Karnak thought of the tumultuous events in the history of Attilan and it's inhabitants. Just seven years prior, there had been great proceedings regarding the creation of the Inhumans. Though most of the facts were still largely shrouded in mystery, the population had learnt that it was an ancient and powerful alien race named the Kree that had created the Inhumans, supplying them with everything related to Terrigenesis, and likely the unheard of materials and technology needed to distinguish the advanced race from their primal counterparts, the humans. It was not known if the Inhumans were human before the Kree's coming, or if they were a different species entirely. Karnak supposed that was for King Maximus and the current regent board to know, if indeed they knew at all. Being a member of the Royal Family did not mean that Karnak was consulted in the matters of provenance, nor the secrets the rulers were rumoured to hold. Perhaps it was Karnak's antisocial tendencies that left him in the dark on some secrets. He was well known for his intelligence, so matters should not have been kept from him because of his mental capacity. Regardless being a, however unwilling, member of the Order of Wisdom meant that important decisions the King chose not to undertake were to be made by he and his accomplices. As Maximus was away from the Refuge - an action that had shocked many traditionalists in Attilan - the matter had been brought to Mander, the leader of the Order. As tumultuous events went, this escape by the group of Inhumans was a prominent one. "Referred to as, respectively, Falcona, Stallior, Nebulo, Timberia, and Leonus, the rogue group have apparently adopted names related to their Inhuman skills and appearances. Falcona, she is a conduit and master of the brains of nearby birds - scientifically, most bird's beaks contain a sort of magnetic homing device. Falcona's brain emits a strong electromagnetic field inhumanly attuned to the bird's material, meaning she can draw the birds to her and command them to perform basic tasks - land, move here, attack... Stallior is a combination of a man and a horse, coincidentally the transformation occurred in the way that he closely resembles the mythological creature of the centaur in human mythos. He's fast and strong, and not to be underestimated. Leonus is similar to Stallior, in the way that his physiology has been combined with an animal, yet different - as he is still recognisable as a man, albeit with a faintly bronze skin, masses of hair, yellow eyes, sharp teeth, and so on... and his mental state has been largely reduced. His brain acts on impulses, simple commands, just like the natural lion - though Leonus has considerable improvements on the animal's abilities. Timberia has become one with the earth since Terrigenesis. She no longer lives through the normal human state, instead she survives as the common plant does - requiring photosynthesis, water, light. She travels in a fascinating way, twisting the roots and plants around her, making them share their mass with her so she can travel along it. Her appearance is similar to the middle bulk of a tree, and she has noticeable roots bulging out of her skin. Finally, the most strange of all, there's Nebulo. During Terrigenesis his physical form was, well, extinguished. He exists as an invisible, partly intangible being. But instead of not existing entirely, he operates in two dimensions, appearing as a shadow of his invisible self on walls and structures. He can interact with anything he can lay his shadow upon. Definitely the most dangerous of the group..." The ambitious Order man, a middle class analyst named Bhurk, finally finished - trailing off awkwardly, probably entertaining fanatical thoughts of Nebulo and the rogue group. "Thank you, Bhurk," Mander rose from his head seat, signalling the analyst to move away from the spotlight, "As you can surmise, each member of the group is deadly in their own right. Together... truly a force to be reckoned with. Now, it is imperative that this event stays out of public knowledge for the immediate future. The knowledge could send future subjects of Terrigenesis askew, plus the relatives of the group could take any action under the indisputable stress this all would cause them. With the... unprecedented absence of our young ruler, it falls to us to cover all ground regarding this subject: the discretion, the handling, and the execution." Mander eyed the men and women in the room intensely. He trusted each soul around the table, likely partly because of their subservience to him. Mander's eyes lingered less on Karnak, likely partly because of his opposite attitude to his father. Nevertheless, Karnak's skill was indisputable - he would most definitely be appointed a pivotal task in the event. Karnak had not noticed yet, but there was another figure in the chamber - not sat at the Order table, but shuffling loudly at the far end of the room with impatience. Karnak turned to look but Mander spoke up again, confirming Karnak's growing suspicion: "You may be thinking that who among us will be in control of actually apprehending the group - bringing them back home to the Refuge, so we can find out what went wrong during their transformation. Thus, I took the liberty of inviting our most successful candidate in strategic skirmishes to learn all the facts and begin planning. He will be in control of tracking down and saving these rogues, before they do anything catastrophic." "Too right." The loud, hulking figure stepped out of the peripheral shadows, turning whatever heads were not already turned in that direction. Karnak groaned internally, as he stared at his close relative - Attilan's celebrated military expert: Gorgon. Gorgon grinned, showing large, jagged teeth littered with bits of mangled food from his last meal - or ten meals ago. "Let's get this party started."

The solemn sound of a garbage truck pulling away from the curb filled Matthew with a sense of nostalgia as he sat alone on a bench in a backstreet just around the corner from 50th st and 11th ave. He’d taken a cab here immediately after hanging up the phone with Torry Fevor, a former work associate and friend of Matt’s still in the force. He pulled up some reports from major case and got Matt an address he was looking for. Karen was still asleep as he slinked out of the apartment with a wakizashi tucked into his jacket. Just as the truck rounded the corner, and it’s humming muffler was out of earshot, Matt stood in the lonely alley and faced the door he knew to be several yards in front of him. Rory McKinely was the man Matt was looking for, a known associate of the man who attacked Matthew and killed his aunt. This was the only lead Matt could follow and he thought it was better than staring at a cold trail. The door was a back entrance, kept open for special customers, to a dingy bar in Hells Kitchen. It was a haven for degenerates, killers, and hired criminals, and Rory was a peg which fit squarely in those slots. The bar was called the Squinty Fly. Matthew walked through a thick cloud of what he assumed was hookah smoke. It’d become a popular addition to most bars in lieu of smoking cigarettes indoors, which was illegal in New York. Glasses chattered and Matt focused on the epicenter of the noise, allowing himself to receive clear and distinct signals. He could “see” the small crowd of drunken patrons lined up at the bar and a few people talking in booths. Matthew quickly remembered the locations of the obstacles and maneuvered around them in order to make a quick scan of the room. Most of these people were boosters, drug dealers, thieves, and white-collar criminals; Matthew knew that going into the joint. So only a few were qualified for the kind of work Rory did. He remembered seeing two men who could fit the bill. One was standing by the bar and the other was sitting at a couch. The one at the bar smelled faintly of perfume. And his voice, as he ordered a drink, had hints of a Bostanite, Rory was a pure New Yorker. When Matt sat at the couch he could smell the faint scent of ball propellant and gunpowder, the gruff chalky smell of a man who hasn’t showered in a day or so. Matt finished off the whiskey he ordered and set it on the table in front of him. After a few moments Rory lifted himself from the couch and walked over to the bathroom. Matthew waited for the shrill sound of the door opening and closing before he stood. Quickly, he crossed the distance between him and the bathroom and snuck in. He could hear the crashing sound of Rory urinating as he silently walked up behind him. When Matt’s shoulder met Rory’s back he pushed hard forward, pressing him against the wall. He drew his wakizashi and slid it between Rory’s arm and his torso as the thug attempted to reach for his pistol. “Don’t you even think about going for it. Unless you won’t miss your arm.” Matt said calmly, in a deeper voice than usual. He didn’t exactly know why that was, but he could feel the tension and the anger rising in his throat, as if his emotions were talking for him. Carefully, Matt removed the pistol as Rory stood still, placed it in the sink behind them. “Spread your legs,” Matt commanded as he began patting Rory’s jacket to check for extra weapons. He behaved as a cop would, stretching out Rory’s leg’s with his own to maintain his position. As Matt reached down to check Rory’s pants he felt Rory’s body move, he turned and tried to elbow Matt on the back. Matthew twisted his body to the left, moving away from the strike, and drew his wakizashi, tucked under his arm, with blinding speed. In only a moment Rory’s hand was in the sink with his gun, and blood spurted around the bathroom. Rory screamed in pain as he came to the realization of his severed self. Matt bum rushed Rory to the ground and held him down with his knees. With the wakizashi raised above his head he loomed over Rory’s bloody, writhing body. “If you don’t want your story to end like this, Rory, you’ll tell me about your friend. Greg Calvin. You know him, yes?” Matthew asked this calmly, taking off his jacket as he did so. “You were in the marines, right? You know how to tie a tourniquet. Use this.” He said as he ripped off the arm of his jacket. Rory fumbled with the material and sobbed as he wrapped himself up with help from Matthew. People approached the bathroom door and Matthew could hear the clicking of a pistols hammer from outside. With the bathroom being as small as it was Matt pulled Rory across the bloody floor and sat against the door to block it. “Now Rory, if you don’t tell me who Greg worked for I’m going to have to kill you and your friends, okay? This is it. What do you say?” Matt said these things deliberately, his blood-soaked hands holding on to Rory and his glistening sword at once; one menacing the other. A kick of the door shook Matt and Rory. “What’s going on in there?” A voice from outside yelled. “Last chance, Rory” Matt said as he raised the sword to Rory’s throat. “The Kingpin! The Kingpin. Please, please, man.” Rory sobbed, with blood covering most of his body. Matt nodded, stood against the door and dragged Rory against it. “Don’t let me regret letting you live, or I’ll come back and take the other.” Matt said as he tossed the severed hand from the sink into Rory’s lap. He climbed out through the tiny window of the bathroom to the back alley where he started as the door was being forced open. Matthew stopped at an open fire hydrant as he made his way downtown to wash some of the left over blood from his body. He met Karen at the office after he’d made sure he was cleaned off and collected the suit he asked her to bring. Today was Matthew’s first day as a hired lawyer from the Nelson & Son’s lawfirm. With the prospect of a bright future, and vengeance, in front of him, a loyal and wonderful woman beside him, and a hot, and gruesome trail of blood behind him, Matthew was strangely at peace. He looked at the actions he’d committed stoically, as if they were done in a dream; though, Matthew considered, in many ways they had been. Was it that, or had he been reflecting on those actions through a dream? As if those volatile, chaotic moments of hatred and lust were the only real moments he’d ever truly experienced in his life. Matthew received a cold chill up and down his spine when he considered that. So he thought on something else, something new. He repeated the name in his mind as he huddled over his newly presented cup of coffee: Kingpin. Kingpin. KINGPIN.

As the door was more or less opened due to the surprise of his appearance, Loki took advantage of the strange hybrid's confusion and eventual decision to attack the strange man in the spider outfit to inspect the room the creature had come out of. The inspection revealed the source of the blood at least... the pile of meat that had once been a woman was quite clearly dead and her soul was now in the care of Hel or whoever her counterpart was nowadays. There were a great many reasons Loki hadn't gone to visit the realm of his daughter, but that was clearly neither the time nor the place to focus on the past. Turning his attentions towards the spider man and humanoid hybrid, Loki looked at his newly discovered blood covered foe as he considered his options. Physically attacking the thing was rather upfront and seemed to be the best course of action... But a little bit of an illusion to aid the attack wouldn't go astray... Thus, a loudly squealing piglet appeared on the other side of the Spider/Raptor man conflict, making a hell of a noise as it was clearly freaking out. Small, helpless and tasty... just the way all top predators like it! When the hybrid turned its head away from the young spider-themed hero and toward the shrilling piglet, its two halves were in conflict. While a velociraptor would not have know what a pig was, his human half knew the joys of pork. The memory of this savorous meal just goaded on the man's prehistoric half. Instead of making a second attack against the young man, the human-raptor leaped toward the hapless pig, hoping to dig its claws into its flesh. Before Loki stood a dumbfounded young man, clad in a red and blue costume. While the young man's mask concealed his facial expression, it was obvious by his body posture that he was confused at what was happening, particularly why a pig suddenly popped out of nowhere. While the dinosaur-man was being distracted by the pig-illusion, the young man took the opportunity and attempted to create some separation between himself and his former combatant. As the claws of a predator from an era long past pieced pig flesh, instead of the shredding of skin and pained death squeals that such an even would normally warrant there was a flash of light so bright as to be blinding for a second before fading away to revel two smaller, freaked out piglets siding beside where the original one had been standing. Both pigs would turn and start running away as fast as their light hooves could carry them, squealing all the way. "Er...I know this is probably not a good time to chit-chat, but I'm Spider-Man, if you haven't heard the mudslinging that the editor of the Daily Bugle has been spewing for the past few years." Turning to look at the admittingly straight forwardly named Spider-Man, the only response that Loki could give was "Call me Loki. And you're right; I'm not sure how smart that thing is but we should plan something out while its playing keep away with Piglet. What can you do?" "I'm Spider-Man! I can do whatever a spider can!" Loki looked at 'Spider-Man' with an expression that was often only reserved for smart people forcefully shifting their mental gears in order to understand and communicate with people much stupider then themselves. After precious seconds had dwindled by, Loki couldn't stop himself from asking "So... You frighten the hell out of people in general, have trouble getting out of the bathtub and have a phobia of shoes and newspapers?" "Well," Spider-Man started to respond to Loki's comment about what it meant to be able to "do whatever a spider can", "if you actually believe the crap that J. Jonah Jameson spews about me, which you shouldn't, by the way, then you might think I frighten people. In fact, that actually also covers the phobia of newspapers. Triple J. runs one! While I have no troubles with bathtubs, surfaces that have little friction does jell with me." While he was speaking, the human raptor was still occupied by the two pigs. No matter how many times the mutated man caught these "pigs", they kept creating two new pigs, just as the hydra of Greek Mythology regrows two heads when one head was hacked off by Herakles. Once the human raptor had "created" at least a dozen pigs, he finally gave up. No amount of bacon was worth this much effort. Instead, he turned his attention back toward Loki and Spider-Man. "I don't know if you have a plan in mind, but it looks like we won't have much time to make one." Spider-Man poised himself, readying for whatever move the human raptor could make. As the raptor man turned his attention back towards them, Loki rolled his shoulders a little before joining Spider-Man in a combat pose of his own. "How about we just wail on the thing for a while? Why go with a complicated plan when a simple one works just fine?" "Wait! You want to beat this thing to a pulp? Didn't you see that it has already eaten somebody!" Spider-Man said with concern in his voice. While he was confident in his own powers, the last thing he wanted to become was this thing's late-night snack. "It's kind of hard to have missed that, but I'm fairly confident we can take it. I'll keep him busy while you kick it in the back of the head." Bravado was something that Loki had long known the existence of but had never quite understood. He could fake it like a pro through; He wasn't even sure if the humanoid creature could actually harm him despite how fearsome it was to the average human being. No point taking any unnecessary risks through and it would give him an in to a possible ally... Some days Loki wondered if he was still a bastard or if he was just good at thinking like one... Preparing himself, Loki let out a sharp whistle to draw attention to himself. "Hey lizard, you've had the appetizer. Now it's time for the main course!"

Location Forrest Hills Hospital, Queens, New York City Position 1st Floor, Admissions and Reception Time 1213 hrs 10th March 2012 It was mid-day in the hospital and the day staff were overwhelmed. On top of the normal hustle of visitors and in-patients, a large influx of patients from an incident in Glendale had every nurse, consultant and doctor rushing from post to post. None of the EMTs that were on site would discuss what they’d seen but the rumours had started and they were saying that it was a mutant. An exploding mutant. Linda Carter shook her head. Whatever next? “Excuse me, nurse? Could you point me somewhere?” Looking up, eyes bleary from her 18 straight hours, Linda saw a tall, dark brown haired man, rimmed glasses adorning his hazelnut eyes, a white coat wrapped around his impressive frame and stethoscope draped around his neck. In his hand, he held a patients chart. He was smiling down at Linda. She smiled politely back. “I’m sorry, doctor, I’m kinda swamped here, isn’t there anyone else you…?” The doctor raised his hand, “It’ll only take a moment, please? I’m looking for a…” He consulted his chart, “…a Mr Isaiah Bradley?” Linda sighed, turning to the computer and tapped away at the keys, bring up the patients’ medical files. “It says here Mr Bradley is in Room 11 on the 2nd Floor in Patient Care. But he’s being treated for Alzheimer’s, shouldn’t you…?” She turned back to find the doctor gone. She scowled and returned to shifting through the A&E admissions. New doctors always underestimated nurses, especially the ones laied over from the night shift. Isaiah Bradley was propped up in his bed, the private room darkened except for the blueish glow of the cheap TV stuffed in the corner of the room, left on some generic local news channel. The pretty, young reporter was mouthing soundlessly towards Isaiah, a pillar of smoke rising behind her. Her location was Glendale. The door of his room opened and a large man in a doctor’s coat entered, reaching up to pull off his rimmed glasses, tossing them on the small roller table over Isaiah’s bed. Masters pulled the low chair across towards his bed, settling in softly and smiling at the now frail old man. “Hello Isaiah, how are you?” Isaiah’s head turned to face the soft voice, his eyes glazed over, looking right through Tony. Masters knew about Isaiah’s history, a young black soldier who was a patient to experiments of rehashes of the Super Soldier Serum, just after the murder of Dr Joseph Reinstein. He was one of the few survivors and currently the only surviving member of his platoon. It was his experiments that lead SHIELD to Masters’ current state. “Isaiah, have you seen Eli lately? Do you know where he is?” Isaiah was Eli’s grandfather and his sole guardian. He was responsible for Eli getting accepted into SHIELD and, in turn, when Isaiah began to deteriorate, Eli set him up in the Forrest Hills. When Masters mentioned Eli, his eye’s sharpened slightly, staring right into Master’s eyes. “Eli, is he alright? Is it the Red Skull? I knew it! I knew he shouldn’t go alone!” Isaiah tried to get out of the bed, reaching towards Masters hurriedly. Tony gripped his shoulders gently but tightly and laid the feeble, old man back in his bed. “It’s not the Skull Isaiah, we just can’t find Eli. Do you know where he’d be?” The old soldier’s eyes glazed over again. “Oh Eli… He’s such a good boy. Always loved coming with me to the lake…” Masters sighed, settling back into the chair, rubbing his face. The 3 rogues had a week’s head start on him and, from SHIELD’s psychoanalysis records; Patriot was the weak link in the group. He was the one of the public face “heroes” of SHIELD; he was the more morally centred type, he would be the easiest to crack to find the other two, assuming they had done the smart thing and separated. He was also the green-horn of the group, with USAgent and Union both being black op veterans, meaning Patriot would be the simplest to track down. So far, however, the youth was proving extremely difficult to locate. Masters had thought Isaiah might provide some insight. It seems he was mistaken. As he got up to leave, he absent-mindedly listened to Isaiah’s muddled ramblings. “The long summers we spent there, in the cabin, just sitting on the lakeside, fishing for hours. Eli loved that cabin…” Masters paused, his hand on the knob as he had a crazy thought. Maybe this trip wasn’t an entire waste. He turned back to Isaiah, a friendly smile on his face to keep Isaiah calm. “Isaiah, tell me more about the lake….”

Blue, green and gold lights blurred together in Medusa’s mind as she raced behind the boy in the white harness, his strong hand guiding her. She’d gotten to know the layout of the Royal chambers through the lights alone, the differing hues and variations in the shapes. But all of that seemed to blend in the blistering pace. Blackagar wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, he’d never seen the outside of his quarters with sentient eyes. But he understood Inhuman architecture better than many, having studied the topic intently. He could see the curves leading to exits, the angles leading toward new rooms, and the hallways which bent into the foyer. When Blackagar exited into the throne room, Medusa sheepishly following behind, he was struck by the majesty of the design. The stories etched into the moldings, along with the mosaics which so eloquently detailed the legends Blackagar could only imagine, left the newly freed young man with an unquietable sense of awe. He sunk with the weight of the ages pressed atop him. He let go of Medusa’s hand and solemnly pressed up the steps toward his rightful throne. Blackagar caressed the arm of his father’s chair, and he could smell his brother’s perfume on it. He wrinkled his nose and looked over at Medusa, her amber hair swirling under the blue light refracting from the glass dome above. “We shouldn’t be here!” Medusa whispered cautiously. “High Lord Maximus could be back any moment.” Blackagar’s features shifted suddenly from disgusted to offended, a brutish snarl crossing his face, a puff of air released from his nostrils as a silent scoff. He grasped the arm and the back of his father’s heavy throne and lifted it above the ground, slamming it back down again. Dust and ancient debris spread out from the epicenter of the action. Medusa could read the words on his lips: ”This is mine”. Blackagar’s features softened, and he extended his hand. Medusa hesitated for a while, but Blackagar remained. She climbed the steps to meet him with an equal measure of excitement and embarrassment. When she reached him Blackagar stared into her emerald eyes for a long while, as if searching for something. When he seemed to have found it, he glanced over to his side, assigning her to do the same. There, on the grand wall beside them, was a giant picture of Maximus. Medusa looked at it as if for the first time, seeing the absurdity of it. Blackagar looked back at his cousin and she looked back at him: “I must stop him” his eyes said in clear tones. Medusa could practically hear Blackagar’s voice, and then, she felt like she was. “Dear Brother,” came a dark voice from above, “I’m afraid you may be lost.” Maximus descended to the center of the throne room in a bubble elevator, made even more elegant by the telescopic copper pipes which lowered it. When the elevator reached the bottom Maximus unlatched the gate and came forth, clad in black silks. Blackagar pushed Medusa to the side and stepped in front of the throne. His own furious fist came to his chest and, in one motion, ripped the harness from his body. The brilliant white lightning strike design of his suit was a familiar, yet stark contrast against Maximus. With a certain level of reverence and hesitation, Blackagar reached behind him and pulled the built-in cowl over his head. The antennae attached to the forehead of the suit lit up and sparked with energy. The silent Inhuman hunched over and collected energy, watching his smiling sibling carefully. Blackagar stood between his brother and the Royal Inhuman cathedra, and at that moment became the first living defender of Atillan society against the tyrannical rule of a madman; indeed, only the first of many.

Hawkeye and Mockingbird stood waiting in the briefing room. These two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stood out like a sore thumb amongst the group of the other agents, since they wore colorful costumes instead of the standard gray and black shades that the other agents usually wore. Hawkeye’s attire event stood out even more than Mockingbird’s because his costume was almost entirely purple, while the later at least had dark blue accenting the white portion of her outfit. “Hey, it helps prevent friendly-fire!” Hawkeye would usually say in his defense of their fashion decisions. But in spite of the flamboyance of their apparel, Clint and Bobbi still got the job done.

Suddenly, another agent walked into the briefing room, holding several folders that he intended to issue out to the others once he had entered. Once the files and folders were passed around, the man clicked a button on a small remote that he held in his hand, causing the screen behind himself to activate. “Here is your next assignment, ladies and gentlemen.” Agent Coulson announced to his fellow agents with a confident, but calm voice. “This is David Cannon. While we do not yet know whether the X-Gene granted him powers or if he used some other means, Mr. Cannon is capable of creating a localized tornado around himself. Local authorities have been unable to stop him, so it is up to us to apprehend him. Are there any questions before we set out?”

“I have one.” Hawkeye yelled out, grinning at what he intended to say, “Are we about ready to go on a man hunt after the Tasmanian Devil?”

“Any other questions?” Rolling his eyes, Coulson obviously ignored Hawkeye’s remark about how the powers of this supervillain mirrored the abilities of the Warner Bros. cartoon character. “If not, everyone is dismissed.”

Daytime Anguish
Downtown Queens
The screams of anguish and rage echoed throughout the apartment. The cheers of glee overpowered them at times as the anger boiled over from the torment and anguish. Deadpool leaned forward, relishing the torture of the victims as they screamed in agony. Deadpool grinned from ear to ear.

“Told you he wasn’t the Daddy! Jerry, Jerry, Jerry!”

Deadpool laid back, panning out on the couch, in nothing but his underwear, hip holster and mask, which was pulled up above his mouth so he could stuff another handful of cheeseballs into it, the orange dust covering the edges of his lips and the tips of his fingers. Some leftover orange crumbs covered the scarred chest of the Merc as the next set of guests on the daytime TV show stepped up.

*You claim to be the world’s best mercenary, yet here you are, watching daytime trash TV while we have a high paying job sitting in front of us, literally!*

A small stack of files sat on the coffee table, a couple of photos sticking out of the cardboard covers that showed people, places and strange looking equipment. The thickest lay at the bottom, several papers rifled through from being shifted through several times.

“Also one of the most dangerous, I mean S.H.I.E.L.D.? I need to focus, collect my thoughts….”

The self-argument came to an end as the apartment loft’s door opened wide and a figure stepped through into the loft. Years of paranoia and training snapped into place as Deadpool drew his S&W from the holster at his hip, the barrel snapping to the target and the finger hovering over the trigger. The laser-point on the barrel’s end hovering over the entrant’s eye….or at least where the eye should be. The left patch covered the left eye area, the young girl stepped in to see the weapon pointed in her direction, only to sigh.

“D, didn’t I say that I would be back soon? I just went to get groceries.” She shifted her arms, the brown paper bags ruffling in her arms.

Deadpool shrugged, “One has to always be careful when you’re as dangerous as me, Al.” It would have sounded more impressive if his mouth was not spluttering chewed orange cheeseballs all over his semi-naked body as the handgun is slid back into its holster.

Al shook her head and marched into the kitchen area of the loft. Alexander Althea had known Deadpool for the past several months and had gotten used to some of his stranger quirks, she had to, considering he was giving her room and board in exchange for her services. Nothing sexual, Al would never sink that low, but Deadpool never seemed to show that kind of interest so she was content with the affiliation so far.

Al met Deadpool in a homeless shelter after the Merc had come recruiting, looking for his “Alfred” as he put it. None met Deadpool’s odd standards until Alexander stepped up. Wade told her if she could break down and reassemble the .45 ACP pistol, he’d take her in for free, chores included. Not only did she do just that, she did it in a very respectable time, under 5 minutes. This intrigued Deadpool and he took the young 20 year old into his loft apartment, informing her of her duties. She also didn’t ask why Deadpool wore his costume and he didn’t ask about her missing left eye.

It was then she began noticing Wade’s stranger quirks, such as taking to calling her “Blind Al”, despite the fact she had full vision in her right eye. When she finally asked him why, he merely shrugged and stated that “you remind me of someone I used to know.” Deadpool refused to comment further and, once when she’d pissed him off about it, he locked her in a room he called the “Box”, a room filled with sharp objects. She was thoroughly confused now, seeing as the room was lit and she could clearly see all of the obstacles.

Al sat the bags on the counter top and opened one of the overhead cabinets. A bunch of soft bags fell on Al’s head as she groaned, turning one of the bright bags over to read the front of the bag.

“Captian Carl’s CheesyBalls? How many did you buy, D?”

She answered her own question when she opened the other cabinets, finding more bags stuffed inside. She pressed her fingers into her eyes, calling out to Deadpool.

“D, I thought we discussed this. You bring in the money, I do the shopping and we don’t ask questions about what the other does.”

“But they were on sale! And we’ll be bringing in some big bucks soon.”

“What, the S.H.I.E.L.D. job?” Al bit her lip as she spoke too soon, realizing her slip.

“You’ve been reading my files again, Al? Didn’t we discuss that as well?”

“It was just sitting there wide open, you were out….. So it looks like this X guy you keep talking about has you doing some major jobs. It would be smart to do some of the other jobs first. Especially that Bloom Industries one……” She poked the conversation forward, hopping D would forget her infraction if he concentrated on the job.

Deadpool nodded in silent agreement. He’d been looking over the equipment that X wanted him to steal and he’s figured that taking some of the smaller companies would do first before going up against S.H.I.E.L.D. The Bloom job looked the most promising, with the development of some new teleport tech that was still in the trial stages, giving the user only short range capabilities, but, with the layout to the Helicarrier in his possession from the mysterious voice on the other end of the phone, it would mean that none of the locked doors would be a problem. Deadpool stood up, the crumbs falling from his scarred chest as he struck a valiant pose for his one audience member.

“Time to go to work! Now, Al, fetch me my pants!”

Peter saw that the human-raptor hybrid was preparing to pounce, seeming to target this so-called "Loki" after that man had taunted it with his talk of the "main course". However, Peter heard something behind him. Turning his head just enough to see what made that noise with his peripherals, Peter saw that a small child stood behind them, several feet away, standing before the stairs that undoubtedly went to his bedroom. When Peter turned his attention back to the man-raptor, he saw that it had diverted its attention from himself and Loki toward the little boy. It began to dash forward, intending to run past the two super-humans and pounce right on top of the child.

The child just stood there in fear, his planted in the floor. However, eerily enough, this was not the only reason why the child stood his ground. It almost seemed as if the young child recognized the man-raptor, almost as if he knew it. But as the human-raptor charged toward the child (although it had not passed either Peter or Loki just yet), the little boy released a piercing screech.

"NO DADDY, NO!"

What the child just said unnerved Peter. Was that creature really that boy's father? Does that mean that that creature had just consumed his own wife? Peter began to feel sick to his stomach just by thinking about these thoughts.

Peter thrust out his arm, compressing the trigger on his palm with his two middle fingers. Fortunately for him, Peter's web-shooters did not jam up on his this time, although the web fluid did not come out as uniformly as usual, Nevertheless, the webbing struck the human-raptor in the side of the leg, causing it to slow down a little. However, even with this hindrance, it still tried to make its way to the little child.

It was unclear if the Raptor man had been so dedicated to ripping into the young, defenseless child that he was blind to everything else around him or if there were other factors in play; Either way, the Raptor wouldn't see the blow to the side of its head from the man that called himself 'Loki' until it was far to late too stop it. While the exchange was little more then a hit and withdraw attack, Peter had fought enough ordinary people (mostly thugs and criminals) and superhumans in the past to tell when the person throwing the punch had more then a few pumping iron sessions at the gym behind their blows.

Well, on the plus side the human-raptor would have less teeth to worry about.

Once the human-raptor had recovered from Loki's blow, he redirected his attention towards the green-clad man who had just attacked him. However, when he tried to pounce on the man called 'Loki', aiming his sharp claws for Loki's flesh, Peter anticipated the hybrid's actions, latching onto the man's tail. When hew as airborne, Peter yanked back on the tail, causing the human-raptor hybrid to crash into the wall beside him. While this did prevent Loki from being harmed, unfortunately Peter's action also made the hybrid to focus his attention on Peter.

The human-raptor launched a fury attack against Peter, throwing its claws against him. However, used his agility and nimbleness to duck and dodge his foe's attacks. Once he saw an opening in the human-raptor's defenses, Peter triggered his webshooters and covered the hybrid's face with webs. While the human-raptor was incapacitated by the webbing that covered his face, Peter thought it was time for the two of them to regroup.

"It probably is a good idea to get that kid as far away from his 'father' as soon as possible."

As the human-raptor struggled with removing the webbing from its face, Peter would see Loki rush up to the struggling abomination wrap his arm around its neck in a headlock before planting a foot in the back of one of its knees before putting enough weight on the joint to prevent the beast from having secure footing. "Sounds like a plan Spider Man. Take the kid and get him out of here!"

"Don't have to tell me twice!" Peter leaped over to the child, scooped him up into his arms, and swung out of the house. Outside, a squad car had just pulled up to the house. Seeing the police, Peter placed the kid on the ground allowing him to run over to the safety of the police. However, when he turned to return back into the house, he heard one of the police officers shout at him.

"FREEZE! DON'T MOVE!"

"Okay." Peter rolled his eyes under his mask. Even though the tone of his voice might have revealed it, the lenses on his mask concealed his facial expression, which probably would have irritated the officer even more. "I'll just stay out here while you two handle the dinosaur superhuman that is inside that house." After a few moments, the officer lowered his weapon, signaling that Peter was free to go. Once Peter had swung back into the residential building, one of the officers rushed back to the squad car and radio'd a message back to the Dispatch.

"Dispatch, we have a code SH3. Repeat a code SH3. Backup requested."

The council dispersed through the single opening at the far edge of the chamber, leaving only Karnak, Gorgon and Mander standing at the precipice of the table. An unpleasant tension ran between the three, one that bid Mander to leave with the utmost haste. The pious priest knew of the disunity between Karnak and Gorgon, and perhaps he had forced them together to cause distress within his argumentative son, but nevertheless he knew that the two young Inhumans before him were the leading minds and bodies in their fields within the Great Refuge. Facing the society changing events involving the rogue group of Inhumans and the unknown dealings of King Maximus, the Order of Wisdom would need to employ the greatest assets they had. Mander held Karnak's disapproving gaze for a few more moments, and then proceeded out of the archway.
When the old man was out of earshot, Gorgon smirked at the accurate combatant.
"Guess I'll be heading up this one, cousin. In our amusing battle of power versus skill, seems I take this round thanks to your 'pa."
Karnak narrowed his eyes sharply at the hair-covered brute.
"You are not my cousin. And the second you intend on giving me orders, you will find yourself without the deadliest force in Attilan to aid in this manhunt."
Refusing to take part in the aggravating conversation any longer, Karnak swung his robe around in a flurry and headed towards the archway.
"We might as well be related. After all, is Maximus' blood not shared between both of us?"
"Curse your faltering intelligence, Gorgon." Karnak muttered under his breath as he rounded the corner before the glimmering steps.



Falcona stepped softly along the greying pavement, neon lights reverberating through her mind and the overpowering bustle of the street and it's inhabitants shocking her at every interval. She wore clothes to blend in with the humans - a white dress with a large red rose residing in the middle and two black boots that climbed up to her thighs. These had been taken from a decimated target of Leonus. She clutched a large pink purse that was littered with prominent sparkles, the withering hand that held it not long before now lying dead on their refuge's floor - Leonus' doing. It contained some of the strange material that the humans lived by - money. It ostensibly ruled over them as a God, and yet they manipulated it constantly, with images of their rulers and each piece being passed around from one to another all the time. They used it as a trading device, which suggests it as a beneficiary, yet it seemed that they could not live without it. Falcona didn't understand this, but from the moderate education she had endured she had learned of the humans and the differences in their physiology and mentality to the superior Inhumans. It was indeed obvious of the Inhuman's superiority in both of these factors and many more. However, Falcona was inexplicably intrigued by the humans and their society. Despite their many mistakes, many of which continued to the present, the society they had formed was impressive to her, and she wished to study them personally and in-depth. That was one of the reasons she had left Attilan...
She stopped suddenly on the pavement, causing rushing men and woman to respond in shock and frustration and skirt around her. She ignored them, and looked out towards the west. She was filled with sadness and some regret, for her friends and family in the Refuge, those she had left behind. Still, the reasons for her and the other's departure were more important. One motivation to share, she thought, and personal ones for each of us.
Falcona shook herself out of her pondering state and focused on the task at hand. The others had outright laughed at her plan, especially Leonus and Timberia. Stallior, the one whom she shared the most ideals with, also disagreed - saying it was too dangerous. Nebulo had no response, as usual, though she wasn't sure if he was actually in the room at the time or not.
Falcona spotted what she was looking for and strode towards it, her brain activity rising. With this, a group of pigeons that sat on the first floor balcony of a hotel erratically surged out of their resting positions and barrelled toward the market store. Falcona noticed their behaviour and calmed herself expertly. She then turned to the avians and reverted them back to their normal state. They hung in the air for a second and then flew away from her as quickly as they had approached. Keep yourself under control, she lectured to herself. One human who was not too busy to notice anything around them was eyeing her intently. Falcona sensed the curiosity in his aura, likely due to the display she had foolishly allowed to happen, though there was something else in his eyes... something she did not recognise. He was sat slumped against an old brick wall, a brown rectangle of material to his left and an empty container to his right. People seemed to keep their distance to him intentionally.
He awkwardly climbed to his feet, a strange hunger in his eyes. Falcona turned away, partly confused, and entered the store.

It was yet another busy day for one of the several banks in the Manhattan area. Countless people wondered to and fro from these economical institutions, just as ant do with their colonies. Some are depositing cash, while others were withdrawing funds. Some are making investments for his or her own future, while others were taking out loans. However, there was one person who had something else on his mind when he entered into that bank. While he did want to withdraw money from the bank, he did not intend to do so in the conventional way.

When that man made his entrance, most of the bystanders thought that they just heard a train crashing right into the bank. However, it was not a train, but a man who could create miniature tornadoes by just spinning his body. Once the rapid winds dissipated, encaptivating everyone in the room, the perpetrator revealed himself. The man was garbed in a suit of green armor, with his head covered by a green dome that only had eye sockets and breathing holes. While his appearance would normally seem comically to anyone who saw him for the first time, due to his pervious successes at other banks, his costume did not put a smirk on the faces of the bystanders.

Using a localized whirlwind that was generated around his lower body, Whirlwind zoomed over to the vault and began to fill his sacks with cold hard cash. Once he had taken everything that he could carry at once, he zoomed back out of the vault and towards the exit of the building. No one tried to stop the criminal out of fear of the tornadic winds that he could send against anyone who dared to oppose him, or at least that what he thought.

THUNK!

Out of nowhere came a blunt, purple arrow that landed several feet away from Whirlwind. The super criminal almost laughed out loud when he saw the archaic weapon that someone had foolishly (as he thought) used against him. However, this was no ordinary arrow, as there was a flashing light at the tip of the arrowhead. Before Whirlwind could even take another step (or rather move another inch), a blinding flash emanated from the arrow, momentarily stunning the criminal.

As soon as the arrow emitted its hidden weapon, a dozen S.H.I.E.L.D. agents rushed on the scene and started pumping rounds of ICER’s at the supervillain. However, even as he struggled to regain his focus from the blinding burst of light, Whirlwind chuckled as the blue bullet-like objects bounce off of his costume.

“Do you really think you can hurt me with those little blue BB pellets?” Whirlwind taunted the agents as his armor protected him from their gunfire. Once he had regained his senses, Whirlwind went into a rapid spin, causing swift winds to barrage the agents, tossing them here and there. Using the wind power that he had just generated to smash open the front of the bank, Whirlwind burst out of the building.

Suddenly, another purple arrow zoomed toward Whirlwind. However, this time the winds that the supervillain was producing caught the arrow, forcing it to fly safely around himself and plunge into a nearby fire hydrant. When Whirlwind looked up to see who fired that shot, he saw a man dressed in a purple (and extremely conspicuous) outfit who was wielding a bow in his hands.

“Is that the best you can do?” Whirlwind yelled out to the purple-clad archer.

Within the shorter part of a blink Blackagar was gliding through the length of the throne room, only half way between where he started and where Maximus stood. The quickness of the noir-minded Maximus was just as keen as Blackagar’s reflexes. Just as the darting Bolt was set to deliver a pounding blow crimson locks were wrapped around his neck. They squeezed and jolted him back into a laying position.

Blackagar peered behind him, hands grasping at the follicled chokehold, and saw Medusa, eyes like saucers of light, restraining him with her powerful abilities.

Mind control.

The thought rang out in Blackagar’s mind, as clearly as his brother’s menacing laughter, which even now echoed so clearly against the throne room walls. The mad chortling mixed with the fits and groans into a macabre cacophony.

“He’s probably better off dead, isn’t he dear?” Maximus asked with a casual bite.

Medusa’s glowing orbs only stared at him, then focused back on Blackagar as she focused on tightening her hold.

Blackagar was slowly pulled along the slick Titanium floors. The hold contracted then constricted, flowed then pulled. It was like a tightening maze of hair, and no matter how much leeway Blackagar felt he might have, he could never find the end of it all. If he freed his hand, he was still choked and his torso was still being squeezed. Blackagar felt the life slipping from him, and he knew that he had only one choice, one chance. Just before the crimson hair swallowed him whole Blackagar focused all of his harnessed energy.

“Wait…” Maximus began, extending his hand. Before he could say more, an invisible force broke through the mound of hair, shocking Medusa’s entire system and forcing her into a seizure. The force continued, however, outward and struck Maximus with equal, yet physical force. His body flung against the ceiling and got caught on a rafter. Blood seeped from a cut on his head down onto the royal chamber floor. Blackagar was then able to free himself from the now limp strands of hair. He turned in time to see the closing stages of Medusa’s minor seizure. She seemed fine, but the conceivable damage to her brain was invisible. When Blackagar looked toward where he imagined Maximus to be, he witnessed his semi unconscious brother floating to the floor safely. Some sort of antigravity device more than likely.

Blackagar trotted up to his brother and grabbed him by the collar of his ripped silk blouse. He inspected the nasty wound on Maximus’ head, then brought his brother up to eye level. Maximus could still see the look on his kin’s face clearly through the haze of his concussion. A pang of horror shook through his entire body as he received the words through Blackagar’s talkative eyes.

“You’re better off dead, aren’t you dear?”



Gorgon's footsteps carried weight, in both a physical and a psychological way. As a known and respected figure of the Inhuman hierarchy, he could go where he wished and do what he liked. His Terrigen influenced ability also affected his feet, or rather - his hooves. The otherwordly mists had twisted his once human feet into large goat-like hooves that spewed out dark fur from the ankle up and were coated in a sleek black substance from the ankle down. They were also capable of producing kinetic shockwaves - seismic occurrences of ample destruction that would knock most anyone of their feet, and depending on Gorgon's anger to fuel it - could destroy structures of any size. Thus Gorgon remembered to tread lightly, and monitor his temperament in combat situations.

He was striding down a regally decorated corridor, adjacent to the royal throne room in which King Maximus held his seat, when a desperate mental outcry burrowed through the wall to surround him completely. He sensed invisible tendrils, ever changing and morphing, twisting through each other to effectively form an enmeshed net of strong mental commands. Gorgon stumbled back in shock, momentarily forgetting his anger inhibitions. The paintings on the wall thrashed about after suffering Gorgon's kinetic vibrations. The large Inhuman could not escape from the all encompassing tendrils, and despite the headpiece he constantly wore that had the ability to fend off telepathic attacks, this particular assault was overpowering from it's urgent strike and power to back it.

Gorgon sprawled out on the floor, yet fought vigorously until the tendrils took him.
Instantly a frantic command reverberated through his helpless mind.

To the throne room! Attack Black Bolt! Defend your King!

Gorgon stood with lightning speed, and began running toward the archway a little further down the corridor.
The paintings fell and shattered as he ran.



Blackagar glanced at the doorway across the expanse of the throne room, and a hulking shadow flickered on the wall as the thundering foot steps got closer and closer. Suddenly the space in and between the archway was filled with steel, and cloth, and fur and flesh. It took Blackagar a moment to understand what he was looking at. The proportions were all wrong for a normal man. Within that confusion Blackagar lost his hold on Maximus, who jumped out of the way and began crawling back to the copper elevator. The mass was coming closer, but shrouded in the shadows of the ill lit room. Some pivotal electrical wiring must have been cut during Blackagar's exchange with his brother, and so the primary source of light was from the vibrant sea water above and around them. Blackagar searched his mind for the faces of the royal family. This wasn't Karnak, nor was it the aquatic Triton. Horn's glistened in the light and Blackagar could remember the lineage, finally. Son of Korath, brother of Agon, father of Blackagar.

Cousins.

Blackagar managed to hold onto a horn as he was pressed into, his legs being lifted off of the ground and his torso pounded by this young man's shoulder. Even as Blackagar went crashing through his rightful throne he tried to retrieve this cousin's name. Blocking frightful elbow shots and hammering fists Blackagar could feel the name on the tip of his tongue.

As the beast lifted himself, to try and release Blackagar's hold on his head, the more dexterous cousin was able to free himself from a grapple and climb over onto his back. A few strikes was all he could manage before he was thrown.

Blackagar had a moment to collect himself after he rolled from the toss. He noticed his gloves were ripped, and so tore them off. Maximus was inching closer to the elevator.

As the hoofed and horned man readied for another charge a flash of inspiration came to Blackagar. And with it a name: Gorgon.

Clint Barton waited patiently on top of a rooftop directly across from the bank where Whirlwind had begun to rob. He waited for an opportunity to arise so that he could take the superhuman robber by surprise. While Hawkeye has much lacking in the superhuman department, he surely makes up for it in his years of training, not only as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but also as a master bowman. Once Whirlwind was distracted after he collected the cold hard cash that was contained within the bank vaults, Clint drew his bow, selecting a flash arrow that would momentarily render the superhuman criminal stunned and confused, hopefully giving the other agents enough time to bag and group him before Whirlwind could regain his senses and use his wind-based powers to restore his advantage.

Unfortunately, things did not go according to plan. While the flash arrow did give his fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agents some time to confront the super-powered criminal, it was definitely not enough time for them to subdue and capture the tornado-producing man. In fact, it looked like their confrontation only irritated Whirlwind that much more. Bursting out of the front of the bank while surrounded by gusts of wind, Whirlwind began to wreck some havoc before he attempted getting away scotch free.

While it would have been a lie if Clint had said he was not worried, Hawkeye retained his composure and scrambled to find a way to put down the superhuman villain. On his first attempt, Hawkeye pulled out a taser arrow, hoping that it would put the man down. After he set up the arrow in his bow and fired it off towards Whilrwind. However, due to the swirling winds that had been surrounding the supervillain, the arrow whirled around Whirlwind and (fortunately) struck a fire hydrant on the street. How could Hawkeye hit someone if that man had a protective barrier of wind that could divert Clint’s arrows?

Or did Hawkeye need to hit Whirldwind?

“Strikeforce,” Hawkeye communicated with the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on the street level, “I would recommend everyone take cover. Things might get messy here.”

This time, Hawkeye pulled out a different arrow, nicknamed the “Sticky Bomb”. Once Hawkeye launched this arrow at his target, even though arrow whirled around Whirlwind, just like the last arrow, the “Sticky Bomb” activated, launching a brown, sticky substance into the air. The swirling winds caught the gummy liquid and plastered Whirlwind with it. Once Whirlwind was incapacitated by this weapon, causing the winds to cease and the superhuman to fall down toward the ground. Anticipating the second, Hawkeye fired off a grapple arrow, catching the man by his leg.

“That could have gone worse.” Hawkeye thought to himself. On the street below, even though the “Sticky Bomb” had stopped Whirlwind, it had also coated the street with the sticky substance, too. While this did irritate some of the bystanders who either got coated themselves or their cars did, at least the supervillain was stopped, right?

Watching as Spider Man took the young child and got him to safety, Loki turned his attention back to the Raptor hybrid he had more or less locked down via a headlock and a well placed foot and couldn't help but sigh a little. Oh he knew for a fact that the creature was dangerous and if it was left to its own devices a lot of people would be killed or maimed, but he couldn't help but feel that a physical battle was somewhat... beneath him. Brawn over brains had always been the domain of the other pig headed fools; He much preferred battles of wit that ended with his opponent believing they held the upper hand until the trap slammed shut on them and it was far to late to save themselves.

Taking a good look at the hybrid, Loki couldn't stop himself from asking "Can you understand me at all? Is there still something that passes for thought in that reptilian brain of yours?"

"Oh, isn't that the question of the hour?" A hunched-over man crawled out from the shadows. Whether this man was wearing a full body costume or it was his actual skin, there was no doubt that lime-green hairs covered the man's entire body. Giant, imp-like ears flanked his head, making him look like some creature from a fantasy world rather than the real world. His large hands possessed claws, just like a wild animal. If the man did not look so muscular or well-fed, someone could have said that he looked like a green and hairy version of Gollum from Lord of the Rings.

Looking toward the dead corpse, the man cracked a large grin on his face. "Damon, I see that you said hello to your family for me. Where's you son? It's not fair for the little boy if his mother was the only one who got my message" A bizarre laugh echoed out of his mouth as he finished taunting the human-raptor, who happened to the be the scientist Damon Ryder.

"Now, Mr. I just came from a Renaissance faire," the greenish imp taunted Loki, in spite of the fact that he himself looked like a mythical creature, "Why don't you just hand over the creature and we'll just go our separate ways?"

In truth, Loki had not been expecting an answer to his question. The fact that he got one at all, even if it wasn't from the source that he was expecting, did cause him to tense up a little. Keeping a damn firm grip on Damon as he looked over to the intruder of a one sided conversation. His eyebrow rose a little at the sight of the hairy 'Imp'.

As the man continued to speak, a very friendly grin appeared on Loki's face. And here he had been lamenting the fact that he wouldn't be able to have a battle of wits. "You know what? Sure. I would be more then happy to hand this little beastie over. However, it would be morally wrong and possibly very foolish to hand over such a creature to someone who clearly had no visible means or training to control a dangerous creature. Perhaps you could put my mind at ease first and demonstrate that you wouldn't just be torn limb from limb."

Another burst of laughter erupted from the little furry green man's mouth when he heard Loki's offer, to show how he would restrain Damon in exchange for releasing the mutated man.

"Don't you know? A magician never reveals his little secrets! From your appearance, I can tell that you probably should know this little golden rule for all magical folk."

Before the little green man could say anything else to the Asgardian, Spider-Man swung back into the hallway. "Hey! You still have that thing restrained! Gold star for you." Spidey thrust his thumb up into the air, signalling his approval. However, he was surprised to see that there was another man in the room. Someone he did not recognize. "Who's the little green imp?"

The so-called 'imp' began to clap, doing so in long intervals between each clap. "Everyone!" He shouted, even though there were only two other people in the room, "give a round of a applause to this boy! The murderer of a bright, young girl who had her entire life ahead of her. Bravo, dear chap, bravo!"

Loki shrugged a little bit as his ploy fell through. Honestly the Imp seemed to be the kind of idiot that would monologue at the slightest provoking... and would practice his speeches in the mirror before hand so he can get the presentation just right when he gave them.

Then Spider-Man reappeared and the monolog that he had been trying to provoke earlier finally started to present itself. If he had to guess, the 'Imp' had lost a loved one (Most likely a daughter or niece) due to a hero failing to save her in time and he had now dedicated himself to tormenting the 'hero that killed her' as a means of revenge. The raptor creature he was restraining was no doubt a means of which to do so.

Interesting motive, still murder.

"I'm going to let you finish, but considering that I'm fairly certain you've had something to do with Chuckles here- "A quick squeeze of the raptor hybrids throat to get a reaction and remind everyone that it was still there "I find it rather hypocritical that you're judging someone else for murder. I admit I don't know enough about the situation to judge if it was an actual murder or an accidental death, but still hypocritical. Sorry for interrupting you. I believe you were up to the self justification part of your monologue."

"Oh, do we have a Socrates in our midst?" The little green man threw up his arms in frustration. "Looking for loopholes in arguments. Oh, I'm sure you make the weaker argument better, don't you. I see you're labeling me a hypocrite for calling this vigilante for his role in the death of an innocent girl because you think that I had set poor old Ryder on a rampage to get even with him. But what are the odds of Spider-Man coming to this exact house in the middle of the night? New caped crusaders are popping up all around the city. Any one of this could have stumbled upon our dear friend Ryder. No, if I really wanted my revenge, I would've..." However, the green imp paused in mid-sentence, considering what he was about ready to say.

"But why should I spoil all the fun for him learning what I have in store for him?" The hunched over, green man was overtaken by an uncontrollable fit of laughter as he thought of the many ways he could torment the Spider-themed superhero who stood before him. Loki couldn't help but roll his eyes a little at the other green dressed man. "You know what, you raise a fairly good point sir. Clearly you lack the intelligence and wit to arrange such a meeting yourself...Clearly your presence here is little more then a result of your stalking of Spider Man like an obsessed anime school girl." However, before the anyone had any more time to talk, a small, spherical device came flying through the window, emitting a grayish gas once it hit the floor.

“Well, it looks like I won’t be retrieve Doctor Ryder today after all! Looks like I have to skedaddle now!” On that note, the mysterious green man turned around and disappeared into the shadows of the night.

With the passing of each moment, more and more spheres burst into the house, filling the interior with a knockout gas. While the gas had not yet expanded throughout the entire house, it would engulf Loki and Spider-Man if they would not do anything in a hurry.

“Maybe we should web this ‘guy’ down and let whoever is trying to gas us deal with it.”

With the last word cast from the edge of a twisted tongue, Loki watched as the green weirdo fled before turning his attention to the more pressing concern of the incoming gas and his spider themed companion. "That sounds like an excellent idea." Waiting until the raptor was webbed down before he let the creature go, Loki rolled his shoulders a little before walking over to his spidery chum. Placing one hand on the spider themed hero's shoulder he waved his free hand a little as a see through, yellow shield seemed to appear around them. Another hand wave and the air outside of the shield seemed to ripple strangely for a moment. " No one can see us and I'm fairly sure that shield will blocked out that gas long enough for us to leave. Isn't it nice to be free to go for a walk without being interrupted by anyone?"

While Spider-Man and Loki hide under the invisible dome, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents burst into the building. Once they were inside, they were astonished that Damon Ryder was the only person in the house (or at least that's how it seemed to them). After these agents had secured the superhuman and searched the entire house for any other life signs (as the police report mentioned that Spider-Man was on the premise), they departed, figuring that the people who apprehended Ryder must had fled the area sometime prior to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s arrival. Once the S.H.I.E.L.D. force had prepped the building for the public eye and abandoned it, Loki retracted the shield that had been covering the two superhumans.

"Er...Thanks for the help," Spider-Man admitted to Loki, scratching the back of his head as he spoke. "Maybe we might see each other some other time, but right I really need to get home." Just as suddenly as he had appeared, Spider-Man leapt out the window and swung away into the darkness on his weblines.

The last days of summer break were winding down and that meant one thing: the beginning of a new year of school. Peter has always marveled at how even though when school starts up (and eventually ends), no one really notices his decreased (or increases, if school is out) activity in the crime fighting world. If the criminals were smart, they would be active during school hours. Heck, if they were really smart, they would not pursue a criminal career in New York City. The superhero to ATM/bank ration is probably the highest in New York City.

Peter swung around the streets of Manhattan, trying to get a few more patrols in before his summer break comes to an end. Plus, sometimes swinging high up among the towering buildings of the Empire State. Peter wondered about what the hunched-over green man said last night. Whether he actually did kill Gwen. After beginning to feel some self-guilt, Peter shook it off, convincing himself that if he had not tried to save Gwen, she would still have suffered a terrible end (maybe even a worse one than she received).

This round of the city was rather uneventful. A few small-time petty thieves whom Peter effortlessly disarmed and wrapped up so that they would be sitting there, intending that they would be there when the police arrive so that they could be arrested and taken away. Right before he started his way back towards Queens, Peter heard an explosion and several screams. Turning immediately around, he darted toward the origin of the disturbance.

When Peter landed on the roof of a nearby car, he saw what was causing the ruckus and it was not something he ever would have expected. Peter thought it would have been some new criminal trying to make a name for himself. Heck, he would be less surprised by a man in a rhino suit than by what stood before him. A human sized (or a little bit larger), bipedal Triceratops that had metallic horns stood in the middle of the street.

“What in the world are you supposed to be?” Peter was scratching his head on this one. While the whole “human raptor” hybrid thing from last night was indeed crazy, this one might take the cake. “A terrible rip-off of the weekly monster villain from Power Rangers? If so, you are pulling it perfectly.”

The bipedal Triceratops stared Peter down. Its expression almost made it seem like that monster could hardly understand him.

“KILLER UNICORN!” The monster shouted, as if that was the only English it knew (or at least knew to say).

“Unicorn?” Peter was puzzled by the monster’s statement. How could that thing be a unicorn? “I don’t want to be the one to break this to you, but you’re not a unicorn. You’re what we call a Triceratops.”

Once Peter had pointed out the ‘mistake’ in the monster’s name, a glow began to appear on the tips of the metallic projections that were located where a normal triceratop’s horns would have been. After a few seconds, the ‘Killer Unicorn’ thrusted its arms back horizontally, causing two energy bolts to fly toward Peter. While the bolts actually hit the car on which he was perched, Peter used his spider-sense to leap back off the car and dodge it when it went flying backwards.

“Fine, you’re a unicorn! You didn’t have to blow up that car!”

The pizza was hot on Wade's tongue as he felt the cheese melting into his mouth. Oww, goddammit! If I hadn't already shot that delivery guy I'd shoot him again, he thought, chewing on the gooey mess before swallowing it down. We've warned you before about your impulse control issues Wade, perhaps this will be a lesson for you.

As he tried to think of a witty comeback to himself Wade's attention was diverted by the ringing phone. How long's that been going for now?, he wondered. How would we know? We thought you were the one in control today? Grumbling to himself Wade quickly plucked the receiver from the cradle and tossed to onto his shoulder before reaching for another slice of smoking hot pizza.

"Congratulations! You're our next contestant on Deadpool's World of Guns! You have thirty seconds to explain why you're interrupting our important and ultra-top secret activities or we'll hunt you down and... well, do bad things to you. With badgers. And possibly a marmoset."

For a second the only sound at the other end of the line was the muttering of a conversation while someone's hand was pressed against the handset, a moment later a voice from the past spoke up, "Mr. Wilson? I'm not sure if you remember me or not, but a while back you did some work for my associates and myself in Las Vegas and we thought we could tempt you back for a special assignment. We can pay top dollar for your services and assure you it won't take up too much of your time."

Chewing on his pizza slice, feeling the cheesy goodness burning into his tongue, Deadpool desperately tried to remember anything about Vegas, but all that came to mind was giant robot suits, a grizzly bear and Weasel. Suddenly a synapse fired in the right place and it all came flooding back. "Wait a sec, is this the sleazy casino owner guy, or the other sleazy casino owner guy..? Didn't I beat you guys up back in issue #26?"

"If you're talking about our little employment disagreement, I think I speak for everyone here when I say there's no hard feelings on our end for how things turned out. Plus we could really use someone with your particular skill set to help us out with security, on a purely short-term basis."

Chewing on his pizza slice Wade considered the alternatives he had lined up, and realised there weren't any. Even the X-Men had been giving him the cold shoulder lately, even after he'd installed the Deadpool Phone in the library for them to contact him in emergencies. In hindsight blowing his way through the wall with 20 pounds of Semtex probably wasn't the best way to get the phone inside the house, but you had to improvise in a hurry when automated security turrets were shooting at you from all directions. "What exactly would you need me to do? And do I get to wear the suit again?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Wilson, the suit was a write-off after our little... incident, and with Mr. Hammer's unfortunate departure we've had to fall back on more traditional security options. Which is what brings us back to you." The armoured robot suits built by Weasel had been a blast, but at the end of the day working security for the Las Vegas Gaming Commission had been a drag. Still, for a short-term gig, there were worse places than Vegas to hang out.

"We'll be hosting the Annual Poker World Tournament next week and several big names will be dropping in, including some colourful characters with unsavoury pasts..."

"Supervillains, you mean." Wade interjected, picking a piece of pepperoni from his teeth with a sai.

"We prefer not to label our guests, but in all honesty yes, supervillains. The truth is they tend to be cash rich a lot of the time, and see Vegas as a good place to help increase their fortunes before a big project. We like to keep them well entertained and happy, but with such a big event and so much money floating around..."

"You want to make sure none of them decide their next 'big project' is you." Wade finished off, cutting through the bullshit and coded phrases to get to the chase. "If I take the gig I have a few demands of my own." He said, trying to sound as if he knew what he was doing.

"I'm sure we could accommodate your wishes as part of our employment contract with you."

Jumping to his feet Wade made his way over to the dresser and started tossing his Hawaiian shirts into a suitcase. "First of all, I want my own suite. A big one. With a good view over the pool and the women's changing rooms. Second, all my food, drinks and smutty movies will get comped by the hotel, on top of my paycheque. Thirdly, I'll need access to all your security cameras and guards will address me as 'Mi'Lord' while I'm working..." "Ask for a marmoset! We're gonna need a marmoset!"

For the next ten minutes Deadpool listed off his demands and requirements before finally coming to an agreement with the Gaming Commission, and five minutes after that he was on the pavement outside his apartment building Secret Lair hailing a cab to the airport.

"We're going to Vegas, Baby!" "Whose baby?" "Seriously,. I thought we'd had the snip five years ago?"

Peter has faced many bizarre supervillains in his relatively short career as Spider-Man: a lizard man, a man augmented with mechanical tentacles, even that raptor-human hybrid. However, this one takes the cake. A bipedal triceratops with laser horns who thought it was a unicorn. The things that Peter saw on this “job” as Spider-Man were many things, but usually none of them were normal.

In order to dodge one of this creature’s energy projectiles, Peter had to lean back as if he was doing the limbo, ducking under the blast and allowing to harmlessly pass over him. Peter had to find a way to either get this thing away from the civilians, or at least stop him before it does any more damage than it has already done. While most of the villains that he had faced did not understand the concept of ‘collateral damage’, as most do, but this one took it to a new level.

“KILLER UNICORN!” Another energy blast came from the monster’s metallic horns and yet again Peter managed to dodge the bolt, this time performing a front flip in the air.

“Yes, we all have well established that you are in fact a unicorn, in spite of belonging to the wrong class of animal.” Taunting his foe had become a well-engrained habit that Peter had developed over his superhero career. Even though his insults probably would not work on this creature, Peter still utilized his mocking because it not only distract his enemies (or at least those who could comprehend his jokes), but it also helped to calm his nerves. Going up against menaces that could permanently send you to the hospital is a nerve-racking situation. Peter had to find a way to calm his jittery nerves and this was his medicine.

The monster stomped his foot into the pavement, causing the nearby manhole cover to shake loose from the cavity that it was covering. Peter saw his opening at this moment, dashing forward with his nimble speed and reflexes. Latching onto the manhole cover with two weblines, Peter whirled the circular impromptu weapon above his head several times until he released the full force of the object against the “Killer Unicorn’s” side.

However, when Peter catch sight of the wound that he had caused the monster with the manhole, he was dumbfounded at what he saw. At the site of the wound Peter could clearly discern not only flesh but also some metallic components within the monster’s body. It was almost as if it was a perfect union of a biological organism and an artificial machine. Flesh together with metal lining and blood mingled with what seemed to be electrical circuits.

“What the heck is that thing?”

“KILLER UNI...,” the monster began to shout out for what seemed like to Peter the hundredth time. Having heard this self-proclamation too many times already, Peter webbed shut the giant Triceratops’s mouth shut, preventing it from finishing it supposed name.

“Well, things could be worse. It could have been ‘Killer My Little Pony’ or something creepy like that.” Peter thought to himself. While the creature was tearing away at the sticking substance that sealed its mouth shut, Peter hurried to figure out what the heck he needed to do next. While the majority of the bystanders had already evacuated the area, a few stragglers had remained behind, probably to get some pictures or video of the action. Heck, probably some stayed for the thrill or because they are just plain stupid. No matter why they remained, Peter knew that he needed to finish this battle soon, so that no one would get hurt and so that the property damage would escalate anymore.

Just keep it together Bruce. He let out a sigh, before breathing in again slowly. Opening his eyes. Cap low over his forehead he walked off the bus into the city. He was here to try and make his way towards the Future Foundation. They'd help surely, they had to help. He couldn't do this himself, that much was obvious and the military was hunting him. No the best option was to go to Oscorp. Norman Osborne was supposedly one of the smartest guys on the planet and had the resources to back him, yes he himself was smart but his expertise were limited largely to that off radiation everything else was... well. Not really his field.

This was at the point where he stopped really watching where he was going, jostled a bit to the left. To the right, someone was on front of him. Then he looked up and he was in an alley. Two people followed him in and he knew immediately this was bad. Breaking off at a run, keeping his breathing controlled. He stopped as he was facing a big guy, about six foot. Towering over him. One of them drew a knife. "Ooooh, somebody is wanting trouble." "No guys, I don't want any trouble. Why don't you just let me go and nobody will have to get hurt, all right?" He winced, he had said it. That was it, they'd see that as a challenge. "Oh, nobody will get hurt huh? Why don't we just waste this one? Thinks he's so big."

He screamed, part in fear part in pain as he felt the blade pierce his back. His heart rate elevated, and he fell to the ground screaming. Convulsing the thugs just looked upon him perplexed. They didn't hit him that hard did they? It was only a little blade, not meant to go very deep. That's when he looked up at one of them, his eyes turning green and his skin began to shift. "He's one of those mutant freaks! Get him!"

The kicking didn't help them, in fact it made things worse. All he could focus on, besides the pain was that he didn't want to kill these people. He couldn't lie, he didn't want to hurt them, but he didn't want them to be killed.

Bones snapped and moved, grinding against one another. Muscle mass grew as if out of nowhere as the thugs began to step back. The Hulk stood, the knife falling broken out of his back. He just breathed heavily, one of the thugs moved first. Pulling out a gun and shot Hulk in the back. He just turned absorbing the shot. Throwing a dustbin in their direction knocking two of them into a nearby wall, when the other three began to run he jumped, pulling himself via the building (and removing a chunk of wall) to get on front of them. There he stomped, the ground cracking enough that they fell into it...

-----

They never left Hulk alone, they always had to fight. Though he was stronger, strongest ever. Finishing with the thugs who hurt puny Banner he jumped, pulling himself up the building with his left arm tearing into the building as he did so. However he didn't care, he could already hear the police and fire engine sirens. More people were coming for him, and once they were done the army would come for him. They would never leave him alone, they always had to try to hurt him or capture him. Find a way to change him or use him. He jumped onto the roof and let out a shout (Though to anyone nearbies ears it would sound more like a shout). Then he saw it, the tower Banner wanted to go to. OsCorp.

Banner wanted rid of him, though Hulk wanted rid of Banner but he realized he couldn't. The best he could do was stop Banner fromg etting rid of him, so he began jogging along the roof, jumping at the edge (only a small jump) onto the next roof, building up speed and jumping again. He was nearing the taller buildings, jumping up onto the roof however something hit him before exploding and sending him flying down the road. People tried to clear the street before he went careering into it, as he bounced he hit several cars before skidding to a top digging into the road. Standing up he looked down to see them. Army men, wearing the same patch as the ones who always chased him. Who worked for the nice ladies dad. They followed him, they hadn't stopped hunting him at all. They were still after him. He screamed (Roared) down the road at them, grabbing a nearby car (Recently vacated) and threw it down the road at the men, who dove out the way (Though one was hit by it). Turning he began running in the opposite direction.

Why would they not leave him ALONE?

The Helicopters would be coming soon, the vehicles. The chase was never ending, he had to find a way to get away. Though where could he go? He didn't exactly blend into New York. What way was the water? He couldn't remember. Banner had come via... some other way. He didn't use the water, didn't trust Hulk on boats. Though water would save Hulk now, he could get away. Hide. Then when they were gone he could get further away, always further. Until he was alone.

He let out a slight smirk, as he jumped up into the air. Yes, alone. Without even Puny Banner.

Darkness swept over Sokovia like an encompassing blanket, old withering men and young children alike only just returning to their homes for rest. The government of Sokovia, headed by the President, was an oppressive force to say the least. Everyone who still lived in the small Eastern European country, namely those who did not have enough money to leave or knew no other lifestyle than primary services such as farming and mining, were all worked to shit. The government put it across as 'taking maximum advantage of the available resources', but anyone would think they were hoarding provisions for a period of war. The only people who knew they were preparing for conflict was the government themselves and the evasive syndicate known as the Shadow Conquerors.

The Shadow Conquerors had been founded a couple of decades ago, by a man surnamed Lehnsherr, and under a different alias, during a period of absolute despotism of the Sokovian government. They had been small at first, only taking action to diminish the government's power where they could, and they were not perceived as a critical threat to the rule of the country for decades.
However, as the syndicate grew and attracted angry Sokovians fed up with their lack of freedom under the government, the aim of taking over the country became more realistic. It was then that the government began to respond to various skirmishes with their own strike teams, prompting the start of decades-long fights between the government and the Shadow Conquerors. Other groups, also noticing the Conqueror's rise in prominence, regarded themselves as better rulers of the country - and they entered the secret war, until Sokovia became a free-for-all battleground between gangs and organisations. None of the other ambitious groups ever managed to match the power of the Shadow Conquerors or the government, though, and they always remained the duopoly of the combat. At least, this is what Killgrave knew of the organisation he was a part of.


This life was all Zebediah Killgrave could remember, sabotaging external supply shipments to the government and occasionally sending a bullet careening at a government official. He had seen friends killed in the midst of gunfights, and he had seen accomplices executed by higher powers in the Shadow Conquerors for failing various tasks. Zebediah had taken note of the punishments in store very early into his syndicate induction, and he had yet to fail in a mission provided to him. The other factor of Zebediah's head still being attached to his neck was his obedience. While he had oft thought of challenging a superior or murdering those that irked him, he was intelligent enough to understand that displaying these thoughts outside of his mind would lead to his death. He also knew that eventually he would find power in the Conquerors or elsewhere, and when he was in a position of safety to do so - he would enact the situations he had thought of previously.

Until then, though, he was content to do as the syndicate asked, and their aims of taking down the government was not far away from Zebediah's own motivations. The government had forced his mother to degrade herself entertaining the scum of Sokovia, in dirty back alley bars and brothels. Her speciality was dancing, but that didn't stop her from occasionally being carted off to a candle-lit bedroom with a man who payed enough. Zebediah had not known his mother for much of his life, but if he were associated to her now then he would absolutely find it unacceptable for a woman of her age to partake in those endeavours. He went along with the syndicate to force the government's members into positions of embarrassment and submission, before killing them. After that, he did not know how far apart his own ambitions and the syndicate's would lie.


It was an important night, in which Killgrave was to assume the position of a new guard in a government facility. The Conqueror's inside man had uncovered information about a shipment of potentially catastrophic weapons, from machine guns to shrapnel grenades, along with an experimental nerve gas that the government had apparently payed a hefty amount for. The gas's container was the target of the mission, Killgrave was to secure access to it and the weapons and install timed explosives to ensure the government could never use any of the new weapons against the Conquerors. It would surely weaken them and their wealth, and Killgrave had been trusted with the task. He had hand grenades and a pistol as backup equipment if anything were to go awry, but Zebediah was confident he could complete the mission without problems.

He was to meet the inside man in an alley near the facility's back entrance. He quickly approached the meeting point, keeping close to the wall where the shadows were greatest. Any position this close to the facility, especially since they now possessed the shipment, was shoot-on-sight territory.
"Killgrave, here." Whispered Melvin Potter harshly, the inside man in the government. He was large and had been a thug, but he possessed an aura of intelligence and responsibility at the same time. He was a perfect man for security in the government, and they had not done ample background research years before to discover Potter was an agent of the Shadow Conquerors. He had been nicknamed 'Gladiator' a time ago, for the frequent occasions when he would take on multiple thugs in fist-fights or bar brawls. Behind him lay a blue-eyed freshman in the government, the new guard which Zebediah was to assume the position of. A bloody cut ran from one end of his throat to the other, a look of shock and fear etched into the lines of his face. Potter glanced at the man with Zebediah, and he chuckled. "One less government bastard."
Killgrave ignored him as the two began stripping the facility uniform from the deceased guard.
"I hope you're ready for this, Killgrave," Potter muttered as they unbuttoned the jacket of the corpse, "Tonight could change everything."