Hell’s Kitchen, New York City
September 3rd, 2013

An hour ago, my handler from the syndicate of which I owe so much to, gave me a call. But this time I was told that this was not a test and that I needed to be in Hell’s Kitchen as soon as possible—that it was best to not to dawdle and make the Syndicate wait, that I should always remember the consequences of thinking ill of the syndicate. When they told me that it sent my nerves running and I don’t really understand why they keep mentioning it, as if I would dare deceive them or go against them when they have the most important thing in the world to me. I suppose it’s something these criminal-types enforce, something I need to learn to deal with if I want to see my father again.

A heavy sigh leaves me as I move my hand out as I look forward from my placement on the top of a water-tower that gives me a decent look over of the warehouse in question. The item I am supposed to steal, a “fragment of the orb”, is already missing from what my handler has told me—apparently straight from the mouth of Rose who had been blatantly upset that the two men he had sent to commit the robbery originally failed due to some “spider-guy”, which was words straight from the goons themselves. This annoyed Rose so much that he didn’t even bail them out of jail, leaving them to suffer in their idiocy until he was in a much better mood. My job was to get information on where this fragment went by hacking into the computers inside the warehouse. Once again, I had my USB stick that did that for me—but I didn’t have anybody to watch my back on this one and I couldn’t screw up… I wouldn’t screw up.

Tightening my white mask and wig, I sprung towards the warehouse.

“You can do this Felicia.”

September 5th, 2013. 4:36 PM
Manhattan, New York



"Hey, Petey," my godfather, Curtis Connors, greeted me at the door. He was one of only a handful of people who could get away with calling me Petey without agitating me. "Glad you had time to stop by today. I've got some big news I want to share with you."

Great. I could tell just from his voice it would be science related. Whenever he started talking fast and excitedly it would always involve something to do with his lab work. While his science discussions were always boring to listen to, he was my godfather and I never complained when he wanted to share his newest results and experiments with me. That's not to say I didn't crack jokes at his expense and kid around with him, though.

It was pretty much our thing. I would drop by for a visit at the Lee-Ditko Research Center where he worked, he would show me what he was currently researching or explain to me about some new and exciting scientific discovery, or theory, or whatever, and I would make a few immature jokes whenever he asked me my opinion on the topic. Curt would smile, change the discussion to how I was doing in school and my life in general, and we'd talk for an hour or two.Then, every time before I would leave, he would try to persuade me to pursue a life in the lab and dedicate my intellect to science, and every time I would turn him down with another joke. Sometimes I would feign annoyance at his persistence, but it was always more amusing than irritating. It had become a little tradition of sorts.

Curt led me over to his office; compared to the rest of the lab it was a small room, but it was about as large as my bedroom, and just as messy. As was typical, his desk was cluttered with piles of papers and empty cups of coffee. He cleared a small space in front of his chair and set down the laptop he had been carrying.

"I know I've told you a little about my work before, but do you remember what I told you it was your father and I had set out to do all those years ago?"

Of course I did; he would remind me almost every month, but Curt could be pretty forgetful at times. Aunt May and I would tease him by referring to him as Professor Plum after the absent-minded "Clue" character.

“Sure,” I said. “You were researching tissue regrowth, a cure for cancer, and other stuff like that.”

Curt nodded, grabbing a cup of coffee off of his desk. “Right,” he took a sip and winced. I guessed the drink was probably ice cold after sitting there for more than a few hours.

Originally,” he continued, “I was looking into lizards and how they can regrow lost limbs. I always believed I could take reptilian DNA and combine it with the DNA of other species in a safe way that would allow the subject to fully accept the new DNA sequences and integrate it successfully into their own genetics.”

“Sounds like a plot to a cheesy, fifty’s B-movie a la The Human Fly.”

“Yes, well, while attempts at cross-species neo-genetic recombination have never been successful to date, the theory is far from science fiction. As a matter of fact...”

Curt tapped a few keys on his laptop and spun it around to show me the document he had opened up full of graphs and charts. I could tell it demonstrated some sort of positive results over a fairly lengthy period of time, but without knowing all of the research behind the data I had no real clue what I was looking at.

“I’m sure this is all really cool, but I’m not sure what exactly it is I’m supposed to be seeing here.” I told him.

“Petey, this is my breakthrough! Look,” Curt clicked the mouse and a new document popped up. “Look here, do you see it?” He was really getting excited now.

This new page had a few complicated equations listed out for what appeared to be some sort of formula.

“Wait a minute...” I was putting two and two together, and even I was starting to show some excitement over this. I was never one to show interest in science, but this... this could be huge. “Is this what I think it is, or am I just jumping to conclusions? You didn’t actually manage to incorporate lizard DNA into another species, did you?”

"Well, no,” he admitted. “Not yet at least. But I’m close! I’m so close to succeeding, Petey. This is it. This has been what I’ve been working on for my entire career and I’m almost there. I just want to make absolutely sure before I begin testing, but I’m confident and I expect to start running trials with this formula in a couple months, if not sooner.” He smiled at me. "I knew you would be able to tell what it was. You've got your father's brain."

Wow. Even I had to admit, this was pretty cool. If Curt was right, and if the formula succeeded this would completely change the world. The medical field would be revolutionized. Amputees all around the world would get the chance to literally regrow their limbs back. I glanced at Curt and his own missing arm; he had more reason than most to be excited over this.

“How did you come across this formula?” I was curious now.

He explained rather long-windedly about realizing a few years back that trying to introduce foreign DNA sequences into a completely different species would almost certainly never work; the process likely ending in failure every time. He had come to the conclusion that before he ever hoped to succeed with cross-species genetics, he would first have to strengthen the already existing genes in a species so that any new DNA introduced wouldn’t immediately be rejected.

Curt picked up the same coffee and took another sip, apparently already forgetting it was long past being warm. “So,” he said through another grimace, “after spending months of researching previous experiments concerning modification of genetic structures in attempts to greatly enhance the test subject, I began my own tests. Two years ago, after countless experiments, I started to successfully alter the genetics of small species in a way that would effectively increase their capabilities. To give them a super boost, if you will, to their DNA.”

“Small species?” I asked tentatively, sure I already knew the answer.

“Yes. Insects and arachnids mostly. Anyways...”

He carried on, but I wasn’t listening anymore. I was already flashing back to that day last year, there in the lab, where I had been bitten by the spider. I had always figured it had been one of my godfather’s experiments; I mean, how else could a spider bite give me superhuman abilities, but to finally, truly, learn the origin of that spider was sort of mind-numbing. I had long since accepted the dramatic changes I had undergone, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t still curious of what, exactly, had brought on those changes. Whatever Curt had done to that spider somehow, through some miracle or freak accident, affected me through the bite. I wanted to ask about the arachnids he experimented on, or, better yet, what research he had discovered that led him to successfully alter their genetics, but I bit my tongue. I didn’t want him to start questioning why I was so interested in his work all of sudden. He may be forgetful at times, but he was still a brilliant man and I didn’t need him figuring out my secret. But I would definitely find a way to dig deeper now that I had a general direction to go in.

“Petey, are you listening to me?”

His words snapped me out of my reverie. My godfather was looking at me with that analytical stare of his, trying to figure out where my mind had gone to.

“Yeah, sorry. Just, uh... zoned out.” I said, trying to play up my known disinterest in all things science. “I guess all your science talk finally put me to sleep.” I smiled to let him know I was teasing.

‘Listen, I, uh, I have to go. Homework to do and all that other fun stuff that comes with being a high school student.”

“Oh, alright.” Curt seemed surprised I was cutting my visit short without really getting a chance to talk yet. “But, Petey, don't think I didn't catch that gleam in your eye earlier. You can’t hide it from me with the boredom facade. It may have only been briefly, but you got a little excited by all that ‘science talk.’ There’s hope just yet that you’ll join me in the lab someday,” he added with a wink.

For the first time since Curt had started prodding me towards a life in a lab coat, I found myself contemplating the possibility. Not so much out of interest for science, but more so because working in the lab alongside my godfather might bring me closer to the answers about that spider and just what had been done to it... and me.

“Anything’s possible.” Was all I said as I waved goodbye. Anything.

Prologue
September 6th, 2013
Warehouse owned by Mr. Bird

His name is Frank Castle.

He sits in a rusty Chevrolet, eyes trained through military grade binoculars at the warehouse opposite the parking lot where he sat, some twenty yards away. Through the binoculars, Castle's black eyes study the security of the aging warehouse, noting the habits of the guards. Eventually he sets the binoculars down and pinches the bridge of his nose, blinking. He's been here three days, watching, waiting, leaving only to shower and procure food.

But today, his surveillance paid off. Today was when he was finally "go." Stretching, he stepped out of the truck, revealing a black long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearm, black gloves, a tactical belt with several holsters and ammo clip holders, including places for grenades, black tactical cargo pants with kneepads, and black military grade combat boots, the right of which held a combat knife. The finishing touch was his signature black bulletproof vest emblazoned with the white spray-painted skull.

Reaching in the duffel bag on the seat beside him, he pulled out two 1911 ACPs, checking them before sliding them into their respective holsters. Next he pulled out flashbang grenades, clipping them onto his belt, before taking out his final weapon: an assault rifle. Sleek and black, it was outfitted with a red dot sight and suppressor. Castle gave it a final look-over before checking his watch.

Bending his knees a bit to lower his center of gravity, he placed the rifle's stock against his shoulder, skulking slowly across the ill lit parking lot to the building beside it. From his surveillance, he knew there was a sniper team of three men with a sentry stationed on the roof opposite, guarding the only other way into the warehouse besides the front entrance, which was too heavily fortified for a head on assault. Of course, Castle could've brought along an M32 multiple grenade launcher, but it would've attracted too much attention. Ergo, the rooftop route.

Once he crossed the parking lot, Castle stood at a doorway, pressing his shoulder to it, hard. The frame gave way with a muted thud and Castle soldiered on, sprinting up the five flights of stairs as quietly as possible before reaching the rooftop access door, the hinges squeaking as it opened. The guard overlooking the warehouse roof was killing time by chewing on a cigarette.

Castle slew the rifle over his shoulder via its strap and unsheathed the knife on his boot. Abandoning silence for the moment, he sprinted towards the unaware guard, shoving the knife through his throat. The guard made a strangled sound as he choked on his own blood, unable to scream out or alert his fellow guards. A booted heel cause the corpse to fall to the warehouse roof, startling the sniper team. Moving the rifle back into shooting position, Castle fired a double tap into the first sniper before any of them could react. The one at the north corner drew his weapon, terrified.

He didn't have long to fear, however, as two bullets tore his throat to shreds. All that remained were two holes about a centimeter apart. The last sniper managed to fire his sidearm, but missed his target. Castle responded by leaping down to the warehouse roof-the distance was only about a foot of height and two feet apart- and getting up close. Castle pressed the barrel of the assault weapon to the other man's forehead, and unblinkingly, unhesitatingly, put him down like a particularly offending wild animal.

The criminals on the roof taken care of, Castle turned and made sure the roof was clear. That done, he stepped into the elevator, as it was the only point of ingress besides the docking port and front door; the others were too heavily guarded. As the elevator began to move, Castle set his rifle back on its strap and palmed two flashbang grenades from his belt.

No rest for the wicked.

Only Punishment.
-----------------------Meanwhile, across town----------------

Retired Staff Sergeant Rachel Cole-Alves walked the street hand in hand with her new husband, Dr. Daniel Alves, a trauma surgeon. She was dressed in a white long sleeve shirt and brown cargo pants, with her red hair flowing down her shoulders, ending at the midpoint of her back. They were on their honeymoon in New York, and Rachel was dragging Daniel to see the Statue of Liberty.

"C'mon, Rach. It's 10 PM, it's late. Let's just go back to the hotel room, and see it in the morning. Besides, I don't have a good feeling about this." Daniel said with a heave of his shoulders as he pulled his newlywed wife closer to him. She leaned into him almost on instinct but instantly pouted.

"You 'C'mon', Daniel. We've only been married for two days and already you're starting to argue."

Daniel sighed and kissed his wife, whom instantly blushed. It was not something that she was used to, PDA, and she wasn't very open to begin with.

"I am not arguing, Rach. I'm just saying it's getting late." He said, calm bepainting his features. She looked up at him, his watery brown eyes locking into her bluish gray. At 5'7" she stood slightly taller than her husband, a fact that she teased him on often.

Brushing a strand of hair out of the way, she huffed. "Fine. Let's head back to the hotel." Turning on her heel by habit of her Marine Corps training, she led him by the hand down an alley as a shortcut to the nearest subway. That's when it happened. A mugger, coming off of his latest fix, jumped them waving an MP5. The couple froze, unable to do anything. Daniel because of his fear, and Rachel because she knew what would happen.

There are many ways of disarming a man with a gun, but all of them have a risk of the gun going off, and with Daniel here, with her, she couldn't risk that. So she decided to play along in the hopes that he wouldn't become agitated and the gun wouldn't go off.

"G-gimme y-y-yer money, man! I ain't freakin' playin' man! Gimme yer money! Now!" The mugger shouted. Daniel nodded slowly, reaching for his wallet. Unfortunately, Daniel reached wrong, causing the mugger to think Daniel had a gun. Visibly agitated, the mugger shot Daniel eight times in a single burst before taking off running.

Rachel caught her husband as he fell to the pavement, sobbing as he bled out, muttering "no" over and over again. As the light left his eyes, Rachel screamed out in grief, tears streaming down her face.

After two days of marriage, Rachel Cole-Alves was a widow.

Gambit
September 5th, 2013
11:58 PM

“Here’s the problem, Remy, we’re dealing with the fucking government.” Fence stood on his powering station, a partially raised, circular dais with a bright blue light shining upward. Sprouting from his mechanized hand was a flat hologram which he read from intently. His eye was damaged in the beating he received a month ago on the Cajun’s behalf, he could not use it to project holograms or virtual reality HUD’s. The aforementioned Cajun was laid in a loveseat set between to marble columns. He still wore his sneaking suit and running shoes, his legs were innocently slung over the edge of the loveseat. The joe in his hands had cooled since he got there, and coincidentally, so had he. He took a sip of the brown stuff as his red eyes pierced through the light steam which rose from the cup. “If we were dealing with some kind of a street hustler, sure, easy-peesey. A mob-boss? Easy as the shit I pass off as cake here. But what I can’t do…”

“I thought you said there was nothing you can’t do.” Remy interrupted. He looked sly, and vicious, he wanted blood but he wasn’t ready to kill for it. Remy sometimes felt like that, like he was impotent, like he wasn’t a man of integrity. But what does a thief know about integrity?

Fence seemed annoyed by the suggestion Remy made, he stepped off the powering station and pointed his human, broken, hand at the devil in the darkness. “That was six years ago, before you started playing footsies with government organizations. And, what I can’t do is hide you from every security agency in the United States, public or otherwise.”

Remy’s eyebrows perked up, he was interested in the implications of Fence’s statement. Fence was particular, he was a man of practicality. He never said anything that didn’t need saying, unless he was hyping himself up. “What do you mean? There info in there about secret organizations, looking for me?”

Fence calmed and got back to the station. He waved his hands behind him and flipped through the hologram. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, “Not explicitly, but yeah.” Fence made a throwing motion with his robotic arm toward the smart board which sat at the opposite end of the basement they were talking in. The walls were exposed stone and the floor was red cracked marble aside from the area around the powering station, that was metal tile. Remy assumed it was because there was some sort of defense mechanism around the station, Fence was paranoid like that. Fence had put a lot of money into this place, Remy was happy that when the spooks came around they couldn’t find this place too. Behind the smart board was a door, one of two. It led to a vault and more things beyond that which Remy wasn’t even entirely sure about. At the opposite end was another door which led to the elevator which led to the bakery. That end was stocked with tables, and tools, and computers, and weapons, and all sorts of do-dads. The document flicked onto the screen moments later.

On the screen was a long document which included lots of codenames, and locations where Remy had been, and security business lingo. Fence circled all the names he brought up on the board from where he stood. “I’ve never heard of the Murauders. Or Project X. They must be new or top secret. I’ve never had a non-doctored document like this.”

Remy made sure to let Fence know he was still worth something, “You’re welcome,” is all he said.

“There’s also this Sentinel program, very troubling. It implies, whatever this project is, will be able to track down mutants. They’re saying you were instrumental in making all of this possible.” Fence was a little dumbstruck. He turned to the red-eyed devil sitting in the love seat, cooing over a cup of coffee. “Did you do this, Remy?”

The Cajun sipped his coffee again. He felt a sudden chill crawl up his spine and he swallowed the coffee hard. His eyes unfocused and refocused again, and for a moment the Cajun felt like he was falling through the world. “I—I don’t know.”

“Come on, Remy. I mean, Jesus Christ, don’t you know never to trust the fucking government?!?” He wanted an answer, the metal man stood on the station staring at Remy, every second the Cajun didn’t answer infuriated Fence. “Well!?!” He bellowed.

Remy was jolted from a daydream, “I—I didn’t know.”

“Well now you know.” Fence stared at the thief, cradled by the cushions, and unraveled what he saw. Remy looked frightened, shocked, betrayed, and embarrassed; Fence could see that. He pursed his lips then exhaled, “I can help you, Remy, I think. It’s not a sure thing by any means. But it has to be done my way.” Fence was clear, deliberate, forgiving. “My way or the highway.” He punctuated.

Remy hadn’t been looking at Fence for a while, he stared at the cracked red floor and descended into a short burst of agony. With Fences last words Remy’s red eyes flicked over to the metal man’s blues. “Yeah,” he accepted weakly, “yeah, you got it, Boss.”

---

Concerning the Daydream: Remy was sent to China in 2011 to retrieve plans, and potentially materials, from a secret base in Karamay. Remy led a team of two, it was going to be easy, simple. After rendezvous, which involved Remy boarding a train via helicopter, the team picked up their weapons, in a storage crate outside the city, and head to the base. They hadn’t killed any guards by the time they reached their destination. All four team-members had powers, similar to Remy. One young man could teleport, which came in handy. Another could read minds and the other possessed technokinesis, like Fence. It was the latter teammate who made this distinction between what the team was told they were to collect, and what they were actually collecting. He hijacked the database which Remy searched the storage bins for the marked materials. Remy found it, a green matte suitcase locked and sealed. He brought it over to a table and opened it, it looked like some sort of polymer.

“They sent us out here for some damn plastics?” Remy commented. His hair was longer then, he had it wrapped in a ponytail.

Gerald, the young man mentioned earlier, stood from the laptop he worked at and looked at the material. He waved his hands over the case and small lights flicked on inside the opaque material. He smiled as his hands hovered over the box. “There is no metal in them at all, but they’re electronic all right.” Gerald stopped manipulating the material and went back to his laptop. “You shouldn’t have opened that.” He said coyly.

“And why’s that?” Remy questioned, he shut the case.

“I didn’t see anything, man.” Gerald responded.

“Say what’s on your mind, Frtiz.”

Gerald hesitated a moment and then turned in his chair, he looked up at the Cajun and frowned. “That’s not what they told us we were getting. This is very serious, very scary shit.”

Gerald died on their way out of the base. The two other agents died in a freak fire in the west end no more than a week later. And the Cajun realized now that he was meant to die in that fire as well. Or perhaps the CIA got Gambit out of that room on purpose, to keep him. Either way, remembering that moment made Remy sure that he was a fool, and any work he’d done for the government was pure evil.

Prologue
Harlem Shakedown

Harlem
4:24 AM


Anton Morrison hadn't felt this alive in years. His heart pounded in his chest and the adrenaline coursing through his veins made his teeth chatter. He walked at a herky-jerky pace down the sidewalk towards 120th Street's collection of rowhouses with his woman. It was chilly that night and he wore a leather jacket, but he was sweating through the chill. Anton wiped his forehead and felt Isabelle's soft hand on his.

"It's gonna be alright, daddy," she said reassuringly.

She knew how much he loved it when she called him daddy. Just her touch and few words put his mind at ease. Good God, did he love that woman. Isabelle was the type of woman Anton never thought he could get. Sophisticated, well-read, and beautiful. Was she ever beautiful. They'd been together for a few months now and Anton still couldn't figure out how he managed to get her. He remembered her asking him something one night at the club. He replied and saw her smile... that smile that made him feel warm inside. After that it was nothing but a blur.

Isabelle was cultured, the type of woman Anton couldn't afford on his meager salary working for Mr. Davis. She needed the finer things in life. She had to have them, Anton thought, or she would leave him for someone who could give her what he wanted. There were lots of brothers in the neighborhood who were caught up in the Game and had fat pockets. Anton had always been a square, never even getting close to anything stronger than a joint. His mamma worked hard to keep him off the corner and out from slinging. For twenty-nine years her hard work had been a success. Tonight was the night that all ended.

"Who is it?" a voice asked after Anton banged on the front door of one of the houses.

"Morrison..."

"I don't know no Morrison," the voice said. "You best get outta here before I mess you up."

"It's Anton," he said louder. "We spoke on the phone about that package. C'mon, man."

"Calvin," Isabelle said with a sharp tone. "It's me, Izzy. Open the damn door up, boy."

A few seconds later the heavy door of the rowhouse opened up and squeaked on its rusty hinges. A fat, light-skinned black man in a greasy tanktop and boxers stared at Anton and Isabelle before stepping aside to let them come into the house. Once they were in he locked the door with a heavy deadbolt. Calvin looked at the two lovers with indifference before shuffling through the house towards a sofa.

"Go on back. They waiting on you."

Isabelle led Anton through the cluttered rowhouse towards the very back of the house. In the kitchen a dark-skinned and muscle bound man with sunglasses and a do-rag watched them enter. On a card table in front of him were two bricks of white powder.

"There's my man," he said with a giggle. "Tony Montana himself. What's good, man?"

Anton shrugged sheepishly and shook his head.

"Just looking to get that package, man... like we talked about?"

"For sure," the man at the table said with a wide grin. "Just, gotta pay before you can play. Let's see what you brought."

Anton reached into his leather jacket and pulled out the manila envelope stuffed with cash. It had sixty grand, his entire life savings plus a little something extra he borrowed from his boss. Well, borrow wasn't the right word. Borrow always implied there was consent from both parties to the borrowing. Anton more or less stole the ten thousand dollars. Getting involved in a coke deal was Isabelle's idea. The plan was that Anton buy two keys wholesale and cut them up before reselling them to a few of the dealers around the neighborhood. With markup and his cut from the slingers he could easily net eighty thousand. Isabelle said she did it because she wanted the best for Anton, she wanted him to have the cash that would keep him happy. She knew all the right people, made all the calls and the introductions. She did the easy work, Anton though. He had to scrape the money together.

"Here it is," Anton said as he passed the envelope over.

The man at the table scrutinized the money and counted it, his lips moving as he counted the six hundred one hundred dollar bills. When he was satisfied he pushed the two keys across the table towards Anton.

"And here it is," he said with a giggle. "How's it feel to be in the Game, player?"

Anton was about to respond that it felt pretty damn good. What stopped him was the loud bang from the front room. Calvin's loud cursing could be heard on the other side of the house, followed by more bangs and yells. Anton's blood went cold when he saw the black man in a kevlar vest and pistol round the corner. The vest had NYPD stamped on it, a badge dangled from a chain around his neck.

"NYPD! GET THE FUCK ON THE GROUND!"

Anton was about to comply when the man at the table cursed and flipped the table up unto the air. Shots rang out from the cop's gun and Anton hit the deck. On the way to the ground the metal folding chair the dealer had been sitting on hit him square in the head. His head took further damage when it smacked against the tile floor of the kitchen. Groggy, he heard more shouts and gunshots and footsteps that got louder before they receded and disappeared all together. It was several minutes before he got the cobwebs out of his mind. Anton stood up and felt the small cut on his forehead while he looked around the kitchen.

The table was flipped along with the chair. The cop, the dealer, and Isabelle were all gone. Anton nursed his head and looked for the coke or, more importantly, his money. Neither were around. His heart raced even faster when he went through the house and couldn't find fat Calvin. All four of them were gone... along with the coke and his money....

*****


Ray's Social Club
Harlem
11:32 AM


They call it Ray's Social Club to make it not sound like the low-rent bar it is. Still, they make a mean hamburger. The lack of hamburgers was one of the many things I hated about prison. They had burgers every so often as a treat, but a prison burger was about as tasty as you might imagine it would be. Burgers and women were two things I got denied after ten years in the joint, and I've managed to get ready access to both in the year I've been home.

One of the few good things about prison though were the books. I hated reading before I went in, but with nothing to do in there but lift weights and read I managed to make a habit of both. I figure I had to be the strongest man alive who could quote Proust. At Ray's that day my meal was a crunchy burger with all the fixings and a paperback copy of A Rage in Harlem by Chester Himes. I like Himes' work since it seems the black crime writers are few and far between, and he was one of the best regardless of skin color. Twenty pages and half the burger went by before I even noticed the man sitting next to me at the bar. He was a straightjohn if I ever saw one. Looked to be on the backside of twenty with a sizeable gut and a plaid shirt. He had watery doe eyes that looked to be on the verge of tears.

"You been watching me this whole time, homie?" I asked after a bite of my burger.

"Yes, sir, Mister Cage... I just... I don't know how to do this."

"If you trying to pick me up, homie, I gotta say I'm not interested."

"No... I mean... I wanna hire you. You the Hero for Hire, right?"

"That's me," I said as I dog-eared the page of my book and tucked it into my coat. "What is it you need from me?"

"It's just..."

His battle with keeping the tears back soon became a losing one. I let him sob himself out for a few minutes and went back to my food. He blew into a napkin I had passed him and sighed.

"Sorry about that... It's just, I need your help. They ran off with my girl, my money, and my dope."

The word dope had me keyed. This man who looked liked as square as a right angle was bringing up drugs. Stolen drugs. On top of that there was something about a girl and money. Had this been any other day I might have told him to take it somewhere else, but I hadn't had a job in nearly two weeks. Even though I swore I wouldn't do it, I let curiosity get the better of me.

"Tell me what happened. I'm listening."


Luke Cage
Hero for Hire

IN

The Brother and the Shill

Tony lifted his head off the ground, looking through the H.U.D as it flickered back to life. "J.A.R.V.I.S. You there bud?" It took a couple of minutes before the AI spoke. "Yes sir." He pushed with both hands raising him to the ground slowly in what was left of an old abandoned school house in the middle east, which had supposedly been storing several off his weapons. However now there was no school house and there were definitely no weapons. "It appears to have been a trap sir, as soon as we touched down packs of explosives went off.""Yeah, I got that. Just why does it hurt so much?" He stood as the hud became follow operational and he did a quick 360 loop to check that no-one was currently coming at him with any more weaponry.

"You were flung three hundred meters into the air and landed poorly. I surmise that you have broken at least two ribs.""Oh, that makes sense." Pinging began rattling against his back, he turned and took to a knee wincing slightly as he did so. He raised his right arm and with the subtle movement off his fingers the repulsor charged and fired off a blast at his assailant, who spun and then went to the ground. "Flight systems?""Currently inoperable. I'm still calibrating the suit.""Do we produce thrust?""Yes sir.""Good, just stand by." He began walking out of what the was sure was a nice school classroom full of learning and other good things, it was just missing some decor. Like a wall, or three other walls. He sometimes wished he had built the suit for added speed, however it was a hindrance to run in and didn't really make him any faster. Pretty soon more militia began running at him, firing weapons in the air and at him. Most of it missing its mark due to the untrained nature of the militia. "They just don't learn, do they Jarvis?""Apparently not sir.""Flight systems?""Almost ready sir." "How ready?""About a minute, sir."

He pushed his feet forward slightly digging his toes in as the jets on his boots activated. "All right, I'll make you stand by that remark." If all went well, he could gather altitude and then Jarvis would kick in with the flaps. Though a couple of seconds up, the pinging of weapons fire long gone the flight systems still read as down. "Uh, Jarvis.""Almost there sir." A rocket flew up into the sky as a lock on alarm sounded, he had used all his flares earlier and couldn't dodge it. He wasn't sure if his body could take another hit and then a fall. "I really need the flight systems up.""Almost there sir." The rocket continued towards him. "Jarvis!"

He naturally closed his eyes though then he felt himself being pressed into the suit as the flight systems came back on. He pulled himself back before firing a repulsor blast at the missile, finally having the control to do so without sending himself tumbling out of controls. "Jarvis, you get an E for efficiency, however I have to give you an A+ in dramatic timing.""You were always one for the theatrical sir.""All right, plot me a flight path home. We've got a board meeting soon Justin Hammer is apparently releasing some kind of new aircraft trying to bid the S.H.I.E.L.D contract from us. We'll need to be there in order to counter it.""Right away sir." Several people pointed as they saw the very discreet hotrod coloured suit curve up into the sky, before going supersonic. This was the boring part, just waiting in the suit to get there. At least he could listen to music and watch some videos on the hud.

---

Stark Tower - Some time Later

Landing at Stark Tower without being seen was always a bit tricky. He typically had to do it when there was low visibility and fly below Radar however he had also managed to set it up so that the sewer system led straight into the base of the tower, and then a "service" elevator shaft took him to where the suits were stored in the tower. It would have been far easier for him to keep the suits in his old pad in Malibu however being in the Stark Tower allowed him to easily flit between the two lives that he was currently living. Standing on the pad the suit was taken off him piece by piece and he knew that as soon as it was out of sight it would be getting repaired and re-armed automatically. If only he had the same process. His ribs if Jarvis was right would take a couple of weeks to heal, though if anyone noticed he could easily fabricate a believable story.

A window popped up in thin air of a news broadcast as Jarvis' voice came over the speakers. "Sir, there appears to have been some kind of Hydra attack on S.H.I.E.L.D while we were away. The Triskelion has been destroyed." He couldn't believe it as he watched the explosion ravage the building, that was almost as big as the Heli-carrier going down. Which was entirely plausible with those old rotary engines it was using, he had told Fury that he had repuslors as Tony Stark, gave him a rough lay down on an older variant from the MkII supersized and less efficient in a way that made it look like it was unable to be scaled down. It was hard being a genius sometimes. Of course Fury had not accepted the deal, it had been far too pricey. "Have the suit repainted, repaired and re-armed by the time Hammer finishes his presentation.""Yes sir."

He finished buttoning up his shirt, which he had stopped briefly at the news of the Triskelion, pulling on a suit jacket and straightening a tie he stood in the Elevator as it took him up to the conference level. His aide, a miss Pepper Potts stood waiting for him. Brown hair, glasses. Spoke with an English accent and wasn't overly unique in the looks department though she did a bang up job off keeping him on track and helping to organize the company. "So what do we know about what Hammer is revealing?""It's supposed to be some kind of new interceptor. He's calling it the Iron Falcon-""That name sounds completely unique.""It is part of his sales pitch, he says its the one thing in the sky that will be able to take out the Iron Man suits." It was times like this he wanted to mention that he was Iron Man, so that he could rub it in the likes of Justin Hammers face especially with the new piece of armour he was working on. Though it could wait. He walked into the conference room, nodding at a couple of people whom he liked and ignoring the glares of those he didn't. Obadiah sat at the end of the table and he gave the man a firm handshake. "Obadiah, how worried should I be?"

It was one of the hardest things about the alter ego. As Iron Man he knew about Obadiah selling weapons to the black market though Tony Stark didn't. So he had to play along for now, until he had finally made sure that his mentor was responsible. He wasn't going to harm one of the few hairs on the mans head without proof. "Ohh, we'll be fine. Apparently he is offering for a S.H.I.E.L.D pilot to test it against the Iron Man suit. He's actually asking for it to be Captain America apparently.""That'll be one to watch.""It sure will. How are you doing on the armour project?" The Armour project, his way of distancing himself from the Iron Man suit. Stark Industries was working on its own suit the same as Fisk had. Though he was ensuring they did not resemble the suit nor any of their tech did. Part of him however felt that Obadiah knew, and that was why the project was in existence. "The same old, the suits work for mobility purposes now but we're having problems finding the right alloy to take a decent amount of damage and keep it lightweight and small. We could go bigger for armour but then we'd need to install motors and such to help with simple tasks like walking."

The big screen turned on with the Hammer intro. "We'll get back to this later."

---

Justin Hammer walked on screen, he appeared Sombre, or tried to. As per usual he over acted and just looked ridiculous. "At a time of tragedy such as this, I just want to say our hearts go out to the families of those who lost loved ones during this latest attack against S.H.I.E.L.D. However, we must look to the future and the future is a dangerous place. That is why I have invented, the Iron Falcon." A jet appeared on screen. It frankly looked a bit ridiculous however Tony wasn't placing it out of the ball park just yet, its look didn't mean anything to how dangerous it could be. The cockpit was just too large and on the whole it just looked stupid. "The Iron Falcon was designed specifically in order to counter the growing threats we face today. Rogue Mutants, Hydra and all the other super villians that we find ourselves facing now adays. It is the only fighter jet in existence that is designed to be capable of taking on an Iron Man suit." Tony rolled his eyes at this, there was no way to know that for sure.

"As such. I offer a challenge to Iron Man, and an invitation to a pilot selected by S.H.I.E.L.D. If Iron Man can defeat this fighter jet, I will cut the price in half and when this fighter jet wins, I will personally assist in the reconstruction efforts of the Triskelion, for free." Obviously that deal was a last minute thing, to try and curry public favour. Tony stood as soon as the video was over. "I'll be in my lab building something to counter this, call me if you need me." With that, he was gone. He could feel the looks from some of the board members however he didn't care. He had to get to the Triskelion anyway to see what Iron Man could do to help out. He technically didn't work for S.H.I.E.L.D like many heroes did however he did drop by from time to time when he was needed.

---

S.H.I.E.L.D Heli Carrier. Some time later.

The devastation below him was worse than anything he had seen so far as Iron Man, though maybe it was because it was on home soil. The Triskelion was supposed to be one of the safest places in the planet and there it was in ruins. It truly brought home a helpless feeling and how powerful the Red Skull truly was. He supposed it was time to join the hunt himself, or at least for Iron Man too. He landed on the landing deck off the Heli-carrier and simply waved away the people who were walking around with guns as one of the agents came out to see him. "Iron Man, what can we do for you?""Actually. This isn't me asking for a favour, I thought you could use a hand." The agent went on his radio. "Director Fury, Iron Man is here offering assistance."

Home Is Where The War Is- Chapter 1: The Thread

Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earth, nothing is bred that is weaker than man-Homer's Odyssey

September 8th, 2013
Castle's safe house, South Bronx

Frank Castle was dreaming. In this dream, he was holding hands with his wife while his son rode his shoulders. In Maria's other arm was Lisa. They were walking in the park, the same place that they always did, when at a certain point, as the dream always does, blood spatters the ground, holes like gunshot wounds appearing inexplicably on his family, sounds of gunfire ringing in his head. Frank dared not look, SHOULD not look, and yet, as the nightmare always did, his eyes were forced to fix on what remained of his family....

Castle woke in cold sweat, gasping for breath. The dream-no, nightmare-was always the same. He sighed and got up, looking at the clock. The time was 6 AM, and after that nightmare, there was no way he could go back to sleep. Walking over to the dresser, and with a practiced motion, he quickly got ready for the day, and slipped on a simple black t-shirt over black cargo pants and combat boots. Walking into his kitchen, he fixed himself coffee.

When the coffee was done, he grabbed the mug and opened his front door to retrieve today's edition of The Daily Bugle. Walking back inside, he ignored the front page and went straight to the crime section, looking for possible leads to connect to the mysterious gun-running organization that had cropped up within the last six months. There was nothing much there, mostly related to Harlem's drug problem and the gang feud up in Spanish Harlem, but one article caught his eye. It read:

Marine Vet. Widowed After Two Days of Marriage.

by Norah Winters

[SoHo]- Just two days ago, tragedy hit a newlywed couple. Recently married Dr. Daniel Alves was gunned down in a mugging gone wrong.

Late on September 6th, the doctor, and his wife, Rachel Cole-Alves, were heading towards the Statue of Liberty when they decided to head back to their hotel room. The two stepped down an alleyway, intending to use it as a shortcut when they were set upon by the mugger. Dr. Alves was regrettably shot to death. The police have no leads

Dr. Alves, whose funeral will be held today, is survived by his wife, Rachel. Rachel is a former Marine and Silver star recipient.

Castle cut out the article and tacked it on to the corkboard, linking it via thread to the center where a question mark lay. Though the article had no real information, Castle felt a gut instinct towards this, though confirmation was needed. Picking up a phone, he dialled the Bugle's office number. After a few rings, the phone was picked up.

"Daily Bugle, Betty Brant speaking."

Castle cleared his throat before continuing.

"This is Frank Rook, I'm calling for a Norah Winters?"

"One moment."

Castle ran a hand down his face, briefly wondering if he should shave.

"Norah Winters."

Castle took a deep breath, and encrypted his line. The next few seconds were crucial if this was to work.

"Norah, listen closely. I am the Punisher." He heard her gasp, and paused to let that sink in. "But don't bother trying to trace this call."

"Ok....So what are you calling me for?"

"Rachel Cole-Alves. I want to know the details of her mugging straight from the source."

"So you want ME to give you her address?"

"Yes."

"You aren't going to....punish her, are ya?"

"No. I just need information."

"Ok....She's staying in the Hotel on 6th and 16th."

As soon as the words left her mouth, the line went dead. Norah sat back in her chair and ran a hand through her long blond hair. Worry knotted her stomach, but at the same time, something reassured her. Conflicted feelings churned within her as she rose from her seat to find a friend she trusted to talk to. In the end, she walked towards Ben Urich's office.

Castle on the other hand, slipped his signature bulletproof vest on, and slipped his coat on over that. He had to find out exactly the circumstances, but his gut told him that he had found it. That one loose thread in the gunrunning organisation.

And he was planning on pulling it till their world fell apart.

Part 1

Sister of Mercy

Harlem
1:31 PM

It took Anton Morrison nearly a half hour to get through the tears and tell me his sob story. The long and short if it plays like this: Anton and his girl hooked up with some so-called dealers who had a coke connection. The plan was to buy two kilos of blow and then turn it around and sell it to local dealers marked up. He and his girl scrounged up whatever money they had between them for the cost of the two keys. On top of that Anton stole ten grand from the funeral home he works at to get to the sixty g's they needed for the blow. It was all going according to plan until a police busted in and started shooting. Anton hit the deck and got smacked in the back of the head. When he came to, the girl, blow, and cash were all gone. He wants me to track down all three for twenty percent of that sixty grand.

I agreed to take the job and sent Anton back to my crib to chill and lay low from the cops or whoever may be looking for him. He was watching TV and eating a pastrami sandwich when I headed out. The whole situation stunk like the dumpster behind a deli. Little miss hot to trot whispers sweet nothings into Anton's ear about dope deals and getting flush with cash, she makes all the connections and the deals, knows all the names and the people so when it goes bad he's left holding nothing but his dick. Anton may be too blinded by the girl to see the truth of the matter, but my clear eyes could see that brother was getting played like a fiddle. The only way to catch a hustler is to use another hustler.

"GIVE TO THA LAWD!"

That's why I'm here at the corner Lennox and 131st street, watching the good ole Sister Mercy do her thing. Sister Mercy has been working the corners for nearly twenty years now, dressed in her black nun habit and ringing that bell while she shouts about fire and brimstone and the only way to heaven is to give to the lawd.

"'For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils' First Timothy 6:10, people. GIVE TO THA LAWD!"

You wouldn't think it by looking at her, but the sister is without a doubt the best street hustler of all the would be conmen and scammers operating out on the streets. It doesn't hurt that she has a dynamite racket. It takes real balls to impersonate a nun, and boy does she have balls alright. The truth is that sister is a brother, name of Jackson Coleman. Jackson was a former B&E man who hit the right racket to feed his drug addiction. I knew him back before I went to jail. We got back in touch after I came home and he helps me out on stuff for a price. A cross-dressing junkie nun who cons people with a bell and the bible. Where else but Harlem?

"Say, Sister Mercy," I said as I palmed two twenties and shook the good sister's hand. "What do you know good?"

"'Blessed are they who observe justice, who do righteousness at all times', Psalm 106:3," he said loud enough for the pedestrians passing by to hear before whispering. "Luke Cage, my man. What's up? GIVE TO THE LAWD, PEOPLE."

"Wondering if you had your ear to the ground on something, Sister. Looking for a group of hustlers working in Harlem. It'd be at least two guys and a girl. They took a civilian for nearly sixty grand on a Snow Job."

Sister Mercy let out a low and soft whistle before returning back to the work of yelling about damnation and monetary salvation. He thanked a passerby as they tossed a dollar into the bucket at his feet. After a few moments of thought, he finally shook his head.

"Been quiet the last few weeks around Harlem, far as any action is concerned. I did hear word getting around about counterfeiters. Raising notes and stuff like that. You ever heard of that old scam, the Blow?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Before your time, Cage. Hell, before my time. The idea is that you convince a sucker you can raise his money, turn his tens into hundreds. You get him to give you all of his money in tens, and then something happens... say, a Secret Service agent busts through the door, and starts shooting. Your instinct is to haul ass and you do. In the process you lose the money to this fake-ass agent with a plastic badge."

"You just described what happened to my client. Sister, I could kiss you."

"'But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart,' Matthew 5:28, brother. Repent and GIVE TO THA LAWD!"

Agent Designation: X-23
Field Mission Alpha: Test Protocol
Target Priority: Low
Evaluation Commencing...

Her heartbeat was fast and adrenaline pumped wildly through her veins as she stepped through the large double-door entrance to the hotel where she knew her target would be staying. Her nerves were on edge and her body almost shook with the nervous excitement that had been building ever since she'd been told about her mission. Her own mission! A real mission, out in the real world. She'd never had a solo mission before, only going along as an observer to see how the full agents did things. But she was finally more than just an observer, they had finally given her a mission of her own.

She glanced around the large room for a few moments before her eyes settled on the receptionist behind the desk, and she checked her outfit in a tall mirror on the wall behind her before approaching the woman. She wore a tight corset and miniskirt, with thigh-high lace-up boots and enough eye-liner and mascara to cover any number of imagined bruises. The entire outfit would make it perfectly clear why she was here, and was only partially covered by a thigh-length overcoat. The receptionist gave her a disdainful twist of the lips before covering her slip up with a practiced smile.

"I'm here to see Mr. Smith in room twenty-four-oh-seven." 23 put on her best coy smile for the receptionist, who only smiled back. "He should be expecting me."

"One moment, miss." She didn't want to know the girl's name. She never did when that type came in here. It would only be dignifying their profession, and there were few things she would dislike more than dignifying a prostitute. She picked the receiver up off her desk phone, and punched in the number for room 2407, then spoke quietly for a few moments with the voice on the other end before hanging up and turning back to 23. "He said to send you right up. Have a good evening, miss."

23 Smiled again and thanked the receptionist before heading to the elevator, knowing exactly how hard it had been for the other woman to utter those last few words. She could smell the disdain from halfway across the lobby, and the scent was still burning her nostrils five floors later. She huffed loudly to clear it from her nose, then glanced at the elevator's other occupant, a bike messenger by the looks of him. She flashed him a nervous smile, trying to act like a normal girl who'd just embarrassed herself. "Sorry."

"No, It's, uh... fine." His eyes dropped from her face as she turned toward him slightly, revealing the front of the outfit through the gap in her coat. She breathed deep as his eyes dropped, pushing her bosom up to accentuate her cleavage. Better he remember that than her face. When the elevator dinged and the doors opened, he was jolted back to his senses and realized it was his floor.

"It was, um... nice to meet you! I've just got this package to drop off then I'll be...." He was still mumbling as the doors cut him off, and her nervous smile faded the instant he could no longer see her. She knew that anyone who got in the way of her mission was expendable, and someone like him would have been easier to eliminate than most. If they didn't make her do it herself, they'd send another agent to put him down. Unless, of course, he wasn't considered a liability, and who would think of some boob-obsessed nerd as a liability? Besides, they'd told her to avoid non-target casualties. It was part of her mission to keep him from remembering anything that could identify her. It had nothing to do with how it had felt to be looked at like a woman instead of a weapon.

When the elevator hit the 24th floor, she stepped gingerly out of the car, the adrenaline coming on even stronger now that she was so close to her target. She had to focus just to keep her hands from shaking. This was finally it! She was about to take out her first target and prove herself to the agency. Prove that she was just as good an operative as they'd trained her to be. She knocked hesitantly on the door to room 2407, and it opened a few moments later to reveal a clearly inebriated man in a disheveled suit.

"Welcome! Come in, come in." He gestured her forward and she followed him into the room, catching the scent of two more men before she even crossed the threshold. Panic rushed through her, this wasn't supposed to be part of the mission! He was supposed to be alone with her! The guards should have been off-duty by now. What had changed? Something had changed and she needed to know what. Was she compromised? Had they been tipped off about her? She dropped her head to cover as much of her face as possible with her hair, and was relieved when her target addressed the guards first instead of her.

"Ivan, Victor, you know how much I appreciate your services, but I think I can handle this little crisis on my own." He winked knowingly in 23's direction, as if trying to make some crude joke, but neither of the men even cracked a smile. They just nodded, said yessir, and left the room, closing the door behind them. Good, one problem dealt with. Now to focus on the other.

"Come in, dearie. Make yourself at home!" She fidgeted nervously, not sure how to do that exactly. To her, home had always been the training rooms and bunks at the facility where she was raised. He picked up on her nervousness though, and began to walk around behind her. "That coat looks too hot to be wearing indoors. Here, let me help you out of it." He slid a hand along her shoulder and under the neck of her coat, and she almost flinched away when his fingers met the flesh of her neck. "It's alright, darling, I'm not going to bite." He slowly pulled the coat back and off her shoulders, then let it slide down her arms. "...much."

She gasped as his hand gripped the back of her neck and squeezed tight, throwing her forward onto the bed. She stumbled the distance and landed face-first, then rolled over to watch him approach, a lecherous smile curving his lips as fevered lust clouded his eyes. "They told me this was your first time, so I'll be sure and make it rough." The smile grew wider as he came closer, and his hands reached out like claws toward her. The way he looked at her was very different from that of the bike messenger, and she didn't like this gaze one little bit. To him, she wasn't even a weapon whose craftsmanship you could be proud of, she was just a thing that was here to please him.

On instinct, she raised her leg and planted it on his chest, keeping him from coming any closer, though the expression on her face wasn't one of fear like he'd expected. Instead, it was a mix of confusion, anger, and revulsion. She'd heard there were men like this, read about them in files and dossiers, but never before had she actually met one as vile as the man before her. She was disgusted. His cruel smile turned into a small snarl as his hand slapped her leg away, and he made it only one more step before her foot circled around and returned to his chest, pushing him back to where he'd been before. She was stronger and faster than she looked, he noted, and decided to change tack.

"Very well, little flower. We'll do it your way. For now." His hands slipped down the length of her boot-clad leg until they met the flesh of her thigh, then his fingers found their way to her laces. "Slow at first, as a favor to your employer, but afte..." He was cut off by the sound of leather being cut and the sensation of the tip of a warm blade against his throat. She should have ended it then and there, all her training told her to simply extend the claw further and drive it through his skull, but something stopped her. She'd never killed a man before, never taken a life in cold blood. This felt different somehow from the training she'd been through, felt wrong. That moment of hesitation was all her target needed, though, and while he didn't move from his position, unwilling as he was to risk having his jaw split in two, he lifted his head enough to shout for help.

"GUA..." The gurgling sound of a man choking on his own blood and trying to breath through a hole in his throat replaced the shout as the claw extended seemingly of its own accord, then 23's leg jerked to the side, tearing the gash open wide. She watched in horror as he fell to the floor and the word "FAIL" flickered across her vision, followed by orders to return to base for re-evaluation. No! This can't be it! She can't have failed! She had to prove herself! She was ready for this!

She didn't have long to beat herself up, however, as the last attempted shout of the target had alerted his guards to a problem, and both of them came barging into the room almost simultaneously. They had their guns out and aimed at her, taking in the scene in an instant. Their eyes narrowed when they fell on the body of their boss, and their guns spit lead at the petite form of the girl on the bed. Except she wasn't on the bed anymore. The split second it had taken them to confirm the threat had been too long, and she'd already covered half the distance before the first shot rang out, ducking beneath their aim to cover the remaining distance before reaching up to grab the gun barrel of the nearest guard. She twisted toward the thumb while simultaneously pulling down, applying upward pressure with her shoulder as she came up to a standing position facing away from him. The gun slipped out of his hand easily with a grunt of pain from the man himself, and she drove her other elbow up into his face, knocking him out cold with one blow and breaking his nose in the process.

She followed up by gripping the wrist of his extended arm and pulling his weight onto her back, then thrusting backward with her legs, throwing his unconscious body into the other guard. She spun and half raised the gun before remembering her orders to keep non-target casualties to a minimum, and instead of pulling the trigger she jumped to her right, planted a foot on the wall, then pushed off and drove her knee into the side of the second guard's head just as he was recovering from catching his buddy. He was out cold before he hit the ground.

She landed in a crouch, her breath calm and steady and the adrenaline well under control now. Her mind still reeled at the fact that they had forced her to kill a man, but she pushed the thought to the back of her head. There wasn't time to deal with it now. She had to escape. Had to evade the police and the rest of her target's thugs and make it back to the rendezvous point.

If she hadn't been so shocked at what her handlers had done, at what they'd forced her to do, she might have remembered to pull the bodies fully inside, close the door, and clean herself up before leaving, but she was too shaken to think clearly, apart from that singlular, all-encompassing need to escape. She left a trail of bloody footprints down the hall as she ran for the stairs and a scream echoed behind her. One of the other guests coming out to investigate the noise and finding the bodies. They'd be calling the police now. She only had a few minutes before they arrived and her mission became much more bloody.

She took the stairs this time, it would be too easy to get trapped in an elevator, and jumped down entire flights at a time until she saw a pair of policemen climbing up toward her. They weren't supposed to be here yet! How did they get here so fast? The questions flashed through her mind even as she spun around without hesitation and ran the other way, back up the stairs until she reached the roof. She slammed into the metal door to force it open, but it didn't budge. That meant a deadbolt lock, or several if they really wanted tight security. She removed the problem by unsheathing a single claw and sliding it down the crack in the door, shearing off any locks that were preventing her escape. Once on the roof, she ran to the edge, looking frantically for any way to escape. There was a building across the street, shorter than the one she was on but still an impossible distance away for any human.

She retreated to the far side of the roof, taking a runners stance before setting off at full speed toward the edge, just as the cops burst out of the door. They must have heard her running and followed. Or seen the bloody footprints. Cops were observant like that. They didn't hesitate when they caught sight of her, and even though they could barely track her speeding form they raised their guns and opened fire. That was also against procedure, her training told her. Something tickled the back of her mind, a realization that hadn't quite fully formed yet. Something that tugged at her like a relentless child begging for attention. She shoved it aside and pushed herself harder, faster. She had to make this jump. She had no other choi... "AGH!"

She cried out as a bullet bit into her leg, just as she was pushing off of the roof. She faltered, the muscle giving out in the split second before she went airborne as she realized with horror that she wasn't going to make it. This was gonna hurt.

The cops ran to the building's edge as soon as she dropped below it, looking down at the twisted form of the young girl sprawled on the street below. One of them reached to the radio clipped to his shoulder. "Base, this is Alpha team. Twenty-three is down. Repeat, twenty-three is down. Moving in for retrieval." Both cops left the roof and headed for the lobby, then out onto the street, but when they arrived on scene, all that remained was a blood smear on the pavement.

The girl was gone.

IC: Captain America

Steph trugged up the Quinjet's ramp and tossed her pack down next to two black SUVs parked on the lowest level of the new aircraft. Behind them was the armory where Steph inspected her uniform and shield before going down the checklist to make sure everything was aboard. She wasn't nervous for the mission. No, the time for nerves ended long ago in the struggle against Red Skull and his thugs. Fury had given her and her team this plane and the mission to stop the Skull. She was the advance guard now that SIELD had to focus on rebuilding itself. It was all on the team now, but Stephanie was worried the Skull had them right where he wanted them. If that was the case, no fancy aircraft or mobile command station would help.

"Fancy new digs Fury got us, huh?" Falcon smiled as he packed his wing suit into its case. "The Skull won't know what hit him."

"Hopefully," Steph answered, not looking up from the checklist. "So far he's seemed to know an awful lot."

"He's got lucky so far," Mockingbird chimed in angrily. "We're gonna take the bastard down. One way or another, we'll do it. And I'm not gonna rest until he's in the ground."

"Take off's in five," Maria Hill's voice echoed from the loudspeaker abover them. "Wilson, gonna need you to co-pilot this beast."

The three of them went up to the aircraft's second deck, which included their bunks, a common area, a lab, and a galley. Sam went up to the cockpit, while the two women strapped themselves into chairs in the common area. Morse and Cap hadn't always seen eye-to-eye in her time at SHIELD, but they were quickly becoming fast friends in the fight against the Fourth Reich. Bobbi had been ShIELD's golden girl until Steph joined up, and a petty rivalry initially hampered their team. But they had finally found common ground, and were now fully on the same page.

Steph keyed a few commands into the holographic table in front of them, bringing up the schematics of the Crossbones facility, which was located outside of Boston, "Three floors above ground with a subterranean bunker below. It went dark shortly before the attack, and hasn't come up since. We're getting eyes on it now, but I'm assuming it's either been destroyed or compromised."

"Let's hope it's been compromised," Mockingbird smiled. "More people to talk that way."

"You're not wrong," Steph nodded. "You have any experience with ShIELD bunkers?"

"Most of the newer ones are nearly impenatrable," she explained. "But most of them were used in high profile target areas. Crossbones was mostly dealing with mob and domsestic threats, usually not the kind of people that would be able to bust a bunker. If it's an older SHIELD era construction, it's walls will be strong. That being said, a controlled explosion could weaken the doors. We've seen it work before."

"Well, I guess that's how we're getting in then," Cap nodded.

Just then, the plan began to move, and Hill's voice came over the comm, "We're obviously ready for takeoff, but I'm patching a signal through to you guys. Skull just sent a broadcast out."

The image of the Crossbones facility faded out, distorting into the hideous visage of the Red Skull. Almost immediately, he began talking, and his voice was like the southern plantation owner from Hell, "Good afternoon, America. As most of you already know, SHIELD's island fortress know as the Triskelion has been destroyed by a supreme and ultimate act of vengeance. My Fourth Reich and I were the ones who perpetrated this divine act of cleansing. I warned you. SHIELD harbors and employees abominations before god and country, and I told you and them they needed to be stopped. I am sure they're sending their lap dog Captain America out yet again to find me. I now speak directly to her. Captain, you and I both know where this chase will lead. You will lay dead at my feet, along with your friends. You think you serve the people of this country, but in reality you serve the degenerates and freaks that have drug this great eagle down from the skies. Once I am done with you and those you protect, America will be great once again, and the eagle will once again soar on the wings of the Fourth Reich."

Steph slammed down on the off button, shutting the table off. She opened up the comm, "Hill, get us to Boston as fast as you can. This bastard has pissed me off for the last time."

Gambit
September 6th, 2013
2:32 AM

Remy made his way from the subway to the surface quickly, taking long strides, all wrapped in a leather overcoat. He wore sunglasses to hide the glow from his radiant eyes. As he walked down the nearly empty, damp street and turned into an alleyway Remy thought about the conversation he’d had with Fence only an few hours before. Remy turned down another alley and stopped at a dumpster. He figured that going in through the front door might be a little too risky.

“See these?” Fence held several small metal balls in his hand.

Remy stood from the loveseat and put his coffee mug down. He was tall and skinny, but his tight, black sneaking suit also showed his solid muscular build. He pulled a wedgey from his crotch as he walked to the powering station. “What are these? For me?”

Fence dropped the balls into Remy’s hand, turned around to open and read from a holographic screen beside him. “Yeah. I was thinking of an alternative to your cards. They work well, I won’t deny you that. But sometimes we might need something with a little more ‘umph’. These babies will make someone think twice about getting into it with you. Even someone as super-powered as you.”

Remy juggled the four balls, smiling wide as he did. He tossed one behind his back and it fell right back into his juggling orbit. He tossed one onto his shoulder, caught the other three in one hand, rolled the one on his shoulder to his palm and forced it into the air with his power, caught it in the other hand. He started another round of juggling. “Aw, you been thinking of me, Fence?” His drawl was so strong then, as if to extend it.

One ball goes over his shoulder and behind him, another higher than the other two. His foot knocks the one behind him further into the air and he catches the two in normal rotation in his right hand. The highest one falls back into his left hand, and he continues the rotation normally as the final one rejoins the juggle.

“Yeah,” Fence puffed, “whatever you say, loverboy.” Fence turned to see Remy begin a feat the Cajun clearly considered to be impressive. He juggled two balls normally while dribbling one with his foot and the other with his knee, like a mad soccer player. “Alright, enough with the circus act. You ever heard of Trask industries?”

Remy kicked and kneed all the balls into his hand and then dropped them confidently on the table next to him, he breathed heavily (despite his attempts to continue looking as cool as a cucumber). “Sure. You had me hit them in ’06. Some sort of capacitor?”

“It was a solar powered portable generator. And you used it for that mission in Kuwait last year (don’t know why the fuck I gave it to you in the first place).”Fence was salty but Remy could tell that he was being reasonable, he wasn’t angry anymore.

“What about Trask?”

“Right, well, there’s info in here saying that they’ve approached the government with a prototype Sentinel, these mutant hunters. As far as I’m concerned, the CIA is peripheral to stopping this nonsense. I want you to infiltrate their headquarters. This is a big mission, Remy. Infiltration, subterfuge, sabotage, photographs, evidence. You could be in there for days, who knows? So we need resources, technology, backup even. Do you have any contacts we could use?”
Remy looked down at the floor, his crimson eyes scanned his memory for potential allies. He came up short; as far as he knew, Fence was the only friend he had in the world. “Everyone I knew in the CIA is dead. I don’t think…wait, maybe.” Remy looked in the direction of Fence, yet was doing anything but acknowledging him. He was looking through the metal man, and toward the recesses of his mind, that place which he’d shrouded in the eternal darkness of his mind. “Down south, I could know some people down south.” Remy finally said. “But Fence, I can’t go back there. I—I can’t.”

Fence put his hands on his waist and pondered the situation for a moment. “Alright, you stay up here and gather all the resources and tech that I mark for you. When I get back we can finalize all of our plans and hit Trask.”

“Wait, wait, Fence, where are you going?” Remy had extended his hand, he was touching Fences metal arm. Yet, despite the lack of flesh contact, they were connected, friends again.

“The Bayou,” Fence said with a smile, “gonna’ round up some sewer rats.”

“Fence, you don’t have to do that on my behalf.” The Cajun was touched, he felt a kinship with this metal man.

“Everything we’re doing is on your behalf, Remy. The fact of the matter is that you’re my only friend in the world and I don’t know what I’d do without you. Okay? So don’t start questioning my plans simply because they are about you. You start doing that, you might as well kill yourself.” Fence ended his conversation by pulling the powering cord from his chest and stepping from the station.

Remy stood at the dais a little embarrassed but mostly proud.

The Cajun climbed the narrow, steep steps of a fire-escape all the way to the 12th floor. The reputable Manhattan skyline hung before him in the humid air like a painting. It was just as beautiful as it had always been, a stunning spectacle. He turned to look into his window, noticed the light was on. Either there was someone in there currently or there was someone there before. Fence had warned him about that, about going back to his apartment, but Remy wouldn’t listen. Just as he didn’t listen to his instincts which screamed at him to run away now. Instead he opened the window slowly and carefully. He wore his armored suit now, the one Fence designed for him. It was light and allowed agility but had dark purple plating all about it. Most of that was hidden underneath his coat.

“Why do you have to go back? If you’re going to fucking kill yourself I might as well know why!” Fence was furious at this point, a little drunk as well. After they made up and planned the hit on Trask, they drank plenty of rum and vodka.

“My cards, asshole! I need my cards, and my staff. Pictures, too, damnit. Leave me alone.” Remy calmly stumbled to the door, fence stayed at the table rubbing his belly.

“Turn your locator on!” he yelled behind the Cajun, just in case.

That was a few hours before Remy crouched on the precipice of his window suffocated by the hot, dense New York air. He was a little more sober now, a little calmer. Remy had turned his locator on, he figured it was the least he could do. Fence was currently watching the Cajun’s vital signs and Seinfeld concurrently.

Remy stepped from the sill onto the hardwood floor. He was careful not to make it squeak. He superhumanly shifted his weight so he wouldn’t be putting excess pressure onto the foot on the floor. Once he was comfortably inside he heard a small clattering, it came from the kitchen. Remy quickly pressed the small device Fence had worked out to deliver the small metal balls he’d gifted the Cajun earlier. One smooth orb fell into Remy’s waiting palm, he rubbed it lovingly. The thief walked from the living-room, where he’d entered, and slipped into the hallway heading into the kitchen. Remy heard a ruffling behind him, his bedroom, and quickly spun in time to see an MIB, utterly unprepared. Remy acted quickly, sending the uncharged ball into the man’s chest. It knocked the air from his lungs and sent him back a little. Remy completed the attack by kicking the man in the chest, and following him further into the room. The spook crashed into the closet behind him and tried to draw his pistol. Remy kicked the man in the face, breaking his nose and knocking him unconscious in one hit. The Cajun turned toward the door of the bedroom, saw another spook in the kitchen. He dropped a ball into his hand just as the MIB drew his pistol. Remy tossed the charged orb into the kitchen and jumped to his side just as the agent fired. Remy bounced over his bed and dropped to the other side, he looked under the bed to find his bo staff case. The Orb exploded and a scream came from the kitchen.

Remy stepped out into the hallway, broken glass crunching under his feet, bo staff in hand. He entered the soot covered kitchen, noticed the twitching feet poking out from behind the island countertop. The agent had been blown to the other side of the kitchen, shrapnel was stuck into his neck and chest. Remy’s heartbeat increased and his breathing seemed sporadic. Fence looked over from Seinfeld to see the spike in Remy’s vitals. He leaned forward and whispered to himself, “Come on, Remy. Get out of there.”

The metal man couldn’t tell what had Remy so worked up, he was no longer in immediate danger. He was frightened because he’d just been responsible for the death of a government agent. And if the .22 caliber pistol next to the corpse meant anything, it was probably a CIA agent, to be specific. Remy was fast after that, he packed some clothes, and his bo staff, and pictures of him and his adopted family, the Lebeau’s. Along with all that came a pistol, and a few extra clips.

***
3:30 AM
***

Remy sauntered up to the reception area of the motel, tapped the bell. It didn’t take him too long to head uptown and find this motel in the North Bronx. He signed a phony name in the registration book, gave the clerk 50 bucks, and made his way upstairs. Remy stripped the bed clean, found no bedbugs, and so laid his head on the naked pillow. He hoped to get enough sleep to be functional for the mid-afternoon meeting he had scheduled with Fence. The Cajun’s stomach growled and he tried his best to ignore it.

IC: Wolverine

SHIELD Mutant Research Division
San Francisco, CA

Ororo Munroe, better known to him as Storm, and Logan walked confidently down the halls of the SHIELD facility as the halls were filled with panicked and distracted agents. The Red Skull, a domestic terrorist and mutant hater, had managed to destroy SHIELD's head quarters out in San Francisco Bay, and the entire organization was on red alert. Even though the Professor had assured them they would receive a happy welcome, the agents were less than excited to see them. Logan attempting to explain why he was setting off the metal detector didn't help much, and he almost got shot while attempting to show the guards his claws. Still, they were allowed to pass and were being escorted to their destination.

The guard showing them the way stopped and motioned to the door in front of them, Logan opened it, and found an exhausted looking woman waiting for them on the other side. Doctor Moira MacTaggert looked like she hadn't slept in weeks. Her unifrom was wrinkled and disheveled, and there were bags under her eyes hiding behind a pair of glasses. Her auburn hair was up in a messy ponytail, and the look she gave the two mutants as they entered was not a friendly one, "You're lucky you're Charles's friends, or I wouldn't be giving you the time of day."

"We appreciate your time, Dr. MacTaggert," Storm smiled. "We know the current...situation is trying here."

"You mean trying to deal with a group of mutant hunters, a Neo-nazi terrorist who hates basically everyone, and the destruction of our induestructible base? Yea, just a bit trying." Moira was the head of SHIELD's Mutant Affairs squad, and had been looking into the Purifiers along with the X-Men. "Normally, I wouldn't give you anything we had, but considering we don't have the time or the manpower to deal with this right now, I'm going to slip you what we know about the Purifiers. If anyone catches you, or anything of the like, I will disavow any knowledge of this meeting."

"Yea, yea. I know the drill, doc," Logan waved the doctor on. He had done these backroom intelligence dealings before.

"We never managed to find out who was paying for Trask's research and arms," she slid a folder over to Wolverine. "It's just a bunch of shell corporations and the like. We've been trying to trace them back to the owner, but so far no luck. But we did manage to find out Trask was friends with this man."

She opened the folder, revealing a picture clipped to a file. The man was tall, had a confident posture, and seemed to be fairly well off. Storm commented, "He's quite the looker."

"He's also quite the mutant hater," Moira explained. "That's Graydon Creed, owner of a law firm and a super pac known as 'The Friends of Humanity', who donate substantial amounts to anti-mutant candidates."

"You think Creed was bankrolling Trask?" Logan arched an eyebrow.

"Not completely," the agent shook her head. "He's wealthy, but not that wealthy. But I think he had a hand in it."

"We will see what we can find," Storm said, gathering the file. "Thank you for your help."

"It's the least I can do," the doctor smiled weakly. "If you can take the Purifiers out of the equation, I certainly would get a lot more sleep."

Hell’s Kitchen, New York City
September 3rd, 2013

The mission has been successful, though I’m not particularly happy with the results despite the euphoria running through my veins as the silhouette of three security guards lay drooling on the floor. It happened so fast as all of the training with my taskmaster hit me in a matter of seconds and somehow at the end of it nobody had triggered an alarm and I didn’t even enter the view on one camera. If there is one thing I am going to have to learn in the near future though is not to rely on such luck and get some better gadgets from the Kingpin Syndicate. Not exactly something I want to do, but the Syndicate is hooked to me like an anchor—it’s weighing me down, but there’s nothing I can do about it so I may as well make some use out of the particular relationship we have. I chuckle a bit under my breath as the USB device clicks into the main computer and in a few seconds time runs through the faulty security of the place. My eyes flock down at the screen as it lists logs of the warehouse which includes security manifests, maintenance journals, and… found it— inventory.

“Fragment—shipped to a holding facility owned by Fortune Incorporated in Boston.” Felicia mused under her breath.

I had never even heard of Fortune Incorporated, but the world of shipping & handling of orbs and fragments of orbs was never really my forte. Flipping out a throwaway cellphone I had been given by Rose, it’s about time to send off a text with the information and then get the hell out of dodge before something amazingly stupid happens. I don’t like doing this, not at all; but I have little choice in the matter. My fingers go across the phone on instinct and the message is sent. As I get ready to get out of here I can hear movement from one of the security guards I totally thrashed a few minutes ago, I guess I didn’t hit him hard enough.

It’s time to go anyway.

As I leave after disabling the cameras for ‘insurance’ I get a text from Rose.

‘Good job. Will be in touch.’

How cryptic.

Even after all of this though I feel a certain adrenaline rising in my bones almost as if I liked doing what I just did even if my mind registers it as wrong. It’s almost like it was exciting—no it is exciting. Maybe before heading home I can find something else to do… I mean through my training over last summer I feel like I’m pretty much invincible even though I’m not—a bullet is still going to put me down. I remember something that came on my television recent; a penthouse of a certain New York high society type—maybe I can go see if I can break in and go unnoticed.

This is totally not me.

...or is it?

Well, it’s not like I’m taking anything. So it’s not really bad, the worst thing I’m doing is invading somebody I don’t knows personal space. I feel like that’s absolutely okay as I attempt to justify it.

I realize I’m almost giggling out of anticipation as I move my hand out in the darkness of the night—my grappling hook soaring me between building to building. It’s an euphoric feeling, but it’s not as exciting as what I just felt and what I think I felt before during my training. Maybe I’m starting to lose it or the scale of these powers… and the freedom of them are just open to me. I mean I know I don’t have freedom; not with the Kingpin Syndicate basically owning me…. yet there’s something all too liberalizing about the entire experience.

Cloak & Dagger

Location: Somewhere in Upstate New York
Time: Dusk

---

As Tandy Bowen walked along the dirt road, she kept her head down examining the clothes she had chosen, a pair of white tennis shoes with an atypical blue jeans, white shirt combination and a deerskin jacket with tufts of fur sticking out of the various seams with had a heavy wool hood attached. Her and Linc had been forced to ditch their old life and figured it'd be best to buy sensible things for their type of lifestyle now. The larger boy behind her had a pair of black hiking boots reaching up to his ankle which was stuffed with the heavy gray cargo pants that sagged around his rather frail form. He opted for a heavy black leather jacket on top a blue-gray hoodie and much like Tandy kept his eyes cast down towards the road silently. The land was been held in a freezing downpour for a while now and by the looks of the sky it had to have been almost two days as the sun was clearly beginning its descent allowing the clouds to become an even darker shade of grey.

"We should probably set up another camp Lincoln." she called behind her, barely able to identify what seemed like a grunt in agreement. She stopped in her tracks and looked around feeling the water soaking into her socks some more. The trees around them made it impossible to see anything and she was clueless where to set up a camp, luckily Lincoln was a little smarter and at least knew where not to put one. She turned to face him and saw his frame already shuffling through the hedges that lined the lonely track people called a road.

Lincoln walked ahead of the pair heading up the hill which lined the road, his grandfather had told him a few things about building a house as the man was a seasoned carpenter uneducated formally and unable to read or write. The man had other talents, he could do any kind of math in his head and was able to eye within centimeters of something. He would often take Lincoln with him on his jobs, showing him a little of carpentry and general wisdom. Lincoln had only been a small child during his grandfather's final years but the man's words always rung in his ears. Walking up the hill where the ground began to get steep he mumbled to himself something his grandfather mentioned "The house at the top of the hill has a leaky roof and one at the bottom got a flooded basement, always." Lincoln marched up more pondering the phrase trying to make sense of it. Mid-way up the hill he found a large formation of rocks stacking together to form a small out cove, almost like a cave which allowed a bit of the soil to retain its shape leaving a small flat section of land in front of the cave's mouth. Smiling to himself as the rain only got worse he dropped the toothy grin quickly before turning back to Tandy. "You still got the bottle of Tiki torch fluid stuff in your bag?" she nodded and unhooked one loop from she shoulder of the bag, fumbling with it as the pair came up to their new campsite.

Lincoln had grabbed a branch and used it as a broom to sweep out the little cave which was full of dirt and branches, which managed to stay dry in the torrential downpour. Using the highly flammable fluid and the dry branches they were able to start a large enough fire directly in the protection of the rocks at the front of their cave heating up the place nicely. The two sat inside the out cove and watched from the cover as the area fell into pitch blackness. "So what's the actual plan? Do you have one or when you convinced me of being heroes did you just believe it would pan out." his voice held a bit of an edge, contempt.

Tandy's eyes narrowed a bit and she spoke with nothing but confidence as always "Nah, I got a plan. We're gonna start small but get big fast. We're going somewhere nobody has and we're gonna fix it." Lincoln dropped his hood for the first time trying to think of where they were going before he gave up and raised an eyebrow at her. "Detroit." She smiled looking over to him warmly, "Now stop being a dick and let's just sleep early so we can continue on, alright?" Lincoln rolled his eyes and laid down away from her using his bag as a pillow allowing the large fire to warm him. Quickly his eyes closed and he was out, always one to find sleep easily having grown up in New York's ghetto where the loud noises of people in the night could keep another awake.

---

The next morning Tandy woke up first, watching the charred remains on their fire be blown across the muddy ground before them. The rain seemed to stop sometime in the night giving her a small bit of hope. She soon awoke Lincoln and the two shared a quiet breakfast of granola bars and jerky. When the pair began to set up for their departure, Lincoln stopped and looked at Tandy before speaking with the same quiet voice he always had "We really going to Detroit? I heard ever since people began this kinda.. stuff things got even worse. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Tandy didn't bother to face him when she answered "Look you don't have to come, if you think its that bad don't go. But if you wanna go, let's go." Without anymore, she walked off down the hill and continued northwest towards what she figured would be the next destination for them, Niagara Falls. It was situated somewhere between Detroit and New York, she knew that but she didn't know where. Tandy figured by the time she got close enough to it, the people promoting the place would point her right to them and from there she could find a taxi or ferry to get to Detroit.

As they continued their long trek, Tandy was often left with long periods of time between their small conversations to think and attempt to form some plan for when they get there. All too often she forgot Linc was only sixteen, the kid didn't even graduate high school compared to Tandy who was already nineteen although still young she managed to graduate school and set up a life. She looked over her shoulder at the boy, he was taller than most grown men and had a build to match but his face showed his true age as did his attitude. He walked with his pants slightly baggy and his feet shuffling occasionally scuffing the ground with the sole of his shoe because he walked so lax. "Stop that." Tandy said firmly once she heard him do it again, causing Lincoln to stop confused and look up from the ground. For the first time in a while he actually seemed to look her in the eyes.

"What did I do?" he pleaded with his eyes as he spoke, causing Tandy to break eye contact and speak softer "Just stop walking that way, pick up your feet when you walk."

She paused for a moment, regaining her confidence and locking his eyes once more "And pull your damn pants up, you're not some hood-rat punk anymore." She turned and continued to walk, listening to the sound of Lincoln adjusting his pants causing a brief smile to form.

They continued to walk some more before the first sign appeared ahead reading "50 Miles till Niagara Falls". Tandy pointed towards it and called behind her "That's where we're going first. We can stay there for a night and then try to find a boat or train maybe to help us get there. You okay with that?" Lincoln remained quiet, causing Tandy to look over her shoulder and speak once more "What's wrong?"

"I just dunno about this Detroit thing, I heard some really bad shi- stuff with it." he knew Tandy hated cursing unless it was absolutely necessary, she often called it barbaric to abuse such harsh words for very mediocre things. "Most of these super-bad-evil-power guys seem to thrive in locations where heroes already have established. Detroit's scene has nobody I know of. I mean maybe they got a few small timers but.." he paused for a moment stopping as they walked. "I just dunno, you know?"

Tandy stopped as well but didn't bother to face him, she just looked up and saw the clouds had gathered overhead. They must've only been in the eye of the storm she figured before replying. "Yeah well all I know is that city has some of the highest crime rates and nobody seems to care, well I do. Don't you think it's a bit strange we both had these powers? You don't find it like possible at all this could be fate?"

"I guess." Linc sighed, he wasn't one to think of destiny or fate or God, none of that stuff. All he did was continue to trudge forward ahead of Tandy for once, soon it would be time for them to set up camp for some rest and then by the next night hopefully they would be in Niagara falls.

September 5th, 2013. 5:33 PM
Manhattan, New York



After my visit with Curt my head was bouncing around with various ideas and concerns. First and foremost was the nagging worry that whatever it was Curt had done to that spider - and subsequently me - may have came with some unwelcome side effects. Sure, so far I hadn't noticed anything negative about the changes in my genome, but it hadn't even been a year yet, and I'd heard of some victims of experimental chemical or radiological exposure not showing any signs of illness for years. For all I knew, my insides could be rotting.

Okay, so my internal organs probably weren't rotting, and somehow I doubted whatever process my godfather used to alter the spider's genetics involved radiation. I mean, really, an irradiated spider giving a teenage boy superpowers? That was pretty ridiculous, even considering the sci-fi fantasy-like way my genetic structure was altered by a spider bite. The sad thing was, that wasn't the first time I started worrying my semi-pretty little head off about the possibility of their being drawbacks to my abilities. I would come back to that same line of thought probably every other month; my talk with Curt had only made my concerns more prominent in my mind. To be fair, I suppose it was only natural for one to worry when they undergo such an extreme, unknown change. Still, my head was full of irrational thoughts, and I needed to work them out in an effective manner. That manner happened to be donning a poorly constructed costume made up of a dark blue and red diving suit with a spider emblem spray painted on the chest and back, and a red ski-mask, then swinging over New York looking for trouble. That's what happens when you can't afford a therapist's hourly rates.

I spent the better part of an hour looping around Manhattan without seeing so much as a purse snatching. Practically impossible for that to happen in New York, but that's my luck; no crimes when I look for them, too many when I don't. I was crossing through Midtown Manhattan again, staying high and jumping from rooftop to rooftop to conserve web-fluid, and was about to give up when I felt that obnoxious little buzzing at the base of my skull again. I wasn't immediately sure why my spider-sense was going off given I was alone on the rooftop of a three-story building. I panicked at first, looking up, worried that another bird was about to crap on me - it would surprise most how often that would nearly happen - but a quick scan of the skies showed no incoming avian bombings. Then I felt it. The shock wave ripped through the building I was standing on. I didn't know for sure what had happened, but my vast experience in watching action films told me that the shock wave was the result of an explosion coming from beneath me; inside whatever building I was currently standing on. A quick peek over the edge revealed to me my location; Midtown Savings Bank.

A bank. An explosion. I put two and two together fairly quickly. Midtown Bank was being robbed, and from a pretty brazen group of criminals if they were using some sort of explosives. I had never encountered a bank heist before. Jewelry store robberies, sure, but never a bank heist. Probably because I usually went out on patrol late at night. For the briefest of moments I wasn't sure how I should act. Would it be best for me to wait for the robbers to try and make their escape before I stealthily captured them? Or should I rush inside to make sure no innocent people were hurt in the explosion, and in doing so revealing myself to the public. I'm sure it's a real shocker that I would choose the latter. I'd be a pretty horrible hero if I hadn't. Not that I considered myself a hero, more of a vigilante, but that's what Harry called me and who am I to disappoint one of my best friends? Again, that is.

I quickly found myself inside the bank via an open, third floor window, and, quite frankly, I was a little surprised with what I saw. Despite the massive shock wave I felt, and aside from the completely destroyed vault door and most of the wall it was attached to, the room was mostly undisturbed. There were a few dozen frightened people huddled on the floor beneath me, four tellers cowering in a corner behind the front desks, and some little bits of debris scattered around the hole that used to be the vault entrance. Now, I wasn't an expert on explosive devices by any means, but I would think a detonation that would have such a powerful shock wave that it reverberates through an entire three-story structure would have left a larger mess behind.

But that wasn't even the oddest thing about the scene. There was no group of criminals. There was one man. A lone bank robber was attempting a heist, in Manhattan, in broad daylight. And still that wasn't the oddest thing. No, that title would go to the man's outfit. It was ridiculous looking, and that's coming from the guy in the mismatched tights and fuzzy ski-mask. The robber had on some weird, full-body, bulky suit with a yellow and orange, meshy, patchwork design to it, with a black vest and shorts over the mesh. It looked like he decided to wrap his body in a quilt his grandmother had made for him. To top it off, he had some funky, metallic, equally clunky looking pair of gloves on. The guy was even having some difficulties grabbing the cash while wearing them. They were by far the strangest accessories I had ever seen on a criminal during my as-of-then short career as Spider-Man.

Seeing as he had his back towards me, I decided then would be as good a time as any to put an end to the buffoon's theft. Considering I had an audience for the first time, I figured why not show off a little. It would be a great way to relax, have some fun, and forget all about my worries. I released my grip, dropping down from where I had been on the ceiling and landing half a dozen feet from the mysterious Quilt-Man. I had a witty one-liner already on the tip of my tongue, ready to dish out a verbal beat down that would leave the bad guy confused before I commenced with the actual beating. Unfortunately, that's not what occurred. I guess one of the tellers had seen me drop down, because instead of going all hero on Quilt-Man's ass, I was greeted with a bloodcurdling scream. I suppose witnessing a masked man free falling from a thirty foot high ceiling could be pretty frightening, especially to an already terrified victim of an armed robbery. Regardless, someone screamed and my spider-sense went off.

I remember thinking "why would it react to a scream?" Then I remember thinking "ow" as I was launched back in the air, slamming into one of the concrete pillars holding up the second floor balcony. I felt the support column give way slightly,and realized it had cracked against the force of my impact. To be able to do that, whatever had hit me had to be pretty damn powerful. I turned back to face Quilt-Man, who was now staring at me, arms outstretched in front of his body, his gloved fists pointing right at me.

"The fuck are you, little man?" He drawled in a distinctly southern accent.

I was too stunned, and my body was aching too much to respond with my usual wit. My chest hurt from whatever struck me, and my back hurt from slamming into the column. It didn't even occur to me at the time to chastise him for his potty mouth.

"How're you still standing after I nailed your scrawny little ass?" Through the fabric of his mask, the strange man's face twisted up in anger. "Ain't really matter I guess, no way I'm letting another thief just stroll in and take my cash after I done all the heavy liftin'."

Quilt-Man thrust his fists in my direction, and my spider-sense went off again. Instead of trying to understand what it was reacting to this time, I let my reflexes take over and I backflipped onto the pillar before pushing off and leaping over Quilt-Man's head. The spot on the tiled floor I had been standing on was pulverized as the air in front of the gloves he wore rippled and two barely visible concussive blasts shot out.

Okay, so, not a fashion statement, but apparently advanced, weaponized gauntlets. Friggin' spectacular. That first blast had really done a number on me - I was pretty sure I had a couple cracked ribs - and if I allowed myself to get hit again I'd most likely be out of commission for awhile. Hell, if it weren't for the increased density of my musculature and bones, I might be dead right now. But now I knew what to expect and I was confident I could dodge any more he fired off, not that I intended to give him the chance to.

As soon as I landed behind him again I was firing off blasts of my own. Two streams of webbing impacted his legs, securing his feet in place on the floor and ensuring he couldn't turn to shoot me anymore with those gloves of his. Apparently I hadn't thought my plan through well enough, because Quilt-Man stuck his arms behind his back and blindly fired off two blasts. They were easy to dodge, but he used the time he bought for himself to free his legs from the webs. Apparently, he could adjust the intensity of the shock waves, otherwise he likely would have obliterated his lower half instead of merely weakening the webbing enough to break free. I didn't even know it was possible to soften the webbing's durability with concentrated vibrations. This guy, whoever he was, had combat experience. Everyone I had ever webbed up had had essentially the same reaction; panic. But not this guy, he just adapted and reacted to the situation, immediately going on the counter-offensive. Even without his high-tech weaponry, Quilt-Man was a dangerous individual.

I could hear sirens in the distance growing closer, beginning to drown out the fearful murmurs and whimpers the bank bystanders were making. Quilt-Man was staring me down, I could only assume he was royally pissed by my interruption, and that I had delayed his escape plans. I expected him to make another attempt to blast me so he could get away with his loot, but I was ready for him.

My spider-sense tingled softly, which was strange considering it usually buzzed annoyingly when I was in danger, but I put it off as my exhaustion and the pain I was in So, again, I wasn't prepared for the unexpected move he made. Pointing his arms up towards the balcony overhead, Quilt-Man released another powerful, concussive shock wave that struck the walkway above, destroying a portion of it and sending chunks of concrete raining down on me and a couple of the closer civilians.

I mentally kicked myself for being stupid. The man already knew I could dodge his attacks, and he was trying to get out before the cops arrived. Of course he wouldn't go for another direct hit. With no other choice available in the time I had, I dove for the two people the debris was falling towards, catching the concrete chunks on my back, adding to my pain. I grunted as the largest of the chunks struck the base of my neck.

By the time I had stood up and checked on the bystanders, the man in the quilted costume had already fled. I wanted to follow and pay him back ten-fold for the beating he gave me, but I wasn't sure which way he had gone, and I was still numb - more so from the shock of getting my ass handed to me than from the actual pain it had caused me. Besides, the sirens were outside and I had to get out of there before the cops entered the building.

As I crawled back up towards the window I had come in from, wincing in agony, I couldn't help but think "what the hell just happened?"

Home Is Where The War Is- Chapter 1: The Frayed Woman


"True! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them.-The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe

September 8th, 2013
Hotel on 6th and 16th-Temporary home of Rachel Cole-Alves.

The sounds,sights, smells, all of it-All of it!-she could sense. Every click of the doorknobs, every beep of the key carded doors, every horn honked in the close-by street. She could hear everything; simultaneously, it was as if the sensations all fell on someone deaf, blind and unable to smell. Simply put, she felt as if she were trapped in some horrible loop, some awful nightmare. Part of her hoped-rather futilely-that it was all some sort of dream.

But the empty cold on the other side of the bed, the empty air she unconsciously grabbed as if to hold on to HIS hand, the almost unbearable loneliness she felt told her otherwise. It was not a dream, it was her life. And without Daniel Alves, it was not a life Rachel wanted to live-not a world she wanted to live in. Nervousness hounded her every waking moment, frayed nerves fearing that which she did not previously fear. Every dark alley, every possible mugging site all sent her into a nervous breakdown now.

It was ironic, really. She had fought in three tours overseas, facing down her country's enemies without a second thought as to her own safety, only to break down in an alleyway of New York City. Now, here she stood at the entrance to her hotel room, pulse racing, wearing Daniel's wedding band around her neck. Her hands shook as she swiped her card. "Sonofa-." She hissed. Rachel sighed and for the 616th time that day fingered the wedding band slung around her neck. She opened the door, surprised to see a man sitting there,

He was tall, approximately six foot two, to her eye, and had dark hair. His ensemble was tactical, black long sleeves rolled up to forearm, black cargo pants, combat boots, black gloves. Blue eyes looked at her. That wasn't what startled her. What startled her was the bulletproof vest sitting between his boots, with its spray painted skull.

"Hello, Rachel. My name is Frank Castle."

Tony, or rather Iron Man was about to follow the man into the Helicarrier when his HUD turned red indicating some kind of alert. He clicked off his mic and spoke. "Jarvis, what is it?""Sir, there has been a breach off security at the main pavilion for the Stark Expo. Security cameras are down and guards are not responding.""Why would someone want to enter the Expo yet, nothing is there yet..." Then it hit him, the Arc Reactor. He had just finished the latest model which was meant to power the Expo and would be revealed. Not many people knew about it however that wasn't the problem. It could be used to power something big. Or a lot of little somethings. He knew quite a few people who wanted that kind of generation capacity, though he naturally couldn't let them have it. "Uh, sorry. Some other time maybe, somethings come up." With that he moved his hands to stabilize his flight and shot off for New York. The flight time would be the biggest issue...

---

[b]New York[/i]

Despite the several hour flight, when he came in to land on front of the main stage building someone was still there. Wires lead from the Arc Reactor that had been raised from below the stage to the mans chest and long wires extended down from his arms, he appeared to be wearing some kind of weird exoskeleton that held the wires onto his arms. He turned slightly when the sound of the Iron Man suit landing hit his ears. Tony watched as the wires from his hands lit up with a blue light that was reminiscent off the arc reactor. That was worrying enough than when he turned around and there was something familiar with exoskeleton. In the center it had a blue orb of light, a miniature arc reactor like the one that he used to power his suits. The entire exoskeleton looked like a suit without the actual armor plating. That was worrying. He spoke first.

"You are not the only one who knows Starks secrets and can use them." He indicated to the chest piece. "Though, I must give my thanks for the inspiration to make this." He whipped his arms and one of the wires that was electrified spit out and dug through a concrete pillar. Tony just looked at it. "Well, that was new." He raised his right arm and fired a concentrated bolt from his repulsor, however the man caught it in the whip. Which was new once again. He was about to fire another bolt when one of the whips wrapped itself around his arm and began sending a current through his suit sending him too his knees. He tried pulling back to no avail however he noticed that the wires from the Arc Reactor were still attached to the miniature one in the exoskeletons chest. He was piecing together a plan and then there was an increase in the current that flowed through him.

He began to lean back and fired his thrusters from his feet sending him coursing backwards. The man was pulled forward before he released him. He didn't want to stray from the reactor, that solidified his plan.

This was going to be an interesting day.

"What the hell just happened!" Kimura stormed across the situation room to stand behind the technician monitoring the control implant, her eyes glued to the static covering the large screen above his station. He gulped audibly before responding.

"It looks like we've lost the connection, proba..."

"I can see that, you moron. WHY did we lose the connection?!"

"I'm, uh... not sure. The implant is supposed to be impact resistant, but maybe a fifty-seven story fall was too much for it."

"It should have been too much for her. You and your squint buddies told us she couldn't survive that. By all rights I should rip your..."

"Relax, Kimura." The new voice belonged to a redhead in a lab coat and glasses who'd been staring silently at the monitors for the past ten minutes. "This is good news. We didn't know before how hard we could push her. Now we do."

Kimura left off harassing the monitoring technician and stormed up to the redhead instead. "And how exactly do you plan to get her back, Harkins? We can't even fucking track her anymore! This was supposed to be a low risk training operation and your goons fucked the whole thing up!"

"You conditioned her to be dependent. To always return home if she was lost or taken from us. Are you saying your conditioning was sub-standard?" He raised an eyebrow at the seething woman in front of him, clearly the kind of guy who was used to being right. Kimura opened her mouth to hurl a response, then thought better and closed it again, turning back to glare at the empty screens. Harkins smiled.

"I thought not. All we need to do is wait. She will come to us."

---

She pushed herself slowly off the pavement, almost whimpering as a split across the skin on her face closed itself up and the bullet was pushed out of the rapidly closing hole in her leg. Her entire body hurt. She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry until the pain went away, until she woke up in a warm bed somewhere with her mom cracking open the bedroom door to tell her it was time for school.

Except she didn't have a mom. She only knew what one was because she'd seen it on TV once. She didn't go to school either, and nobody in the world cared enough to wake her gently with nothing but a soft voice. That made her want to cry too, though she didn't know why. The life she had was the only one she'd ever known. A life filled with agonizing pain on a daily basis, pain that would never be dulled or lessened because her power just kept repairing her ravaged nerves even as their training and conditioning destroyed them. So while she wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry, she knew she couldn't do that. She had to get moving. The men on the roof, the cops that weren't cops, would be coming for her, probably expecting to find a corpse as their prize, and she was not willing to give them that victory.

She grit her teeth and pushed herself the rest of the way off the ground, getting her feet under her as the last of her wounds ceased bleeding and the bullet clinked onto the sidewalk. She had to move, had to get away before... Sirens. The real police were arriving. If she didn't move now she'd be caught inside their perimeter and forced to engage them. That meant casualties, and she'd been ordered to avoid those. Which way should she go though? The men on the roof made it clear her mission had been compromised, which meant she couldn't rely on her initial extraction plan. That could easily have been compromised as well. Though if it had, why hadn't control given her new orders? Had control been compromised too? There was no way to know, so she had no choice but to find the nearest safe house and wait to be contacted again.

All this flashed through her mind in an instant, and her legs were already moving before her mind was made up, instinct telling her the right course of action even before logic caught up. She ducked quickly into the nearest shadowed alley, glancing over her shoulder until the hotel entrance disappeared as she turned a corner. She had to stay ahead of the cops, but more importantly she had to stay ahead of those men and whoever they were working with. They wouldn't be alone.

Her suspicion was confirmed when two large shadows loomed in the alley ahead, both seeming to materialize out of the darkness itself. The fact that they had been able to conceal themselves from her, even momentarily, meant they were either extremely good at this or a normal part of the scenery. She slowed her pace considerably when she saw them, pulling her knees together to turn her confident stride into that of a scared young woman all alone in the dark alleys of New York. She crossed her arms, pulled her coat tight, and hunched her shoulders as if fighting off the cold, hoping she was wrong and they were just random hoodlums that wouldn't notice the blood on her clothes and skin.

She made it to within ten feet before the catcalls started. The one on the right whistled loudly as he stepped directly into her path.

"Well well, whadda we got ourselves here." His eyes ran up and down her body, taking in what he could of her figure with the coat wrapped around it and no doubt imagining the rest. "Look at the legs on this one, Jimmy." Another lewd whistle. "Y'know, I think she's a workin' girl. Gotta be. Ain't no girl gonna come down here that ain't willin' to earn her way through. Am I right Jimmy?"

Jimmy was busy doing his own assessment of their new victim and smiled cruelly when his compatriot posed the question. "Oh, I'd say so, Max. She's gon' have to do a good bit of earnin' 'fore she gets outta here." Both men moved in on her simultaneously, each grabbing an arm and pulling them apart before pulling the coat open to reveal the corset beneath. "Good GAWD! It mus' be ma birthday. Ain't she jus' the prettiest little thang you eve... HRK!"

Turns out, things like talking and breathing get a lot more difficult with a crushed windpipe, which Jimmy was now sporting rather fashionably. He hadn't even seen the kick coming and the first he knew of it was the painful sensation of being unable to breath. Max lasted only seconds longer, as when Jimmy released her arm the small fist came barreling into his chin with enough force to crack his jaw out of its socket. He was lucky she was holding back.

Both men toppled to the ground, one dying and the other unconscious, and she took off into the street beyond the alley, heading in the direction of the nearest safe house. She didn't care anymore about staying inconspicuous or trying not to leave an impression, she just ran like hell to get as far away as she could.

Cloak & Dagger

Location: Niagara Falls, New York.
Time: Midday

---

The duo had arrived in Niagara Falls sometime after the morning commute, leaving a desolate town where only a few cars came through. They wandered around the town until they found a small shopping center harboring a quiet little diner in one of the corners. The pair had gained themselves a booth and now sat across from one another, both scanning the menu in silence.

Tandy had been reading the menu thoroughly, mentally noting what she was going to order when her concentration was broken by Lincoln. "What's the plan? We gonna actually grab a room here tonight and rest or do you wanna keep going?" Tandy kept quiet for a while before answering, "We're gonna chill here for a day and then try to catch a ferry or train, didn't I tell you that? I swear I already said this.." She tapped her thumb on her lip thoughtfully before continuing "Linc, relax man. We'll be fine. Ok?" He gave a simple nod in reply before the waitress came over.

"So what'll it be today you two?" She eyed Lincoln more than Tandy, seeming to be a bit suspicious of the boy. Tandy noticed this as well as Lincoln, causing her to speak in order to break the tension. "Okay we'll have two orders of hot wings for appetizers, an order of onion rings and we'll both have a coke. We'll want more after that but just start us there okay?" Her voice was airy and full of cheer. The lady nodded before walking off to get the order.

Lincoln watched her leave before he leaned over the table slowly "What the hell was that? Did you see how she looked at me?" Tandy nodded but didn't want to pay any mind to it, she decided to change the subject. "After we eat we'll get a phone book and call some motels and see if we can't snag a room."

Before long the waitress returned and placed the drinks in front of them. Within seconds a second waitress, one they were unfamiliar with, delivered the appetizers and the pair dug in silently. After a while the waitress returned, expecting more orders. "Okay now I think we'll both take a nice cheeseburger, they're good right?" she paused for a moment awaiting a reply when the waitress kept silent, confused Tandy continued "Uhh.. and I would like a chocolate milkshake. What about you Lincoln?" As soon as the kid opened his mouth to speak, the Waitress cut him off.

"Listen you folk gonna pay for this or you expectin' another freebee? Because you pull shit again and we'll call the cops." her eyes directed more at Lincoln than Tandy. Before she could speak, Lincoln shot up and began shouting. "Listen lady! I dunno who you think I am but if this is some racist shit, I'm gonna see my lawyer. You wanna play this game? I just got into town today an-"

The lady began waving her hands quickly and apologizing causing him to stop mid tirade. "Oh my god, I am so sorry. I thought you were one of those black wolves who hangout around town." Tandy raised her eyebrows at the lady, cocking her head to the side "Black wolves?". "They're a local gang that recently has gotten real ballsy. They take the teenage angst out on us regular citizens and there aren't enough police to deal with them. Nobody knows where they even came from, rumor has it some of them are those freaks." the woman seemed to shudder a bit before she continued "Listen I'm sorry for this misunderstanding I'll get your food and it'll all be half price okay?" the two nodded and the lady walked away, covering her reddening face.

The pair exchanged glances and both seemed to agree, this town needed help before they were off to detroit. While Tandy felt a knot grow in her stomach, being faced with an actual problem Lincoln felt his adrenaline surge, he was ready for his first Hero job.

---

A few hours later..

The pair had gotten themselves a room in one of the less expensive motels in the area and now sat on one bed with a large mass of clothing on the other. They had gone to about five stores getting together clothing, small trinkets and various pieces of material to make themselves pop. Lincoln had been less interested in their appearance but Tandy assured him all day, it mattered.

"So.. what do we wear?" Tandy asked looking at the mass of different material and accessories they had gathered. She held a pair of scissors in her hand and held limited sewing knowledge, having made a small hobby of customizing her own clothing. Lincoln turned his head to the side and looked down at her smiling "Well I'm gonna wear a cloak. What are you gonna wear? Daggers?" he chuckled at his joke, receiving an elbow in the ribs as a reply.

"This is serious." She stood up and grabbed a heavy linen cloth that she could easily turn into a cloak. "Here I'll use this as your cloak, just get some dark clothes to wear under it. I'm gonna go in the bathroom and try some things on and then we compare okay?" He nodded and she quickly grabbed a large armful of lightly colored materials and went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. The two now found themselves taking the first step in being heroes, making their costumes.

IC: Captain America

The air around the Crossbones facility hung still and hot over Captain America like a forboding blanket. They had been scounting the location outside Boston for days now, and no one had gone in or out. Steph was sure the Skull's men had abandoned it after the attack. They would have been foolish not to. All the clues they had led back to this place, and to stay would have been playing into SHIELD's hands. But there was an uneasiness about the place that Steph couldn't shake. It was like the chill that ran down your spine when you walked through a graveyard at night during a full moon. There may not be anything there, but you sure feel like there is. Still, there was no point in waiting any longer. They needed to find out if there was anything in there.

"Is strike team ready to move?" she called out to the rest of the team.

"In position," Hill responded from the other side of the building.

"Circling now, Cap," Falcon checked in from the skies above.

"Ready and waiting," Mockingbird said beside her.

"Move in," Steph commanded as she sprang into a sprint, not worrying about whether Bobbi was keeping up. Stephanie wanted answers, and if they weren't in this building, she wanted to move onto the next place they could be. There was nothing else but the chase now. In her peripheral vision, she saw Falcon drop from the sky onto the roof of the installation moments before she made it to the door. She scanned the entrance for traps and explosives, and finding none, entered the base.

If it was possible to get more quite than the outside, the inside of Crossbones succeeded. The door creeked behind her as Mockingbird entered, "Well this is freaking spooky as hell isn't it?"

"I think that's an apt descriptopm," Steph said in a whisper, almost as if not to disturb the place. "Sam, Maria, you in?"

"Entered and getting nothing on my motion or heat detectors," Sam said from the top floor.

"Same," Hill agreed.

"Let's get to the bunker," Cap motioned for Mockingbird to lead the way.

The secure area below the main base had been sealed, so Mockingbird got to work with the charges that would open it while Steph stewed in her own uselessness. Sam and Maria were checking the offices above for anything that might help, but Cap knew there wasn't going to be anything. Skull was too smart for that. Hell, the bunker was probably a trap. But she didn't care. She needed something. She needed anything. Even the bastard trying to kill her would give her something to feed off of for another leg of the pursuit.

Bobbi motioned for them to take cover. Once they did, the ground and walls shook from the force of the explosion that jarred the door loose, allowing them access to the secure wing. Unfortunately, it also released the putrid smell of rotting flesh. Along the hall leading to the one main room were bodies, killed execution style by a bullet through the back of the head. The loyal SHIELD agents who had no idea everyone around them were traitors and murderers. This was their reward for doing their job. Steph would have figured this site would make her blood boil, but her anger was so high that it barely registered. This was the kind of man the Skull was. The only way to change that was to stop him.

Once the two came to the center of the bunker, they found another door, this one with a sophisticated panel on it. Bobbi examined it and turned back to Cap, "It's DNA coded. Dunno how I'm gonna get this one open."

Captain America took one of her gloves off, pressing her hand to the panel, which flashed green and unlocked the door.

"How'd you know it was for you?" Mockingbird asked in disbelief.

"A hunch," was Steph's simple answer. She entered the center core of the bunker carefully, with her teammate behind her, coming to a stop when she saw the only thing in the room was a projector and a screen. She flipped it on, and the face of the Red Skull appeared yet again. She cursed under her breath. This was the second time this week the maniac was speaking to her through a screen. His cheshire grin was mocking her no matter where she turned. It was another example of how far ahead he really was.

"Captain," his southern draw started, "I am sure you have found this recording and that I have infiltrated your precious SHIELD. Did you enjoy the presents I left for you in the hall? As you see, the pool of blood collecting at your feet grows by the day. Because this is all for you, my dear. I know so much about you. You think I don't but I do. I know who you are, and where you came from. I know what frightens you. And I am enjoying this chase. You may hope that it is coming to an end, but I'm afraid that isn't the case. We have just begun, Captain America. My next surprise is really going to grab your attention. I'll be seeing you soon, sugar."

Steph attempted to calm herself. The Skull was trying to get to her. She couldn't allow that. Turning to Bobbi, she said calmly, "I want that film analyzed. Anything we can get from it, get to me. I want wheels up in the next four hours. I don't want to stay anywhere for long."