The "Rise Of Marvels" RPG, Year One


Dark Lord of the RPG's
Aug 4, 2005
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Subsection 3, Page 6

Tired Of Your Everyday Routine?
Want Something New, Something Fresh, Something Exciting?
Then Head On Down To A Career At The Silver Spoon!
Details on pg. 2B

Experimental, one seat, mint condition craft for sale on the pulitzer market.
Minor damage to the coating. Traces of radioactivity possible. Used once, for orbital travel.
For details, contact Doctor Reed Richards, at the following number:


Hello, and welcome to the new and improved "Rise Of Marvels": Year One RPG! This game is similar to The "Heroes Vs. Villains" Marvel RPG. However, this one follows a different, non-established continuity, similar (but not in unison) to Marvel's Ultimate line, where the players can re-invent and re-establish each character at his/her career peak, with most characters beginning their careers right after their origins.

- - -

  • Players can choose any Marvel Comic character they wish. Since there is no established continuity for this universe, some liberties can be taken. However, We ask that you at least try and stay true to the character's basics. (IE: Captain America's a patriot, Daredevil is blind, The X-Men are mutants, ect.) Don't make him or her completely 100% different from his/her's 616 Marvel counterpart.
  • This is in a new continuity. Meaning, this does not tie into the continuity of Ultimate, 2099, or 616 Marvel Comics. (IE: Galactus hasn't invaded, The Avengers aren't formed yet, ect.) So don't play as if any of that has already happen. This is a NEW universe.
  • The Gamemasters reserve the right to deny any application for a character who is unnessecary, at this point in continuity. (IE: Venom, Galactus, Silver Surfer, ect.) If you're denied for this reason, please do not hesitate to try for another character. There's literally thousands of opprotunities just waiting to be met!
  • No Killing. Unnamed faceless NPC's (*Non Player Characters) are okay, but not comic characters. Someone else may want to take up the character, or they may be imporant to another story.
  • You can go anywhere on earth, or travel off planet, but do so within your character's means.
  • Only one character will be given per person, for this season. First come, first serve.
  • You are your character, so act like it. Talk like them, use their dialogue. Do not exaggerate their powers or abilities, or pop-up here and there without explaination.
  • Several stories can be going at once, and you have the freedom to interact with other characters.
  • Borrowing elements from other mediums aside from the comic books is to be kept to a minimum. But a direct adaptation is prohibited. This RPG is about creativity... Try to your own ideas above all else. (If you're stuck creatively, ask the gamemasters for advice)
  • If your character is closely related to another player's character (Example: Doctor Octopus and Spider-Man, Kingpin and Daredevil, Doctor Doom and Reed Richards), it is strongly suggested that you PM the other player about your plans, so they can plan accordingly.
  • No Time Travel. (Unless someone is playing a character who needs that.)
  • You must post every two weeks, though it is preferred that you post more. If you go two weeks without a post without prior notice, your character is be up for grabs.
  • Violation of any of these rules will result in strict warning, or removal, by Master Bruce.
  • All regular Hype rules also apply.
  • Most importantly, have fun.
- - -

Character You Would Like To Play:
Basic History Of The Character (Up until this point):
Pre-Mutant, Post-Mutant, Or Other? (Beings unpowered or of cosmic origin):
Three Reasons Why You Have Chosen That Character:
What Do You Plan On Doing With This Character As A Person (IE: How are you changing him or her?):
Two Complete Sentences In Proper English Explaining What You Can Bring To This RPG (As A Player):
What Fonts Do You Plan To Use For Your Character’s Speech? (Makes the roster look better):
Please Provide A Small Sample Post In The Format You Wish To Portray Your Character In:
Do You Know How To Post Pictures On The Hype?:


For those unaware of the stipulations of this particular universe, here are some quick facts for you to know:
  • Decades ago, President Richard Nixon passed a bill in the United States that required all mutant citizens to be registered with the goverment. Those who opposed the bill would be arrested and put into captivity until a cure for mutation could be found.
  • A result of this was the popular coining of the terms "Pre-Mutant" and "Post-Mutant". Pre-Mutants, described by Charles Xavier, one of the bill's strongest opposers turned allies, are mutants of which were born with the X-Factor gene, thus destined to manifest abilities and mutations at some point in life. While Post-Mutants, such as the widely known Vietnam solider Steven Rogers, are mutants who recieved their powers through artificial means, such as radiation or scientific experimentation.
  • Due to this classification, many Post-Mutants have gone to congress to try and fight the bill's continued use. Those unregistered with the goverment, particularly vigilantes, are often publically opposed. But those who register and work for them, even going as far to live public lives, seem to become instant celebrities with humanity.
  • In the 1980's, Charles Xavier's Academy For Gifted Youngsters was founded in Whestchester, New York. This safehouse for mutants was designed to give a home to those unregistered with the goverment. Though many politicians have criticized this, Xavier has fought back, seeing that mutants have recieved unnatural hatred over the years. As of yet, the academy remains untouched by goverment officials.

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The Daily Bugle Classifieds are organized by the staff of
M. Bruce - Senior Editing
E. B. Junior - Assistant Editor
B. Man - Registered Soup Nazi

Call this number for questions, or to place an ad here!
The sound of the respirator silently breathing for the man, and the monotone beeping of the hospital machines broke the silence that deafened the room.

The nurse calming walked into the hospital room, her rythmic footfalls adding to the cold symphony. She gently pulled open the window curtains letting in the warm rays of the morning sun.
But the man lying in the bed didn't seem to notice. His eyes remained closed as the machines went about their work keeping him alive.

The nurse sighed and shook her head as she fluffed his pillow and began her routine of taking his vitals.

All the while Maxwell Dillon remained in his own little world. The nurse was too wrapped up in her work to notice the small flitter of the man's eyes moving rapidly under his closed lids...


"I'm proud of you, boy", smiled Jonathan Dillon as he looked at his son. Both he and his son, Max, were standing in the cold morning air in front of a small building.
It was dark inside the building and it was difficult to see inside, but a large sign hung in front of it visible from the entire street.
The sign read, "Dillon Electrical."

"Thanks, pops", replied Max with chuckle.
It had taken him eight years, but Max had finally started his own business.
After dropping out of high school, Max was growing frustrated, moving from job to job, searching to find his calling.
It was then that his father, Jon, had offered him a chance to come and work with him as an electrician.

And so Max, still desperate to find his way, took his father up on the offer. It didn't take Max long to make an impression.
He was a natural, learning everything his father had to teach him at an amazing pace. He was a natural, his father had told him. It was as though Max had an affinity for all things electrical.

And after working his tail off for eight years, learning everything he could abou the business, Max had become one of the most respected electrical engineers in the city of New York.
And his new business, Dillon Electrical, promised to be something special, as already Max had dozens of accounts lined up.

Jonathan sighed, "If only your mother was alive to see this."

"She would've been proud of you, son", he said as he looked Max in his eyes.

"I know", replied a somber Max as he held back the lump in his throat.
His mother, who had done nothing but support him, had passed five years earlier. For most of Max's life, she was in a constant battle with cancer, though she never showed it.
Every time Max was down, she'd always be there with a kind word and a smile to cheer him up. She was forever stoic...even to the very end.

"She always used to tell me that I would do great things with my life. She'd tell me never to give up my dreams", Max said, as much to himself as to his father.

"I know boy", replied his father as he looked up at the sign and reached over to give his son's shoulder a squeeze, "and you never did."

"You finally did it Max", he smiled as he gave Max a loving smack on the back.

"Yeah, Pops", smiled Max, "I did."


As the nurse exited the room, her rythmic footfalls grew softer and softer. And soon Max was once again alone with the monotone cadence of the beeping machines...

Tony Stark / Iron Man

"Well, look. The idea is very simple. We sell guns over there, they get the guns, they shoot each other, people get angry and what do the people left over need to buy?"

At six feet tall, Tony Stark was a formidable man. He was the sole owner of Stark Industries, the company he had single handedly created and built from scratch. Blessed with an incredible gift in the fields of science, he was able to put his ideas to work, earning countless governmental and industrial contracts. Almost every car in the nation was outfitted with a Stark Industries Navigation System, supplied to the dealers at incredibly low prices. When someone turned on a light, the bulb housed in the mechanism was made from Stark's energy-saving technology, sold to the electrical companies at reduced rates. Ninety-five percent of all cell phones relied on Stark nanoprocessors to make their calls. The beauty of Stark's business plan was that his various companies would buy basic materials in bulk for rediculously cheap prices, use his designs to create devices necessary to improve human living, and then sell them to the captains of industry for a reasonable, though slightly high, price. It didn't matter what price he sold anything for, really. Everything was profit.

Stark quietly walked through the corridors of the top floor of his office building. He reached his office, passing his numerous secretaries, and slammed the door shut behind him, in a young intern's face.

Heavily involved in a conversation on his cell phone, Stark hadn't even seen the young woman, and, if he had, he probably would've only slammed the door a little less vigorously.

"That's exactly right, more guns. More guns over there equals more money in my pocket."
Stark said, smirking as he tossed his briefcase onto his desk.

He took his overcoat off and hung it on a mechanical coat rack that stored itself in the closet in the corner of Stark's office.

Stark nodded as he took off his blazer and draped it over the back of his desk chair. He made a swirling motion with his hands in front of his chest, indicating that he was silently longing for the person on the other end of his phone line to stop their blathering.

"Yeah, you know, I couldn't agree with you more on that."
Stark said as he poured himself a cup of coffee, ready to start a day of work.

"Well, take care, then."

With a click Stark hung up his phone and sipped his coffee quietly.

He sat down at his desk and chuckled to himself.

"Stupid bastard."

A knock came from the door.

"Come on in." Stark said, as he flipped through the paperwork and forms he had to fill out for the day.

The intern quietly made her way into the room, her pink sweater a sharp contrast to her black, knee-high dress.

"What can I do for you, miss?" He asked, as he carelessly threw business cards and phone numbers away.

"Mr. Stark, here is your schedule for today." She said, giving him a file, and turning to leave.

"Thank you." He said. Before she was out of earshot, Stark called to her. "I'd give it an eight by the way."

The intern stopped in her tracks and reemerged in his office.

"Give what an 8 sir?"

"Your sweater. It, um..." Stark fumbled with a pair of invisible breasts on his chest. "Shows off your goods well. An eight out of ten."

"Mr. Stark, I don't think that's really appropriate."

Stark nodded understandingly.

"Sit down." He said. He tapped a button on his glass desk and a chair raised up through the floor of his office.

As the woman sat down, Stark pushed the paperwork to the edge of his desk.

"What's your name?"


"Virginia." Stark said, folding his hands on his desk. "That's a nice name."

"Thank you."

"Virginia, how many other interns are there?"

"Twelve, sir."

"Now, if I were to tell you that I was considering of elevating you to a more important position in my company, do you think that one of the other interns could do the tedious work you do now?"

A surprised grin came onto her face.

"Absolutely, Mr. Stark. The other interns are more than capable of doing this." The malice with which she labeled her current work made Stark snicker. "I just think it's improper to grade my attire... It's degrading."

"Mmhm. I see. And there's no way you can live with me rating your outfits?"

Stark put on a pair of reading glasses and slid a screen up from his desk. It illuminated, with a series of buttons, which he tapped for about ten seconds.

"I'm afraid not. I hate to spoil your fun."

A folder popped up from the middle of Anthony Edward Stark's desk, like toast from a toaster, and he opened it, carefully reading over Virginia's personnel file. After finishing the file, he removed his glasses and stared at Virginia for a moment.

"Pack your things. You're fired."

"But you sa--"

"I know what I said, but I couldn't tell if your former colleagues could do your job if I told you you were losing it, could I?"

She stared at him, slack jawed.

He held the folder up in front of her face and tore it in half.

"You're no longer employed here." He said with a note of finality.

The woman burst from Stark's office in tears, as he rose to his feet and stared out the window at New York.

Looming on the horizon was the construction site that would soon be christened as Stark Tower. Tony Stark placed his hands on his hips and smiled to himself.

It was good to be him.

Norrin Radd never wanted this life, but he didn't have a choice. His home planet of Zenn-La had been ruled by a vicious dictator for as long as anyone could remember. His name was Galactus, but by most he was known as the Devourer of Worlds. He drained planets of their life and energy, consuming them entirely. He spared the people of Zenn-La because they would give him the one thing he always needs.

A herald, a fancy name for a scout. This herald would go from planet to planet, preparing them for their ultimate destruction. Zenn-La promised to give a newborn to Galactus as a herald whenever he needed one. In return, he spared the planet, but ruled over it with an iron fist.

Norrin was chosen at birth to be the new Herald of Galactus. He was placed in the custody of the ruler, and was a servant until he reached manhood. Then, Galactus endowed him with the gifts he needed to do his duty. Every part of Norrin's body was coated with a silver alloy that was near indestructable, and was given a long board made of the same material that he was to ride on through space.

Norrin was also given some of the energy that Galactus was fueled by-the Power Cosmic. This power let Norrin break just about any law of physics that existed. He could walk through walls, breathe in space, and shoot blasts of energy. Norrin became the Silver Surfer, and he did his job well.

"You have proven yourself to be a great Herald, Norrin" Galactus bellowed. He was taller than any other being in the universe. "Now I will send you to a planet that might be a challenge to overtake. A planet called Earth."

"What makes this planet different than the others, my liege?" Norrin asked. His curious and loyal words were utter lies, and he despised how he must speak them.

"Earth is inhabited by primitive, but independent beings. They are known as Humans. You must outsmart them before you can prepare them for destruction. Become loyal to them. Be a hero that they will worship. Then, get the planet ready for my arrival. Signal me when it is time."

"Yes, master. They will have no clue." Norrin responded. He was disgusted at the thought of betraying those who will come to love him. But Galactus spoke of them as, dare he think it, a threat to his devouring. If the great "Leader" of Zenn-La was fearful of them, maybe they could help Norrin destroy him once and for all? Either way, he wouldn't know until he arrived at Earth.

Norrin Radd never wanted this life, but he didn't have a choice.
My finger twitches on the trigger of the Savage Model 110 hunting rifle. I ignore the sweat that's beginning to bead on my forehead, as I keep my eyes open. I know for a fact that I saw a doe prancing somewhere in this area. Now, it's only a matter of patience and accuracy.

Rustling underbrush draws my attention. Without moving my head, my eyes dart in the direction of the noise. For a fleeting moment, everything appears still and calm. I hold my breath in anticipation.

Then, I watch as the doe's head appears from behind a bush. I turn my rifle slowly to take aim. The barrel of the gun is pointed directly at the deer's heart. All it would take is one flexing of the finger, and she would be down. I hesitate - as usual - as I contemplate the shot. Whenever I go hunting, I always consider the ethics before I shoot an animal. After all, is it really my decision to make whether this deer lives or dies? I never enjoyed killing, not even in the War...

Before I make my decision, a fawn appears beside the doe. So help me, she's a mother. I point my gun away from the two deer. This time, the decision was made for me. I can't, in my right mind, take a child away from its mother - not intentionally, anyway. As I stand, the deer hear me moving. They instantly become alert and look in my direction.

"Carry on," I state softly. The doe and her fawn prance away, grateful for their lives. On some level, I am, too.


When I arrive back at my cabin, I see something unexpected. There is a black sedan parked on the gravel of my driveway. I scan the vehicle up and down. It has government tags, but I don't recognize the license number. As I consider what to do about this intruder, I see that he is leaning against the hood of the car. His back is turned to me.

"Can I help you?" I ask abruptly - taking absolute care not to allow sincerity to seep into my voice. I don't want this guy getting comfortable.

He laughs. "I don't know, Steve," a familiar voice responds. The man turns, and I see the tell-tale eye patch. Nick Fury smiles. "Can you?"

I grimace with a sudden realization. "I don't take kindly to trespassing, Nick, so make your point quickly or leave," I reply dryly. I make sure that he can see the rifle I'm holding in my hands.

"You going to shoot me, Steve?"

I shake my head. "You and I both know that I don't need a gun," I state.

"Come on, I want to talk over drinks. I'll drive," Fury suggests. I don't budge. He opens the car door and hesitates. He then looks at my beat-up truck. Man, I really love that thing. "Unless you want to?" Fury replies insincerely. I can see that he doesn't approve of my new way of life.


We head down to Ted's Rest Stop and Bar for some drinks. Frankly, I don't want to be there - I'm only putting up with it for old times' sake. I left Fury and his world behind a long time ago, and I have made no effort to come back since.

"This isn't about seeing an old friend, Nick," I announce suddenly. "If you're here, it means that the government wants something."

Nick finishes his lager and stares me in the eyes. "We're not even going to bother with the small talk?"

I shrug. "Why waste both our times?" I ask rhetorically.

Fury nods with a smirk.

"It's a sad world that we live in, Steve. It's a world that needs Captain America again."

I put down my drink and remain silent. After a few moments, I warn, "Don't speak of that again in my presence, Fury. I may not need the gun, but I might feel compelled to use it."

"You really feel that way about it?"

"Captain America was a symbol of American ideals. When you people put Bush into office thirteen years ago, those ideals were lost. We've been struggling to find them ever since."

"Isn't that all the more reason to hear me out?"


Tony Stark / Iron Man

"Go ahead, go work with those pricks over at OsCorp."
Tony Stark growled, in a meeting with a group of Army representatives. He pushed back from the table, his chair hovering in place as he rose to his feet.

"You and I both know what they're going to do. You're going to approach them looking for the technology we're offering you right now. You're going to haggle with them, and you're going to end up getting technology at least ten years behind mine for twice the cost. You know why, General Ross? The folks over at OsCorp aren't inventors. They're scientists. They know how the world works."

Stark snatched at invisible ideas floating in the air.

"They don't know how to take what they know and implement it. They don't know how to put it to work."

General Ross nodded quietly from across the table.

"So, you'll get a piece of hardware that's about three years behind mine. You'll be meagerly satisfied with you goods, and you'll adore the contract you have because it saves you some green, but then, six months from now, OsCorp'll give you the technology I'm offering you now, which they'll have had all along, by the way, and then they'll jack up the price."

Stark pulled the back of his suit jacket away from his neck, revealing a small patch of discolored skin.

"For the tech, hardware, and programming you're looking for, I'm giving you a gift. Fifty million? Fifty million to outfit the entire army with one of these neural uplinks. Do you know what that means, General?"

Stark glared at the general from across the table.

"That means that every defense turret you have with a man mounted on it could be operated half the world away from a chair with a videofeed. I'm not talking about making reloading faster, or humvees faster."

Stark was visibly annoyed.

"F**k that."
He growled. "I'm talking about saving American lives. That should be the bottom line, not how much cash you have to shell out."

The general shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as if he was ashamed.

A low humming noise started to come from the bottom of the office building the men were meeting in.

"You have guided missiles right now, correct?"

The general nodded.

"When you've got a missile headed for a target, and the enemy launches a missile to intercept, you've really only got one chance to avoid it, and that's with the flick of a thumb on a switch that's attached to an RC transmitter. Then, a signal has to go through a series of routers to the missile, hopefully just before the two collide in midair."

The water in everyone's glasses began to quake as the humming noise grew louder and louder.
"A thumb can only move so fast, general. With my technology there won't be any middle man. Through a neural link between the tool and the operator, you cut the response time in half. You could divert a missile's course twice in the time it'd take you to move it once now."

The humming was overpowering now, as the building was shaking and groaning.

"What is that?" Thunderbolt Ross asked.

"This." Stark said, tapping the back of his neck.

From behind the glass window, a helicopter rose into view, only inches from the glass.

"You know who you want to buy from, General."

Stark quietly tilted his head to the side, and the helicopter moved as well, twisting in the air to a profile view, showcasing the entire chopper.

Stark tapped the glass, pointing at a decal on the side of the chopper.


General Ross nodded silently as he took the paperwork and scrawled his name on it.

Stark shook his hand as he exited the room, a pair of scientists on his heels.

"A pleasure as always, General."

The door slammed behind the billionaire and he pulled the two scientists into a nearby, empty laboratory.

"Find out what frequency the army uses for their communications. I want the first batch of chips to short circuit as a result of the military's use of a specific channel."

One scientist glared at him.

"Isn't that a bit... risky, Sir?" He asked.

"Hell no. We're working to get folks, off of the battlefield, remember?"

"So how does this help Stark Industries?" The scientist asked.

"It's an inherent part of the agreement the good General just signed. If our technology fails because of the government, they have to pay us for a second batch, with a 50% fee."

"That equals..."

"125 Million."

The man's jaw hung open.

"Get it done."
Stark said, as he left the lab.
Mississippi River - 2010

The body floated upstream, leaving a trail of blood behind it, a red dye in the water. Long, jet black hair fanned out around his head, giving him a bloody red halo. It head a leather jacket over its body, and camoflauged trousers on his legs. The face of the body was face down in the water and there was silence, except for the buzzing of insects and the flowing of water. The body was pulled closer to the bank by the current, and the left arm got caught in the roots of a tree. The current pushed the body out of the water and the face was pushed down into the mud.

The body twitched and then there was a shuddering gasp. The head moved a little, and blood stopped flowing from the bullet holes that lined his back. The holes started closing up and the body gave a final jerk, then rolled over. Dark blue eyes flickered open and dirty water spewed from the mouth. He lay there for a few minutes, coughing up water speckled with blood, then he decided to try and stand. He pulled himself up, grabbing hold of a tree branch and pulling himself to his feet. He stayed up for a few seconds, then his knees buckled and he fell back to the ground.

He lay there, quite still and something occured to him. He had no idea who he was. He could name every plant, tree and insect he saw before him, but he couldn't say how old he was. He felt around in the soaking jacket for some clue to where he was, and what he was doing here. His hand wrapped around a small slip of paper and pulled it out. A passport. He opened it, and flicked to the last few pages. It was in the name of Logan Howlett and the face was of a man in his late twenties, or early thirties. The name and photograph were the only things that hadn't been smudged by the water.

The name...Logan Howlett. It felt familiar to him, yet at the same time...uncomfortable, like a pair of old trousers that were a size too small. That was when he felt something around his neck. His hand clasped on a metal necklace. He pulled it off of his neck and looked at it. On closer inspection, he found it to be a dog-tag with the name "Wolverine" crudely scratched onto it. This felt more comfortable to him than Logan...and yet Wolverine wasn't a name. Was it?
Most people call TV a waste of time, not me. I stand there, looking through the shop window, in a trance for hours. Every moment of it, I'm growing stronger, faster, better. I study every little thing, day and night, then I go to work.

My name is Taskmaster, its kinda cheesy I know, but it gets a message across. The task right now? Get some sleep. Harder than it sounds when my eyes are glued to a TV set all day long. I won't be doing this much longer though, sleeping on the street, nothing more than a petty little crook, soon I'll be something, I swear.

Curled up, I place my head on a wall and close my eyes. Mere seconds later, the cold butt of a gun connects with the back of my head. I fall on my face in shock, the sound of others rushing round me. "We have you surrounded, don't move!"

"Is this a mugging? Surely this isn't a mugging."

"Our boss wants to see you."

"I was trying to sleep."

"Get up."

"You hit me over the head! Why did you do that? I've already been hit over the head today. I just want to sleep."

"The Kingpin's a busy man, he doesn't care what time you need to snooze."

"The Kingpin? Why didn't you just ask?"

Sabretooth - The Beast Within: Part One

~{Wolf-Pack, this is Raven Two. Status Update?}~

Creed placed a finger on his earpiece, bowing his head slightly so that the mic would capture his hushed voice. “Raven Two, this is Wolf-Pack leader. Target is a click to the north. Target is holed up in civilian village. Orders to proceed?”

He hunched down and scanned the grim expressions of his team. These men were the best of the best. Super Soldiers in a very literal sense. Their black painted faces were set, but Creed could see in each soldiers eyes that they were ready for combat. After a brief pause, the tinny voice in his ear piece returned.

~{Wolf-Pack. Weapons are loose. Target to be apprehended by any means necessary. Raven Two out}~​

Creeds jaw tightened and his hand shifted on the automatic rifle resting on his knees. The heat of thick jungle they were crouched in caused a steam stream of sweat down his back and he shifted uncomfortably. “Alright we’re going in and extracting target. Weapons are loose but I don’t want any… GAAAH” Flashing pain in his head seared his thoughts. Creed screwed his eyes tight shut against it but still it came. He realised that amidst the pain he could smell the taste of each mans emotions, here the rustling of a nesting bird 50 meters of to the left and taste the scent of alarm and uncertainty in the air. His blood ran heavy with the urge to hunt…. To kill….

Yes…. Kill a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

“You alright Vic?”

The pain died down and he opened his eyes and blinked. His team-mates were gathered around him, concern on their faces. “Huh?” he muttered, still groggy.

“You alright? What the hell happened?”
Asked Alec McArthur, the man to his left.

“Ugh. Nothing. This damn jungle heat, it’s gettin’ to me. Anyway, where was I?”

“Weapons loose. A.M.N”.

“Right. I want this one to be clean and easy. We go in quick, hit ‘em silent and get him out. If you can avoid fire then do so. Weapons are loose but there are innocent civs in there an’ I don’t want their blood on our hands”. He glanced at each of the three faces surrounding him. “McArthur”, he said, looking at the slender Scots-man. “You’re on point. Check the perimeter and put down any sentries”. He turned his attention to the burly African directly opposite. “Daniels, you’re in there with me. We’ll need those Sledgehammers of yours if we get stuck”. Daniels grinned and clenched his fists, watching as they turned to solid stone, before turning back to normal. “Cortez, you’re our rear guard. Cover our asses and keep the back door open”. The Spaniard hawked and spat, his face grim but his green eyes smiling. “When we get there I’ll call in Raven Two and we’ll have twenty minutes to get in, get out and get to the LZ. Any questions?”

Each man shook their head in silent reply. “Okay, safety’s off. Let’s move out Elites”.


Less than 20 minutes later, the team were down to three men as McArthur had loped off to scan the perimeter. As Creed crouched low in a section of thick growth, Cortez to his left, Daniels to his right, he considered the flashing pains and flares in his mutant ability. The Elite Super Soldier program had provided him with more speed, strength and durability than he ever thought possible. He was strong as a lion, as fast as a cheetah and as aggressive as a tiger. In combat, he was unmatched and unbeaten. But something was happening to him. Initially he put it down to unforeseen side effects of the experimentation. It hadn’t bothered him until recently, but Creed had found himself increasingly hungry for violence and aggression; a sensation that was becoming harder and harder to suppress. He sniffed the air and could smell the villagers just ahead. The man they were hunting was a well known drug smuggler who had both ties and vital information for cracking the recent surge in Class A drug exportation from Venezuela. If they were to take down the ring, then they had to take the mark alive.

~{All clear. Area is open to proceed}~​

Creed grunted an acknowledgment to himself. “McArthur. Stay to the north and keep it clear. Stay alert and don’t let anyone through”.

~{Aye. Yer can count on me}~​

“Alright guys, this is it. The target is in a hut to the west, I can smell his scent from here. Keep your eyes on the prize and we’ll be home for dinner. Let’s do this”.

Creed and Daniels moved forward and into the edge of the village, skirting around behind shacks and staying out of sight. Behind a small hut they came across a man with his back to them, taking a whiz. Noting the AK47 slung over his shoulder, Creed crept up behind him and quietly snapped his neck. The man died without a sound. Silently, the two Elites moved on and came to their target hut. With weapons cocked and breathing slowed, they pushed open the door of the hut and forced their way inside. The man was there in a rickety wooden chair, a dead expression across his features and a chest taped full of C4. Creeds eyes widened and he leapt back “TAKE COVER!”

He smashed his way out of the thin tin wall and dived to the ground. Behind him the explosives detonated and he was sprayed with debris. His mutant healing abilities kicked in as sharp debris slashed across his back and flames licked at him. All around him gunfire exploded and he found himself in the middle of a vicious fire-fight. He grabbed for his rifle but a boot appeared at his temple and stunned him. The rifle disappeared into the undergrowth as his attacker levelled a weapon with his head. Creed snarled and surged upwards, a bullet slashing through his shoulder as his fist shattered the skull of his opponent. He ignored the flash of pain as anger took him then. His instincts rose and battle-fury overcame him. He leapt high in the air and landed in the midst of a group of men, slashing and tearing and rending. Glancing to his left he saw Daniels, his body mutated into solid rock defending himself from a hail of bullets. From the north he saw McArthur run into the fray, shooting and killing and moving on. Creed lashed out at another oncoming soldier, taking him clean off his feet and slamming him down in one flowing motion.


Creed felt the surge overtaking him. It felt as though he was floating on a sea of blood, watching himself taking apart an army of foot soldiers. McArthur went down in a hail of fire and dirt as a grenade ripped him to pieces. He moved instinctively to the right and slashed at the face of another attacker. Creed saw his fingers had changed; the fingernails becoming hard talons. But as he tried to understand, his body was moving again…


Three more soldiers died at his hands, as bullets continued to fly all around him. He was mildly aware of being struck a few times, but the pain seemed distant and insignificant. He felt strong, he felt powerful…

He felt unstoppable!


Creed felt the euphoric surge of bloodlust and revelled in it. His hands were soaked with crimson and he could feel it dripping from his face and arms, a mixture of his own and his victims congealing in the dirt and grime on his skin. The last few soldiers dropped their weapons and turned to run but he leapt at them and killed the defenceless men in seconds. Cortez appeared from the brush in-front of him and Creed had enough time to register the horror in his eyes as he felt himself pouncing and rending the jugular from his team mate.

He spun on his heel and looked around. Everywhere was burning and corpses littered the blood soaked earth. Not a thing remained alive… even Daniels lay in the mud, a huge hole in his now-human chest. Creed felt the beast inside him roar in ecstacy and frustration as Creed felt himself regaining control. The beast subsided and he suddenly felt weary. A score of injuries to his chest and stomach bled down his legs in a steady flow.

Creed felt everything grow black as his body collapsed and fell to the ground.


He awoke by a river. His shirt and equipment was gone and he could feel that nearly all of his wounds had healed. Creed didn’t know how he got here or what had happened since the battle. On hands and knees he crawled to the waters edge and stared down at his reflection. His hair was longer than it had been and his canines were now longer and sharp to a point. His hands were as much claws as fingers and he felt the surge of animalistic desire like an undercurrent flowing through his veins.

He glared into the yellowed cat-like eyes of his reflection. “What have I done?”

Lost and confused he fell back on his haunches and roared his agony to the silence of the jungle.

"The Dickinson Phillips Institution for the Mentally Unwell is the perfect summer retreat, a pool, a golf course, acres upon acres of green woods surrounding the main complex. The interior looks like what it is, a hospital, white wash walls, white floors, white overalls, the whole shebang. The food is good, the staff are sweet and the tenants are just delightful.”

"You’re being sarcastic?" Asked a young woman, wearing a lab coat and her hair in a bun, her glassed low on her nose. Wade Wilson’s eyes narrowed, his body wrapped in a straight jacket. The room around him suffocatingly small.

"How’d you guess?" He growled menacingly.

The young mutant sat cross legged in the middle of the tiny cell, his eyes, unblinking, fixated on his visitor.

"Do you know who I am Wade?" She asked a big fake grin on her face.

"Don't patronize me *****, I'm psycotic not ******ed." Her smile soon faded. She had no trouble returning his gaze. "You're the new Doc. Same as the old Doc."

The doctor smirked. "I work for a man called Doctor Cornelius."

Wilson's gaze never faultered. "What's the heirarchy with you Doctor types? Medical trumps physhological? Number of letters after the name? I was always curious." There was nothing light hearted about his tone of voice. Anyone who didn't know better would have thought him serious. The doctor, choosing to ignore the mental patient's remark, continued.

"He has a very lucrative offer for you Mr. Wilson."

"Not interested." Wade was yet to take his eyes off the woman, barely moving his mouth when he talked, barely moving at all.

"You haven't heard it yet."

"You wanna poke n prod me and see how my mutation works. I know your type. They have me sedated so I don't port myself the hell outta here. Truth is, I wouldn't want to be outside when they're people like you n this, 'Corneilious' guy. You sicken me. We're through."

"Very well, I'll see you when your in a more... charitable... mood." Smiled the doctor, turning and signalling to the guard that she wishes to leave.

"Look forward to it."
Iron Fist

I awoke to the blazing embers ementating from my village. Sweat dripping from my brow, I leaped up and rushed to the door and was horrified at what I saw.
The many houses and buildings K'un L'un were set ablaze and many of its residents lay in a bloody mess on the streets. The ones who were being assualted by men in black garb (ninjas, from the look of it). My fists clenching in rage, I dashed toward the first intruder I saw and sent him flying into a cart with a round-house kick to the solar-plexis. I took grim satisfaction in the crunching sound I heard after landing my kick.
The bastard wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

Two more ninjas leapt in front of me. I easily dodged a flying sweep-kick and a shuriken. I countered with a swift blow to the jaw with my elbow and a back-wards kick to the lower abdomen directed at the ninja behind me.

I entered the main plaza of K'un L'un and saw a dark, ominous figure standing in the center of the plaza, his back to me.

"Turn and face me, monster!" I shouted through the roar of the flames around me.

The figure turned slowly and my jaw dropped as I glimpsed the grinning visage of my own father.
IC: Spider-Man!

"Sooo.... What is this place, again?" Harry Osborn asked his buddy, Peter Parker, as the two walked through the large, expensive building with the rest of the tour.

"It's sort of a big testing facility for some of the world's most important companies, Har. You really should pay more attention, instead of oogling girls and complaining about you dad all day long."

Harry just nodded, not really paying attention. His eye caught the gorgeous tour guide who had just walked through a pair of glass double-doors. She had short, black hair, a white blouse, and a dark-green skirt. She gave a dazzling smile at the students.

"Hello, everyone, my name is Jessica. Today, I'll be your guide for the technology of the tomorrow. You're about to see, first hand, some of the thrilling new advances of the future. If you have any questions or comments, please don't hesitate to ask. This way."

The crowd followed the guide into a large room full of machines and scientists all working on various random projects. In the far, right corner, a large robotic arm dipped into an even larger tank carrying a mysterious subtance. To the left, various computers with all sorts of information were being operated by scientists in white lab coats, each emblazoned with a different company logo: Stark Industries, Oscorp, Trask Industries, etc.

Peter was awed by the sights and sounds of science swirling around him. Suddenly, something caught Peter's eye: A tall, grey haired man in a lab-coat standing on a catwalk and conversing with other scientists The man saw Peter, smiled, and waved at him. Peter waved back at his uncle, Ben Parker.

The tour stopped at a large computer screen with various tanks surrounding them.

"This," Jessica replied.

"Is one of our most interesting projects."

She gestured toward a small, clear cage where a white mouse was exposed to a mysterious gas.

"This chemical the mouse is being exposed to carries a composition that duplicates the genes. Essentially, we're copying it's genetic code."

A large, burly student spoke up.

"You mean, yer gonns CLONE it?"

Jessica chuckled.

"No, we don't have that kind of technology... yet. What we're going to do is study this mouse's genetic code. You see, the chemical copies the genetic code and we take the mouse's saliva and put it into this mechanism," she motioned to a small, grey machine.

"Then, we can see the mouse's entire genetic code on this computer screen."

Sure enough, a large display of the mouse's exact genetic code appeared on the large monitor. The students began talking amongst themselves and the guide had to raise her hands to silence them.

"With this, we can see everything that the mouse is, was, or ever will be."

Peter raised his hand.


"Um, if you can copy the mouse's genetic code, could you put that mouse's genes into another creature, thereby giving it certain characteristics of the mouse?"

"Nerd!" somebody called and the group giggled. Jessica, on the other hand, seemed impressed with Peter's statement.

"That WOULD be possible but, in order to do that, you would have to mutate the genetic copy into some kind of virus that would affect your entire body. As of yet, we have not been able to determine exactly how to do that."

Peter nodded, and the tour was directed to continue.

"Hey, Puny!" Flash Thompson called. Peter sighed at the sound of his unfortunate nick-name but didn't reply.

The spider, disturbed from its rest by the demonstration below, descended from its home via web-line. It landed atop one of the large containers and eyed the young man below.

Flash was slightly annoyed that his old buddy had refused to acknowledge him. Oh, well. Guess Puny Parker would have to be taught a lesson. Flash picked up a small, heavy object from one of the various desks in the room. He aimed it at Parker's back, and hummed it with all his strength.

Peter heard something whistling through the air and moved out of the way just in time to see a small, metal object hurtling towards him. Good thing Flash's aim was way off that day because the object hit the conainer above Peter and fell harmlessly to the floor. One of the scientists took notice of the commotion and headed towards the disturbance. Flash and his buddies booked it.
Peter sighed and leaned down to pick up the object.

The strange thing hit just above the spider and a strange gaseous substances sprayed the alarmed creature and it fell to the hand of the young man below. Still believing to be under attack, the spider bit the young man hard, sinking its fangs into the human's hand.

Peter yellped at the pain from the bite and swatted the spider to the floor. He looked down at the bite on his hand and grimaced.

Looks like this is gonna swell... Peter thought.


Peter sighed at his luck and headed towards the rest of the group.
"Hmm, this is interesting", stated the doctor as he checked the machine readout monitoring Max's brain activity.

"What is it", asked the nurse as she changed the IV drip.

"His brain activity seems to be jumping a bit", he replied as he tapped the screen.

OWWW! God dammit!"

"What happened, Will", said the nurse as she ran over to the doctor who was wincing in pain as he shook his hand.

"Freaking machine shocked me!"


"It shocked me!"

"Damn thing", he said as he shook off the surprising electrical outburst.

"Get somebody up here to look at this thing right away and see what the problem is", Will stated as he and the nurse walked out of the room, leaving Max once more alone with his thoughts...


"You're what", asked Max again, wide eyed and breathless.

"I'm pregnant", replied the beautiful woman with the short strawberry blonde hair.

"Pregnant", Max asked, still in a bit of shock.


A silence fell onto the pair as Max Dillon digested the news his fiance, Laura Ihle, had just dropped on him.

"Hahahaha", Max laughed in joy as he quickly wrapped Laura in a tight embrace.

Max stood up and picked up the petite Laura and kissed her.

"We're going to be parents", he exclaimed with a wide grin.

"We are", she replied with a smile.

"Wow", whispered Max as he fell back down to the couch, still caught up in the happiness of the moment.

"I'm going to be a father."


And as the machines beeped and whirred, if one looked close enough, they could see the slightest of smiles on Max's face as he lay still in his hospital bed...
On the car ride back to my cabin, Fury continues to test his boundaries with the Captain America issue.

"I don't get it, Steve. You loved the gig!" Nick remarks. "C'mon, you remember the good ol' times of us fighting by each other's side."

I actually smirk at this. Fury does have a point - I did have fun at times. "It was a different world back then, Nick," I explain absent-mindedly.

"Was it?" Fury asks. "It's not like you fought in WWII, Steve. 'Nam wasn't exactly the perfect conflict."

"Maybe not,"
I shrug. "But I believed in it a whole Hell of a lot more than I believed in the so-called 'War on Terror.'"

Fury frowns. "It sure sounds like you've become cynical in your old age."

"War will do that to you. Poor government will speed up the process."

Wade Wilson sat bolt upright in his pitch black padded cell. It was the early hours of the morning but Wade never slept. He barely ever blinked. He was sedated for sure, but no matter what they did they couldn't get him to sleep.

He merely sat, staring at the door. He knew that tonight they would come, it was written all over the 'doctor's' face. He almost smiled when he heard the muffled footsteps outside his door. 'A moth would make less noise.' He mused to himself. With a beep the cell door unlocked and light flooded the room, causing it's inhabitant to squint slightly.

"So... you're my prince charming?" He sneered at the masked man who stood in the doorway. Clearly surprised to see Wilson awake and waiting he reached for his gun. "Don't worry, I'm not going to cause a fuss. I could scream and yell and cry and nobody would come. You get used to it here, the screamers. Night terrors you see. I manage to avoid such things." The psychopath breathed, his gaze never faltering.

"You're comin with me freak. You got an appointment wit da Doc."

"Such high caliber social skills. I've met people confined in here that are better conversationalists than you. That's saying something." Wade smirked. "Your vocabulary will no doubt continue to astound me on our little journey to see Cornelius will it?"

The butt of the gun came crashing down across Wilson's face. He did nothing but smile. "Temper, temper." Another hard strike. "Ooof, that one almost hurt." Another. "Heh, you hit like a woman." Another, Wade merely let out a weak, short laugh. One final blow and the mental patient was finally subdued, his nose bloody, his face bruised.

"Jesus... I aint doin the asylum run ever again..."
"Another group of insurgents have been killed by the Latverian Armed Forces today..."

I sigh at the television. My people are not deserving of such injustices.

"...Latverian President Vladmir Fortunov has yet to comment on this incident, although he is expected to later this evening..."

That swine. Fortunov has been in power for years and the once proud nation of Latveria grows weaker with each passing day. The people lived in poverty, their basic needs ignored. But this was just fine to Fortunov’s regime as now "they were all equal." Over the decades there have been many rebel groups who have tried to overthrow the government. All have failed. Being a small nation with few resources, Latveria is oft ignored by the rest of the world, most of which seem unaware of its current state.

But this will all change. No longer will my people’s cries for help fall upon deaf ears. I shall answer their calls and I shall liberate the nation. Only I have the power and the intellect to accomplish such a feat.

I have been residing in Budapest for the last few months under the name Otto van Damme in a house once belonging to my grandfather. Most of it has been converted into a laboratory. Here, I have been finishing my greatest invention yet: a battle suit that will make me utterly unstoppable. And it is with this suit that I shall enter Latveria, like a knight in shining armor, and free my people from their oppression. I will be their savior.
Iron Fist

I stood there... stunned. How could my own father commit such atrocites against his own people?! This man - this MONSTER - he was NOT my father...

"Wh-WHY??!!" I cried in complete and other bewhilderement.

My father (or the thing that resembled him) sighed wearily.

"You still do not understand, do you? This entire ordeal: the adoption of YOU, your training, you being brought here. It's all connected."

I took an angry step forward, still in complete disbelief.

"What do you mean?! You're not making any sense!!"

My "father" merely chuckled at my agony.

"This was all a test. For you.... I needed you to gain the power.... In order to test MYSELF."

But I had had enough. There was nothing this monster could say or do that would POSSIBLY excuse him for what he had done. It was unforgivable. I ran towards him in a screaming rage and sank my fist into his nose.

Shooting through Zenn-La's atmosphere, Norrin began the journey to Earth. Although he hated his life long servitude, he always found the freedom of space soothing. The calm before the storm, he thought. The stars flew by, their beauty not examined by the young Herald. He had no time for such pleasantries. He had business to take care of, whether he wanted to or not.

But one sight was able to stop Norrin dead in his tracks. The Skrull, a war-torn race, were beginning an assault on a planet not even he knew about. The Skrull usually found their fights with the Kree, a hostile takeover of an innocent planet was not in their nature. Galactus would never know he interfered, nor would he care. Pivoting his board, he sped towards the starships.

Norrin maneuvered around them, finally getting in front of all the ships. "I, the Silver Surfer will not allowed innocent blood to be spilt. Take your ships back to the Skrull homeworld." The ships continued their forward movement. "FIne, then. You have sealed your fate." With blazing speed, he phased himself into the lead starship, ready to take down the fleet one by one.
IC: Spider-Man!

"Peter, is that you?" Aunt May called upon hearing the door open. She was just getting started on dinner when Peter stumbled into the kitchen. He didn't look too good.

May hurried towards her nephew and put her palm to his head.

"Are you alright, Peter? You don't look so well? Did that science trip unnerve you, dear?"

Peter sort of waved his Aunt back a little.

"No, no... I'm fine," he moaned unconvincingly.

May looked Peter up and down and sighed.

"Maybe you should go upstairs and get some rest, dear. I'll call you down when dinner's ready."

Peter nodded slowly and dragged himself upstairs, towards his room. He set his book-bag down, plopped down on his bed, and drifted off to sleep.

Ben Parker arrived home about an hour later.

"I'm home!" he called out and May immediately came to shush him.

"Shhh...! Peter's upstairs sleeping, so try to keep it down."

Ben seemed worried.

"Is he alright? Did you check his temperature?"

May nodded and threw up her hands to calm her husband down.

"He's fine, Ben. I think the science exhibit unnerved him a bit, that's all. Was he acting strangely when you saw him there?"

Ben was about to respond when, suddenly, his wife's question sank in completely.

"How did you know he'd see ME there?" he asked slyly.

May gave her husband a wink.

"Honestly, Ben, I'm not stupid. I know you spend quite a bit of time up there, supervising and giving tips to those scientists. Even though you're retired from Oscorp, you still can't seem to kick your old habits."

Ben fired his wife to the kitchen.

"You know I can't help it, May. I can't sit around on my ass all day while the most incredible scientific advances in the world are being made right under my nose. I HAVE to be a part of it, May. Remeber what I always say? 'With great power, comes-'"

"'Great responsibility'," May finished while chopping up carrots.

"I know, I know. An I'm proud of you for it. But you need to be careful, Ben. Working near all those strange machines and dohickies, and at YOUR age..."

Ben suddenly took his wife in his arms and kissed her.

"I'll be fine, May. After all... What's the worst that could happen to an old fart like me?"

May smiled and turned back to chopping her carrots. A feeling of dread crawled up her spine.
IC: Moon Knight

The city of Manhattan, a bustling island of trade, commerce, theatre, and promise. The residents go about their lives within the infastructure, going to work, earning their wages, going home to their families, and paying their bills. Life goes on as it should here, despite the ever growing crime rate. Day by day, more gangs are made, alliances forged in the blood of the citizens they terrorize. The alleys mask the horrid scenes of rape and murder, their walls acting as shields and their shadows as blindfolds.

As life moves forward on the island, the residents go on blindly, ignoring these crimes against humanity. Death has become the status quo, the perverted actions of the evil and insane a common occurance.

As the streets run red with the blood of the innocents, their souls cry out for vengeance. Before, ther cries fell on deaf ears, the people shunning their screams for aid. But now, things have changed. One man now stalks the cities like a panther in the jungle, vigilant, cautious, and fierce. This man hears the calls of the tortured even in the dead of night, his ears always listening. No darkness can escape him, for he uses the ally of light, the only illumination the sky holds in its darkest hours. This man is known to all who fear him as the Moon Knight.

As the moon rises higher in the midnight sky, it looks down on the busy city below. Even in the dead of night, Manhattan never sleeps. Moving silently and swifty on the rooftops, stories in the air, a man skulls the streets and alleys.

He leaps from the edge of a building, his cape flowing calmly in the air as he makes his decent. He lands like a tripod on the roof below, his feet holding his body as his arm braces the rest of his weight. Slowly, he rises to a stand, his eyes peering through his black mask covered by a cloak of snow white fabric.

He oves his head slowly, trying to take in everything around him. His vision looks out over the long stretch, central park in the close distance. As his eyes passover the garden amidst the metal buildings, his ears hear a soft and muffled scream.


His head suddenly stops, his mind claring as he focuses his hearing on the sounds. It takes him only seconds before he can pinpoint the cry for help. Grabbing the sides of his cape, he runs toward the edge of the building.

Taking a flying leap, he lunges into the air, his cape catching onto the rush of air as his body begins to descend to the grounds below. Landing on a fire escape, he latches onto the railing, and whips himself over, back down toward the ground. As he falls, he pushes against the building behind him, moving his body faster toward the streets.

Witha soft thump, his body hits the ground, his legs taking a heavy hit from the shockwave of his landing. Shaking off the pain, the white warrior listens for the cries. Suddenly, he hears the scream again, this time closer, but still quiet.


He turns to his right, an lowers his head, his eyes scopping out the pathway. With an abrupt turn, he begins to run down the alley, his eyes staying focused on what lies a head. As he runs, his ears hear the muffled voice growing louder and louder. After only a few seconds, he begins to pick up second voice, this one deeper, its tone violent and vile.

"Help! Please!" The voice cries.

"Shut up, *****! You ain't going to stop me!"


"No one can stop me! No one wants to stop me, so just shut up!"

Louder than ever before, the voices begin to echo. He is close. Focusing once more, the knight listens carefully. He hears the sound of a loud smack, bone against skin, and the lingering moan of pain. Beneath his mask, the man's eyes widen, his face contorting to an expression of rage.

He runs off down the next alley, moving to his right and following the echo. Soon, he can hear the voices as clear and loud as day. Turning the corner, he sees a large man dressed in a black leather jacket standing over a younger woman. She lies limp on the ground, blood running from her mouth. The large man above her laughs as he grabs her hair and pulls her body upward.

"I told you resistin' me was stupid, *****. I'm gettin' what I want." He raises his hand, clenching it into a fist. "And no one ain't going to keep me from what I want."

"I beg to differ." A voice cuts in, its tone dark and mysterious.

"What in the f-" The man turns, his grip on the woman's hair still tight. As he looks over his houlder, he is surprised to find a man in white garbs perched on the dumpster. The strangely clothed man rests on one knee, his hand holding the rest of his weight. "Who the **** are you?" The assailant asks.

"Someone who won't let you get what you want." He responds coldly.


The figure lunges toward te attacker, his cape making his appearance seem bigger. As the figure makes contact, he grabs the muggers throat, and pulls him to the ground. Crouched on top of him, the vigilante begins to punch the mugger, his fists striking the protruding bone of his cheeks. With each hit, a loud crack echoes, and the mugger yells out in pain.

"Oh God! S-Stop it! S-Stop it!"

"Why do you want mercy?" The figure asks in a booming voice. "Did you show your victims it?" He lands another powerful punch to the man's face, sending his skull back into the ground.

As the figure beats the mugger relentlessly, the injured woman begins to awaken. Her eyes grogily open to see the battle in front of her. She brushes her hair away from her face, and stares in shock at the fight.

"Please! P-Please! S-Stop!" The mugger cries, blood running from the open wounds on his face. The masked man gets to his feet, standing over the mugger. Bending down, he grabs him by his throat, and slowly lifts him into the air. As the mugger cringes and winces in pain, his blood srips off his chin, and falls in large drops to the water soaked ground.

"P-Please...D-Don't hut me..."

The masked man juststares into the eyes of the mugger, his grip on his neck begining to loosen. Suddenly, the mugger laughs, and his hand begins to move to his pocket.

"Ha...Ha...Ha..." He laughs. The white cladded figure ***** his head, starring at the man curiously. "Die!" He yells, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. As the man tries to slice the figure, his hand is swatted with a powerful block. He drops the knife to the ground, it skids across the concrete and slides under the dumpster. The masked man tightens his grip, and pulls the mugger cloer to his face.

"W-Who are y-you...?" The mugger stutters in fear.

"Moon Knight."

With a powerful punch, Moon Knight hits the mugger in the center of his stomach. The mugger makes a loud wease, gasping for air as his eyes begin to roll into the back of his head. With a cough, the man passes out, his body becoming motionless and loose. Moon Knight frowns, and drops the body to the ground.

Looking away from the fallen criminal, Moon Knight turns to the injured woman, his body still and calm.

"" The woman replies in a weak tone.

"Are you alright?" Moon Knight asks, his body still statue esque.

"Yes...thanks to you." Moon Knight nods, and turns to run from the alley.

"Wait!" She calls to him, slowly getting to her feet. Moon Knight pauses, and looks over his shoulder to her. "Why did you help me? Who are you really?" Moon Knight sighs, his shouders shrugging as his head moves forward.

"Really?" He responds. "Vengeance." As the words escape his lips, he runs off down the alley, sharply turning at the corner. The woman chases after him, calling to him as she runs.

"Wait! What do you..." As she turns the corner, she finds no one to her dismay. She looks up and down the alley, her eyes seeing no signs of movement, and no trace of her caped hero. "...mean." She says in a heavy voice with a sigh. She takes one last look down the alley, hoping to find what she missed. Without seeing him, she turns, and begins heading back for the street, back into the city, back into sight.

From the rooftop of the building above, a figure watches, looming in plain sight, his mission not that of stealth or justice. With a smirk beneath his mask, the figure rises, the moon brightly glowing behind him.

"Be safe." He whispers, turning back to the city. As the smoke rises from the smoke stacks, and the fog from the sky begins to descend, Moon Knight moves back to his position of rest, his mind staying open and clear. Motionless he waits in his place, listening and watching for the next person who may need a rescue, a saving face from the evils of the world.

Tony Stark / Iron Man

Tony Stark stood in his private gym, at the top of the current Stark Industries building, throwing jabs into a punching bag. Beads of sweat slid eerily down his face, narrowly missing his wide open eyes. His personal bodyguard, Harold Hogan, waited patiently in the corner for his boss to finish his round.

A hologram flashed on the wall behind the bag, signaling that his work out was over. From the ceiling above the bag, a mechanical arm dropped down and extended a towel into Stark's palm, his reading glasses already on, reviewing the next meeting he had to attend.

The Chinese government had precariously teetered on the brink of signing an agreement with Stark Industries. Reviewing the specifications of the document, Stark saw that the deal still failed to meet his expectations and he felt himself snarl.

Not even bothering to change out of his gym clothes, Stark quietly made his way three floors down via the stairwell, Hogan following closely behind, to the most deluxe conference room his company had and took his seat across from the Chinese who had been waiting, apparently for a very long time. As Stark entered the room, Harold took his position outside of the door, prohibited from listening in on confidential meetings.

Several meetings such as this one had already taken place between Stark and the chinese, hence the dispensing of the pleasantries. Nobody greeeted anyone else. Instead, Stark stared at the men across the table until he eventually tossed the folder to their chief partner.

To Stark, any offer that didn't meet his expectations seemed like an insult. The first few meetings could understandably lead to some negotiations in prices and services rendered or offered, but in the end, everything came down to dollars. Money spoke louder than any foreign diplomat, and since the cash the Chinese were offering wasn't quite loud enough, and hadn't been for over a year and a half, the stern glare they were receiving from Tony Stark should have been more than an obvious indicator that they weren't going to be getting anything until they met his terms. Stark silently stroked his goatee as he analyzed the small group of men across from the table from him.

"Look, guys." He said, finally, wiping some excess sweat from his forehead. "I don't know what you want me to tell you. I mean, you come in here, and you make me the same offer every single time... I'm sorry. Your government sends fresh faces over here for each meeting, so it's not like I have a dialog with anyone specific. I... I guess all I'm saying is if that we're going to make a deal here, we're going to have to have a meeting of the minds."

The Asian man sitting across from Stark nodded quietly.

"I do not think that will be a problem, Mr. Stark."

"Really, now?" Stark said, with a chuckle, "I've heard that before, gentlemen."

"Name your price." The man said arrogantly.

Stark felt his forehead pull back, and his eyes grew narrow.

"The same price it has been since day one, boys."

He looked to the floor, but peeked upwards.

"Five. Hundred. Million."

The man from across the table nodded quietly.

"The People's Republic of China is willing to pay that if the device can, indeed, do as you claim."

Stark's head bobbed up and down.

"It can."

The men nodded.

"We will, of course, want a test."

"No." Stark replied, sharply. "No tests. A device of such... potency... cannot be used in my facilities. I don't know what you're going to be doing with it; I don't need to, and if I don't, I can't be held accountable."

The Chinese nodded quietly.

"Then, Mr. Stark, I am afraid we have no deal."

"Then," Stark muttered, mirroring the tone of the insipid businessmen. "Gentlemen, I'm afraid that you won't be getting your mutagenic initiator. I made this deal as a one-time thing, and you're going to blow it because you don't trust me."

In truth, Stark had been longing for this deal. It was one of the deals that could elevate his company to a new level. He had hopes for launching a space satellite, and they were banking on this deal.

"If you'll excuse me." He said, getting up, utterly bluffing.

He pushed himself up from his hovering chair and made his way to the glass door of his conference room. He wrapped his hand around the steel bar, ready to leave, silently aching for one of the Chinese to speak.

"Fine." One of the men said, as Stark turned. "No test."

For a year and a half, Stark had forced himself to keep calm about this deal, and, finally his patience had paid off.

"I assume you're ready to transfer the money now." Stark said, taking his seat once more.

"We are."

Stark held tightly to the sides of his chair.

The man sitting across from him silently withdrew a laptop and tapped a few buttons.

"Are we set?"
Stark asked, as the man closed the laptop.

The Asian nodded.

"Pepper..." Tony Stark said, to nobody in particular.

A robotic woman entered the room, her entire body composed simply of an endoskeleton with a human face.

"Ms. Potts, please check the most recent activity in my third offshore bank account."

"Recent activity includes: The deposit of 10 Increments of 50 Million US dollars, creating a total of 500 Million dollars."

"Thank you, Pepper. Pleasure ensure that the Mutagenic Initiator, Stark serial number: Alpha-9328 is transferred to destination that the diplomats seated before me give you."

"I'll do so immediately, Mr. Stark."

"Thanks, Pep." Stark said, as he rose to his feet. "If we're all set here, gentlemen, I believe I need to go take a shower."

The Chinese men laughed, shook hands with Stark, and he watched as they exited the conference room, giving Pepper the delivery location of their item.

Stark, a wide smile on his face, stood next to Harold Hogan, who had a grin on his face.

"Did we get it?" He asked.

"We got it, Harold." Anthony Edward Stark said, patting his bodyguard on the back. He glanced at the man next to him, who had a grin on his face. "That's the first time I've seen you smile, Harold. I guess we'll call you Happy from now on."

Hogan snickered.

"Should I call a few of your friends, Mr. Stark?"

Stark rubbed his chin.

"No, make it bigger. A few friends come over for a twenty million dollar sale. We just got 500 million..." He looked up at Happy.

"I think it's time we christen Stark Tower."

As Nick pulls his car into the driveway, I spot a figure lurking by the porch of my cabin. I instantly become tense, and Nick recognizes it.

"Easy, friend," he assures me as he puts the car in park. "She's with me."

Nevertheless, I exit the car cautiously. My eyes remain fixed on the woman pacing on my porch. But she says and does nothing. The shadows obscure her face. "What's your game, Fury?" I ask hesitantly, a tinge of malice in my tone. I'm getting sick of his games.

"I already told you, Steve. SHIELD is looking for a favor," he explains calmly.

"And I already told you--"

Fury holds up a hand to stop me. "You've made your feelings on the matter very clear, Steve. But we need you. Your country needs you."

I clench my fists. I have no intention of going back to service. It may have been lonely, but I rather liked my time out her in solitude. It gives you time to think about your life and what you want to accomplish.

"This is a matter of national security, and I wouldn't trust the mission in anyone else's hands," Fury states plainly. He tiptoes around things, but - when the time comes - he gets right down to it.

I sigh. I can't believe that I'm even going to entertain this notion. "How urgent are we talking, Nick?"

"The lives of countless Americans and Russians hang in the balance," the strange woman explains. Her voice is riddled by a Russian accent.

"Steve Rogers, I'd like you to meet Natalia Romanova," Fury explains. Natalia steps down from my porch, and I get a good look at her. "Natalia is a former KGB agent, and she will be our Russian liaison on this mission."


"So you are the Captain America I have heard so much about?" Natalia asks. I remain silent.

Fury states, "Steve doesn't much like his old codename."

Natalia nods. "It's okay. I have an old codename, too," she explains to me with a wink.

"What's going on, Fury?"

"Good morning Mr. Wilson."

Wade's eyes shot open and fixed they're gaze on the man in front of him. He found himself strapped to a cold, hard bed of steel. "Cornelius I presume?"

"Good. You are conscious after all. Tell me Mr. Wilson. Do you know why you're here?"

"Is it 'cos I had bad thoughts about that staff nurse?"
Smirked Wade, his sarcasm blindingly obvious. Cornelius shook off the witty remark and continued.

"It's something we've been doing for decades now. Mutants like yourself are thrown into a 'hospital' and we are given free reign to do with you as we please."

"Oh gee, better be gentle, it's my first time."

The doctor again merely smiled at the anarchic remarks. "Oh yes, we've heard all about you Wade. What happened with that boy in school... your nightmares... your father."

"Stop it." Whispered Wade, his eyes narrowing.

"Wade Winfred Wilson. Born to Kyle and Bea Wilson, only child. Attended Dunstat Park Elementary School, up until the age of 10 when you attacked and killed a fellow pupil."

"You don't know what happened."
Wade growled, the Doctor merely continued.

"Was sent to the David Phillips Home for the Mentally Unwell shortly after, diagnosed with psychosis and manic depression. You're condition deteriorated when, upon visiting you-"

His voice growing louder, almost desperate.

"- your father was beaten to death by his own son, teleporting out of your own straight jacket."

"When I get out of here I'm going to rip you apart." Wade rasped calmly. His eyes filled with hatred. Cornelius, satisfied that the mental examination had gone to plan, smiled.

"I think that's enough for one day Mr. Wilson. I look forward to tomorrow's exams."
IC: Moon Knight

As the night begins to die out, the moon begins to fade away. The sun begins to rise over the water, making the waves shine as it casts its rays on the buildings. As the sun begins to rise higher in the sky, the white vigilante moves up the fire escape of a building, his cape trailing him as he rushes up the rickety metal rafter.

Reaching the fifth floor, he stops and walks to a window, its glass covered in dirt and grime. Carefully, he lifts the window open, and creeps inside the building. Before closing the window, he pears out one last time, taking a final look at the city. He nods his head, and turns around, walking toward the table in the next room.

He grabs the mask and pulls it off his head, his hair falling onto his face gently. He brushes it away, and throws the mask onto the table, cluttered in folded pieces of paper and empty envelopes.

He takes a heavy sigh, staring at nothing in particular in the room. He slides his white gloves off his hands, and holds them in his hand. He stares at them carefully, examining them for any flaws. Turning them over, he notices blood stains on the knuckles, and he frowns.

“Have to use bleach.” He says wearily, throwing the gloves onto the table next to the mask.

He walks down the hall, taking off his cape and folding it into a small square. He walks into the bathroom, hanging his cape on the towel rack and walking toward the sink. He turns on the faucet, and looks in the mirror. Cupping his hands, he fills them with water. Leaning down, he splashes the cool water onto his face, rubbing away the sweat from his skin.

He takes a sigh, and looks back up, wiping away the water, as he stares into the mirror. To his shock, he sees his reflection, but it is not completely his image he sees.

“Hey, Jake…Tough night?” The figure in the mirror asks.

“Get out of my head, Steven.” Jake responds with a sneer, walking away from the mirror and out of the room. The figure in the mirror smiles, folding his arm as the light in the room is turned off.

“Oh, come on, Jake. Like that’ll shut me up.”

Walking into the next room, Jake Lockley heads toward his bed. He grabs the bottom of his skin tight costume, and carefully pulls the fabric off of his body. As he pulls the cloth over his head, he sees the figure sitting in the chair in the corner, the same chair that was empty only seconds before. The figure resembles him perfectly, his face, his hair, his façade. But this figure is not Jake Lockley, and the most frightening thing about this man, is he is not real.

“Nice bruise, Jake.” He says, jaunting Jake. “Get that from being a 'hero' again?”

“You should know.” Jake says apathetically, placing his uniform on the bed. “You were probably watching.”

“That I was, Jake. And I have to tell you,” the doppleganger stands, his smile suddenly changing to a frown. “You’re wasting this power.”

“Saving people is a waste?”

“Yes! Oh my God, you are stupid. I guess that’s just one of your traits. You are a god among men, Jake! And you use it to help others, when the one who needs it most is you. No, us.”

“I am getting by just fine.” The man laughs, leaning back onto the dresser.

“You? You still think you’re in control? Let me tell you something, we are both in control. We’re Marc Spector, and we both make up who he is…or was at this point.”

“Mark Spector is dead!” Jake responds in an angered tone. “He died the night you showed up!”

“No, he died when the military ****ed us over.” He walks closer to Jake, a smile on his face. “Come on, think about it. I helped us. I told you what happened! Hell, I made up this damn symbol you use!”

“Yeah, but you wanted it for selfish reason, Steven!”

“Well, look at Jake Lockley! I mean, a taxi driver showing morals? Ridiculous.”

“Well look at Steven Grant!” Jake responds mockingly. “Trapped voice inside a body! You don’t even exist, Steven.”

“Then who are you talking to?” He grins.

“You’re right.” He says, turning his back on Steven.

“Oh, come on Jake. Don’t give me the cold shoulder. That’s not very hero like.” Jake turns around swiftly, a frown on his face.

“You know what, Grant? You had your fun. You did the merc thing for a bit, but no its my turn. I’m in control, and it’s staying like this! And you better get used to this, because I am keeping Moon Knight as a hero!”

“Yeah,” Steven says in a low voice. “We’ll see. You’ll drop your guard soon enough, my useless counterpart.”

Jake smiles, his pride inflated at the sight of his enraged “personality.” Suddenly, the phone rings a high and repetitive noise. Jake picks up the phone, and raises the receiver to his mouth.

“Hello?” He answers. “Oh, hi Marlene.” He pauses, listening to the voice on the other end.

“So, Jake, I was wondering if you were still good for dinner tonight.” Jake looks over his shoulder, hoping that his rival being is not there. To his dismay, he sees Steven leaning against the wall, a wide and evil grin on his face. Jake immediately turns back, and tries to stay focused.

“Yeah, I’m good for it.”

“Great!” She says happily. “I’ll see you at Sphinx head at seven.”

“You bet.” He says with a smile.

“Alright, see you then. Bye.”

“Bye.” Jake hangs up the phone, putting the phone onto its cradle. He turns back to Steven, a look of pride and arrogance on his face.

“Marlene and I are going out later. Don’t catch up.”

“Oh, I won’t. I’ve got some things planned.” He smirks.

“Good.” Jake walks out of the room, grabbing a shirt hanging on the back of his door on his way out. Steven continues to lean against the wall, a satisfied grin on his face, his hands folded across his chest.

“Yes, Jake, see…I have a dinner to attend as well.” He whispers softly. “And I would hate to see how disappointed everyone would be if Steven Grant didn‘t show.” Steven walks toward the window in the room. He leans on the windowsill, staring out at the rising sun. He looks back over his shoulder as he begins to laugh. “Oh, and just so you know, I’m borrowing the suit. I may need it tonight.”
The Iron Fist

My "father" ducked past my previous attack and countered with a leg-sweep. I leaped over it, kicking off of his face and landing into a slide on the dirt. I looked back at "father" who was stroking his chin.

"That's very good, Daniel-san. But not what I'm looking for..."

He suddenly appeared behind me, plunging a fist into my spine. I stood up straight, momentarily paralyzed, and "father" chuckled.

"Not good enough, Daniel-san. Not good enough at all."

He kicked me in the back of the head, sending me spiraling into a tree. After hearing several of my bones crack, I landed on the dirt with a painful "thud". The paralysis wearing off, I stood up and brought myself to a defensive lotus stance, placing one hand behind my back and my other hand - palm facing the sky - in front of me.

"For all the people you have killed, there is no pain you could inflict on me that could possibly hurt me more than knowing I failed them."

My eyes narrowed.

"And I WILL avenge each and every ONE of them..."

In an act of dazzling speed, I hurtled towards my "father", stopped, side-steeped to the right, kicked him in the face, spun to the left and behind him, and unleashed a flurry of powerful punches to his spine. Then, I grabbed his shoulders, leap-frogged over him, and karate-chopped him right in the throat. I then leaped back into a defensive stance, awaiting the inevitable counter. Bloud trickled down my "father's" lips.
And he frowned.

"This isn't it. This isn't what you were trained for. Show me your REAL power, Daniel-san!"

The stranger who resembled my father swung wide in an easily avoided arc but then brought his knee up into my chin. I grunted and stumbled back, but not before a series of explosive punches slammed into my face and body. I hit the floor, blood literally pouring from my body. I couldn't see straight. My breathing came in forced huffs. I willed my body to move, but it betrayed me. I spit up more blood and tried to defend myself, but was still sent tumbling to the ground with a kick to my teeth. So there a lied... Waiting for the end.

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