The "Dawn Of Marvels" RPG: Year One

[Red Leader]

"Hmm... Busy, eh? Well... Guess I can't ask YOU much... But anyway.. This school has a kitchen? Looks a little empty to even need one. Doesn't matter, don't want cafeteria food."

I find a room with a TV and a couch. If Xavier is half as powerful as everybody's said, he already knows I'm here. I plop down on the couch, cheap leather I think, and grab the clicker. Shouldn't be more than an hour or so 'til the prof's free.

Okay, I'm too anxious. Can't just sit here. I get up, and pace the halls. There. That's a little better.

 

[Spider-Man9X17]

Matt approached the young woman, extending his hand.

“Miss Page, I’m Matthew Murdock. This is my partner, Franklin Nelson.”

He grasped her hand in a friendly shake. Her skin was soft, smooth, very warm. The residual noise from the air conditioner and the traffic outside afforded his radar sense a brief “look” of the potential client. Mid twenties at the latest, with very soft and welcoming features, a kind face, soft curves. She was a very pretty. No, very beautiful.

“Foggy,” he corrected, standing to shake the woman’s hand.

“Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry if I’m intruding on anything.”

“Not at all. Walk in appointments are completely welcome. What can we help you with, Miss Page?”

“Please, call me Karen. I’ve been having some problems with my job, recently. Several of the men at the company have been making obscene comments and unwelcome advances. I’ve talked to my boss, and though he assured me that he would address the men, he also advised me to seek legal council. Something about my word against theirs and building a case. I’m not really good with legal proceeding and whatnot.”

“That’s why we’re here ma’am…I’m sorry. Karen. Who is your current employer?”

“I work at Fisk Industries corporate headquarters. I’m personal secretary to Mr. Fisk.”

Matt heard Foggy’s heart skip a beat, the rate picking up in excitement. And while he was most likely hiding his excitement on the outside, had they been in a cartoon, his best friend’s eyes would no doubt have been bulging out of his head, pupils replace by large dollar signs.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Karen, Wilson Fisk is one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the country. He had a plethora of top legal council at his disposal that I’m sure would take your case for little to no cost to yourself. While we’re grateful that you chose Nelson and Murdock, why would you seek outside counseling?”

Foggy’s heart rate changed again. A low, otherwise inaudible growl of mild annoyance and anger escaped his throat, his body slightly perspiring. No doubt he saw what he believed to be a hefty payday going out the window. Matt had his reasons for the question, though. The woman was telling the truth, no doubt, but she was clearly distracted, and the mention of her employer seemed to cause her more distress.

“I felt it would be in my best interest to seek an unbiased third party, a law firm with no ties to the company, risk free of any personal issues clouding my case.”

It wasn’t a lie. To be honest, from the signals Matt was receiving, it was a fully truthful answer. Still, he felt like there was more waiting to come out.

Karen herself must have felt that Matt was curious, taking a moment to clear her throat and wipe her eyes.

“I’m sorry if I seem overly flustered. A very good friend of mine, almost like a sister to me, passed away suddenly last night, and I’m having a hard time dealing with it.”

“I’m so sorry. Our deepest condolences. Maybe we should continue another time?”
“No, no. If I went home, I would just dwell on it for the rest of the day and drive myself batty. I best deal with stress by keeping myself busy.”

“Well then, let’s get started on drawing up some paperwork, a timeline of events and indiscretions. Do you have any documentation of dates or specific occurrences?”

“Yes, I have a small list with me now, and more at home that I could bring at another time. Mr. Fisk did ask though to be kept up to date on the proceedings, if possible. He’s very hands on and wants to keep up to date, perhaps see if there’s anything that will allow him to bring disciplinary action.”

“That is completely up to you, Karen. Anything pertaining to the case or what we discuss falls under client confidentiality, so it would be up to you what information is shared with Mr. Fisk.”

Matt wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn that he detected a momentary calming of Karen’s nerves, and easing of the tension. He definitely wanted to know more about not only Karen Page, but also Wilson Fisk.

 

[Cyrusbales]

THE JUGGERNAUT

The endless horizon, once filled with small villages, now gives way to skyscrapers and other buildings. So much can change in just a few years.

The silhouette of this man, standing tall and muscular atop rubble that was once his tomb, now saddened by his situation, his original form distorted by this ‘Cyttorak’ and his power. Whilst freed from the fallen temple, he would always be trapped by his new found strength and appearance, towering above most men, he could already imagine the response his return would cause.

“I don’t belong.”

As if in response, a whisper from an unseen source filled his head.

“Then make yourself belong, I have made you unstoppable.”

“I’m still Cain Marko, no-one can take that away from me.”

Running off towards the horizon, he was going home, or at least what was left of it.

“Cain Marko is dead, there is only the Juggernaut, it’s just a matter of time…”

 

[Cyrusbales]

THE JUGGERNAUT

Cutting it’s way through the water, the freight liner journeyed across the pacific. Housed in the cargo hold was the former Cain Marko, hunched over in the confined space which he had managed to secure for travelling.

“They won’t remember you.”

“Yes they will.”

“Why do you even care? Have you forgotten the way your father used to beat you?”

“That was a long time ago.”

“And you haven’t seen him for years, why even bother returning now?”

“I need to feel…….normal again.”

The voice continued to intrude upon his thoughts.

“But you’re not normal, you’re superior to them.”

“I’m a freak.”

“Oh, I see, you’re going for revenge.”

“What?”

“Return the treatment your father gave you.”

This thought rippled through his thoughts as he neared his destination. Waves crashing and breaking, making way for the ship.

 

[Batman]

The first sign of panic came when the streetlights on 5th Avenue spontaneously shattered. No one on the streets knew exactly what was happening... until it was far too late to prevent the occurance. With the first scream, the attacker knew he had caused enough of a panic to suite his needs. And a smile came upon his face, as he stepped outside the first national bank. Ain't nobody gonna tell Herman Schultz he's a nobody anymore!

The brown and yellow clad hoodlum, who had called himself "The Shocker" during his earlier rants and demands for the bank's money inside, stepped atop the shattered glass as police sirens immediately rang out. His vibro-units... two wrist devices of which he himself had perfected, rang out as The Shocker lifted his hands towards the oncoming police cars.

And sent them flying, right off of their wheels.

The Shocker let out a hearty laugh of delight, as the squad cars crashed into nearby shop windows. Numerous people who had witnessed this were already taking cover, as Shocker looked out on the streets, and called out to them.

"Listen up, ants!", He called out, switching on the vibro-units again, as he dropped the moneybags to his feet. "Rest easy no longer! You think your days of peace are alive and well!? I laugh at that! Like I laugh at all of you!"

His eyes narrowed, beneath the mask covering his face. It was time to show these clowns just who was boss, in this day in age. Herman knew how to show them that. Not with wealth, though after today that wouldn't be much of a problem for him... but with power. And if there was anything The Shocker had to show, it was that.

"I'm the new King of this hellhole! And I got a big message for anyone who's prepared to stand in my way!"

The vibro-units glowed, as the street beneath The Shocker's boots seemed to careen upwards, and crack, creating a spiderweb like effect beneath him. Oddly, even though the Shocker didn't know it... that would be more fitting to what would happen next than what anyone could ever predict.
The Shocker lifted his wrists, aiming for a brick building. He had set the weapons with enough power to level the structure in seconds.

"DONT. MESS. WITH-"

"Boy, if you're the first of many sci-fi weirdos and geek convention rejects I'm gonna have to take down..."

The Shocker's eyes darted up, stunned, as the voice boomed into the skies above him. And that's when he saw it... the red and blue blur swinging right for him, darting out of the sky like a missile.

"Consider me disappointed!"

He didn't even see the kick coming until after he felt his nose crack, under the pressure, as Spider-Man backflipped and landed on a wall near him in a crouch.

"Though I have to say, you pulled out all the stops for originality. I mean, who would've thought of looking for a uniform at the Charmin factory?", Spider-Man quipped, creeping down the wall as The Shocker staggered back, holding his now bleeding nose.

"Agh! Jesus! What... who are..."

"You're articulate for a two-bit hood, aren't ya?", Spider-Man interrupted.

Ignoring the blood, The Shocker looked up, unamused at the Wall-Crawler's prescence.

"Don't know who you are, freak... but you're gonna be the first to learn...", The Shocker began, revving up the vibro-units for another blast. "Nobody talks to me like that!"

But The Shocker's words were silenced, as he realised something: Spider-Man was already in the air. Warned by a pre-cognitive tingle in the base of his neckline, Spider-Man leaped forward and fired two weblines at The Shocker, coating his face in a thick layer of silk. Flipping upwards, He pressed on with the attack, kicking up and slamming his foot into Shocker's jaw. The villain stepped back, desperately trying to fire a blast at Spider-Man and ultimately failing, only catching a few windows in the distance and a street light.

That's when Spider-Man realised it. The street light had been unhinged, and it was falling towards a child who had been isolated from the fleeing crowd. Widening his eyes, Spider-Man instantly fired another web, and swung up, vaulting right for the child as the light continued to fall. Landing over the traumatised young girl, Spider-Man scooped her up into one arm, and pulled on the webline with the other, successfully avoiding the light right as it smashed onto the street with a rumble of force.

Landing on a wall, with the girl in hand, Spider-Man leaped down and let her go, to which the girl smiled. "Agin! Agin!"

Under the mask, Peter smiled, though it obviously couldn't be seen. "You know, if I had any sense, I'd recite a line from some old 70's film I used to love, when I was your age..."

Shooting another line up, Spider-Man leaped into the air and vaulted back towards the streets ahead. "...But I gotta go kick this guy's triple-plied tail."

The Shocker growled, finally managing to unhinge the webbing from his mask, as he looked up, searching for his attacker on every wall, lampost, and street corner he could see.

"Where the hell are you, you little-"

"Marco..."

The Shocker paused, and looked up.

"Huh?"

With a mid-air somersault, Spider-Man came rocketing out of the sky, and sent a hard punch to The Shocker's face. "POLO!"

Instantly, and wordlessly, The Shocker spun several times, before crashing into a nearby wall. For a moment, Spider-Man stayed paused, in a crouching position on the street, waiting to see if he was planning a sneak attack of any kind. But moments later, the tension was eased when The Shocker came crashing on his back, eyes closed, moaning softly as he drifted into unconciousness.

Spider-Man breathed a sigh of reflief, as he noticed for the first time that his nose was bleeding, from the encounter. But otherwise, he was perfectly fine... which was more than he actually expected from the fight, going into it.

"Don't worry, Shocks,", Spider-Man stated, before leaping up and onto a flagpole. "We can tango again in about ten to twenty years. Meanwhile, I've got an adoring crowd to gree-"

Spider-Man turned, and noticed that the streets were completely unihabited, which prompted a blank stare from under Peter's mask.



"Or not."

 

[Eddie Brock]

I lace up and I can hear the crowd roaring. It's time. I skate out onto the ice as I am met with thunderous applause. Up in the press box, the commentators are talking about me.

<"And here comes Piotr Rasputin! Boy, is this kid talented or what?">

<"Oh, absolutely. He's a prodigy. Piotr is only 17, and he's already playing in the Russian Super League. And I heard he's been selected for Russia's Olympic ice hockey team!">

<"You are absolutely correct. Piotr will be representing the Soviet Union in the next Winter Olympic games. And the crowd here loves him!">

<"And with good reason! Rasputin hits harder than any player I've ever seen!">

<"That's for sure! And I tell you what...anyone who's ever interviewed him knows that he is truly a gentle giant. He even admits that he doesn't particularly LIKE checking people!">

I smile for the cameras. I know that I didn't get in this for the fame, but it's hard not to enjoy it. I see the referee skate over to center ice, and I recognize that the time for smiling is over.

***

I'm the last one in the locker room, as usual. That's when the coach comes in. I know exactly why he's here.

<"You played well, kid,"> he begins. I force a smile before his next statement comes out. <"So...no outbreaks when you were out there?">


<"For the 1000th time, I can control it,"> I assure him. <"And furthermore, I don't like calling them 'outbreaks.' It makes it sound like a disease or something.">

I can see the anger on his face. He doesn't like when I talk back to him. <"Well, if it's not a disease, then what is it?"> he snaps. Before I can answer, he adds, <"I'll tell you what! You're a freak! And I swear to God, if you weren't so damn good at hockey, I'd throw you out on the street with the rest of the freaks.">

I instantly stand up, outraged at his blunt rudeness. I clench my fists and he recognizes my anger.

<"What're you going to do? Hit me? Go ahead. You lay a single finger on me, I'll have you thrown off this team so fast your head will spin! And where will you get the money for your sick sister then, huh?">

The rage bubbles inside me, but I know that I cannot strike him. This is my situation and I must deal with it. Therefore, I sit back down and continue to get changed.

On his way out, the coach adds, <"You better watch yourself, boy.">

<> = Translated from Russian​

 

[Spider-Man9X17]

“Wow oh wow, Matty boy…she was definitely an eleven,” Foggy let out a long, low whistle after Karen had left, plopping confidently back down onto his overstuffed chair. Matt had to admit, even though he couldn’t actually see their new client, he was a bit taken by her. The way she smelled, the way her skin felt, her gentle voice.

“You seem to be in a good mood,” Matt shuffled some papers on his desk, running his fingers over the upraised Braille and sorting the files into the correct folders. Matt could read regular writing and type just fine, his heightened sense of touch allowing his to actually feel the miniscule amount of raise the ink created, something a normal human could never pick up. He had of course been forced to learn Braille as a child, and for a time he had needed to use the system while he mastered his new abilities. But he dare not reveal his secret to anyone, so while out of the costume, in the presence of other people, he was a typical blind man.

“Uh, yeah. Beautiful girl, Matt. Beautiful girl, who works for one of the richest men in the country. This one case alone could set this law firm, not to mention us, up for a very, very long time. And the credibility it’ll bring…”

“Foggy, Wilson Fisk isn’t paying us.”

“Yeah, but Fisk’s personal secretary, you know she has some dough stashed away.”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’re something else, Foggy. Don’t ever change.”

“And just think, if we impress Fisk, maybe he could find another spot on that payroll for some new legal council, some young guns, fresh blood, liven his place up. Ya never know.”

Matt’s smiled subsided. He didn’t respond. On that matter, he didn’t share his partner’s enthusiasm.

“What time is it?”

“Quarter after four.”

“No more appointments today, right?”

“Nope.”

“Let’s call it a day.”

“Fine by me. You wanna hit Hard Rock, grab a few beers.”

“Thanks, but I have some errands to run tonight I wanna get a jump start on.”

“Errands. What kind of errands could you possibly have to run?”

“Well…I gotta get a new radio.”

-

Amber Reigns’ apartment complex

“Why the hell they have twenty-four hour police surveillance on a dead stripper place?”

“City Hall’s still up in arms about her and the horny councilman. This has anything to do with that whole clusterf***, they don’t want anyone screwing with the evidence.”

The now off duty officer stepped out onto the front stairs to greet his replacement. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and stuck on in his mouth neither officer aware of the demon lurking in the shadows just above them.

“Don’t they got a guy in custody. Some outta work recovering junkie. Nothin’ really odd about that. Pretty much par for the course for these people…and this neighborhood.”

“Yeah, damn Kitchen. Whole place needs to burn like Hell itself, do this city a favor.”

Daredevil’s eyes narrowed, his teeth clenched in a viscous snarl. Ignorant b@$t@rds.

“Anyway, guy was found passed out in the back alley, cracked his head on the dumpster. Had three ounces of pot on him as well as a couple pieces of the victims jewelry, holding the murder weapons. Claims he didn’t do it. Says it was some well to do guy. He was in his place, having a few beers…”

The other cop snorted.

“…heard a struggle, gun shot, came to check up and caught the guy taking off. Says he ran after him, but was ambushed and beat in the alley, and the evidence was planted on him.”

“And people buy that $h!t?”

“You know politicians.”

Daredevil had heard everything he needed, Descending deeper into the shadows, he fired his billy club and took off into the starry skies. He still had other business to attend to.

 

[Feature]

JOHNNY BLAZE: THE GHOST RIDER
Year I - Part 6


... SEVEN YEARS AGO ...

Johnny Blaze sat on the back porch of his grandfather's house; his blond hair blowing in the cold wind. The dead leaves of fall scraped against the pavement as they were carried along by an unseen force. The air was thick with the scent of oncoming rain.

"How ya holdin' up, son?" Barton Blaze asked as he seated himself next to Johnny.

"I'm fine." Johnny replied hastily, as he desperately tried to hide any evidence of tears.

"It's okay to be sad, Johnny. Don't you be ashamed of no tears."

"What? I'm not crying. I said I'm fine."

The two sat in silence for a moment, looking out at the unharvested fields that stretched into the horizon.

"You gonna come back inside? Everyone sure would like to see ya, Johnny."

"Yeah, I... I'm coming. Just gimme a couple minutes."

Barton Blaze reached out and smoothed his son's hair.

"It wasn't your fault, you know. Your granddaddy loved you, Johnny. He loved you so much. And nobody thinks this was your fault."

Johnny's lower lip trembled as the tears began to streak down his cheeks once more.

"It was my fault, pa! I shoulda known better! I'm never gonna ride again!"

"Don't you say those things, Johnny Blaze. You're only an eleven year-old boy, but you're a damn good rider! Hell, I trained you myself! It was not your fau--"

"IT WAS! IT WAS AND YOU KNOW IT! AND EVERYONE IN THERE KNOWS IT AND THEY HATE ME!"

Johnny turned around and abruptly and buried his face in his father's chest, sobbing loudly.

"I'm sorry I did this to you, boy..." Barton said under his breath, so that Johnny couldn't hear. "I didn't know it would happen this way... I'm so sorry..."

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to kill grandpa, I just... I swear, daddy! The bike! It was... it was like someone else was controllin' it! There was nothin' I could do! You believe me, don't you daddy?"

Barton kissed his son's forehead and smiled reassuringly.

"Of course I believe you, Johnny. And so do all your aunts and uncles and everbody in there. Now I'm goin' back inside. We're all waitin' for ya."

Barton Blaze got up and went inside, his cowardly heart heavy with guilt. After another moment or two, Johnny entered the house too. He marched straight up to the casket and said goodbye to his grandfather.

 

[Spider-Man9X17]

Mamma Montana’s Butcher Shop

The old building sat among some of the more antique structure on New York’s docks. Though old and shabby, paint peeling and wiring so old candle light may have been more efficient, the old store was the picture of the modern age and technologically advanced beyond its years compared to the old warehouses, dry docks, and abandoned factories that surrounded it. The politicians brushed this area off much the same way they treated Hell’s Kitchen; they talked about the ‘history’, the ‘personality’, how these buildings and neighborhoods told the story of the city. Fancy words that made the masses eel all warm and fuzzy inside, and allowed them to ignore the real problem at hand. In truth, the politicians were half right. Much of New York’s history and personality could be found in the decay of years past. They told the story of the hundreds of gangs and mobsters that had once claimed the city as their own, the crime that was the business of the day, no more unusual than going to work on a ship or in the clothing factories. That lifestyle had never really left the city. It just wasn’t as obvious or as forward anymore. The mobsters hid behind they scenes, used the cover of ‘legitimate’ jobs to mask their true faces and keep their empires thriving. No doubt that’s how the Kingpin had mastered his silent rise to power. And that’s what brought Daredevil here tonight.

The Montana family was as much a part of New York history as the Rockefellers, though their contributions were more along the line as those of Boss Tweed and Tammany Hall, or Al Capone out in Chicago. Alabaster Montana had shown up on the scene suddenly sometime toward the end of the Civil War, though nobody knew where he came from, and tracing any family tree prior to him was impossible, since his nomenclature was of course assumed, no doubt looking to completely disconnect himself from the old country and start fresh. What was known, however, was that he, and his former prostitute wife, dove right in to the crime scene and quickly emerged as one of the city’s forces to be reckoned with, commanding one of the New York’s largest gangs. The butcher shop actually started with them, a ‘legitimate’ source of business and source of income for those twilight years of retirement or to fall back on should the law ever come knocking, and something to pass along the family lineage. And while the heyday of the Montana family had met the same demise as any of the famed gangs of the country, the tradition continued today in the dark underbelly of the city.

Today, the tradition was carried on by Eddie Montana, who simply chose to go by his surname, who used the family assets that, rumor had it, were safely stored in literally thousands of bank accounts around the world, to help start a protection racket with some of his underworld buddies. Together with Daniel ‘Fancy Dan’ Brito, Raymond ‘Ox’ Bloch, and Frederick ‘The Big Man’ Foswell, they called themselves The Enforcers and, in some sick sense of honor and pride, even looked and acted the part of Roaring Twenties gangsters. Their exploits were legendary, though they always seemed to escape true justice. Matt had studied several of their cases in class during law school. Those classes always frustrated Matt, because their was a prime example of corruption and politics letting the guilty feed on the innocent. He did owe some small nugget of thanks to the Enforcers, though. Their theatrics had planted one of the final nuggets in his journey towards his demonic other half, feeding those memories, that sense of loss from so long ago.

Why in God’s name Montana still kept the hundred plus year butcher shop open was beyond Daredevil, but tonight he was glad he did. It made him easy to find. If ever there was going to be such an obvious possible link to not only the crime world, but the man who ran it, it would be the most highly regarded hired guns in the city. They ran protection on everything from drug deals to prostituion and all the dirty dealings in between, with no connection to the employer but the transfer of blood money from one hand to another.

It hadn’t taken much to get the info on the drugs being brought in tonight. Roughing up a few drunks and pot heads behind some of the more notorious hang outs in the city, the spinless weasels terrified to keep anything from the Devil himself, had led Matt to this old pier tonight. While nobody had ever mentioned the Enforcers, the location of the drop coupled with the fact that a shipment this big wouldn’t go without some kid of escort, had Daredevil feeling pretty lucky.

He crouched on the corner of the dilapidated shops roof, shielded from the glow of the single streetlight by the slope of the roof.

Sure enough, as various church bells in the city chimed 1:00 a.m., the time Daredevil had been so graciously given for the drop, he heard the door creek open and the footsteps of the four gangsters emerge from the butcher shop. Ox was first, judging by the heavy, plodding footsteps and the straining heartbeat. He couldn’t discern who the second or third were, but the man bringing up the rear was most likely Montana, judging by the streading rubbing sound of something brushing up against the man’s leg. Montana’s fondness of using a whip as a weapon was legendary, but the sonar imagine of the leather instrument he got from the sound of the rubbing confirmed his suspicions.

“Big shipment t’night, boys,” came the first voice from below. Heavy Brooklyn accent. Fancy Dan.

“Kingpin’s offerin’ triple the usual fee, but we gotta be four times as careful. Not that I gotta tell you boys that. Best of the best we got here, which is what I told ‘Pin’s boy.”

“Bingo.”

It was shaping up to be a very eventful night.

 

[Cyrusbales]

THE JUGGERNAUT

Back on dry land, there was still a trek ahead of him to his old home. Looking toward his destination, he began his run, he’d never tire, never fault, it was the quickest way in his mind.

“Do you really think no-one will notice you running across the country?”

“As long as I keep out of people’s way, I’ll just raise a few eyebrows.”

“But is that what you really want?”

The questions mounted as his speed built, tearing across the countryside. Each sentence from Cyttorak in his mind, distracted him away from the path ahead. Bringing his attention back from deep thought was a truck, or by the time he realised, the flaming wreckage of a truck , burning behind him.

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t bother with them. They are nothing to you.”

The surging Juggernaut halted and returned to the crash sight, looking for survivors, however there was none, just a few distraught onlookers.

Ripping through the twisted scalding hot metal, he searched for anyone he could save, in a mild attempt at redemption.

“They’re all dead you know?”

Before long, the sound of sirens screamed out from the distance, Cain took back to his travel and disappeared into the horizon, an accidental trail of destruction left for the onlookers and authorities to find.

 

[Bonusball75]

Hawkeye

He slowly emmerged from the ally. he had been lurking the streets since early in the night. He partoled the streets of his hometown since being discharged from delta forces. Clint Barton couldn't figure out to do with his time. One night leaving the grocery store he saw a woman mugged and decided that he might as well protect the citizens since he was living of his pension. He hadn't seen a peep of trouble since the first night he saw the lady attacked. It was getting early into the morning and the sun was going to rise soon when Clint decided to call it a night. As he rounded a corner heading back towards his apartment when he heard a muffled yell and some shuffling. Against the wonderful thought of his bed, He decided to investigate.


"Wheres the brief case, Turner?"

Clint peaked from behind the corner as a he saw three large men circling a small frail looking man in a lab coat.

"I...I...don't know what your talking about." He stuttured

" Don't B.S. me you snivveling prick,Baron Zemo will not be pleased."

The man talking gave a swift punch to the mans stomach as he slipped to the ground. Clint decided he had seen enough.

"Hey *******s I'd suggest stopping before you really, really regret that!



If its crap I'll delete. Just let me know.

 

[Batman]

"Peter, dear! Could you get me the scissors? They're on the shelf in the kitchen!"

"No problem, Aunt May!"

Peter smiled to himself, as he closed the fridge door after getting himself a beverage. Though it had only been two weeks since his Uncle Ben's demise, he had to admit that his aunt was taking it alot better than he had ever expected. Even though he had come down to visit for the day, in fear that she'd be inconsoleable since his departure to college in her time of need, May had remained in high spirits the entire day. Peter shrugged it off as her age... after all, she wasn't a frail or ill-willed woman. She had survived two marraiges, a miscarraige of her own child, and raising a young orphaned boy that didn't even understand the concept that his mother and father were gone.

If anything, May had made herself immune to letting personal tragedy get to her. And it was that strength that had made Peter admire her all of his life, proud to accept her as the mother that his own wasn't able to be.

Grabbing the scissors from the shelf, as she had requested, Peter walked into the living room, as May was looking through various newspapers. Looking up, she smiled at Peter, taking the scissors from his hands. "Thank you, dear."

Sitting down on the couch, Peter opened the soda pop can, and took a drink. But even as he did, he noticed May looking at the newspaper with a noticable determination, as she began taking the scissors to it.

"I know I probably shouldn't ask, but... what are you looking for?", Peter questioned, curious about the look she gave it.

"Quite simply, Peter... a job.", She answered, continuing on. "Now that Ben's gone, and we've been dealing with bankrupcy for years, someone has got to keep those awful bill collectors away. And if that means I need to re-enter the working field, well... so be it. I'm not about to let this house be taken from me, just yet. It holds too many memories."

Peter frowned, a little, looking away.

Even though he had moved past his own grief, for the most part, he couldn't help but think that all of this was his own fault. If he had only stopped that burglar at the television studio... if he had only acted responsibly, as Ben had always taught him... perhaps none of this would have happened. Ben would be alive, and he would still have a stable job, able to provide for May's needs and make sure that they kept their house. And their memories. But instead, May was thrusting the responsibility of making her own living on herself, when in truth, she had enough to deal with as it was. With Anna Watson moving in, within the month, and May's recent loss of her husband, the last thing she needed to worry about was paying the rent. This fact only added to Peter's guilt, as he slumped in his seat, visibly depressed.

"Peter? What's wrong?", May asked, noticing her nephew's look.

He looked up, taken out of his train of thought by May's question, before sitting up and composing himself. "Huh? Oh... um, nothing. Nothing at all, Aunt May."

May looked at her nephew, obviously skeptical. "Now, now... don't go and say that. I know that look, Peter. Something's on your mind."

After a moment of silence, Peter sat forward, thinking to himself before he spoke. Maybe it was time that he payed May back, for both the years she had spent raising him, and making him the man he had turned into, aswell as... regretfully, causing the death of Ben. It was time for Peter to take responsibility in more ways than one. A way that Spider-Man couldn't, though god knows he would if he could.

"Well... what if I made you an offer.", Peter began, looking over at May. "What if... I payed the rent for you?"

May's eyes widened, as Peter knew they would. And he also knew what she was going to say next.

"Oh, heaven's no. No. You can't... you can't put that burden on yourself, Peter. I won't let you.", May protested.

"Aunt May, look. The last thing it would be is a burden,", Peter lied, knowing that he didn't even know where to start looking for a job to pay it off. But he'd find something. He was that determined to help her. "And besides, what I'm talking about is only temporary. Mrs. Watson's got a job, so I'm sure that with time, the two of you could work something out. But for now, let me take care of it. I can find a job, and I can cut back on my studies..."

"Absoutely not!", May exclaimed, upon hearing that last part. "Peter, you and I both know that the last thing Ben would've wanted is for you to quit college, or even avoid it for a short time. Your academic success was such a prideful thing, to him... He would've been devastated, had you ever abandoned your dreams of graduation. Especially for our sake."

"Graduation isn't even going to be this year.", Peter argued. "But... if you want me to keep studying, I'll keep studying. However, I'm not going to back down on paying the rent, or finding a job. I owe you that much, Aunt May. And I want to do this, whether you like it or not."

May was silent, for a moment. This was the first time she had ever seen Peter so determined to do anything. She could see the need to help her in his eyes... it burned as passionately as Ben's own, when he had set his mind to something. And that was enough to cause a single tear to roll down May's cheek, as she lowered her head. "Peter, I... I don't know what to say."

"Say yes.", Peter persuaded. "It wouldn't be any trouble for me at all. Infact, I need the experience."

"But what about your needs?", May questioned, looking up and wiping her eyes dry.

"Harry's got the dorm and my schoolbooks covered. And as far as food goes, I can ask a couple favors from his dad. Mr. Osborn has some connections to some of the factories around town... I'm sure I'd be set, by month's end.", Peter stated. "And as far as everything else... well, I don't care, Aunt May. I just don't. Seeing you keep this house would be worth anything I'd be sacrificing. Because truthfully... I don't want to lose the memories here, either."

May could've bawled, at Peter's legitimate generosity, in both his offer and his tone of voice. She was so lucky to have a nephew like him, that cared so much about her, and had cared so much about his uncle aswell. Apart of her even felt that Peter didn't even need to be regarded as her nephew... because as far as she was concerned, she was his son. And his world, now that Ben was gone.

Standing up from her chair, May walked over, as Peter stood aswell. And in an wordless embrace, May hugged her nephew as tightly as she could, trying her absolute best to let him know just how much she appreciated this overly, and unbelieveably kind gesture.

"Bless you, Peter...", She stated, softly, with more tears streaming down her face. "Your Uncle Ben would be so proud."

Smiling, Peter embraced back, wrapping his arms around May, and gently kissing her on the forehead. "I hope so, Aunt May. I really hope so."

Looking up, May looked at Peter with an expression of concern, once again, as she raised a well provoked question, in the heat of the moment.

"But where on Earth will you find a job?"

Peter shrugged.

"Well... I'm sure there's gotta be something, around town."

Peter stared at the article he was reading, wide eyed, as Harry sat on the bed across from him. Looking up, Harry noticed his friend's expression, before smirking to himself.

"You're reading the Bugle again?", Harry asked. "You do know that those were the same guys that reported aligators in the sewers, devils in Hell's Kitchen, and aliens abducting Mayor Gulliani a couple years back, right?"

"I don't know, Harry. The gators sound plausible enough..." Peter answered, still looking over the article.

"Still, it's pure, uncut, decade's old garbage. Why such the interest, all of the sudden? What could you be possibly looking for?", Harry asked, confused.

Peter smirked, folding up the ad, and placing in on the table.

"Well, not much..."

"...Just looking up some information for a job interview that I'm probably going to get, is all."

 

[Spider-Man9X17]

Daredevil heard the crowbar scraping against the wood; the screech of nails twisting and popping free. They were inspecting the shipment.

The heavy wooden lid thudded to the ground. Daredevil heard fancy Dan let out a low, impressed whistle. One of his companions, however, didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm.

“I don’ gettit. This’s a bunch a eggs. Whatta they call dem…fabric…fabrication eggs?”

Daredevil got a mental image of Ox standing over the box in confusion, scratching his head.

“Fabriche, bone head. And, it may appear that way, but what do you do with eggs?”

“Uhhh, eat ‘em.”

“Before that?”

“Scramble ‘em.”

“Keep goin’.”

“Take ‘em from the chicken.”

“Too far back.”

“Uhhh…Oh! You crack ‘em.”

“Bingo…freakin’ moron.”

Daredevil heard the shattering of what he could only imagine was a very expensive piece of artistry. As soon as he didn’t, he caught the unmistakable scent of cocaine. Putrid, even more so for someone whose scent receptors were more sensitive than a dog. It was the final bit of confirmation he needed. He reached down for his billy club…

-

Top of the line, uncut Nicaraguan, boys. This is the closest thing to perfection you can find on this Earth. I tell ya, this payoff’ll set us up for a…”

* CRASH *

The sudden shattering, along with the shower of glass and porcelain shards, sent the Enforcers and the dealers diving for cover. The object that destroyed their precious cargo was nothing more than a dark crimson blur. Three quarters of the assembled scum didn’t even see it, and the ones who did couldn’t be sure what exactly it was. The next thing anyone was 100% certain of was just seconds later, there was another…being among them, lashing out in a flurry of kicks and punches, striking with a long, hard club. The few feeble, superstitious drug dealers that got a good look would have sworn to their beloved mothers that ‘El Diablo’ himself rose up from Hell to punish them for their sins. That would have to wait, however, for their broken jaws to heal.

The Enforcers didn’t wait around to fully see what was going on. They knew well enough that if a drop or a mission was compromised, get the Hell out of Dodge. Shipments, though extremely valuable, were only money lost. A small price to pay to protect the confidentiality and privacy offered to clients. Especially this client.

The doors to Momma Montana’s Butcher Shop flew open as four disheveled gangsters barged inside, quickly barricading the entrance behind them.

“What the hell, man. What the HELL! Did one of you loose lips go blabbin’ to some call girl? Huh? Somebody get a little loose with the pillow talk, feel the need to brag it up with the low lives down at Sal’s?”

“None of us said nuthin’ Big Man. We ain’t stupid. We know what Kingpin would do to us if he found out we went blabbin’.”

“Yeah, well, somebody knew about this. They were lyin’ in wait, ready to pounce. So, if this was kept between, me, you, and the man upstairs, what happened? Someone decide we needed some divine intervention? Send an avenging angel?”

The shattering of the rear window and another cascade of glass sent the four men to the ground again. Another quick blur of red relieved the wannabe gangsters of their guns, as the assailant entered through the open window.

“Not exactly.”

 

[Mr. Marko]

​

Reed and Ben stood in the middle of the freeway, staring at the wreckage of their car.

"S***!" Ben hung his head. "How do we explain this?"

Reed stood, still calm and collected. He pressed the button on his communicator. "HQ, this is Agent Richards."

The voice of the operator crackled back. "Copy, Agent Richards. What can I do for you?"

"We lost contact with the cause of the incident in Downtown London. We need a convoy at our location immediately." He ran his fingers through his hair. "If satellite intel comes up with something big and green, track it immediately."

The voice went silent. "Roger that, Agent Richards."

He sighed deeply. "They'll be here shortly."

Ben slumped on the remains of the car. "Well, that was wierd."​

 

[Blacklight]

Westchester, New York: Nine months ago...

I was standing in front of the apartment building that Weasel supposedly resided. I hoped that this wasn't going to be a dead end.

"781. This better work."

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

"Another day, another great hack into a bank account. Oh crap! I forgot to go on Superhero Hype!"

Weasel continued typing rapidly on his keyboard. I was standing around the corner, waiting to sneak up on him.

*SNIKT*

"Huh. What the..."

Weasel turned his head around and didn't see anything, then continued typing.

"Damn neighbors..."

I then creeped up behind him, claws sheathed, and quietly said...

"Hello, Weasel."


"AHHHHH! Who the hell are you!"

"Your worst nightmare if you don't help me out, bub."

Weasel stared at my claws in fear.

"Are you a mutant? What do you want from me?"

"Yeah, and I need you skills to find out about this." I then pulled out the partially burnt file. Weasel then skimmed through it.

"Weapon X? Never heard of it. What do you want me to do." Weasel asked calmer than before.

"I want you to hack into some secret orginization database thingy or somethin' and tell me what it says about this."

"I could check the SIU files..."

"Whatever. Just do it."

"Ok. Give me two seconds."

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

Last Week

So me and Weasel basically found nothin'. I was mad as all hell that I found nothin', so I thought I'd go to a bar to calm down. I was there because I needed to get away from it all. Sabertooth, Alpha Flight, Weapon X... It was just frustrating. I figured I need a vacation. I was in a bar in Westchester when I found a new purpose. I was in a bar sippin' down some cold ones, when this bald guy in a wheelchair rolled up to my barstool.

"Hello, Logan. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Professor Charles Francis Xavier, or Professor X as some of my students may call me."

"Well what do you want, Chuck?"

You have some interesting abilities Logan, or should I say Wolverine? Enhanced healing, hyperactive senses and adamantium bones and claws.

"What the hell? How did you just do that!?! How the hell did you know my codename!?!"

It is amazing what mutants can do, don't you agree Wolverine? Considering that's what we are.... mutants...

"OK bub! You'd better stop talkin' in my head or else you're gonna..."

"OK Logan. Calm down. I need your help."

"What is it you need!?!" I said getting impatient.

"I want you to lead my team, my X-Men, because we want what you do, we want humans and mutants to live together in peace and harmony, and it's the X-Men's job to fight all who oppose that ideal and endanger the earth doing so, but the team is raw and needs leadership and discipline and I thought who better than the former leader of Alpha Flight..."

I saw where Xavier was comin' at. I agreed with him too. So I got to thinkin', what's the worst that could happen?

"X-Men huh? What the heck, I'll give it a shot, I've been achin' for a good scrap."

 

[Blacklight]

Westchester, New York: Outside of "the Weasel's" Home

Me and Johnny were outside the apartment where Beroge said Jack Hammer was living.

"Ok, Johnny. Apartment 781."

 

[Eddie Brock]

​

Westchester, New York: Outside of "the Weasel's" Home

Me and Johnny were outside the apartment where Beroge said Jack Hammer was living.

"Ok, Johnny. Apartment 781."

I check the clip on my handgun.

"Let's make this quick," I say as I place the gun back in its holster. "I've got a hot date tonight, and I hate to be late."

Sue just rolls her eyes.

 

[Kaboom]

I found myself in another country. It wasn't Russian, it wasn't England.

Now I was in Paris. On the Rue morgue.

Fitting.

Except I wasn't an orange orangutan.

I was a green....hulk.

Someone had tampered with my gamma reasearch which mixed with a recreated Cap's super soldier serum along with the blood of patient zero, had turned me into this.

Richards knew nothing about patient zero. And the program had probably already recovered cap after I led them right to him.

How stupid am I!

I am just like my father said.

Worthless.

 

[Cyrusbales]

THE MANDARIN

The hall surged with activity, like a swarm in a hive, the stock market centre fuelled by human activity and various conversations, money always the topic. The central pillar like a technological creature, sprouting various screens as if they were limbs, each broker transfixed to their own phones and computers, obsessed with the acquisition of wealth.

A clerk near the door stops in mid conversation on his mobile. The device is dead, completely void of life. The oriental man walking past him doesn’t even catch his interest as he takes apart the cellular phone trying to stir some form of power back into it.

As more phones cut out and screens began to fade into blackness, the man nears the central column, and the heart of all this money, greed and selfishness cuts off, not even a flicker of light remains on the monitors.

Frenzy of activity halting, becoming jaw dropping awe and fear. All their wealth outside their view, dwindling away without their supervision, staring horrified at glass displays showing nothing.

Minutes passed before life returned, however the figures and numbers no longer there, instead, just a single sentence sprawled across the screens.
[BLACKOUT]
Your greed is you undoing, retribution will follow.
[/BLACKOUT]

 

[Eddie Brock]

I walk reluctantly into the team's medical facility. The team physician is already waiting for me.

<"Hello, Piotr. How are we feeling today?"> he asks politely.

I respond with a touch of resentment in my voice, <"Fine, as always.">

He chuckles a little as he recognizes my resentment. <"Look, I don't like it any more than you, Piotr. But this weekly check-up with me is a condition of your contract.">

I nod, realizing that there's nothing I can do.

<"I just wish that Coach Alekseev would stop judging me and treating me as...less than human,"> I explain honestly.

<"Piotr, you're different. People don't like things that are different,"> Dr. Vasiliev tells me. He's like a second father to me. <"If it's any consolation, I think you're magnificent. I mean, when you're in your transformed state, you no longer require food or sleep...your skin is essentially impenetrable!">

<"I'd trade it all away to be normal,"> I admit.


<> = translated from Russian
​

 

[Feature]

JOHNNY BLAZE: THE GHOST RIDER
Year I - Part 7


As Johnny Blaze enters his home, he makes note of the deafening silence that greets him and his heart sinks a little deeper. He will never be greeted warmly by his mother again. Collapsing at the kitchen table, Johnny cries. He wonders if the tears will ever stop.

"Johnny? Are you in there?"

Johnny recognizes the voice as Roxanne's instantly. The sound is the one thing that can mend his battered heart, albeit temporarily. Johnny rushes to the front door and flings it open. Roxanne slams into him, wrapping her arms around his torso and squeezing tightly. He holds her; smells her hair.

"Oh my God, Johnny! Where did you go? Why did you leave me? I thought... I thought..."

Johnny gently stroked Roxanne's tear-stained cheek.

"I'm sorry, Roxy. There was just... I needed to be alone, I guess."

"The cops wanna talk to you, Johnny. They were askin' me questions all night. They think someone killed our parents! They think they were murdered, Johnny!"

Johhny looks away and bites his lip to stop it from trembling.

"Nobody would want to hurt them, right Johnny? I mean... there ain't nobody who would want 'em dead, right?"

Johnny looks Roxanne Simpson in the eyes and speaks sternly.

"Roxy... we need to talk."

* * * * *

Over the next two hours, Johnny told Roxanne the entire tale. How her father had been abusive to both him and his mother. How he'd wanted Craig Simpson dead so that they could be happy again. How he'd made a deal with the red-haired stranger, without understanding the consequences.

"But Johnny... you don't seriously think this guy wanted your soul, do you?"

"That part don't matter, Roxy. All that matters is some lunatic thinks I made him a deal... and he was crazy enough to kill my mom and your dad."

"You've gotta tell the police, Johnny! They can find him! They can--"

"Now come on, girl! Just what the heck am I supposed to tell the police? That I asked someone to kill my stepfather? That my own mother is dead because some nut wants my soul?"

"But they can find him! They'll find him and they'll throw him in jail!"

"No Roxy!" Johnny shouts. "I'm gonna find that bastard myself! And when I do, he ain't gonna be goin' to no jail... he's gonna be six feet under!"

Roxy is quiet for a moment. Then...

"You really wanted my father dead that bad, Johnny?" She asks, the tears still falling like rain.

"Look, Roxy... I... Hell, I don't know! I'm just a dumb kid!"

"I swear, Johnny... he wasn't always like that. Before he sent me away... before my mom... when he found her all... all mangled like that..."

Johnny pulls the sobbing girl close to him. Suddenly, amidst the sobs, she kisses him. It is the kiss of someone who needs to feel alive. Someone who wants to defy death by celebrating life. And there, in a house as quiet as funeral parlor, two heartbroken adolescents find comfort in eachother's arms... and become one.

 

[Kaboom]

It wasn't long before I had been filled in on everything. The war was over. Had been over for a long time. Kids learned about it in history books.

To me, I could still see theirfaces, hear their screams.

The world had changed. So much.

I passed by grave stone after grave stone at Arlington. Each name that had been inscribed was one I had known, had served with. But there was one name in particular I had been searching for.

James Buchanan Barnes
Friend, Soldier, Husband, Father

"I'm sorry, Bucky," I whispered as I knelt down at my friend's graveside. "I should have been there."

"Excuse me, Mister Rogers," a voice said behind me as he handed me a file. "You're being activated."

"My time has come and gone, son," I replied. "I'm just going to go find a nice comfortable bed and go to sleep."

"Your country needs you sir," the agent said. "And no offense, I think you've been asleep long enough."

Not the kind of sleep I was thinking of.

 

[Batman]

"Lights? Camera? Action."

Spider-Man swept into the skies on the east end of Brooklyn, and fired a webline out, taking to a swing above a condemned area as the digital camera he had webbed to one of the warehouses automatically flashed away at him, taking every movement he made and placing it into the form of numerous megapixels in an instant. As he lept off his line, Peter recalled just how lucky he had been able to find enough money to scrape together for the item, that morning. He would've used his Uncle Ben's old camera, as Ben had given it to him for his fifteenth birthday a couple years back... but the truth was, he doubted it would be able to do the job, considering Ben had purchased it in 1962.

Stepping off of a building in his way, mid-flip, Spider-Man excitedly entered a practiced montage of various backflips and somersaults with a grace that could only be achieved by someone with his abilities. As much as he had debated over the moral constructs of actually selling his image to a low-level tabloid, without quite revealing the whole details of how he had gotten them... He had to admit, he was having fun with this. It had been awhile since he had been given the chance to exercise and test his powers... and needless to say, he was taking advantage of every minute.

"WHA-HOOO!!!"

Peter grinned, under his mask, striking a pose as the camera's flash went off in the distance. Though he had to make sure to make this believeable enough... after all, if he went into the Bugle's offices with perfect closeups and obviously staged shots of his own athletic displays, there would be some question on the horizon... Spider-Man was sinking into the practice of it fast, and easily. He attributed that to the showmanship he had learned when he had been given his stuntshow... which had probably also led to Peter's increasing number of wisecracks and taunts whenever he entered a fight.

But he didn't care. Because in the end, all of this was for the right cause. The profit he'd earn off of the pictures were to solely help out his Aunt May's financial struggles, and the crimefighting he had started to make a career out of didn't even need explaination... people's lives were being saved, because of Peter's actions. And that made him feel all the better, as he launched himself into the air, and did the splits, before firing two weblines and swinging himself around a building.

Not too shabby, if I do say so myself, He mentally noted, realising that it was probably about time to cut the session short. Partly because he knew with that reward still out in the Bugle, everyone and their sister would be out looking to snap their own pictures of him... and mostly due to the fact that, well, he never really enjoyed staying in Brooklyn anyway.

Firing a webline back out towards the camera's location, Spider-Man hurled himself into the air, before landing and sticking to the wall above it. Creeping down to the electronic, he quickly dismantled it before shutting off the automatic feature he had used to take the stills. Pulling back his mask, Peter quickly looked over the photos, and smiled to himself.

"If these don't fetch a pretty penny, I don't know what will...", He told himself, before pulling the mask back on, slugging the camera over his shoulder, and leaping up the wall.

Now, all there was left to do would be to turn in the snapshots to the Bugle's main offices. Of course, he'd change first... maybe even grab a bite to eat with Harry, before heading down there... but as far as Peter was concerned, the job was already his, judging from the quality of the pictures. No one else could've been able to get shots like those of Spider-Man if they tried... unless they were the webslinger in question.

Leaping over a building, Spider-Man dove over a crowded street, and fired another line. He wasn't particularly worried that anyone would spot him from this altitude, at the speed he was going... heck, when he thought about it, he doubted it was even possible. But even so, he kept high above, making sure not to draw attention from the noise of the webbing escaping from his wrists, or the eager squeels of glee that were coming out of his mouth that he had mentally told himself to stop doing minutes ago. But he just couldn't help it. This was the easiest way he could've ever gotten a job... not even to mention the most fun way. Nothing seemed as if it would bother the young superpowered webspinner... he was just in that great of a mood.

Then, his skull began to tingle.

Spider-Man's eyes widened, under the eyepieces of his mask, as he suddenly became alert to his surroundings. Whenever his skull tingled, it seemed, something bad would usually follow. He was first made aware of this shortly after his powers, when he had narrowly avoided being hit by an oncoming schoolbus on the streets. To even further this theory, Peter had jokingly dubbed it as a "Spider-Sense", passing over the much cliched explaination that he was somehow intuned to the fictional aura known as The Force, from The Star Wars films. Now, however, it was growing more prominent, as Spider-Man looked around, confused, but alert. Something bad was about to happen.

That's when it came over him. His webline felt light. Perhaps, too light. Looking up and pulling the line, Peter was horrified to discover that it had been snapped in half moments ago, as he plummeted towards the streets.

"YIKES!", He exclaimed, spinning around towards the sky, and firing two new lines at the buildings surrounding him.

Snagging the edges, Spider-Man managed to pull himself from the fall just in time, narrowly avoiding a flagpole as he bounced off of it, and rocketed back into the sky. Firing a new line towards a building, Spider-Man pulled himself to it, before tumbling onto the building, exhausted from the rush of the fall. Breathing hard, pulling himself up, Spider-Man looked around as he realised his senses were still going off, despite the fact that he had obviously avoided danger. Something had to have cut that line, as crazy as it sounded... the webbing had never snapped beforehand, so there was no other possible explaination.

"Sorry I missed, pal..."

Startled, Spider-Man turned, viewing an individual in strange armor floating above him, a smug look on his face.

"But only the first one's free!"

Spider-Man blinked, faced with this new costumed opposition. He honestly had no idea what to say, even faced with the news that this guy was the one who had knocked him towards the streets, and nearly ended his life. Usually he had a quip for that, but instead, he started with the most obvious...

"Dang. And no pocket change on me."

The individual dropped forward, rocketing towards Spider-Man at an increasing speed. Leaping over the attacker, much like he were playing a game of leapfrog, Spider-Man flipped, and fired a net of webbing, snagging the individual by the rockets he had noticed on the armor's back. Landing, Spider-Man grabbed the line with both hands, before tugging and pulling the individual to him.

"Haven't you heard, Darth Vader?", Spider-Man quipped, before leaping up and striking the attacked across the jaw. "I'm a hot commodity in this town. You don't wanna mess with one of those! I could have my people call your people!"

Staggering back, knocked onto his feet from the force of the punch, the individual gritted his teeth, before arming a gauntlet-incased weapon towards Spider-Man. "Don't move, freak!"

Spider-Man paused, after the attacker had called him a freak.

"...Uh, yeah. I'm getting that from the guy who tried to hard to look like a Christian Bale role gone bad. You should really look up 'ironic' in a dictionary...", Spider-Man stated, before somersaulting forward, and slamming both feet into the individual's chestplate, knocking him back even further. "If you can even read one, that is."

Before he could advance, Spider-Man's senses went wild once again. Turning, he only had time to duck, as four-razor like objects came flying at him. Leaping into the air, and sticking to a water-tower. Spider-Man looked over at the weapons, noting the odd "R" shaped logo on each.

"'R'? Great, Chris O'Donnel's in on this too?"

"You should really do your homework..."

Spider-Man turned, before getting kicked in the face mid-air, knocking him off of the water-tower from the confusion, and the blow to his face. Tumbling back, across the rooftop, Spider-Man looked upwards, noticing a new figure diving right after.

"...No, really. I think actually preferred the Vader knockoff."

Backflipping to his feet, Spider-Man leapt up, and kicked high, knocking the individual off his descent and into a fall, as he landed with a crash infront of his companion, who had attacked Spider-Man moments prior. Readying himself for another attack, as the two leaped to the feet and charged Spider-Man, all three were stopped in their tracks by a bold, larger-than-life sounding voice in the distance.

"STOP!"

All eyes turned to the edge of the rooftop, as what appeared to be a yellow-skinned man in a crimson cape and a strange face attachment stood, arms crossed, facing the two attackers that had ambushed Spider-Man.

"Richochet, Hornet. You idiots. The plan was a group tactic, not a direct attack!", The individual shouted, angrily, as the two sneered at the being.

"Oh get off our backs, Prodigy. Just because you were made the team leader... by the way, without our consent on the matter... doesn't mean we have to kiss your ass at every turn."

"Actually..."

The two turned, as a layer of darkness seemed to appear out of nowhere, bending through the air itself, before taking on the form of a blackened costumed female, creeping along the top of the water tower.

"I was under the impression that was what it meant."

The man indentified as "Hornet" seemed to step forward, slightly embarrassed.

"Uh... h-hey there, Dusk. Wh-When did you... um... get back in town?", Hornet stammered, rubbing the back of his armored head, as if compensating for something he really wanted to say.

"Pfft. Please. Get a room, you two.", Richochet noted, visibly disgusted.

"Did anyone actually listen to me, a minute ago?", Prodigy asked, angered. "We were supposed to do this as a team. A team, remember?! You know how powerful he was, from the reports! What the hell made either of you think you could take him on by yourself?"

"Umm..."

"Hey, don't get onto me about it. I almost had him, until Apollo Creed, here, came in with his arms swinging..."

"HA! You had him? That's rich. It was pretty damned obvious he was kicking your ass all over the city, and he barely had to move!"

"Would both of you quit your childish bickering? This isn't going to solve anything."

"Uh..."

"And lurking in the shadows is? Get real. This isn't 1939, Dusk. Criminals actually require a bit more than scaring the bejeebus out of them. You have to actually show them why they need to be afraid of you."

"Because of course, you were doing such a spectacular job."

"Better than you, Flyboy."

"HEY!"

The four turned, as Spider-Man stood, hands on hips, on a corner of the rooftop.

"Could somebody explain to me just what the hell is going on?", Spider-Man asked, so annoyed by the four's bickering that he had considered filming it and sending it to Bob Saget for some added money, ontop of his photography bonus for the pictures of himself.

"..."

"It can talk?"

"Yeah. And a little too much, if you ask me."

"No one asked you."

"It's a figure of speech, moron."

"SHUT UP!", Spider-Man yelled, angered, stopping the two dead in their tracks. "Geez. The costumes were bad enough... you don't actually have to act like you belong in pre-school."

"As much as I hate to admit it, he is right. Neither of you are helping."

Spider-Man turned to the darkened one called "Dusk", as the four seemed to stand closer together.

"You seem to be the most rational one here, so... mind telling me just why I was attacked, and more importantly, by who?", Spider-Man asked.

"You mean you've never heard of us?", Prodigy asked.

"Sorry. I'm not an avid viewer of 'When loons from Brooklyn attack'. I've sworn off FOX ever since they raped The Star Wars prequels."

"...I liked Episode Three."

"Yeah, well, dressed like that, I'm not surprised."

"Regardless,", Prodigy intervened. "We're taking you in, Spider-Man. Before you cause someone harm."

"Uh... forgive me for sounding flabbergasted, or even annoyed at the fact that you clowns just insituated that I was the one who was putting someone in danger, back there, but... what?", Spider-Man asked, confused. "What the hell did I do? And who's 'we'?"

Prodigy crossed his arms, as the four struck a pose that almost made Peter vomit from the cheesiness.

"Beware, evildoer... for we're THE SLINGERS."

Spider-Man blinked again.

Oy. This is gonna be a longer day than I thought...

 

[Spider-Man9X17]

It wasn't long before I had been filled in on everything. The war was over. Had been over for a long time. Kids learned about it in history books.

To me, I could still see theirfaces, hear their screams.

The world had changed. So much.

I passed by grave stone after grave stone at Arlington. Each name that had been inscribed was one I had known, had served with. But there was one name in particular I had been searching for.

James Buchanan Barnes
Friend, Soldier, Husband, Father

"I'm sorry, Bucky," I whispered as I knelt down at my friend's graveside. "I should have been there."

"Excuse me, Mister Rogers," a voice said behind me as he handed me a file. "You're being activated."

"My time has come and gone, son," I replied. "I'm just going to go find a nice comfortable bed and go to sleep."

"Your country needs you sir," the agent said. "And no offense, I think you've been asleep long enough."

Not the kind of sleep I was thinking of.

"You watch your godd@*n mouth, solider. If not for this man, you wouldn't have the honor of wearing that uniform on your back."

Fury's glare let the young man know, in no uncertain terms, that he was dismissed.

"I know what your feeling, Steve. I know what t liketo be a man out of his own time. Only thing is, I lived through it. I can't imagine waking up, after so much time, to all this. But, I think you're here now for a reason, Steve. Things are worse than they have been in a while, and it only seems to be downhill from here. The country needs a symbol, a hero, now more than ever."

"I want to make you an offer, Steve. I want Captain America to be a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. It can be like to good ol' days. Fighting that good fight side by side again, and showin' them how it's really done."

 

[Kaboom]

"You watch your godd@*n mouth, solider. If not for this man, you wouldn't have the honor of wearing that uniform on your back."

Fury's glare let the young man know, in no uncertain terms, that he was dismissed.

"I know what your feeling, Steve. I know what t liketo be a man out of his own time. Only thing is, I lived through it. I can't imagine waking up, after so much time, to all this. But, I think you're here now for a reason, Steve. Things are worse than they have been in a while, and it only seems to be downhill from here. The country needs a symbol, a hero, now more than ever."

"I want to make you an offer, Steve. I want Captain America to be a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. It can be like to good ol' days. Fighting that good fight side by side again, and showin' them how it's really done."

"How is the good fight Nick? World War II that was the good fight. It ended. Yet we're still fighting. At what point do we finally get peace."
I gesture to Bucky's grave. "Then? I know, yadda yadda, my country needs me. Innocents need to be protected. Other than that propaganda I helped churn out, give me a reason, a good one, why I should pick up that shield and join your SHIELD."