S i l i c o n A l l e y, M a n h a t t a n, N e w Y o r k

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Tony ordered the pilot to turn the VTOL round and take it back to Silicon alley, figuring it would be easier for the authorities to deal with them there than anywhere else. The goons stood at opposite ends of the aircraft, noses stuck in the 'naughty' corners, warned not to make so much as a peep. Thomas Morrow sat alone, arms wrapped around his torso as he rocked back and forwards, the skin of his face and hands an off-white. Tony knew the signs of shock when he seen them. He could sympathize, he'd been in Morrow's shoes before, only there'd been no man-in-a-can to save him.

J.A.R.V.I.S had called ahead, warning the police that the A.I.M craft would be returning. Tony was eager to avoid any trigger happy cops thinking that the surrendering aircraft was making another pass. The airspace around S.T.A.R wasn't as empty as he'd left it though, police copters jockeying with news choppers eager for a story, leaving hardly enough room for the VTOL to land. Most cleared the area quickly enough after realizing the newcomer was an A.I.M craft though. Regardless of J.A.R.V.I.S's entreaties to the gunships intent, most weren't willing to take the risk of sharing the skies with it.

When they'd landed Tony walked the operatives, sans helmets and hands held high above their heads, out at repulsor point, taking things very slow. The beat cops had been bolstered by armed response SWAT teams now, and each and every one of them were shooting their best stink eyes, but thankfully that was all that they were shooting. Upon realizing that the villains of the piece were well and truly subdued, a ragged cheer went up from the crowd, increasing in intensity and volume as the shaken professor Morrow stumbled down the exit ramp. Several EMT's broke the cordon to rush to his side, while the A.I.M agents were cuffed and lumbered (none too gently) into the back of police vehicles.

“Well, that's the easy part done.” Tony muttered to himself. Now came the hard part. Dealing with reporters.

He marched towards the journo's with as much real gusto as a man walking to his execution, the suit thumping a discordant beat with every step upon the concrete. He didn't have to do this part, he reminded himself, he didn't have to play nice for the cameras. He chose to. Like or not Iron Man was a franchise now, and the more he got snapped smiling in triumphant, one foot raised heroically upon the slumped forms of his conquered foes, the more powerful that franchise became. The more powerful it became, the more money it made. The more money it made, the more people he could help. Philanthropic economics 101.

That, and every time he got in the papers playing the hero the more it would spit in the eye of Lex Luthor, who still hadn't invited him to join the League. Petty, sure, but Tony would be the first to admit that he was no saint.

So he smiled for the camera's flashing lights, helmet held under his arm as he answered questions and joked with onlookers. If you had known Tony when he was a shy youth you never would have recognized him now, all glib confidence and showy smirks. A naturally razor sharp wit and years of being in the public eye had conspired to craft Tony into the quintessential media darling, though of late hee had mixed feelings about the whole scene. On the one hand he enjoyed the attention and adulation he received, on the other he felt that enjoying that attention was the first step on the slippery slope that had once seen him peddle misery for profit so eagerly. He was already beginning to feel guilty for enjoying himself. It was the guilt that made him hate having to deal with the media so.

Ah, but the uniquely quaint mental tortures men will visit upon themselves. It never ceased to surprise him.

He excused himself to a chorus of disappointed sighs, and crossed over to the ambulance where professor Morrow was being treated. He seemed calmer now, a blanket wrapped around his thin shoulders, staring into space while a EMT stood nearby, filling in notes. Tony coughed to announce his presence, though Morrow's disconnectedly slow reaction suggested that he might not have completely returned to the land of the living.

"Would you consider it a stupid question if I asked how you were feeling?"

Morrow gazed up at him vacantly for a moment, and Tony wondered if the professor was doing even worse than he'd initially suspected, but eventually a tired, half-hearted smile tried to spread across the scientists face, though it failed to reach his eyes.

"Not at all. And in answer, I've had better days. Though it could have been much worse if not for you, mister Stark, for which you have my gratitude."

Tony smiled in return, relaxing slightly when it became apparent that Morrow wasn't so badly shaken after all.

"All in a days work." Their was only a dash of self-depreciation to his tone. "So did A.I.M let slip about why they wanted you?"

Tony had a fairly good idea as to what A.I.M was up to on that front. The group had set themselves up as highly advanced weapons dealers all across the world, and while some of their tech came from their own work, most of it was stolen, or coerced designs from scientists with more scruples. Morrow, one of the planets foremost minds on robotics, was no doubt in the latter camp.

"I'm afraid they said very little to me, mister Stark. . . "

The professor fell silent, and Tony began to think that their conversation had come to a wordless conclusion until Morrow muttered under his breath, almost to low for the billionaire to hear.

_{"I wonder if I'll ever stop being afraid."}

Stark stepped forward and dropped to a knee in front of the sitting professor, and forced the older man to meet his gaze.

"Listen to me Thomas, because this is important. I've been where you are, and I came through it. Dented, scuffed, and dirty maybe, but I came through it all the same. No matter what else happens, you need to remember one very important thing. They can only beat you if you let them. Don't let them. The fear while fade, bit by bit, day by day. All you have to do is not let them beat you."

The professor seemed to waver for a second, and Tony was afraid that the older man would look away, but at the last second he seemed to straighten in his seat, and managed a stiff nod. Tony smiled. He hoped the advice would work for Morrow, and that the fear would go away.

Lord knows it hadn't worked for him.

The Iron Avenger was distracted by a commotion from behind them. He clambered back to his feet and turned to face the noise.

_{"Oh Hell. Just in time."}

A small group of men and women wearing skin tight blue and white body suits were pushing their way through the crowds towards him. He recognized the S.H.I.E.L.D outfits immediately, as he'd had more dealings than he'd care to admit with the organisation, mostly when he was still an arms dealer. At their head, wearing a scowl so deep and glaring at him so intently that he was half certain she meant to kill him, was Maria Hill.



If King Faraday was Amanda Waller's right hand, then Maria Hill was her left. Tony liked to think that it was the hand she liked to hit people with.

"Who's that?"

Morrow had leaned around Tony to get a better look, and had managed to lay eyes on the steadily advancing Hill. She'd be in shouting range soon. Not that she was ever out of shouting range.

"That's my que to exit."

Tony fixed his helmet back into place. Maria, realizing what he was up to, doubled her pace, agents behind her jostling even harder through the crowds.

"What, really?"

"I'm afraid so. Keep an eye on your inbox though. I'll have a proposal for you in a few days. Stay safe Thomas. . . And sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"For leaving you alone to deal with Maria."

Morrow didn't look any less confused, but Tony didn't have any more time to spend explaining. He hit the throttle, the suit taking off with it's customary smoothness. He did one flyover for the fans, and fancied he could hear Hill snarling his name as he passed.

That last bit put a real nice shine on the whole outing for him.

---

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Justice League Watchtower - United States - Midgard

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Thor was a being of action, a prince of a Realm more used to violence and carnage than the mortals he served with would ever know. Their ways of subtlety eluded him, if he had been the one to dishonourably enter the home of his enemies his attack would have damaged more than a simple machine.

This was not his world.

Even as Ant-Man and Captain America were taking their leave Thor was resisting the urge to take Mjolnir and fly into the skies of Midgard, regardless of damage to the structure they were in. Instead, the Asgardian remained through the period of 'lockdown', also a new invention that Luthor had explained to him. Thor saw little use in restricting the movements of one's forces but allowed that deviation would be easier to track in such a state of emergency.

As he waited Thor felt a pricking at his mind, a sensation he had not felt in a long time. There was a need, a calling at his very being; the urge pulled at his senses the more he tried to deny it.

Pulling Mjolnir from it place on his belt, Thor whirled the mighty hammer and set off into flight. He smashed through the wall of the Watchtower, structures be damned, and flew with the speed of purpose towards the source of the call.

Kahndaq Airspace, Midgard

Thor's arm was growing weary from the constant need to readjust his angle in these damned winds, Midgard was a realm of change and this was reflected even in the elements themselves.

"Thor? Thor!" A voice in the Thunder God's ear chirped into life, Lex had requested that Thor wear one of the Lexcorp earplugs so that he would be reachable in the event of an emergency. Thor often forgot the small device but, after his vision, had made a point of inserting the small plug into his ear in case of trouble.
"Our instruments are showing you entering into Kahndaq airspace!"

"Cease thy prattle." Thor recognised the voice as belonging to one of the Lexcorp employees that worked on rotation to ensure that he was monitored and given battle information in the heat of a fray if needed. This voice was from 'Dustin Holis', a little man even by mortal standards, Holis was prone to caution and indecisiveness to the point where he had become a liability to his charge on occasion.

"But that's Kahndaq!" Holis was more nervous than usual, "Lexcorp's not permitted within their airspace!"

Thor laughed, "Tis a good thing then that the son of Odin is not of Lexcorp!"

"Thor you don't understand! You're in the Justice League, they'll think it's an attack! You need to get back to the US!"

Thor shook his head; he could no more return to the Americas right now than he could talk to one of Ant-Man's namesakes. The urge that had led him here was much stronger and showed no sign of abating, although he felt himself a lot closer to the source than before.

A solitary shape flickered into the Thunder God's peripheral vision, the telltale outline of one of the mortals' flying machines. Thor felt the plane approach and allowed himself to slow until the plane was alongside him.

"We're receiving a communication from Kahndaq," Hollis' voice was in his ear once more, "They're ordering you to leave right now. I strongly advise you to-"

"Who are they to order a God?" Thor's eyes flashed, and with his irritation a bout of thunder grew in the sky. He turned to the pilot in the vehicle beside him, the man gestured with his hand towards the floor. <down>

Thor shook his head in disgust and made his own gesture to the pilot. The man's eyes narrowed, clearly the meaning was the same in Midgard.

Thor went into a burst of speed as the pilot throttled his plane back a short burst, Thor felt the fog of battle descend and instinctively knew what the other man would do. He swung himself into a spin even as the hail of bullets whizzed by him.

"I'm losing my job for this, oh God you're starting a war."

"Call not to him Hollis," Thor remarked even as he turned so he was flying on his back, "There is only one deity on Midgard..."

Stretching out with his hand, Thor called upon the elements and sent a bolt of lightning hurtling down upon the helpless Kahndaq fighter jet, the electrical charge ran through the vehicle and sent it spinning out of control. The frantic pilot activated his emergency eject and launched himself out of the plane and began the descent to the deserts below.

"...his name is Thor."

With that, Thor continued with his flight towards the source of his journey. A series of badly maintained buildings came into view and, even as Thor began to descend, a group of mortals emerged to stare up at him. They were slight of height and build and looked malnourished to Thor's eyes. They looked at him in confusion, suspicion and with such a lack of hope that Thor's heart grieved for them. The smallest of the group, a child clutching a scrap of paper, separated from the others to approach him. Her frame was as thin as the others, he hair was in a tousled mess and she looked for all the world like a small doll. Before he could stop her, she had her arms wrapped around his waist and was embracing him with a strength that surprised all who watched.

"<Are you here to save us?>" She asked, her words translating themselves in his Asgardian senses much as those from the US did.

"You need to get her off you," Hollis' voice came through Thor's ear again, "We don't need that lawsuit!"

Ignoring the Lexcorp employee Thor knelt down to the girl's height, she stepped back hesitantly.

"What ails you little one?" Thor asked gently, knowing his words would be understood.

"<Our land is dying,>" the child's words spilled from her mouth in a rush, "<our crops die and we have no food.>"

Thor could feel the truth of her words, the desert was harsh and offered no respite to those who made their home upon its surface. He could see no larger settlement on the horizon and had only barely noticed one when in the air. It was too far for these people to make the journey, not with their lack of food and water.

Odin had instructed the Gods of Asgard to leave the people of Midgard to their own devices, it seemed to Thor that the other pantheons had followed suit. Over time their devotion had changed to mockery, bitterness and finally to apathy. The emergence of superhumans had allowed the mortals to begin believing once more in possibilities beyond their control.

They were starting to believe in miracles.

Thor raised Mjolnir to the skies and reached out with his mind to bend the elements to his will. From the clear skies above he called the very clouds into being and ordered them to release the rain.



"Go!" Thor called to the people around him, "Drink your fill. There will be enough for all."

All around there were cheers and whooping, the people rushed to fetch cups, buckets and any container they could find. The little girl did not move. Thor looked down at her kindly.

"Drink little one, this would not be possible without you."

"<How did you know?>" She asked in wonder, "<What brought you here?>"

Thor smiled broadly, "Thy prayer brought me here," he reached down to take the scrap of paper from the girl's hand. He turned it over in his hand, the now-soggy paper was a cutting from a newspaper that had somehow found its way here.

It read: 'Thunder God Thor a member of the Justice League' and held an out of focus photograph of Thor in flight. The God in question smiled broadly before handing the paper back to its owner. "I am very glad to have met you." The girl took her talisman back gravely before beaming at him and, opening her mouth, she inclined her face to the heavens and basked in the rain.

"Make your way to the city and live well. Thor called to the people around him, "The mighty Thor is here to help!"

With that Thor whirled Mjolnir and shot off into the sky. He ensured that the rain would continue for a number of hours after he departed and then set off on the long flight back to America.

Fortress of Solitude, The Arctic

Clark Kent’s footsteps echoed through the crystalline structure known as the Fortress of Solitude. Through the years the Fortress had served as a sanctuary of sorts. In moments of stress, when he needed to quiet a disquieted mind, he would make the flight out to the Arctic to enjoy the serenity that the Fortress provided. Once it had been bare but since Clark had decorated it with gadgets, trinkets, and trophies he’d amassed over the years. Clark stared with a blank expression at the large screen he’d unsuccessfully attempted to hail Reed Richards on moments earlier. From behind him came the sound of fists slamming in vain against a crystal cell. The fists belonged to Hank Henshaw, the once-stranded astronaut twisted into a Cyborg Superman, and on his face was emblazoned a murderous rage.

"You can’t keep me in here forever, Superman. I’ll find a way out eventually and when I do I’ll make you burn for what you did to Terri."

With a shake of his head Clark looked towards the imprisoned Henshaw.

"I didn’t do anything to Terri, Hank, that was all you."

"You’re lying! You made me d-"

Clark sighed and tapped a button on the control panel next to him. The clear crystal between himself and Henshaw turned opaque and Henshaw’s voice was cut off mid-sentence. From the other side the sound of his fists pounding against the crystal could be heard, though only slightly, and his shouting was all but muffled into nonexistence.

"I think I’ve had about enough of that for one afternoon."

On the large screen behind Clark the face of Reed Richards appeared. Behind him H.E.R.B.I.E., the robot Reed had designed to help him with his research, floated back and forwards around Reed’s laboratory clumsily.

"Are you there, Clark?"

Clark nodded to Reed.

"I’m here. Thanks for getting back to me at such short notice, Reed. I know how busy you are over at the Baxter Building at the moment. You know I wouldn’t have got in touch unless it was urgent."

There was a bang from behind Reed as H.E.R.B.I.E. dropped some equipment to the ground and Richards shot the robot a disappointed look.

"Oh, don’t be ridiculous. It’s always a pleasure to hear from you. What seems to be the issue?"

"It… I’m not sure, actually, that’s why I got in contact. I went with Jimmy to visit Lex at the LexCorp Building this morning and something strange happened. I presume you know about the generator Lex is working on?"

An effusive smile appeared on Reed’s face as he recalled his visit to the LexCorp Building the afternoon that he, Johnny, Ben, and Sue had bumped into Clark in Metropolis.

"Yes, it’s a fantastic machine. How he managed to extract energy from the meteor rock is completely beyond me. I tried for a fortnight and couldn’t find a way to do it without the rock shattering or leaking radiation. Then again, Lex has a whole army of scientists at hand whilst I’m… I’m on my own here, but for Sue helping out here and there, so perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. Lex always has been a rather resourceful man."

Clark nodded grimly.

"Amongst other things."

There wasn’t much in the way of criticism that Clark could offer as regards Reed Richards. He was an incredible intellect, perhaps the cleverest man on Earth, and kinder than anyone that Clark had ever met. It was that kindness that informed his faith in Lex. Reed Richards had long since considered Lex a friend, even more so since the Justice League had been formed and some of Lex’s less savory contracts terminated, and in these moments it became clear that Luthor was something of a blind-spot for Reed. As once with Victor Von Doom, Reed still believed there was good in Lex and there was little that could shake that determination. Even Clark’s own faith in the human condition didn’t stretch so far as believing that Lex Luthor acted out of an interest in the greater good.

"It was the rock I wanted to speak to you about. He showed Jimmy and I a slither of it during our interview with him and the strangest thing happened. I… I felt sick, Reed, like the life was being drained from me. I never feel sick. Not in all my years have I ever so much as had a cold. Yet when Lex showed us that rock I could barely stand."

The significance of that wasn’t lost on Reed.

"That is alarming."

Reed pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment as he ran through everything he knew about the meteor rock. The rock had stitched Reed and Clark’s fate together through time. It was the meteor rocks crashing to Earth that had set in motion the expedition that would send Reed, Ben, Johnny, and Sue into Space at Nick Fury’s behest. It was only then, as his mind toyed that very coincidence, that things fell into place for Reed.

"Clark, had it ever occurred to you that the meteor rock fell to Earth on the same day that your craft arrived here?"

Clark’s eyes narrowed a little and his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"What are you saying?"

"What if this meteor rock is Kryptonian in origin? It would explain why it was able to affect your Kryptonian DNA whilst other forms of radiation don’t seem able to."

It was so simple that it pained Clark that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind before.

"That would make a lot of sense. I haven’t had any contact with the rock given most of it resides under the ground in Latveria."

"It would explain Doom’s interest in it too. Though the questions as to how Lex got his hands on so much of the meteor rock remains unanswered. Victor has been stockpiling the rock for years, he’s spent billions collecting every scrap of it on Earth, and all of a sudden Lex has enough to power his generator? It doesn’t add up."

The perplexed look on Reed’s face was met with a stern, stony gaze from Clark.

"Doesn’t it?"

Clark could see the gears in Reed’s brain whirring around. That brilliant mind of his was searching for an explanation for Lex’s access to the meteor rock that didn’t involve his being in cahoots with Doom. There wasn’t one. With Reed of all people, Clark couldn’t bring himself to speak frankly about the kind of man he knew Lex to be. Perhaps it was because of the respect he held for Reed or because there was a part of Clark, buried deep beneath the surface, that wanted to believe that Reed was right. He wanted to believe that even someone like Lex Luthor could reform. Wanting to believe it and actually believing it was another thing altogether.

"If Lex wanted to make a weapon out of the rock, he would have done so by now, wouldn’t he? I know you’re not fond of him and I’m not without my reservations but… I don’t believe Lex would lay down with a man like Doom."

Clark’s silence in the face of Reed’s comments spoke volumes. Sensing a response wasn’t forthcoming, Richards leant back in his seat, rubbed the back of his neck, and tried to piece together something practical that he and Clark could agree on until he knew more about the meteor rock.


"For the time being, I think it would be smart to stay away from the rock until we can figure out exactly what it does to your physiology, Clark. Radiation poisoning is hard enough to contain when the element is from this planet, let alone from a dead planet from halfway across the known universe. We have no idea what kind of damage it does or whether it’s permanent. You need to play this one safe, Clark. If you come into contact with the rock again I need you to promise me you’ll protect yourself at all costs."

Clark let out a sigh as he prepared to cut the communication short.

"I’ll be safe, Reed. You have my word on that."

Manhattan General Hospital

The thing about breaking into a hospital is that they’re never closed. There’s always gonna be a lot of people around to accidentally bump into while you’re just trying to see how a bullet entered some guy’s head. It’s not like you can waltz into the morgue and roll every stiff out of the freezer willy nilly. It takes a lot more finesse than that.

“It’s that one,” Claire points to the door. “It’s locked though.”

Oh, having a friend who works at the hospital helps a lot too.

“Claire, what would I do without you?” I flash a smile at her.

“The question is how much less stress would I have without you?” She gives him the side-eye. It’s not out of line to ask. Claire puts her neck out for us often. Helping superpowered vigilantes one the side could be an arrestable offense depending on how much the feds felt like being ballbusters. And Claire helps us a lot.

“Well, you could always go full time with the nightly activities,” I respond, adjusting the surgical facemask I have to conceal my identity. It’s not as flashy as the Iron Fist suit, but it certainly stands out a lot less here. “I’m sure Spider-Man could use a good medic.”

“Yea, the last thing I need is more guys in spandex in my apartment,” she rolls her eyes.

“Well, thanks,” I nod. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

Approaching the morgue, I jiggle the handle hoping against hope that someone forgot to lock the door when they left. The resistance that greets my gentle push tells me I’m not that lucky. But honestly we’re never that lucky. If being a superhero was easy, everyone would do it. Actually, that’d be nice. Focusing my Chi, I slam my palm against the handle. The force of the blow snaps the lock in the door, allowing me ingress.

As I cross the threshold, the frigid air of the morgue greets me, sending a tremor up my spine. The dead bodies don’t help either, of course. I mean, come on, dead people are a bit freaky.

Unfortunately for me, there’s also a living person in this room as well. A doctor stands over a body performing an autopsy, with earbuds blocking out the world around him. I slink silently towards the drawers where the bodies are held. I search the names for the one I’m looking for, spotting “Officer Jonathan Rogers” after a few seconds. After flipping the latch of the drawer, the body slides out, revealing the body bag within.

With a quick flick of the wrist, the zipper comes down, showing the gruesome visage of the slain cop. The number of bullet holes in the body is astounding, so many that there’s no way any doctor would give the cause of death much thought. My gaze drifts to the body’s head, where there is indeed a perfect shot right between the eyes. Even more interesting, however, was the angle it was at. The bullet had entered the skull at a downward angle, leading credence to what the mother and daughter had said.

“Hey, who are you?”

Crap.

I turn to find the other doctor standing behind me and looking very confused, “You’re not supposed to be here. It’s restricted.”

As he talks, my right hand begins to glow green as I focus my Chi again, this time also tapping into the lifeforce of the man standing in front of me. I can feel waves of confusion and trepidation flowing off of him, an odd sensation to say the least. I’ve been learning a lot from the Book of the Iron Fist, an ancient tome that chronicles the life and abilities of the other Iron Fists throughout time. Orson Randall, my predecessor, had stolen it from K’un-Lun and handed it down to me. It helped me save the Seven Cities, but I honestly haven’t practiced the things in it enough.

“Hey, sorry about this,” with my Chi powered hand, I place my thumb and index finger around the man’s brow. Instantly, he falls asleep. The technique is also supposed to erase the last few minutes of his memory, as long as I didn’t overdo it. “God I hope you don’t wake up thinking you’re late for kindergarten.”



Heroes for Hire Offices

After I finish explaining to Luke about the bullet holes, he nods, “That lines up with the mother and daughter’s story. They said the first bullet came from a high angle. They also claim he kept claiming ‘shadows’ had been following him. He was on paid leave after a case, though he never told them why or what happened.”

“Did he have a partner?”

“Yea, guy’s name is Burr, he was reassigned when Rogers went on leave,” Luke explains. “Desk jockey right now. You want to talk to him?”

I consider it, but shake my head, “Not until we have an idea on what we’re dealing with. I don’t want to put a target on his back as well.”

“Good point. You’ll go talk to Misty to see if she can get her old contacts to get info on this case that apparently scarred a man and put him in line for a bullet to the head?” He asks with raised eyebrows. The grimace I shoot back at him is all the answer he needs, “Come on man. You gotta talk to her sometime.”

Misty Knight is my girlfriend. Well, she’s my ex-girlfriend, I should say. The two of us are like dynamite when we’re together, the problem is dynamite explodes, and we’re currently in the fallout of one of those explosions. It was definitely my fault, as I kept her out of the loop during the events of last year. But I stand by my decision, and I don’t need to have a screaming match while trying to solve a case.

”Luke, I…” the sentence trails off as I think of a good excuse.

“Listen, man, if you’re too much of a pansy to suck up your pride and talk to your ex, I’ll do it tomorrow,” he shakes his head. “But why don’t you look for your testicles tonight when you get home?”

“Great, thanks. That’s helpful,” I smirk meekly.

Luke leaves the office, flipping off the reception light, leaving me alone in my office, the only illumination coming from a weak lamp on my desk. While it was good to be back in the normal flow of things, it certainly took getting used to. After fighting in a war, the drama of normal life seems trivial, even if it isn’t.

“Maybe a fight is exactly what I need right now,” I muse to myself, grabbing my Iron Fist costume out of the desk. Night in New York always means there’s some scumbag that needs to go to jail.

Time to find some.

The Roxxon Corporation was a monolith, a spire of corruption and secrets rising above the streets of Manhattan. Led by Phillip Roxxon, it was a looming titan of corporate power that no one dared to question or oppose, to fight or stand against.

No one but Miles Morales.

He watched the building from a few blocks away, the sound of car horns and shouting below him just a background to his thoughts. He didn’t know if what he was about to do was a good idea. He didn’t know if it would fix the problem. He did know that breaking into a multi-gazillion dollar corporation wasn’t your typical superheroic deed – but he needed to know. He needed to know why Roxxon put a bounty on his head.

Kate’s words that afternoon had stuck with him. She found the problem, and she fixed it. It was simple, almost glaringly obvious advice, advice that he found himself valuing more and more with each passing hour. The moment she gave it to him, he’d begun to formulate a plan. It wasn’t much of one – probably only twelve percent of a plan, really – but it was the best he could come up with. If anyone knew what the problem was, it was Roxxon. And what do you do when someone has answers? You ask for them.

Taking a short run-up, he jumped off the side of the building, hearing both awed and disgusted gasps in equal measure as he landed on the opposite rooftop. With the proportionate speed of a spider he leapt and ran towards the Roxxon building, unable to help the smile that formed beneath his mask – he loved it. The adrenalin that ran through his veins as he coursed through the air, the thrill, was all-encompassing. He once again found himself thinking of Spider-Man, and of how he must feel swinging on his webs.

Before he knew it, he was running up the side of Roxxon, his feet his only anchors as he glided along the glass exterior. He didn’t know where Philip Roxxon’s office was, but he was pretty sure that his best bet was up. Reaching the highest window, ten or so feet below the gigantic Roxxon logo, he reared back with his right arm, building up as much power as he could before letting loose with a punch. The glass shattered around his fist, flying into the room it bordered in a plethora of shards. Climbing into the room, Miles took in his new surroundings –

– to be greeted by Philip Roxxon’s smiling face, an amused glint in his eye.

He looked to be in his mid-forties. His brown hair was receding, brushed backwards in a respectable hairstyle; wrinkles were beginning to line his square face. His buff frame was covered by an expensive suit, no doubt made of only the finest material – and he clapped, long, loud claps, a low rumble escaping his throat, bearing semblance to a chuckle.

“Bravo, bravo,” he cheered. “Wow. I’ll be honest with you, I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Miles eyed him with caution, standing ready for any trouble that might show up. While Roxxon was yet to get up from his desk, he could never be sure – security could be on their way right this very second.

As if reading his mind, Roxxon said, “Oh, loosen up. We’re all friends here. Don’t you worry, security won’t be coming to bother us. We’re free to talk, as all civilized men should.”

Miles didn’t budge. “Why are you sending people after me?”

That low rumble again. “It’s always the same with you superheroes, isn’t it? Straight to the point, formalities be damned.” He chuckled. “Okay. Let me explain, Spider-Man.” His smile grew into a wide grin, his eyes staring knowingly. “Or should I say… Miles.”

Icy shock spread through Miles like a disease, enveloping his body until all he felt was a cold, dreadful chill. How did Roxxon know his name? How did Roxxon know his name?

“Come on, now, don’t be like that,” Roxxon said, “How hard did you think discovering your identity would be? Especially considering the fact that I created you.”

The chill only went deeper. “What are you – ”

“You haven’t let me explain, Miles,” he interrupted, “You haven’t let me explain. It started with the first Spider-Man, as you can imagine. This building was a site for one of his battles, did you know that? He came here, and he fought like you wouldn’t believe. And it was then, watching him pull off these amazing feats, that I knew: I wanted to make more of him. Imagine the profit.

“So we got to work. Me and my brain trust, we worked hard, hour after hour, day after night, week after week, month after month – and finally, we had something. The Oz Formula. It was a… a concoction, if you will, designed to enhance the user’s physical capabilities a hundred fold. The theory was that if we were to inject it into a spider, which would then bite a human subject… We would create the next Spider-Man. But for whatever reason, no matter how hard we tried, it wouldn’t work. And then your uncle came along.

“Aaron Davis, am I right? The Prowler. He broke into our facility, if you can believe it, with the best possible security money can buy – and he stole one of our spiders. We still don’t know why, but he did. Spider number forty-two. And it bit you.

“Oh, the universe has such a mean, ironic sense of humour, wouldn’t you say? Our one successful specimen is stolen by a thief, going on to bite his nephew, who then becomes the second Spider-Man – the very inspiration for this whole experiment. Now, I’m sure you don’t need me to explain it much further. I created the very thing that gave you your powers. I created you. So, going by that logic, it’s easy to see, isn’t it? I own you.”

Any humour he may have held in his eyes was gone, replaced by something else – anger. Rage. Malice. “And like any sane person… I want my property back.”

Miles took an involuntary step backwards. Gone was the good-natured mask Roxxon had worn just moments ago. He was seething now, shaking, his face red and the veins on his neck popping out. Despite that his spider-sense wasn’t warning him of any danger, Miles remained on-edge – for the first time since he donned his costume, he didn’t trust his instincts.

“Now, come here,” continued Roxxon, “I want to show you something.”

Against his better judgement, Miles obeyed. Taking cautious steps, he stopped in front of Roxxon’s desk. The CEO – the madman – turned his computer’s screen towards him, pressing space to start playback.

It was CCTV footage. Spider-Man – the original – flipped and leapt across the screen, dodging and weaving between his enemy’s attacks. He was doing a good job of it, too, until a hand grabbed at his mask, passing through his defences as it yanked it off, revealing the face of a brown-haired young man with handsome features, barely out of highschool, shocked and frantic. With speed that could only come from alarm he hit his opponent, stunning him enough to grab back his mask, pulling it on before resuming the fight.

Roxxon paused the video and stared at Miles, his eyes boring into Miles’ very soul. “This is footage from the night he was here. Do you know why I showed it to you?”

Miles remained silent.

“I showed it to you so that you knew: I've seen his face. I know what your hero looks like. All it would take is a simple inquiry, and I would know who he is. Where he lives. Who his family is, and who his friends are. What he eats, what he drinks, when he sleeps and what he does. I would know everything about him. Just like I do you.

“So run along now, Miles. Leave. But know that you are powerless to fight me. I own you. And I will have my property back. Just pray it’s before your loved ones get hurt.”

Roxxon’s gaze went to his computer, and just like that, the conversation was over.

So Miles ran. He ran, and he didn’t dare to look back.

And beneath his mask, he cried.

Because he didn’t know what to do.

---

"What are you..." He turned to look out the broken window, the flashing lights visible now. He ignored the fact she was somehow coercing information out of the woman and ran for the back door. It wouldn't do good for him to be caught at two crime scenes in one day. yes the woman may talk about his appearance but thankfully he had several rock hard alibis who weren't mutants, and were ready just in case of a situation like this. All he had to do was get a couple of blocks away from the crime scene first. Though this would be the last he himself was looking for Susan, an incident and being accused of being involved in another case... if he were to somehow to be tangled up in a third no matter what his alibi was he would likely see some time in Rykers or some other facility designed to hold people with abilities.

Turning into another alley he paused leaning against a wall for a second. Concentrating he hit what he often referred to as a mental switch, his skin softening and returning to it's 'normal' or at the very least 'original' form. Walking out of the alley into the street nobody paid him a second glance. It was kind of pleasant, at times he wished this was all who he was. Piotr Rasputin, a kind and gentle artist. He could travel the world and paint scenes that he could barely describe. Though he would always fight with two lives since registration became law. Colossus was part of him, the living weapon. Mutation had a cruel sense of humour it would seem, where his mutation would see him a deciding factor in most fights. A suit of armour impenetrable to most conventional weapons, the living contradiction.

He hunched as he walked, head low facing the pavement. The mutant registration act had affected them all, it was final confirmation for people all over the world that mutants and the mutant threat was real. When a new superhero made their big debut, they got cheers. Posters, fans. Yet someone who was born with abilities, had no choice in the matter. Was feared. His cellphone rang, taking the old Stark Tech flip phone out of his pocket he lifted it to his ear.

"Da?"

"Piotr I need you at the mansion as soon as possible."

"What is wrong Professor?"

"It's the brotherhood."

---

Now beginning:

No matter how much you prepare yourself when you hit frigid water your first instinct is to inhale in shock. Steve was no exception. The icy waters felt like concrete when he collided with it. Then much unlike concrete it gave way under his weight. His arms ached from the restraints he had been bound by. Remnants of the iron cuffs still were snug against his wrists, dragging him down.

Down into the depth he sunk. No matter now hard he thrashed and tried to swim to the surface. Soon his lung began to burn. Wanting air. But there was none to be had. Only cold, cold water. Yet no training could stop the natural instincts from overriding you. Steve might have been able to gulp in a breath and keep it before he hit the water. But deep in the murky depths he inhaled water.

The cold took away the pain until he was just floating, sunlight shimmering through the water. It was kind of beautiful now that he was dying.

Dying.

The thought caused Steve to fight against death. He couldn't die. Not here. Not while Bucky was... Bucky was...

But it failed to matter. His cold body didn't respond to him. He kept drifting downwards into darkness. Such a prevailing darkness. It ate at his mind until that was all he knew. Until his back hit a solid surface. Steve sluggishly opened his eyes and saw Hawkeye standing over him. No. It was Bucky. His old friend had a cocky smile and a syringe in hand.

"Guess you failed again." Bucky taunted.

"So much for the Great Captain America."

"Captain?"

Steve gasped and sat up from the awkward position he had been, slumped over on the sofa. His sudden motion caused not only the tablet on his lap to clatter to the floor but the person who tried to wake him to jump and skitter back a few feet. Shame flooded through Steve as he looked at the guy's wide eyes.

"Sorry son." Steve picked up his tablet and stood up slowly as to not startle the man again.

"I-um, it's okay." The man muttered, flushed, obviously embarrassed and flustered.

"What time is it?" Steve asked curious. Last he had known it was sometime past seven or eight at night. It had been a long day.

"Um..." The IT guy looked down at his wrist watch. "Little past two."

"In the morning?" Steve nearly exclaimed, startled.

The IT guy, Steve really should have asked his name, looked even more embarrassed. "Yeah. Sorry for waking you. But I think you need to see this." He gestured back to the computer.

---

A well dressed man set on a deck patio watching the clouds as they drifted by. A young pretty woman slowly approached, handed him a phone and backed away with a short bow. The man raised the cell to his ear and listened. It was obvious that the news was not good. Rage crossed his face and with a great effort of will he calmed himself enough to speak.

"Well find him and bring me everything he stole from me." His voice was a low hiss. As soon as he finished speaking he hung up the phone. The young woman inched closer and removed it from his hand replacing it with a drink.

"Thank you." The gentleman said softly. He sat there in silence for a few more minutes before standing and going back inside.

---

Where, where am I? What is this place? I can't... I can't see anything. HELLO...Hello..._{Hello...Hello...Hello...} Why can't I see anything? Where is everyone? What's that rumbling noise? Hulk! Is that you? Are you doing this?! What have you done Hulk? I don't understand. You need to trust me Hulk! We need to find a way out of here! A bright light appeared as if a window opening. Outside of it a lab could faintly be seen before a light was shone in, Bruce had to cover his eyes from the blinding light. This isn't good, this isn't good. Hulk! HULK! You need to wake up Hulk! You need to get us out of here! Right now, he's testing on us Hulk. Like I said they would, if you don't stop him he'll make more like you, like us. You know that's bad. HUUUUUULLLK





Samuel Sterns couldn't help but contain himself as he looked at the specimen on front of him. Ever since he had been exposed to Gamma Energy when trying to capture the Hulk, inadvertently turning Emil Blonsky into the Abomination, he had come to realize the true potential for the power. His mind had opened to new possibilities, things he had never before imagined possible. All he knew is that he needed more. He no longer had the resources of LexCorp at hand. His employment had not survived the events of Vista Verde. Lex would get what was coming to him however, in time. For now he had the original specimen on front of him, arms and legs stretched and held securely in cuffs that pulled at his limbs. Specifically designed for the maximum level of effort the Hulk could exert.

Now, a less cautious scientist would just take a sample of Hulks blood and inject himself with it, though Sterns was not that man. He didn't seek the Hulks strength, merely the Gamma energy that resided in his cells. If brief exposure of Gamma energy through shielding was the cause of his heightened intellect these past three years if he were to somehow infuse his brain tissue with the same energy there was no telling how smart he could become. Obviously he hadn't told General Ross any of this. Compartmentalization. After all Ross hadn't even told Luthor that he had hired Sterns to work at his so called Gamma Base. He walked upto the Goliath, prying open one of his eyes and shining a light in. Walking back to his console he put the beasts response time before turning back to his adversary.

"You could have had everything Bruce. See how much power you have, and yet. Your tiny little brain cannot begin to comprehend it, you cannot even control it. When the Hulk appears little Bruce goes away, like he always has. To let the big man fight his battles for him, causing untold destruction. I mean to use your power for the betterment of mankind." He gestured to himself. "Look at me, it has done me wonders. These past three years I have developed theorem that I doubt even Lex Luthor or Reed Richards could understand." He chuckled slightly. "Ironic is it not? That such an intelligent man transforms into such an ignorant brute only to create a true genius. A leader of men. I will unlock your secrets, unlock my potential. Then I will lead."

LexCorp Building, Metropolis

Jonathan Corben sat awake in his tiny cell with his head in his hands. He could feel the coldness of the metal pressed against the square of flesh that remained on one side of his face. The cold reminded him of the horror of his situation. It had been a little over nine months since Lex Luthor had found him. Corben had been down and out then, a decorated Iraq veteran laid low by the loss of his limbs, but Luthor had promised to make him more than that. He promised to make him more even than he’d been before. Jonathan had been naïve, he’d taken the billionaire at his word, allowing dreams of becoming a Captain America for the twenty-first century to overpower the lingering doubts in the back of his mind. Instead Luthor had turned him into a cold, unwieldy machine capable of channeling the radiation that emanated from Luthor’s treasured meteor rock. He’d turned Jonathan Corben into a living battery for his clean energy generator.

Suddenly the familiar whirring and crunching began. It could mean only one thing. Lex was back to gloat, to lord it over Corben once again, and remind him that he was Luthor’s proper for now and ever more. He was wont to do it from time to time but never twice in one day and never usually this late at night. As much as Corben was loathe to admit it, he savoured Luthor’s visits and the hate it stirred in him. At this point the hate was all that kept him sane. Slowly the parts of the generator drew back and the green light of Corben’s cell lit up the generator room. There was nothing.

“Luthor?”

Suddenly a pinkish-green beam of light shone down from the heavens and a figure stood before him. A green-skinned man of slender build stood before Corben. He was clad in a futuristic-looking black bodysuit that had orbs of pink light along it. Those same orbs of pink light were dotted along the figure’s forehead. When he spoke his voice was cold and precise.

~No, Jonathan Corben, I am something much more.~

Corben’s eyes drew back in shock.

"Who are you?"

The figure shook its head so curtly that the gesture could barely be seen. It stood with its hands clasped behind its back. Though Corben could see him, see even the wrinkles on the figure’s green skin, it was clear the figure was a projection of some sort. He shimmered slightly when Corben looked at him from an angle.

~Who I am is not of concern to you, Jonathan. It is what I can do for you that should concern you.~

Corben nodded.

"I’m listening."

~You are familiar with this man, are you not?~

The figure lifted one of his green hands. An orb along the man’s black gauntlet flashed slightly and a projection of Superman appeared. Footage of Superman fighting a figure, almost a mirror image of himself but for cybernetic parts, flashed before Corben’s face.

"Are you kidding me? That’s Superman. You’d have to have been living under the rock to not be familiar with him."

The comment was met with cold indifference.

~You are to destroy him.~

Corben stepped back from the glass a little, allowing his metal hands to sag away from it, and began to shake his head.

"Why would I do that? The man’s a hero. He’s saved thousands of men, women, and children without so much as asking for a dime. If you think I’m going after Superman, you’ve got another thing coming."

~You do wish to be free, do you not, Jonathan?~

The metallic man stared down at his hands, the frigid cold digits that squeaked and ground as he moved them, and pondered what possible life he could have on the outside. There was no place he could go that he wouldn’t be hounded and no city he could lay his head where he wouldn’t be treated like a freak. He was a freak. Though he dreamt of seeing the sky again, watching the clouds pass him by, he wasn’t prepared to become a murderer to do it – especially if it meant murdering Superman. The Man of Steel was one of the good guys, he’d seen Luthor for what he really was long before anybody else, and Corben wasn’t going to deprive the world of the gift, the hope, he gave them. Not to live the life of some whipped cur away from the people he loved.

"Not if it means I have to kill Superman."

One of the orbs on the green-skinned man’s head flashed and his eyes glazed over for a fraction of a section. To Corben it felt like little more than a pin pricking his mind. The figure had downloaded his memories, all of Corben’s knowledge, into his brain and was sifting through them at great speed.

~You have killed before.~

Corben shook his head.

"That was different. I had to kill then. I did those things to protect my country, to protect the people I loved, not because I wanted to kill anyone. If I hadn’t killed those people they would have killed me. It was self-preservation. This is… this is murder."

There was another flash and images of Jonathan Corben, depleted and gaunt, laying dead on the ground of his cell flashed from the other gauntlet. The images played over and over again, showing possible timelines, each grimmer than the next. Each carefully selected to force Corben’s hand.

~You will die in this cell if you do not agree to these terms. I have foreseen it. Luthor will drain you until you are of no use to him and leave you for dead. No one will know of your sacrifice. No one will know of your death. Is this then not a case of self-preservation?~

A defeated sigh slipped from the soldier’s lips as he mulled the options laid before him.

"It’s not enough."

For the first time and if only for a moment there was intrigue splashed across the man’s green features. There was not a semblance to uncertainty to him as he spoke, there was none of Corben’s anguish in his commands, only a sterile, logical abruptness. Corben’s reluctance to act even in his own self-interest seemed to unsettle him somewhat. It was a sentiment entirely alien to him.

~You would condemn yourself to death for him?~

Jonathan looked up, a single tear resting on his own remaining eyelid, and shook his head.

"No, I mean… I… If I do this, I want you to change me back. If I kill Superman, I want you to undo what Lex has done to me, I want to be the man I was before all of this, before I got hurt too. I want to be me again and not this thing. Can you do that?"

A satisfied smile appeared on the man’s face.

~I can do all things.~

Again there was a flash of pink light from one of the man’s orbs and another projection appeared. This time it was of a Jonathan Corben restored, his face and limbs intact, lying with a young woman in a field. His hands reached out and brushed her face gently, pulling it closer to his for a moment, and planting a gentle kiss on her lips. The woman rubbed her nose against his with a giggle and the pair began to roll around in the grass in fits of giggles. Corben watched on captivated and dreamt of the possibilities and the life he could have. Eventually a smile appeared on his lips as he arrived at a decision.

"I’ll do it."

The man reached out one of his hands and pressed it against the glass that kept Corben entombed in his cell. What began as a gentle hum, vibrating the glass that lay between the two of them, slowly picked up into a screech. Cracks began to appear in the glass and pieces began to fall apart and crumble to the ground. Once the man was satisfied the glass was sufficiently weakened he took a step backwards, pressing one of the pink orbs on his chest, and began to glow with pink energy once more.


~Go then, Jonathan. Search Superman out and destroy him. You have my word that once you do this I will make you whole once again.~

As he had arrived the green-skinned man disappeared. The green and pink energy caused his form to disappear from the generator room entirely and Jonathan Corben was left, a broad grin across his face, as he prepared to launch one of his metallic fists against the glass in front of him. It breached the glass with ease, smashing what had survived the screeching into a thousand pieces, and Jonathan Corben’s metallic feet crunched over the broken glass and into freedom. Or at least one step closer to freedom.

While the weather is starting ever so slightly to turn towards spring, the night New York air is still cold against the light fabric of my Iron Fist robes. Luke’s always making fun of me for picking literally the worst possible costume for the bitter New York winters, and he’s totally not totally wrong. The green kung fu outfit adorned with golden hand and foot wrappings, and a golden mask is as sparse as you’ll find in the vigilante world. Still, training in K’un-Lun helped me prepare. The mountainous regions it appeared in, not to mention the ones that it occupied in its own dimension, made sure I was fighting in the snow more often than not. The Thunderer wasn’t an easy master, to say the least.

Underneath the garment, the scare where I was burned by Shou-Lao the Undying feels warmer than the rest of my body. The Scholars of the city figured it’s imbued with some of the dragon’s Chi, leaving it imbued with its energy.

I take a deep breath and center myself, feeling the city move around me. Most people see cities as lifeless and inhospitable to the natural order of things. While modern cities are a bit behind on the whole pollution thing, the multitude of human life in the immediate area is powerful, making them a hotbed of natural power. It’s why madmen, conquerors, and despots all focus on conquering cities. That’s where the human power is.

Once centered, I take off across the lower-lying rooftops of New York. Free-running has been adopted by the masses, at least by some of the more adventurous members of the masses. Still, they can’t compare to a truly trained martial artist. During my training, I was though how to traverse the city like the wind. It’s the kind of training the ninjas of old would learn, but I’m not trying to assassinate anyone.

As dumb as it sounds, the secret to good free running is paying attention. Yea, not crap, right? Still, most people see it and think it’s about speed and strength. But without the correct site, you’re just going to fall out get stuck. But when you do it right, there’s nothing like it.

I kick off the ledge of one rooftop, fly easily through the air, and land in a roll on the next, which just happens to overlook Central Park. Everyone always tells me I’m crazy, but I swear the air smells better out here.

As I take in the view, something catches my eye from the top of the Natural History Museum. A solitary figure slinks across the roof before disappearing through a door.

“Well, that’s interesting,” I say to myself and take off towards the museum. Once I’m on the roof, I follow the way of the interloper. Inside, there’s no evidence anyone has broken in save for the door I entered through.

That is, there’s no sign until a guard comes screaming around a corner towards me. His face is a crimson mask with blood flowing from a cut on his forehead. He screams unintelligibly about spiders while running headlong into me. When the shock wears off, I use the same sleep technique I used on the doctor earlier on the guard.

While the doctor was merely confused, the guard’s fear is radiating off him like a tidal wave. It’s a frothing, rabid type of fear, the kind that only comes from the deepest, most primal parts of our brain. I can see in his eyes, bulging so much they seem to be trying to escape the skull, that there’s nothing going on inside besides the fight or flight instincts. I have to work a lot harder to put him asleep, and it takes more out of me.

My Chi abilities aren’t unlimited. Not even close. The more I use the higher level abilities, the quicker I’m going to tire myself out and leave me open to attack. It’s a double edged sword, for sure.

Once the guard is out, I take out the burner phone I keep in my suit, and call Luke’s. When I hear him pick up, I don’t waste any time, “Luke, I’m at the Museum of Natural History.”

Groggily, he responds, “Never took you for the learning type.”

“Funny,” my tone shows I’m not messing around. “Someone broke in. A guard attacked me. Seemed to be some sort of berserker poison in a cut.”

“I’ll make a call,” he responds. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

Following the frantic path the guard took towards me, I find myself in an exhibit dedicated to ancient religions of the world. In the darkened hallway, I pass by shadows of the past. Druid masks leer out at me with dark, dead eyes. Carved idols watch as I slink silently towards whoever the hell broke into the museum.

I find what I’m looking for at the end of the hallway. There, carving into the glass of one of the cases with bladed fingers is a short-haired woman clad in what looks like snakeskin. The circle of glass comes out, and she grabs some sort of rock from the display, and turns to face me. She has dark paint around her eyes, which seem to be...snake like.



“You know, you’re not even supposed to tap on the glass, let alone break it,” I smile at her.

Her eyes narrow as her tongue darts out in a quick lick of her lips, “Well, well, well. I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

“Yea, well, I wasn’t expecting to run into weird...snake...claw lady either,” I shake my head at how lame that is.

“You can call me Copperhead,” she hisses. “Now...time to die.”

Crap.

Descending down quietly onto the rooftop, Scott Lang manoeuvred both his ride and the rest of his ant armada towards one of the building’s numerous skylights. The swarm of insects touched down softly in the short space leading up to the window, which left enough room for Scott to climb off of his noble steed and stealthily make his way up towards the panes of dirty glass. Scott wasn’t exaggerating about the dirt for literary effect. It was honestly a challenge in itself to find a patch that wasn’t coat in a thick layer of muck as before long he had shuffled the entirety of his onto the skylight until he had located such a position.

From here however, Scott was able to get a look at what was inside below him. Although there wasn’t much to see. The far back wall was lined with a series of large wooden crates, reminiscent to every other warehouse in the area. The same could be said for the few pallet trucks that would parked around next to them. The place seemed to be exactly the same as any other old creepy warehouse. That is, other than the room’s centrepiece. Situated in the centre of the room was essentially a hive of computers, set up in a large circle. Even from up on the room Scott could see that they were all on, with the lights from the screens illuminating the room. This must have been where the signal from the robotic bugs had resonated from. What more, was that the chair which all of the computers were facing, was current occupied.

A smile spread across Scott’s face. It was go time.

He turned, intent on waving Antony over for a ride down, but it would seem that that would never happen. As he shifted his weight across the glass, the panel he had been led on let out a sharp sound of shattering glass. Scott had just enough time to gulp before the panel gave way beneath him, falling into thousands of glittering shards. Reacting as fast as he could, Scott willed himself to grow, activating his pym particles. As the floor neared, Scott found himself increasing in size rapidly, until he had outgrown his regular sizing. He landed on all fours, his body probably around the same size of that of an elephant. Sure it hadn’t been graceful, but at least he hadn’t ended up a brightly colour splat mark.

Realizing that his appearance hadn’t been at all conspicuous, he shot his head up towards the mass of computers, half expect to find his target, Bertram Larvan standing there watching. However it would seem that was not the case. In fact, he hadn’t even moved from his chair, with him still facing the terminal, his back to where Ant-Man had loudly landed. Needless to say, Scott was puzzled.

As he rose to his feet, Scott shrunk slightly back to his regular height. Continuing he crept forward towards the computers and Larvan, all the while mentally asking himself what the hell was going on. It became much more transparent however the closer he got, with the lingering smell reaching his nose. He was forced to hold his breath as he arrived, and by now it was clear. Spinning the reclining chair around confirmed it. Bertram was dead.

The dead man was propped up in his seat, wearing a ridiculous spandex costume of bright purple. His mask matched, with the added addition of a pair of some sort of golden antennas, as well as a pair of bright green lenses. These are what really stood out to Scott, with the green lenses resembling that of a giant pair of insect eyes. Someone had obviously wanted to share Scott’s bug motif. Sadly that wasn’t possible anymore, considering he was dead and all. Bummer. The cause of his death was obvious. Under his mask, Scott could clearly see that Bertram’s face was covered entirely in bee stings. The thought of such things caused Scott to wince slightly. It had been a painful death. The question that played on his mind however, was who could do such a thing?

Luckily however, Scott’s answer came in the form of the monitors changing. Every single one. And all to the very same image.

The image of a young woman. At first glance, it was obvious that the late Bertram Larvan had been some sort of fashion icon to her. She too seemed to be sporting a suit of purple spandex, with the suit’s central design or insignia mirroring that of Larvan’s. She neglected to wear a mask however, instead letting her luscious blonde hair to fall gracefully from her head. She wore a set of goggles however, just like her dead male counterpart. The vivid green on purple gave her a stunning and captivating look, which caused Scott to gulp for the second time that day.

All Scott knew was that she was extremely hot.

“Welcome, big boy.” Even her voice was attractive.

“Er…Hi?” Was all Scott managed to stammer before flourishing slightly. Taking a breath, he controlled himself. “So, you are?”

She rolled her eyes on the screen, evidently annoyed by the question. “I’m the Bug-Eyed Bandit of course. Well the new and improved one anyway!”

“Oh… yeah, of course!” Honestly Scott wanted to point out that he didn’t even know that there had been an original one, although he figured it was probably best not to. Instead he turned and gestured towards Bertram. “So, I’m guessing this was your handiwork?”

“Oh of course. Apitoxin. Or honey bee venom if you will. The stuff can be quite deadly in large doses. Care to find out for yourself?” She asked, snapping her fingers loudly.

At once a series of large bangs could be heard behind Scott. He turned in horror to find that the sides of the seemingly harmless crates at the back of the room had crashed opened, unleashing a swarm of buzzing monstrosities into the room. The swarm rose up high into the air, giving Ant-Man a chance to get a good look at just how many of the tiny robotic beasts there were. All in all, the Justice Leaguer came to the conclusion that he was screwed.

He could still remember a different world, a world that was filled with color and excitement: the trees were green, the sky was blue and cotton candy was pink of all things. Now? Now Scott only saw the world in shades of red. Red the color of the angry faces that protested his and mutant kind's very existence, red the color of the post-it that he had left on Jean's door, red the color of the sweater that the Professor had bought him that first Christmas they had spent together, red the color of Warren's body distorted and morphed bones jutting outwards at odd angles from the corpse. He hated red. He wished that he could never see it again, he wanted to see the sky again, he wanted to see the grass, he wanted everything to go back to the way it was. It was never that easy of course.

He looked down at the half filled pint of beer on the wooden table in front of him. It tasted like a mixture of gasoline, piss and a sprinkling of regret; it was Scott's fifth drink that evening. He had wandered into the small town of Beartooth earlier that morning, one of many rural dives that had squatted in during his 'sabbatical' northwards. Life had taken a sort of cyclical nature to it as he would wander the wilderness for a while alone before coming into town to drink himself into a stupor for a week before the locals eventually ran him off again. He laughed to think of what any of those back home would think of him now, the first X-man, the leader of mutant kind, the goddamn hero nothing more than a wandering vagabond, a minor nuisance to the truckers, miners and lumber workers that populated the small backwater towns of Alaska.

At least the place he picked to drown away his memories wasn't the worst he had been it. It was a harmonious cross between rundown dive bar and trucker pit stop. A squat wood exterior lay off to one side of the lone pothole strawed road that lead into town almost as if some force above had dropped it while cleaning and had forgotten to pick it up. The road emptied onto a rough 'parking area' made of hastily deposited gravel and inter dispersed weeds which currently housed two large oil tankers heading southwards. Two dirty rectangular windows completed the picture and amidst half faded neon signs that advertised beer of many shades and sizes was one word frosted into the glass. Ed's. The interior of matched the picture that the outside had caste just as well. It was a one room deal in the shape of a slightly lopsided rectangle and the air smelled of cigarette smoke, cooking meat and vomit in equal measures. An old man with graying muttonchops worked the bar and a younger women maybe two or so years younger than Scott was tending to the few customers that populated the establishment. To complete the overall ambience of rustic misery was a half broken jukebox sputtering broken verses of country songs into the void filling the void usually occupied by busy patrons.

"And do you need anything else dearie?" The waitress asked as she came back around during her rounds to check back up on Scott sitting at his table in the corner. Her raven colored hair, waist length swished behind her and her long eyelashes fluttered in front of cerulean blue eyes. Scott almost immediately deiced based on appearances alone that words like dearie certainty didn't fit the girl. Scott raised a hand towards her shaking his head.

"I'm just fine miss. Everything is just perfect."

"Well alright then, but just between me and you." She explained to him leaning in as she whispered in his ear. "A pretty boy like yourself shouldn't be moping all in his lonesome." She explained with a wink as she pretend to adjust a piece of the untouched utensils on the table before she walked away, body swaying as she went.

Scott watched her leave but did nothing else except take another sip from his glass. As the pisswater raced down his throat he heard it. The sound was of car's pulling off of the highway and onto the gravel outside, Judging from the sound on the gravel they were SUVs and judging from the noises the engines made they were souped up something special. In short it was the noise of trouble. Scott pushed his chair seemingly further back into the corner of the establishment nonchalantly in motion but still putting him further out of mind and eye set as he took another sip from his pint as he watched the door. The sound of heavy footsteps crunching against loose stone and voices talking among themselves, low thuds as they ascended the stairs. Moments later the door was kicked open.

The trouble came in the form of five sharply dressed men wearing close fitting jeans, and expensive looking designer brand fleeces and outerwear that clung to their muscular frames. The leader of the back was a smallish sized man with darker skin, slick back black hair and a carnivorous smile on his face. He turned about the bar like a predator looking for his next meal, eyes anxious and ready. His eyes fell upon his target, the girl and the bartender standing behind the bar shaking but holding firm. His carnivorous smile only grew as he stepped further in and announced with a grandstand like presence.

"Yooo Eddy I'm here to collect what we are duee" He spoke in a singsong voice as he cleared the distance between the door and the bar quickly, snarling at the few patrons that he passed by.

"Listen Ray, you know business has been slow this month but I promise I will pay it all back next time..."

"Oooh that's not good Eddy, that is not good at all. Boss doesn't like it when his clientele is late."

"I know, I know but--" Eddy was cut off as Ray slammed a fist hard into the table.

"No buts Eddy. Guess we will just have to take something else this time. Last time it was the cook's life? This time? Well the boss man been looking for another plaything and your pretty little daughter will do just fine. Of course after my boys have fun with her. He don’t mind use merchandise you see." Ray explained his voice slick as oil as he gestured to the pair trying to back away from them, fear in their eyes. Two of Ray's thugs leaped over the bar one of them tried to pull Eddy's daughter away from him but he clung onto the raven haired girl tight, at least until the other thug bashed him over the hand with a lead pipe he pulled tucked into his wasteland. Eddy crumbled, the daughter screamed and Ray with a hyena like glee. Scott finished his drink and gently placed it onto the table before he stood up.

Jean had always said that he had a habit of finding trouble. Guess she was right... again.

"Men's winter apparel section. I think the lady you are currently holding would very much appreciate it if you let her go." Scott announced his voice carry the weight of unseen authority behind it as he stood watching the thugs, arms casually crossed. Ray and his thugs turned around to look at the man talking to them. In all honestly he wasn't the most imposing figure in the world at the moment. His clothes looked beaten in and ragged, his hair was growing uncharacteristically shaggy and well muscle still clung to his body it was much less than it once was. That combined with a pair of stylish if a bit out of place ruby-quartz shades and you had a man that looked very out of place.

"Yeah? And who's going to make us you pretty boy." Ray explained reaching into his pocket and producing a small combat knife, the blade shimmering in the dim light of the bar.

"No you are going to let her go nice and easy now. If you don't I'm going to have to hurt you. Last warning"

"I think your bad at math son. I see five of us and one stupid sun glass wearing idiot about to get his shit kicked in. Charge!" Ray yelled and he and his thugs rushed Scott planning to use superior numbers to bring him down.

"Alright then. We do this your way." Scott announced as he dropped into a defensive stance letting the thugs close the distance. Ray the one with the knife got there first and he struck outwards with a surprising amount of skill and speed, much more than Scott would've given for a common thug, no this man had training. A normal man may have been at the mercy of the blade, but Scott Summers was not a normal man, no he was far from it. As the blade came in to strike home, Scott shifted to the left pushing the blade past him and with it Ray sending him stumbling straight into one of the bar tables behind them. Two more thugs charged next, as they closed in Scott reacted left foot racing upwards in a furious arc coming hard upon the side of thug's one neck sending him smashing into the floor. He was already dropping downwards as the other threw his punch missing Scott's head by inches as the mutant rammed his elbow into the man's solar plexus. As he dropped Scott grabbed him by the head and slammed him into a nearby support column not hard enough to cause any real damage but enough to give him one hell of a broken nose. You didn't kill those were the rules even for slime like these. The last two came at him one still holding the lead pipe and just like the others they too soon quickly fell leaving a pile of bodies strewn across the floor, Scott wasn't even breathing that heavy.

"You don't know who you just fucked with!" Ray yelled at Scott in a mumble of broken teeth produced in the aftermath of smashing head first into a table. He and his boys quickly hightailed it out of the bar and Scott stood their arms crossed watching as they went.

"He's right you know. You just made a mistake." The waitress explained as she helped her father up from the ground blood streaming from the open wound on his head.

"What do you mean?" Scott responded eyebrow raised curious at the grave tone in the girl's voice.

"Ray and his boys are mercs hired by the one they call the Black King. He runs these parts including the big old mine outside of town and you just angered one of his favorite lieutenants."

"Well if he fights anything like his boys then he won't trouble for me, don't you worry."

"You don't get it. Your fancy fighting skills won't help you here. The Black King isn't like you or me. He's one of those mutant freaks.." The girl explained calling out to Scott who was already halfway to the door by this point. At the mention of the m-word though he stopped dead in his tracks and turned around walking back up to the bar. Once he was there he produced a small sum of cash onto the bar top and peered intently at the girl who was a little taken aback at the sudden forcefulness that the cool and relaxed man was showing.

"Here this will pay for the damages and then some. Now tell me all you know about this Black King..."

---

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A R E A L I T Y V E R Y D I F F E R E N T T O O U R O W N

---

---

The land that my people endure is hard and fierce, certainly no place for those without wings, the ground is barren and dry with occasional forests. The flocks make their nests atop great perches, made by the great winds of our ancestors’ time. The perches are the result of rocks gathering together and have been known to give way when the winds change. However, they are the safest areas in our land and so the flocks make their nests there away from the predators and other vermin of the world.

We were no longer atop a perch.

After snapping my father’s neck Doom had led me to the edge of the great perch where my flock nested; the flock had not migrated since before I hatched, because of my wingless body I had never left the perch in my lifetime. Doom bade me clutch onto his strong frame, I did so and found it cold, hard and unnatural, not at all what I had imagined when seeing the embraces others in the flock had enjoyed. With me holding fast, Doom stepped over the edge of the perch and let us fall.

As we plummeted from the great height of my flock’s perch I felt sensations I had only ever dreamt of. The rush of the wind as it grasped and clawed at every inch of my body, the world spinning and twisting in unnatural directions as Doom and I spun in the air and the unbelievable pounding of my heart in my body. It took me a moment to realise that I was shrieking, not in terror, it was as though some primal urge had been awoken in my very being and I now realised why all the others in my hatch year were so willing to abandon their studies and to give themselves over to their wings and the skies.

Even as I clutched onto him Doom was working, ignoring the very act of falling so he could manipulate a compartment in his wrist that I had not previously recognised.

With a gentle jolt the falling ceased, we hung in the skies as I slowly relaxed my grip on Doom’s body and stared around us. We were suspended in the air, below us was the barren ground of my land and just in front of us was part of the rock that made up my flock’s perch. I stretched out a hand and brushed a surface that had remained untouched by thinking hands since the very formation of this perch. The sensation was difficult to categorise but I quickly removed my hand, feeling like I had intruded on something sacred.

With another touch to his wrist, Doom set into motion a gentle descent towards the ground. I studied him as we gently floated down. His visage was, as ever, unmoving, he moved little, judging it unnecessary perhaps, in the fall his hood had not once been flung its raised position so I was in no way able to tell if his face was as man-made at the rear.

My bare feet touched down upon the coarse ground. Despite the heat I shivered, I had only ever walked upon the rock of a nest and so this surface was alien to me. Doom released me and took a few steps past me to gaze into the distance.

“Your land is vast; our journey will not be swift.”

“Where are we going?” I enquired at his side.

"I told you child," Doom turned to look at me, "In the history of your people a whole generation was eradicated. We go to find what did this."

With that, Doom began to stride purposefully into the wastes. I took a look back to the nest of my flock. I supposed it was possible for me to climb back up; there were clear grooves in the stone likely made by some animal trying its luck at reaching the nests. I could climb up those to reach the nests; if any of my flock still lived I could always try to rebuild my life. I shook my head, the death of my father had removed any such possibility, if any others in the flock lived I would be lucky to be thrown from the nest compared with what other things they might try.
For good or ill the choice was made, I would have to remain with Doom.

I turned back to where Doom had been, only to find that in my reverie I had allowed him to walk into the distance at quite a speed. I ran to catch up. When I reached him Doom gave no sign that he even noticed I had not followed him from the start. Instead he kept walking.
We walked,
And walked,
And walked,
And walked,
And walked,
By the end of the day as the suns were setting my flock’s perch was little more than a speck in the dust behind us. We were now surrounded by a series of rocky outgrowths; they were reminiscent of the rocks in a perch but appeared broken and scattered.

I was exhausted, my people are incredibly durable physically but I am by no means a prime specimen. I had not eaten nor drunk since before I had commenced the Song and so my body was flagging. If Doom was tired he gave no sign. For the first time in hours I spoke up.

“Please, may we stop a while?” At least that was what I meant to say, in my parched state what emerged from my beak was little more than a series of groans and wheezes before I fell to coughing.
Doom halted immediately.

“We make camp here.”

With that, he reached out and muttered some words under his breath. A blue flame sprang up beside me, as I leapt out of the way in alarm the fire extended its reach until it was the same height and width as a cooking flame that would not be out of place in a flock’s perch. Next, Doom strode to the nearest rock, beat it with his fist while muttering again and, as if by his command, the rock split and a stream of clear water trickled from the crevice. I ran to the liquid and greedily drank. Water had never tasted so good.

Doom did not partake in the water he provided; instead he sat cross-legged by the fire and went into a meditative pose I had seen my father adopt many times. I sat opposite him on the other side of the fire and waited for him to speak. I was never a confident sort and left it to others to begin a conversation, not that my flock ever did with me.

“You wish to ask me something.”

It was not a question.

“I-” My voice shook, “I do not understand why you came here and what you hope to achieve, why you wished me to come with you and what the purpose of this journey is.”

“So ask your questions.”

My eyes narrowed in frustration, “Who are-”

Doom raised his hand and I fell silent, he studied me with cold eyes before finally speaking.

“A question for a question; you too have information I wish to know.”

I nodded slowly, Doom gestured at me to begin.

“What are you?”

“I am Doom.”

“But that is-”

“I have answered.” His tone brooked no argument, “Why is your world barren and inhospitable?”

I swallowed, “It has always been so, ever since the monster came to sate his appetite with the life of our world.” I thought hard, “What brought you here?”

“I am a ruler of a land far away, I work to ensure safety and prosperity for all my people and out of all the worlds in the multiverse my quest has led me here.”

“But why?” I was confused, “There is nothing special here.”

Doom raised a gauntleted hand, “My question, girl.” I nodded hurriedly. “The monster, has it been seen in recent memory?”

I thought back in the Song of my flock and tried to pick out any verses that might be relevant. However, I could not think of any, I shook my head. “The last time was when many flocks came together to fight it off. Our world has been dying ever since; there would be no reason for it to return.”

Doom nodded slowly, he rose and strode from our small camp. I stood and turned to watch him, I was struck by a realisation and called after him. “I get another question!”

There was no response. Doom continued walking until he was beyond the light of the flame he conjured and, as if recognising that its master had no further need of it, the camp vanished in the blink of an eye.

I was alone in the dark.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I spotted the silhouette of Doom in the distance, he had knelt to the floor. I hurried to him. He was engaged with a small handheld object. The object cooed with a low tone and flashed many colours.

As if guessing my curiosity he began to speak, “This is not the first land I have visited in my hunt, on another I acquired this device, it should bring our quarry back to us.”

“Bring him back?” I was incredulous, “Why would you do that?”

“My reasons are not your concern,”

“You must stop this,” I felt my heart racing as I spoke and a frantic edge came into my voice, “This monster left our world to die the last time, what do you think will happen if it comes twice?”

“Enough! Doom does as he will!” Doom came to his feet once more, he raised the object above his head and made a twist of his wrist. The device exploded into a shower of colours which leapt into the sky and out of view.

Doom began to laugh, a cold metallic laugh that felt perfectly at home on my barren landscape.

Even as he laughed a shadow filled my vision, a shape whose outline was etched in my memory from the descriptions given in many verses of the Song. An angular form that loomed beyond the horizon, eyes gazed down with the force of the stars themselves.

Doom’s laugh died in his throat. “It is glorious.” The words came out in a whisper beside me.

The skies shook and the very earth beneath began to shudder as a sound came towards us, a sound full of might and unknown power, a sound that formed itself into speech.



“Look at you,” Doom spoke softly, “After years of searching I have found you at last.”



“What…” I was overcome by the sheer size and scope of the huge figure looming above the horizon itself. “By all the Gods, what is it?”

“The great devourer,” Doom gazed unblinking, “the world eater. It has many names in many tongues, Imperiex, Relic and the Anti-Monitor; but I have been hunting it and I know my prey. Doom knows you, ancient one, knows you as Galactus!”

Opal City, PA
2:29 AM

Kenny Boyd took a deep breath and said the lord's prayer. It was hard to find the words, it had been so long since he last uttered them. He was maybe eight when his grandmother stopped taking him to church on a regular basis. It wasn't anything to do with her, but Sarah Boyd couldn't take her grandson to church while he was doing six months at the Youth Detention Center in Pittsburgh for strong armed robbery. The other reason he couldn't finish the lord's prayer was because he was losing so much blood it was hard to focus.

The entire left side of Kenny Boyd's body felt hot and numb from where the bullet went in his side a few minutes earlier. Kenny held both hands on the wound in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. It was a unique feeling for him. For all his years running on the street and slinging, this was the first time he'd ever been shot. He'd been shot at plenty of times and shot at plenty of others, but he'd never actually had a bullet connect with his flesh. It was a surreal feeling, to be sure. But he didn't have time to think about the finer details of a gunshot wound right now.

A scuffle of feet nearby alerted them that he had to run. The man hunting him was close by now. For nearly twenty minutes they had been playing this game. Kenny was on the street corner like he usually was on a Friday night, selling coke and dope to any fiends who wanted a taste. He was passing a baggie of heroin to one junkie when shots rang out. Two bullets whizzed by Kenny and the junkie while a third found a home in Kenny's ribs. He took off, not noticing the blood until he was half a block away. After that, he kept running away from whoever it was that was chasing him. He cursed and held onto his side as he prepared to run. This week was his first one back since the arrest. This was supposed to be the week that he made back all that goddamn money he lost on bail. With one last half-remembered lord's prayer under his breath, he jumped from his hiding point and started to race down the back alley.

Shots rang out again, three more of them. This time, all three bullets ripped through Kenny's body. The second bullet tore into the back of his head and killed him before he hit the ground. His hands and feet twitched in the last spasm of life. Standing over Kenny's dead body, the hunter shook his head and calmly walked away.

-----

Law Offices of Fitzwaller, Fitzwaller, Fitzwaller, Fitzwaller, & York
11:09 AM



Bobo T. Chimpanzee, better known to the world at large as Detective Chimp and DC to his friends, ignored the onlookers gawking at the chimp riding on the elevator. He wasn't ignoring them persay. He'd become used to the strange looks and uncomfortable questions after twenty plus years as a hyper-intelligence chimpanzee. That was why he had earbuds rooted firmly in his head and blasting Elvis Costello and holding a pair of index cards. One read "YES, I AM A TALKING CHIMPANZEE. DO NOT SPEAK TO ME UNLESS SPOKEN TO" while the other read "FUN FACT: CHIMP'S ARE 4X STRONGER THAN HUMANS, EVEN TALKING ONES."

His anti-social behavior was due to the fact that he was alone this morning. Normally, Effie acted as a perfect gatekeeper when it came to the obnoxious looks and questions that followed him everywhere. She was able to keep DC from actually having to talk to these people and explain himself, like in this world were people flew and bent steel beams with their minds the talking chimp was the real freak. DC was the first out the elevator when it opened up on the twelfth floor. He tucked the index cards into his jacket, along with the earbuds and his phone, and strolled past the receptionist before she could get the second Fitzwaller out of her mouth.

"'Fitzwaller and Associates,'," DC said as he walked into the corner office of David Fitzwaller. "That took two seconds to say, as opposed to the sixteen seconds it says to get out'Law Offices of Fitzwaller, Fitzwaller, Fitzwaller, Fitzwaller, & York.'"

"Tell that to my brothers and sisters," Fitzwaller said as he stood up, reaching across the desk to shake DC's hand. "My sister wanted to take her husband's last name, which would have made it 'Fitzwaller, York & Associates' and the rest of us didn't want to be just associates and Peggy doesn't want to go back to Fitzwaller so here we are."

"Here we are," DC nodded. "Which is where?"

"Where's that pretty little sidekick of yours?" Fitzwaller asked with a raised eyebrow.

"She's got class, unlike you."

"I'm wounded, DC. I'm the classiest guy I know."

DC's eyes darted around the room filled with cheesy advertisements of Fitzwaller's personal injury business. "Fitzwaller $how$ You Dollar$!" was written in green underneath Fitzwaller's face. Dollar signs were placed in his eyes.

"Yeah... classy. What's this about, Dave?"

"This right here."

Fitzwaller passed DC a manilla folder. He flipped it open and saw the mugshot of a young black man. Beneath the photo was a series of legal documents and police reports. An arrest report identified him as Kenneth Boyd, twenty-five years old, from the eastside of Opal City. The back sheets of paper showed Boyd's criminal history. There were three total pages, mostly drug charges but a few assaults with a deadly weapon and one attempted murder... back when he was fourteen.

"Nice guy," DC said after closing the file. "You trying to set me up, Dave? This guy needs a little more hair before I even consider it."

"Didn't know you were a necrophiliac, DC. Young Mr. Boyd here died early this morning."

"What's your interest in it?"

"Fitzwaller, Fitzwaller, and... everyone else were representing Mr. Boyd. He was arrested recently for, what else, drug dealing, and he was out on bail awaiting trial. It's not good business for our clients to get murdered and--"

"Knowing the OCPD like I do, they're going to soft ball this one," said DC. "A drug dealer dies and nobody really gives a shit."

Fitzwaller shrugged before nodding. "That's the long and short of it. Interested? We'll pay you well, DC, you know we always do."

DC stared at the photo of Boyd. Was he a scumbbag? No doubt about that at all. But did that mean he deserved to die? DC drummed his fingers on the desk and finally nodded.

"I'll see what I can do."

The Daily Planet, Metropolis

A day had gone by since Clark had spoken with Reed Richards. Since then he’d tried his best to suppress thoughts of the effect that little green rock had had on him. He was going to do exactly as Reed said and stay away from the meteor rock until they knew more about it. Thankfully it seemed to be in short supply outside of LexCorp and Latveria so that wasn’t the hardest task. Last night had been uneventful. He’d stopped a bank robbery Downtown and put an end to a shootout a few miles out of Metropolis but little else had happened. In truth, Kent was thankful for that. Between Henshaw and the meteor rock, the Daily Planet reporter was beginning to feel a little out of his depth. Thankfully he had people on his side that helped him stay grounded. Chief amongst them at the moment was Perry White.

White chomped at an unlit cigar between his lips as he thumbed his way through the transcript of Clark’s interview with Luthor from yesterday morning. On White’s desk were several pictures Jimmy had taken, each of Luthor looking grander and more striking than the last, though White seemed more concerned with the words than Olsen’s images. After a good few minutes of reading he set the papers down and looked to Clark with an impressed smile.

“This is some good work, Kent.”

Jimmy had promised not to mention Clark’s little wobble in Lex’s office. Clark was thankful for that. He could only imagine the stick Perry would have given him for it. It was bad enough that everyone at the Daily Planet, from the cleaners up, knew that Clark was as clumsy as they came. With Jimmy’s lips sealed, Clark’s writing could do the talking. A delayed smile appeared on Kent’s face as he shuffled forward in his seat.

“Thank you.”

“It would seem Luthor took something of a shine to you too. Some called from his office this morning looking for your contact details. Does the name Mercy Graves mean anything to you?”

Clark nodded.

“She’s Lex’s bodyguard.”

For half a second a look of shock appeared on White’s face. The concept of a man having a female bodyguard was clearly lost on him, as it would be on most men White’s age, but once he’d got his head around it he shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, I gave her your cell phone number and she said that Lex would be in touch. Who would of thought it, eh? A Metropolitan multi-billionaire and a Kansas farm boy as thick as thieves. They do say opposites attract.”

If White knew how considered Clark’s efforts to ingratiate himself with Lex had been he’d have been doubly impressed.

“What can I say? I must have a way with people.”

White rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Well needless to say I expect you to make the most of this newfound friendship of yours. I want the skinny on every development at LexCorp and the Justice League before they happen, Kent.”

Clark opened his mouth to speak but as he did so the door to Perry White’s office flung open and a breathless Jimmy Olsen appeared.

"Sorry to interrupt, Chief, but I think you’re probably going to want to see this."

White let out a sigh and followed after Olsen.

"This had better be good, Olsen."

Clark frowned a little and scampered after the two of them. He found them and the rest of the Daily Planet newsroom gathered nervously around a large television set in the corner of the room. On the screen was a robotic figure of a man, only portions of skin left dangling from his face and arms, marching his way through Metropolis. As he passed cars and buildings his mere presence seemed to strip the paint from them. Flowers and weeds around him withered and died. The man’s metal feet shook the Earth beneath him as he clambered forward. A SWAT van appeared in front of him and the man let out a shout as he shot a ray of green energy towards it. The van was sent careening away by the force of the blast. Once it had stopped screeching along the road the man shouted at the top of his voice.


"Where... is... he?"

Clark’s hands balled into fists as he suspected he knew which “he” the man was referring to.

"What the hell is that thing?"

Lois Lane’s voice sounded from behind Perry White. She made eye contact with Clark for a second, aware he’d disappearing any moment, and gave her partner a knowing nod.

"I have no idea. From the looks of it though it’s heading in this direction."

"What do we do, Chief?"

Perry lifted his hand to his mouth as he pondered their options. By now the staff’s silence had been overrun by a muted, nervous hubbub as the sound of the glowing green blasts could be heard not through the television but by their own ears. He was close. White stared around at his building sentimentally before placing his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice.

"Everybody out. Leave your things and head for the fire exits. We’ll meet outside by the back entrance."

The shocked reporters seemed frozen in place by confusion until White once again placed his hands over his mouth and shouted at them. This time his voice was considerably louder and more urgent.

"Come on, people. Get moving!"

Suddenly the newsroom burst into life and the Daily Planet reporters began to file their way out. White watched as they made their way out and kept a silent count of each one. He had a duty of care for his employees and he had every intention of seeing that every last one of them made it out. Lois was amongst the last to file past him, he was almost sure she would have stayed behind if he’d allowed it, and Jimmy Olsen brought up the rear as he made his way towards the exit. Perry had one foot through it when he recalled not seeing Clark Kent amongst those leaving.

"Clark?"

There was no answer from the newsroom and Perry lingered for a moment, trying to remember the reporter passing by him, before shaking his head slightly, assuring himself that Kent must have slipped by, disappearing through the exit.

The Daily Planet reporters had made it halfway down the fire escape when a powerful gust of red-blue wind sped past them. Superman hung in place over the Daily Planet building for a moment. He squinted his eyes as he searched amongst the city’s streets for the attacker but it was his ears that helped him locate him. The man’s cries, pained, remorseful even, could be heard over the sound of sirens and bullets. The Man of Steel burst towards the origin of the sound and found himself floating some twenty-feet above the assailant. Like Henshaw he was more machine than man, but Henshaw’s body was the result of surgical precision, planning to the extreme, whereas this was something else. The man’s skin clung desperately to him like that of an animal reluctant to shed its skin.

"Where is... Superman?"

There was a despondency to the man’s voice, he was absent of Henshaw’s rage, but he seemed no less dangerous. Clark needed to end this. He’d try carrot before stick. He hovered down in front of the man, who glowed with green energy, and lifted his hands up as if to signal that he meant him no harm.

"I’m going to give you one chance and one chance only: stop this senseless violence and hand yourself in. Nobody else needs to get hurt here."

The man shook his head.

"That’s where you’re wrong, Superman. You need to get hurt."

Clark gritted his teeth as he went barreling towards him.

"So be it."

Ivy's grip around David's mother's arm was tight enough to leave a bruise. The woman failed to protest the fact. Her pupils were dilated and her steps were uncoordinated. Under any other circumstance Ivy would have felt something akin to guilt over abusing someone just because. But this woman had aided David and David had hurt Sarah. As far as Ivy was concerned she was being nice to the woman.

Ivy practically dragged the older woman down the street. When she felt they had gone far enough to not recall the police's attention she finally came to a stop. The redhead tugged on Mrs. Lester's arm and swung her against the nearest wall. The alley smelt like refuse. Being in a sketchy part of town no one would stop for the old woman though. Ivy was sure of that. Humans didn't care about anyone but themselves.

"David's friends. Where are they?" Ivy's mind was a one track record. The drive to find Sarah had shattered her earlier calm. Her old rage was barely contained, scratching at her vainer of civilization.

The old woman just stared at Ivy, her glossy eyes not even focusing.

"Shit." Ivy released her grip on the woman and ran both hands through her hair. Had she blasted the woman silly? Was her mind damaged? Or was she just really high? Ivy cut off all her pheromones and slapped the woman hard about the face. Maybe she should have paid more attention during her biology classes when they talked about human biology, rather than plant.

The sharp sound of flesh hitting flesh died quickly, but seemed to echo in Ivy's ears. Was David even know hitting Sarah like Ivy was hitting his mother? The thought cause Ivy to bear her teeth at the old woman she she began to blink slightly bemused.

"Speak!" Ivy raised her hand for another blow. At the motion something flickered across the older woman's face. Comprehension? Whatever it was caused the woman to hunch slightly and whimper. The motion eased Ivy a little. The woman could still be reduced to a mindless animal, but there was a change the theoretical damage Ivy had done was reversible. Or at least could wear off.

"David." Ivy repeated as calmly as was possible. "Where does he and his friends go?"

It took six more times of repeating the question for Ivy to get a coherent response from the older woman. "West Polk Street." And "I don't know the address. It's a church."

Ivy inhaled and gathered just the right pheromone amount she knew would knock the older woman unconscious and without memory of the past two days. She wanted to kill the woman then and there, but it would attract far too much attention to her. And when she got Sarah away from David she really didn't need the police trying to track her down. So wiping the woman's memory was her best option. Even if it sat like a bitter root in her mouth.

"Sleep Devil. It's better than you deserve." Ivy watched the woman's eyes flutter close and collapse to the dirty pavement. Polk street. Ivy wasn't familiar with the town. She'd have to ask for directions.

Happily she was able to get directions only a short while later. The church itself was only a twenty minute walk from where she was. During the walk she went back over the day's events. Starting with Paul and Lily, moving onto the dead boy and the events at David's apartment. By the time she reached the church she actually felt in control for the first time since she returned from Poland. David wasn't going to get away this time. This time she'd rip him into tiny pieces and feed them to her plants.

Ivy nudged off her shoes and stepped of the sidewalk into the overgrown garden in front of the abandoned church. Surprisingly most of the stained glass was intact. The stone siding was even relatively clean. The building had a certain majesty to it that no even the vandals had touched.

Ivy wiggled her toes as she rolled her shoulders. At the touch all the scraggly weeds perked right up. Their life eagerly lapping up the drops of her own she passed out. She reached out for the strongest plants. The trees and the vines and focused on them. As she did so she casually walked around the building, stopping by a side door.

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards into a smile. Subtle usually wasn't her style. But for Sarah she'd do anything. Even play nice. (Well, as nice as she could.) Without much fanfare ivy began to grow over the walls towards the door. There was a creaking groan as stone slabs shifted from invading tree roots. Then.

BAM!

The old wooden door splintered and exploded. Ivy dodged a particularity large piece of wood and stepped carefully over the twisted threshold into a cool dark of the church.

LexCorp Building, Metropolis

Lex Luthor muttered under his breath as he watched Jonathan Corben marching his way through Metropolis on the television screen. Someone had broken into LexCorp for the second time and this time they had gotten away with much more. Corben was Lex’s most prized possession, it was his ability to channel the meteor rock energy that powered Luthor’s generator, and now he was gone. Luthor was going to do whatever it took to change that. From beside Lex, Mercy Graves watched on nervously, the seriousness of Corben’s absconding from the generator room not lost on the bodyguard. She looked to her employer with a concerned look.

"What do we do, sir? If word gets out that Corben is the product of a LexCorp exper-"

Lex scowled.

"I am the most intelligent man on Earth, Mercy, do you not think that might have occurred to me?"

An exasperated sigh left Luthor’s lips and he held his bald head in his hands for a moment as he formulated a plan of action.

"We need to get Corben back. If he were going to tell the world what was done to him, he would have already done so. Someone set him free. We need to get him back and figure out who it was. The generator won’t run for long without Corben there to power it. Once we have Corben back and the generator is stable again, we’ll make him talk and make whoever set him free pay with their lives."

Mercy smiled.

"I like the sound of that."

Luthor ran through the roster of the Justice League in his head. None were privy to Corben or what Lex had done to him, Lex made sure to keep that part of his work away from them, so it would require careful choosing on Lex’s part. He’d worked too hard to put the League together to have it undone because some agent provocateur had decided to let Corben free.

"I can’t risk sending Rogers on something like this. Corben is far too powerful and he seemed too chummy with the so-called Man of Steel for my liking. He might get to asking questions. We cannot afford that."

Mercy nodded in agreement.

"What about Captain Marvel?"

"No, she’s too inquisitive, too curious."

A smile appeared on Mercy’s face as the right candidate popped into her mind.

"You need someone to which everything looks like a nail in need of hammering."

Lex glanced up at his bodyguard and grinned.

"Exactly that. Get in touch with Thor and tell him I want him in my office, would you? I do believe the Odinson’s unique blend of brawn and bravado make him the right man for this job. And do try to be as discrete as possible, it simply won't do to have the others knowing about this."


Mercy nodded and left the room to track Thor down. Lex waited until he heard the door click shut behind his bodyguard before letting out a heavy sigh. As the sigh tailed off a red-blue blur on the television screen caught Luthor’s attention. There looming over Corben was none other than Superman. Lex’s blood began to boil at the mere sight of him. Superman had turned him down, turned down Luthor’s Justice League, and spent years trying to undo the work Lex had done to repair his once dirtied reputation. His presence complicated things some. Apprehending Corben was one thing. Doing it without arousing the suspicion of Superman was another thing.

“The ever-present white knight appears just in the knick of time.”

Perhaps Corben would do Luthor a favour and kill Superman. Lex wasn’t sure how he’d feel about that. He’d always imagined the Man of Steel felled by his hand but in the grand scheme of things it didn’t make much difference. Whatever happened Lex needed Corben back and he needed Corben back soon. Otherwise his vaunted generator would wipe every human life in Metropolis out.

This is not how I expected this night to go, that much is for sure. Then again, I don’t know who expects to run into a snake-like assassin thief breaking into a museum for some reason in the middle of the night. If nothing else, I lead an interesting life, I guess.

Copperhead moves like no enemy I’ve ever faced before, and that’s saying something. She has to be double-jointed, as she seems to slither as she moves towards me. I fall into a defensive stance and back away from her, hoping she gets desperate and lashes out before she’s ready. No such luck, however. She just keeps her eyes locked onto me and dances forward.

“Oh come on, lady,” I grumble at her. “You’re leaning really hard into this snake thing.”


“It is not a thing, infidel,” she hisses at me. “It is everything.”

“What the hell does that mea-?” Before I can finish she springs towards me, lashing out with the claws on her hands. That has to be where the poison she used on the guard is located. I don’t see any other weapons on her person, so my first goal here is to make sure that they don’t land a slash on me.

That’ll be a feat in itself, as I can’t believe how fast Copperhead can strike. Her hands lash out in blurs of metal and skin, and it takes all my reflexes and concentration to make sure they don’t land. As each potential blow fails to find its target, I can feel the wind from her swipes. They’re getting far too close for my liking.

After another close call that I happen to time right, I land a flurry of pinpoint palm strikes on her lead shoulder. While they’re not all that powerful, I know where to hit people for the maximum amount of pain. Being the Iron Fist certainly has its benefits.

Copperhead retreats and lets out a threatening hiss, “Well, you are as good as they say. It’s a shame I’m going to have to kill you.”

“Lady, would you shut up?” I grumble. I really hate when these people feel the need to tell me I’m going to die twenty times in a fight. Somehow the threats really never make it through.

“Gladly,” she smiles and comes after me again. She springs forward off her hands in a flip, surprising me and catching me with the heel of her foot as it swings around. The blow dazes me and throws me ever so slightly off my defensive stance. It’s all she needs to land a spinning backhanded blow with three of her claws across my chest.

I instantly feel the burn as the poison enters my bloodstream, but I don’t have time to worry about that. I’m taking this freak down, one way or another. I focus my energy to slow my heart rate down, ensuring it takes as long as possible for the poison to complete its journey through my body. It won’t negate its effects, but it should give me time to take out the assassin.

But I need to be quick.

Luckily, her landing the tainted strike against me has put her into a false sense of security. She begins to dance around, taunting me, “Feel that, Iron Fist? Soon, your greatest fears will come to you...and then your heart will explode.”

“Not today,” I snarl and jump into action. I slide under a surprised slice from Copperhead, bend over forward and drive my back heel up. It connects with her chin, sending her flying into the display she stole from. The glass she took the time to cut shattered around her, lacerating her skin in multiple places.

I look to press my advantage, but, suddenly, the poison begins to take hold over my nervous system. The edges of my vision blurs in a wavy halo around Copperhead as she laughs at my struggle, “I told you that your fears would come to you.”

As she stands out of the disheveled diorama, her form contorts and bends before becoming a ghastly visage of Davos, the Steel Serpent. His eyes glow red, and shadowy tendrils emanate from his black mask. Behind him, the figure of a burning K’un-Lun appears behind him. In the distance I can hear the screams of the city’s people, and the voice of Lei Kung the Thunderer echoes through my brain like a freight train, “You failed us, Daniel. You failed us all.”

“No,” I say weakly and try to bat at Davos as he approaches. The hallucination wavers, but doesn’t break. My normal pinpoint control on my own life force is breaking, and the poison is doing its job

“Oh yes,” he laughs effeminately, giving me the slight break in illusion I need. I throw out a desperate combination of strikes, managing to find my mark with one to the shoulder of Davos, who shrieks in pain and turns back into Copperhead. I can tell I’ve done damage. She sneers at me and hightails it towards the roof, with me in not-so-hot pursuit.

Once I reach the top of the building, I manage to see her leap from the roof and run into the park. I hobble after, take the leap, and try for a graceful landing. Instead, in my altered state, I land awkwardly, tweaking my ankle. I limp into the park after her, but my vision begins to fade to black.

I take out the phone again and call Luke, “Luke...Central Park...need...Claire...poisoned.”

The phone falls out of my hand and smashes against the ground below, followed quickly by my skull. Darkness overtakes me, and before long, so does nothingness.

Ostensibly, the Big Sky Lounge is a billiard hall catering to Manhattan's working class. Much to their dismay, the NYPD have never been able to prove the truth known to everyone from Hell's Kitchen to Yancy Street: that the billiard hall serves as a front for all manner of illicit activity, from proprietor Blackie Gaxton's bookmaking business to fencing stolen goods to contracting freelancers for heists, shakedowns, and worse. In a single night at the Big Sky Lounge, an observant listener could overhear details from more than a dozen indictable offenses. It's a wire-wearer's dream, if only they could establish probable cause. Of course, New York is a big city, and not everyone in pursuit of justice is beholden to due process. A silent figure prowls the rafters on the hunt for information. Unbeknownst to the seedy clientele below, the Big Sky Lounge plays host tonight to Peter Parker, better known in these parts as the Spectacular Spider-Man!


As it turns out, starting a new crusade can sometimes be deathly monotonous business. Ever since Spoiler shut me out -- a second time, no less -- I've taken it upon myself to offer my help in bringing down Cluemaster, whether she wants it or not. Of course, I'm not just doing this out of the goodness of my own heart; Arthur Brown's been carving out a little empire for himself, and worse, he's been offering his services to help pond scum like Hammerbuild build their own would-be crimelord portfolios. He's got to be stopped, and if I can do it before Stephanie gets hurt, all the better. Unfortunately, Cluemaster has been frustratingly sparse with regards to the whole "clue" thing. His crew consists solely of hired professionals, mercenaries who would rather be strung up by their ankles than turn on their employer and lose their reputation. Believe me, I've tried.

Fortunately, I may not need to go through Cluemaster's men to get to the man himself. No one of his magnitude can move in on this turf without making waves. And if there's one thing I've learned in my short time as a New York crimefighter, it's that nothing happens in this city that Blackie Gaxton doesn't know about. Getting Blackie to talk is, of course, its own hassle, but I'm running out of patience and leads. So I've come to Blackie's place of employment for an unannounced visit. Slipping inside from the back was easy enough, and now I've made a little spot for myself on the ceiling where I can overlook the place. Blackie's seated at the end of the bar, helping himself to a dark stout and occasionally exchanging words with passers-by.

As my boredom reaches peak levels, I'm about to drop down and make my presence known when Blackie actually starts to move. I crawl along the ceiling in pursuit of my target, following him to the back door. Before the door closes behind Blackie, I silently flip through the opening and into the alleyway behind the lounge. Blackie wanders a few steps away from the door as he pulls a carton of cigarettes from his pocket. Just as he's about to light one up, I snatch it away with a quick web-line, saying, "You should really take better care of yourself, Blackie. Your lifestyle is already high-risk enough before you factor in COPD."

He turns to me, his face a mixture of surprise, annoyance, and a hint of contempt. "I knew you cared about me deep down, Webhead," he says flatly as he smacks a second cigarette out of the carton and sticks it in his mouth.

"That's me, alright; a regular bleeding heart," I answer. "Got any idea why I'm here, Blackie?"

At that, he chuckles, a hoarse and bitter sound. "I got no idea why you do anything you do, pal." He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag. "I'm betting it has something to do with the warpath you've been on lately, though. Way I hear it, you've been barking pretty hard up a certain tree, lookin' for answers."

"You flatter me! I didn't know you kept such keen interest in my affairs." I lean back against the brick wall behind me, letting my feet keep me adhered a few feet above the ground while I cross my arms. "Well, let's hear it, then; what do you know about the Cluemaster? How do I find him?"

After another drag, Blackie taps his cigarette to knock away the ash. "Here's what I want to know: even if I were inclined to help you -- and I certainly am not -- why would I sell out the Cluemaster to you? Guy's got nothing to do with me. He hasn't hurt my business any. I stand to gain nothing if you take him down. I'm not in the business of favors, especially not to wall-crawling pests."

"You've got a point. You're just a businessman, driven by self-interest," I begin. "Well, how about this for self-interest: if you don't want to cooperate, I'll just go back inside and knock around some heads until I find someone more interested in playing nice. Imagine how light business'll be once word gets out that Spider-Man makes a habit of raiding the Big Sky Lounge!"

He sneers. "Fine. I'll tell you what I've heard. But only because I doubt you'll survive the firepower at Cluemaster's disposal, anyway. He'll fix you like he did your little purple girlfriend."

As soon as I realize what Blackie's saying, I hop down off the wall and charge him. Putting one hand on his chest, I lift Blackie off his feet and pin him against the wall. With my free hand, I reach up and flick away his second cigarette. "What are you talking about? What did he do to Spoiler?"

Blackie shrugs. "Who knows? All I know is that his men nabbed her the last time she stuck her nose where it didn't belong." Even as I keep my strength pressed against him, he leans his head forward to add, "There might be a lesson in there for ya."

Cluemaster has Spoiler. If she's been such a thorn in his side, I can only imagine the twisted revenge he must have cooked up for her. I press a little harder against Blackie's chest, just enough to push a little air out of his lungs and get his attention. If Stephanie's in real trouble, then I don't have time for subtlety anymore. "Tell me where he is."

"Alright, alright! Word is he set up shop in an abandoned factory on the Lower East Side. Place is guarded like a damn fortress. You want my advice--"

"I don't."

"--sit this one out. Even you will have trouble getting in there."

"Well, that's the fun part, isn't it?" Before releasing Blackie, I reach into his coat pocket and retrieve the half-empty carton of cigarettes. As I let Blackie fall to his feet, I crumple the carton in my palm. "Sorry, bud, but the intervention was necessary. You already reek of stale smoke. And, just since we're good pals..." I flick my wrist and web his one leg to the pavement. "Now if someone finds you in the next hour, you've got plausible deniability. You can say I forced the information out of you!"

He stares at me bitterly. "I really hate you sometimes."

"Only sometimes? I'm getting rusty." I give a mock salute before leaving Blackie to stew. I can only hope that I find Stephanie before her father does anything irreversible.