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District X, Manhattan
21st March 2005, 12:05AM

District X. Freak Central. Mutant Town, USA. Urban and moral decay at its finest, this rookery, deep in the midst of Alphabet City is a stagnant reminder of the all the opportunities available to Mutantkind. It's a wonderful fucking world we live in. Zion, this is not. Hand in hand with mutant poverty has to come mutant crime. Crime speaks a different language here. Not one of rage or complacency, not greed but desperation and necessity. It thrives and mutates, like a culture on a Petri dish, altogether as unpleasant, if not quite as sticky. And still it thrives, to the dismay of many human individuals.

I protect this city. I feel its life-force ebb and flow with mine. Still...

Sometimes I wonder why I stay.

"For chrissake... Spare me the theatrics alright, kid? Did you get my sandwich?" The voice questioned.

"Just trying to lighten the mood Sir..." The subordinate sighs as he looks into the car, window open. Groaning and leaning in, he hands the officer in charge his meal, wrapped half-heartedly in a paper bag, the faded lights of a faded city lighting his back. Circling around to the other side, he lets himself in, lingering for a moment.

"The door?" The boy's superior questions, meal on the dashboard, leaning to see.

"Right." He replies absent-mindedly, looking back on his partner of sorts. "Police work at it's finest, Delaney" he chimes, beaming as the other begins to tear away the outer packaging. He tucks in, immediately having to wipe his moustache with his shirt sleeve. Stakeouts were messy work, Keller, the younger, might have added, were he not so fixated on the pig-out. Though at least this particular pig came dressed for the occasion. His suit, beige and disheveled, was worn in a way that almost betrayed its station. Form fitting, yet loose hanging at the same time, it gave thoroughly the impression that this suit was not his first choice of attire, and perhaps he was not its first owner. He wondered if a part of him yearned for his days in uniform, a sentiment not shared at all. Alas, there he was, moving to his blazer pocket for a small sachet of ketchup. The brute nudges aside his badge, finding such an item, before tearing its seal and applying it. As he devoured his pseudo-bovine meat patty, wedged between pillars of grease and meal, his 'partner' looked on in continued bemusement, if not outright disgust.

"Care to look over the information now?" The younger asks, inexperience dripping from his tongue like so much arsenic on his counterpart's ears.

"I checked it over while you were gone... What do you take me for, an idiot?" The lack of humor in his voice causes mild alarm but flows regardless.

"Ignore me, sir." he pursues. Disposition non-withstanding, he respected the postion he had been afforded. He wasn't about to give this guy a reason to reassign him.

"Right. Well, what do you make of it?" This question threw the inexperienced lad a little but he attempts to do the summary a justice.

"Precinct were very specific. Three mutant targets, all female. All deceased. No immediate family. No obvious ties to each other. Each found bloodied and gored meters away from their places of residence; each found by a neighbour or passerby, all catching the murderer in the act. Each eyewitness testimony taken contradicts the other on nearly every account bar one pressing feature: a deformed, grey bastard, looming over the deceased, pecking at the corpses." The younger takes a moment to breathe before finishing his summary. The briefest moment. To be savoured.

"You understand what that means then?" He asks, hardened but solemn. His charge nods. "...This mutie's eat you as soon as look at you, kid. I hope you underst--"

The Officer continues his address for a while before his eyes turn to the boy.

"Am I boring you?" He begins petulantly. He would carry on, were it not for the vacance of expression on Keller's face. He follows the boys eye-line with his own, cautiously, slowly. His head turns, as if on a pivot, albeit one rusted and stiff as his person. Finally, he find himself staring down an adjacent alley way, and a large hooded figure hunched over. It took him a moment to realise what was going on.

He was looking over another. Tearing at them. Cleaving. They were witnessing a feast.

The two simultaneously, go for their respective door handles slowly, eyes front. They climb out, flashlights in hand and and paces steady as they close. The figure sharply turns, made aware of their presence as their beams meet his face. Unflinching, grey. Wide eyes. Bloodied mouth.

"Stay right where you are."

The figure grunts, raising himself to full height.

"Put your hands on your head and face the wall."

Nothing. Stoic silence, punctuated by a sinister stench in the back alley. The two close a little distance.

"Put your hands up and face the damn wall." He repeats, firmly.

The beast cocks his head a little, lowering his shoulders. Facing formward. He hunches once more, claw connecting with the cobbles deftly.

"This is your last chance, He finishes, neutrally, before going to his weapon, eyes still front.

Without a second more, the beast charges forwards. He raises his claws to meet the resistance and growls. Connects with Officer with some force. Blood spurts out as The Hellhound raises his deformed head in anticipation. Delaney falls to his knees, all illusion to the contrary. He is very much deceased by the time his head makes a thud on the ground.

At that the beast leaps again, not taking a moment before scaling the wall of the nearest building. Keller aims but can't even muster the pull of a trigger. His eyes wide and watering, he stays still, the beast long gone. After a while he slumps to his knees before crawling to his fallen companion. He goes to his jacket, blood mixed with camel silk, finding the radio.

"Precinct. Come in. Come in..."

His cries are drowned out by the city. It weeps.

March 22nd
Wakanda

Launching one foot in front of another Shuri winced in face of the sun beating on her brow. With nothing but rolling sand dunes for miles around, she knew she had to keep her mindset intact, she couldn’t give up, and she’d wasted so much time already. A fine dust was kicking up as she ploughed her feet through the sand. The sweat dripping down her face was evaporating in the baking heat. Lungs parched, Shuri ignored the burning of her feet, today more than any other, she could not have limitations. Her brain was screaming at her to stop, right now, to drop to the floor, but she could be too late already. She needed to see her father, needed to know she could fulfil her duties and serve her family and country, to become the Black Panther when her country had needed it most.

It had taken a full day of goading herself to finally realise her attitude was wrong, she couldn’t waste potentially the last opportunity she had to see her father. Knowing that her uncle was the greatest healer in the country, she knew that there can’t have been much time left for him to have visited her in such fervour. Time wasted. Shuri could not shake that those wasted moments would come to haunt her. She did not want her efforts to attain the mantle clouded by guilt, or at least that’s why she told herself she had to go. Clouding how she really felt helped push her forward, if she lost her nerve now, she would become too emotional and break. If she lost her father she had to know she could carry on, and she had to carry on for the right reasons, service fuelled by resentment would never make her a great warrior.

Run, climb or crawl. She would make it to her father’s bedside.

-

The Queen had spent the last day between T’Chaka’s bedside and the widow, praying her daughter would return. T’Chaka could barely speak, the fever had weakened him, it frightened her to see him like this, so rapidly deteriorating, so quickly losing her safety, her comfort, her strength, all personified in her husband.

M’Baku had brought in countless warriors into the palace compound since the king had taken ill, especially now her son was gone the throne was in danger. A towering colossus of a man had stood beside her husband for many years, a close advisor to T’Chaka providing military support. The king had gained M’Baku in action when fighting against the White Gorilla cult over twenty years ago, he’d defected from his people to save the King and continued to be a loyal asset ever since. If there were anyone to put faith in securing the compound for the family, it would be him.

Queen Ramonda traced her hands over the Black Panther mask. Wakanda needed a signal of strength, it had been a devastation to the people’s confidence when T’Challa had left, if they found out the king could no longer fulfil his vows to protect them, the turmoil that would ensue could damage the future of this kingdom T’Chaka had worked tirelessly to safeguard. The Wakandan people would know the country’s sanctuary would be challenged.

-

M’Baku paced along the compounds fortified walls. His loyal warriors had flocked to the palace as he had commanded. They were secure from every angle for miles around, the impenetrable force of the men and women that stood unmoving in their dedication to him had comforted the Queen and the council members inside. Although news of the Black Panthers failing health hadn’t reached the people it wouldn’t be too long before it happened panic would set in, some would come to demand answers, other to demand the throne. Years of T’Chaka’s compassionate attitude towards the people had been something he’d been working to change for a long time. A lenient, charitable course of ruling can only have given the people an idea of the kings Achilles heel. T’Chaka had shown weakness in his indulgent treatment of his subjects.

As safe as the show of security made the ones inside, the real danger for Wakanda lay within these walls, what was coming would be the coupe de grace for the family that had put the future of the Black Panther rule at risk.



America
Location Unknown

The dark military hanger was lit only by one office, a harsh light poured over layers of technical plans scattered over the tables. T’Challa casting a slender shadow over his work.

His assistant leant around the doorway to find T’Challa cursing, pinching the bridge of his nose with a pained expression.

“Uh, boss I’m heading out. Are you sure you don’t need me to drop you home, you look like you could use a break”

B’Tumba had been a long time friend of T’Challa, he had been the one who had helped him realise that AIM could do some good with the right technology behind them. B’Tumba had moved from Wakanda a year ago to progress findings with AIM, and since T’Challa had arrived, been a solemn reminder of why they had to continue. They had been in the military together back in their country; during an uprising they had both been a few meters away from the explosion that had killed B’Tumba’s family. T’Challa couldn’t forget the screams, he wouldn’t let himself, not until he could develop a solution to the seemingly unending stream of wars.

“Thank you B’Tumba, you can go, rest. I’ll need your help in the morning. Our targeting results are way off and I’m going to need you to set up a ballistics test first thing.”

“Sounds like it’s going to be another relaxing day for me then. I’ll bring coffee, although by the looks of you it doesn’t look like that that’s
going to save you. Take it easy, man.”

Three nights, T’Challa had not slept in three nights. The field tests had failed. The sonic missile hadn’t been successful, he knew time was growing short and he couldn’t fail his employer, this is everything he’d been working for.

He’d heard whisperings of what had happened to his predecessor upon his failings. But he knew he was smarter, he had brought his findings from his studying in Wakanda. AIM had sought him out, they had recognised that for them to become a technologically superior nation like Wakanda they would have to turn to the ones keeping it afloat, continually improving the nation to keep it as the strongest. And no one had been working as tirelessly in the field as T’Challa. Someone had finally recognised him for his talents; rather than try to limit his accomplishments in his research.

AIM had commissioned him to make a non lethal sonic missile, to enable them to immobilise a large number of people. T’Challa had accepted the task believing he could to provide a way to prevent more needless casualties. He’d seen enough bloodshed in his time with the military in Wakanda. Being a symbol of security didn’t have to come from accomplishments in fighting and war. He knew he could never be the Black Panther. The Black Panther had become feared by other nations, and to some a challenge to defeat. If the mantle still existed it would only continue to bear opposition. He had to prove his country didn’t need a masked crusader to protect them, and until then he wouldn’t be a part of it.

New York
March, 26th, 2005
9AM

Fiore Buccieri wasn't any man’s idea of a coward. Fiore's favorite pass-time was base jumping, he had been a junior state champion in judo, and he was currently organizing a expedition to climb Mt Everest to raise money for charity. Ever since he'd been lumbered with the nickname 'Fi-Fi' back in school, something he blamed entirely on his parents - after all, what kind of sadists name their son Fiore – he'd gone out of his way to prove his manly credentials.

Though looking back, that really hadn't done him any favors, not in the long run. It was trying to show how much of a tough guy he was – by getting in a fist-fight with a couple of mouthy paddies - which had first caused him to catch the eye of Victor Moretti. Moretti had offered him a job as a loan shark, and Fiore, keen for everyone to know that he wasn't the sorta guy to be fucked with, gleefully accepted. It wasn't long until Fi-Fi worked his way up in Victor's organisation, quickly becoming the right hand of the main man, handling the day to day stuff that Moretti felt was beneath him.

It had been a sweet gig, full of perks and benefits. Women, money, drugs, and best of all people were quick to show Fiore the respect he felt he deserved. Or at least it had been, up until the last week when his luck had turned so sour that he was starting to suspect he was cursed. Some unknown dickhead had sailed into town and seemingly declared all-out-war on Moretti and all his soldiers, systematically taking apart all of the bosses biggest earners. Whoever it was hadn't identified themselves, and even more strangely hadn't killed anyone, just beat them real bad before getting the cops involved, though making scarce long before the law arrived.

Whoever it was had started with that scrawny meth-peddlar, Campagna, before moving onto three other dealers, and one enforcement racket. On their own all those setbacks would be troubling, though not exactly unheard of. The ever shifting nature of New Yorks Underworld hierachy meant there was quite often incidents of a similar nature, and contingencies where made for them. But when all these setbacks were taken together, well it was starting to really wrack up. Moretti's profits were starting to seriously dip. And if there was one thing Moretti hated it was dipping profits.

Fiore was the lucky man that had to tell him.

Palm's greasy with sweat gripped an office door handle, over-taxed mind desperately trying to come up with some kind of excuse to get him out of a meeting it knows it can't put off any longer. With a sigh that ranked somewhere between despondent resignation and utter terror, Fiore stepped into Victor's office.

Limewood flooring stretched between pristine white walls, so bright that it was almost headache inducing. A large, leather topped, rosewood desk took up pride of place in the center of the room, surface marred by neither computer or papers. The desk was at odds with the floors and walls, but Victor liked it for the apparent opulence it represented. A plush leather chair was placed behind the desk, two smaller, less ostentatious seats in front of it. Victor was in the big chair, his short, portly frame swallowed up by the upholstery. By the look on his flabby face he wasn't happy.

“This better not be bad news Fi-fi. I've had my Goddamn fill of bad news today.” Victor spat, a big vein in his round forehead throbbing. The effect could have been comical if not in small part for Victor's reputation, and in larger part the mountain of meat stuffed into a leisure suit looming at his shoulder. Angelo "The Buffalo" Bufalino was Moretti's personal muscle, and functioned much like a second shadow. The rumor wentthat he didn't even leave Victor's side when the boss went to the shitter, even going so far as to folding the toilet paper for him. While Fi-fi knew it wasn't true, it didn't diminish the Buffalo's reputation as the kind of hard nut you just didn't cross, and him being present always added a little more menace to any meeting with Moretti.

Like it needed any more of that. Moretti was a born psychopath, violence always just bubbling under the surface of his skin, like a dog that had started to get a taste for human flesh. He could, and probably would, snap at any moment. An old friend of Moretti's had once joked that it was probably a really severe case of small man syndrome. It had been a stupid joke, told during a friendly poker game. Everyone had laughed, including Victor himself, up until the moment that Victor filled his hand with pocket change and caved his old friends face in. After that Moretti had sat back down at the table and continued playing his hand.

“I'm afraid. . ,” stammered Fiore, voice little more than an undignified squeak. Victor's sharp gaze developed even more of an edge at that, as he deplored weakness of any kind in his men. Felt it reflected badly on him. With a cough to clear his throat Fiore started over.

"I'm afraid it is bad news boss. We got hit again last night. Old Tombstone Taylor, got taken down about two in the morning, there or there abouts. Same as the others, beat half to death and left out for the cops." Fiore resisted the urge to flinch back from the inevitable backlash, though couldn't help squinting in anticipation. Victor's face flushed redder than bad blood, while his fists clenched so tight that Fiore fancied he could hear the knuckles pop, though when his boss finally spoke it was with a remarkable, and quite out of character, amount of restraint.

"I want this guy dead. I want him tortured. I want him crucified. I want him hurt so fucking bad that the only time people can even bear to talk about the bloody, dirty, ugly mess we made of him it's to say 'Jesus, I better not fuck with Victor Moretti, otherwise he'll make a bloody, dirty, ugly fuck of me, just like he did to that cock stain that thought it was alright to mess with him last time!' The only thing that's gonna be left of him when we're done is a fucking cautionary tale!" As Victor spoke he got louder and louder, until he was screaming like a new born. That's the lack of restraint he was so well known for.

"Just let me out boss," Intoned Buffalo, "I'll deal with him." The big man thumped one ham-like fist into an equally meaty palm, as if his point needed any more emphasis. Victor flashed a quick, vapid smile at his heavy, the sort of smile a parent would bestow upon a slow kid.

"We've been through this already, the Volpe's have been getting uppity recently and I need you here in case they try anything stupid." Buffalo seemed to deflate in on himself. Fiore imagined the only time he got out of the no-doubt tiresome job of being Moretti's shadow was when he was breaking somebody into little chunks. Finding out he was getting to do that was probably like hearing Santa Claus had just cancelled Christmas for him.

"No," Continued Victor, "This has gone on too long. We need a quick and definitive end, before anyone else starts to think that I've gone soft. Fiore, get me a specialist, a professional. Spend all the money you have to. We're sending a message here, it'll be worth the cost. Do it quick. I want to hear this has all been dealt with by the weekend." Victor turned away from him then, a dismissal.

Fiore couldn't believe his luck, though hardly waited around to tempt it. Without another word he turned on his heel and was heading back out the door. He'd almost made it to salvation when Victor spoke up.

"Do this right Fi-fi, or you'll become the cautionary tale, one about what happens to guys who fail me. It'll be particularly grizzly, if it comes to that."

Washington D.C.
March 27th, 2005
9:22pm

Bucky had spent the last twelve hours in what amounted to an intensive public speaking tutorial. Though it was at short notice, SHIELD had brought in the finest public relations men, body language experts, and elocution teachers that money could buy to coach him for his interview with Lois Lane tonight. Bucky wasn’t a natural orator as Steve had been and never really had to be. He had been a scout, not a leader, and he’d never had to lead men into battle like Steve so often did. Wearing the uniform and carrying the shield was easy compared to that. Bucky could fight, he’d always been able to fight, but leading was another thing. It was that part of the job that Bucky felt apprehensive about. Tonight was the beginning of something. After his interview with Lane he wouldn’t be Captain America the solder, but Captain America the symbol, and America needed that more than ever after what had happened at Belle Reve. He just hoped that he could meet that need.

He stood in the makeshift studio that SHIELD had built in the Triskelion with Maria Hill and went over the “lines” that had been prepared for him. His responses hadn’t so much as been scripted as they’d been mapped out. SHIELD had tried to get Lane to submit her questions ahead of time but she’d refused. Perhaps it was a sign that Lane was every bit the battle axe as Hill had made her sound. As Barnes and Hill went through them, the sound of shouting came from behind them. A red-haired man in a suit and thick-rimmed gasses was screaming obscenities at one of the producers Lane had brought along.

Bucky gestured towards the shouting. “What’s going on there?”

“That’s Gyrich,” Maria Hill said with a sigh. “The White House sent him over to make sure tonight goes as smoothly as possible.”

One of the producer’s colleagues walked over to Gyrich to deescalate the situation and was met with a wall of rage that was every bit as venomous as the first tirade. The two members of Lane’s crew, both surprisingly young, stood in silence as Gyrich hurled abuse at them.

A wry smile appeared on Bucky’s lips. “He has an interesting management style.”

“Don’t worry about him. His bark is several times worse than his bite. The same however is not true of Lois Lane. She’s a shark, Cap, if she smells blood in the water tonight she’ll go off script on us in a second. Stay calm, stay on message, and we should get out of here in one piece.”

Bucky smiled again. “No pressure then.”

A bell rung and the makeshift studio burst into life. Lois Lane appeared flanked by several colleagues. She wore a beige pantsuit with an open-collared white shirt underneath. Around her neck dangled a press lanyard. She stopped dead in her tracks as she noticed Bucky stood in his Captain America uniform beside Maria Hill. Lois smiled in his direction faintly and Barnes smiled back. With that she took to her seat and was fitted with a microphone and Bucky was directed to take a seat opposite her. The bell rung once more and a producer called for the crew to clear the set. Hill, Lane’s producers, Gyrich, and a cadre of other SHIELD agents stood behind the cameras as Lane prepared to begin.


On a screen some graphics appeared that Bucky could only presume were what the viewers at home were seeing. Footage of Steve and himself fighting in the Second World War that transitioned into footage of HYDRA and the Red Skull. A prerecorded narration from Lois played over it until the cameras flicked on and the journalist stared straight into the camera and began to speak.

“HYDRA are back. It’s been eight days since the Red Skull attacked the SHIELD super prison Belle Reve and murdered dozens of SHIELD agents, Director Timothy “Dum Dum” Dugan amongst them, and the world is still in shock. Today I sit down with the individual that SHIELD hope to spearhead their response to the HYDRA threat. Some may have seen the footage of his run in with Cornelius Stirk last night, others may not have, but with me in the flesh for his first televised interview is Captain America.”

Lois turned from the camera to face Bucky. “Captain, it’s an honour to meet you.”

Bucky nodded politely. “The pleasure is all mine, Lois.”

Lane lead with a question about the mantle of Captain America and what it meant to him. Bucky was prepared for that. He didn’t need any coaching or body language experts to talk at length about Steve Rogers and what he’d sacrificed for their country. Barnes navigated his way through his response easily enough and saw Maria Hill extend him a thumbs up in his direction as he waxed lyrical about the importance of the legacy he was stepping into. Lane nodded throughout his answer and finally took a glance down at the sheet of paper on the table between them.

“There are some that might say that your return coming so soon after the attack on Belle Reve is a public relations move by this administration. What would you say to that?”

Bucky nodded knowingly. “I can understand why some might think that. At the end of the day, Lois, I’m here to play my part in the fight back against HYDRA and I can honestly say I’m not too concerned about anything else. Was the unveiling of Steve Rogers a public relations move? Or Jeffrey Mace? I’m sure there were people that said that then too but that’s not we remember either of them for. We remember their sacrifice, their service, and I hope to be remembered for the same. I’ll leave worrying about public relations to other people.”

Maria Hill smiled from behind the camera. Bucky could see her in his periphery, Gyrich's foot maniacally tapping on the floor next to her, but he tried his best to keep his eyes on Lois. This was surreal, more surreal even than he'd imagined, and the heat of the lights was bothering him. They spoke for a few minutes about the shield and Bucky informed her that the real one was sat in the National Museum of American History and that was where it was going to stay. That he intended to be his own man, shield and all, and that explained the change in uniform and shield.

"There will be a great deal of interest as to who you are beneath the cowl. I’m sure you’re aware of that. I won’t put you on the spot on that front though if you wish to volunteer that information I’ll leave it to you," Lois said with a mischievous smile. "What I will ask though is this: who are you accountable to? Now more than ever I’m sure the American people will want to know that those we entrust to fight HYDRA are accountable to them."

For the briefest moment Bucky imagined what might have happened had he unmasked himself there and then. What the world might think if they knew that the Captain America sat before them was none other than James Buchanan Barnes. He had no one to protect, no loved ones left alive, but SHIELD had been adamant that his identity remain secret. Word had come down from Fury himself that under no circumstances was Barnes to reveal his identity to anyone. It made sense. Especially since Hill had told Bucky earlier they were planning on setting up a secret identity for him to live a "normal" life under when he wasn't at the Triskelion or in uniform.

“My identity will have to remain secret. There are people that I care about, friends and family, that are the reason I put this uniform on. Keeping them safe is of the utmost importance to me,” Bucky said determinedly. “In regards to accountability, first and foremost I work with SHIELD. More often than not I answer directly to Director Fury but as I showed in Washington with Stirk, if something happens I’m not going to stand by and do nothing. I think I have a moral obligation to do whatever I can to keep people safe.”

Lois frowned a little at that comment. “Does that mean you’d be willing to use lethal force?”

“If the situation called for it,” Bucky said solemnly. “It’s not something that I would do freely or as anything other than a last resort. Taking another man’s life, regardless of the reason, is not an easy thing. If it had to be done to protect this country, the people in it, and the values that it stands for? I would do it.”

In his periphery Barnes could see Maria running her hand across her neck as if indicating him to stop there. They had decided that it was better that Barnes downplay that aspect of carrying the shield, if only because of the legal ramifications that came with it, but Bucky wasn't ashamed of being willing to do whatever it took. It was what had kept the free world free, good men doing bad things, being willing to give their todays for other people's tomorrows, and there was no point hiding that. He'd seen Steve take plenty of lives, though news of that rarely reached home, and he didn't doubt that Mace had been forced to do the same. Bucky had always had a low opinion of those that put their moral scruples above saving lives. That wasn't going to change now that he was Captain America.

After a few more minutes discussing HYDRA and Belle Reve, Lois offered Bucky some closing words. This was what Barnes had spent most of his evening preparing for and what those media men had assured him would make the news. He had to get this right, he had to show the world what kind of man he was, and he had every intention of doing that. He wouldn't offer the public false hope. He would tell them the cold, hard truth. Bucky hoped that might earn their respect more than empty platitudes.

"I understand the attack on Belle Reve might have people at home sitting uneasily at the thought of HYDRA and the Red Skull on the loose. They would be right to be. HYDRA are dangerous, the Red Skull is as dangerous a man as there is on this planet, and you’d be crazy not to be afraid of them. Know this though: as long as there is breath in my body I will do my utmost to take HYDRA apart, piece by piece, using whatever means are necessary. We know these men, we know what they stand for, and what they want to take from us. I will not let them take the freedoms this great nation of ours affords us. It might take a long time, years even, before HYDRA are put to the sword again but I assure you they will be put to the sword. There will come a day when you can put your children to bed knowing that they’ll wake up in a world without men like the Red Skull."

Bucky stared down the camera as sternly as possible. "You have my word on that."

The truck bounced to a stop, and Nomad took a peek out of the back of the truck. She found that they had stopped outside the Hub City Motors warehouse and factory. Behind them stood a tall security gate that had a few guards milling about it, none of which were paying attention to the truck now that it had passed. Taking the opportunity, Steph slipped out of the truck and into the shadows next to the warehouse. She had the card key, that’s all she needed to gain egress and find what she needed. That weapon was built here. That much Nomad was sure of. If she could find out what it did, maybe she could find out how to stop it and where they planned on using it.

“Nomad,” Question’s voice came into her ear, “I’ve got your information on Roxxon. A few locations of no note, but one stuck out to me. It’s in a disputed zone near Wakanda, but not inside the country. Roxxon and their mercs have moved in recently under the guise of a local warlord looking to expand their territory. They’ve run into stiff resistance from the Wakandans protecting the innocent people in the region. It’s the only location that fits the need for a specialized weapons.”

It made sense, Steph thought to herself. Wakanda was a technological powerhouse. Roxxon and a group of mercs wouldn’t stand a chance against their military might if they really wanted that land and that oil. Wakanda could wipe them off the map if need be, but they weren’t a cruel people. They’d only attack when necessary. AIM would take the opportunity to gain any tech from the Wakandans that they could.

“Thanks, Q,” Steph smiled. “My ride?”

“Ready and waiting,” Question responded. “Find out what the weapon is, get back here, and we can send you on your way.”

“Copy.”

Spotting a drainpipe to her right, Steph sheathed her shield on her back and began to shimmy up to the top of the building. It was never easy to do this, but that’s what made it an effective strategy. Fire escapes and ladders would draw a guard’s attention, but few ever considered someone shimmy up the side of a building like this.

Of course, when Nomad made it to the top of the warehouse, she found it completely unguarded, “Always making it hard on yourself, Carter.”

She stayed low along the roof as she made her way towards the lone door on the level in order to stay out of sight of any guards on the ground. The door doesn’t even set off an alarm, which slightly worried the super soldier. AIM was either really dumb or really cocky in this location. Did they think no one was going to find this place? Or did they believe Roxxon’s money could mask their activities?

It didn’t matter much, in reality. In a few minutes this place would be shut down, and another of AIM’s processing facilities would be no more. What they thought they were doing here would be irrelevant.

She pushed on down into the warehouse, traversing the hallways quietly and carefully. There was a chance the place was rigged with silent alarms, and there could be guards on the way. She had her tranq gun out and at the ready, and listened intently for any sign of approaching footsteps. Luckily she was, because a pair came towards her. She ducked into a darkened hallway and allowed them to pass.

“I still can’t believe we get to build these things,” one of the AIM scientists commented. “You know where the design came from? No one could tell me.”

“I heard it was from some prodigy the bosses were able to dig up,” the other responded and took a sip of coffee. “Beats me though. All I know is it’s gonna make us rich.”

“But what about the technological domination of earth?” the first asked sarcastically.

“The higher ups can spread their ideology all they want,” the first chuckled. “I’m just here to make some scratch.”

The voices continued as they passed by Nomad’s hiding spot, and she continued on her way. Windows in the elevated hallway peered over the production floor, giving her an idea of what their operation was like. To be frank, it was staggering. A high tech assembly line controlled by robots stretched from wall to wall. Sparks flew as bomb casings were welded together, and further on complex looking machinery was inserted. The bombs at the end were unlike anything she had ever seen. Nomad needed to find the plans to these weapons.

And then she’d make sure no more of them could be built.

She followed the hallway the scientists had come from, which led to a lab. For what had to be a fairly quick setup, Steph was impressed at how thorough AIM had been. The robotic workers below and this lab were both on the level of something SHIELD could put together with sufficient time, let alone in a few months.

In the center of the room was a workbench with what looked like a prototype of the bomb. She made her way over to it, while simultaneously slipping a bug onto one of the computers. It would siphon anything it could out of AIM’s system and send it straight to SHIELD. Sure, she wouldn’t see what it got, but it could get the info into good hands.

The workbench was fruitful enough as is. The bomb, if it could be called that, wasn’t meant to kill. It was a sonic device that could incapacitate a large area. In theory, it could be used to neutralize a hostile force peacefully and without civilian casualties. In the right hands, this could revolutionize warfare and take death out of the equation. Somehow she doubted AIM and Roxxon would be using it that way. For them, all they’d have to do is fire this off and exterminate the incapacitated people.

“Question,” she reported in, “the bombs are nonlethal, but AIM and Roxxon could use them to wipe out anyone who stands in their way. I’m on my way back now.”

“Copy,” he responded. “Head to Outer Hub Airfield. That’s where your ride is.”

“Self destruct sequence, activated,” the computers in the room said in a mechanized voice in unison. Carter cursed her sloppiness. She had forgot that the bug she planted had an automatic sabotage function. Once it wiped the information it could it would initiate any failsafe it could find in the target system, and of course AIM just had to of installed a self destruct.

Nomad scooped up the plans she could and burst through the doors back to the roof. From the windows, she could see the few human workers inside escaping as the robotic workers began to seize wildly. She burst back onto the roof, and somersaulted off onto a lower, adjacent roof. Explosions began to rock the factory and surrounding area as AIM scientists and soldiers scrambled to a safe distance.

As the Hub City Motors plant burned behind her, Stephanie Carter slid into the darkness, disappearing out of the light of the flickering flames.



Triskelion
March 23
315

Bobbi Morse woke up to the shrill ringing of her personal cell phone. She hated the volume level and the damnable ring tone, but SHIELD had insisted on it. They knew Steph would get in touch with her eventually, and they wanted her to pick up when that happened. Bobbi didn’t think they were actually going to do anything about it, not after the incident with Barnes, but they still wanted to keep tabs on Carter.

“Hello?” she answered groggily.

“Mockingbird,” Steph’s familiar voice came through the other end in a surprisingly happy tone, “sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep.”

“Are you seriously calling at this hour? Fury’s guys will be bothering me for the next five hours now.”

“Sorry,” Steph giggled. “This is just getting you back for that stunt you pulled on our flight back from Madripoor that one time.”

“Please, with your super genetics your eyebrow grew back quick,” Bobbi grumbled. “Why are you calling? Seriously.”

“SHIELD’s going to be getting some info about an AIM weapons plant from Hub City,” Steph got down to business. “I’m on a lead to HYDRA, and came across this. Tell Fury you want to be the lead agent on this.”

“Are you kidding?” Morse’s voice was tinged with some anger. “After the stunt you pulled I’m barely allowed to do combat drills.”

“Fury will let you, because you’re going to tell him I’ll give him periodic info drops. Through you.” Bobbi shook her head. Steph had thought of everything, as she always did. Bobbi hated how her best friend was always one step ahead. “I’ll transmit anything I find directly to you. Fury will get caught up, you get back in the game, and I get to stay independent.”

“Fine,” Morse softened. “How is being on your own?”

“It’s going well,” Steph was confident and proud. “I’m going to bring these bastards down, Bobbi. I’m gonna take down HYDRA, and make my dad proud. I’m gonna do it and make all of you proud. You have my word. Nomad out.”

The connection clicked off, and immediately, Bobbi had a knock at her door.



Outer Hub Airfield
March 23
330

The light of Steph’s motorcycle illuminated the lone figure of the Question standing stoically and alone at the end of the runway, his hand deposited deeply in the pockets of his trenchcoat. She slid off the bike and handed Question the plans of the missiles, “Here you go. This probably makes more sense to you than it does to me. Electronics and engineering weren’t really my thing.”

“I’ll take a look,” he grumbled and deposited them into a large pocket in his coat. “There’s your ride.”

A small dot of light swung down towards the airfield, growing bigger as it approached. Steph squinted, attempting to spot what the aircraft was. It set down and came to a stop, and the breath was taken away from Stephanie. In front of her was one of the old Blackhawk squadron fighters. The legendary WWII battle group had flown dozens of incredibly heroic missions during the war in the most advanced jets of their age. After the war, the Blackhawks went rogue, becoming vigilante Nazi hunters until they disappeared. This one had been heavily modified since then, but there was still plenty of proof of where it had started.

The enlarged cockpit slid open, and a tall, slender blond in a black flightsuit hopped out and onto the tarmac. She was stunningly beautiful, but a clear strength shone through. On her head was a ratty old flight cap, very clearly one from the great war. She smiled at Question, “Q, long time no see.”

“Blake,” Question nodded. “Thanks for the help.”

“Well, it’s not every day you get to help out someone who carries Steve Rogers’s shield,” she outstretched her hand to Steph. “Zinda Blake.”

“Nomad will do for now,” Steph smiled wryly. “How’d you get a Blackhawk jet?”

“My grandfather’s,” Zinda smiled proudly. “People may think the Blackhawks are gone, but I’m carrying on the legacy the best I can. I figure helping to stop AIM fits in with that.”

“An honorable goal,” Steph smiled. She liked this one. There was a lot of good in her. “So how long until we can go?”

“I’m ready when you are.”

“Zinda, let’s hit it.”

March 21st 2005
New York City



"My BIKE!!!"

Immediately, a green membrane swallowed Kyle and began to float skyward. It was like being airlifted except there was no way he could fall off or even sway with his supports. First the people on the congested inner city streets disappeared beneath him into a giant amoeba in a maze, then the buildings faded into tiny parallelling scratches, and finally the city itself was differentiated from the distant countryside by the sheer amount of light pollution.

His familiar home was being replaced by the shockingly familiar yet remote image of the globe, something he never expected to see with his own eyes. Without warning, his course changed and he took a 90 degree turn, or something to that effect, and he felt himself whip around a 'corner' before accelerating in that direction. With a pitch black blanket behind it, the sun looked brighter than it ever had. Scrambling through his pockets, Kyle snatched out his Motorola before flipping it open and snapping a picture for back home.

Then he accelerated again. It looked like someone had dumped a box full of glitter from the sky and spun him in a chair as he was pulled up away from the solar system. At this speed, Kyle found it extremely likely that this would be the onset to a seizure more than a television could ever be.

"Is anyone there?" he cried, half-scared and halfway curious.

Then his ring chirped before generating a green hologram that stood directly in front of his face. "Yes, Lantern Rayner, you're five Earthling minutes from Oa. Your training will..."

The being's speech disintegrated in Kyle's mind when he finally processed the first clause of the greeting. Lantern? Oh! Of course, like the Green Lantern! Ohmigod. He snatched his hand with the ring over to his face before closing it into a tight fist. It was a Lantern symbol, much like the circle with a bar on either side he'd been so familiar with. But the stylization of his emblem was more.. Geometric. In place of his circle was a hexagon sandwiched between a pair of polygons.

While he was admiring the design of his own ring and musing to himself, debating on how he could alter the aesthetics himself or make it a bit sharper, he was snapped back to reality by the disappearance of the greeter. The dense fog of empty space had lurched back in place, warranting a yelp from the unsuspecting youth.

More stars passed by, and as much as it was mindblowing, he'd already been done being bedazzled by them and more anxious about what was waiting for him at the journey's end.

Then a green planet popped up centrally in his view. It was brighter than Earth had appeared moments before. This was beyond interesting, the emerald orb was spectacular. Its surface was painted with streaks bright and dark, chasing one another, crossing. The image was breathtaking, inspiring, invigorating, and above all it was kinetic with green flashing like lightning.

To Kyle's right was another Lantern, the same one he'd encountered a moment prior via the hologram. In person it was less green, rather white. More outstanding was the fact that it resembled a flying seal and escorted him down into the planets atmosphere. Kyle watched its mouth snap and expected to hear barking like a dog, but instead it was a concise greeting. "Welcome to Oa, Lantern."

*

The last thing T’Challa had remembered before the explosion was setting himself up in the meeting room, he could hear the hydraulics of the machines below whirring back and forth and the crackling of the soldering. In some strange manner it had lulled him to sleep, there was perhaps some comfort to be gained from knowing his work was in motion. The agents who had employed him had kept tightening the deadline, which frequently had T’Challa sleeping in the meeting room, with his crumpled jacket serving as a pillow. His attempts at rest only resulted in a few hours of broken sleep most nights. However this time he had stirred to the voice of a woman in his moments between awake and sleep, a comforted smile wrapped around his face. This dreamlike fantasy was short lived as her sentence repeated. It was a computerised message from the security system.

“Self-destruct sequence activated.”

T’Challa’s elbow slipped off of the arm rest, jarring him awake.

“Self-destruct sequence activated”

“No! No, no, NO.” His voice, still broken from sleep, startled the few line workers running past the room.

“Clear the building, NOW! GET OUT!” their frantic shouts being drowned out by the emergency siren kicking in.

“Self-destruct sequence activated. 60 seconds until Self-destruct” Red light spun round the factory walls.

“Shit. This is happening.”

T’Challa grabbed the plans sprawled in front of him on the table, and sprinted with them under his arm past the glass doors. He could see from the mezzanine level that AIM’s security officers were already outside, pulling people out of the exits as they left. They were bellowing orders and directing any strays into the back of the few military jeeps left on site. Break lights dimmed, they had decided it was too late; they couldn’t risk waiting any longer. Watching the vehicles cannon out of the complex T’Challa cursed through his teeth and launched down the last few steps and out of the door. He had made it to the entrance of the unit with 12 seconds remaining, the jeeps were gone.

He remembered nothing past that. T’Challa had awoken in a fresh hell and it was all too clear that there would be no chance of escape, these people would use him for all his worth.

-

Shuri sat hunched over in the back of the air carrier with her knees balancing the files she was sifting through. Details of the workings T’Challa’s old friend had been developing with AIM. She was well briefed on the organisation and the activity that seemed to have flared up over the last few months. She was here to get her brother back. However things were left between him and their father he would want to know that he had passed. But he had to be convinced of his duty to come home to Wakanda. Where others had failed Shuri needed to show him what a desperate state his nation would be in without him and the danger his family could face at the hands of potential rebels. As much as she didn’t believe he was ready for the responsibilities to be a ruler, she had to show her family and nation that she had tried. In truth, she wasn’t here to show her brother how to be the Black Panther, she knew that retrieving her brother would be important for Wakanda's rule but her mission would prove that only she had earned the right to wear the mask and hold the mantle permanently.

Her gaze drifted for a moment her thoughts returning to her family in the compound. She had never seen so much security at the gates of her home. She had known when met at the gates that she was too late, although her father’s advisor had said nothing, she could feel it in the air. A quivering almost, all but confirmed by the palpable tension as they met her uncle in the training courtyard.

“Shuri, I...you’re”

“I don’t want you to say it, please, just take me to his quarters. I failed him even in his final hours, I need to be at his bedside with my mother.”

“Child we have to be careful. The news mustn’t reach the outside yet, they cannot know the king has fallen without an heir.”

The words had stung. Even after her father’s death she could still not be recognised as worthy blood.

“M’Baku has increased our security tenfold but I am not familiar with these faces, there are eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Uncle, these men are marked with the White Gorilla cult tattoos. How are they even allowed inside the walls?”

“M’Baku bears the same mark Shuri, and he has been beside both me and the king for over twenty years. When he defected from his cult to save your father in action he retained a great following among his peoples. As long as it’s under M’Baku’s command we have no reason to doubt that they would be any less dedicated to safeguarding those in this compound. We merely need to guard our words.”

“Just take me to my father. Let me see T'Chaka one last time.”

Shuri had to focus her eyes on the files in front of her, it had been hard enough to see the great Black Panther T’Chaka lay lifeless in front of her; she couldn’t relive it through her memories every few minutes. Perhaps it was her way of avoiding the guilt she felt. Either way, she had to get her head in gear for what was at hand. Shuri looked over the return addresses on the letters. She knew just who she’d be visiting first when she reached America, and she wouldn’t be leaving until she’d drawn out every last word, by any means necessary.

Gotham City
Then

Raw steak on a paper plate. Blood squirting out. Slam picked it up with one large mitt, shoved into his mouth. He chewed the bloody meat, spat it back out. Pre-fight routine. No meat, all blood. Sid said it got the animal instincts going. Sid said the Israeli commandos chewed raw steak before taking it to those fakakta Palestinian pigs. Sid said Slam was a mensch. Even for a crazy goy kid with a weak chin.

"Rockabye Ruiz," Sid said from across the room.

Sid: Six feet two inches, fat from too many Ruebens. Years ago he boxed as the Hebrew Hammer. The Great Yiddish Hope. Fucker still had a hell of a left jab.

"How you feeling about Ruiz, Sammy?"

Slam spat blood. He flashed bloody teeth.

"Fucker doesn't have a chance."

Sid winked. "That's my Slammy."

Wally the cut man wrapped Slam's hands tightly. He helped him put on the boxing gloves. Red gloves, navy blue trunks with "Bradley" on the waist in white. Sid walked up. He had two or three inches on Slam. He placed his big mitts on Slam's shoulder. He pulled him in close.

"Ruiz is only getting 9-1 by the bookies, kid. If you take a dive in the third or fourth, we can make a shitload of money. I got a guy who can get the bet in before the fight. What do you say?"

Where the fuck was this coming from? Sid was his trainer for almost five years now and never asked Slam to take a dive. Sid wasn't dirty like a lot of managers on the scene. Sid ran a clean ship, no dabbling with bookies or the gamblers that hung around the ring. It threw Slam off balance. He shook his head.

"No, Sid. I ain't taking a fucking dive."

Sid grinned. He slapped Slam's shoulders. "That's what I like to hear, boychick. Let's go kick some ass. You win big enough, I'll buy you a hooker to spend the night with tonight."

--

Gotham City
Now

Slam sipped malt liquor. The shit burned going down. Cut-rate verging on pure ethanol. He drunk straight from the bottle in the driver's seat of his car. No-tell motel across the street. Red Arrow Inn on the neon sign. Partially burned out letters made it look like "ed Ar ow Inn." His camera sat in the passenger seat. Two hours into his tail job. He followed Mr. Harold Scoggins leaving his white job and tailed him to the "ed Ar ow Inn." Scoggins snapped up room six right by the road and dashed inside. Slam snapped quick pix of the dash. He also snapped pix of a caddy pulling up to the room. Out popped a dumpy brunette in jeans and a plain blouse. She went inside room six.

He snapped pix and cut odds to who the temptress in mom jeans was. Either Scoggins' coworker or neighbor. Men with wandering dicks didn't wander too far from home. The clothing indicated stay at home mom. Slam called it at even odds she lived down the block from the Scoggins house. He got lit and dozed while they did the horizontal bop. Under normal circumstances he'd go in close and snap pix of them in the act, but the curtains were closed tres tight.

The lovers came out twenty minutes later. Slam snagged his camera and started popping off pix. Scoggins' zipper was down, his pants disheveled. The woman had bed head. He got them stumbling out in post-coital bliss. He got them kissing. He got in tight on Scoggins groping the woman's ass. They departed, heading in different directions while Slam thumbed through the pix on his camera's view screen. The lawyer he was working for would get the shots tomorrow morning and then Scoggins would be getting fucked for the second time in as many days.

His phone rang before he could leave.

"Samuel Bradley Investigations," he answered.

"Slam, it's Peggy, Sid's wife."

A ghost from the past. He hadn't seen Sid or Peggy in twenty years.

"Peg, hey. What's up?"

"It's Sid, Slam... he's dead. Somebody killed him."

Steam sprayed into Hellboy’s face as he wandered carefully through the boiler room from hell, all the time Freddy’s maniacal laugh echoed around him. So far the fiend wasn’t attacking and seemed content on taunting the demon. That told Hellboy that the man was a freaking moron. Red wasn’t the teenagers and kids Krueger was used to tormenting. He was a goddamned demon. He wasn’t scared of simple mind games. He ate cretins like Freddy Krueger for breakfast, and the dream slasher would discover that soon enough. He had tried to use Red’s father and friends against him. That wasn’t something that could slide.

“I can taste your fear, Hellboy,” Krueger cackled. “It’s like seasoning for the kill.”

“Must be your breath backing up, Fred,” Hellboy chuckled. “Only thing I’m scared of is catching a view of that jacked up face of yours.”

“You wound me, demon,” Freddy mocked emotional pain. “Let me return the favor!”

Five pipes exploded off the wall, spraying a torrent of heated gas at Hellboy. The rusted iron of the pipes twisted and groaned, forming Krueger’s gloved hand as they swiped towards the paranormal investigator. Red slid out of the way, but not before the blades sliced across his jacked, ripping the old leather, “This was my favorite jacket! If that happened in the real world, I’m gonna hurt you more than I thought.”

“I’d like to see you try, child,” a familiar voice said behind him. He spun around to find Rasputin staring back. The Russian mystic smiled grotesquely at the demon, making Hellboy’s blood boil. He knew it was another one of Freddy’s disguises, but Rasputin’s visage was something he was never comfortable seeing. It was him that brought Hellboy to Earth. He tried to bring about the end of the world using Red’s right hand. But worst of all he killed Professor Broom. “Surprised to see me.”

“Krueger,” Hellboy snarled, “shut the hell up.”

He reared up with his massive, stone right hand and threw the hardest punch he could at the dream powered villain. It connected, snapping the impostor Rasputin’s head back violently. As the bastard flew through the air he turned back into the form of Freddy Krueger. He slammed against the back of the boiler room before collapsing into a heap. Hellboy leapt towards him, slamming his gigantic fist down on top of him. Red grabbed the throat of his opponent and raised him up, “See, I don’t have training like a lot of those other heroes around Earth. Never needed it. Because I know I can kick the shit out of any dumbass who thinks they have the balls to take over this realm or that. All you creeps are the same. You think you have what it takes. Then I introduce your face to my fist and you go crawling back into the hole you came from. And that’s only if I don’t manage to kill you first.”

Krueger attempted to squirrel his way out of Hellboy’s grip, but he couldn’t. The Right Hand of Doom was too powerful, even for the slasher of nightmares. Still, he was defiant in his defeat, “You think we’re all the same? I’m just the beginning, Hellboy. One of many. Things are in motion that none of you are aware of. And all these innocents you swear to protect? They’re going to drown in insanity and fear.”

“Yea, well, you can watch from hell you jackass,” Hellboy said as the two of them were ripped from the dream world. When they emerged into the shack, Hellboy found it already engulfed in white hot flames. The old, rotted wood crackled like lightning as the fire ripped through it. Krueger clawed desperately at the stone hand that gripped him tightly, sparks flying as metal met rock and mixed with the inferno. Hellboy looked deep into his eyes as the terror gripped Freddy, “Feel that fear? The kind of fear you reveled in when you carved up all those kids? Just like them it’s going to be the last thing you experience. And I’m going to watch every second of it.”

Freddy continued to squirm as the fire ran up his legs and arms before engulfing his entire body. Hellboy’s hand kept him from escaping, and next to the demon stood Liz, fully covered in the same fire that was melting Krueger away before their eyes. As his skin and muscles began to drop off him, Freddy exploded into a ball of magical energy, before his shadowy spirit was sucked into a portal with his final scream following close behind.

“Well that was an interesting one,” Liz said, unimpressed.

Hellboy stepped out of the shack and took a cigar out of his singed pocket, lighting it on the burning shack. He took a few puffs and looked down to find his trench coat shredded from his encounter in the dream world. Hellboy cursed, “Son of a bitch. I should have made him suffer a lot more.”

“Yea, if only we could have taken turns kicking him in the crotch,” Liz agreed. “What he did to these kids...he definitely deserved worse.”

“Speaking of kids, where’s Nancy?” Hellboy asked as Liz motioned over to the right. There, at the edge of the illuminating caused by the burning shack, the silhouette of Nancy Thompson stood out like a sore thumb.

“You know that’s bad for you, right?” she made a motion to the cigar as he sauntered over.

“Kid, I just walked out of a burning building without a scratch,” he chuckled after a drag. “This is the least of my worries.”

Nancy hugged herself and rubbed her shoulders, “He’s gone, right?”

“Spirits are never really gone,” Hellboy smiled warmly and tried to explain. “But he’s been banished to somewhere he can’t get out of easily. It’ll take him a lot of time to get out. You won’t have to worry about him as long as you live.”

“Good,” she said defiantly. “I hope wherever he is, he’s suffering.”

“Kid, he’s got someone shoving red hot pokers where the sun don’t shine as we speak,” Red winked at Nancy.

“Wish it was me,” she snarled.

Hellboy liked the girl. She was a true badass. Reminded him a lot of Liz, if he was telling the truth. He patted her on the shoulder, nearly knocking her over from his strength, “You did good, though. You should come work for us in a few years.”

“Do I get one of those?” she motioned to The Samaritan.

“Only I get one of these,” he nodded. “But you’d get one appropriate to your size. And you’d get to take out creeps like Krueger.”

“Yea,” Nancy smiled. “I think I’ll look into that.”

Red saw the SHADE truck that transports him pulling up to the scene, and he walked towards it. Before being out of earshot, he called to the teen, “You do that. In the meantime, I’ll take care of the things that go bump in the night.”

Danny Rand leaned his forehead against the cool metal wall of the elevator taking him up to the penthouse apartment he shared with Joy Meachum. He...well to put it simply he was incredibly tired. It had been nearly two full weeks since his last encounter with the Cult of Khan and he was still aching from the results. It was somewhat to be expected he supposed, that much qi based healing would tire out a specialist even with the Qi of Shou-Lao to draw upon and Danny was barely a dabbler in the art at best. His encounter with the fanatical cult of a dark and ancient god was nothing compared to adjusting to life as an American High School Student, though. At least as a student in The Thunderer's martial arts academy he knew if someone considered him an enemy, because their fists would usually be flying towards his face. At school all he got were mysterious mutterings and odd looks from those around him though as of yet no outright attempt to bully him physically had been made. He wasn't sure how he'd handle it if one occurred. The few so far who had attempted to approach him seemed mainly interested in his money, or else in one of the dozens of strange rumors that were swirling around about him. He supposed he shouldn't blame them, after all he was just as much an outsider here as he had been in K'un-L'un, maybe even stranger given that the heir to one of America's wealthiest families didn't normally show up out of the blue after ten years. Still, trying to navigate the social pitfalls of high school was far more exhausting than just winning over his fellow students with Kung Fu prowess.

His life as Iron Fist was hardly going better. After that night they'd fought together he'd been inspired by White Tiger to turn more to the vigilante side of things rather than just using Chinatown's thugs to blow off steam and he had to admit it felt good at first. On the other hand, things had been escalating because of his efforts and the men Chiantang was rolling out seemed to get better and better trained and have increasingly dangerous equipment. Because of him, the streets were becoming more dangerous instead of less, or at least that's what it felt like. Besides that, he'd hardly put much of a dent in the Black Dragon's criminal empire yet, and the fact that it brought him no closer to his revenge after it had already eluded him wasn't really helping things.

But tonight wasn't a night for thinking about any of that! Tonight Joy Meachum was back from some big business meeting in Star City and they were finally going to re-establish the often thwarted 'tradition' of family dinner. Well...Guardian-Ward dinner or something at least, although Danny supposed Joy really was one of the closest things he had left to family, but the point was tonight there would be no superhero-ing, no Kung Fu, no drama! Just Danny, Joy, a nice meal and-

*DING!*

"Daniel!~ Oh it's been forever!~ You're just in time to join us, I brought some lovely tea!~"

and one of the most cunning enemies he had ever faced.

Fa Lo Sui: The Cursed Lotus, Daughter of Darkness, Princess of the Golden Daggers...

and his first love.

Danny was so dumbstruck by her unexpected appearance that he didn't even realize he'd seated himself at the table across from her as Joy busied herself in their kitchenette. The conversation shot back and forth across the apartment in a way that was already slightly beyond his comprehension and he felt like a man drowning and grasping at driftwood as he tried to keep up.

"Danny, you remember Zheng Bao Yu! She's Zheng Zu's daughter, you know from Oriental Expediters!? Apparently she and her father are in town and I guess she thought she'd go to all the trouble of coming by to see us on his behalf as sort of a goodwill gesture between business partners! Isn't that nice!"

"Uh-huh..." Now that she mentioned it, Danny had briefly been dragged to a meeting where a girl who looked something like Fa Lo Sui had passed him in the waiting room but he thought he'd been imagining things then and they'd hardly said two words to each other...

"It was no trouble Ms.Meachum! After all both Father and I agree that our relationship to yourself and the Rand family is very important to us! Plus, I get along so well with Daniel!~"

The way Fa Lo Sui watched him, intently with a big smile and half-lidded eyes as she said it reminded Danny of a snake watching a cowering mouse before it struck, or maybe a cat toying with its' prey. She looked like a schoolgirl, dressed up in some uniform with a modest skirt, white knee-socks, a badge on the front he didn't know, her long black hair pinned aside with what she probably assumed was a 'cutesy' yin-yang barrette. The wholesome everygirl look was a sham and he knew it but even so he was having trouble believing it was the same Fa Lo Sui. Still, her voice was unmistakable and that combined with just how convincing her bubbly innocence was confirmed his suspicions. No one was a better actor than the Cursed Lotus.

He glared at her from across the table and whispered while Joy cooked on obliviously just out of sight, trusting that she'd be too oblivious to hear.

"What are you doing here!? This is not K'un-L'un, or anywhere within the scope of the jianghu! My home and Joy Meachum are outside the bounds of the code of the martial arts underworld and I'm not going to tolerate another one of your tricks!"

Her laughter was high, pure and sweet, the wind blowing through chimes on a spring day.

"I have no idea what you mean! I'm here to share dinner and tea and discuss the relationship between our two families! Nothing else!"

Danny wasn't about to buy that even if she brought all the tea in China along with it, but he was stopped by Joy's emergence from the kitchen with a big smile and a steaming bowl of noodles.

Thus began one of the most awkward, strained and pleasant dinners of Daniel Rand-Kai's young life.

The conversation was so polite and pleasant that Danny had to wonder if they'd somehow scripted it out beforehand and the Cursed Lotus was clearly winning Joy over with every word as if she hadn't interrupted a family night to discuss business, or worse as if she was practically family herself. Danny would have never suspect there was any blend of Chinese tea that paired well with Italian food, but Fa Lo Sui had apparently done the impossible by finding one. Worse yet there was no obvious trap, no assassins bursting out from behind the curtains, no demons being summoned forth from the Daughter of Darkness' school bag, just his legal guardian, a girl he'd liked and a lingering taste of pesto and paranoia.

By the time the meal was more or less over even Danny was wondering if he wasn't being a little too suspicious. Maybe it was possible that 'Zheng Bao Yu' wasn't here to cause trouble after all. If nothing else maybe she was just keeping up appearances as the sixteen year old daughter of a highly successful international businessman. Once he and Joy got up to clear the dishes he half expected the Cursed Lotus to offer to help clean them.

"Well, this was unexpected but you've been a real pleasure to have over! Just give us a minute to straighten up and-"

By the time he noticed Joy was falling Danny barely had time to catch her amid the sounds of shattering plates. She'd fainted dead away mid-sentence, her eyes closed and moving rapidly in their sockets as if she'd suddenly fell into a vivid nightmare. Fa Lo Sui looked on and adjusted herself in her seat with that same pleased, predatory smile on her face once again.

"Well, that certainly took long enough, although on the other hand it was quite a lovely dinner. Do you happen to know where Joy learned to cook?"

Danny gritted his teeth hard enough that he thought they would break, and only the need to check on Joy's vitals and ensure she was lowered safely onto the ground prevented him from flying at the girl in a rage.

"What. Did. You. Do?!"

"Why, exactly what I told you I was doing. I shared dinner and tea. It's not my fault she's the only one at the table who hasn't trained her body to slow and eliminate the effects of toxins. I swear Xiaolong, you're always so touchy about these things."

The use of his other name, the one from K'un-Lun, only made Danny angrier.

"Of course this was all another one of your schemes, but like I said before I'm not playing around! Now give me the antidote or I swear by the Heart of the Dragon I'll throw you out the nearest window!"

The Cursed Lotus didn't bother to rise from her seat despite the threat, only shifting slightly, a change in posture maybe, a rustle of cloth, nothing truly definable. Yet suddenly Danny was reminded that Fa Lo Sui was the master of The Path of One Hundred and Eight Earthly Temptations and it took every ounce of mental discipline he had to hold onto his rage in the face of her abruptly very...distracting...presence.

"Oh Xiaolong, is that any way to talk to your betrothed? Whatever happened to our love?"

"We are NOT betrothed and I never loved you, so-"

"That's not what you said that night in the Garden of Heaven, with the fireflies flickering around us when you leaned in close and gave me-"

"The Scrolls of Wulin? The ones that almost got me banished from K'un-L'un?"

"Well yes, among...other things. You said you were willing to risk it for me, the choice was entirely yours."

"We were fourteen and more than foolish! Well, I have no idea how old you actually are but at least I was only fourteen-"

"Yes and now you're sixteen and still equally blind! If you would become my consort I offer you anything you can dream of! Power, respect, revenge...the world as your own...anything."

For a moment Danny had to fight not only the...particular charms...of Fa Lo Sui but the fantasy of all that she offered. Resources enough at his command to shape the world as he willed, hunt down the Cult Of Khan with ease, ensure that all of the crime he witnessed day in and day out came to an end, all of it if he only did as she wished...

and then his sense of discipline was back, willed down over his heart and mind like a wall of iron. Sensual wiles were not the only aspect of the borderline hypnotic Path of One Hundred and Eight Temptations Fa Lo Sui had at her command. He would have to remember that, always.

"No. Now give me the antidote and you can go in peace. I won't offer again."

the Cursed Lotus smiled and held up her empty hands.

"That's part of what I like about you, Xiaolong. You're so much more of a challenge to manipulate compared to the bores I normally have to surround myself with. But sadly I don't have the antidote on me. The Death of Seven Dreams isn't so easy to counteract in any case. Luckily, it should also give you a fairly long period of time until she perishes. So, if you want to save your dear Joy Meachum you really are going to have to do what I say."

Danny tried to keep his own anger and frustration under control, knowing it would only give the Princess of the Golden Daggers an avenue to control him.

"So...what is it I have to do?"

Fa Lo Sui laughed again, although this time there was a cutting, jagged edge to her laughter.

"You'll be coming with me. We're going on a date!~"

New York
01:30PM

“So, I take it you watched Captain America's big unveiling last night.”

“Show me someone who says they didn't, and I'll show you a liar.”

“Tell me, what do you think about it?”

Ted looked up from the chowmein that he'd been struggling gamely with for the last five minutes – all the places to eat lunch in New York, and Veronica wanted to go to the Golden Dragon, a place that didn't keep forks! - to meet her green eyed gaze. She had a habit of watching him that he occasionally found hard to bare.

Strange that, he'd had no trouble meeting the eyes of heavyweight boxers dead set on knocking his teeth out, golden age champions with the power to level mountains, and would-be world conquerors who had killed dozens of people in cold blood, but sit him across a table from a pretty girl and he came over all bashful.

He reckoned it might be something to do with how hard she was to read. Most people were like open books to Ted, their wants, fears and desires etched across their persons like text in a book. Veronica though, she was something else. It was like her every move was carefully calculated to elicit the desired response from those watching her, an actor performing for an audience. He suspected that she didn't even know she was doing it. Hell, he was half convinced that Veronica Sinclair wasn't even her real name, that her whole identity as a self-made business woman was a complete invention.

Or it might just be, as touched upon earlier, she was drop dead gorgeous. Her dark hair was such seemed to have a touch of midnight, and she wore it free, softening which may otherwise have been considered sharp cheekbones. Almond shaped, summer blue eyes and soft honey skin hinted at an Asian descent. (maybe going someway to explaining the venue) Her attire, a crimson blouse and black pencil skirt, while on the surface demure, was obviously fitted specially to make best display of her natural assets, something that Ted, and every other red-blooded male in the Dragon, couldn't help but appreciate.

But she had asked him a question, and it was rude to leave her waiting on an answer. He could muse on her past - and her figure - later. He paused for thought, considered his answer, grunted to clear his throat.

“I think it's just what we needed, exactly when we needed it most.” Veronica's flawless brow furrowed delicately at that, as if it wasn't quite what she expected.

“Really? Please explain.” She asked, her tone blandly agreeable. If she contested his point, and it looked like she might, then it seemed she wanted to hear his reasoning before arguing him down. Ted respected that. Too many people refused to hear out the other side nowadays.

“Dunno that I need to. They got Hydra, we got SHIELD. They break out a new Red Skull, we trot out a new Captain America. He was good enough for ol' Reddy last time, he'll be good enough for him this time.” He could see by her face that he wasn't convincing her. “Listen, I ain't an eloquent man. I made a career outta getting punched in the head, for Chriss'sakes, it's a borderline miracle that I can still string a coherant sentence together. I can't put into words how I know that the return of Captain America is right, I just know in my gut that it is right!”

“But don't you think this is just a SHIELD knee-jerk reaction. A publicity stunt designed to temper the terror that the Red Skull promises to spread? That they've just stuck a spangly outfit on some nobody they picked off the street, and told him to look patriotic while smiling for the cameras?”

“No.” Ted smiled. The Captain might have been wearing a mask, but Ted could tell that this new guy wasn't just some nobody. The way he held himself, the way he moved, the way he spoke, the look in his eyes when the camera came in for a closeup. All these things told Ted that the new Sentinel of Liberty was just as much a fighter as the original. Maybe even more so. And he meant it when he said he'd put a stop to Hydra, meant it with every fiber in his being.

“Well, isn't he a little old fashioned!” The former champ laughed aloud, attracting the attention of nearby diners. Veronica was clawing at straws now.

“Remember who you're talking to, kiddo. There ain't no school like the old school, and there's no way you'll convince me otherwise!” Her eyes narrowed and her full lips pulled back in the approximation of a scowl, as if she just now realized that arguing with Ted when he'd made his mind up on something was like arguing with a particularly stubborn brick wall, but it was only there for a moment before it was gone, replaced by a mischievous smile. Her hand flowed across the table, long, delicate fingers tickling at Ted's big, scarred knuckles.

"'Kiddo' is it Ted? Is that how you see me? What injury you do to my womanhood." Her tone was so laden with salacious danger that he could almost feel his heart beat a little bit faster in his chest. A series of fantasy's, each more erotically indecent than the last, flashed through his mind, accompanied by an almost animalistic desire to act upon them.

All that from a mere hand touch and some flimsy allusions to her sexuality. Lord, but it had been a long time for him. . .

"I didn't think that was the kind of proposition you asked me out for." He bantered in return, though he pulled his hand back, and set it in the safety of his own lap, just to be on the safe side. And so the conversation turned to staider topics, like the state of Ted's trainee's, to Claudio Volpe's recovery, something that Ted really wasn't able to comment on as he hadn't been keeping in touch like he shoulda been. Eventually they reached the subject of Roulette's, and Veronica made her pitch, offering Ted the managers job in a new spot she was opening. It was an interesting offer for sure, made more interesting by her foot, which had slowly began to slide against his leg under the table.

It took some real willpower to stop himself from agreeing to anything she wanted on the spot. While it was a lucrative offer, with what looked like more potential rewards than just the monetary, he couldn't help but think 'is it for me'. He enjoyed what he was doing now, training up-and-comers to meet their full potential, and if he took her up then he wouldn't get the time for it any longer. On top of that it was primarily a night job, and as of recently he'd rediscovered an old 'hobby' that was eating up all of his night hours. And to be honest, he was pretty well off without it. You don't get to be world champ without gaining a few bucks in the process.

In the end he asked for more time to think about the propostion, and they agreed to meet up a week later. That done, Ted settled up. Veronica tried to pay, but Ted came from a different generation, and refused to hear off it, even if she did have enough money to buy and sell the whole restaurant two times over. They parted at the Dragon's door, Veronica sacheting down the street towards a taxi rank. Ted watched her go, feeling that old stirring in his loins again.

"Like two puppies fighting in a pillowcase...." He muttered. With an almost pained sigh he tore his gaze away and turned in the opposite direction. Time was getting on, and he should be doing the same. The Dragna twins were rumored to be making a shake down run that night, and Wildcat aimed to be about to greet them.

T’ Challa had spent the last seven hours trying to replicate the plans that had been lost in the explosion. His eyes were straining in the dimly lit room, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. The glossy exterior of AIM had been pulled away and the real beast exposed, they had ordered him to develop more weapons for them. He knew that AIM had managed to put his non lethal sonic missile into production before the explosion, but he could not let that be, it was unfinished and too powerful. He had to keep working to show them there could be an alternative before that missile saw the field. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to rest until then.

He had no idea of where he was being held; all he knew was there was no natural light, it was deafeningly quiet even with an armed guard by his workstation. He wondered how long they would keep him in these conditions, or perhaps, just how long they would keep him alive. They didn’t seem like the kind of people to show mercy once they have what they want. From the whispers he’d heard about the fate of his predecessor, he couldn’t say with much confidence that they valued a human much past what service they could provide; an attitude T’Challa had pitied the Americans for upon his arrival.

T’Challa stood, allowing his eyes to glaze over the blueprints in front of him wondering how long he would be willing to develop the weaponry they wanted. Rather, whether he would weigh up the preservation of his life in these conditions against those innocent people he was aiding to harm. Turning back to his calculations he pushed the dark thought to the back of his mind. If he could keep working long enough to prove he was trustworthy perhaps he would be afforded more freedoms, allowing a window to escape.

AIM was well aware that T’Challa was a prodigy in his field, and having gone to great lengths to recruit him, expected fast results. However working under in such a tight timescale he couldn’t do it all on his own. He had requested his friend B’Tumba to assist him but the icy response confirmed fears for his friends’ safety. Using the same excuse as to why his predecessor hadn’t ever returned to work the armed guard grunted; “He’s been moved to a different department, promotion of sorts”.

Between frantic calculations, worry for his friend and the guilt that weighed on him, his thoughts drifted back to thinking about his home. He knew his father could help. The Black Panther wouldn’t see danger come to Africa and threaten his people. If only he could find some way to warn them.



Shuri was crouched in the dark alleyway. The sights and sounds of this neighbourhood were completely foreign to her, all taken in her stride. However the cocktail of offensive smells clouded her heightened senses. The rain had lifted the burnt rubber scent from the pavement, and trails of cigarette smoke thickened the stench. Near where she was hidden, greasy polystyrene containers littered the alley where festering rotten food was being scavenged by rats. The life these people lead was chaos. Living piled on top of each other in cramped apartments, televisions, shouting, babies crying, how could they stand it? Shuri silently scaled the metal fire escaped that encased the outside of the building, her expert agility made reaching the eight floor light work. Ducking underneath the windowsills she scanned each apartment on that level. Being suddenly immersed into a foreign environment the Wakandan accent was easy to recognise. He was clearly in a panicked state on the phone, pacing back and forth in the confined space, she could hear his agitated voice shaking a little as the conversation drifted through the open window.

“Don’t hang up on me again; I know you know something else has happened here. I left him working there and three separate people saw him make it out the building, and now I can’t get hold of him.”

The figure stood facing the fridge head bowed, his arm above him supporting his weight. Shuri had stealthily made her way through the window into the darkened bedroom and slid with her back against the wall up to the doorframe listening to them speak.

“It would be better for you to stop asking questions now. You need to do your job like everyone else, anyone that had tried to dig deeper gets a mysterious promotion and isn’t heard from again. Do yourself a favour and leave it be.”

“I can’t do that, he is my friend, I was responsible for him being here and I know they are covering something up.....hello? Cass? You there?”

The man hung up the phone with a heavy sigh and paused as he went to open the fridge. Shuri took her moment launching from the darkness of the room. Thrusting her weight forward as he bent to check the contents of the fridge, his head slammed into the metal trays sending the few items crashing over his body. Shuri stood waiting for him to leap up to defend himself, her head was never clearer than when adrenaline was coursing through her veins. Surprised there was no immediate counter attack she looked down to find the man passed out; maybe she’d underestimated her strength.

He awoke to find himself tied to the radiator with Shuri stood opposite him, the black outfit making her barely distinguishable from the shadows.

“B’Tumba, thankfully for you it’s been a while since you and I crossed paths. Now, where is my brother?”

“Shuri? Is that you Shuri? Shit, I thought AIM had sent someone to kill me, you have no idea what a relief it is to hear a familiar voice, although I have to say I wasn’t that fond of your ‘hello’.”

“I wouldn’t find too much comfort in it, this could be the last voice you hear, don’t make any mistake that I won’t have any reservations and save AIM some work if you don’t tell me where my brother is.”

“Look, Shuri, I know you don’t trust me, but I don’t know where your brother is, there was an explosion at our lab, I know he got out but no one has seen or heard from him since, I think he’s could be in real trouble. You know I love your brother like he was my own blood, I’ll do all I can to help find him don’t want anything to happen to him and I know what AIM are capable of. I’d be responsible, I was the one who recommended him to work with me on the research, I brought him into this mess. I swear, I’ll do everything I can”

“Yes, you are going to do everything you can, you owe this family, our country!”

Shuri slammed the back of her fist across his face.

“Starting now, you’re going to tell me everything you know about this, your bosses, where he might be, who I need to find, or kill, to get him back. And don’t think that excludes you.”

---

---

"Don't let their weapons touch you, and if you can try and take one...well, I think they're still alive but anyway try and capture o-"

You would think I would be excited to be face to face with my enemy, the ones who had done me wrong and stained my heart with blood and darkness. But despite the hate I feel, I look to them and I feel uneasy as if my desires to find answers and track them down are thrown out the window completely. I never thought I’d feel fear again, and not at the people who I wanted to be at the end of my hands as I tore their limbs from their corpse. But that vicious zeal was muted as I looked on at the hollow men who surrounded me and my newfound ally as my ears picked up a chant they began to whisper in unison which only made me all the more nervous. I haven’t felt this disarmed and weak in such a long time and none of us had even entered combat yet. Was I so eager to discover this enemy to only stumble over my own feet like a terrified child?

No.

My hands move out in a defensive stance as my brows narrow. I would not become like a deer caught in the headlights— I would not cower in terror and lose my resolve.

"RRRRRRRRRRAAND'KAI! We have hunted you Rrrand'Kai, acrrross the yearrrrs, acrrross this city, acrrross the worrrlds! We will DRRRRINK your life's blood as We drrrrank your Motherrr's. Then, this agonizing existence will end. Khan has prrromised us this."

I step back and my eyes dart to the new voice. That’s when I notice Iron Fist’s inaction as he froze as a living nightmare revealed itself to us— I, apparently, am not the only one to consider pausing in unease as the growls of another enemy zipped past the dead-eyed cultists and flung itself towards Iron Fist, an action that had caught him as a deer in the headlights. I can only imagine how bad this could have been had I also stalled in my actions and let fear take me as well.

Damn it.

I can feel the power of my amulet; I can feel my instincts charged with energy— and before I know it I throw myself at Iron Fist as I take both of us off the current rooftop and to another as the creature that snarled at him missed its vicious attack. I can hear it snarl in anger and I can feel the cultists growing closer despite the action. Were we overwhelmed or had we just stumbled as fear from our past came knocking at our door?

As my feet stomp down on the new rooftop I have just landed on, I release my hold of Iron Fist as I hope he snaps back to reality.

“The night’s young, but let’s not go to sleep just yet.” I tell him as I look back at both of our enemies.

I can feel my adrenaline coming back to ‘normal’ as the rush of the dangerous battle brings me back to The Bronx even though I’m still standing in Chinatown. Before Iron Fist can state a reply I feel my body fling myself back into the fray and at the more immediate threat: the silver thing. To anyone looking at the battle with their own eyes… this must look like two glimmers of silver zipping across the roofs of Chinatown as animalistic sounds echo in the moonlight. That’s what it feels like to me and I’m in the thick of it as my body reacts to the aggravated snarls that are more than annoyed that I have stopped them from having their feast that was promised to them.

I’m not scared.

I won’t be scared.

“Dinner is canceled.” I growl right back at whatever I was fighting.

Arkham, MA

The helicopter set down down on the roof of what was once the Miskatonic University building, but was now the headquarters of SHADE. The gothic flourishes that had adorned the building were preserved during its rebuilding into the most technologically advanced paranormal research facility in the world. Gargoyles guarded each floor, each more grotesque than the next, though Red wouldn’t tell the living ones that. Intricate stone work covered the outside of the building, giving it a castle-like look. But it wasn’t foreboding. No, the look just fit here. Arkham was a place where the paranormal was at home, and the SHADE building was like a beacon drawing goodnatured entities here.

SHADE, and the BPRD before them, had designated Arkham as a safe zone for nonviolent or benevolent paranormal entities. As long as they provided a service to the town, they were welcome here. In turn, the organization protected them from sloppy independent hunters or evil spirits that may have wanted to do them harm. It worked out all around, and thanks to the treaties Arkham was the world’s hub of paranormal knowledge, but legitimate and black market.

Of course, it had been that way for quite a while. Arkham sat on a hotspot of mystical energy. Professor Broom and the BPRD founders believed it was a nexus point of dimensions that caused it to be a spring of occult activity. Dangerous and deadly experiments were the norm for the school and the surrounding areas. It led to the closure of the university, as well as the near desertion of the community. The BPRD came in and reigned things in, but there was still a sinister undercurrent that could bubble up without their constant supervision.

Hellboy stepped out of the chopper with Liz and breathed in the Northeastern air, “Home scary home, Liz.”

“Heads up,” she warned. “Manning.”

Red sighed as he saw SHADE director Tom Manning waddle towards them in a huff. Out of all the human race, Manning was probably the least notable among them. He was balding, but not bald. He was neither thing nor fat, just a sort of pudgy ball of dough that lacked either defining characteristic. He was a pencil pusher and personnel manager who just fell into the job with SHADE. SHIELD was weird. Hellboy knew this going in. They weren’t going to give command to him or one of the other gifted agents. It would have to go to a normie. He understood that. The problem with SHADE was most normies were weirded out by it. Aliens or superpowers they understood. They could see them. Interdimensional insanity gods, hellbeasts, and poltergiests were different. These reminded humans they were mortal, and that their time on this plane of existence was short. Due to that, SHADE nearly always got the short end of the stick when it came to getting a director.

“Well, well,” he smiled and patted Hellboy on the shoulder, “I hear we really busted some heads. Not too much of a problem, I hope.”

Manning was all smiles now, but Hellboy knew the man didn’t care for him at all. The ironic thing about SWORD, SHADE, and SHIELD was the generally didn’t trust the superpowered agents that worked underneath them. More often than not, the agencies kept them around to keep tabs on them rather than to consider them real teammates. Tom put on a good face, but Red knew the truth. The other agents, the ones that went out on missions, knew and respected Hellboy, and he in turn respected them. Hell, he considered some of them friends.

But management was never your friend.

“No problem,” Red shrugged. “Some creep stumbled onto some dream powers. I used one of his targets as bait, pulled him out into our world, and Liz turned him into creep soup.”

“Lit him up like the Fourth of July,” Liz shrugged.

“Great! Abe mentioned something about you thinking this could be part of something bigger?”

Hellboy muttered a curse under his breath. Abe never could keep stuff to himself. The demon had hoped to keep his suspicions from Manning as long as he possibly could. Stuff like “something bigger” or “a larger threat” always sent the higher ups into a tizzy. Red wanted to make sure his suspicions were legitimate before he brought them forward.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his massive red hand, “Yea. Just a theory right now. I’m gonna look into it and get back to you. But first, I could use a beer.”

“Right, sure, I’d say you’ve earned some R&R,” Manning smiled as Red walked away from him, not paying him any mind.

He descended into the hallways of SHADE headquarters, which was nearly always a madhouse. Three ghosts ran down the hall and right through him, chilling him to the bone. Further down the hall he could see a group of human agents attempt to control a slithering mass of tentacles. One of them was being flailed about in the air while others shocked the creature with prongs. Hellboy strolled past and threw a punch with the Right Hand of Doom, striking through to the creature’s center, causing it to go limp. He smiled at the agents and kept on his way.

“Well that was certainly helpful,” a calm, melodious voice said from beside Red. He turned to find Abe Sapien heading towards him. Abe was taller than Hellboy, but skinny as a pole. He was streamlined for travel through water, and his gills and green-blue skin shimmered in the LED lights that lined the hall. “How was your trip?”

“Good. Why’d you tell Manning about my hunch?”

“Well, he is my commanding officer,” Abe fumbled over his words. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do with information?”

“Not when he’s going to be a hawk about it now!” Red shook his head. “Come on, I need a beer.”



The Hanged Man

“Ahhhhh,” Hellboy downed the amber liquid, wiped his mouth, and put his glass down on the bar. “Hit me with another one, Igor.”

The Hanged Man was the definition of a dive bar. Uneven stools were saddled up to a bar that had seen better days. A few dark booths with melting candles lined the back wall, and a pinball machine Red insisted on bringing in was the only electric illumination in the place. Everything else was either candle lit or came from the fireplace in the back end which emitted an unnatural green glow from a purple flame. Behind the bar were rows and rows of bottles, each one dustier than the next. Where some bars would have a mirror behind their stock, Igor’s bottles seemed to reach on into infinity. It was a place where the human agents and paranormal citizens of Arkham came to congregate.

It may have been weird, but it was Arkham.

“Sure thing,” the hunchbacked bartender hobbled over and scooped up the glass to pour another ale. Not only was he one hell of a bartender, but Igor had his ear to the ground. He always knew what was going on around town, and more often than not picked up a clue here or there. “So this Krueger guy was a real piece of work.”

“Wacko thought he could get in my head. Me!” Red laughed and took a sip of the fresh beer.

“But he was powerful?” a gruff voice to Hellboy’s left asked. There sat the half decayed visage of Frankenstein’s Monster, or Frank for short. His purplish grey skin was taught against his misshapen skull, the bolts sticking awkwardly out of his neck. Frank was like a big brother to Red, if he was being honest. He had been around for far longer, and knew more about Earth and the human’s reaction to the paranormal than anyone. Frank mentored Hellboy on how to behave in the field, and how to really fight against their enemies. He was an invaluable member of Red’s Creature Commandos. “More powerful than he should have been?”

“Way more,” the demon nodded. “Ghosts and poltergeists can be nasty, but Krueger was something else.”

“My research says only beings with incredible power can give human spirits dominion over dreams,” Abe added in. “And even then, that’s usually affixed to one person or family. To have free reign over an entire town means-”

“Means something nasty wanted to have some fun,” Red cut his friend off. “Whoever this was, they had to get something out of Springwood, but what?”

“Blood?” Frank suggested. “Could have needed a sacrifice.”

“Murder scenes don’t back that up,” Hellboy shook his head. “Nothing was taken or collected, and nothing ritualistic.”

“Maybe souls?” Igor shrugged.

“Didn’t seem like it,” Red shook his head. “He was just killing them.”

“That’s because it was fear they were collecting!” a booming voice echoed through the bar, startling the patrons and bartender alike. A golden light exploded through the bar from the back of the house, and a shining ankh appeared before them. From inside it stepped the most powerful sorcerer known to Earth.



Doctor Fate had come to Arkham.

“Fear was their desire, as it remains,” the sorcerer warned. “We are under an attack I am only now beginning to understand, Hellboy. Gather your SHADE. We must act quickly.”

March 20th, 2005
New York City
Chinatown
10:24 PM

Danny Rand had expected death at the shredding claws and fangs of the wolf-demon out for his blood, so it came as quite a shock to him a few moments later that he wasn't bleeding out on the entirely different rooftop he was suddenly lying on.

“The night’s young, but let’s not go to sleep just yet.”

Before Danny can respond to the girl pulling his butt out of the fire with his usual grace and charm, White Tiger is already flying back across the rooftops and engaging in a duel with the yaoguai. It still took Danny a minute to shake off the fear and paralysis that had gripped him, but now that the initial shock was past and his new ally was fighting for her life without him years of conditioning and motivation stirred within him. He was a Living Weapon, a warrior trained for a decade in the Heavenly City of K'un-L'un! Even with a demon spun from the stuff of his nightmares confronting him, how could he allow himself to lie here cowering in fear?

No, Danny would never stand aside while another battled the forces of darkness alone.

He would never let what had happened to his father that day happen again.

Danny stood, centered his breathing and leaped back across the gap at full, qi-enhanced speed. As it happened he had acted just in time because White Tiger was so intent upon her fight with the wolf spirit that she had no room to deal with the black-eyed cultists, one of whom had a wicked looking shadowy axe raised high to chop into her back as two others moved to flank her from the side, their eyes wetly gleaming pools of oil in the moonlight.

Danny Rand came down upon them light lightning from the gods. He struck the first one with the heel of his foot in a perhaps overly flashy high-flying axe kick, his full weight focused into the kick and crashing down into the slavering cultist's back as he fell to the rooftop. Using qi to dampen the strain of the impact and speed his movements Danny dashed forward and to the side, stepping inside a second cultist's swing of what looked like a machete or a big dao with too many spiky bits to be practical, intercepting the hacking motion before redirecting it into a normally impossible qi-amped throw over the dueling forms of the Wolf and Tiger and into the murderer on their opposite flank to sprawl in a heap of limbs.

Three down in the space of a few moments...and a lot more to go.

Meanwhile, the wolf demon was taken aback by White Tiger's furious assault, faced with an opponent with both powerful qi and animal savagery to match its' own it found itself at a stalemate, if not outright taking more hits than it gave.

"You...the blood scent is not Rrrrrand'kai, but you do not feel like prrrey...Still, we will kill you, and then have Rrrrand'Kai's lifeblood!"

It dug both sets of claws into the ground and then launched itself forward at blurring speed, an aura of painful cold seeping out of it as its moved surprisingly gracefully into a double spear-hand thrust with both arms, its gleaming claws aiming to disembowel the masked girl.

Michigan

B’Tumba wringed his blistered wrist, looking across the room at the suited Shuri; she was pouring over his blueprints and documents from AIM. She had kept him tied to his radiator for about four hours whilst questioning him, growing frustrated and beating him when he couldn’t answer her questions. AIM had kept him in the dark about a lot of their plans; that was the nature of working for them. You’d be given resources that you couldn’t even dream to work with under any other company, a task and a time limit. AIM had trusted in him to be able to undertake every project they had given him. His time growing up in Wakanda and being close to T’Challa had afforded him great freedoms in what studies he wanted to progress, he’d always been beside T’Challa in his science and engineering classes, learning from the best and in turn becoming the best that the exceptionally technologically advanced country had to offer.

The projects had come thick and fast, smaller time scales, more secretive tasks, on a no questions asked basis. He knew he wasn’t the best, He felt guilty for needing T’Challa, perhaps not even guilty, weak. He had come here because he wanted to step out from underneath T’Challa’s shadow and have his own platform of accomplishments. AIM had been secretly reaching out to some of the smartest in Wakanda through their connections within the compound. When M’Baku had reached out to him and shown him the promise that America held, and showed him how AIM needed him more than ever, he could not help be drawn in. Finally to be his own person, only to fail in his attempts and need the guidance of his friend.

It hadn’t taken much to convince T’Challa, working alongside M’Baku, the Black Panther’s trusted advisor, in planting seeds of doubt about his place in the monarchy of Wakanda. That, ‘perhaps he was meant for so much more, that he could make a greater difference elsewhere’. T’Challa’s superior intelligence was an asset to AIM, they had turned around their first project in but a few days, and they knew he was destined for better things. B’Tumba had always been jealous under the prince’s shadow, but it felt a familiar comfort to have him back. He just had to continue to prove himself, making sure AIM knew he was indispensible to T’Challa in his work, he had seen how easily they discarded workers that displeased them or didn’t live up to their high expectations.

He feared perhaps that was what had happened to his old friend. As much as he could find out was that an intruder had broken into the labs to steal information on what they were working on. They had succeeded. Initiating a self destruct sequence that ultimately rendered the last few months work into ash. He presumed AIM would have come after him in desperation, but he took comfort that they hadn’t, which gave him hope that T’Challa was still alive. He had to be. There was no way they would abandon their operations after this. Having been privy to some information as to where they were going to be using the sonic missile and knew that they were pushing production because they wanted to use it imminently, information he hadn’t dared to share with T’Challa.

B’Tumba hadn’t told Shuri about M’Baku’s involvement, he had already been at the mercy of her temper, sure that his cheek bone was fractured and blood that he could only assume was from his split brow had pooled and dried under his chin. He had decided to avoid any personal detail with how he’d worked with the royal family’s most trusted advisor in taking her brother away from his responsibility, as much as he felt he owed the family, he also had some self preservation left.

This preservation would only be short lived, B’Tumba knew he wouldn’t have long left, AIM didn’t leave loose ends. Now that they had T’Challa and the sonic missile was already in production he could see no compelling reason from their end why a liability with knowledge of the company should be kept alive. He had spent all this time worrying for his friends’ safety but had failed to realise, bringing T’Challa to America had signed his own death order.

“You’re going to need to show me how to access these secure files.”

Exasperated B’Tumba snapped; “What files Shuri? I don’t have that kind of clearance, and even if I did they have all sorts of security trigger alarms, they would know that it’s me, you’re essentially handing me to them on a plate.”

“The idea of this is to find my brother, who, if I understood the letters between you both, you convinced to come here in the first place. So you put him in this position, endangering his life. I’m the one with the power here so given the choice of making you pay for what you’ve done and getting my brother back, I’m somewhat leaning in my brothers favour.”


Wakanda.

S‘yan stood at the end of the darkened jail’s corridor, his palm against the steel door holding three members of the inner compound staff.

M’Baku broke the silence. “Your grace, we couldn’t have them attempting to leave the compound, the ones working in the inner compound know of the Black Panther’s death and T’Challa’s defecting. It’s too much of a risk, they were carrying messages to their families of the news when under sworn oath, you know the penalties for this.”

“As much as our king valued your expertise in security and matters of war M’Baku, your predisposition to make hasty violent retaliation disturbs me. These people have done nothing wrong-“

“With respect, they made a vow of service which they broke by attempting to leave, which we know is unacceptable at this so desperate time, let my men deal with this. They are not under the palaces law, as members of the White Gorilla, their actions won’t lay in your hands, I am merely upholding my promise to keep everyone in here safe and prevent panic outside these walls.”

“I cannot allow this to happen under my ward. But I also realise setting them free is a danger to us, I thank you for alerting me to this, we will have to keep them here until I receive word from Shuri about her brother's return, keep these workers well fed and comfortable, M’Baku, I trust you can manage this?” S’yan turned, swinging his leopard cape across his shoulders as he strode away into the darkness of the corridor.

Baring his teeth, M’Baku couldn’t stifle the frustrated roar that came from within. On too many occasions these past years he has had to deal with the delicate ways in which these so called leaders had chosen to rule. If he was going to continue holding the upper hand in taking the compound from the inside, the last thing he needed was the citizens being warned or causing an uprising when he had a much bigger hand to play. He had to take this into his own hands.

Unsheathing his scythe, he unbolted the reinforced door.

March 30
Equatorial Africa bordering Wakanda

The humid air hung tight and low along the African plains, roasting Steph in her combat gear. She had wished she brought some lighter clothes, but then again she’d probably be fighting sooner rather than later, negating any chance she’d have to wear them. Still, it was gorgeous here. Africa was one of the few wild places left in the world, and the natural beauty was breathtaking. It boiled her blood even more that Roxxon and their mercs were probably tearing this land up for a couple more bucks.

Beside her, Zinda Blake was finishing up covering the Blackhawk jet with a specialized camouflaged covering. Once she had finished, she pressed a few buttons on a small command module she had taken from the plane. Instantly, the covering took the color and topography of the ground below, completely masking the aircraft. She turned and gave Steph a smile, “Pretty cool, huh? SHIELD’s not the only one with awesome tech.”

“Yea, you’re going to have to show me that island sometime,” Steph chuckled. Blake had explained where the Blackhawk jet had come from. After they left the military, the Blackhawks had set up on a remote island. There, they became vigilante warriors fighting for the freedom of people across the globe. Zinda was the last able bodied descendant to carry on the legacy of the team. She was doing what she could, but it was clear she wouldn’t do much on her lonesome.

“If we do this, they’ll insist I bring you by,” she laughed and checked the rifle slung over her back and the pistol on her thigh. “Besides, they’ll want to see that shield again.”

Blake had told Steph that her grandfather and the rest of the Blackhawks had run a few missions with Bucky and Steve during the war. Carter was dodgy when the pilot asked why she had the shield, and luckily Blake declined to press it further. Steph wanted to tell her, but at this point secrecy was the best course of action.

“Five miles east, right?” Nomad confirmed with Blake.

“Yea, that’s the next village in line, seemingly,” she confirmed. “Along the ridge on the horizon.”

“If Roxxon and the mercs take this village, they could hem the Wakandan reinforcements in and push them back,” Nomad nodded. “All the technological prowess of the Wakandans won’t matter with the high ground and good tactical planning. Whoever’s in charge of these mercs is good. Most would have folded going up against the Black Panther’s army.”

“Well, talking about it isn’t going to change anything,” Zinda got moving towards there target. “Let’s go knock some heads.”



A trek through the jungle and a bit of mountain climbing brought them to the edge of the target village. Steph surveyed the area with a pair of binoculars, “They’re on high alert, that’s for sure. A few patrols of guards brandishing AKs walking around. They look nervous. Can’t see any women or children, probably staying inside to be safe. They knew they’re next. Not sure they’ll like seeing us.”

“What’s the plan then?”

“I’d like to try and move in unseen,” Nomad pointed along the treeline that wrapped around towards the edge of the small hamlet. “We can wait there for anything that may come after. It’ll give us a decent vantage point, and I should be able to intercept the missile whenever they decide to fire it.”

“You’re sure about that one?” Blackhawk raised an eyebrow. “You ever do anything like that with the shield before?”

“I hit a drone one time,” Steph shrugged. “AIM was using them to bomb refugee camps. The shield hit it, causing it to slam into another one. Same basic idea, right?”

“Hey, you’re the one who uses it.”

“After we take out the sonic weapon, we’ll make contact with the village,” Steph planned. “I have no idea what to expect from the mercs, so I’ll have to think of a general defense plan to-”

“Crap!” Zinda yelled and pointed to the sky. Her eyes were good. They were very good. Steph spotted the projectile Blackhawk pointed to, realizing immediately it was the missile she had seen in the AIM plans.

Without bothering to explain herself to Blake, she took off towards the village, running swiftly through the long, grassy plateau that ran up towards it. She could hear the village warriors shouting at her. She responded in kind in their native language, warning them of the projectile. They turned, mouths agape at the approaching threat. Nomad sprang off the ground, kicked off the roof of the first hut she landed on, spun forcefully, and launched her shield towards the missile. She landed deftly in the center of the village and watched as the vibranium disk spun speedily towards its target. She held her breath, hoping she was as good with the disk as she always thought she was.

Then the shield found the mark, and she exhaled with relief. The stronger metal tore through the missile, destroying the dangerous device before returning to her. Nomad caught the shield calmly, and stood tall as the people around her cheered. The shield gleamed brightly in the hot African sun, and she said in the people’s native tongue, “That was just the beginning. We need to prepare. War is coming to your village, and we’ll all need to pitch in to survive.”

Belle Reve Prison
March 26th, 2005
1600

Lex Luthor had finished touring the devastated Belle Reve prison alongside warden and head of ARGUS Amanda Waller. Waller had not been here when HYDRA attacked and killed SHIELD Director Timothy Dugan. It was a good thing, too. If she had been, her blood would be staining the walls that was now covered with SHIELD agents’ and guards’ alike. Funny thing about human blood is that it stains everything. The cleanup crew attempting to wash away the massacre that happened merely days ago would be at it for weeks yet. It was the final proof of humanity’s staying power in this world. Even their life essence clung to this world.

It was beautiful in its morbidity.

HYDRA had been brutal. This had been their coming out party, and they wanted people to fear them. Luthor was impressed at the lengths they went to try and prove a point, even if it was a bit old fashioned. HYDRA was a caveman in modern times. They would kill a few people, scare the peasants, and eventually be stopped by the costumed crusaders. They were too visible. Their rhetoric and goals were to broad. World domination? Please. To change the universe and to exalt humanity were Luthor’s destiny, and were honorable pursuits.

Still, their bombastic machinations were a valuable asset to Luthor and his associates. HYDRA’s form of villainy would draw attention and resources away from anyone looking at Luthor or his allies. That was always valuable.

“Mr. Luthor?” Waller roused him from his own thoughts.

“Yes?” he turned to her, giving her his full attention. Waller was a shrewd woman. There was a reason she was head of ARGUS. Before her appointment, she was one of SHIELD’s best counter intelligence officers. Amanda Waller had nearly killed more people by direct order than Lex, and that was something he admired. He could tell she didn’t trust him much, which made him respect her even more. If she could even sniff a hint of deception on him, she was even sharper than his information led him to believe.

“Will you be able to fix it? Belle Reve is critical to metahuman crime abatement. It’s the only location that can safely hold dangerous super powered individuals. We’ll need some new tech to convince Washington to invest heavily in rebuilding it and upgrading it. They already sank a fortune into its original design.

”I think you’ll enjoy my speech, Director Waller,” Luthor smiled as he stepped up to a makeshift stage his people had been setting up during the tour. Standing behind the podium was Lex’s private bodyguard Mercy Graves, standing tall and focused in a pressed black suit that contrasted her pale skin and long, blond hair. She stood at six foot four, and looked as dangerous as she was beautiful. She was dangerous, of course. Luthor hired only the best, and there were few on Earth like Mercy.

One of his other assistants applied some makeup as another briefed him again on his prepared notes. He didn’t need either, but he was in a good mood and didn’t want to shoo them away in front of so many onlookers. Today was a day to be a leader to the American people. It was a day to show them who truly was the future of humanity.

His tech director gave him the signal that he was live, and Luthor began, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I am, for those that may not know, Lex Luthor, principal owner and CEO of LexCorp. I am broadcasting to you today from Belle Reve Correctional Facility in the heart of Louisiana. As you undoubtedly know, this very prison was attacked without warning or mercy by the cowardly terrorists calling themselves HYDRA. These vicious villains managed to murder SHIELD Director Timothy Dugan, as well as dozens of guards and SHIELD agents. While we can do nothing to bring them back, we can make sure this never happens again. Today I am announcing that LexCorp will fund the rebuilding of Belle Reve to ensure it is a safe place to hold the superpowered villains that threaten our world. Along with this, LexCorp will continue to provide SHIELD and other government agencies with all the technology they need to keep the world safe from these threats. Humanity’s greatest asset is its resilience. Today I ask you not to fear HYDRA. Together with LexCorp we can overcome this terrible blight on our world.”

A polite round of applause rolled through the assembled crowd of Belle Reve guards and administrators, and Luthor smiled warmly at them. Behind him, Mercy said, “Wonderful speech, sir. Concise, powerful, and to the point.”

“Thank you, Mercy,” he said as the two of them made their way off the stage. “That’s how I prefer to operate.”

“Well, that was generous,” Waller deadpanned at Luthor.

“It was,” he smiled. “And I assume SHIELD and ARGUS will be just as generous as I was in our next round of contract bids. Now, please excuse me, Director Waller. I have other matters to attend to.”

Mercy escorted Luthor to the roof, where his private helicopter was waiting. He beamed every time he saw the beautiful machine. He had designed it personally from the ground up, and there was only one of them in existence. Its sleek, white exterior was adorned with the LexCorp logo and shone brightly in the setting sun. Its proprietary engines could keep it in the air for days if need be, and the interior was big enough to hold a conference room so he could work on the go.

“Mercy,” he smiled at his bodyguard, “please tell the pilot to head for Metropolis. I have a meeting to attend to in the conference room.”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded and headed to the cockpit.

He entered the business section of the chopper, where he found his associates were already on their designated screens, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m happy to report that went swimmingly. LexCorp will rebuild Belle Reve, and The Society will control the world’s most high security prison.”

"But what of Superman?" one of the shadows on the many screens lining the room asked. "You believed he suspects you now, no?"

Lex took a calming breath and clenched his fists. These peons knew better than to mention the alien in his presence. It was bad enough his plans necessitated working with them, now they were disobeying his rules?

"Superman, for all his braying about truth and justice, holds no clout," Luthor smiled confidently. "He has nothing to prove my wrongdoing or the wrongdoing of anyone on this council. He won't be a problem."

"What is our next move, then?" another member of The Society asked.

"Our next move is to wait," Luthor preached patience. "We need to monitor HYDRA. See what their next moves are. Then we can decide where to strike while SHIELD and the authorities are distracted. I'll be in touch."

He ended the transmission as Mercy entered the board room, "We're laying low?"

"No, my dear," Luthor smirked. "I'd just like to do some business off the books."

Lex sat back in his chair and picked up a figurine of Superman that sat on the conference table. He twirled the little vigilante in his hands and pondered what came next. Looking down at the face of the model alien, he said, "Soon, my powerful friend. Soon you will grovel before me, and the world will join you."

---

---

24:00, Date Unknown,
Vlatavian Airspace,
Experimental Stealth Gunship

So...when exactly are we going to stop doing...that?

The activity in question involved a pair of matching semi-automatic pistols and more specifically consisted of Deadpool cuddling them against his chest and face as if he had somehow gotten a duo of lethal firearms confused with perhaps, a basket full of adorable orphaned kittens.

"Did you two miss Daddy?~ Because Daddy missed you! Yes he did!~ Oh yes he did!~ Daddy's never going to let the mean ol' fat lady take you away from him ever again!~ Oooh we're going to have so much fun together!~ Daddy's gonna have you shoot sooooo many different things: Nazis, terrorists, army guys, maybe even some science projects!~"

This had been going on for long enough that even Deadpool's own inner voice was starting to find it somewhat disturbing, at least after the first fifteen minutes or so.

Cut that out! We're embarrassing ourselves in front of all the other ruthless killers! Besides, We barely even remember what we name those things more than twice in a row!

I do too! We named them Harpo and Groucho! Wait...Bonnie and Clyde...no no Mary-Kate and Ashley...or was it...Bea and Arthur! Final Answer Bea and Arthur!

...Actually I think a few days ago we decided on Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch...

At this Deadpool jumped bodily out of his seat and didn't even seem to notice he was angrily waving his guns around in the air.

"DAMMIT MARK WAHLBERG!"

Before he could put a hole in the plane in his frustration, Wade found himself shoved roughly back into his seat by Rick Flagg, then forcibly strapped in by the ARGUS agent before the Captain returned to his own seat.

"We don't have time for another one of your outbursts, Wilson. We're dropping into the infiltration zone any minute and the ship only has a tiny window to pass over the target area undetected. The last thing I need is you missing the drop or blowing a hole through one of the other cons heads before we even start..."

The statement was met with a snort of derision from Warhawk, who otherwise barely seemed to notice that a gun had been waved in his face.

"If'n the bo' shot himself in the head it'd probably improve him! At least we'd git him to shut up fer a minute!"

Seriously, what IS that accent supposed to be? I can never figure it out! It's totally faked right...

"unfortunately for the rest of us a bullet to the head is unlikely to have any real effect. Deadpool's brain is capable of regenerating from a cleanly made headshot in under six seconds...if the bullet were to lodge in his skull however-"

"We're all upset by Mark Wahlberg's career path, but 's'no excuse for random gun violence Wade."

We did overreact a little...Maybe we could look a little more sane by apologizing or-

Just then a flashing red light and the blare of a klaxon alarm cut off everyone's various trains of thought, and if that wasn't enough of a conversation killer the straps of their chairs pulled them all back tightly against the seats before sealing them in what looked like miniature coffins of steel and hi-tech glass.

"Well, this ain't ominous..."

and then they dropped.

"WHEEEEE-HEE-HEEEEEEEEE!~ TOWER OF TERROOOOOOOOR!"

It was sort of like a roller-coaster, minus any rails or safety features or intention of amusement in any way. Not that it lessened Deadpool's enjoyment even a bit as he rushed toward the ground at ludicrous speed from high altitude in a tiny metal and glass box.

You do realize the end of this is probably break like all of our bones right?

Nah! You'll see, any second now this thing's parachute is gonna deploy just in time to prevent me from being injured!

The rest of the Squad's pods did in fact deploy sophisticated parachutes to slow them down. Deadpool's pod on the other hand...

Aaaany second now...Come on...any second...

As the ground loomed uncomfortably close and his speed only increased, Wade gained a certain measure of clarity. Yes...yes, it was becoming all too obvious to him now...

This was really going to hurt.

"MOMMY-

*SMASH!*

When Deadpool next came to after half of his body finished reassembling itself from shards of bone, glass, metal and meat-jelly, it was to the concerned expression of Copycat and the voice of Amanda Waller in his earpiece.

"-and that's for all the times you referred to me as 'The Fat Lady'. Now get up and get a move on Wilson."

"I know we're expendable to her, but she didn't have to go that far...you okay Wade?"

He took her offered hand as he stood up, checking his equipment and finding it thankfully unscathed.

"Whatever, she knows I can take it and give back better is all. Now...why were we here again? We're picking up freshly made Кулич, right? Man it's been a while, hope they have chocolate frosted! But seriously, will Waller's ravenous hunger never be satisfied?"

At this Captain Flagg cut in once again.

"Deadpool you idiot! Did you not ONCE listen to the briefings?"

"Well honestly when your big, propaganda poster-looking mug opens up I generally just hear this big campy version of the ARGUS themesong..."

Flagg sighed in a mix one-part frustration he couldn't afford to deal with and one part world-weary cynicism, pointing at the MASSIVE structure of cement, barbed wire and flood lights. The Vlatavian Nationalist Army's most infamous prison, not that Deadpool had bothered to learn it's name.

"We're here to break into THAT and extract Count Vertigo! He has information on a several HYDRA cells including one suspected of successfully infiltrating here in the Latverian Union itself. Right now while I'm stuck here explaining this to you AGAIN, Deadshot's moving around this clearing getting into position with Warhawk to assault the rear-"

"HA!"

"-While Copycat uses the distraction to morph into one of the penitentiary guards and extract Vertigo. Now, you and I are going to-ARGUS!~ BEST OF THE BEST AND BRIGHTEST OF THE BRIGHT! ALL THOSE WHO DO WRONG SHOULD FEAR OUR MIGHT! ARGUS!~-

Deadpool had already started just walking toward the massive steel prison gates before his mind had even replaced Rick Flagg's boooring words with patriotic singing, striding confidently across the ground as the floodlights trained on him and the occasional probing but mostly ceremonial bullet was fired his way.

Seriously? We know that's not what he's actually saying right, and that Waller can still remotely shut us down at pretty much any time? Also seriously? Our plan is...what right now? Walk right through the front door?

But Waller was either confused enough or curious enough about his plan, because he didn't drop unconscious in the next few seconds. Instead, Wade Wilson walked up to one of the most notorious military prisons in Eastern Europe and knocked right on a small entry door, waiting expectantly. Sure enough after a few minutes of confused mumblings from the other side a slit slid away with a hiss and a pair of eyes peered through. Clearing his throat theatrically Deadpool launched into his best Vlatavian, at least as he remembered it through his days as a mercenary here fighting for...which faction was it again? Who even remembered after the fifth civil war...

"Ша нщг фку куфвштп ершы нщг рфму ещщ ьгср ешьу щт нщгк рфтвы!"

A cry of wordless rage erupted from behind the door and it was flung open, only for the enraged soldier on the other side to be met with a bullet between the eyes at close range. His stunned fellows reached for assault rifles and sidearms as their protocol breaching associate slumped to the floor, but Deadpool only charged in gripping his two katana, shouting the old battlecry he'd used the last time he was in their country.

"Deadpool шы фцуыщьу фтв нщг ырщгдв фдд ыгсл ршы ргпу ****!"

The entryway was significantly redder when everything was over, and Deadpool's pajamas had an uncomfortable number of new holes in them.

"I can't believe after all these years, that trick still works!"

It might be weirder if it didn't given what we said.

Deadpool spoke into his earpiece as he strode down the hallway, leaving strawberry jam colored footprints all over the floor.

[color=red]"Right, I'm in and believe me it definitely looks more like a rogue super-villain attack than government work now! I'm gonna go find Count Chocula unless you guys grab him first! Also hey Deadshot, feels like old times right? Me, you, a battlefield full of Eastern European nobodies! How many times did you shoot me before I got lucky anyways? Speaking of, you and ol' shiny-skin over there ever get to talkin' about his wife? Man, she was a riot!"

There, that ought to put some fire under the B-Team! With luck they'd be back in the U.S. with a biiiig 'Mission Accomplished' Breakfast in no time!