Ultimate One Universe - Genesis

[Morden Man]

Today was the day that I went back home. After the better part of three days of solid testing with Pete at his lab, I was finally supposed to move back into Angela’s apartment. The only problem with that being that thanks to my newfound gifts I know she’s been seeing someone else. Or at the very least sleeping with. And the thought of lying beside her in bed knowing that she’d been writhing around in it with someone else only nights before was too much even for the new and improved chipper Matt. No, I couldn’t put myself through that and I couldn’t put her through that. Especially if she wasn’t happy in this.

The drive home isn’t an especially long one but it is a quiet one. How could I have been so stupid? How did I not see the signs? The questions go round and round my head as I glance at Angela in the driving seat. She looks back at me and smiles slightly before concentrating on the road.

Angela helps me out of the car and I play along, letting her take me by the arm and lead me upstairs into the apartment. As she sits me down, I can feel my stomach churning as I smell the scent of… whoever was here all over my things.

“Isn’t it nice to be home?” Angela says with a smile. “All those hospital rooms and labs, I bet you’re pleased to be back here.”

I wish I could play along and pretend that everything was alright. For all the good my newfound abilities had done me, this was one particular piece of knowledge that I wish I could unlearn. I’m not one for willful ignorance but this seemed like a case for it if ever there was one.

“We need to talk.”

Her heart skips a beat. She knows something is wrong.

“What do you mean? Talk about what?”

I could drag this out and make it as painful for her as possible. Try to trap her in her own lies, see how many times she’d look me in the face and lie about it. But I’m not going to do that. That’s not what this is about. I love her too much to play games with her about something like this. There’s a reasonable explanation behind it all, Murdock, she wouldn’t have torn your relationship apart for nothing.

“I know that you’ve been seeing someone else.”

“I don’t k…”

“Please don’t lie to me,” I say with a sigh. “God knows there have been enough lies between the two of us as it is. I’m trying to give you the opportunity to be honest with me.”

She nods solemnly.

“It was a mistake. You had been so distant for so long and just when it seemed like we were turning a corner you started keeping secrets and hiding things from me again.”

She’s telling the truth, she truly does regret it. I wish I could deny that I’d been secretive, that I’d looked her in the face and promised her things knowing I’d break them, but I couldn’t do it. Over and over again I’d let her down and, though it didn’t excuse what she’d done, it went some way to explaining it.

“I understand.”

“And then whatever happened at Wildcat’s that night happened and no one would tell me anything,” Angela said as tears began to well in her eyes. “Foggy and Ted shut me out like I was some intruder into your life. What was I supposed to do? Three months! Three months of being treated like a complete stranger by the family of the person I loved.”

I can hear the pain in her voice as it shakes. I want to hold her and tell her everything will be okay, that I forgive her for what happened, and love her more than anything. None of it would be a lie. But I wouldn’t be forgiving her because I’d actually forgiven her, it would be saying I’d forgive her to make her feel better about it, if not because I was scared how I’d survive if she weren’t around. And that wouldn’t be fair on anyone.

“Who is he?”

“Ben Urich,” Angela mutters. “The Ben Urich.”

“Is that name meant to mean something to me?”

Angela arches her eyebrow somewhat as if I should know who he is. I’m not sure whether she realises how insulting her consternation at my not having heard of the man she was unfaithful with is. I don’t think anyone had ever described me as “the Matt Murdock” in my life and at the rate I was going at I couldn’t ever see it happening.

“I met him through work and I guess things sort of escalated from there. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, I was so miserable whilst you were laid in that hospital bed and I had no idea whether you were going to wake up or not. It was fun and exciting and took my mind off everything that happened, that’s all. It was nothing more than that.”

The words “fun” and “exciting” cut into me like knives. I can’t help but picturing Angela smiling and laughing in this guy’s company like she used to when we first met. Ben. Why did that name ring a bell? Had she mentioned him to me before? I had a sneaking suspicion that she had at some point.

“I swear it didn’t mean anything.”

I sit in silence for a few moments and try to take everything in, try to find some way to reconcile my feelings for Angela with what has happened. As the tears begin to roll down her cheeks my heart drops. If I were a stronger man I’d be able to forgive her for this, especially given all the lies I’d told and everything that had happened. But I can’t.

“I think maybe I should go to Ted’s for a little while so I can clear my head and get a little bit of space. Nothing good can come from being cooped up in here with one another after something like this. I need some space to think.”

She shakes her head vociferously.

“You stay here and I’ll go and stay with my parents for a few nights. You shouldn’t have to move out because of my mistakes. This is your home as well as mine, Matt, and given your health it doesn’t make sense for you to move.”

“I can’t be here knowing what happened here, Angela.”

I want to go back and change it all. Untell every lie I ever told, go back and tell myself to tell her that I love her more often and to be more honest. Maybe if I had been we wouldn’t have ended up in this situation. Maybe if I’d not gone after Austin’s father my whole life wouldn’t have fallen apart. I’d still have my eyesight, the woman I loved, and I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder anytime I went out for fear of Turk, Grotto, and Cao coming to finish what they started.

“I’m sorry,” Angela says quietly. “I love you more than anything.”

Whatever Peter’s procedure had done to me, however powerful it had made my other senses, it couldn’t make me feel less powerless than I did now.

 

[Eddie Brock]

Interlude
​

Silvio Manfredi shifts uncomfortably in his wheelchair. He didn't even want to bring the damn thing. He just wanted to use his cane, but his son had insisted. Then again, that was always Joey's problem. He never respected the importance of presence and appearances. Showing up to a meeting like this in a wheelchair projected weakness. It made Silvio look soft. Vulnerable. That was the last thing he needed, particularly given how the last few weeks had gone. Still, Joey kicked up a big fuss, and Silvio had no mind to argue - not when he had bigger fish to fry.

Behind him, Silvio's bodyguard, the Man-Mountain Marko, coughs into his sleeve and clears his throat. The sounds echo throughout the largely empty warehouse, a neutral meeting site on the edge of Manfredi's turf. Marko is a man of few words - a trait that Silvio valued in his muscle - but it's clear that he's no more comfortable than his employer. And why should he be? Marko knew the score, same as everyone else in Silvermane's Maggia. The family is facing its biggest threat in decades in the form of an ambitious upstart calling himself "the Big Man."

"He's making us wait," Silvermane sneers as he pulls back his sleeve to examine his watch. It's a fairly standard tactic, but one that Manfredi despised all the same. Every minute of waiting is one minute closer to the grave in his eyes. Just as Silvio is about to complain some more, the door at the far end of the warehouse opens, and an unmarked black sedan pulls in. Silvio rolls his eyes at the needlessly showy entrance.

The sedan pulls to a stop some ten feet from the table where Silvermane is seated. The passenger door opens, and a man in a wide-brimmed hat steps out. Without acknowledging the men at the table, the man turns and opens the rear side door. A broad-shouldered behemoth - almost equal in size to Marko - climbs out, accompanied by a shorter man in a well-tailored Italian suit. Between them stands a figure in a trenchcoat and a silver mask cast in a permanent scowl.

Silvermane grimaces at the eccentric newcomers. "What is this? Halloween?"

"You'll forgive me, I hope," says a booming voice which resonates beneath the mask. "I value my anonymity." The figure - presumably the Big Man - helps himself to the chair opposite Manfredi. His three colorful compatriots fan out behind him, leaving Silvermane to wish he had brought more men of his own.

Presence, he thought to himself.

"I trust this place wasn't too out of your way?" the Big Man says innocuously.

Silvio's face contorts into a frown. He hated empty pleasantries, to make no mention of the fact that this Big Man had done nothing to earn such a level of respect. Already, Silvio was starting to get a sense of the man opposite him. He's the kind of guy who smiles to your face - if only his mask allowed it - then stabs you in the back. Of course, Silvermane was already predisposed to despise him, so perhaps his opinion on the matter didn't hold much weight. "Not at all," Silvio replies flatly, making no effort to hide the venom in his tone. "Right on the edge of my territory, in fact. But you knew that, didn't you? What with the way you've been picking at the edges of it for weeks now."

"I won't insult your intelligence by denying it," the Big Man responds. He leans forward, folding his hands in front of his face. In that booming voice of his, he continues, "In fact, that's exactly why I requested this meeting. I think it's past time that you and I discussed renegotiating the lands under your control."

"Renegotiating?" Silvermane fires back incredulously, the word tasting sour on his tongue. He glares right into the emotionless eyes of the Big Man's mask. It makes him uncomfortable to not be able to look his rival in the eye, but he forces himself to hold the gaze all the same. "I don't think you understand. There isn't going to be a renegotiation. I agreed to this little meeting for one reason: to tell you to back off before this gets ugly for you."

The Big Man doesn't move. He simply sits there, elbows on the table, hands folded, and waits to see if Silvermane is finished. After a moment, he leans back in his chair, saying, "That's quite disappointing, Mr. Manfredi. I had hoped that a businessman such as yourself could be reasonable about this."

Silvio's eyes go wide as he struggles to process the Big Man's casual, almost dismissive, attitude. Did this guy have any idea who he was talking to? Licking his lips, Silvermane says in a strained voice, "You think I'm the one being unreasonable? You pop onto the scene a few weeks ago and presume to try and strong-arm me? Six decades I've been doing this! Six decades of dealing with up-jumped punks like you, and never in my life have I been so disrespected!"

"Frankly, Mr. Manfredi," the Big Man begins, "I couldn't care less if I've insulted you."

Somehow, each word that comes resonating out of that mask only enrages Silvermane further. He feels the blood rushing up his neck to his face, the tightening of the skin around his temples. "Oh, you had better start caring," Silvermane warns as he grinds his teeth. "You clearly have no idea who you're dealing with. You think I got to be where I am today by getting pushed around like this? There's a reason people don't cross Silvio Manfredi!"

Again, the Big Man waits to respond. When he finally does speak, he does so in an even-tempered - almost patronizing - tone. "So, that's what this is about? You think that I should be showing more deference for your past accomplishments?" While the words form a question, the Big Man's inflection does not. Leaning forward, he continues, "Let me ask you something, Mr. Manfredi. When you built this empire of yours that I'm supposed to revere, did you ask anyone's permission to do so? Did you make sure not to step on anyone's toes?"

Silvio narrows his eyes.

"Of course you didn't. You saw what you wanted, and you took it. Just the same as I'm doing now," the Big Man concludes. "The only difference is that you are now the one being tread upon, and you can't stand it."

"You presume too much," Silvermane responds angrily. "This isn't about me. This is about principle. You want to run with the big dogs? Then you pay your dues, same as we all did! You don't just get to cut in line."

"Perhaps not in your day," the Big Man counters, "but the game has changed, Mr. Manfredi. And perhaps you're simply too old and stubborn to adapt with it."

"Old and stubborn?!" Silvermane shouts, finally losing his cool. He had been at this too long to endure the disrespectful slights of some nobody. Slamming his fist against the table, he growls, "If you ever speak like that to me again--"

The Big Man sighs, and the sound takes on an otherworldly quality as it resonates beneath his mask. "This is getting us nowhere," he interjects tiredly. As he stands, he adjusts his coat. "Do you want my advice, Mr. Manfredi? If you want to stop me, then stop me. Otherwise, perhaps it's best you get out of my way." Nodding to his compatriots, the Big Man turns for his car.

Silvermane shoots to his feet, knocking his wheelchair back into Marko as he leans against the table for support. "You dare turn your back on me?" he spits as his face flushes. He clenches his fists so tight that his fingernails dig into his palms. "You've picked the wrong enemy! Marko, go teach this punk some manners! And bring me that stupid mask off his face!"

As the Man-Mountain takes a step forward, the Big Man's entourage tenses. The biggest of them turns to square his shoulders, ready for a brawl. The man in the wide-brimmed hat and the man in the Italian suit each reach for weapons of their own. However, before the situation escalates, the Big Man holds up a gloved hand to stay his goons. "Now, now, Mr. Manfredi. Surely a man such as yourself, one who values principle, would never harm a man at a parley - particularly after assurances of safe passage had been given."

Silvio Manfredi's jaw hangs open slightly, the corners of his mouth still curled in a grimace. He's caught between wanting to see Marko tear the Big Man's head off and wanting to stay true to his principles. And the Big Man knows it. In fact, it isn't hard to picture the mystery man smirking to himself under that snarling mask. Ultimately, however, Silvio respects that he's outnumbered in any case. He glances back at Marko, willing him to stand down with a look.

"That's what I thought," the Big Man says, amused.

As the Big Man continues to his car, Silvermane shakes his fist. "Once you drive out of here, you better keep on driving! Because come tomorrow morning, if you haven't left the city, I'm going to make sure you regret every second of your miserable existence!" Though Manfredi's words echo loudly throughout the warehouse, the Big Man and his associates simply ignore his raving. The man in the wide-brimmed hat holds the door open as the Big Man steps into the sedan. "You can't hide behind that mask forever! I'm going to find out who you are, and I'm going to kill you myself! Do you hear me? You're a dead man!"

The car starts, and Silvio's shouting devolves into a violent coughing fit. As the sedan pulls away from the warehouse, the Man-Mountain Marko helps his employer back into his wheelchair. Silvio Manfredi's coughing continues all the way back to the car, while his rage stays with him the rest of the night.

 

[Carnage27]

The Batcave


Henri Ducard had taught Bruce nearly everything he knew about detective work. Wayne wasn't sure if he knew so much thanks to being a masterclass criminal himself or if he had really been a detective at one time, but his lessons rang true either way. He once said that a spot of blood could tell you anything you needed to know about a crime scene.

Ducard had never been more right.


Michael Morbius' blood was unlike anything Bruce had ever seen before. In some ways, it really was a miracle of modern science from a certain point of view. Of course, he had also murdered multiple people, which Batman would never let stand. But Morbius had succeeded in mutating his cells in order to combat the disease that had been ravaging his body through the X-gene mutagen he injected into himself. Unfortunately it worked too well. His blood cells began attacking and destroying the diseased blood cells, but continued on until his blood was literally eating itself alive. But, in a testament to the X-gene's power, a secondary mutation kicked in to compensate. Morbius now could feed on another's blood to replace the used blood in his veins. He wasn't using it to feed, but to survive. It was fascinating, to say the least.

Bruce watched in amazement through a microscope feed as the samples of Morbius' blood he had taken from his batarangs devoured the blood cells from a drop of his own blood.

"Well that's just the slightest bit unnerving," Alfred said as he came from behind Bruce and placed a tray of food down in front of him. "I would understand if you had no appetite."

"Quite the opposite," Bruce dug in, "I'm famished."

"Always the mystery, Bruce," Alfred shook his head. "So I assume you ran into our fanged friend last night?"

"I did," Batman nodded and continued to eat. "He ambushed Selina and I in her apartment."

"You were in Miss Kyle's apartment?" Alfred's eyebrows raised.

"I was warning her, Alfred," Bruce looked back at him. "There's a vampiric monster in my city. It's hardly the time for social calls."

Alfred sighed, "And here I thought you might finally have some fun."

Bruce lets the comment go, but he took note of it. Alfred had been hinting that he was worried about Bruce, but not overtly. Wayne knew his fight would change him. It would probably force him to forgo personal bonds. Alfred understood that. At least Bruce hoped he did.

"Did you find a possible location for his location?" Alfred changed the subject.
​

"Yes," Bruce nodded and pressed a few keys on the computer. Instantly, the microscope feed was replaced with a different readout. "There was a piece of his clothing on the batarangs as well. It had traces of fecal matter and high levels of methane."

"So the sewers then."

"The sewers," Bruce affirmed. "The Narrows, most likely. They're old, and are big enough to actually live in. If someone wanted to."

Bruce stood and strolled towards the armory. He began to place his armor on, but stopped as a thought hit him, "Do me a favor? Have the shower ready for me when I get back."

**********

The Batmobile screamed towards The Narrows and Michael Morbius. The sun had just sank below the horizon, and Bruce theorized he had two hours before Morbius struck out on his hunt for the night. Once he did that, Batman had no chance of tracking him down until he killed and returned again.

He pulled the car underneath a bridge towards The Narrows and engaged the security systems. As Wayne exited the vehicle, he looked over the narrow stretch of the Gotham River that separated the area of the cities from the others. The Narrows were situated on a small island at the mouth of the river as it fed into Gotham Bay. When the city was young, it was where the immigrants of the city squatted in poor work houses. Things had sadly changed little in the years since then. The Narrows was full of down on their luck people trying to survive, and the monsters that preyed upon them. It was a mini Wild West inside of Gotham.

This was a part of the city that nearly policed itself. They didn't like authority figures coming in and messing around. If things got messy, he would have no back up. But he needed to make sure the police were ready in case things got out of hand.

"ORACLE," he opened the comm, "call Lieutenant Gordon."

"Gordon," the head of the MCU answered the phone.

"Lieutenant," Batman began, "I don't have much time. I'm going into The Narrows after Morbius. I don't have time to explain, but I have a chance to take him out and I need to take it. But if things get hairy in the Narrows-"

"We'll need riot squads to keep the peace," Gordon understood. "We'll be ready. And Batman?"

"Yes?" Bruce said as he ready his grapnel.

"Good luck."
​

 

[MST3K 4ever]

​

Walter felt the beads of sweat beginning to build up on his face. As he scanned the crowd there were faces full of fear and quiet pleading for mercy. The Joker leaned in and whispered, “Come on Walter the people are waiting. Get to it, or I’ll make sure you’re eliminated from the competition.”

Walter was now torn between self-preservation and his desire not to kill anyone. Finally he turned to a man and shot him in the shoulder. The man let out a scream of agony as the gasps from the crowd filled the theater along with the echo of the gunfire.

The Joker looked at Walter from the side and asked, “Really is that the best you got Walter?”

Walter replied very nervously, “Well you see this is about suffering and agony. Anyone can put bullet in someone’s skull, and call it a day. However what about watching someone squirm in agony and suffer as they bleed out? I think that’s much more of a statement.”

The Joker shook his head very slowly and had a look on his face as though he was eating a bad olive. He said, “Walter, Walter, Walter when I picked you tonight I gotta say I wasn’t sure how you would handle being thrusted into the spotlight. I thought here’s a mild mannered guy, wears glasses, clearly dating out of his league so either you’re very gifted below the waist, or you got bankroll that is the envy of most people here.”

Then suddenly The Joker slapped his arm around Walter’s shoulder and said, “My boy you have got what it takes! Your choice to improv and create is brilliant! HA HA HA HA HA!”

The Joker took a step back and said, “Go ahead on my boy! Make it a beautiful symphony of agony.”

Walter stared at the gun and then looked around. Walter then began to get a devious smile on his face which looked frighteningly like The Joker’s. Walter then began shooting people in the shoulders and legs.

The sounds of people wailing and screaming was music to The Joker’s ears. As he acted as though he were conducting a symphony.

Once Walter was out of bullets he fell to his knees. The Joker approached him from behind and motioned for one of his men to take Walter off to the side.

The Joker said, “Okay I think old Walter has set the bar pretty high.” He pulled out a knife and asked, “Okay who will be the next contestant for our show tonight?”

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Alexis watched the battle between Dr. Polaris and Superman. Although Polaris had some semi-decent tech that enabled him to do some impressive feats Superman had no such tech that Alexis could see. He was doing this under his own power and that was something that, even for someone as brilliant as Alexis, was very fascinating. Also somewhat disturbing. How did he get these powers? Lab accident? Enhanced steroids? Or did he chug a gallon of industrial waste by product? Figuring out Superman’s power source was the key to figuring out Superman.

The property damage was starting to mount up, and Alexis knew that she would be looked to for guidance and resources. If nothing else then would generate some pretty good PR for AlexisCorp.

Alexis said, "Alexander once the fight is over. Have the PR department release a statement. We support the city's efforts to rebuild, anything we can do to help, and help with setting up shelters the usual sort of thing."

Alexander replied, "Already being done Miss Luthor."

She munched on some more popcorn and was amazed that Superman took hits that kill a normal person without even breaking a sweat. She said, “He certainly is a fascinating man if nothing else.”

Alexander stated, “They don’t call him Superman for nothing.”

Alexis chuckled as she took a sip of wine and said, “Touché Alexander.” She raised her glass and said, “Well played.”

As the fight ended she noticed the SHIELD presence. The average person didn’t know who or what SHIELD was, but Alexis Luthor wasn’t just an average person she had sources so she was aware of them. Alexis was even asked to be on the Board, but turned it down. Alexis didn’t feel like sitting on another board. She viewed them as nothing more than another Government agency that eventually she would have to crush like a bug if they became difficult to deal with.

Once the fight was over Alexis finished her glass of wine and poured another one. She said, “Alexander begin break down and analysis of Superman. Every possible variable and reading. Nothing left out. Make it happen.”

Within a matter of seconds Alexander stated, “Analysis of Superman complete and very fascinating to say the least.”

Alexis replied, “I’m sure. Play me Springsteen’s Nebraska.”

The music began and Alexis asked, “So tell me about Metropolis’s Golden Boy Alexander?”

Alexander replied, “He is not local that is for certain.”

Alexis said with an eye roll, “No kidding. Even I know that if he were from here the Queen of Metropolis would’ve know about it.”

Alexander stated, “Miss Luthor, he isn’t even from this planet.” Several body scans appeared on several monitors as Alexis studied each one.

She said, “An alien. Very impressive. Impressive indeed.”

 

[Morden Man]

“Here’s your old bedroom. I lost count of the times you’d come home blind drunk in the middle of the night and fall straight asleep on that bed. So finding your way to it just plain blind should be easy enough.”

I can tell that Ted was anticipating laughter but can’t bring myself to even pretend to be in the mood for it.

“I thought you’d like that one,” Ted shrugs. “Guess not.”

I’ve not been able to stop thinking about Angela from the second Ted pulled up in front of hers. Ted and I had spoken about it in the car a little and he seemed pretty adamant on staying impartial. What happened between and a man and his lady was his own business, he insisted, although he did suggest finding the “wise guy” that Angela had cheated with and roughing him up. A lot of good that would do either of us.

Ted puts my bag down by the foot of the bed and leaves me to my own devices. I am appreciate the gesture. Even without my “radar sense” as I’d taken to calling it I’d have an easy navigating through my old room. I throw myself atop the bed with a heavy thud and place my hands behind my head. Above me on the ceiling were all the old photographs of my father and I that I’d managed to find over the years. I used to lie in bed and look at them, wonder how differently my life would be if he’d been alive, and even on the odd occasion lie there and wish Ted had died instead. I’d convince myself that were my dad alive I’d have made it out of Hell’s Kitchen and made something out of myself.

Near to two decades on and here I am still stuck in The Kitchen, laid on the same old bed, dreaming about how different things could have been. “Time is a flat circle” has never seemed more true.

Tomorrow I was visiting Cross Labs again and this time Peter and I were going to crack that formula of his. It hadn’t taken me long to deduce on the drive over that it was that Ben character Angela had gotten Peter’s number from. I wanted to be petty enough to cut ties with Cross as a result but I knew it wasn’t his fault. In fact if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t have much to live for at all at the moment. The thought of refining the formula so that other people with disabilities could be cured too was the only thing keeping me going. I swore that day whilst Grotto was beating me to a bloody pulp that if I survived I’d make things right. This was my chance to do exactly that.

********​

“You’re a metahuman.”

“I don’t understand,” I say with a shake of my head. “You’re doing that thing where you say words at me and expected me to know what you’re talking about.”

Peter Cross smiles at me as he flicks through a chart.

“It’s the only possible explanation for what happened. We’ve tested the formula on hundreds of other people to no avail. For the past few days I’ve been combing over your lab results trying to find something that will help me understand why your abilities manifested. There was nothing. For all intents and purposes, Mr. Murdock, you are an extremely ordinary human being.”

Never before had the words “extremely ordinary” felt so much like a compliment.

“Well that’s reassuring.”

“Except that you possess a recessive metahuman gene.”

“There’s that word again. What does that mean? Are you calling me a mutant?”

Mutants. They were the world’s dirty little secret. Well, not so secret since Xavier went public with his school. For the best part of a decade there had been reports that the mutant pandemic had been spreading at an alarming rate. If you believed the news, more and more of them were popping up around the world: people with incredible, awe-inspiring gifts that could change the fate of the human race. I had no idea what to make of any of it. Though the thought of a child being born somewhere with the ability to turn my brain into scrambled eggs wasn’t the most comforting thought, I couldn’t stomach the thought of discriminating against them because of something out of their control.

There had been calls to round the mutants up and put them into containment until we knew exactly what they were and how to combat them. It was an idea that was grew in popularity every time some scared thirteen year old accidently sent a barn alight. And now from the sounds of it Peter was telling me I was one of them.

“Not exactly,” Cross responds with a smile. “All the research indicates that mutant abilities manifest themselves around adolescence. Metahuman genes are uncommon but not completely unheard of. Those in possession of a metahuman gene have a propensity to acquire certain abilities after contact with foreign or cosmic substances. For whatever reason it seemed like rather than repair your vision, the formula kick-started your dormant metahuman gene and granted you the radar sense that you now possess.”

A pang of shame hit me as I realized I was relieved at not being a mutant. I didn’t know why I was, the distinction between mutant and metahuman made no sense to me, but it was reassuring for some reason. I was having trouble keeping up with Peter’s explanation, but he seemed to know what he was talking about. I wasn’t about to question the wisdom of a man that rubbed shoulders with Tony Stark.

“Slow down. What does this mean for the formula? That it won’t work on anyone else?”

Before he even opens his mouth I can hear his disappointment in his heart rate.

“We can’t say for sure at the moment but it seems likely that only those with the metahuman gene will be responsive to the procedure, at least without adverse side effects. Which means back to the drawing board for me given that there are, at best, only about a thousand individuals on Earth that could use the damn thing without their brains exploding.”

Peter’s disappointment is tangible. Years of research, millions of dollars spent on the formula, and he’s no closer to doing what he set out to do. That day at the hospital he had confided in me about his father’s blindness and it’s hard to believe that it hadn’t played a large part in his determination to find a cure for it. On its own, finding a procedure that kick starts the recessive metahuman gene was an incredible find. But that wasn’t what Peter had set out to do and he wore the sadness he felt about it on his face.

“Is that it then?” I say with a sigh. “Are we done here?”

Cross shook his head and at once the sadness on his face was replaced by a determined smile.

“By absolutely no means. Follow me.”

We exit Peter’s lab and descend down several flights of stairs to a dingy cold room that feels like a basement. I can hear the sound of the mice scurrying around in the walls as Cross makes his way towards one of the basement’s moldy walls and presses his hand against it. A panel slides away to reveal another more intricate lab and in its centre was a uniform laid out on a table. Cross beckons me inside and stops in front of on the uniform with a smile.

“The second I started to suspect that the process couldn’t be replicated I began working on this.”

He can’t be suggesting what I think he’s suggesting.

“You’re kidding.”

Cross smiles.

“Why should Superman be allowed all the fun?”

 

[Misfit]

The Worst Headache Ever IV​

Wonderland, Mindboggler's Imagination
Physics Class, New York

Storming down the dirt road with his head down, Ronnie was somewhat beside himself, for more reasons than usual. He couldn't power up, was trapped in some psychedelic fantasy, and was supposed to look for someone who'd come from the same 'husk' as he, presumably meaning his body. If there were someone else in his body, he'd definitely know before a talking cat, or so he thought. Silently swearing the cat was wrong, in the back of his mind he was wondering how Bruce Banner could be inside him. Then it hit him. Er, Banner hit him.

"Ooghf!" his quarterback body slammed into Dr. Bruce Banner's, who had a surprisingly solid form. "Hey, watch where you're going, loser--" Looking up, he gasped and sputtered moronically before stopping. "I thought you died testing the machine thing."

"I'd be lying if I said that surprised me." Tanned skin, dark black hair, highlighting intelligent green eyes. That was the doctor. But he was in better shape than last time Ronnie saw him. "It's not that I couldn't have let you know earlier, but you really should've figured it out by now. I didn't die. I've been trapped inside your body for the last few months, this is the first time I've controlled my own feet in months. As if going through puberty wasn't bad enough the first time."

Ronnie kept staring stupidly.

"Huff.. well, you should know that you can't tap into your freak-mutant powers without me anymore. And in case I never get to speak again, I want you to know: you shouldn't try to live a normal life. You're probably one of the most powerful beings on this planet. Have you heard of that Superman in Metropolis? The one that can punch through steel? You could hold him eternally by trapping him in a neutron star. If anyone can escape a dying star, it's you. So stop worrying about your stupid teenage problems, and try to fix the planets stupid adult problems. That said, it's time to power up." Banner stuck out his hand and smiled dismally at Ronnie.

Aftr hesitating, Ronnie grabbed his hand.

5

At that instant, he felt massive surges flow through him. Like his heart was as powerful as the sun.

4

His eyes turned white and his features became more defined, his muscles became as hard as obsidian. A moment of peace before further change.

3

An orange flame jetted out of his crown, taking place of his hair. Dancing and flicking its tails wildly.

2

Red and Yellow armor plates arranged themselves on his skin. His personal logo shone over his chest, the atom emitted a white glow.

1

Blastoff

He felt electrons spinning around his hands, following their own tracks and criss-crossing with othera. More alert than ever, he smiled and leapt into the air, launching with the force of a rocket. Playing with plasma like jelly, feeling it flip around in his hands, he tossed it and watched it jolt towards the skyline, ripping a hole through it like a power-saw through balloon. He used the muscle of the universe and threw his power around, watching a swarm of miniature lightning bolts swarm around him, then fan out in all directions. Every tree in the vicinity was cut down and the illusion was broken.

Ronnie was standing in the classroom, sitting in his desk with all his classmates, facing the substitute teacher, but not as himself, as..

 

[Eddie Brock]

​

After the crime scene at STAR Labs, a dark cloud hangs over the rest of the afternoon. Not just metaphorically, either. As I sit at my desk back at the Crime Lab, I watch glumly as the storm clouds I noticed earlier draw ever closer to the city proper. There's no avoiding it now: it's going to rain tonight, and quite hard from the looks of it. A perfect end to match how the day's been going, really. The investigation at the scene was a bust. No signs of the murder weapon, and the perpetrator erased the security tapes. As a result, Director Singh has been less pleasant than usual. So it's no surprise when I see him scowling as he marches to my desk.

"Allen," he says curtly. "I just got done looking over the fingerprints from the STAR Labs murder." He tosses the folder down on my desk dismissively. "You didn't get any clean pulls, Allen."

I look at the folder, confused. "That doesn't make any sense," I begin, "I was just as careful as I always am."

Director Singh shrugs and folds his arms. "I don't know what to tell you. Maybe you were distracted. Maybe you're just sloppier than you think you are." He drives his finger onto the folder, saying, "I can't use these. Go back to the scene, and get me some prints I can actually use."

I glance at the clock. It's getting late. Already, people are filing out of the Crime Lab for the day. Not to mention that I have no great desire to go out with a storm looming. "But by the time I got back down there, I'm sure they'd be closing," I explain.

"Well, then you better ask real nicely for them to let you in," the Director offers in a tone devoid of all sympathy. He snatches the folder off my desk, tucks it under his arm, and marches off - allowing no further argument.

Sighing, I hang my head. This is one fight I'm not going to win. Better just to give Director Singh what he wants, rather than running the risk of incurring further wrath. I shut off my computer and gather my things. No point in coming back here when I'm done. Might as well go straight home from STAR. Throwing my jacket over my arm, I make for the elevators, passing the desk of DNA analyst James Forrest on the way.

"Singh's making you go back down there?" Forrest calls out as I pass. He's leaning back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, as data crunches on his screen. When he sees the look on my face, he says, "He might've mentioned something to me about it."

I nod. "Yep. Need to collect a cleaner set of prints," I explain. I nod to the flashing numbers on his screen. "How about you? Working up a DNA report?"

Forrest nods. "Nothing yet. All the DNA there belonged to the victim," he reports. Giving a shrug, he says, "Ah, well. Maybe you or Patty'll have more luck." He turns his attention back to the framed picture on his desk, a picture of the sailboat he purchased a few years ago. It's his grand plan to sail the world once he's retired. "Another day down," he says absently.

I can't help but smile. "See you tomorrow, Forrest."

Brought back from his thoughts, he replies, "You too, Barry. And stay dry out there! Looks like it could start any minute now."

Turns out, Forrest wasn't wrong. The rain has started to fall by the time I flag down a cab. Holding my jacket open over my head, I'm able to keep myself mostly dry. I tell the taxi driver to take me to STAR Labs as I lean back into my seat. I gaze out the window as we drive, admiring the way the falling water reflects all the bright lights of the city. Of course, I'm sure I'd appreciate it more if I had remembered to bring an umbrella.

When we pull up to STAR Labs, I pay the driver and then make a dash for door. Getting underneath an awning, I shake off the water from my jacket as I pull it tight around my shoulders. That's when I notice how dark the lobby is. Crap, I think to myself. Don't tell me I'm too late. I walk up to the doors and give a good tug, but it doesn't budge. Pressing my hands against the glass, I peer into the half-lit lobby. In the distance, I can see a security guard. As he hears my knocking, he heads towards the door.

When the security guard arrives, I flash him my badge quickly - making sure that he only sees "CCPD" and not the fact that I'm just a lowly CSI. He pulls out a ring of keys from his belt and lets me in. "Thanks," I say gratefully. Director Singh would've killed me if I told him I wasn't able to get back. "Wet one out there, huh?" The security guard merely shrugs.

I make my way to Robert Frank's lab - though not before getting lost once or twice. Even though I remember the way from earlier, it's easy to get turned around with half the lights in here turned off. Finally, familiar yellow tape signals that I'm in the right place. Ducking underneath it, I let myself into the lab, flicking on the lights. Everything is as we left it this afternoon, save for Dr. Frank's body which was taken to the coroner's office.

I tiptoe around the bloodstains on the floor to the scientist's desk. As I kneel down to get out my fingerprinting kit, I hear a distant sound. Like a door closing. Straightening my back, I look around and say, "Hello? Is someone there?" No answer. Nothing but silence, in fact. I shake my head at myself. Easy, Barry. You're jumping at ghosts. I turn my attention back to my fingerprinting kit.

As I'm laying out the kit, the lights in the room suddenly go off. The surprise jolts me to my feet. "Hello?" I call out again. Again, just silence and darkness. "If anyone's there, could you turn on the lights?" My prayer is answered as the lights pop back on, causing me to shield my eyes. When I look around again, I don't see anyone in the room. "Weird," I remark to myself.

That's when the machines in the room spring to life. Computer screens flash blue and white as they come online, and all manner of buttons on control consoles light up. There comes a low humming sound from the particle accelerator in the center of the lab. I'm frozen for a moment, taken aback by all the sudden activity. I wonder if perhaps this is all part of some power cycling that STAR Labs does at night, for whatever reason. But as the particle accelerator grows louder, I begin to have my doubts.

The humming is rhythmic, growing louder at points before fading away. Curious, I can't help myself as I step slowly over the large machine. The frequency of the hums increases, and I start to discern the pattern. The accelerator is active, sending ionized particles around the giant ring at increasing speeds. That's why the humming seems to be growing closer and falling away. The frequency increases until the humming is alternating almost too fast to differentiate. I have to back away as the hum grows into an awful din.

Outside, thunder cracks loudly enough to break through the noise in the lab. I resolve myself to get this fingerprinting done as quickly as possible. This place is giving me the creeps. Barely able to hear my own thoughts over the sound of the accelerator, I kneel down at the desk once more as I start taking prints. There, I think to myself as I finish, inspecting the prints for clarity. Now, let's get out of here.

I shovel everything back into my bag, not wanting to stay a second longer. I feel as though I'll suffer permanent hearing loss if I don't get out of this room. I stand a bit too quickly, feeling lightheaded. As I lean against the desk for support, something strange happens. Every hair on my body stands on end. I look down at my arm, aware that this is all happening in the breadth of a second yet perceiving everything as if it were slowed down. The roof shakes with the sound of thunder, and the particle accelerator goes silent.

A flash of light forces my eyes closed. When I open them, I see a wave of red energy rushing towards me. Behind it, the particle accelerator has burst open. As the wave of energy washes over me, I start to feel an out-of-body experience coming on. It's as though I'm weightless, floating in a sea of red.

That's when the shockwave from the explosion hits, and everything goes dark.

 

[Eddie Brock]

As I feared, the upcoming Homecoming Dance is all anyone can talk about come the next morning at school. My fellow students flit about in the hallway, trading the latest gossip about who asked who to the dance, who got shot down, and who the surprising pairs are. If I'm being honest, I hadn't given Homecoming a passing thought since I talked to Anya and Miguel about it yesterday. My mind's been occupied with other things - spiders, mobsters, and Big Men. In a way, I almost envy my classmates. It would be nice to have finding a Homecoming date as the biggest problem in my life. Then I remind myself how ridiculous the whole thing is, and I don't feel quite so bad for myself.

Still, I can't help but notice the dour expression on the face of Midtown's big man on campus, Flash Thompson, as he passes me in the hallway. He doesn't even acknowledge me, which is strange enough. Granted, he's been keeping his distance since our fight, but he usually at least shoots me a dirty look or something. Today? Nothing. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he heads for his locker, unceremoniously dropping his backpack at his feet. Within moments, Midtown's resident jersey chasers - cheerleaders Candi Muggins, Randi Couper, and Bambi Modica - flock around him, looking concerned.

"What's wrong with him?"

My Spider-Sense can do many wonderful things, but it can't protect me against all surprises. In spite of myself, I jump a little at the sound of Anya's voice to my left, which brings a small smirk to her face. She stands a head shorter than me, hands in her pockets, as she watches the scene with Flash intently.

"I honestly don't know," I admit as I grab the last of my books and close my locker. I look over again to see Candi, Randi, and Bambi patting Flash consolingly on the arm before wandering off, whispering among themselves. Flash doesn't look any brighter for having talked to them, so I guess whatever they said didn't work. I turn my attention back to Anya. "But if it distracts Flash from me for a while, then I'm grateful for whatever it is," I finish, shouldering my backpack.

Just then, Miguel appears, looking practically breathless. With a half-smile on his lips, he says, "Good. I've been waiting for you two to get here! Come on." There's a familiar twinkle in his eye. "You're both going to want to see this." Without another word, he begins walking briskly down the hallway, expecting us to follow - which, of course, we do now that our curiosity is piqued. Just as we're catching up to him, Miguel stops suddenly and holds out his arm to stop us. "Right here," he instructs.

Anya and I share a confused look. So far as we can tell, there's nothing out of the ordinary. Just students at their lockers, preparing for homeroom. I search Anya's expression to see if she can discern anything, but she gives me an equally uncertain glance in return. "Um, Miguel?" I begin. "What are we supposed to be seeing?"

"There," he points. I follow his gaze, eventually spotting Sally Avril standing at her locker. The corners of Miguel's mouth curl into a mischievous grin. "Just sit back and wait for the show."

After another moment, Sally opens her locker... and is immediately assaulted by a wave of frogs. Sally jumps back with a shriek as the little amphibians spill out onto the floor. Miguel laughs uproariously. Anya gasps and covers her mouth, but I can tell she's grinning, too. Other students look on in equal parts shock, terror, and hilarity. Sally, meanwhile, looks shaken and disgusted.

"You remember Eugene Patilio?" Miguel asks as he leans towards us. As soon as he says the name, I conjure up an image of a chubby redheaded kid with glasses from my biology class. Miguel continues, "I offered him five bucks to get me the frogs. When I told him who the 'victim' was, he said he'd do it for free." As Sally continues to look around, mouth agape, her eyes fall on the three of us. Miguel blows her a kiss.

At lunch, Miguel recounts the story of Sally and the frogs to anyone who'll listen. It's already taken on legendary status among the socially impaired, and Miguel is viewed as something of a hero for standing up to the popular kids. I shoot Anya a look to let her know how I feel about Miguel's sudden cult popularity, and she merely rolls her eyes with a smile. We'll let him have his moment in the sun. He earned it.

Hobie Brown shows up to the lunch table, tray in hand. "Hey, guys!" he says pleasantly as he sits down. Miguel opens his mouth to speak, but Hobie holds up a hand. "If you're gonna tell me about Sally, I already heard." For a moment, Miguel looks disappointed until Hobie holds out a congratulatory fist. "Solid stuff, man. Wish I could've seen it for myself."

"Don't worry. I've been talking to someone who might've gotten a video of it," Miguel reassures him.

As Hobie opens his chocolate milk carton, he looks around at the rest of us. "So, I'm sure you guys have heard by now about Homecoming," he says proudly. At least one of us is excited about the event. "I can count on you to be there to support the band, right?" As we all mutter assent, he smiles. "Good! Who knows? Maybe it'll even be fun."

"I'm not holding my breath," I reply. I begin to peel an overripe banana, pointing it at Miguel and Anya. "At least you two have your dates figured out. I don't even know who I'd ask. And if I show up alone, I'll never hear the end of it from Flash."

Anya frowns. "No ideas?"

As I take a bite of the banana, I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe I could finally let Aunt May set me up with her friend's niece," I offer. For weeks - months, even - Aunt May has badgered me nonstop about her friend Anna Watson's niece, Mary Jane. Now, it's not necessarily that I don't trust Aunt May's judgment concerning girls my age, but I just reject the idea of blind dates on principle. Far too risky of a proposition. "Or I could ask that Cindy girl from Calc class. She seemed like she might've been into me."

"You'll figure something out," Miguel says half confidently. Before he can say anything else, his eyes dart over my shoulder. Hobie, who's sitting on the same side, also begins to look that way. Eventually, it's enough to make Anya and I turn around and look for ourselves.

Liz Allen, reigning queen of Midtown High, approaches our table. When it comes to girls - particularly popular girls - I don't usually gush. But for Liz Allen, I'll make an exception. Tall, blonde, long legs, smooth skin. Liz is the complete package. When she walks into a room, she becomes the center of attention. Often seen on the arm of Flash Thompson, Liz doesn't exactly run in the same circles as me and my friends. Which makes her current approach all the more perplexing.

"Hey, Pete," Liz says, and it takes me half a second to register that she's addressing me directly. "Do you have a second?" she asks.

Even without turning around to see the looks on my friends' faces, I can feel the shock and confusion. Gathering my composure, I set down my half-eaten banana and reply, "Sure, Liz." I swing my legs around the bench and stand up. Liz pulls me aside a few feet, and I hear my friends shuffling to listen in. "So, what's up?" I try to say as casually as possible, as though this sort of thing happens often.

"Well, as you know, Homecoming's coming up on Friday," Liz begins, and I can already feel my heart rate increasing, "and if you hadn't asked anybody yet, I was wondering..." Time slows to a crawl in the pause that follows. I start to wonder if I'm sweating, which then makes me nervous, which then makes me start sweating. "... would you like to go with me?" Liz finally finishes.

There's a yelp off to my right which could only have come from Hobie or Miguel, not sure which. It takes all of my energy not to look over as I focus in on Liz. She's staring into my eyes with those baby blues of hers, waiting for an answer. I already know what I want to say. It just takes a moment for those words to reach my lips. "Yes," I answer, "Yeah, that'd be great."

Liz smiles, and I lose myself for a moment. "Great. Can I see your phone?" she asks. Surprisingly, my hand doesn't shake as I give it to her. I watch dumbstruck as she enters her name and number into the phone before handing it back to me. "Text me later, and we'll work out the details, yeah?" I nod, and she gives one last smile before slinking off.

The table is silent as I resume my seat. I cradle my phone extra carefully as I return it to my pocket. It now contains something invaluable: Liz Allen's phone number. After a moment of stunned silence, it's Hobie who first makes a sound. Clearing his throat, he announces, "Well... that certainly solved the whole date problem, eh?"

 

[Carnage27]

​

Ryker's Island Prison

"So," the Ultra-Humanite smiled as Superman once again appeared in his cell, "you've come back. I heard about the incident in downtown Metropolis. As well as felt it. Quite the technology that man got a hold of."

Superman stood in front of the crippled super-criminal with his arms folded over his chest. On his last trip here, the man had told Clark that he had opened the world to forces beyond his understanding. Could this be the beginning of that?

"Do you have any idea where it could have came from?" Clark asked as he passed him photos the agent from SHIELD had given him.

The Humanite let out a hearty laugh that ended in a fit of coughing. Clark hadn't noticed how old he looked the last time he had visited the prison. His wispy, white hair was thinning and his greying skin drooped on his face. His legs, which he had long ago lost the use of, hung lifelessly in his wheelchair.

As the coughing subside, the former villain admitted, "My boy, I'm flattered that you think I'm that good. I told you before that I may have opened the earth to forces beyond our conventional knowledge, but I have no idea what those forces may have been. With that being said, I'd be willing to bet the device in these pictures is extraterrestrial in origin."

So Clark had the confirmation he was looking for. Whatever the origin was, it wasn't of this planet.

"Where it came from, I have no idea," the Humanite continued. "But no one on earth is at this level of sophistication, even if Stark or Osborn would like to claim they are."

"Well, at least I have something to go on," was all Clark could say. His mind was racing with a million different thoughts. Not only was he not the only alien with interventions on Earth, the others were dangerous. For all he knew they were after him as well.

"Whoever gave this suit to this man," the Ultra-Humanite warned, "had malicious intent. They need to be found. If this was their opening salvo, I cannot imagine what could come next."

**********
​

Smallville, KS

Clark landed softly outside the Kent farmhouse as his old dog Buster bounded happily towards him. Buster had gotten slower and slower each time that Clark came back, it seemed. Of course, compared to the hustle and bustle of the city, everything on the farm seemed slow. Clark patted Buster on the head and the two of them went back towards the farmhouse.

"You could have called," a voice says from underneath the old pickup truck in the drive way. Clark turned to see his father slide out from under the truck. Even at his older age, Jonathan Kent looked like he could take down a bear. His hair was greying, but he looked strong, and the kind, blue eyes showed how happy he was to see his son.

"Then it wouldn't be a surprise," Clark smiled as the two men embraced. "You're still keeping that rust bucket going?"

"Well when you help pay your son's way through Metropolis U, you need to make ends meet," he winked.

"Don't put your chintzy ways on me, old man," Clark elbowed him in the ribs. "You're the one who said Six Flags was the same as Disney World."

"You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Never," Clark laughed as they crossed over into the house.

A wave of nostalgia and warmth bombarded Clark as he stepped inside. Every sight brought back a memory, and every creak in the floorboards was like a long forgotten family conversation coming back to him. The house smelled of pine and cinnamon, and Clark's nose brought him instinctively to the kitchen.

There, Clark found his mother pulling a pie out of the over. She was always baking. It helped that Clark's metabolism was supercharged or he might have been the bloated man instead.

"Smells great, Ma."

His mother's face lit up as she saw her son. She ran over and threw her arms around him, "I'm so glad to see you're all right!"

"The news made it seem worse than it was," Clark assured his mother. She often worried about his move into superheroism. There wasn't much he could do but ensure he was doing all he could do to stay safe. "The guy barely stood a chance."

"But that machine!" she shook her head. "Where did it come from?"

The youngest Kent took a deep breath before he answered. It had been in the barn mere yards away that he learned he was not of this Earth. His father showed him the craft that Clark arrived in, and the young boy's life was changed forever. Since that day, he had wondered if he was alone along with the elder Kent.

"It was alien," he said after a long pause. "We're not sure where it came from, but it's alien."

His parents shared a look before his mother said, "So there are others?"

"Theoretically," Clark nodded.

"You're going to find out who?" Pa asked as he patted his son on the shoulder.

"I'm gonna try my best."

"That's my boy."

 

[Morden Man]

Matt Murdock was blind.

The only person that had ever tried to stick up for Austin Cao would never see again and it was his fault. Alone in his bedroom Austin sat on the edge of his bed and tried to psyche himself up for what was about to happen. He’d spent the best part of two days trying to work up the courage to do what he knew needed to be done. Matt had stuck up for him when he needed him and now it was time for Austin to stick up for Matt.

Austin’s father was a violent drunk. He would beat on Austin anytime he thought the boy had so much as looked at him wrong. When Austin was younger his mother would try to protect him from the beatings but all it had earned her was beatings over her own. They happened more and more frequently the older Austin got, as if his father was threatened by his son’s aging. Maybe he knew that one day Austin would be old enough to fight back.

For Austin himself he never thought that day would come. His father was close friend’s with Turk Barrett who, from what Austin had gleamed from his father, answered to someone particularly important. He’d seen what had happened to Matt when he tried to teach his father a lesson and he didn’t think he’d ever have the guts to risk the same happening to him. Until he found out that Matt was blind.

Turk Barrett be damned. Austin was going to make his father pay for what he’d done to Matt. He was going to finish what Matt had started and make sure he could never hurt him or his mother again. In the dirty rag in Austin’s hand was a gun. They weren’t hard to come by in Hell’s Kitchen if you knew the right people and though it had taken him a fair amount of time and effort Austin had managed to track one down.

And so he waited.

The hours dragged by as Austin sat with on the edge of his bed and waited for his father to come home. He wasn’t sure whether he’d be home tonight, he wasn’t sure whether he’d be home this week, but he’d wait up every night until he did. It was no secret that Austin’s father would step up on his wife whenever it took his fancy and he made no effort to conceal the fact. Once Austin had done what he needed to do both his mother and he would be free. His mother could find someone that treated her right and didn’t bounce her off the walls whenever they felt like. Maybe she’d even get remarried.

Anything would be better than living in fear of his father coming home every night. For the first time in his life Austin was actually looking forward to his father arriving home, probably blind drunk and reeking of bourbon. He knew this time would be the last time. And as the god’s would will it, there came a loud banging on the front door to the Cao household followed by several drunken shouts. Austin recognised the voice in an instance. It was his father.

“Open up!” Cao shouted at the top of his voice. “I know you’re awake in there, boy!”

With a determined nod Austin sat up from his bed and made his way towards the front door. As he reached the door he looked across at the mirror that hung from the wall next to it at his reflection. He stared into his own eyes for a few moments and questioned whether he would have the strength to survive what would come after this. He knew he’d be arrested and that he might even go to prison, but that was better than a lifetime spent incarcerated in his own home. With a gulp he placed the gun in the waistband of his sweatpants and opened the door slowly.

“What took you so long?” Cao said with a spiteful look. “It’s freezing out there.”

Austin’s father staggered past him angrily and made his way into the kitchen. With one hand he fumbled around with the handle of the fridge before eventually managing to pull it open to bend inside and inspect his contents. It was empty.

Austin stood over him and reached for the gun in his waistband.

“What the hell are you looking at?”

There was only the slightest glint of recognition in his eyes as Austin pointed the gun in his direction and pulled the trigger several times. After a procession loud bangs, Austin’s father slumped to the kitchen floor dead with two bullets lodged deeply in his brain, one in his neck, and one in his upper chest.

Austin stood silently over his father’s body with flecks of blood on his face, his face blank and without expression. It was done. Austin Cao hoped that Matt Murdock could rest a little easier once he found out.

 

[Carnage27]

Gotham Sewer Systems
The Narrows

The smell, somehow, wasn't the worst thing. No, the worst thing about hunting a creature through the nearly colonial sewers of Gotham City was the quiet. All that Bruce heard was the sloshing of his feet through what he only imagined was hepatitis soup, which was complimented by the constant sound of water dripping from every wall and ceiling. His path was illuminated by dim work lights which were located intermittently along the sides of the sewers.

The corridors of the sewers in The Narrows were made of old, masonry brick. Bruce was honestly amazed they hadn't been updated in the years since they were built, but that's what made them the perfect hiding place. No one in their right mind would come down here. Through the years they had been a den for revolutionaries, smugglers, runaway slaves, and bootleggers. If they had been even the tiniest bit sanitary, these sewers would have been a historical site.

But they made Bruce feel like he was the one being hunted. He had the training he needed to track down Morbius, but this setting was the creature's nest. Above the streets, Bruce was at the advantage. He knew Gotham better than any other person in the city. Wayne was sure of that. Down here Morbius was the expert.

"ORACLE, display the map on the HUD," Batman commanded. Small visors slid over his eyes and augmented his view with the ORACLE system. Using the view, he could see the way point he had marked on a map before leaving the cave. The end point was still a few hundred yards from here. There was an old maintenance annex that would be dry, warm, and be out of the sun. The problem was it only had one entrance. If Morbius heard Bruce coming, the Batman didn't stand a chance.

He pressed up against the wall as he approached the annex, hoping it would decrease the sound he made wading through the murky water. T'challa often said that sound was the most important thing when it came to the hunt. It was easy to stay out of sight, but being light on your feet was a different story. There was a time when he was teaching Wayne to hunt, when the novice accidentally snapped a twig as they crept up on a herd of wildebeest. The sound spooked one, which sparked a stampede that trampled some of the Black Panther's crops. He used the situation to teach Bruce that even the slightest miscalculation on a hunt can have disastrous consequences.

This time the consequences could be even more deadly. Bruce wasn't up against a beast. This time it was a monster who was once a man. A mistake meant the end of his life.

He turned into the maintenance area he found Morbius huddled over a small fire in the corner of the room. His clothes were nothing more than tattered rags thanks to the environment and his scuffle with Bruce and Selina the night before.

Batman wasted little time. He pulled two of the ultraviolet flashbangs from his belt and tossed them at the mutated doctor before he covered his eyes with his cape. The devices went off, filling the room with blinding light. Bruce heard Morbius scream, as well as the sound of something clambering up the wall. Batman unshielded his eyes in time to see Morbius rip an electrical wire from the wall and plunge the sewers into complete darkness.

"ORACLE, night vision," he commanded as the HUD changed to give him visibility.

"You dare come here?" Morbius bellows from the shadows as Batman frantically attempts to locate him. "You who denied me my rightful vengeance?"

"I only stopped you from becoming more of a monster, Michael," Batman pleaded with him. "You're not a murder. Let me help you."​

"I'll show you monster!" Morbius lunged from the darkness before Bruce could react. All he could see was the mutant's gaping maw lunging towards him. The creature's strong arms slam into Batman's shoulders, sending him tumbling into the vile liquid. Batman thrashed against the strength of Morbius as the living vampire held the Dark Knight under, but it was to no avail. The gross liquid filled Bruce's lungs and his vision blurred as his oxygen diminished. In a desperation move, Bruce activated on of his suit's defense systems, sending an electric shock through Morbius.

The monster dashed away while Bruce choked up sewer water. He knew he had little time to gain his senses back, but nearly drowning wasn't something easily gotten over.

"Your time was bright, but brief Batman," Morbius taunted him from the dark. "There is a new creature of the night fighting for justice in Gotham."

"You fight for nothing but vengeance, Michael," Batman shot back. It seemed whatever was left of Michael Morbius was slipping away, however. All that was left was what he had become. "That's not justice. Listen to yourself. Whatever changed you is warping your mind."

"No! It made me whole!" Morbius charged at Batman again. But this time Wayne was ready. He spun out of the way, and slammed a tranquilizer into Michael's side as he did. It didn't put the powerful mutant down, but it slowed him down enough to give Bruce a chance. Morbius swung wildly with his powerful arms, trying for a knockout blow. "It made me stronger than I'd ever be. It cured me. It changed me. I am stronger than you could ever be!"

"Strength isn't the important thing," Batman explained as he ducked a blow from his opponent. He used the creature's momentum against him and kicked Morbius in the small of the back. This sent him hurtling headfirst into a steel support beam. While he was dazed, Bruce put two more tranqs in him. "Michael Morbius knew that. He knew that strength and health meant nothing without the desire to use it to help people."

"Michael Morbius was dead the minute that criminal, the woman your protected, stole my formula," he growled groggily. "I thought you fought crime, Batman. Yet you protected her. WHY!?"

The question took Batman off target, he had to admit. He knew the answer, but being asked by someone who felt wronged by Batman's actions, or more accurately inaction, was disarming. Should he have turned Selina in? In the back of his mind he probably knew the answer to that.

Morbius didn't give Bruce time to think. He lunged one last time at the Dark Knight, and attempted to sink his teeth into the hero's neck. Instead, Batman caught his adversary by the neck, and plunged one one last tranquilizer in his neck. The rage in Michael's eyes burned out as they closed, and Batman let out a sigh of relief.

**********​

Arkham Asylum
Gotham City, NJ​

Arkham Asylum was not a nice place to be at night. Gotham was know for Gothic flourishes in its architecture, but Arkham was like something from A monk's nightmare. The castle like institute had long been the country's leading place of treatment for the criminally insane. The level of danger that came with many of its inmates scared the city at large, and the structure's many gargoyles seemed to keep the evil inside, rather than protecting it form outside influences. The fact that the hospital was on an island in Gotham Harbor didn't help that viewpoint either.​

Still, Doctor Jonathan Crane, the current head of the asylum, loved Arkham. He had always been fascinated by the workings of the human mind, at it was here that he could truly see what happened when the mind truly broke. On top of that, it was his crusade to attempt to rebuild it. There was not a greater charge he could think of.​

He was one of the two doctors left at this late hour, with his girlfriend Harleen Quinzell the other. The two believed in working a weekly overnight shift to ensure their employees saw them as equals.​

"Jonathan," Harley came into his office looking flustered. Even in an agitated state, she was as beautiful as the day he had met her. Bright blond hair flowed down to her shoulders, partially hiding the thick framed glasses that adorned her face. Her slight frame was accentuated with the tight labcoat she wore. She was, in all honesty, far out of his league. Crane was a thin, lanky man as he had been a thin, lanky boy. His face looked more of a vulture's than a man's. And yet, she stayed with him. "There's a car approaching over the bridge."​

"At this hour?" Crane's eyebrow raised as he turned on a security feed. He gasped at what he saw approaching. It was the Batmobile, as the Gotham news had dubbed it. The vehicle of the new infamous vigilante that was prowling Gotham's streets in the darkness. Crane found him to be a fascinating study. The man used fear expertly, unlike anything Crane had ever seen before. "Come, dear. Let's greet our guest."​

Once the two were outside the gates, rain began to fall and lightning flashed in the distance. It was late in the year for a thunderstorm, but the city had been abnormally hot recently. Another flash revealed Batman in front of them, with some sort of creature shackled at his feet.​

"This is Michael Morbius," Batman explained to them. "He needs mental help. There's a good man somewhere buried deep inside him. Bring him back. He'll have to face trial for what he's done, but the cops don't have the facilities to hold him. I'm trusting this man to you, Doctor Crane. Help him."​

"That's my job, Batman," Crane smiled as he motioned for men to take Morbius to their strongest room. "And what of you? What kind of help do you need."​

"Maybe one day I'll tell you, Doctor Crane," he responded as he climbed back into his vehicle. "But not today."​

**********​

Once he was a good enough distance away from Arkham, Batman called Alfred, "Alfred, I'm going to need mouthwash."​

"How much are we speaking of, Bruce?" his mentor held back a laugh.​

"All of it," Bruce growled. "And ever penicillin shot we have."​

 

[Carnage27]

​

Wayne Manor

Bruce sat in front of the television as a fire roared in the fireplace, and sipped on a cup of hot green tea. It had been so long since he really felt he was able to relax. Maybe that was his own drive to never rest until his work was done, but the past weeks had been filled with things not even he had expected. After Morbius was safely away in Arkham, Roman Sionis stepped out of the company his family had built to quietly retire and escape the intense spotlight of investigation. The company was sent into a tailspin that threatened to drag Gotham's shaky financial stability down with it. This also left Sionis Pharmaceuticals open for corporate raiding, which could threaten thousands of Gotham employees. Lucius Fox immediately brought up the idea of acquiring the company to not only bolster Wayne Enterprises' public health sector, but as a show of good faith to the people of Gotham. It was a master stroke, and Bruce agreed to the idea nearly immediately.

The talking heads on the TV agreed it was a terrific idea, but they weren't so sure about the other thing he had announced earlier in the day. A video of the speech appeared on the screen as Bruce watched himself say, "But not only will Wayne Enterprises be solidifying Gotham's present with this move, I also have eyes on the future. For too long Gotham's infrastructure has lagged behind that of Metropolis, New York, or Coast City. We had some hard times, sure. But we all know Gotham is capable of pulling itself up by its bootstraps and showing the world what it's really made of. For too long we've been on the ground. But consider this a first step to us getting back on our feet."

He keyed a could commands into the press room podium at Wayne Tower, and the room darkened before a holographic image of Gotham City appeared in front of the press, "This is the Gotham of the near future. Wayne Enterprises and its partners have put forth a plan to make Gotham a shining beacon on the east coast. Using renewable energies, the latest telecommunications technologies, and smart city concepts, Gotham will rise from its dark times. And I am happy to announce that I will personally be funding a refurbishment and expansion to the monorail my father built for the city decades ago. Together, we can save Gotham. I promise."

The TV switched back to the pundits as they questioned the risks he was taking with his money and his company's. Wayne cared little for what they had to say. The country's culture had skated by for too long on individuals hording wealth instead of investing back into the places that helped make them. Alexis Luthor had started the trend by helping make Metropolis into the literal City of Tomorrow. Others followed suit. Now Bruce was too.

"Quite the rousing speech," Alfred admitted. "I'm proud of you."

The comment surprised Wayne. While the two very much had a father/son relationship, hearing Alfred speak as such was rare.

"I can only do so much as Batman," Bruce explained his motives. "I can inspire the citizens to not fear the dark and fight back against the scum of the city, but I can't physically change the place like that. But my money can."

"That it can," Alfred nodded. "And I see stock prices soared."

"A happy benefit," Bruce chuckled.

"Now that you realize that Batman can't do everything for you," Alfred sat across from Bruce, "do you also realize that Bruce Wayne needs a life as well?"

"Alfred, how many times do I have to tell you that I don't have-"

"Time?" he cut Wayne off. "Bruce, I once told you something you weren't ready to hear, but maybe now you are. Before you left I told you that drive is crucial to your crusade, but obsession would be your downfall. I fear you're on your way to falling into that trap. You barely sleep, you enjoy nothing, and your whole focus is on Batman. Have you even realized it's the Holidays?"

He hadn't, embarrassingly enough. Bruce had probably noticed the trappings along the streets of downtown Gotham as he drive by, but it didn't register in his head.

"What do you want me to do, Alfred?" Bruce asked. "Put up a tree? Make you some egg nog?"

Maybe it was that Wayne had forgotten how to have fun in his long, grueling years of training, he wasn't sure. But he saw Alfred's point. A deep obsession with his crusade wouldn't be healthy. He needed to clear his head now and again.

"No," Alfred patted him on the shoulder. "All I'm asking is for you to find a friend. Maybe go to dinner. We all need someone, sometimes."

**********​

The Black Mask sat at his desk in the headquarters of the False Face Society, drumming his fingers on the mahogany. His company was gone. It was a heavy burden lifted off his shoulders, one that would now allow him to move unseen through the criminal world of Gotham City. But the question was how he was going to make his grand entrance onto the scene.​

In his mind, there was really only one choice.​

The Batman had to be killed.​

He was a fly in the ointment, and no matter how much power Black Mask could obtain, the Batman would be there to try and take him down. That was stress that Roman Sionis didn't need.​

He looked over at his lieutenant, also wearing a mask, "Get me a camera. It's time to announce my grand plan for saving Gotham. Bruce Wayne ain't gonna be the only one to do that today."​

The other man nodded his head and went off. No one knew who anyone else was in the False Face Society, except for Sionis. He knew their names, but none of them knew who anyone else was. That's how he ensured loyalty. That's how he ensured no one from the inside would ever dare cross him.


When his underling returned with the camera, Black Mask ordered, "Set it up. I need to talk to the people for a little."

​

**********

Selina gasped audibly as she opened the door and came face to face with Bruce. He smiled apologetically, "Hey, sorry. I probably should have called. Of course, I don't know you're number, so-"

"So you just decided to find where I live instead?" she shot back a skeptical look.

"Probably not the best idea, huh?" he shook his head. Bruce was amazed at how unbelievably bad he was at being genuine. He had spent nearly a decade masking emotions and desires that he barely knew if he had any left. "But it's Christmas time and all that. I don't really have anyone to spend it with... So I wanted to know if you wanted to grab dinner."

Selina looked over him, completely puzzled by the situation. But after a quiet few moments she shrugged, "Sure. Let me get changed."

Within the half hour, the two were seated at a quiet wine bar in the nicest part of the city. Selina looked around the place and smiled at Bruce, "You certainly know how to show a girl a good time."

"Well, I was dead for a decade, remember?" he joked. "I don't have many friends. It's either you or Alfred, and Alfred doesn't look quite as good in a dress."

"Touche," she nodded in agreement. Selina then spontaneously laughed, "Speaking of Alfred, remember that time he caught me sneaking into the manor?"
​

"I thought he was going to kill the two of us," Bruce recalled the incident. "You for sneaking in, me for telling you how to manage it. Honestly, I'd never seen him so angry."

"Young lady," Selina impersonated Alfred's haughty tone, "I have half a mind to call the police. Perhaps that will teach you some proper decorum."

Bruce chuckled, "At that point he didn't know you'd already been arrested three times."

"He might have sent you off sooner if he did," she rolled the wine in her glass around. She looked away, over her shoulder into the streets of Gotham. "Things got worse when you left. Mom continued to spiral out of control. I lost my two friends."

"Selina, I'm sorry-"

She put her hands up and waved his apology away, "And then I hear you died, while I was struggling to survive. Then you come back. You start changing things in Gotham. You come back into my life. I'm not complaining. But I need to know, why did you come back? Why here? You escaped this hell. And you came right back. Why?"

Bruce took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. It wasn't an easy question to answer. He knew what this city had done to her and her family. With what he knew about her own nightly activities, he didn't understand why she stayed.

"I came back because of what this city's done to my family. What it's done to yours. What it's done to countless others," Wayne spoke from the heart, never breaking eye contact. "I can change this city, Selina. I know I can. That's why I came back. So what happened to us never has to happen again."

A sweet smirk spread across her face, "You should have said that at your speech today. Would have gone over even better than it did."

"I guess I didn't have someone like you to get that out of me earlier," he shrugged.

"Well, for what it's worth," she took a sip before continuing, "I believe in you."

**********

The dinner went on well, and Bruce had to admit it was beyond enjoyable to reconnect with someone after so long. As he walked her back towards her apartment, she slipped her arm into the crook of his, and they continued silently on their way. From above, a few flecks of snow began to fall. With the Christmas lights adorning the streets of downtown Gotham, Bruce figured this would be the definition of romantic.

When they got to her door, Bruce coughed, "I had a great time tonight. We should do this again soon."

"Yea, definitely," she nodded as she searched for her keys.

From behind them, Alfred's voice rang out, "Master Bruce!"

Bruce turned to find him waiting in the limo, "There's been a work emergency. Mr. Fox told me to get you!"

Wayne sighed and turned back to Selina, "Hey, sorry. I had a great time. I'll call you soon."

"You better," she command through narrowed eyes before laughing it off. "Good luck with whatever that is. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas!" he yelled as he hurried towards the car. Once he was seated in the car, he looked up at Alfred, "This better be good."

"Oh, so now you want to socialize," he laughed before getting somber. "This video was posted on YouTube only a half hour ago. Lucius brought it to my attention."

The screen in the back of the limo popped on, and on it was a man in a white suit and what looked like an ebony mask in the visage of a skull. In it was carved a hideous smile. From behind it, and through a voice modulator, came a voice in an almost mocking tone, "Good evening Gotham, and the world. My name is Black Mask. You haven't heard of me. Not yet, at least. But I'm here to tell Gotham that I am your next big thing. Falcone? Maroni? Old hat. I am the next breed of criminal. A better class, if you will. And I'm going to prove that right now. The old guard in Gotham think they can ignore Batman and he'll go away. Eventually someone will get lucky and put a bullet in his brain. But I know better. The Batman is a professional, and as such, it will take a professional to kill him. So I put this offer out to anyone who thinks they are a professional. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Whoever puts Batman's head under my tree gets five million in cold, hard cash. Happy Holidays, Gotham City."

​

 

[Eddie Brock]

Liz Allen actually asked me out!

Me! Peter Benjamin Parker! The boy who holds the Midtown High record for most hours spent stuffed inside a locker. The boy who's received so many swirlies that I can identify the individual toilets just by the imperfections in the porcelain. The boy who once ripped his underwear while receiving one of Kenny "King" Kong's patented "atomic wedgies." And yet of all the endless candidates - deserving or otherwise - in all of Midtown, Liz wants me to take her to Homecoming! And she gave me her number. Her actual number! Ten digits that I could dial right now, and Liz Allen would be the one to answer the phone!

I'd be lying to you if I said I hadn't dreamed of this moment. I mean, what guy in Midtown hadn't? I even almost worked up the courage to ask her out myself once. That is, until I remembered that Liz and I were separated by several levels of status and general social aptitude. But I suppose I have been more confident since my transformation - even standing up to Flash once or twice! That must've been how I caught Liz's eye. Oh man, the look on Flash's face when I walk into Homecoming with his on-again-off-again girlfriend on my arm! Or how about Sally Avril? She might actually have a heart attack! Not that I'd wish that on even her...

... okay, maybe just a little, non-life-threatening one...

Woah, Spider-Sense! What gives?

I release my webline with a backflip, landing on a nearby ledge. My mysterious sixth sense is giving my brain a gentle buzz - not enough to signal imminent physical danger, but enough to grab my attention. On cue, a pair of NYPD patrol cars race by, sirens wailing. Wherever they're going, they're apparently in a hurry. And if my Spider-Sense got triggered by it, I'm thinking they're probably not just running late to a fundraiser or something. Always glad to assist the boys in blue, I think to myself as I jump down from my ledge and begin following the speeding patrol cars. Though they're flying down the streets, I'm able to keep pace from above without breaking a sweat.

A ring of flashing police lights ahead marks my probable destination. I lengthen the stride between my swings, easily overtaking the cruisers I followed to the scene. As I get closer, I'm able to make out the police barricade around one of the buildings on the street. The cops have cordoned the area off, pushing back curious onlookers to a safe distance. A large black SWAT van sits parked outside the... bank? Seriously? How cliche. Shaking my head, I let the last webline slip out of my hand as I swoop down through the shattered remnants of a window.

Inside, the bank looks like it was hit by a tornado. Pens and papers lay scattered about here and there. Broken glass litters the floor. A few desks are overturned. Behind the front desk, the massive circular door to the vault hangs partly detached from its hinges. All around, terrified bank employees and customers alike huddle behind every available surface, whimpering softly. They're so preoccupied with their fear that they don't even notice my quiet entrance. A security guard sits with his back to a pillar, holding his chest and grimacing. "Umm, excuse me? Who do I have to talk to about taking out a loan?"

Every eye in the bank is now on me. It doesn't do much to alleviate the terror on the hostages' faces - though some scared looks are substituted for simple confusion, which I guess can be seen as an improvement. One mother pulls her child closer. I give her a quick thumbs up, but that only provokes another fearful gasp. My eyes are still on her when I hear the sound of boots crunching shards of broken glass. "You picked the wrong day to involve yourself in my business."

I look up to see a man standing in the open doorway to the vault. He's dressed head to toe in a yellow-and-brown bodysuit with a diamond-shaped quilted pattern. On each wrist, he wears strange metal gauntlets with red buttons near the thumb. His mask bears no features - save for two large eye holes, behind which a set of stern eyes leers at me contemptuously.

I hop on top of a nearby desk and crouch there. "You left the house dressed like that, and you're going to criticize my decision-making?"

The expression in the man's eyes doesn't change. He merely blinks. "You as quick on your feet as you are with your mouth?" he asks as he raises one of his gauntlets at me. It doesn't take my Spider-Sense blaring to tell me that something bad's about to happen. In the instant the man presses his thumb to the button on his gauntlet, I launch myself from the desk, finding a new perch on the side of a marble pillar - not a moment too soon, either, as a rippling wave of blueish energy from the gauntlet sends the desk hurtling across the bank. "Not bad, spider. But see, the Big Man warned me to be prepared for the likes of you."

"The 'Big Man,' huh?" I repeat curiously. "Sounds like someone I should meet, especially since he seems to know about me."

"Tell you what," the man begins, "after we're done here, I'll bring what's left of you to him."

I tap my chin with my finger. "Hmm. Tempting. I have a counteroffer, though. Before I hand you over to the police, you give me a name and a way to find this 'Big Man.'"

"No sale," the man answers. "Even if I had a name to give, you wouldn't get it out of me. You see, the Shocker doesn't talk to bugs." He raises both gauntlets in my direction, thumbs over the buttons. "I just squash 'em."

Again, I anticipate the incoming blast. Leaping off to the side, I contort my body awkwardly to avoid the rippling waves of energy. Still, I feel the oscillating vibrations against my chest like air rushing off a racing train. The blasts punch a hole right through the pillar where I once perched. "The Shocker, really? That's what you're going with? You don't wanna workshop that at all?" I taunt.

Shocker doesn't deign to respond. He merely wheels around on his heel and fires another concentrated blast. Once more I jump to the side, but Shocker anticipates it this time. Like a skeet shooter following a target, he aims a second blast just ahead of me. I'm unable to twist away from it in time. The blast hits me square in the chest, rattling my ribcage and sending me sprawling across the front counter. It feels like someone hit me with a battering ram. I press a hand to my sternum just to check that it didn't cave in.

"Not so funny when you're on the receiving end of a vibro-blast, is it?" Shocker calls out as he takes a few steps forward.

Though I'm still winded, I manage to reply, "You call them 'vibro-blasts?' On second thought, maybe Shocker wasn't the worst name you could've given yourself..."

Shocker takes aim at the ceiling above my head. A single vibro-blast tears through it and sends a shower of debris down on me. Still cradling my chest with one arm, I quickly throw up the other hand and form a protective net of webbing overhead. It catches the larger chunks, though a layer of dust and smaller chips still comes down on my head. Although my organs still feel loose, I've run out of time. Shocker levels his gauntlet at me, and I'm forced to scramble. This time, I move in a less predictable fashion, not allowing Shocker to line up a leading shot.

Vibro-blasts punch holes through the wall behind me as I dash away. One of them takes out the section of wall I was about to step on, robbing me of my balance and sending me tumbling to the floor. I let my momentum carry me into a roll as Shocker blasts the floor where I landed. "I think that's about enough of those for one day," I announce as I spin and fire two globs of webbing at Shocker's wrists.

The webbing completely coats his gauntlets. Shocker glances at me before looking down at his web-covered hands. Just then, his arms begin to shake. The webbing glows blue for a second before being blown apart, splattering web fluid all around the bank. Of course it couldn't just be that easy, I sigh.

"Tell me, Shocker," I begin. I reach my arm across my body and fire a webline at the corner of a desk. "Does your grandmother know what you did with her favorite quilt?" I give the line a good, strong tug, pulling the desk up off the ground and sending it hurtling in Shocker's direction. He merely blasts it out of the air, reducing the desk to little more than splinters.

"The outfit is a bit colorful," Shocker concedes as he fires another errant blast in my direction. I'm forced to fire a webbing net to protect huddled hostages from falling plaster. "But the padding insulates me against my own vibrations," he explains.

I chuck another desk at Shocker. Like the last one, he dismissively blasts it out of the air - just as I predicted he would. With his gauntlet raised, he's left himself open to attack. I bound towards him, closing the distance before he can react. Bringing myself this close to his gauntlets is hazardous to say the least, but I should be able to down him with one good punch.

... or so I thought.

I propel myself off my back foot and connect with Shocker's jaw, giving him just an extra taste of my patented Spider-Strength. It's enough to make him stumble, but he doesn't fall down. Shocker doesn't waste any time turning the tables as he plants his gauntlet in my gut and fires. My limp body smashes through a pillar, bringing pieces of it crashing down around me.

Shocker rubs his jaw. "Hmm. Looks like that padding also gives me a little extra protection from you, spider," he remarks. He steps up to me and fires another blast at my torso as I lay defenseless on the ground. It rocks my already weakened body to the core, and I swear I feel one of my ribs cracking. Shocker kneels down by my head. "Now, hold still. This'll be over quick. At this range, a vibro-blast will scramble your brain inside your skull." He presses the gauntlet against my temple. "Any last smart remarks?"

"Yeah," I wheeze, "duck."

The tear gas canister spirals towards Shocker's head. He spins and fires a quick vibro-blast to knock it away, but another immediately follows. Then a third. Outside, the SWAT team is getting in position to breach. Shocker turns back to me. "It's your lucky day, spider. See you around." He gets to his feet and makes for the vault, firing a few vibro-blasts at the SWAT team to keep them at bay.

Covering my mouth, I force myself to my feet. Any second now, those SWAT team members are going to burst into the bank, and I don't want to be around here when they do. I hate running from the police, but I'd hate being taken into custody for questioning and being unmasked even more. Shocker's blasts have left me weakened, but I should be able to slip out the back way all the same.

Well, Pete, that didn't go the way you would've drawn it up. Pummeled into submission by a guy wearing a yellow quilt. Not my finest hour. Of course, Shocker did have the element of surprise on his side, and I wasn't expecting him to be able to take a punch from me. Next time, I'll be ready. My ego may take a little longer to heal than my bruises and cracked ribs, but at least I can resolve myself to putting on a better showing in Round Two...
​

 

[Morden Man]

It’s the middle of the night and my phone is ringing. My phone never rings in the middle of the night. For all the good my radar sense had done me I still couldn’t quite find me way around working out what was on electronic screens. Sounds, vibrations, and movement I was capable of picking out through the red haze that was now my vision. Trying to figure out whose name was across my phone whilst it was ringing? No such luck. Thankfully much cleverer people than me designed an application for these instances.

“<Tom Bronson calling.>”

Bad news. It had to be bad news. Ted and I had given some of the older boys at the gym our cell numbers in case they were ever in trouble. Never once had they used them. I press the phone to my ear and the sound of Tom’s voice wavering as he speaks confirms my worst fears.

“<Hey Mr. M,>” Tom mutters. “<I’m sorry to be calling you at this time of night I just didn’t know who else to call. Something’s happened.>”

“What’s wrong?”

“<It’s Austin.>”

My heart drops in my chest.

“Tell me he’s okay, Tom.”

There’s an awkward silence and I can hear Tom mulling over his words. I’m not sure what’s going on here but something feels wrong. I’d told the boys at Wildcat’s the night after I’d been arrested for my altercation with Austin’s father that there was a better way with dealing with your problems than violence, but if Cao had hurt him I wasn’t sure what I’d do.

“<He’s fine,>” Tom says, pausing slightly afterwards. “<At least I think he’s fine. He’s been arrested, Mr. M.>”

It didn’t make sense.

“Arrested? Arrested for what?”

There’s another short silence as I realise I can hear sirens in the background. It’s an ambulance.

“<Murder.>”

The phone drops from my hands and clatters to the ground with a bang. It was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.

********​

I had woken Foggy from his sleep and dragged him halfway across the state in the middle of night. Naturally he wasn’t pleased about it, but when I told him about what had happened he’d silenced his grumbling quickly enough. It had taken me a while for me to get my bearings about me after Tom had told me but I’d called back and he explained what had happened. Apparently he’d overheard some of the officers outside of Austin’s house talking and they’d said he’d waited for his father to come home and then shot him in cold blood. Four bullets.

I couldn’t believe it. No one could.

Several hours had passed since I’d found out. Foggy was acting as Austin’s legal counsel at my behest although he didn’t know what good that would do him. Austin had admitted to everything. He’d told the police how he’d bought the guns days earlier and had waited for his father with the gun in his hands for hours with the intent to kill him. It was an open and shut a case as ever there was one. There was no way of avoiding it.

I sit in the waiting room gnawing at my nails. Ted had taken Austin’s mother to a twenty-four hour café down the block after the police had finished questioning her to calm her down. I’d opted to wait for Foggy instead. The door opens slowly and through it he steps with two cups of coffee in his hands. He hands me one and then sits in the seat beside me.

“It doesn’t look good.”

I grimace and take a sip of my coffee.

“The police are going to want to talk to you in a little while,” Foggy said with a sigh. “You came up a couple of times in there.”

“What do you mean?”

Foggy hesitates for a few moments. His pulse quickens slightly and I begin to realise that there’s more to this than meets the eye. I had no idea where he’d got the gun from but it didn’t seem unbelievable that a man like Cao kept a gun in the house. I’d figured that Austin had finally had enough of his father wailing on his mom and him and stumbled on it. From Foggy’s pulse I could tell there was more to it than that.

“Austin told them about the attack.”

Why would he do that? Despite their best efforts I’d given the police absolutely nothing on that front. I knew that if I hadn’t already done so that cooperating with them would be signing my own death warrant.

“He said it was justice,” Foggy muttered. “He said that you were the only person that had ever stuck up for him and that his father had taken your sight from you, that he wanted to stick up for you too. He said it was justice, Matt.”

I place the coffee down on the ground next to me and bury my head in my hands.

“This is on me.”

From the change in Foggy’s pulse I can tell he agrees. It would hurt if it wasn’t true. I’d taken matters into my own hands the night I’d tracked Austin’s father down and ever since then my life had been unraveling. If I hadn’t done that Austin would still have his freedom, I’d still have my sight, and Angela and I would still be an item. I’d messed it all up and now Austin was paying for it with his freedom. He’d thrown his entire future away because of my actions.

“Tell me he didn’t name names.”

Foggy stays silent.

“Goddamn it,” I mutter under my breath. “How could you let him do that? He’ll be a walking target in there if Eric Slaughter is half the piece of work that Turk made out.”

“As much as my doing this is a favour to you our relationship is an irrelevancy to me the second I walk through that door and become Austin’s legal counsel. He’s thirteen years old and facing a murder charge, Matt, anything we can do to lessen the blow we’re going to do at this point.”

I want to argue with him and tell him he should have told Austin to keep his mouth shut but I know he’s in the right on this once. There was nothing else Foggy could have done in that position. There was nothing anyone could have done.

And then it hit me.

********​

It’s the early hours of the morning. For the first time in a long time Ted had a full house. Austin’s mother was sleeping in the guest room and Foggy had crashed on the couch downstairs.

I sat in my room eyeing up my phone.

“Call: Peter Cross.”

The phone begins to ring. Despite the early hour Cross answers it within three rings.

“<Given how poorly our last conversation went I can’t say that I was expecting to hear from you again so soon.>”

“About that,” I say with a glance out of my bedroom window. “I’ve had a change of heart.”

 

[Carnage27]

​

Kent Farm
Smallville, KS

The sun sank low over Kent farm as Clark walked along the fields with Buster close at his heels. He had been here for a few days to relax and enjoy the company of his family, not to mention clear his head from his first encounter with a legitimate piece of extraterrestrial technology since the pod that brought him to earth.

Speaking of the pod, he had spent an inordinate amount of time examining it for the first time since Pa Kent first showed it to him. Clark knew little of his home of Krypton. All the message his father Jor-El had left him was that it had been destroyed, and he was to be the planet's last living representative in the cosmos. His biological father instructed him to be a beacon of hope on his new home. That was it, really. But Clark was sure there was more hidden in the ship than that. If he was truly the last one of his species, then this pod had to contain at least part of Krypton's history.

If not, why send him? If he was to be the last Kryptonian, shouldn't he have some sense of who he was?

Clark approached the barn and pushed the old, creaking doors open to reveal the craft sitting under a tarp, just as it had been for the decades since Clark arrived. He pulled the tarp off to reveal the glistening crystal that comprised the pod. As far as he had been able to tell, the pod had no propulsion system of its own. How it made it to Earth on its own was a complete mystery. The crystal itself was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was seamless, almost if the craft had grown organically around the electronics inside. The crystal itself was as hard as diamonds, and sparkled just as radiantly. As he ran his hand over the outside of the pod, the compartment that once ferried him through the stars slid open, revealing what he assumed was his first and only crib.

As the hatch finished opening, a hologram of Jor-El appeared above the compartment. He smiled at the space where Clark assumed his parents once stood, "Hello, people of Earth. My name is Jor-El. The child in this pod is my son, Kal-El. He is the last of the Kryptonian race, and our last hope at redemption. I entrust him into your care. There will come a day when he has extraordinary powers. I trust that you will be able to help him control them. He can help your people become great, just as you can help him to be the same."

Jor-El then turned to look down into the compartment, as Clark would have been there when the recording first played, "I now speak to you, my son. You have greatness in you, even if you don't know it. Your homeworld made mistakes, but you have the opportunity to redeem us. The people of Earth can be a great one, Kal-El. They only need someone to lead them into the light. You will fight together. You will both falter. But together, you can find your place in the sun."

Clark had listened to those words more times than he could count. They were rousing, inspiring, and at this point empty. Clark knew humanity could be great. But he wasn't sure what Jor-El wanted him to do to be the leader he wanted his son to be.

"Listening to it again?" Pa asked from the barn door. He had always known when Clark was out in the barn with the pod. He was never offended by Clark's fascination with his homeworld, but he had to worry about his son's well being.

"Yea," the younger Kent shrugged. "I dunno. Knowing I'm not the only one that's been to Earth...I dunno. I think maybe there's some more answers in here we've never found before."

"We've looked at it so many times, Clark," Pa smiled warmly and put his hand on his son's shoulder. "We know it's just the same recording over and over."

"Yea, I know," Clark looked down at his feet. "I guess it was a fool's hope."

"Kal-El," the recording said, drawing Clark's attention. It had been silent through its reset period. It had never said that before, not to mention it was now looking straight at him.

"What the heck is this?" Clark's eyes narrowed. "It's never done this before."

"Maybe it's broken," Pa shrugged.

"I am not broken, Kal-El," the recording responded.

"Wait...you can talk back?" Clark was amazed.

"I can," the hologram nodded. "I am a computer program made from the brainwaves of your father. I also have the collected knowledge of Kryton stored in my banks. I was set to be dormant for a set period of time until you matured. I am at your disposal, Kal-El."

Clark was rendered speechless. All his life he had searched for answers, and now, in his moment of need, he may have finally found some.

"Okay," Clark smiled as he looked over at Pa Kent, who shared his enthusiasm. "Let's get started."

 

[Morden Man]

It had taken the best part of two hours but I had told Dr. Peter Cross everything. From going to see the now late Cao at Josie’s Bar that night, his putting Austin in the hospital and the beating I gave him as a result, to the attack and eventually what had had happened last night. Throughout my story his pulse remains steady, his facial expressions barely move, but from the tone of his voice I can feel a deep sympathy on his part.

“I’m sorry to hear about Austin.”

I smile softly.

“Not as sorry as I am.”

That Austin was in danger with every passing second weighed heavily on my conscious. Were it not for my actions Austin would be sat in a classroom this morning and not a prison cell. I wondered whether he knew how much danger he was in given that he’d co-operated with the police. Turk and Grotto were pretty grizzly customers and they were only the tip of the iceberg. If Slaughter found out about Austin working with the police he’d be dead by the end of the week. And as far as I knew I was the only one that could stop that.

“If you’re going to keep him safe then you’ll have to go after anyone and everyone that would do him harm, from the top to the bottom. Are you ready to do that? If what you tell me is true then that will be no small undertaking.”

The thought had occurred to me.

“The alternative isn’t an option,” I say with a shake of my head. “He’s a sitting duck in there unless I do something, Pete.”

“You know that once this genie is out of the bottle there’s no putting it back in,” Cross says with a sincere look. “The people you bring to justice, the police, the media, they’ll all keep coming for you should you wake up one morning and decide to hang up the suit.”

That thought hadn’t occurred to me. The second I put that costume on I’d be starting something that had no natural end. Unless I died, was crippled, or caught I’d be doing this until I was an old man. And even then someone could show up on my doorstep, some old foe from years before, and the life I’d built for myself after retiring could all come crashing down. By putting on the costume I was entering into a lifelong commitment. I’d be looking over my shoulder until the day I died.

In truth I wasn’t sure that I was ready to take it on. Then my thoughts drift to Austin sat in a cell somewhere fearing for his life. Even if I do manage to get Turk, Grotto, and then eventually Slaughter himself, I know that Austin’s life will never be the same. He ransomed his future to get what he thought was justice for me and now I was quibbling over whether I had the strength to do what was necessary for him.

“I need to know that once you won’t drop this all and go back to business as usual once you know Austin is safe. There are thousands of men, women, and children across this city that need your help too.”

I smiled, as if to put Peter’s worries to bed, though I’m certain it’s unconvincing.

“I understand.”

“I need your word,” Cross says sternly. “You’re not the only one taking risks here.”

I nod.

“You have my word.”

I extend my hand towards Peter and he shakes it. His pulse slows somewhat as if relieved by my having given him my word.

Slowly but surely our conversation begins to drift towards some of the gear that Cross had designed to aid me in my campaign. He hands me a billy-club that doubles up as a cane that he says he designed this morning on my way here. It’s a remarkable piece of weaponry – able to break into two pieces connected by a seemingly endless cable, it’s difficult to believe he could come up with something so complicated in such a short span of time. I’m starting to think Peter might be even cleverer than I gave him credit for.

“Try it on.”

He points to the costume on the table in the middle of the room. Without saying a word I strip out of my clothes and pull on the suit. It’s skintight. So much so that I barely feel like I’m wearing anything. Peter had made the suit red, as I’d asked for, or at least he’d told me that he had. For all I knew I could be running around in hot pink. I could tell when someone was lying, could feel the words printed on a piece of paper, but for all the good my radar sense did it couldn’t help me see colours. Black might have been more practical for stalking the streets at night fighting criminals, but I wanted to do more than that. I wanted to inspire the people of Hell’s Kitchen again.

“You’ll need a name.”

I place my hand on my chest. If the costume has one fault it’s that it looks bare, without the finishing touches that might bring it to life. Suddenly a name pops into my head and I smile.

“I already have one.”

Peter gives me a quizzical look.

The day of the attack Turk had called me something as I laid there bleeding out. The word had come back to me over and over again since then. Turk had meant it as an insult but I knew better than that. Names held a certain power over men and unwittingly in robbing me of my sight Turk had gifted me with powers in more sense than one. The radar sense at my disposal had made this all possible but it was the name that Turk Barrett gave me that would strike fear into the hearts of men.

“Daredevil.”

 

[Carnage27]

​

Draaga tore through the secluded glade towards the rag tag group as he shouted, "FOR WARWORLD!"

Ben was the first to step in his way. His rocky, orange fist connected with the grey alien's square jaw. Draaga stumbled slightly, but retaliated by backhanding the hulking man across the head. Ben was tossed a few feet back, demonstrating the strength of the alien gladiator. Reed sprung to the help of his friend, and attempted to restrain Draaga by coiling himself around their opponent. But the alien's strength was too great. Reed strained under the resistance as Draaga attempted to free himself, and had to let go of him. The alien then swung a mighty axe at Johnny, who ignited in surprise before taking off into the air.

Yes, Johnny Storm was flying on his own.

"You can fly!?" Rocket shouted at the now airborne Johnny.

"Apparently!" he responded as he tossed a tongue of flame at Draaga.

Sue was amazed at her brother's newfound ability, but had no time to sit around. She immediately turned invisible and ran towards Rocket before scooping him up and turning him invisible as well, "Let's go. We're finding one of those cameras."

"And then what?" Rocket growled. "Now that big, grey, and ugly has shown up, we can't get to the control room."

"Now that Johnny can fly you can," she responded. "You go, we'll keep Draaga busy."

"Okay," Rocket shrugged, "it's your funeral. But if you let anything happen to Groot, I'm gonna kill you again. There!"

He pointed as something flashed a few yards away from them. Reactively, Sue threw up a barrier bubble around where it was moving too, and in a few moments they realized they had one of Mongul's nearly invisible floating camera drones captured.

"Okay, get to work," Sue nodded Rocket towards the machine. She was amazed what she saw when he reached it. Rocket seemed to have an innate knowledge of mechanical devices. The way he disassembled the device and began to reassemble it into something else was fairly awe inspiring. Within the span of a minute, with the battle behind them raging, he was back.

"Okay, we're good to go," he said with a smile. "And we're lucky. The thing is pretty close by."

"Johnny!" she called to her brother, who swooped away from the battle towards the sound of her voice. When he was nearby, she made her and the raccoon visible, "Take Rocket to the control room. Ben, Reed, Groot, and I will take care of Draaga while you guys get the transporter ready."

"Will do," Johnny nodded as the flames on his hands dispersed and he picked up Rocket. "Stay safe."

In a flash, the two were off, and Sue turned her attention to the others who were tangling with the hulking alien.As he swung his mighty axe towards Groot, his attack was stopped by a barrier erected by Sue. The impact sent a tremor of pain through her head. The impact was powerful. Draaga had more power than anyone she'd ever seen.

"Is this the best you have to offer!?" Draaga snarled as Ben jumped on his back. He grabbed Ben's neck and tossed him off. "I've had better fights from children!"

**********

​

"So what the hell do we do now?" Johnny asked Rocket as he got to work in the control bunker. It didn't take long for them to get here, but the machinery inside was unlike anything the pilot had ever seen.

"You shut up," Rocket said from inside the casing of a large computer. "Me? I try to save us from crazy town."

"Well, hurry up," Johnny shifted uneasily. "I don't have a good feeling about this."

**********

"I AM GROOT!" the living tree yelled as he slammed into Draaga. While Groot may have looked like he was frail, but he was powerful. He had managed to disarm Draaga. Now he and Ben were teaming up on the alien while Sue and Reed were providing support from a distance.

"I like the way you think, leafy!" Ben chuckled. "It's clobbering time!"

From the edges of the battle, Reed flung rocks at Draaga while Sue attempted to stop his attacks with barriers. But the stress was taking a toll on her mind. The barriers seemed to be directly connected to her. Each strike caused physical pain, and Sue was beginning to fade.

"ENOUGH!" Draaga growled. He manages to get Ben off of him, before grabbing Groot by the shoulders. With a mighty heave, Draaga pulled the arms of the tree, sending him reeling. Draaga tossed one of the arms at Reed, and slammed another into one of Sue's barriers. The shock sent Sue to the ground crying out in pain.

"Yes," Draaga snarled, "that's more like it. I'm impressed. You at least gave me some exercise. Now, the Mongul desires your heads."

With axe in hand, he walked over to Ben, and raised the blade above his head. But before it fell, Ben disappeared with the other three as well. Draaga was left on the arena world by himself, and he cried out in anger.

In the blink of an eye, Sue found herself on a dirty metal floor. She had to roll out of the way before being stepped on by a large, blue alien. She stood, and looked around her. Their new location seemed to be a random asteroid in the middle of a nebula. A space station had clearly been built inside, and the walkways were teaming with aliens.

"Where are we?" she asked groggily.

"Lady," Rocket stood in the walkway proudly, "welcome to Knowhere."
​

 

[Carnage27]

​

Hammer Bay, Genosha

The sun rose slowly over Hammer Bay, the capital of the island nation of Genosha. The morning light shone brightly against the old, French colonial buildings that made up most of the city, not to mention most of the architecture of Genosha. The country had fought hard to gain its independence from colonial rule, but like most bloody revolution, one set of dictatorial rule was replaced with another. Genosha was in the midst of a mutant genocide, one which was completely supported by the majority of the Genoshan people. The world may not have welcomed the mutant people into the world with open arms, but in no place were mutants more persecuted than Genosha.

The aristocratic power base of the country lived on the outskirts of the capital, and had some of the only modern domiciles and buildings on the island. The government buildings had also been modernized, but most still lived in colonial buildings that were crumbling thanks to neglect.

Normally, people would be braving the trademark heat and humidity of Genosha to pile into the street markets of the capital to purchase wares from local merchants. On this day instead, most were crowded into the large city square in front of the senate building. At the foot of the steps of the government building were a long set of gallows with sixteen men and women lined up, all wearing hoods.

In front of them was the Genoshan Minister of Social Harmony. A burly, mean looking man in a red beret, the Minister walked back and forth, inspecting the convicts with disgust. While the Ministry of Social Harmony may have sounded like a benevolent agency, in reality it was a nice name for state sanctioned mutant hunting squad.

<Traitors!> he yelled to the crowd in the Genoshan French dialect as he pointed to the hooded figures. <Murderers! Freaks! These dogs here were planning on killing every single one of you! They wanted to steal your children from their beds! They wanted to take your wives for themselves! These genetic abominations have been plotting to overthrow our righteous, god given peace to satisfy their own need for blood! And for this, they have been sentenced to death!>

The cheer that came from the crowd was deafening, but not even it could drown out the explosions that ripped through Hammer Bay. Strategic points went up in a blast of flame and smoke. From his position on the gallows, all the Minister could do was stand slack-jawed and stare at the plumes of smoke billowing into the sky. The people began to panic and run, but ran directly into a line of mutant rebels yelling a battle cry in their face.

Behind the Minister, a tremor rippled through the Senate Building. The old, colonial plaster began to crack as the metal inside was twisted and warped. The building slowly crumbled to the ground, and left floating above the ruins was Magneto, the Master of Magnetism.

The Minister began to say something, but before the words could escape, a piece of rebar shot through his chest. From above the crowd, Magneto bellowed, "People of Genosha! My name, as most of you know, is Magneto. For your infinite crimes against Mutant Kind and the natural selection of evolutions, you have been marked for death! From this day on, Genosha will be a haven for Mutant Kind!"

**********

Xavier's School for Gifted Youth
Westchester, NY

Charles Xavier peered over the grounds of his school as he prepared to leave for Africa. This was everything he had ever hoped for. He watched as the younger children played happily, and the older ones whispered and laughed with one another. Charles hoped that one day these could be human and mutant children together, It was mostly a pipe dream, he knew. But any chance of peace was worth fighting for.

Peace that was now being threatened by someone Charles had once considered his oldest friend.

~Professor,~ Jean's voice echoed through his head, ~we're just about done down here.~

~I'll be down in a moment.~

"You okay, Professor?" Rex's voice came over the phone.

"Fine, Rex," Charles sighed. "You need to give me time. We don't know what Erik's done with those nuclear weapons. If he sees Checkmate coming-"

"Not my call, Professor," Rex said apologetically. "Waller's sending us in. But we won't be wheels up for four more hours."

"Understood," Charles took the hint.

**********

Enroute to Genosha

Charles sat back as Scott Summers designated assignments for the mission, "Jean, Jeff, Piotr, and Beatriz are Alpha. You're looking for the nuclear weapons. Determine if they're on the island or not. The rest of you are with the Professor and I on Beta. We're looking for Magneto."

"Remember," Xavier added, "we need to be inconspicuous. Recon and stealth are our best friends. Blend in the best you can. We don't know what Erik and the Brotherhood have planned for the island or the nuclear warheads. If we tip them off, we risk an international incident. And..."

"What else, professor?" Jean asked with a worried look.

"We only have a four hour head start on Checkmate," Xavier was solemn. "If we don't find what we need in that time, they're moving in and we lose the ability to end this peacefully."
​

 

[Eddie Brock]

The trip from Washington, D.C. to New York City took just over four hours. Steve changed buses three times in that span. Fury had fought him on the idea. He insisted that Steve take one of SHIELD's private jets to LaGuardia Airport, but Steve refused him. In truth, the idea of flying still disconcerted Steve. Memories of his last airborne adventure burned fresh in his mind, despite happening close to seventy years in the past. Moreover, Fury's generosity was already more than Steve could ask for. All his life, Steve had been the kind of person who would never accept a favor unless he knew he could repay it, and he was already deep in Fury's debt on that front. Besides, a long bus ride gave Steve plenty of time to do his "homework."

Before Steve left, Fury had given him a flat rectangular device with a touch-activated glass screen. Despite Fury's assurances that the device was intuitive and easy to use, it had still taken Steve most of the trip to figure the ins and outs of the damn thing. Fury had loaded the so-called "tablet" with hours of documentaries, news articles, and declassified government files about Steve's "lost years." It was to be Steve's crash course on everything he had missed since being put on ice - eleven different presidents, four major American military conflicts, the rise and fall of nations, the emergence of homo superior, "the children of the atom," or simply mutants... It seemed the world was even stranger now than when Rogers left it.

So it was that after four hours, three buses, and nearly seventy years of world history Steve Rogers found himself back home again. Brooklyn. Though he would have been hard-pressed to recognize it on his own. It seemed that everything save the street names had changed since Steve was last home. Virtually none of the familiar shops or landmarks he knew still stood... and those that did often showed years of neglect and disrepair. In their places now were strange buildings and unknown stores, brand names and chains that meant nothing to Steve. As Steve turned down his old street, he found it eerily cold and uninviting. Trash littered the streets, and the corner was marked with graffiti. With every step he took, Steve felt the glare of wary eyes on him. Still, he found himself an apartment only a few blocks from where he grew up.

The accommodations were... modest, to say the least. Steve could hardly believe the price of monthly rent for a space so small. He himself had never been one for lavishness, though, so the place suited him just fine. He kept it lightly furnished, in part because he wanted for so little and in part because he had no earthly possessions anymore. They had all been auctioned off in the wake of his "death," Fury had explained. Steve did treat himself to a radio from a nearby antique store, but the programs were mostly political gibberish and odd tones which passed for music these days. Steve often kept the radio tuned to an "oldies" station which occasionally played a song or two that he knew.

A few days after moving in, Steve ran into one of his neighbors - a somewhat haggard girl who couldn't have been older than twenty-three by Steve's guess. She was quite pretty, actually, in spite of her pale complexion and the dark circles under her eyes. When she saw Steve, she gave a shy smile and brushed the hair from her eyes. "You're the new tenant, right?" she asked in a soft voice.

"That's right," Steve answered, extending a hand. "I'm Steve."

"Vanessa," the girl replied as she gave a meek handshake. She ran her fingers through her hair, which had been tossed up in a messy ponytail. "I just want to apologize in advance if you can hear my baby boy at night. I know the walls here are thin."

Steve smiled politely. "Not at all," he assured her. "Haven't heard a thing."

She looked relieved at that. "Thank God. He's been running a fever these past few nights, and I just cannot get him to sleep through the night." Steve picked up on the hint of concern in her voice.

"Have you gotten it checked with a doctor?"

The girl's cheeks reddened. "I would, but money's been... tight since his father left."

Steve couldn't help but frown at that. A single mother raising her boy alone in the city? It didn't seem right. "What about your parents? Couldn't they help?" he offered.

Vanessa's lip curled into a frown. "They, uh, haven't spoken to me since... well..." Her face flushed, and she turned away from him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bothering you with all this."

"It's not a bother at all," Steve insisted, "After all, I'm the one who asked." He reached into his pocket, saying, "What if I helped?"

The girl turned on her heels, waving her hands at him. "Oh, no no! I couldn't. Really. You don't even know me. It wouldn't be right to ask for your help."

Despite her insistence, Steve produced a stack of neatly folded bills from his pocket. Fury had advised him to open a bank account and store the SHIELD start-up fund, but Steve was wary of banks. He grew up during the Depression, and he liked the sense of security that money under his mattress gave him. "You didn't ask. I offered," Steve said with a smirk. He started pulling apart the bills. "Five dollars should cover it, right?"

Vanessa stood there a moment, looking uncomfortable. Finally, biting her lip, she relented. "Actually, the copay for the visit alone would run about thirty dollars," she admitted sheepishly.

Steve raised an eyebrow and thought of how much that could buy back in his day. He had to stop and remind himself that this was a whole new world. Peeling off a fresh fifty dollar bill, he handed it over to the girl. "There. In case he needs any medicine, too."

"I really couldn't... This is too much," Vanessa insisted politely, but she tucked the money away when it became clear that Steve couldn't be swayed. She stepped forward and stood on her toes to kiss Steve's cheek. "Thank you so much. This is simply amazing. People around here never just do something like that for a complete stranger."

"Well, maybe they should start," Steve mused aloud. "And besides, we're not strangers. We're neighbors, right?"

Sad to say, though, not all of Steve's interactions with his new neighbors were quite so pleasant. One night, when coming home from a walk around town, Steve spotted two young gentlemen in loose-fitting clothing standing on the stoop in front of the building next to his own. The men spoke in hushed tones as they passed money to each other. Steve stared a moment too long, and one of the men nodded in his direction. "The f*** you lookin' at, huh?" he barked, lifting up the bottom hem of his shirt to reveal a gun tucked inside the waistband of his pants. "Keep on steppin'."

The gun didn't intimidate Steve. After all, Captain America used to stare down the barrels of Nazi Lugers without flinching. Instead, it was the brashness and sense of authority the man displayed which caught Steve off-guard. The man had no fear about being seen conducting his illicit dealings in the open like that. Were the police so overtaxed that these kinds of bottom-feeders slipped through the cracks, or did they simply not care enough? Steve didn't know, but he wouldn't tolerate it in his neighborhood. Slipping inside his apartment building, Steve watched the man from his window until his associate left. Once the man was alone, Steve made his move.

"You're pretty stupid, huh?" the man said when he saw Steve coming. Once again, he flashed the exposed handle of his gun. Steve didn't slow down; he merely continued his approach in a calm, ordered fashion. "I gotta spell it out for you, or what? You best turn around and--"

Steve was on the man in an instant, overwhelming him before the fight had even began. As the man made a desperate reach for his gun, Steve grabbed him by the wrist and spun him around, pressing his other hand against the man's shoulder blade. Steve twisted the man's arm until his wrist was pressed against the center of his back. "I don't know what your purpose in this neighborhood is, and I don't really care," Steve said into his ear. "Whatever you're doing, it ends now."

To the man's credit, he didn't back down - even in such a compromised position. "You're making a big mistake, man," he growled. "I run this street. You understand that?"

"Not anymore you don't," Steve answered simply. He applied a bit more pressure to the man's shoulder blade while twisting the arm further. There was a sudden pop, and the man howled in pain. "Your arm just popped out of its socket," Steve explained, "Won't do any permanent damage, but it hurts like Hell, doesn't it? If I see you around here again, it'll be a hairline fracture. You don't want to know what comes after that."

The man whimpered. "Okay, okay! I won't come back!"

"Glad we understand each other. Now, hold still. I'm going to put your arm back." Before he moved, though, Steve paused. "Before I forget..." Reaching around the man's waist, Steve took his gun. He then returned his hand to the man's shoulder. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt just as bad going back in. You might want to brace yourself."

Inside, Steve ran into Vanessa once more. "I see you met Ritchie. Charming, isn't he?" she rolled her eyes.

As Steve rolled down his sleeves, he said, "Well, I don't think Ritchie's going to be a problem around here anymore."

Vanessa gave him a surprised look. "Really?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, we, uh... came to an understanding with one another." Putting his hands in his pockets, Steve made for the stairs. Stopping, he turned around and asked, "How's your son doing, by the way?"

"Much better," she smiled. "Thank you again."

"Anytime."

Admittedly, a lot had changed in seventy years. But that night at least, Steve Rogers slept soundly.
​

 

[Morden Man]

Cross had approved of the name I’d chosen. He’d even made some alterations to the costume based around it. Now in the centre of the chest there were two overlapping D’s and he’d even added two small horns on the head of the costume, which I wasn’t too sure about. I couldn’t fault his commitment to this thing. He’d given up hours of his time overseeing my training at Star Labs and as far as we could tell my speed had all been slightly enhanced by the procedure. It was either that or the addition of a radar sense had made my reflexes so much sharper that I seemed faster than before.

The billy club was harder to get to grips with than I’d imagined and I was wary of going out on patrol for the first time without having mastered it, but with Austin’s safety still not secured I knew I didn’t have time to waste. So here I am: stood on a rooftop staring out across Hell’s Kitchen at night. It had been two nights since three nights since Austin had been arrested and I didn’t know how much time I had.

“<How’s it going?>”

Peter’s voice comes through my earpiece.

“No luck,” I mumble. “I feel like I’m searching for a needle in a haystack out here. There are so many sounds it’s hard to get a beat on anything.”

I think back to the night I spent sat awake in the hospital after undergoing the procedure. The sound of Angela moaning rings in my ears and I feel the familiar sense of anger bubbling up inside me. I’d been so focused on what had been going on with Austin that I’d barely thought about Angela these past couple of days. There was still that to deal with once I was done. Whatever I did to find her through all the noise that night I needed to do again to find Grotto, Turk, or Slaughter. Austin’s life depended on it.

“<You need to focus,>” Cross says. “<Block everything else out. You can do this, Matt.>”

And so I do.

One by one the sounds of Hell’s Kitchen fall silent. Street vendors shouting at the top of their voice become quiet. Cab drivers honking their horns nosily fade into distant murmurs. I’d found Angela that night because I was so intimately familiar with her smell, her sounds, that I could find recognise her anywhere. The same couldn’t be said of Grotto or Turk. What I could recognise however was the sound of distress.

I take the billy club out from its sheath on my thigh and fire it to the rooftop opposite me. I can’t believe I’m about to do this.

“Here goes nothing.”

I leap from the rooftop and swing across. The sound of the wind whipping past my head is almost deafening but it helps me use my radar sense. Whilst I’m in the air I can see where I am in relation to everything. I was two blocks away from whatever was going down and the closer I got the more I understood. There was the smell of sweat and fear in the air, a woman was shouting, beset by two to three men.

After a few more well-placed fires of my billy club I was on a ledge above the alleyway they were in.

“Mugging on my location,” I say with a hand against my earpiece. “Notify the NYPD. This shouldn’t take long.”

“<Roger that.>”

There were three of them. Each smelled as bad as the next one. If my nose could be relied upon, and I’d learned to trust it since Peter’s procedure, they were probably homeless. Their pulses were racing almost as much as the cornered woman they were trying to mug. It was clear to me that they weren’t doing this out of spite but desperation. It almost made me feel bad about what I had to do here.

“Give the purse over nicely and we promise not to be too rough with you, lady.”

The guy in the front smiled and from his mouth the smell of rooting teeth and alcohol struck me harder than a freight train. It was almost enough to turn my stomach. I’d learned how to block out sounds but was having trouble controlling my sense of smell. This was one of those moments I wished it was the other way around.

I leap down and land between the woman and the homeless men and raise a hand in their direction.

“You don’t want to do this.”

The guy in the front laughs and steps forward.

“What the hell are you meant to be?”

Again my senses are assaulted by the smell of cheap alcohol. Of the three of them, his pulse is the steadiest. The two behind him had been scared before and were even more scared now that I’d arrived. One was old, in his late fifties or early sixties, and the streets had clearly been unkind to him. When he took a breath his entire chest rattled and he seemed to be having trouble standing. The other was young, too young to be on the streets, and reeked of heroin.

“Turn around and walk away whilst you still can,” I say sternly. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

The man in the front reached into his pocket and pulled a switchblade. I dodge the two slashes he launches in my direction and twist his arm behind his back, kicking him on the side of the knee and forcing him the ground. The switchblade falls harmlessly to the ground and the other two homeless men look to one another as if to figure out a course of action.

“What are you two doing? Do something! Help me here!”

I shake my head at them with a smile.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

They don’t move a muscle.

“The NYPD are going to arrive any second. This can go down two ways: either you make me hurt you like your little friend here and end up in the hospital handcuffed to a bed or you co-operate and walk away from here with your freedom.”

In a movement that I’d rehearsed hundreds of times over the past two day I wrap some plastic handcuffs around the man in my arms and tighten them, then push him to the ground with a heavy thud. From the sound his knee made when I hit it he won’t be going anywhere fast soon.

“What do we have to do?”

“Does the name Eric Slaughter ring any bells?”

They look to one another cautiously and the older man shakes his head.

“Can’t say I’ve heard of any Eric Slaughter around these parts.”

He’s lying but I can tell short of murdering him I’m not going to be able to make him tell me any more. As Austin would find out if I didn’t track Slaughter down soon enough, talking about him in Hell’s Kitchen was as good as signing your own death warrant. The old man was clever enough to know when to keep his mouth shut. I didn’t begrudge him that.

“What about Grotto?” I say demandingly. “Turk Barrett?”

The old man nods.

“Spread the word: tell everyone and anyone that will listen that the streets of Hell’s Kitchen are no longer safe for them. Tell them I’m coming for them and anyone associated with them. Tell them they’re on borrowed time.”

The sound of sirens approaching startles the two men. They begin to make their way out of the alleyway sheepishly before the younger man looks back at me and asks with a wavering voice.

“Who should I say is looking for them? Who are you?”

I smile.

“I’m Daredevil.”

 

[Carnage27]

Jim Gordon took a long drag from his cigarette as he peered out over the city. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, and what Gordon figured would be the longest night of his life was about to begin. He had tried to quit smoking a million times, but there was no way in hell it would happen the night contract killers were going to flood the city to try and take down a vigilante he was supposed to be hunting.

Gotham was a crazy town, but it was steadily descending into hell itself.

"Calm before the storm, huh?" Kathy Kane asked as she brushed snow off a ledge to take a seat.

"You have no idea," Gordon grunted. He liked Kane. She was a good cop. in the past few months, she's also had the fortune, or misfortune, of becoming the Batman's defacto contact in the MCU. She had taken to that role a bit too readily for Gordon's liking, but there was little he could do about it. As much as he hated to admit it, Jim Gordon needed the Batman to clean up this city. "We're going to be busy tonight. That's for sure."

"Do you think he'll even come out?" Kane speculated about the Bat. "I mean, if I was him, I'd hold up in whatever safehouse I had and wait the night out."

"He'll be out," Gordon said after another puff of smoke. "The money on the line is too much. Whoever's going to go after him will be proactive. They're not going to wait to get him to find them, they're going to draw him out. Which means-"

"Which means you'll have to be ready to get innocent people out of harm's way," Batman said from behind the two cops, who jumped with surprise. "And I need you to keep the normal citizens in check. A five million dollar payout is enough to get desperate Gothamites to try something stupid. Leave the professionals to me."

"You have no idea what you're up against," Kane pleaded with him. "How can you hope to take this on by yourself?"

"I've taken on worse," was his simple reply.

"We'll keep the people at bay," Gordon nodded. "What about this Black Mask? Do you have any idea who he is?"

"None," the Batman shook his head. "But I'm going to try and find that out tonight too. My best guess is he's someone who wants to muscle in on the Gotham families and take the city. If his money claim is legit, it means he has resources few do. I'll be able to track him down."

"Batman," Kane called to the vigilante as he prepared to disappear. She had learned his rhythms, "Good luck."

He turned back and nodded at the officers, "You too."

Before he could leave, however, a small glint of light from a nearby rooftop of a building which was under construction drew his attention. As quick as he could, he dropped to the ground, calling to them, "Down!"

As he was headed towards the ground, Batman heard the telltale sign of a rifle discharging. As he was nearing the ground, he felt the bullet fly by his right shoulder. When he hit the ground, he heard the cry of pain from behind him, he rolled behind cover and saw Lieutenant Gordon bleeding from a wound in his side. He looked to Detective Kane, "Call for medical support. Stay with him."

"What are you gonna do?" she asked as she applied pressure to Gordon's wound.

"Take down whoever just tried to kill me," Batman growled as he pulled something off his belt. He counted in his head for a few seconds before tipping himself over the ledge of the building and firing his grapnel. As he fell, the device exploded into a blinding light, ensuring the sniper would be unable to fire on him as he was exposed.

By the time he was on the rooftop, Batman saw his would-be assassin dash through the roof access door, and the Dark Knight took off in pursuit.

**********​

"What the hell happened!?" Bullock yelled at Kane as they carried the bleeding Jim Gordon inside.​

"Sniper on the roof," she responded before adding and admission. "He was aiming for Batman."​

Bullock nearly dropped Gordon in a fit of rage, "Now you've got Gordon talkin to that nutjob! And look where it's got him. That psycho is nothing but trouble, and I'm gonna bring him down."​

"Let's focus on getting him to the hospital," Kane responded. "Then you can take down Batman."​

"Ambulance is waiting outside," Bullock grunted.
​

**********​

Batman found it difficult to gain ground on his opponent. Whoever he was, he was in phenomenal shape, so much so that he could outpace the Dark Knight as they raced through the half-finished building. Dust from the construction was kicked up as the two men raced through unfinished stairwells and corridors, which hampered Bruce's ability to get a good look at his opponent. All that the Batman could surmise was he was of average height, strong build, and was wearing a black combat suit.​

Luckily for the vigilante, his prey turned into a large room, which gave Batman an opportunity to strike. He took a bola off his belt and flung it at the other man's feet. The projectile found its mark, and sent the would-be assassin through a plate of glass that was waiting to be installed in the building. The winter wind was blowing snow into the unfinished floor, and the bright lights of the city cast the sniper in shadow.​

As Batman approached carefully, the assassin rolled quickly, and a sharp pain shot through Batman's right shoulder and left thigh. He fell to his right knee, and found shards of the glass embedded in weakpoints in his armor. He pulled them out as the assassin stood and untied himself from the bola.​

"You know," he said to the vigilante as he began to circle, "usually I would have just killed you there. But...you made me miss. Now? Now you're going to suffer."​

He flipped another piece of glass in his hand before flinging it into Batman's ribs, "Bullseye."​

**********
​

He took a long sip from the pint sitting in front of him, and slapped the man sitting at the bar next to him on the shoulder, "I'll tell you, Hal. The holidays sure aren't what they used to be. Can't even say 'Merry Christmas' anymore! What a world! And now we've got a five million dollar bounty out for a vigilante! On Christmas Eve! Is anything sacred anymore?"

The man, who was very much dead, slid off the bar stool and landed on the floor with a dull, sickening thud. His drinking buddy swung around on his stool and looked at the three stooges that were daft enough to follow him around, "I'll tell ya, Moe. This place is as quiet as that mouse in the Christmas story. What do you say we go out and have a night on the town?"

"Sounds good to me, boss."

"Good! I have a feeling Gotham's in for one laugh of a night!" The Joker exclaimed before falling into a round of uproarious laughter.​

 

[Andy C.]

​

The war, if it could be called that, was all but over.


In the weeks since the nation of Symkaria mobilized against the People's Republic of Latveria, the fighting was both spectacularly devastating and frighteningly brief. Whole divisions of the Symkarian military were destroyed in mere hours, sometimes minutes, with casualties climbing into the thousands. Leading from the front with an army of drones, Doom and his superior weaponry swept the field with a terrifying efficiency.

On a bleak, gray-skied morning in the capital city of Aniana, the Symkarian Parliament was already embroiled in a fierce debate.

"The enemy is barely a hundred kilometers from the city limits!" shouted Natalya Kerenski, chairperson of the Symkarian Labor Party. "And every time our forces engage the Latverians, we suffer enormous losses. How can any sane person justify continued fighting?"

"Typical Labor Party cowardice," snorted Pietr Mascowicsz, spokesman of the rival National Party. "Our people have never bowed before a foreign tyrant before, and to suggest that our brave soldiers would do so now is a dishonor to them and to yourself! The Nationals would rather die than submit!"

"So you'd prefer we throw our lives away than negotiate a peace with Latveria?" spat Josef Romanov, a representative of the Free Peoples Party. "I always knew the Nationals put blind patriotism before the basic welfare of the people they claim to protect, but I never thought this sort of arrogance would extend to heartlessness."

"We are confronted by a madman!" shouted Andrei Spopovich of the New Democratic Party. "This Doom is a psychotic monster, who publicly executes his rivals and places them on spikes! What fate awaits us if we capitulate to this beast?"

"I am glad you asked," declared a voice from just outside the Parliament chamber.

The Parliament froze in a horrified silence as Nyssa Raatko, head of Latveria's now-dreaded People's Security Bureau, strode into the room, flanked by two lines of heavily armed Latverian special forces operators, their faces concealed by dark green hoods. Nyssa herself kept her face uncovered, her all-black uniform punctuated by badges and medals of silver.

Dismissing the chairperson with a glare, Nyssa did not so much as break her stride as she approached the podium and addressed the Sykmarian political leaders.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed elected officials of the nation of Symkaria," Raatko announced, a coldly false smile on her face, "I am pleased to announce that hostilities between our great nations have come to an end. As of today, we graciously accept the unconditional surrender offered by this Parliament."

For a moment, the room exploded into outrage, but the Latverian soldiers bringing their weapons to bear on the rows of politicians quickly silenced them.

"As I said," Nyssa said, her smile never fading as a lethal edge flashed in her eyes, "today marks the end of the bloodshed between Latveria and Symkaria, and the beginning of a bright new era. Our wise and powerful Lord Protector, the great Victor Von Doom, is currently meeting in the Royal Palace with your King Stefan to discuss the transition of Symkaria from the divisive constitutional monarchy which has led you to this point, to a territory under the protection and guidance of Doom."

Many in the crowd bristled hotly with anger, but held their tongues at gunpoint. Others began sobbing to themselves, devastated by the enormity of their defeat. Others still were white with fear.

"As you may already know, this brief but tragic war was, thankfully, a relatively clean one," Nyssa continued. "All actions taken by the Latverian Defense Forces were solely aimed at military targets; civilian casualties are not tolerated by our Lord Protector. As such, the people of Symkaria have nothing to fear from the great Doom; once your surrender is accepted, they will enjoy the full rights and protections as citizens of the realm, as well as representation in the Latverian Politburo. The corruption that stains your cities, as well as your political processes, will be a thing of the past."

The spec-ops soldiers began to fan out, taking positions throughout the Parliamentary chamber.

"I am also pleased to announce that the people of Symkaria will be holding free elections very soon," she said, her smile growing a tinge wider. "For the first time, the people of your proud and soon-to-be prosperous nation will be able to choose representatives who are not tainted by back-door deals, by bribery and manipulation of the press, by connections with organized crime syndicates or foreign intelligence communities. Their interests, not those of the Americans or the Russians or Intergang or any other meddlesome group, will dictate the future of this land and its relationship with ours. And so, I ask you to look forward to the coming of this new age.....and to mourn not for the passing of the old."

A deathly chill spread across the chamber as her words sunk in.

"Soldiers," she said with an almost casual command, "you may fire at will."

For the next five minutes, the screams of three hundred men and women could scarcely be heard over the thunderous roar of Latverian machine guns.

With that, the war was over, and Symkaria belonged to Doom.

 

[Carnage27]

​

Kent Farm
Smallville, KS

The stars never seemed closer than they did that night. They were always brighter in Smallville than in Metropolis, of course. Being the so-called City of Tomorrow meant Metropolis's skyline was lit up like the Fourth of July every day of the year. The light pollution blocked out nearly any sight of the celestial bodies from human eyes. Clark could see them fine if he concentrated, but out here they shone through like diamonds. It was always something that he loved about being home.

Tonight they looked different.

Clark had spent the last few days sitting in front of the pod that had brought him to Earth absorbing everything he could about his native planet and everything that had happened there. The program told him how his people were some of the greatest explorers of the universe. He learned how they had been great scientists who had discovered how to craft ultra-hard crystals for nearly every use. Krypton had once been a place of progress and tolerance.

At least before his people discovered that the light of a yellow sun made them stronger and faster. After that the Kryptonians became ruthless imperialists. According to the recording, that's what ended up destroying their civilization, though it was unfortunately vague on those details. Clark wasn't sure whether or not that was purposefully hidden from him or not.

At the very least, learning about his people's fall from grace explained his father's desire for him to redeem their race. It rang a bit hollow now, but at least Clark knew the place where that came from.

He had also learned about a few other races in the cosmos, such as the Green Lantern corps, the people of Xandar, and the Kree. It was a fascinating trip through the cosmos.

"Enjoying yourself?" Pa asked as he sat down next to his son. He had popped in now and again to make sure Clark was okay. He didn't stay very long. Maybe learning all the secrets of the Universe was too much for him. Clark didn't know.

"Yea, it's been great," Clark nodded. "But I think I'm ready for some dinner."

"Clark," Pa chuckled, "it's three in the morning."

**********

Metropolis, DE

Bruno Mannheim scowled at the view screen at his unseen benefactor. The person on the other line laughed at the man's expression, "What's wrong, Mannheim? Regretting your decision to sign up?"

"No," he responds simply. He knew better than to question his self-proclaimed master. The Intergang had been a small fish in a big pond before Mannheim started selling the alien tech that his benefactor was transporting to him. Weapons dealing was lucrative. Dealing weapons no one else could sell was even more lucrative. "But this new plan...you're gonna make a mess of my backyard."

"You need time to finish your next step," the shadow's voice said. "And you're looking at things too small, Mannheim. We're in the battle for the world, not just Metropolis. Some collateral damage is necessary."

"Why do your...uh...friends want to come here anyway?" Bruno asked.

"Let's just say there's something in Metropolis they've been looking for."

**********

Smallville

"Clark!" Ma shook Clark out of a deep sleep. "Clark, wake up!"

"Wha...what's going on?" he rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed. He allowed his mother to pull him through the house into the living room, where a news story was playing.

As the fog cleared from Clark's eyes, he saw smoke rising from Metropolis, as Cat Grant's voice played over the visuals, "This is Cat Grant reporting from over a Metropolis in crisis. Moments ago, a large comet crashed into the center of the city without warning. All national and international space agencies claim that no meteors were in Earth's vicinity, leading to fear that this may indeed be an extraterrestrial attack."

Clark looked at his mother with worry in his eyes, "Tell Pa I said bye."

She smiled and patted him on the shoulder, "I understand. Be safe."

Clark changed into his Superman suit, and shot off towards Metropolis.
​

 

[Eddie Brock]

When I make it back home that night, I take a moment to gather myself at the door. I'm still reeling from the beating I took at the hands of the Shocker - embarrassing as that is to say - and it wouldn't do to have Aunt May see me in pain and start asking pointed questions about exactly what happened. I love that woman, but she's like a bloodhound when she senses me lying. I hate to keep a secret of this magnitude from her, I really do, but it's honestly for her own good. She's got so much to worry about already. The last thing she needs is to be kept up at night, fretting over what kind of trouble I've gotten myself into this time. If she knew the risks I take being Spider-Man, she'd never let me leave the house again!

After one last deep breath, I adjust the weight of the pack on my back and throw the door open. Though I still feel a tinge of pain with every breath, I force myself to sound cheerful as I announce, "Hey, Aunt May! I'm home." I dump my backpack unceremoniously at the door and begin slipping off my jacket. "Do we still have that suit I wore to the Brentwood interview?" I call out, stepping into the living room, "I have this dance..."

There's a man sitting on the couch in the living room. Okay, maybe I shouldn't have phrased that so dramatically. Captain George Stacy of the NYPD is sitting on the couch in the living room. And before you go off thinking that the jig is up, that I've been busted already, don't worry. Captain Stacy is a neighbor and a family friend. He was the one who delivered the news on the night that Uncle Ben... well, you know. Ever since then, he's dropped by periodically to check on us. I just... wasn't expecting him, is all.

Okay, so maybe I am a little bit worried that the jig might be up.

"Captain Stacy, hello," I blurt out, still a bit bewildered.

Any fears I have about the purpose for his visit are quickly assuaged, however, by the amiable smile Captain Stacy gives me. Before he can open his mouth to speak, Aunt May appears in the doorway to the kitchen. Though her hair is rapidly turning gray, she otherwise looks positively vibrant. I often joke that she has more energy than I do. She sees me and smiles pleasantly, saying, "Oh good, Peter, you're home! You remember Captain Stacy, of course. He just dropped by to say hello. Isn't that nice?"

Captain Stacy sets down the coffee cup he was holding onto a saucer and stands. As he presses his palms to his thighs, straightening out his khaki pants, he strides towards me. "Peter. Good to see you again." He extends a large hand in my direction, and I'm reminded of how well put-together he always looks. Not even a strand of his silvery blonde hair is out of place.

"You as well, sir," I answer.

"Oh, please. I get enough 'sir's at work," he laughs as he takes my hand. In spite of myself, I can't help but wince as we shake hands. Pain shoots up along my ribcage, and it's all I can do to keep from doubling over. Captain Stacy gives a concerned frown, but it's Aunt May who immediately pounces.

"Peter, are you alright?"

One hand pressed to my throbbing side, I wave off their concern. "Oh, it's nothing," I insist. "Just a slight accident in gym class, really." The pain has subsided enough that I can stand straight once more. The looks on Aunt May and Captain Stacy's faces tell me that I'll have to elaborate on my lie a bit more. "We were playing dodgeball, and I took a pretty good shot. That's all."

Aunt May's face contorts in a mixture of shock and disgust. "They let you play that barbaric game knowing full well someone can - and did - get hurt? I have half a mind to call that school in the morning and voice some concerns about student safety!"

Uh-oh. I might've lied a bit too well. "Aunt May, please, don't make a fuss," I plead. I glance at Captain Stacy. "It was my own fault, anyway. I didn't keep my head up."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but I know she's done venting. I've defused the situation. Maybe next time I'll choose a cover story with a less obvious scapegoat... In any case, once she's gathered herself, she continues in her usual gentle tone, "I was just telling George that he should stay for dinner. I've made stew!"

"An enticing offer, May, but I really shouldn't," Captain Stacy replies with a wave of his hand. "I've taken up enough of your time today."

"Nonsense! I simply won't take 'no' for an answer!"

Captain Stacy looks at me for help, but I simply hold up my hands innocently. "She really won't. Trust me," I warn. "Besides, it is very good stew."

Defeated, Captain Stacy puts his hands on his hips and says, "Oh, what the Hell. Gwen's not coming home 'til late tonight, anyway." He smiles. "I would be delighted to stay, May."

Aunt May beams excitedly. "So glad to hear it!" She looks over Captain Stacy's shoulder at me. "Say, Peter, would you set the table, please?" As I begin to do so, I hear Aunt May ask, "So, how is Gwendolyn?"

"Growing up too fast," Captain Stacy laughs.

"You're not kidding! I can hardly believe that Peter is looking at colleges already!" She sighs. "Where do the years go?"

After dinner's over, the three of us sit around the table, looking stuffed yet content. As the conversation trickles to a near complete stop, an idea occurs to me. I lean forward in my chair and clear my throat. "So, Captain Stacy, I saw the video of that... Shocker person... robbing that bank," I try to say casually. "Pretty intense stuff."

Captain Stacy makes a face. "Yeah, well, I'm worried about what it could mean." When he sees the confusion on my face, he elaborates, "Whoever that guy was, wherever he got those... devices of his... he wasn't just a common crook. That wasn't any old bank. It belonged to Silvio Manfredi, better known as Silvermane. Ever heard of him?"

Silvermane! That's the name I overhead at the Angry Kangaroo. Some big name mob boss in town, I gather. Of course, I can't exactly let on that I know all that. "I, uh, might've read something online," I offer. "So, what? Some disgruntled employee looking to settle a score?"

"Or a hired hand sent by someone looking to eliminate the competition," Captain Stacy responds.

Wait a second... When I eavesdropped on those goons in the Kangaroo, they were saying something about Silvermane's feathers being ruffled. And Shocker name-dropped some mysterious "Big Man" who's evidently been keeping tabs on me. Could today have been the first shot fired in a massive gang war? And if so, what the heck am I going to do about it?

"Guess it's a good thing Spider-Man was there to protect those hostages," I say while keeping my gaze down at my plate. I want to see how Captain Stacy responds to that. Might give me a good barometer on police opinion of my... extracurricular activities.

"Spider-Man," Aunt May scoffs, catching me off-guard, "what a dreadful creature!" My eyes go wide as I listen to my loving aunt disparage, well, me. "You know, I was just reading something about that man the other day. If you ask me, he should be locked up and off the streets! His antics are only inspiring other whack jobs like this... Shocker... to come out of the woodworks."

"You know, May, you're not the only person I've heard with that opinion," Captain Stacy replies diplomatically. "Some of my own colleagues on the force have been saying the same thing, but I'm not so sure. I've been monitoring Spider-Man since his first documented appearance, and I honestly think he's trying to help."

Aunt May narrows her eyes as she leans forward. "Then why wear that ridiculous costume and that awful mask? What, exactly, is he trying to hide?" she challenges him.

To Captain Stacy's credit, he looks completely unfazed. Of course, if what he's saying about police opinion is true - and if he's genuine in his support of Spider-Man - then I'm sure he's had this argument before. "He might not be hiding anything. Look, the kinds of people that Spider-Man is putting behind bars are not people who forgive or forget. Hell, I'm no stranger to death threats, and I haven't had nearly the exposure - or direct impact - that Spider-Man has. If people knew his face, it would only be a matter of time before they knew his name, and then everyone he cared about would be in serious danger." He turns his attention to me. "Isn't that right, Peter?"

I can almost swear there's something in the way Captain Stacy is looking at me, but perhaps I'm just being paranoid. "Yeah... uh, you might be right." Nevertheless, I'm eager to put this conversation behind us. It's more than a little disappointing to hear how much Aunt May hates Spider-Man. Of course, it only reinforces my decision not to tell her. I scoot my chair back and grab my plate. "Don't worry about the dishes, Aunt May. I'll clean up. Care for another cup of coffee, Captain Stacy?"

Again, Captain Stacy's polite smile disarms me. His being a cop must make me antsy. I'm sure it's all in my head. "No thank you, Peter. I really should get going now." As he stands up, he turns back to Aunt May. "May, Peter was absolutely right about the stew. It was wonderful. Thank you again for all the hospitality."

"You're welcome here anytime, George! Gwendolyn, too. You know that."

"Of course," he smiles. "Have a good night, you two." Before making for the door, Captain Stacy stops to hand me his plate. We make eye contact, and he says, "Be seeing you, Peter. Take care."
​