pop because they'd get torn alive. You, while making your fair share of enemies, don't get to go. You weren't a cop or prison guard, I take it you never diddled a kid, and you sure as hell ain't crazy. So, you get to be torn apart until you wise up and start telling me what I want to know! Who. The. ****. Was. Helping you?!"

Poindexter slammed his hand on the table and looked Cage in the eye. "You either get smart, or you get dead. The choice is yours."

"Alright," Cage said. "I'll tell you what you want to know."

"And that would be?"

"I'm the one you want. I did all them murders by myself. I'm the Devil."

Poindexter snarled and rose up out of his seat. "You want to go back to gen pop, fine? Have fun in the showers, mother****er. Even a big guy like you better not drop the soap."
"Well, now I have two ways to get this farce declared as a mistrial."

Poindexter turned at the sound of the voice. At the open door was a red-haired man in a black suit and wearing dark red sunglasses. There was a briefcase in his left hand, a cane in his right.

"Detective Poindexter," Matt Murdock said as he approached the cop. "Nice to meet you again."

"Mister Murdock," Poindexter said with a confused look on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"Me and my partner have been keeping up with this case in the paper. The lack of adequate counsel has appalled me. I am now Mister Cage's attorney, replacing the inept public defender who didn't have the time or effort to fight for his client's Miranda rights."

Poindexter struggled to find the words while Murdock felt his way over to Cage and found his shoulder.

"Not another word to this man, Mister Cage. We're done here."


​

 

[Eddie Brock]

"Morning, beautiful."

Ben scowls at me as he drinks orange juice from a metal beaker.

"How'd you sleep?"

I grab the carton of OJ and pour myself a glass. Ben shrugs. "'Bout as well as I can sleep in these damn reinforced beds."

"I hear you, buddy," I reply honestly. "No matter what I told them, those geeks over at the Air Force Base insisted on giving me flame-******ant sheets. Like I was gonna light up in the middle of the night or something." I shrug. Hard to complain when the military's shacking you up on their dime. "Heard from Reed or Sue?"

Ben shakes his head. "You know how it is. Newlyweds and their first time alone together..."

"Yeah, well, knowing those two, they're probably spending most of their time working and not...'working.'" I shudder. It pains me to think of my sister that way. It may be even weirder thinking of her as someone's wife. To me, she'll always be the girl who bedazzled my backpack and got me beat up after school.

"They're not the only ones. I'm due down at the Base in half an hour for another go in this simulator."

"Good luck with that."

If Ben still had eyebrows, I imagine now would be when he would be arching them. "You're not coming? (Why am I not surprised?)"

I finish my glass of OJ and set it down on the table. "No can do. I've gotta meet with my agent, discuss some things."

"You're still doing this acting thing?"

"Don't sound so surprised. Some of us are photogenic."

Ben's about to open his mouth to give some remark when the sound of the shower running catches him off-guard. He stops, thinks about it for a second, then turns to me. "You brought one of your floozies here?"

I burst out laughing. "Who on Earth still says 'floozies?'" Shaking my head, I continue, "Yes, I brought a female companion home with me last night. And I'm glad that the topic came up, because when she gets out of the shower, I'm going to need you to take care of her for me."

Ben goes wide-eyed. "Oh no."

"Oh yes. And don't worry. She knows all about your 'condition,' and she won't be freaked out or anything. Her name is--" I check the scribble on the back of my hand, just above seven little digits. "Sheila."

"No no no no no, hothead! I didn't come all the way out to California to take out your trash!"

I grab my jacket and dart for the door, popping in my headphones while yelling over my shoulder, "Didn't hear you! Thanks a ton, though!"

"Aw, crap."
​

 

[Rain Dog]

“WA-HOOOOO!” the web-slinger shouted as he swung gracefully over the heads of hundreds of awe-struck New Yorkers. The crowd cheered and watched in utter amazement as their friendly neighborhood superhero dazzled them with an array of aerial acrobatics…and then became entangled in his “web” and came crashing down onto them to the sounds of panicked shrieks and obnoxious laughter.

“…And what you saw there was yet another mishap during a preview of what is easily Broadway’s most troubled production of all time, Spider-Man: Turn on the Lights. So far, this is the sixth time a cast or crew member has been injured. Producers are once again planning to push back its opening date to this summer and director, Jules Mayter, has officially departed after disputes with producers who wanted to make it, quote, ‘not suck camel dick.’”

“Hahahaha! What a *****e.”

“Yeah,” Lester said as he dug into a bag of taco-flavored Doritos.

“Hey, munch munch, don’t you gotta go to work, man? It’s like ten.”

“Nah, I went yesterday and, uh, that didn’t…that didn’t go too well.”

* * *​

“Howard?!”

“….Y-yeah?”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Clocking in…sir?”

“Howard, you haven’t shown up for work for weeks.”

“Listen, I had some issues, couldn’t make it, cut me some slack. I’m here now and I promise it won’t happen again.”

“It’s not that simple, Howard. You can’t take an unannounced, weeks-long leave of absence and expect everything to be ok when you get back!”

“…Why not?”

“Howard, Darleen has been working her for over six years and she has never once been late or even asked for a day off!”

“That’s because Darleen is a ****ing freak with a super-***** for Disney! I guarantee you that ***** goes home and puts up drawings of her getting porked by Aladdin on deviantART!”

“Alright, that’s enough Howard. You’ve been fired, case closed. And for your information, I have seen Darleen’s Disney fan art and it is both well-drawn and tasteful!”

* * *​

“You were fired?”

“Yep. ****ing Disney.”

“Munch munch Sucks, man.”

“And the worst part of it is? They said my ‘costume’ bared too much resemblance to Donald Duck and threatened to file a law suit if I didn’t change its appearance.”

“Oh. Is that why you’re wearing pants?”

“Yep.”

“I thought something about you was different. So what are you gonna do for money?”

“I dunno, dude. Where do you work?”

“Oh, I don’t. I mostly just deal. The trust fund pays for the rest.”

“Trust fund? If you got rich parents why do you live in this ****hole?”

“Street cred, man.”

“Kids,” I said, shaking my head. I take another look at the television screen and see “Spider-Man” take another dive into the crowd. Gets me thinkin’….

“Hey, there’s gotta be money in that!”

“Musicals?”

“No, superheroes! I come back from space and there’s all these news reports of robot-men flying around and monsters and fetishists dressing like devils and spiders and whatever and now they’re making musicals and ****! This is an unmined…gold…….mine! I need to figure out a way to tap into this market!.....But musicals aren’t a bad idea either, let’s save that for ‘Plan B’.”​

 

[Eddie Brock]

Stark Mansion
Upstate New York
Former Home of Howard Stark
Current Base of Operations for the Avengers

"How's the body feel, Jarvis?"

"It's Ms. Potts' finest work yet, sir," Jarvis replies. "With respect to yours truly." Having "known" Jarvis for so long, it's strange to finally hear his voice coming from an actual body. But I figured if the Avengers were going to use the Mansion as our meeting grounds, someone had to be responsible for upkeep. And since I'm all the way across country most of the time, this seemed like the best possible solution. Plus, I know Jarvis must feel this new sense of freedom with his body.

I nod, looking around the place. The white sheets have been removed from all the furniture. Every surface has been dusted. The cobwebs have been cleared from the rafters. There's even a nice fire going in the gas fireplace. Most of the time will be spent in the old SHIELD bunker downstairs, but I didn't think that was any reason to neglect the rest of the house. "The place looks nice."

"Do I detect a tone of appreciation? How refreshing."

"I trust you don't treat our guests to this kind of abuse?"

Jarvis' head tilts, his solitary eye blinking. I think this is his attempt at smiling. "Of course not, sir. My wit and sarcasm is reserved for you alone."

I shake my head, considering a response, when my phone rings. "Go for Tony."

"Hey, Boss. It's Happy. Just reminding you that you have that Benefit Gala in two hours."

I nod. Just one of the countless public appearances Tony Stark is making. At least this one's for a good cause. I have to say, it's been liberating to step out into the limelight again. Knowing Obadiah Stane was out there somewhere, planning his revenge, kept me from coming out of my shell. With that weight off my shoulders, I've really been able to embrace my position as the public face of the Avengers, and of superheroes in general.

"Suiting up right now," I respond as I climb down the stairs to the wine cellar. The sterile lighting of the bunker illuminates the room. "Be there in fifteen."

***

"Dirty martini, extra olives," I tell the bartender as I lay a $100 bill down on the bar. Luckily for me, this kind of shindig is loaded with famous names and faces, so I haven't needed to beat people away with a stick. Still, it's gotten considerably harder to blend into parties since my face is plastered all over the news. I accept my martini with a gracious nod and turn away from the bar.

"Well, I'll be! Tony Stark."

Millie Collins. Professional model. One of the few women I ever pursued who really made me work at it. Maybe that's why I lost interest. Smiling pleasantly, I say, "Millie the model. Look at you! You look fantastic."

"Thank you! You know, I didn't realize you'd be here tonight."

I look over the rim of my glass and shrug. "You know me. Just trying to do my part to make the world better." I take a sip of my martini.

Millie laughs. "Yeah, you certainly seem to be doing a lot of that lately." She smiles for a moment before adding, "Well, I'm glad we ran into each other! We have so much to catch up on!"

"Oh yeah?"

Millie reaches into her handbag and pulls out a badge. HAMMER. "Yeah. We do."

I fail to restrain from scowling. "Well, that certainly explains why you rebutted my offers to see the inside of my penthouse."

Millie laughs a little bit as she puts her badge away. I feel contempt brewing inside of me. "Yeah, sorry about that, Tony. Just following orders. I was told to keep an eye on you while maintaining some distance."

I scoff. "So, does HAMMER make it a habit of employing models as spies?"

"Only when the target in question is a known womanizer," she replies, matching my steely gaze with one of her own. "You've been making a lot of noise, Tony. Attracting a lot of attention to yourself. Saying a lot of negative things about HAMMER."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I offend Sharon Carter?"

Millie smirks. It only makes my contempt for her grow stronger. "Director 13 resigned three weeks ago."

"What a shame," I say flatly. "So, what? Is there a Director 14 now? Huh? New regime?"

Millie shrugs. "Something like that. And that's why I'm approaching you. It's time to figure out where you fit." She pauses as a group of women saunter by, laughing and nearly spilling their drinks. "Shall we go somewhere more private?"

"Oh, now you want to get me alone."
​

 

[Andy C.]

Flood lights cut through the thick shroud of fog that had rolled in over the camp. Heavily-armed sentries stand atop watchtowers, straining their eyes to see through the soupy mist, barely able to see their own hands in front of their faces, let alone anything moving in the camp below.

The facility is a small classified prison camp, one of dozens of makeshift prisons scattered throughout Central America after the destruction of the major prison in Genosha. While the island base had been sponsored primarily by HAMMER and the US Military, it's just as likely that this one was funded by one of the local governments, a private military company, or even the Brotherhood--anyone who had an interest in capturing and weaponizing mutants for their own agenda.

As a stocky, bearded sniper adjusts the scope on his rifle, he sees a spark of light out of the corner of his eye, a flash of sparkles down by the inside perimeter. He brings the rifle to bear, to look through his scope and see what had caused the sparks. Squinting through the fog, he sees the shape of someone moving.

The sentry runs for the alarm, and not a second after sounding it, is flung from his perch by a powerful blast of gale-force wind.

The prison camp comes alive with alarms and klaxons, a few chattering rounds of panic-fire as the guards search for their targets.

"Rogue, Jubilee, get those cell blocks open!" shouts Havok over the chaotic din. "Storm, get airborne and knock out the anti-air batteries! I'll draw the enemy's fire until the Blackbird gets here!"

With that, the group of X-Men splinters off, the self-appointed squad-leader scrambling onto the roof of an armored truck and blasting at the guard towers and search lights with bright waves of energy that erupted from his hands.

Frantically, the two young women on the ground run from cover to cover, criss-crossing their paths in a serpentine pattern to confuse enemy fire, until they reach their objective: a row of dozens of cages, each with a person inside.

"Watch the birdie!" Jubilee chirps as she sneaks up behind one of the guards, then blinds him with a dazzling flash of sparkling energy.

"My my, what would your dear Mama say if she knew you were out flashin' boys like that?" says Gambit, appearing practically out of thin air behind Jubilee and Rogue.

"You got the keys?" says Rogue, her tone business-like as she takes down two other guards with a touch from her bare hands.

"Ah, but of course, ma cheri," Gambit answers, producing a trio of key-cards with flourishing sleight-of-hand. "I always get what I set out after."

Rogue rolls her eyes and takes one of the keys, and the three of them get to work on opening the prison cells.

Meanwhile, Storm hovers in the air, just out of the range of the searchlights, and her eyes go wide when she sees a large flak-cannon rolling out of the large garage, its multiple barrels pointing skyward.

"I think not," she says to herself as she gathers herself in concentration. "No man will deny us the skies tonight!"

She shapes a path with her hands, and down that path courses a powerful bolt of lightning which strikes the anti-air cannon, detonating the ammunition inside of it.

Leaping from the armored truck and climbing to the top of one of the small concrete buildings, Havok pours blast after blast of destructive energy towards the scattering guards, cutting through power cables and wreaking as much of his namesake bedlam as possible.

"Come on!" he shouts to the dozens of soldiers all trying to draw a bead on him. "Right here, come and get it! Who wants some of this?!"

A handful of them return fire, but panicked as they are and with little time to aim, their shots go wide.

Suddenly, the sound of machine-gun fire is drowned out by the roar of jet engines-- the Blackbird swooping down for evac. Havok smiles and lets out a shout of victory....

.....just as a lobbed hand grenade bounces onto the rooftop and lands at his feet.

"All right, that's enough," I say as the battle freezes in place.

The holographic projectors blink out, and the team is left standing in the Danger Room as I step down from the control room.

"Havok," I say, glancing over at my brother with a business-like tone, "You got yourself killed today. That shouldn't have happened."

"The team needed a diversion," he says in defense.

"The team needed to stay undetected," I correct him. "Having Storm put up a cover of fog to obscure your movements was a good idea, but the fog was too thick. Jubilee used her powers and created a light to see where she was going, which gave away your position to the enemy. This was supposed to be a covert rescue operation, not a stand-up firefight."

Jubilee lowers her eyes, clearly kicking herself, while Havok bristles at the criticism.

"Still, once the cover was blown, your combat tactics were sound," I say to soften the blow. "And despite losing a team member, you did complete the objective to rescue the freed prisoners. You've still got room for improvement, but that's what these simulations are for. You are getting better, all of you."

That seems to cheer the group up. Which is going to make this next bit more difficult for them.

"Remember what you've learned in your training, by yourself and as a unit, because you're going to have to apply it in different situations and with different people. So starting next week, we'll be rotating the roster, and you'll be training with different teams."

"You're splitting us up?!" Jubilee gasps. "But....but we're a team!"

"We're all a team now, Jubilee," I say. "It's time you all get more familiar with the other aspects of that team. Class dismissed, everyone get some R&R."

With that, everyone goes their separate ways. Storm is probably off to the library, where she and Beast will spend the next few hours comparing intellects. Jubilee will likely head back to her laptop and gush about today's training on her Facebook (which I've already warned her several times about discussing sensitive information on there). I'm not sure where Rogue's going, but it's a sure thing that Gambit won't be far behind.

I watch them disperse and find myself wondering what to do with them, the converts from the Brotherhood. Since the school went civilian, most everyone has broken off into their own cliques, and the ones who came over from Magneto's camp are by far the most isolated out of all of them. At least Ororo gets to interact with the students, being one of the few 'teachers' we have apart from Jean, Hank, and Emma.

They work well as a team, and I'm sure they'll work just as well with the other X-Men. As for how they're fitting in at the school.....well, that's something we still have to work on.

"This is one hell of a training machine," says Alex, trying to break the silence with some small-talk. "The Brotherhood never had anything like this, lemme tell you."

"Nightcrawler was Brotherhood up until a few years ago," I say with a nod. "He said they used to 'train' on civilian targets."

"I, um.....I wouldn't know about that," Alex says, his voice trailing off. "Only targets I ever went after were military."

"Hm," is all I manage as an answer, and there's a heavy silence afterward.

For the last few years ever since I learned my brother was still alive, and that he was on the other side, I did everything I could to ignore it, to pretend he didn't exist. It didn't do me any good knowing that one of Magneto's terrorists was my own flesh and blood.

Now that he's jumped ship and is right here, though, it's......hard to know where to start. And I think it's pretty clear he's having the same difficulty.

"Well, I'd better get on my way," he says, heading for the door. "Gotta start getting ready for tomorrow's training, right?"

Before he leaves, I clear my throat.

"Hey, um, look....classes are over for the day, and we need to do some catching up. You wanna grab a beer?"

Alex looks at me with a look of amused disbelief, and then laughs.

"Probably gonna need more than one beer to get through this one, Scott, but what the hell. You're buying."

 

[Harlekin]

New York City. East 51st Street. 17th Precinct.

“Can you tell me where Sergeant Tork’s office is?”

A lanky young cop turned around to look at the woman standing in the coffee room’s doorway. Wearing heels, she was about five feet seven. She wore jeans, a black blazer with the sleeves rolled up and a long loose-fitting red shirt underneath it that did little to hide her ample bosom. Her figure was slender without being skinny. Atop her curly auburn hair she wore a beret. There was a cigarette hanging limply between her lips and in her hands she held a cardboard box, packed to the brim with brown folders, a few photo frames and a plate that read ‘Detective Jean DeWolff’.

“You can’t smoke in here,” the police officer said with a sheepish grin. DeWolff smiled wanly and moved toward the officer, dropping the box in his hands. She let the cigarette fall and ground it into the floor with her shoe. Taking the box again from the dumbfounded man, she thanked him curtly.
“Now, can you tell me where Sergeant Tork’s office is?”

“I’ll take care of that,” said a voice from behind them. It was the precinct’s captain, a tall, blond haired man with touches of grey and silver on the sides. He took off his hat as he greeted the new arrival.
“Detective DeWolff.”
“Captain McLean,” she replied. At that moment, both broke into a smile and McLean put a hand on the woman’s shoulder.
“Jean.”
“Sir,” she responded before he looked at her sternly. “Andy,” she said.
The young officer’s mouth could’ve dropped to the floor, while the captain replied: “Good to have you back. Let me show you the way.” He pointed his hat to the hallway.
“As you were, officer,” he said to the man still standing in the kitchen.

McLean and DeWolff walked silently for a few minutes through the precinct, passing desks and offices. A couple of people waved to DeWolff , who, still carrying the box, simply nodded in reply. The captain didn’t offer to take the box from her, which saved her the trouble of refusing. They kept walking like this until McLean finally said: “Why are you here, Jean?”

The two stopped and exchanged looks. “Why do you want to go work for a guy like Tork?” the captain continued. “I thought you had it good in the financial fraud department.”
She looked around the precinct and smiled faintly. Nearby, a couple of officers were talking to a shop owner about a robbery, while a drunkard screamed as he was hauled down to the cells by uniforms. The light over the interview room’s door was on, a bright red. “I did, sir. I just wanted to get back into the field,” she said.
He looked at her and shook his head. “Their field isn’t anything like you’re used to, Jean. And I’m not just talking about the freaks. At the last Comstat, they were joking about moving the Internal Affairs office. Might as well give them a permanent desk at this precinct. You’re not anything like these people. You know, I could use a Detective Sergeant in my homicide unit.”
“They say he’s a good cop,” she replied.
The captain sighed, smiled and shook his head again. His hand was on the knob of a door that read ‘QRT meta’. On a post-it note under the plaque was written ‘567’. As he opened the door, the captain said: “You can judge for yourself.”

“You can’t sit there,” DeWolff heard a man say.
“There neither,” another added.
“Then where the &^%$ am I supposed to sit?”

Standing in the middle of the cramped office, which had a desk in every corner of the room, was Officer Vincent Gonzales. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders, dressed in the standard blue uniform of the New York Police Department. On his jacket was the logo of the Harbour Patrol. He held his hat in hand, his knuckles were scratched. He scowled as he looked to the man standing opposite of him.

“Right now, you can’t sit nowhere,” one of them said, a tall(er) black man.
“Get yourself a chair from the canteen,” the man to his right added.
“This is *&^%ing bull&*^%,” Gonzales replied and he turned to storm out of the office. He charged past DeWolff and the captain, who in his anger Gonzales did not even salute.
“Good luck, Jean,” McLean said as he put his hat back on his head. He gave her a final reassuring smile and walked away.

DeWolff drew a long breath and righted her shoulders. The two men were still chuckling over Gonzales, when DeWolff’s heels click-clacked into the room. They regarded the new arrival, looking her over until their eyes met hers. She didn’t flinch and dropped the box on the desk closest to her.

“Detective DeWolff,” the man to the right – the shorter one – stated. He let a file he had in his hand fall on his desk, next to an ashtray filled with cigarette butts. This was Sergeant Tork. His hair came to his shoulders, he wore faded jeans and a red lumberjack shirt with a white T underneath it. His goatee framed a broad smile. A double barrelled shotgun leaned against his desk.

She nodded, moving towards him, her hand extended.
“Sergeant Tork. Just Tork,” Tork said as he shook her hand. “And this man’s momma named him Daz.”
The other man nodded, taking DeWolff’s hand into his and in fact completely enveloped it. Daz was easily a head taller than her – and his boss – and twice as big as well. His grey T-shirt strained against his muscled chest. He wore brown shorts that came to his knees. Big black shoes. A Glock 19 jutted from the holster on his belt.
“Welcome to the 567,” Daz said, with a voice like gravel.
“Taking care of baddies twice our size. You up for that?”

She was about to reply when the phone rang. Tork picked it up and listened, replying occasionally with a few ‘hmphs’ and ‘uh huhs’. When he was done, he picked up the shotgun beside his desk, locking and loading it in a single fluid movement.

“Guess we’re about to find out. Robbery in midtown. Literal fingerprints on the door,” he said as he looked to Daz. “Get the boat jockey, meet us at the car.”

His eyes met DeWolff’s. “I got shotgun.”

Created by Byrd Man and Harlekin​

 

[Byrd Man]

United Nations Building
New York City

I quickly knot my tie and struggle to keep up with the Secretary of State and her entourage as they march down the halls of the UN towards the Security Council chambers.

"Give your honest opinion," she says in a matter-of-fact tone. "The President is waiting to see what the UN says before acting. He's personally for using US and UN forces to push the Latverian invaders back, but he doesn't want to jump the gun and be involved in a situation like Iraq."

"I agree. In fact, I think that-"

"Save it for the meeting," she says sternly. "Now the major board members should be easy to convince. The UK and France are willing to intervene, while Russia is dead-set on going in to maintain its reputation with two former Eastern Block countries. China is indifferent, but they may go along with any resolution just so they can get a favorable verdict on that trade embargo with Madripoor."

I just nod and remain silent. I'm a doctor on many subjects, but politics isn't one of them.

"The non-permanent members of the Security Council may need some convincing. The African and Middle Eastern delegates don't really have any feelings on the matter either way. Germany is on the fence, but the delegate Bosnia and Herzegovina is scared to death Latveria will come for them next, so he's going to be backing UN intervention big time. Got it, Doctor? Good, let's go."

Before I can protest, they lead me into the chambers where delegates from around the world are gathering to discuss whether or not to intervene on Victor's mad plan to take over Hungary.

He always did like getting people's attention.

"We call this meeting to order," the Chinese delegate announces in a thick accent. "On the agenda is the discussion of the situation in Latveria and how best to respond to the crisis. I believe the United States has brought forth an expert to testify?"

"Yes, we have," the Secretary of State announces. "Doctor Reed Richards is the foremost expert on Latveria's leader, Victor Von Doom. He was a former classmate of Von Doom and even met him late last year on a scientific mission for the United States. He was one of the few people to speak to Von Doom before his violent take over of the country. Doctor?"

All eyes seem to turn on me simultaneous. I swallow hard and suddenly wish I had Sue's powers.

"Yes," I say into the mic nervously. "I know Victor well, we were friends in college before he was kicked out."

"What were the grounds for his dismissal," the delegate from Germany asks.

"An unauthorized experiment. It caught the lab at Empire State University on fire and Victor was severely burned by the fire. I assisted in the experiment and received academic suspension for my role in it."

"What was the nature of the experiment," the representative from the UK chimes in.

"I'd...rather not go into detail at this time. Suffice to say that it was a dumb decision by Victor and I."

"What are you opinions on the invasion of Hungary," the Russian delegate asks. "How would Von Doom act to UN peacekeeping forces confronting his troops?"

"Poorly," I state. "While his outer facade remains calm, collected, and unshaken, deep down he is worried about perceptions. He's scared to death on how he is viewed by people, and UN forces driving him back makes him look weak. He'll pour as many troops and tanks into Hungary as he has, as long as he manages to save face."

"Would he revert to nuclear weapons," the representative from Bosnia says.

"I would say no, just based on the fact that any nuclear strike to UN forces will be within fallout range of Latveria. As much as he cares about saving face, he cares even more about his life."

"What was the nature of your mission into Latveria, and did it happen to influence Von Doom's current stance towards the UN" the representative from India asks with a scowl.

"I....," I trail off before catching the Secretary of State's eye.

"The details of that mission are currently classified, I'm afraid. But rest assured, it was peaceful and Doctor Richards and his team were offering an olive branch to Von Doom."

"Is that what he did? The orange rock monster did not appear to be carrying such," a voice from behind us says. Everyone turns to look at the new group of people marching into the room.

"Miss," the Chinese chairman announces. "Please, you have to leave, this is a closed session."

"I think not," she says. Her accent is thick and Eastern European in origin. I never heard her voice, but I remember her. She's-

"I am Valerie Vernard, Latverian Foreign Minister."

That's right. Victor's number-two man...uhh, woman, in the Latverian rebellion. To the victor go the spoils, I suppose.

"It's a pleasure," the UK delegate says rather coldly. "Months since the turnover of power in Latveria, and only now you show up. We were beginning to wonder if our invitation was lost in the mail."

A chuckle goes through the room, but Vernard keeps her hardened face as she takes a seat.

"With the condescending attitudes and superiority complexes that run rampant here, why bother?" Valerie fires back.

"Now see here, this is a serious matter. Your country is facing extreme sanctions, and possible military intervention. Now is no time to be witty."

"Ahh," she says with a smirk. "Now you take notice? When King Vladimir oppressed the people, slaughtered dissidents by the hundreds, where was the UN? Stalin purged our country of thousands of 'undesirables,' either executing them in mass graves, or shipping them off to Siberia to die like dogs. Where was the UN? The rebellion fought against Vladimir, and the king responded by killing the family members of suspected rebellion members. The United States sat on its hands, watching and waiting, and did not even bother to intervene into the struggle until a shiny rock from space landed in our country. Even then, all they sent where four freaks to retrieve it. All those years of ignoring us, brushing us off like dust on your shoulders, you now suddenly listen. It's not because of the crimes of the past, but simply because we crossed an imaginary line into land that once belonged to Latveria. We will take what was once rightfully ours, and the UN will let us. Call it backpay for so many years of wrongs."

The room breaks out in murmurs, delegates and their entourages discussing among themselves.

"Order," the Chinese chairman yells out while banging the gavel in his hand. "With an attitude like that, Minister, it seems that Doctor Richards is right. This action is nothing but attention seeking, like a spoiled child."

Before Vernard can respond, a member of her entourage whispers in her ear. She turns to him and they have a quick conversation in their native tongue. "I have just received a message from Chancellor Von Doom. He is willing to negotiate the terms of Latverian withdrawl from Hungary."

The murmur grows louder until the chairman has to bang on his gavel again.

"But," Vernard says, "he will pick the negotiators."

"You will present a list, and we will agree on it," the chairman says. "Who does he have in mind?"

Vernard's eyes shift over towards me. "He wants a negotiating party made up of Jonathan Storm, Major Benjamin Grimm, Susan Storm-Richards, and Doctor Reed Richards."

The murmur turns into general uproar. The Secretary of State looks at Vernard through slitted eyes while I just look straight ahead, a bit shocked and dumbfounded.
​

 

[Eddie Brock]

I stride into the talent agency of one Herbert Sun, my agent and the man who believed in me when I started out. Carrying a box of Krispy Kremes, I wink at his receptionist before stepping into his office unannounced. "Herbie! Long time, no see!"

Herbie's look of annoyance that someone barged into his office fades as he sees who it is. "Johnny Storm! There's my golden goose!"

I hold out the Krispy Kremes. There's only one left. "Donut?"

Herbie shakes his head. He then pauses and furrows his brow. "Did you eat all of those yourself?"

"Accelerated metabolism," I say proudly. I smile and pat my satisfied tummy before grabbing the last remaining donut and tossing the empty box to the floor. "Besides, there's only, like, one Krispy Kreme in all of Manhattan, so..."

"I'm glad you stopped by," Herbie announces as though he remembered something. He starts shuffling through the mountains of papers on his desk. "I actually have something here to show you. I think you'll like it." At last, he finds what he's looking for. "Aha! It's the one-sheet for Paradox!"

Spoiler

I nod, impressed. "Not bad."

"Johnny, you're absolutely blowing up right now. Do you hear me? I had to disconnect my phone just to get some work done," Herbie says enthusiastically. "Everyone wants a piece of you, the world's first movie star slash superhero!"

I smirk. Yeah, life on the top of the world isn't easy, but someone has to do it. "Impress me. Whaddaya got?"

A grin creeps across Herbie's face. He tries to continue it, but within seconds he's beaming. It must be something really big to get him this giddy. "You're going to like this."

"Yeah?"

Herbie nods excitedly. "Oh yeah." He licks his lips and cracks his knuckles. "I just got off with that producer from DC, Bruce Byrdman. He was saying it was a real shame that the Flash pilot didn't catch fire. He also not so subtly mentioned that casting for the Flash movie was still open."

"No way."

"Yes, way." Herbie leans across the desk and lowers his voice, as if he's telling me some big secret. "Johnny, do you have any idea what that would mean? We're talking a six picture deal here. Okay? Six. A Flash trilogy and a Justice League trilogy."

"What do you think my chances of getting the part are like?" I ask sincerely. I know I'm a hot shot, and when it comes to the ladies Johnny Storm never doubts himself. But when it comes to acting, I know my limitations. I'm trying to get better with every job I take, but I'm not expecting any Oscar acceptance speeches in my near future.

Herbie smiles from ear to ear. "DC has already seen the Flash pilot, and with your status right now, you're just the kind of 'big name' casting they need to generate interest. If I get you in a room with that casting director, the part's as good as yours."

I lean back in my chair, putting my hands behind my head. "Make it happen." It's good to be king.
​

 

[Byrd Man]

Created by Byrd Man and Harlekin

New York City

Sixth Avenue

En Route

The Chevy Nova swerved in and out of the busy Midtown traffic at breathtaking speeds. Daz in the driver's seat and Tork riding shotgun were calm and collected as the officer weaved through traffic with the blue light on the dashboard flashing. In the tape deck, the theme song from Shaft blared out of the speakers.

While Daz and Tork looked ahead with neutral looks, the two officers in the back were less than calm. DeWolff's hands were locked around the seatbelt in her lap like a vicegrip, while Gonzales shook his right leg nervously and was whispering prayers under his breath.

"Not used to this speed out on the water?" Tork asked Gonzalez with an amused look back at the two cops. Gonzalez looked at the sergeant and continued muttering his prayers. Tork chuckled and looked at DeWolff. "Say, detective, you look a little green under the gills."

DeWolff shot Tork a dirty look and flinched slightly as she saw Daz weave the car through a space in traffic between a bus and a taxi. Tork turned back to the front and laughed. "Don't worry, guys, I've seen Daz make it through heavier traffic. The man is born to drive."

"Damn right," Daz said while sharply cutting the wheel. "See, he's a complicated man. The only one who understands him is his woman."

"That's right," Tork said. "Daz, he's a bad mother-"

"Shut your mouth," Daz quickly replied.

"Just talking about Daz."

The two cops in the front seat laughed together while the two in the backseat exchanged nervous glances as the car cut across another lane of traffic at ninety miles an hour.



Seventh Avenue

Chase Bank Manhattan

The four cops navigated through the small crowd of reporters and on-lookers and stepped under the crime scene tape. The three plainclothes officers had their badges hanging on chains around their necks. Gonzales was hatless, leaving his cap back in the Nova.

"Uh-oh," the patrolman at the bank door said with a grin. "The boys from the 567 are here. Criminals beware."

Tork chuckled and pointed back at DeWolff with his thumb. "Boys and girl now. We're progressive like that."

"Welcome to the 20th century," The patrolman said before turning to Daz. "Sergeant Kelly has been looking for you."

"Yeah," Daz said. "Told him I'd think about it. Not sure if I got the time this year."

Tork stepped through the open door and glanced down at the CSI tech dusting the handle for prints. Other techs were busy in the bank, snapping photos and bagging potential evidence. Tork caught the eye of a man leaning against the wall. The heavy-set detective was clad in a dark blue suit.

"You must be the meta folks," he said as he stepped forward. "Detective Jackie Fields," he said with his meaty hand outstretched. "Out of the one-three."

"Detective Sergeant Tork," he said, shaking Fields' hand. "We work out of the one-seven. The big lump to my right is Daz, guy in the patrolman outfit is uhh... Gomez."

"Gonzales," he corrected the sergeant with a slight edge in his voice.

"Right. Gonzales. And the lady is DeWolff."

"Nice to meet all of you."

"So, what do we got?" Tork asked.

Fields motioned for them to follow him. The hefty detective led the four to a room in the back of the bank. A row of monitors were on a desk and stacks of DVDs rested beside it. "Need to see this for yourself. I'm not sure if you'd believe me otherwise."

Fields started up the playback on one of the monitors. The five cops watched in silence as a man walked into the bank with a ski-mask on his face. He was a few steps into the bank when he suddenly leapt across the room and landed behind the counter, a jump of around thirty feet. The two tellers behind the counter were knocked to the floor before they could trigger the alarm. The masked man bolted for he open vault and appeared outside of it thirty seconds with a sack filled with cash. A security guard charged him, and the masked man leapt again and cleared the space between the desk and the front door before disappearing from view as he ran out the door.

"How much did he take?" Daz asked.

"Still counting it, but we think it's somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty grand, maybe as high as fifty grand."

Gonzales let out a low whistle. "You said it," Fields said.

"Any chance we can get prints from the vault?" Tork asked.

"Working on it. I'm hoping out best chance is from the door, but right now it's going to be hard to get something solid. Hundreds of people open those doors every day."

DeWolff looked at the other monitors and DVDs. "Is there a camera on the outside?"

"Yeah, but it's at an angle looking down at the front door. You can only see people coming in from a few feet out. The camera caught our guy coming in from the south side of the street, but leaving north."

DeWolff pondered Fields' words for a few moments before spinning on her heels and heading back out towards the front door.

"Where you going?" Tork asked with a scowl.

"Playing a hunch," she said.

Tork shrugged and turned to the other two cops. "Alright, let's see if we can help the uniforms out with the canvass."

Tork thanked Fields and he led Daz and Gonzales out to the street. DeWolff was already down the block, walking across the street to a coffee shop.

"What is she doing?" Tork grumbled to himself.

"Alright, you two get with patrol and see where they need help with the canvass."

Daz nodded and walked towards the closest uniform while Gonzales shuffled his feet for a moment before setting off after Daz. Tork jogged down the sidewalk to the coffee shop where DeWolff had went in. She was flashing her badge to the barista behind the counter when Tork walked in.

"NYPD, sir. You got a camera set up outside?"

"Yeah. We've had some problems with shoplifters, so we got a few pointed at the streets."

"Need to see them if you don't mind."

The young man led her into the back. Tork followed behind and showed the employee his badge once the man noticed him. "I'd like to see the tapes from about an hour ago. Outside on the street."

"Sure," he said. The man fiddled with the playback until the timestamp on the screen was just a few minutes before the time of the robbery down the street. A tall, blond man came into view. The clothing he was wearing was a perfect match for the bank robber. He had a bundled up piece of cloth in his right fist. "That's gotta be the mask," Tork said.

"And that's our evidence," DeWolff said. She pointed towards the item in the robber's left hand. It was a coffee cup. "That guy came into the store today?" she asked the barista.

"Yeah," he said. The tape played on and as the man was going out of view from the camera, he tossed his coffee cup into a nearby trash can and began sliding on the ski-mask.

"That's it," DeWolff said quickly. She bolted out of the room and out of the store, marching down the sidewalk. She found the trashcan in the video and began digging through it. Tork walked up just as she popped out from the can, she held up the empty coffee cup gingerly with her thumb and index finger. "We should have prints as well as DNA."

Tork looked at the woman with a slightly stunned look. "... Good haul, Detective."

"Thanks," she said. Still holding the cup up, she walked back down the sidewalk towards the bank.

"Shoulda figured you were good," Tork said as they approached the bank. "Figure you gotta have chops to work at the Major Case Squad downtown. That's where you were, right?"

"Kind of. I worked for MCS for a few weeks as a liaison between them and my regular squad during an ongoing racketeering investigation."

"Where were you normally?"

DeWolff tapped the shoulder of the CSI tech by the door and placed the coffee cup in his gloved hand. "Bag it for me, will you. Need it dusted for prints and checked for saliva DNA. Thanks."

DeWolff looked up at Tork and frowned. "I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

"Your squad. Your jacket said you came from Major Cases, but what unit was your regular squad? Narcotics, Homicide, SVU?"

"Financial Fraud," DeWolff said with a wink.
​

 

[Byrd Man]

The Devils
​

Spoiler

Manhattan Detention Complex
"The Tombs"

"Open D-Block, 321!" The guard yelled out. The electronic door unlocked with a pop and slide open. Two correctional officers escorted the large, black man down the cellblock catwalk. His arms and legs were shackled, he was clad in an navy blue jumpsuit and the words MDC were stamped on the back.

"We know who you is," a prisoner catcalled as the trio walked by his cell.

"Big shot hero!" Came another yell. "We gonna show you how we do heroes up in the Tombs, baby."

The guards led the man down to the cell at the end of the catwalk. "Open D-Block, Tier 2, 21!"

The cell door slid open and the man stepped in. The guards unlocked the hand and leg restraints before stepping back. "Close D-Block, Tier 2, 21!"
The door buzzed and rolled shut with a loud thud. The catcalls grew louder as the guards left the cellblock. Prisoners shouted threats of murder and rape at the man. He remained oblivious, looking forward with dull eyes.

For now, anyway, Luke Cage was home.

*****
​

St. Patrick's Cathedral

The screen separating the priest from the sinner slide back.

"Bless me, Father Miller, for I have sinned."

"How many days since your last confessional, my son?"

"Too many, Father."

"And what are your sins, my son?"

"A man sits in jail, accused of my crimes."

"And what crimes are those?"

"You know what crimes I speak of," Matt Murdock whispered. "You've know of those crimes for sometime."

"They're crimes are they?" The priest replied in an almost mocking tone. "Two weeks ago, they were something else entirely. 'God's work' I believed you called it. And right here in the confessional booth! Blasphemy, on top of murder!"

"If I wanted to hear a sermon, I'd go to mass."

"And the Lord knows you need it. I never see you at any of the masses, Matthew, just here in the booth. It's alright to use me as a place to file away all your dirty secrets, but do you really care about the Lord or doing His work?"

"I do, Father. It's just.....it's become complicated. My followers have stopped following. I discovered they were all guilty of breaking rules I had set. Rules important to our survival. I cast them out, and they didn't seem too upset."

"Better to rule in Hell, than to serve in Heaven. What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. I've lost my way, Father. I can feel my faith eroding with each passing day. My faith in God, my faith in humanity. It's getting worse out there every day. I thank God every day that he struck me blind just so I don't have to witness it. I don't think I can live with it."

"Is it the world you can't live with...or is it yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"Those people, Matthew, you were their shepherd, and now your flock has gone astray. One in jail, the others scattered across the city, just as confused and lost as you. It was you who twisted their lives and turned them into tools for your use. The guilt is beginning to sink in. Just because your mother's death left you so broken you couldn't be fixed, doesn't mean they can't be fixed. Any chance they had of being normal is now gone. It's up to you to make things right."

Murdock remained silent for minutes, contemplating over he priest's words. After several long minutes of silence, the priest finally spoke up. "Matthew....are you still-"

"I'm still here. I know what I need to do, Father. Thank you."

*****​

Spanish Harlem

The woman pushed the empty shopping cart down the sidewalk, the brim of her baseball cap pulled low over her face. She walked past the bodega where the two Latino men sat on the stoop. They eyed the woman as she walked past them. The looked away after she was halfway down the block.

Turning the corner, Dakota North came to a stop next to the taxicab where Frank Brubaker sat in the front seat.

"Two men at the door," she said

"Could you tell if they were packing?" He asked.

"I know one is for certain. I saw the handle of his nine sticking out of his waistband."

"Didn't see anything inside?"

"Nope. The re-up showed up this time two days ago. Figured it would again today."

"Maybe they don't run out of dope until after three days. Well, we always got tomorrow."

North pushed the shopping cart away from her and climbed into the back of Brubaker's taxi. "Tomorrow's another day."

*****​

Manhattan Detention Complex
"The Tombs"

Detective Sergeant Lester Poindexter stared across the table at Luke Cage. It was the same routine going on four days now. Poindexter would bring Cage into the Tombs' interrogation room and try to talk to him. Cage wouldn't say anything past the fact that he was the man they were looking for, he was the Devil.

"C'mon, man," Poindexter started again. "You can sit across the table talking all that bull****, but you and me both know just one man isn't responsible for all these murders. There was more than one of you, we know that."

Poindexter motioned towards Cage's face and the purple bruise on his eye.

"That bruise? The one on your face? That bruise is what you get for being in gen pop. I know you ****ers killed a lot of scumbags, but some of them lived. Those that did, a few of them are housed right here in the Tombs. We got a section called protective custody. That's for former cops and guards, child molesters, and anyone that's went ape-**** crazy. People who couldn't be in gen pop because they'd get torn alive. You, while making your fair share of enemies, don't get to go. You weren't a cop or prison guard, I take it you never diddled a kid, and you sure as hell ain't crazy. So, you get to be torn apart until you wise up and start telling me what I want to know! Who. The. ****. Was. Helping you?!"

Poindexter slammed his hand on the table and looked Cage in the eye. "You either get smart, or you get dead. The choice is yours."

"Alright," Cage said. "I'll tell you what you want to know."

"And that would be?"

"I'm the one you want. I did all them murders by myself. I'm the Devil."

Poindexter snarled and rose up out of his seat. "You want to go back to gen pop, fine? Have fun in the showers, mother****er. Even a big guy like you better not drop the soap."
"Well, now I have two ways to get this farce declared as a mistrial."

Poindexter turned at the sound of the voice. At the open door was a red-haired man in a black suit and wearing dark red sunglasses. There was a briefcase in his left hand, a cane in his right.

"Detective Poindexter," Matt Murdock said as he approached the cop. "Nice to meet you again."

"Mister Murdock," Poindexter said with a confused look on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"Me and my partner have been keeping up with this case in the paper. The lack of adequate counsel has appalled me. I am now Mister Cage's attorney, replacing the inept public defender who didn't have the time or effort to fight for his client's Miranda rights."

Poindexter struggled to find the words while Murdock felt his way over to Cage and found his shoulder.

"Not another word to this man, Mister Cage. We're done here."
​

Spanish Harlem

A black teenager in baggy clothes and a backpack strapped to him walked into the bodega. The cab at the end of the block started up and slowly rolled down the street towards the store. The driver parked a few car lengths down from the store.

"Ready to do this?" Frank Brubaker asked Dakota North. She was in the passenger seat, loading the chambers of her .45 revolver. "You bet," she replied. With a jerk of her wrist, the fully loaded magazine snapped into place in the revolver. Brubaker pulled a pump-action shotgun from under the driver's seat. They both slid ski-masks on to their heads and stepped out into the night.

Underneath their **** and jeans were the dark red costume they had both wore. The kevlar insulated suits were for protection. Brubaker walked point, jogging down the block and busting into the store with North behind him. "Howdy," he said in a mock Texas accent.

A Latino man behind the counter threw up his arms and began speaking rapidly in Spanish. Brubaker sighed and struck the man across the forehead with the butt of the gun. "No habla espanol, amigo."

The man fell back into the shelves behind the counter as blood began running down his face. "T-t-take the money, please!"

"Naah, we ain't interested in that. Keep you gun on him," he instructed North. She nodded and kept the barrel of her gun trained on the man while Brubaker went towards the back of the store where a sign was hung that said "Employees Only."

Brubaker crashed through the door and leveled his shotgun at the two men in the small back room. The teenager with the backpack was with a middle-aged Latino man. On the table in front of them were packs of cocaine and heroin and rolls of money bundled up.

"You know what this is," he said with a grin, loading a shell into the shotgun with a pump. The two men stepped back suddenly and threw their hands up. Brubaker swiveled the barrel of he shotgun towards the teen. "Kid, pack up the dope and money for me."

The boy looked at the Latino man, who slowly nodded to him. The boy walked to the table and packed up the drugs and money into the backpack he'd arrived with. Brubaker kept the gun pointed at the two with one hand while he slipped the backpack on to his free shoulder. "Thank you, thank you so much. Remember that Jesus saves, but I withdraw."

Brubaker backpeddled out of the room with his shotgun still pointed at the two men. He finally reached where North had the clerk held at gunpoint. "How many in the back?"

"Two. Keep an eye out for them while I get the car. Gimme ten."

Brubaker pushed out of the store and rushed towards the taxi. He tossed his shotgun and the backpack into the passenger seat and climbed into the driver's seat, firing up the car and driving up to the store front. North walked backwards out of the store and hopped into the backseat as Brubaker hit the gas and sped away from the store.

"That's what I'm talking about, baby!"

He kept one hand on the wheel while he pulled off his mask with the other. He handed the backpack to North. She pulled all the drugs from from the bag and held them in her hands. Brubaker pulled to the side of the road and idled while North got out and shoved the drugs down the storm drain on the side of the road.

*****
​

Hell's Kitchen
Offices of Nelson & Murdock

"I can't believe you did this," Foggy Nelson roared.

"Figured you'd appreciate it, Foggy," Matt Murdock said.

Foggy was behind the desk in his office while Matt sat in one of the two chairs facing the desk.

"Yeah, I've been saying for years we should go into defense work, but you were always the one against it. Suddenly, you get a wild hair up your ass, and we're not only in criminal law now, but we're defending a guy accused of twenty-four murders! A vigilante mass murderer!"

"It's a major PR coup for Nelson & Murdock, right?"

Foggy rubbed his temples. "It's not that. The move was ingenious, it's just you never consulted me. We're partners, dammit!"

"I know, and I'm sorry for it, Foggy. It was just a spur of the moment thing. Do me a favor and look over the briefs and evidence the NYPD has on the man. We have a damn good shot of getting twenty-three of those murders thrown out of court. Last one is tricky, but I think we can do it."

Foggy sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Alright, dammit....I'll look it over. If you say we got a fighting chance then I'll believe it."

*****
​

NYPD 20th Precinct
Midtown

Lester Poindexter sat at his desk and looked off into the distance with glazed over eyes. He'd been so close to pushing Cage off of the edge, getting him to roll on his buddies and name some names. But then that uppity lawyer had come in and Cage was now locked up tighter than a tick's ass. He wouldn't even see Poindexter without an attorney. What in the hell was Murdock doing in this anyway? He didn't even do criminal law, or at least that's what he said a few days ago when Poindexter had talked to him. He admitted to owning the building where NYPD found Silvermane's body, but he hadn't been there in months. Poindexter was preparing to write the lawyer off....but the stunt he pulled today.

No.

Something's up with Matt Murdock

Poindexter snapped out of his trance and reached for the phone on his desk.

"Clerk's office."

"Yeah, this is Detective Sergeant Lester Poindexter with the two-oh in Midtown. I need to get some paperwork involving a defense attorney. Everything he's ever done in open court."

"Sure thing, Sergeant. What's the name?"

"Murdock, first name Matthew."

 

[Byrd Man]

United Nations Building
New York

I pace up and down the hallway outside the meeting room while Sue sits on a nearby bench with the Secretary of State. Valerie Vernad and the delegation from Latveria are farther down the hall and talking amongst themselves.

"Doctor."

I look up at General Lumpkin as he announces his presence. "I came as soon as I heard. They still in there?"

I nod and walk down the hallway with Lumpkin towards the bench where Sue and the Secretary are sitting. "Madam Secretary, this is General William Lumpkin, the head of the Fantastic Four Project."

They shake hands and exchange pleasantries. "Hopefully it won't be much longer," the Secretary says. "The rest of the council has to see that your team, while exceptionally capable in most fields, is not made up of negotiators."

"Not to mention Doom's motives."

"Well, regardless of what the Security Council says, I sent Captain Raye out to California to collect Grimm and Storm to be safe."

The door into the council chambers opens and a staff member pops her head out. "They're ready for you."

We head back inside with the Latverian delegation right behind us. The Chinese chairman waits until everything is calmed down before speaking.

"It is in the best interest of the United Nations that we comply with Latveria's wishes to seek a peaceful resolution to this conflict. With that said, we are approving Reed Richards, Susan Richards, Benjamin Grimm, and Jonathan Storm to act in a capacity as official UN negotiators. Ruled and made so on this day. Meeting is adjourned."

The chairman bangs the gavel and I look over at Sue.

"Well....at least Latveria will be warmer during the spring than it was back during the fall..."


Doomstadt
Latveria

Dressed in the armor of the ancient king, Latverian Chancellor Victor Von Doom walked side by side with the short, balding Asian man. Together the two inspected the rows of tanks and helicopters that sat in the field on the city's outskirts.

"The absolute pinnacle of fighting weaponry," the man said. "And it is all for you and the forces of Latveria."

"I have wondered for several months now about our alliance, Premier. So far, your gifts have been kind. Weapons, technology, and the other weapons I currently have at the bottom of the presidential castle. I wonder, when will I have to pay off this generosity?"

"Quid pro quo," the Premier said with a grin. "Your games with the UN have been excellent thus far. You've led them on just like we planned. The last step involves the negotiators."

"Richards and his freaks? What do you want with those arrogant and braindead fools?"

"I am not at liberty to say at this time, Chancellor. You must let some men have their mysteries. Rest assured, the personnel I have supplied you with should be adequate enough to subdue the Doctor and his three friends. It may go against every fiber of your being, but the four of them are to be kept alive. Then and only then will we announce out support of Latveria's actions and begin our march into China."

"Your tiny island against the might of China seems a bit overwhelming, Premier."

"Yes, but we have our ways, Chancellor. As you can see, Madripoor more than makes up for its lack of numbers with technological advancements. We will weaken and then destroy the communist until they surrender. Our weapons combined with the Red Army will mean that all of Asia will crumble in the matter of weeks. At that time we will join forces with the marching Latverian army and take on Western Europe."

The Premier of Madripoor pulled a small vial of green liquid from his suit and handed it to Von Doom. "Something for your troubles, Chancellor. Inside the vial is enough to turn you into whatever you wish. Like the four Americans and our four friends in the castle basement."

From beneath his mask, Doom smiled. "To the start of something beautiful, Premier."

The two men shook hands and walked towards the castle looming in the distance.
​

 

[Eddie Brock]

"Did Lumpy say anything else?"

Ben shakes his head. He squishes his clothes into his oversized suitcase with his rocky hand and shuts the lid. "Nope. He just said that we needed to make an appearance in New York with Reed an' Sue, and that it was just a formality."

"And Lieutenant Vaughn's really out?" I ask. "Huh. Wish I could say I'd miss the guy, but I didn't really know him. What's the new guy's name?"

"Captain Frankie Raye," Ben replies.

"Captain, huh? Well, how 'bout that." I laugh. "And he really calls himself 'Frankie?' He sounds like an old 1920s mobster. What do you want to bet that this new guy's a hardass?"

Ben shrugs, picking up his suitcase. "It's the military. They're all hardasses."

***

"You're Frankie?"

The smokin' hot redhead casts her surprisingly icy gaze my way. "Captain Raye," she corrects.

Ben appears as flabbergasted as I am. His blue eyes bounce around uncertainly, as if questioning what they're seeing. After a minute, though, he seems to gain his composure. "You'll have to forgive us, Captain. We didn't mean to assume, but when we heard your name was Frankie..."

"It's short for Francesca," Captain Raye explains. I must say, I'm digging the whole straight-laced, woman-in-uniform thing. Johnny Storm's been known to chase after the occasional ice queen. I'm always up for a challenge.

"Francesca's a beautiful name," I say doefully. I've learned that when dealing with an ice queen, it's best to go as far in the other direction as possible. If you're adorable enough, she can't help but warm up to you.

Captain Raye stares at me for a moment before turning her attention back to Ben. "If you'll please, they're waiting for us in New York." She turns on her heels and marches towards the waiting plane. It's certainly no private jet, but these military cargo planes are strong enough to hold Ben's weight.

Ben picks up his suitcase and starts to follow her. I jog up to him and whisper, "You know, when I said she'd be a 'hardass,' I didn't think I meant that way." I nod towards the finely-shaped bottom of Captain Raye. I glance up at Ben and wink, but he scowls at my childishness.

She'll come around to the Storm. The ladies always do.
​

 

[Byrd Man]

​

JFK International Airport

Sue and I stand off to the side of the tarmac with General Lumpkin and watch as Ben, Johnny, and a woman in an Air Force uniform walk out the back of the cargo plane.

"There's the love birds," Ben says with a grin, wrapping a rocky arm around my back and squeezing me into a bear hug.

"Ben...need....to....breath."

"Sorry about that, Reed."

He smiles at Sue and kisses her on the cheek while the woman escorting Johnny and Ben steps up with her hand out.

"Doctor, Captain Frankie Raye. I'm General Lumpkin's new XO."

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Anything you need, I'm here. Anything at all, don't hesitate to ask."

I look over and see the smirk on Johnny's face as she says those last words. "How have you been, Johnny?"

Johnny prepares to answer before Lumpkin cuts him off. "We can catch up on the plane. Our flight is supposed to leave in ten minutes."

"Where we headed, General?"

"Budapest, Major Grimm. From there we're taking a chopper to the Latverian border."

"Crapola. Doom again?"

"Who else but him? As soon as we step on that plane, the four of you are official UN negotiators. So, act like it."​

 

[Mr. Majestic]

The Mimic​

A door slowly opens and Malcolm enters from behind it. He walks up to one of the men monitoring Calvin in the testing area. He had given these gentlemen the duty to analysis Calvin in every way to see how far he has come along. Before speaking he observes with the others.

“Tell me how much has the boy grown?” Malcolm asks now that he has seen enough of his godson in action.

The fellow to the left of Malcolm pulls out a folder with all the recorded data on Calvin since he had returned.

“Well Mr. Colcord he has become extremely powerful with the array of powers he has now collected.”

Malcolm rests both hands on the desk in front of him and leans forward with a grin appearing on his face staring at Calvin.

“Tell me everything.” Malcolm orders.

Fallowing orders the young man quickly spreads out all the important information for Malcolm that they have gathered on Calvin.

“Well sir he still have the power set he collected from the Native…”

“Do not tell me something I already know.” Malcolm interrupted. “I want to know about his new powers."

“Well that was what I was getting to. It seems that he can convert his entire body into organic steel like substance. When he does this with his claws exposed they get covered as well. In this steel form sir his stamina, durability and strength rise to incredible levels.”

“What is the limit to his strength?”

“Well just by using the steel form alone we measured his strength at 35 tons.”

“Just 35?” Malcolm asks in disappointment as he takes his eyes off of Calvin and looks at his scientist.

“We all felt the same way as you sir till we asked him if he was at his limit.”

The man then looks through all the folders on the desk till he finds the file he was searching for, a file on the Hulk.

“Why are you handing me this?” He asks while he takes the file.

“Do you remember all the reports and files we got on that creature?”

“How could I forget I help fund the equipment for his capture, which was all a waste. I would have loved to have him apart of our organization.”

A smile slowly appears on the man’s face. “No need sir, Calvin has his powers.”

“What!”

“Yes Calvin mimicked the Hulk’s powers and when he uses the Hulk’s strength in that steel form his strength levels go to 75 tons but the best part is when he is enrage it increases.”

Malcolm just takes a moment to let it all sink in. He always thought that the day Haller took Calvin from him was the worse thing that had ever happened but now because of the ways things have turned out he is beginning to see it as a blessing in disguise.

“Besides his incredible strength is that all he has?”

“I thought you would never ask. As well as strength he is also exceptionally fast, we clocked him just half of the speed of light. But he can go faster.”

“How so?” Malcolm questions more interested than ever.

“Out of all the powers he has and what he can do I believe his energy absorption and manipulation to be his most powerfulness. He can use the energy to increase his speed when flying. However that is not the best part of the use of this power. He can generate any form of energy and release it from his eyes and hands. He has such an understanding of his power he use it solidify his energy into force-fields and other shape. He also used his energy construct to simulate a form of telekinesis by lifting and moving objects. It is truly remarkable to know that there are other mutants with these kinds of powers.”

“Yes it is and the best thing is I have one mutant who has all their powers. Question, does he have any weakness?”

“None that we can see.”

“Well I’m need for you to find his Achilles heel because using his family as a bargaining chip will only work for so long…” He looks at Calvin knowing that if he plays his cards right all his plans with come to past. “… once he is finished send him to me. It’s time we see how good he is on the field.”

 

[Carnage27]

​

The smell of blood fills the wind as it rustles through the tall grass of the grasslands as the sounds of battle fill my ears. My soldiers fight valiantly beside me as we make our way through our enemies. M'Baku's army has met us here, on the plains of my beloved Wakanda in a final battle for this land. The man that killed my father, is on this battlefield, and it will be today that I meet him in mortal combat. It is M'Baku who started this bloody conflict, and today will be the day he dies.

A hail of gun fire strikes out towards my position, I'm pushed to the ground by the army captain that has been guarding me all day. He's a brave soldier, and dedicated to the country to his last breath. It makes me proud knowing my people are brave and strong, and that not even this tragic fighting can break their spirits, "Are you okay, sire?"

"Yes, Captain, thank you," I respond. I was in not great danger to begin with, but it's important to make sure your men know they're appreciate. In reality, my family's sacred abilities allow me to traverse the battlefield unharmed, as well as my armor.

I feel a presence from behind, and bring my vibranium dagger up just in time to deflect an attack from one of the Ape Cult's warriors. I shrug hm away easily, and scratch him across the face with my armor's claws before driving my knife into his heart, killing him instantly. Another man sneaks up from my other side and slices the captain across his chest before I'm able to throw a knife into his sternum.

As the attacker falls dead, I kneel by the captains side as the life drains from his eyes, "My king...it was...an honor..."

I say a silent prayer and I close his eyes before heading back into the battlefield. This can last no longer. I can't allow this battle to drag out and kill even more of the people of my country. As I enter into the center of the fray, I call out, "M'Baku you coward! Face me! Or are you afraid now that Thor has taken your magical trinkets!?"

As my voice carries over the pride lands, the gun fire ceases, and in the distance, the long grass begins to part, and the Man-Ape M'Baku emerges, standing intimidatingly in the clearing I currently stand. M'Baku is a giant of a man, standing easily six-foot-six. His arms ripple with muscles, and his legs are like tree trunks. On his wretched back he wears the hide of a white gorilla, the symbol of the Ape Cult. Like my family all those years ago, the white gorilla was granted with amazing abilities when the Vibranium Meteor landed in our lands, and the Ape Cult believes eating the creature's meat grants them the same power.

"[BLACKOUT]Well, well my king,[/BLACKOUT]" M'Baku laughs in a deep voice. "[BLACKOUT]I never expected to see you spoiling your royal hands here on the battlefield.[/BLACKOUT]"

"How dare you, you fiend," I snarl at my opponent through my mask. "The Panther line has always been proud warriors. We have always personally led our men into battle. And I will be the one to defeat you on this earth we now stand on."

"[BLACKOUT]Such a proud boy you are,[/BLACKOUT] T'Challa," M'Baku smiles heinously. "[BLACKOUT]So unlike your father. Do you want to hear how he begged for his life in the final moments.[/BLACKOUT]"

I feel the rage bubble up in me as my muscles ripple underneath my vibranium armor, "How dare you! How dare you slander my father's name!"

Without thinking, I charge towards my opponent, claws raised and ready for blood. But he takes advantage of my over-zealous charge, grabbing my arm and slamming me over his head and back into the ground, knocking the wind out of me. If it's a myth that the Ape Cult gains powers from their figure head, that slam would say otherwise. I don;t believe anyone has ever hurt me so easily.

M'Baku's foot comes speeding down towards my head, and I'm able to roll from underneath it just in time. I spring of my back, driving my feet into the large man's unprotected face, causing him to stumble backwards. Pressing my advantage, I drive my fist into his midsection, followed by a rake of my claws against his face. The blood that splatters against the black of my armor gives me strength and satisfaction at seeing this man hurt, "You were a fool to kill my father, Ape-Man. And now you will pay for your crimes."

I raise my hand for a killing stroke, but my enemy counters with a swiftness which is surprising for his size, driving an uppercut through my chin. The blow sends me off my feet and through the air. I land with a thud as M'Baku stands, the gashes from my claws etched across his face, "[BLACKOUT]I would not assume victory before it is secured, Panther King. Or did you father not teach you the way of the warrior properly. I would not be surprised.[/BLACKOUT]"

As I attempt to regain my footing, the Man-Ape charges me with the ferocity of a rhino. Like a locomotive he bares down on me, and it is at this time that I take a deep breath and channel my thoughts to the great Panther Kings of the past. I feel my heightened senses speak to me in this aura of calm, and as my enemy reaches me, my body moves with all the speed, power, and ferocity of a jungle cat.

His giant arms attempt to snatch me off the earth, but I easily slink through them with a mid-air flip. I land behind him and slash at his Achilles Tendon with my claws, dropping him to his knees. I stand clamly, walking back in front of him as he pants in pain, "M'Baku, as the divine ruler of the people and land of Wakanda, I hereby charge you with high treason, of which there is only one punishment."

Drawing a dagger from a sheath on my back, I slice quickly across the Man-Ape's throat, and blood pours across his gorilla hide, staining the white hair a deep crimson. I then thrust the bloody blade into the air as a sign of victory, and my men on the battlefield cheer exuberantly as M'Baku's forces lay down their firearms.

As the Wakanda civil war draws to an end, I stare to the sky, allowing my country's air to fill my lungs. My first test as the leader of this great nation has been brought to an end, and all I can hope for is that somewhere, my father is proud of me.

Because I will need that pride with the uncertain days that lie ahead of me.

 

[Byrd Man]

The Devils
​

Previously

Spoiler

Spanish Harlem

A black teenager in baggy clothes and a backpack strapped to him walked into the bodega. The cab at the end of the block started up and slowly rolled down the street towards the store. The driver parked a few car lengths down from the store.

"Ready to do this?" Frank Brubaker asked Dakota North. She was in the passenger seat, loading the chambers of her .45 revolver. "You bet," she replied. With a jerk of her wrist, the fully loaded magazine snapped into place in the revolver. Brubaker pulled a pump-action shotgun from under the driver's seat. They both slid ski-masks on to their heads and stepped out into the night.

Underneath their **** and jeans were the dark red costume they had both wore. The kevlar insulated suits were for protection. Brubaker walked point, jogging down the block and busting into the store with North behind him. "Howdy," he said in a mock Texas accent.

A Latino man behind the counter threw up his arms and began speaking rapidly in Spanish. Brubaker sighed and struck the man across the forehead with the butt of the gun. "No habla espanol, amigo."

The man fell back into the shelves behind the counter as blood began running down his face. "T-t-take the money, please!"

"Naah, we ain't interested in that. Keep you gun on him," he instructed North. She nodded and kept the barrel of her gun trained on the man while Brubaker went towards the back of the store where a sign was hung that said "Employees Only."

Brubaker crashed through the door and leveled his shotgun at the two men in the small back room. The teenager with the backpack was with a middle-aged Latino man. On the table in front of them were packs of cocaine and heroin and rolls of money bundled up.

"You know what this is," he said with a grin, loading a shell into the shotgun with a pump. The two men stepped back suddenly and threw their hands up. Brubaker swiveled the barrel of he shotgun towards the teen. "Kid, pack up the dope and money for me."

The boy looked at the Latino man, who slowly nodded to him. The boy walked to the table and packed up the drugs and money into the backpack he'd arrived with. Brubaker kept the gun pointed at the two with one hand while he slipped the backpack on to his free shoulder. "Thank you, thank you so much. Remember that Jesus saves, but I withdraw."

Brubaker backpeddled out of the room with his shotgun still pointed at the two men. He finally reached where North had the clerk held at gunpoint. "How many in the back?"

"Two. Keep an eye out for them while I get the car. Gimme ten."

Brubaker pushed out of the store and rushed towards the taxi. He tossed his shotgun and the backpack into the passenger seat and climbed into the driver's seat, firing up the car and driving up to the store front. North walked backwards out of the store and hopped into the backseat as Brubaker hit the gas and sped away from the store.

"That's what I'm talking about, baby!"

He kept one hand on the wheel while he pulled off his mask with the other. He handed the backpack to North. She pulled all the drugs from from the bag and held them in her hands. Brubaker pulled to the side of the road and idled while North got out and shoved the drugs down the storm drain on the side of the road.

*****
​

Hell's Kitchen
Offices of Nelson & Murdock

"I can't believe you did this," Foggy Nelson roared.

"Figured you'd appreciate it, Foggy," Matt Murdock said.

Foggy was behind the desk in his office while Matt sat in one of the two chairs facing the desk.

"Yeah, I've been saying for years we should go into defense work, but you were always the one against it. Suddenly, you get a wild hair up your ass, and we're not only in criminal law now, but we're defending a guy accused of twenty-four murders! A vigilante mass murderer!"

"It's a major PR coup for Nelson & Murdock, right?"

Foggy rubbed his temples. "It's not that. The move was ingenious, it's just you never consulted me. We're partners, dammit!"

"I know, and I'm sorry for it, Foggy. It was just a spur of the moment thing. Do me a favor and look over the briefs and evidence the NYPD has on the man. We have a damn good shot of getting twenty-three of those murders thrown out of court. Last one is tricky, but I think we can do it."

Foggy sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Alright, dammit....I'll look it over. If you say we got a fighting chance then I'll believe it."

*****
​

NYPD 20th Precinct
Midtown

Lester Poindexter sat at his desk and looked off into the distance with glazed over eyes. He'd been so close to pushing Cage off of the edge, getting him to roll on his buddies and name some names. But then that uppity lawyer had come in and Cage was now locked up tighter than a tick's ass. He wouldn't even see Poindexter without an attorney. What in the hell was Murdock doing in this anyway? He didn't even do criminal law, or at least that's what he said a few days ago when Poindexter had talked to him. He admitted to owning the building where NYPD found Silvermane's body, but he hadn't been there in months. Poindexter was preparing to write the lawyer off....but the stunt he pulled today.

No.

Something's up with Matt Murdock

Poindexter snapped out of his trance and reached for the phone on his desk.

"Clerk's office."

"Yeah, this is Detective Sergeant Lester Poindexter with the two-oh in Midtown. I need to get some paperwork involving a defense attorney. Everything he's ever done in open court."

"Sure thing, Sergeant. What's the name?"

"Murdock, first name Matthew."

Manhattan Detention Complex

"The Tombs"​

The door leading into the small room swung open. Matt Murdock, briefcase in his hand, was led into the room by a guard. The guard led him to the table where Luke Cage was sitting with shackles on his wrist. Murdock sat down and waited while the guard walked out the room.

"How are you holding up?" He asked as soon as the guard shut the door behind him.

"I'm alright," Cage said in a neutral tone. Bruises and small cuts peppered his face.

"Sounds to me like you're lying. You want me to touch your face, find out the damage for myself?"

"Naah," Cage said. "I just got a little banged up, nothing I can't handle."

Murdock shook his head and popped open his briefcase. He dumped the files and papers out of the case before reaching down and tearing open the case's false bottom. He gingerly pulled out a homemade shiv. It was a metal spoon that had been sharpened and honed to a razor thin point. Murdock laid it on the table in front of Cage. "Here's a little back up. You know, just in case."

"What are you dong?" Cage asked with a puzzled look. "What about the cameras?"

"They're off. Nobody is outside the door listening, and none of this can be recorded. It's illegal to do that, it violates attorney/client confidentiality."

"Right," Cage said, reaching for the shiv. He picked it up and slipped off his shoe, placing the weapon into his shoe for concealment. Cage looked around the room and up at the camera in the corner, making sure that it wasn't recording. "So what's going on outside? How is the group holding up?"

"There is no group anymore, Mister Cage, I disbanded it right after your arrest. They violated the rules."

"You mean the name thing?"

"Yes. You of all people know why I established that rule. We don't know anything about each other, that prevents the police or someone worse from finding us all if one of us is caught."

"That's all well and good in theory...but when you're out there night after night, working together and doing the stuff we were doing....you bond. You can't help it, man. I know what you're saying, I really do, but look at me. I've been in jail for a week, having the police throw all kinds of s*** at me, trying to get me to talk about who I worked with, who all was in the group. I know everybody's name, even yours, but I didn't say a damn word."

"You're different. Shang Chi is different. It's the other two that worry me. North and Brubaker-"

"Were getting it on. Yeah, I know. Remember when you told me to follow them during the day? Found out about it then. Saw them hook up a few times over a two or three day period."

"And they found out about who I am. Brubaker sounded like he was attempting to blackmail me."

"I just got a bad vibe from him when we worked together. You can't see it, but he's got those crazy eyes. Maybe picking him was a bad idea."

"I'm starting to think the whole concept of the Devils was a bad idea."

The two sat in a heavy silence for a few moments before Cage finally spoke. "How about my case? When do we start with that?"

"I'm exercising your right to a speedy trial, so it shouldn't be too much longer before we start. You're due in court the day after tomorrow to enter your plea. Once that happens, we can get into jury selection and then the main trial. All told, maybe a few months."

"Alright," Cage said with a slight sigh. He was hoping it'd be sooner. Truth be told, he wasn't sure how much longer he could last in here.

"I'm also putting in an injunction that you be moved to protective custody. While not exactly a former law enforcement official, your reputed status as a crime fighter puts you at risk in gen pop."

"Thanks. I really appreciate it."

"Think nothing of it. It's the least I can do, seriously. If I could do more, I will."

"Thank you, man."

The guard outside the door rapped his nightstick against the door frame, signaling that Cage's time was at an end. Murdock replaced the false bottom in the case and stuffed his papers back into the briefcase.

"Alright, I'll be back in a few days. My associate will be with me. He's my best friend, but he's not in the know about certain things. So...."

"Say no more."

Murdock stood up and held his right hand out. Cage reached out with his shackled hands and shook Murdock's hand with a firm grip. "We're getting you out of this. I promise."

*****
​

Harlem


The elderly black man stood on the rooftop, watching the flock of pigeons flutter around from inside their coop. By the man's side was another black man.

"You say we got a problem," Morgan Jones, the crime lord of Harlem, said. "What is it?"

"Another one of our shops got hit last night," the man said. He was dressed in a suit and tie, looking far more professional than the khaki slacks and button-up shirt Morgan was wearing.

"Same folks?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah. Security camera got 'em. White boy and white girl, black clothes and ski-masks on, the man with a shotgun and the girl with a bigass gun."

"Third one this month, right?"

The man nodded and Morgan turned away, looking at the Harlem skyline. "I've been in this business over forty years, Leroy," Morgan started. "I got into the game in 1969, came up working for Frank Lucas, the guy they did that movie about a couple of years back. Pushed dope and coke for him down on 116th street. Mother****er was the king of Harlem. Then Frank gets busted, and he turns into a goddamn rat. He rolled on the people he sold dope to, the cops who were extorting him for protection, and he even sold out his ****ing brothers, nephews, and cousins. Only reason I didn't go to jail was because he didn't know who I was. I thought he was the man when I first started working for him, but then he turned into a straight-up *****. That's when I learned that hard times show what a man is made of. Some buckle, some tighten up. I'm the latter. And I am tired of these ****ers taking my product and money. Let word his the street, $60,000 for both of them dead, $100,000 a piece for both of them alive. I want a chance to kill these mother****ers myself."

Morgan turned and looked at Leroy. "We show one sign of weakness, and that's the end for us. We end up like Frank Lucas and Nicky Barnes, we become broke ass *****es with no money or respect."

He turned around and glanced back out at the skyline. "If you ain't got either, then what's the point of life?"

 

[Andy C.]

"May, this is amazing. Thank you two so much for doing this."

"It's no trouble at all, Mary. You're family now, and you're always welcome here, especially when you two need it."

"Well, hopefully it won't be for very long--once we get our bonus from this next project, we'll be able to move to our new house back West and we'll be out of your hair."

"That'll be good. In the meantime, Richard, our house is your house. The spare room upstairs should be big enough for the two of you and the baby."

"Thanks, Ben. I owe ya. Speaking of little Pete, we're kind of recording this whole thing for him so he can watch it when he grows up. Wanna say a few words?"

"Fine, fine. Ermmm, hi, Peter, this is you uncle Ben, though I'm sure I'll get the chance to introduce myself properly before you ever watch this. I'm gonna be keeping an eye over this joker's shoulder, to make sure he raises you right. And if he doesn't, I'm gonna clobber him."

"Oh, suddenly you're the one who's interested in proper parenting? Big talk from Mister 'If I never have kids it'll be too soon.'"

"Well, May and I still have a lot of living to do for ourselves before we start thinking about that. But I can still make sure my little brother's not screwing up. Care for a beer?"

"Sounds good. *ahem*...to the future."

"To the future."

"You did not come from the future."

I'm zipping along Park Avenue, chasing after some guy driving in a giant mono-wheeled contraption and dressed like a reject from The Road Warrior. He's slamming into cars and plowing right over them, his huge gyroscopic monowheel thing lined with big teeth like a chainsaw. For a vehicle as ridiculous as it is, it's actually pretty fast; I'm really having to struggle not to lose him.

"You don't get it, Spider!" he shouts, looking at me through thick black goggles as he clutches his bag full of stolen diamonds, plowing through a crowded intersection but thankfully not hurting anyone. "In my time, civilization has collapsed, and the human race has been wiped out! Only a handful of us remain, fighting the Bi'Gweel invaders in our war machines! I was tasked with finding a focusing diamond for the weapon that will end the war before it even begins, sent back in time to find these exact stones! The Chronosphere kept me in the same place while sending me back a thousand years into the past! I'm saving you all, don't you understand?!"

"Okay, do you really want me to point out all the ways that story doesn't make sense?" I say as I propel myself forward with my webs, stretching them as taut as possible to slingshot forward rather than risk swinging and slamming into the pavement at such low height. "First of all, I've seen designs for pretty much this exact machine on the internet months ago--heck, I'm pretty sure I saw a video of someone driving one on YouTube."

The phony time-traveler banks right, skidding into a cab and shredding its its big chainsaw-teeth, and I barely manage to make the turn with him.

"Secondly, even if time-travel did work, and you did stay in the same place while traveling a thousand years into the past, you're not taking into account the fact that everything in space is moving, really fast."

I latch onto the side of the wheely-thing to try and grab at the guy, but he pulls a gun and begins firing wildly at me. The way we're swerving, my Spider-Sense is acting up enough that I can't accurately predict when and where the bullets will be coming from, so I dive off, firing a web-line in front of me to yank some pedestrians away to the sidewalk and out of our way as we go careening down the street.

"I mean, the Earth rotates around the sun at about a hundred thousand kilometers per hour, the sun is orbiting around the center of the Milky Way Galaxy at about 251 kilometers per second, the galaxy is drifting around its galactic cluster at a speed I don't even know off the top of my head, and so on and so forth. So even if you traveled, like, a second back in time but stayed in the same place, you might be able to wave at Pluto before you asphyxiate at the edge of the Solar System, because literally everything else in the universe has moved without you."

He pops off another shot with his pistol, and I return fire with a blob of impact-webbing that clocks him across the temple, causing him to swerve wildly.

"And thirdly, you're fighting aliens called 'Bi'Gweels' and your weapon is....Big Wheels? I call B.S."

As Big Wheel swerves and skids, I see we're heading toward a much more crowded intersection, a bus full of people right in our path. Time to stop this ASAP.

I slingshot myself forward with a pair of taut web-lines, pulling my arms in by my sides to torpedo past him. As I fly overhead, I let out a pair of wide-spraying nets of webbing, not on the machine, but on the pavement in front of him, creating a nice long strip of super-sticky goop for him to drive through.

Sure enough, as the Big Wheel begins to plow through it, the webbing starts to gum up all that machinery, and the wheel starts to lurch to a halt before finally tipping over and skidding to a stop just short of the bus.

I web my camera up to a good vantage point and set it on automatic to snap some good pics of me nabbing this idiot, then I swing down to do exactly that.

I pull the guy out of his machine and web his arms to his sides.

"Look, the big Mad Max death-machine thing is kind of cool and all....even if mono-wheels are mechanically stupid due to all the issues of stabilization and mobility and everything, but whatever. If you were looking for some attention, that would be enough to raise some eyebrows. But the convoluted time-travel back story? That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"Come on, Spider-Man," he whimpers, "how else in an inventor supposed to get noticed in this city?!"

"Fair enough, you got yourself noticed, but unfortunately you got noticed by the wrong guy. And now you're probably gonna try to not get noticed by the other inmates at Ryker's Island, since armed robbery and reckless endangerment are kind of frowned upon by the scientific community....and, y'know, society in general."

I make sure he's good and webbed up for the cops to take him away, swing up to my camera to make sure I've got some good shots for the Bugle, then head to the rooftops....when I see I've got a missed call.

Checking the list, I see it's Gwen's home number. Hmmm, normally she calls me on her cell, unless.....

MESSAGE 1:

"Peter, this is Captain Stacy," my voicemail says, and I cringe. "I've got the night off from work for the first time in a long time, and I'm cooking dinner tonight. I'd really like you to come over and join us--I think you and I have a few things we really need to talk about. Six o'clock. Don't be late."

"....aw, crap."

I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later, but either way I'm not looking forward to it.

It's time to have "the talk." You know....THE talk. The one I was supposed to have with Uncle Ben, but I guess that's out of the picture. And I doubt Norman's even had the talk with Harry, let alone me. So I guess it only makes sense that Captain Stacy is the one to do it.

Still, out of everyone that could be the one giving me the talk, why did it have to be the one who has a massive gun and has been known to use it?

I look back down at the incapacitated Big Wheel, and I let out an anxious whine. Maybe if I'm really lucky, another supervillain will attack tonight and I won't have to face Gwen's dad.

 

[Andy C.]

The intercontinental flight across the Atlantic is short relatively speaking, but the ride is still tense. There's a tinge of anxiousness buzzing between the four of us in the cockpit of the Quinjet--not exactly nervousness, but an uncertainty.

Miss Marvel absent-mindedly checks maps of the target area, going over the statistics again and again.

Hawkeye inspects the tip of one of his arrowheads, making sure it's in perfect condition.

The only one who seems to be unaffected emotionally is Vision, though it's hard to say if he has any emotion at all.

Even I'm starting to let my nerves get the better of me-- hardly fear, but definitely doubt.

After all, this is our first mission working as a cohesive unit.

And I'm about to lead them into a war zone.



TWO HOURS EARLIER:


"My God....." Danvers says as we watch the events unfold on the monitors of the Avengers Mansion.

Tanks rolling through city streets, demolishing cars and plowing over homes.

Soldiers armed with high-tech weapons and armor kicking in doors, shredding local resistance groups......gunning down civilians execution-style.

Fighter jets screaming through the smoke-blackened skies, dropping lethal payloads onto military and civilian targets alike.

Latveria has gone from a backwards former Soviet satellite state to a first-world military power almost overnight, and they're flexing their muscle. Now Hungary has become the first front of a war of expansion, and next to nothing is being done about it.

"So.....we're going in there, right?" Hawkeye asks.

"I believe the correct question is what happens if we do go in," Vision says, gazing contemplatively at the various data readouts. "The people of Latveria still deeply resent the United States for covertly backing their previous king, who was a strategic ally of NATO. Although we are not affiliated with the US government, we still might be perceived as such, and direct confrontation with Latverian military forces could trigger a larger conflict."

"People are dying over there," Danvers says. "We have to stop that."

"Agreed, but we also have to avoid turning this into World War III," I say. "The UN is sending an ambassador to meet with their Chancellor, Victor Von Doom. We don't know much about him, other than that he's pretty clearly a technological genius, and a militaristic dictator. With any luck, the ambassador will be able to negotiate a cease-fire."

I sling my shield over my shoulder, and adjust the fit of my gloves.

"In the meantime, the four of us will take the Quinjet into Hungary and assist with evacuating civilians, and make sure the Latverian forces can't carry out attacks on civilian targets. This is purely a defensive action, until the UN ambassador can reach an agreement with Doom."

"And if Doom doesn't back out?"

I check the clip of my pistol and holster it, making sure it's ready for action.

"Well, then things get interesting...."


********



A few hours later, we're flying over Hungary. The Latverians have pushed deep into the country, as far as Szolnok, columns of tanks advancing on what looks to be a direct course for the capital city of Budapest. Plumes of smoke rise over flattened blocks of buildings, gray-white contrails from rockets still snaking across the sky.

"Huh," Hawkeye says as he unstraps himself from his seat. "And here I thought we'd get a little training in before being deployed into the field."

"This is your training," I say, banking the Quinjet towards a merchant district where there's heavy fighting going on. Scanning the scene, I see our first targets.

"The Latverians have set up machine gun nests along that row of shops- the Hungarian forces can't rally in that area without getting shot to pieces. We take those guns out, and then we evac the civilians inside."

Setting the Quinjet to autopilot, I get up from my seat and make my way to the loading ramp. We're still a good forty feet from the ground when I jump, rolling against the hard cobblestone streets as I land.

Hawkeye hits not too far behind me, while Vision and Miss Marvel float downward from the jet.

Seconds later, the surrounding area erupts into gunfire.

"This is it, folks," I say as bullets begin to PING and PANG off of my shield. "Trial by fire."

 

[Byrd Man]

Budapest

The military plane bounces on to the runway and mercifully comes to a stop at the end of the tarmac. The cargo ramp opens up and the six of us all walk down the ramp. Lumpkin and Frankie are wearing fatigues while the four of us have swapped out our civilian clothes for the blue Fantastic Four uniforms.

Waiting at the end of the ramp is a man wearing fatigues, four stars on his shoulder. "Ladies and gentlemen, General Bill Ridgeway. I'm Commander-In-Chief of all NATO forces. Welcome to Hungary."

Ben, Lumpkin, and Frankie all salute the general while Johnny gives him a mock salute.

"Thank you, sir," Ben says after Ridgeway returns to their salutes. "Like to say it's our first time, but that's not the case."

"So I've read, Major. We've got a chopper ready waiting for you. It'll take you to Doomstadt, Latveria's capital. The four of you will go while General Lumpkin and his XO stay here."

"I don't think that's a wise decision, sir."

"I'd agree. Considering your past with Von Doom, I'd prefer to have a whole battalion escort you to Doomstadt. But I need you two to help with an ongoing situation that sprung up an hour ago. The Avengers landed in a hundred clicks from here and are currently trying to stop the Latverian troops from marching right here to Budapest. I'm all for that. If I had my way, I would have been done shoved a Tomahawk Missile up Von Doom's ass, but the goddamn suits in Washington don't like it. They want this resolved with as little conflict as possible, even if the US government doesn't officially recognize the Avengers, or condone their action. We need to get down there fast and see if we can convince the Avengers to pull out. The US ambassador to Hungary and our Latverian ambassador will be present during the negotiations, so they'll be there to help out anyway they can. If things go sideways, I'm almost certain your team can handle themselves."

"Damn right we can....uhh, sir."

Ridgeway smiles and winks at Ben. "That's the spirit, Major. Good luck to all of you. If things break down, or Doom tries something, then we will not hesitate to attack his troops with all the might and power the US and NATO can muster. Just give us the word. General, Captain."

Lumpkin and Frankie walk off behind the general and to a waiting chopper.

"This is so messed up."

"I concur, but of all the different options and scenarios I can think of, this is the most rational one. Maybe we can actually talk to Victor."

"Fat chance of that, Reed."

"But we still need to try."

"Hello," a short, balding man in a suit says as he approaches us. "Ambassador Clayborn. American ambassador to Hungary. We have a few choppers waiting for us. One for us and one for uhh....Mister Grimm specifically. If you'll follow me, we'll get going."

I hold a finger up and turn to the ambassador and ask for a moment along. He nods and walks away while I turn to the others.

"Alright, we can do this. Whatever he has planned, we can beat it. We beat him last time and knowing Victor like I do, that bothers him. He's going to throw something at us to get the upperhand again, to show how much better he is. But we can beat it. We beat him, we beat Kang, and we're going to beat Galactus when it comes. So let's do it, not for ourselves or for revenge, but for the people he's ripped apart with this invasion. Alright?"

​

 

[sabetoonth]

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