Donald Blake sat in his apartment, before him on the coffee table sat a Hammer. Not a regular hammer, no. This was like an old Warhammer you saw pictures off in the history books, albeit with a much smaller handle. One part of him knew without a doubt that that was due to the meddling of Loki, the trickster god of norse mythology. Though he wasn't a myth, or at least that's what his memories were telling him. He recalled battles long past, long before he was even born and the halls of Asgard being filled to the brim with celebration and revels of victory. He'd have seen a psychiatrist by now, if he hadn't fought against an intergalactic being seeking to eat the planet a mere three months ago.

Somehow the Hammer had a way of transforming his frail body into that of the Asgardian god of war, and son of Odin. Thor. He wasn't quite sure how it all worked but whatever the transformation process was everytime he picked up the hammer he gained more of the original Thors memories. He wasn't quite sure what had happened to the real Odinson, for he had found the hammer hidden away in a cave. He only found it when he was chased by strange beasts and had no way of defending himself. That had been the first transformation, and ever since then he was becoming increasingly more powerful. The problem? The memories were also coming with greater intensity. If he kept using the hammer would Donald Blake even continue to exist? Or would the psyche of Thor take over completely? Perhaps that was just what Asgardian Gods did, maybe this Thor lost his life and was continuing it through a host body.

He wasn't entirely sure, and he couldn't ask anyone either. He wasn't a superhero, not really in the way Wasp was or Captain America but he still had people he needed to protect. While people may not believe his frail form was that of Thor, there would be those that did and they would likely punish the hospital and the love of his life, Jane Foster. He hadn't even told her about it, though he supposed he would need to sooner or later as he would have to make the decision to either stop helping people as Thor. It was a real dilemma, as he had done real good for the world both as Thor and as Donald Blake and like most human beings he didn't want to give himself up, didn't want his life to end. Though was that selfish? Could he deprive the Earth of a God? That is when the TV which had silently been playing in the background gained his attention.

On the screen in the middle of times square stood a man in medieval garb, red with a white cross identical to that worn by Christians during the religious crusades. Before him tied up was a group of civilians many of them carrying one of the foolish consumerist made icons that that supported various heroes including Thor. "Thunderer!" The man spoke with a thick English accent. "These people have sinned, worshiping you and the other so called heroes rather than their true saviour. They say you are the 'Odinson', their true hero. Word is some even pray to you. Face me, or these people die in your name Thor. Let us show them the false god that you are."

Without second thought he latched onto the hammer, feeling the surge of electricity as Donald Blake was replaced by Thor. While Donald Blake was reluctant to fight Thor relished in the opportunity of doing battle, with the might of Mjlonir he flew from the window as the skies overhead turned from clear and sunny to grey, lightning flashed across the sky that mimicked Thors rage. As he approached times square he slowed himself, bringing himself down over the plaza as lightning struck the ground below him. "HOLD! _{KNOW MORTAL NONE SHALL DIE ON THIS DAY BY YOUR HAND, SO SAYETH THOR ODINSON!} GOD OF THUNDER!"

"You are no god, there is but one God! I'm going to expose you as the fraud you are!"

"HEDE _{MY WARNING VILLAIN, SHOULD YOU ATTEMPT TO HARM A SINGLE ONE OF THESE PEOPLE YOU SHALL INCUR MY WRATH. STAND DOWN NOW, AND THIS NEED NOT COME TO HOSTILITIES. THOUGH SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO AVOID THIS WARNING I SHALL NOT SHY AWAY FROM BATTLE, ODIN KNOWS} MJLONIR _{YEARNS FOR BATTLE. WHAT SAY YOU MORTAL?}" The man simply drew a sword, out of thin air as well as a shield, aiming the sword up at Thor.

"All I need harm is you, to prove my point to these non-believers."

Thor couldn't help but smirk. "_{SO BE IT!}"

The Winter Soldier knew cold. He knew colder than cold. He knew what it was like to be frozen, not just chilly, but iced down to the core. He'd felt the blood freeze in his veins. Not once. Not twice. Several times. Every time HYDRA pushed him into cryo, he froze right down into the depths of his bones and he felt himself thaw out every time they yanked him out again.

Any regular person would snap and lash out, refuse to be HYDRA's leftover dinner, stuffed into a freezebox for goodness knows how long until they worked up an appetite for a healthy dish of enhanced-amensiac-assassin. The Winter Soldier wasn't a regular person though. He didn't fight, he didn't resist ... he certainly screamed though. As soon as they said those words, pulled him apart from inside his own head, a shattered, strangled howl left his lungs. Even the strongest soldier couldn't suppress their agony if they endured the mental reprogramming HYDRA introduced as a "precaution". One of many fail-safes to keep the Winter Soldier under their control.

Once the piercing pain ceased, The Winter Soldier gasped for lungfuls of air, his enhanced body fighting against the pain and quickly adjusting to being "reanimated" once again after the thaw. Barely a minute had passed and the Winter Soldier was already being briefed. There was no downtime or rest period with HYDRA. When they wanted a job done, The Winter Soldier was activated and deployed as soon as possible. As soon as his work was done, he was just as quickly stuffed away, HYDRA had learned the hard way what could happen when their Asset was left out in the sun a little too long. Fortunately for them, an amnesiac with no sense of time and in a state of extreme-disorientation could be tracked down. The mission had almost been compromised and HYDRA didn't like "almost compromised" missions. That was 1973, and even after decades of flawless missions, HYDRA never forgot what happened in New York. Ever since, all of The Winter Soldiers assignments had been confined to locations outside of the United States.

Until now.

HYDRA had bigger, bolder, schemes, and the Winter Soldier had to stand back on his own native soil once again to achieve his enemies goals. His handlers hoped this time would be without incident. The brainwashing was ramped up, extra tests, extra shocks, in the months leading up to this mission. They did all they could to ensure compliance and, if their tests so far were anything to go by, they wouldn't have to worry about the Asset going rogue in New York this time.

"Good morning Soldat" the handler said, arms folded stiffly behind his back. He was vulnerable, open to an attack. If the Winter Soldier willed it, he could grab him by the throat with his bionic left arm and crush his windpipe before the Handler had time to emit a strangled scream. The Winter Soldier didn't move.

"I have an assignment for you. Infiltrate. Sabotage. Escape undetected."

HYDRA were going to take credit for this attack. Roll out a big show for everyone in the audience, but they couldn't expose their Asset. The Winter Soldier was too valuable to give up so easily. For 50 years he'd been HYDRA's secret human weapon. So deadly, so elusive, he'd evaded SHIELD and the authorities for years and faded into myth. HYDRA liked inflicting terror upon their enemies, their opposition, and the longer they could convince SHIELD that they were being chased by ghosts, the better.



The jet to New York was filled with a pensive energy. HYDRA agents armed to the teeth and bolstered up in thick armours surrounded the Winter Soldier. Without a helmet, without a gaudy suit of armour, he almost appeared non-threatening. Tactical light armour seemed so flimsy compared to the hulking suits the agents wore, but it was more effective than it looked. Mask pulled up, The Winter Soldier was muzzled by HYDRA, literally, and psychologically. The agents were apprehensive, right in New York, they were dropping the Winter Soldier on his own turf, even before they hit the dirt, they feared he'd remember something, he'd break his programming. He'd retaliate again the years of brutal abuse he'd suffered. But that moment never came and he left the jet, armed and dangerous he disappeared and they waited.

There was no codeword, no signal, the Winter Soldier rarely spoke, and when he did, it was only to affirm to his handlers that he had done his job and was at the rendez-vous point. HYDRA were waiting for a signal this time ... they'd know it when they saw it. The whole world would know. Minutes passed ... More minutes passed. The handler grew impatient and barked an order into the Winter Soldier's ear-piece.
"Soldat. Report."
"In position." Came the Winter Soldiers response.
The handler relaxed slightly, the Winter Soldier wasn't missing, he was waiting. Waiting for the perfect moment to blow the place to hell.

The Winter Soldier had planted and primed the bomb, snuck away to a good, discrete vantage point ... All he had to do was light the fuse. He watched the group below assemble into position, lined up like little toy soldiers far below as he followed them through the sniper scope. He saw their faces, read their lips as they spoke before lining up the crosshairs with the neat little package subtly tucked away right under their noses.
"Will I take the shot?" he asked his handler.
The handler observed his computer screen, hacked CCTV cameras from the street fed live video of the scene down below and he scanned the movements of the mutants and civilians that were roughly within the blast radius.
"Do it."

He squeezed the trigger. One tiny little pull of the finger and suddenly the street dissolved before his eyes. Shrapnel and fire scattered in a huge destructive torrent tearing apart the people and structures around it. The front of a bakery caved in and several floors above it were gutted, leaning forward and collapsing in and down on itself, crushing the already charred and ruined bodies beneath. Those further away from the initial blast weren't particularly fortunate either, glass, concrete and chunks of steel and flaming bits of building materials were propelled at devastating speed, puncturing whatever crossed their path like haphazard bullets. Cars, walls, people, they were all studded with shards of glass and concrete.

Sirens wailed, people screamed, fire crackled and bricks fell down from overhead. The Winter Soldier turned from the scene and snuck away unseen. HYDRA collected the Asset several blocks from the bomb site and began their grand announcement.

The Winter Soldier was back in his handlers control before the evening news could even cover the blast. The jet, which was circling the New York skyline to survey the damage and devastation it had unleashed on the city, didn't intend to drop the Winter Soldier back into Serbia so soon. There was still work to be done here but he needed a full assessment. The brainwashing safeguards appeared to have held up this time, but they couldn't risk losing him again now at so crucial a stage in their wave of terrorist attacks. A psych specialist was on board the plane, a small table and chairs set up, oddly out of place in the tactical jet. The Winter Soldier sat down for evaluation.

"Your mission was successful?" the psych asked.
"Package was planted and primary targets neutralised."
The psych made an affirmative noise and noted it down in Winter SOldier's growing record.
"And while you were planting the package and going to the extraction zone. Did you go anywhere else?"
"No"

The handler called the jet not too long after for a full report on the Asset.
"Asset is stable, didn't go walk-about this time either, I recommend we leave him out of cryo to continue our work, the safeguards should hold up. We will stay at a safe house, keep him under-wraps and in the dark until after the announcement goes live. I'll do another evaluation before we ready our next target. There will be no mistakes this time."

Curious still, the psych returned to the Soldier and quizzed him further, off the books this time.
"Do you know where you are?"
"New York City"
It wasn't particularly surprising, The Asset had been briefed before the drop, but the psych wanted to ease in slowly.
"And have you been to New York before? Or anywhere else in America?"
"No."
This was reassuring, the HYDRA handlers seemed to relax a little.
"One more question Soldier." The Soldier didn't nod or say "go ahead, ask away", he was like stone, unresponsive and unmoving, socialising with him was impossible, he conversed like a robot it seemed unnatural for him to talk sometimes, HYDRA kept him quiet almost all the time.
"Have you heard of Captain America?"

Since the Galactus incident, everyone knew about Captain America, though it was a surprise to the world when she revealed she was a female. HYDRA knew the Stephanie, like The Winter Soldier, had been plucked out of time, they'd been allies back in the 40's but now ... The Winter Soldier was theirs and HYDRA had every intention of putting down Captain America for good and what better way to do it than send one of her oldest buddies after her.

The Asset was quiet. The psych repeated the question.
"Do you know Captain America?"
"No."
The psych smiled to himself. When the time came, the Asset would take out his oldest friend, but for now, he was waiting for the plane to touch down in one of the safe houses just outside the city so that he could be briefed on the next stage of HYDRA's wave of terror attacks.

Here's how it goes:

You are a citizen of a free nation. Having lived your adult life in a land of guaranteed civil liberties, you commit a crime of violence. Whereupon you are arrested -- "jacked up" in the parlance of the street-- and find yourself here; in an interrogation room complete with brick walls, three chairs and a metal table.

There you sit for almost an hour until a police detective, a man who is clearly not your friend, comes in with a smile and offers you a cigarette. The detective also brings with him a notepad and pen and a digital voice recorder. After you take the aforementioned smoke, he launches into a non-stop monologue that goes back and forth, back and forth, but comes to rest... in a very familiar place.

"You have the right to remain silent."

And you do. You're a criminal. Criminals always have the right to remain silent. You've seen Law & Order, right? Your Fifth Amendment rights prevent you from self-incrimination. If it was good enough for all those greedy CEOs and juicing athletes who testified in front of congress, who the fuck are you to argue? Let's get some prespective, shall we? A police detective -- a man paid by the government to put you into prison -- is explaining that you have the right to shut up before you say anything stupid. Think about that for a moment.

Also think about your right to an attorney.

The man with the smile and the tired eyes tells you that you have the right to talk to an attorney anytime. Be it before questioning, after questioning, or during any questioning sessions. The man who wants to arrest you for violating the peace of the great city of New York is telling you that you can talked to a person who is a trained professional in legal matters, someone who has read the relevant code... or, he's gotten his hands on some Cliff Notes. Either way, he is sure as hell more up on his shit than you are. Let's face it, pal. You just shot a man in the head behind 112th Street Bar. You are many things, but a legal genius you ain't. You're going to need the help of an expert. Take whatever you can get.

After his long speech and informing you of your rights, the detective says that he wants you to be adequately informed of your rights. Right now, there is nothing he wants more than to help you out in this very confusing and stressful time in your life. He also wants you to know, and you can take it from him because he's been doing this for awhile, your right to an attorney isn't all that it's cracked up to be.

He says that once you call for that lawyer, there isn't a thing in the world he can do to help you. Nope, once that bell is rung it can't be unrung and your good friends here at the 18th Precinct won't be able to lend you a hand. The next authority figure to get their hands on your case will be a no nonsense prosecutor from the District Attorney's office.

And God help you if a three-piece suit wearing bloodsucker like that gets a whiff of your case. You'll be halfway to the Attica on a ten to life bid before you can even fucking blink. You ever been to Attica? They say Ryker's is the roughest prison in the state, but my money is on Attica. They'd eat you alive in a place like that.

Your best bet is to speak up. Speak up now.

With that little tidbit, the detective leaves the room and lets you think on it. Suddenly you realize how small this room, how without windows its a lot like a prison cell. That gets to you as you finish off you smoke and wish you had another. The detective returns minutes later, this detective who is not your friend, and smiles at you as he sits down at the table across from you with two cups of coffee.

"I got the coffee right? Two sugars, no cream?"

"Yeah, the coffee's fine, man." You say with a nervous twitch.

"But, uhh...what happens if I want a lawyer?"

"We'll get you a lawyer!" The detective springs up from his seat and heads towards the door. "No problem, we got a line of lawyers waiting outside."

A few feet away from the door, he spins on his heels and looks back at you with his hands clasped together.

"But! Maybe you should think first." He walks back towards the table and leans over it. He's crowding you, but not in a threatening way. Kind of like how your mom or dad would get in close when you were a kid. There's a warmness there. This man, this man who you have been taught would just as soon beat you than look at you, genuinely cares about your well being.

"Like I said, once that lawyer is called we can't do anything. This will be your only time to speak, remember that. So... he came at you, didn't he? It was self-defense."

You look down into the coffee and then back at his face. Swallowing hard, you answer.

"Uh-huh." You say cautiously.

"Wait one minute." The detective says as he slides you a piece of paper.

"Might want to read that first."

The form reads "I do not wish for an attorney right now, and I am willing to answer questions without an attorney present, and I do all this voluntarily on my part."

You sign the paper, initial it to be sure.

The detective looks at you, his eyes dripping with innocence, and says:

"He came at you didn't he?"

"Yeah. He... uh, he came at me," you whisper.

That's it. You're done.

If the detective wasn't too busy taking down your statement and writing a murder warrant, he'd tell you as much. He'd say something about your ignorance and the fact that you just admitted to killing another human being. He'd also mention that, in all his years of working murders, he's still amazed that even works.

Stop and think. When you came through those doors what did it say? That's right, Homicide. Who lives in a Homicide Unit? Homicide Detectives, so far so good. And what does a Homicide Cop do for a living?

You got it.

You took a human being's life tonight. So, when you opened your mouth, what the fuck were you thinking?

Bar none, the homicide detective is the best salesman on the face of the earth. He sells life sentences in prison to a customer base who has no need or want for them. And he's damn good at it too. Through lies, half-truths, and cajoling he gets the truth -- or enough of it to build a murder case -- from you. And it's all entirely legal. His weapon isn't violence anymore, it's his prey's own stupidity.

There is a thing in interrogations known as The Out. Every suspect who opens their mouth in an interrogation pictures The Out. The right series of answers, the right amount of charm, the right bit of an alibi that will allow them to stroll out of the interrogation room and head home unscathed.

It is a lie, as blatant as any lie that detectives can use in their interrogations. Once you are in this room, there is no amount of words that can lead to your freedom. Only silence. Only asking for a lawyer can get you out of this room. You go to a jail cell, yes, but you do not willingly sign your life away in search of The Out. The truth is that The Out leads in.

You better get used to these small spaces, son. You're gonna be calling them home for at least the next thirty years.

----

Manhattan Criminal Courthouse
Part 21
Lower Manhattan
11:21 AM

"Mr. Murdock, do you plan on a lengthy cross-examination of the witness?"

"No, Your Honor," I said as I stood. "I'll be brief."

I couldn't see it, but I could hear the muscles in Judge Sandra Young's face form into a smile. Noon was fast approaching and Judge Young likes her smoke breaks. I was honestly surprised that she had allowed the current session to run now for over three hours without breaking.

"You may proceed," she said.

I made my way from the defense table, passing by Assistant DA Blake Tower on my way towards the lectern facing the witness box and the jury. I heard Tower's right eyelid flip in a wink at me, a force of habit I assume. His gait was that of a man who was confident on the point of cocky. And who wouldn't be cocky after the testimony he had just withdrawn from his witness?

With Tower holding his hand, Detective Sergeant Michael Tork had just delivered an hour's worth of testimony that guided the jury through his investigation. Working out of the NYPD's 33rd Precinct, Tork and his four-man narcotics unit conducted a two month investigation into the suspected drug dealing activities of one Jesus Reuben Martinez, resident of Washington Heights and a known member of the Puerto Rican Army.

Jesus sat at the defense table, looking on while his heart raced a mile a minute. I could probably have smelled the sweat beading on his forehead from outside the court room it was so pungent. He had every reason to be worried. Tork's testimony was solid. He had explained in that clear and clipped cop-speak that his unit had observed Martinez in and around the Wilson Terrace Housing Projects where he lived, but they could never get concrete proof that he was dealing. He was careful on the street, conducting his business in the housing project where the cops couldn't go without arousing suspicion. Martinez would take the train somewhere downtown, but they always lost him in the shuffle of the commute. Close to packing up the case, they turned instead to the eye in the sky.

Jesus Mendez had the honor to be among the first targets of the NYPD's new drone surveillance program. The drone in question caught Jesus taking a re-up from a supplier and then meeting with the dealers who worked for him to move his product. Jesus had alluded police ground surveillance thanks to his keen observations. But he hadn't thought to look up into the sky.

"Thank you for taking the time to be here, Sergeant Tork," I said a I prepared for the cross.

"You're welcome," Tork said tightly.

A genuine hater. I figured the cop for one of those right off the bat. Now my suspicions were confirmed by the stand-offish answer and the increase in his pulse. A lot of cops make no effort to hide their contempt for defense attorneys. Instead of seeing what we do as a necessary check on the system, they instead see us as quasi-criminals who are just a few steps above the scumbag clients were represent. Not that he would be completely wrong in that assessment. But if he hated defense lawyers now, he sure as hell was about to hate them after I was through with him.

"Sergeant Tork," I said with little to no delay. "Who operated the drone that took the surveillance photos of Mr. Martinez?"

"Officer Pierce," said Tork.

"And he's a member of your narcotics unit?"

"Yes, he is."

"I've been told that the photos you took are of good quality." I turned towards the jury with a half smirk. "I wouldn't know for myself."

I've found that self-deprecating humor can go a long way to disarm juries. Especially given my reputation over the years, playing up my blindness offsets my other less desirable qualities.

"They can clearly make out your client dealing drugs," Tork replied.

"Move to strike that from the record," I asked the judge. "It's inflammatory."

"So noted," said Judge Young. She looked down at Tork from her perch. "And I would remind Sergeant Tork to stick to simpler answers."

"Sergeant Tork, did you write the warrant that led to the use of the drone on my client?"

"No," said Tork. "We didn't have to write a warrant."

I smirked and squared my glasses up. Tork's heartbeat was steady, but starting to rise. He was telling the truth -- a refreshing departure from a lot of cops on the stand -- but he was beginning to get nervous. He knew something was up. With this cross, I was setting the fuse on the bomb that would destroy the prosecution's case.

"Drones and the use of them are relatively new in law enforcement, Sergeant. Are you up to date with all the rules and regulations?"

"I know how to do my job if that's what you're asking."

"Oh, so you know about the rules on surveillance distance with drones? They're much more restrictive with them than they are with planes and helicopters. If you're less than a thousand feet away from the target, you need a warrant. Anything without a warrant is considered and illegal search."

I held up the photographs, making sure they were the right side up and facing Tork.

"From how far would you say these photos were taken, Sergeant Tork?"

Now Tork's heart was racing. I could smell the sweat on him. Along with his change, I heard Tower groan under his breath from the prosecution table and Juror #4 laugh under his breath.

"I'm not an expert on distances," he said defensively.

"No, you're not," I said with a nod. "I'll have one of those come up when the defense presents. No more questions for Sergeant Tork, your honor."

And just like that, the seeds of acquittal have been sewn. Is Jesus Martinez guilty? Of course. The photos prove that. But they weren't obtained legally. That, more than anything, is my job. I have to make sure the cops play fair. I have to test the state's evidence and make sure it holds up. I am a necessary part of the threshing maw that is the American criminal justice system. I poke and prod and pull threads. Better that a guilty man go free on a technicality than an innocent man be convicted on faulty evidence.

At least, that's what I tell myself to make it through the day. At night I cope a different way.

---

Williamsburg, Brooklyn
2:15 PM

Yussel Goren had never seen so much blood in his life. It seemed to coat the floor and walls of the small Brooklyn apartment. It covered his hands and arms. The thighs of his navy blue pants were a deep crimson now due to the blood. Neta was face down in the carpet, her blood pooled out from the spot where she had fallen and oozing out through the rest of the room.

Yussel stumbled forward. He took his yarmulke off with his blood-stained hands and stuttered out some words in Yiddish. He fell to his knees and began to weep. His free hand found a bloody knife buried in the carpet. He held it up and looked at it just as the door to the apartment burst open.

"NYPD," the heavyset uniformed officer said, his gun out and aimed at Yussel. "Drop the weapon!"

“I won’t lie, I was pretty sad to find out that the team was moved and Ebbet Field was torn down. I still remember going to games there with my dad, he adored the Dodgers. I guess kind of making me one too in the process. Still having gotten the time to catch up on the team. I have no problems saying I’m still a Dodgers girl.”

The local news reporter finished the interview as Stephanie gently, nervously fiddled with the baseball in her hand. She had on the jersey the team gave her, with a ball cap and jeans. When the team offered for her to come out and throw out the first pitch Stephanie couldn’t accept fast enough. Though on the plane ride out to LA, it kept bringing memories back to Steph. Some good, some bittersweet with hindsight. It was the games with Bucky that made her sad in retrospect. He was always as much entertainment as the game itself was. No one could heckle the opposing teams quite like him.

Still it had been a great day, yet another one ever since she was able to make her grand return. The reception she’s gotten has been amazing, everything she desperately wanted from her battles in World War II and more. The outpouring of letters from women of all ages, the awards ceremony where the current president gave her all the war medals she was owed. It was an amazing night, plus the president these days is black! That was a wonderful thing to learn... until she saw how people were talking about him. The more things change....

Stephanie herself wasn’t immune to the criticism, no matter how insane they were. While most people were happy to find out about the real Captain America. Others weren’t so happy to find out the symbol of American power during World War II was a woman. Stephanie had gotten a few letters from people who were very specific in how they were going to find her and kill her. It made Stephanie angry, but all she did was remind herself they didn’t have the guts to attack her. If they did, she’d show them she was the real deal.

Doing a little stretching of her arms, Stephanie was guided by one of the team's staff members out to the field. The instant, wonderful smell of freshly trimmed grass and compacted dirt filling her nostrils as the crowd started to cheer.

“Ladies and gentlemen, to throw out tonight’s opening pitch. Please welcome Captain America, Ms. Stephanie Rogers!”

Growing up she never had imagined actually being on the field for the Dodgers or anyone. So to stand on the pitcher’s mound, looking down the 60 feet to the catcher was giving her goosebumps. She gently tossed the baseball in hand, looking down at it and realizing she hasn’t thrown a baseball in years. “Alright, lets see if I remember how to do this...” She muttered to herself before glancing back up at the pitcher. Taking a deep breath, she took a wind up and let the ball go.

The audible thump the ball made slamming hard into the catcher’s mitt could be heard through the entire field as the crowd cheered. Stephanie smiled, she still had it. As she jogged up to the catcher she watched him pull his glove off, shaking his hand. “Damn lady, you’ve got one hell of a throwing arm!” He told her in his fairly thick accent.

“Heh, sorry...” Stephanie cringed a little, yeah... probably should of taken a little off that throw. The last thing she’d want to do is put one of the Dodgers’ best players on the shelf. Still she got the ball back, shaking hands with the player as the two headed to the dug out.

Stephanie Rogers took her seat at the ball park, ready to cheer on the home team as the game got going. It was an exciting game, Dodgers were up 4 - 3 over the Boston Red Sox. Still though eventually her attention on the game was being hampered when she really looked around the crowd. While plenty of people were paying attention, Stephanie couldn’t help but realize so many people there weren’t even watching. They had their ‘smartphones’ and their ‘tablets’ out, either looking at stuff involving the game or not even paying attention at all. Taking pictures of themselves, sticking their lips out like ducks.

She knew times had changed but Stephanie still wasn’t even remotely ready for all the things she had missed out on. She came from a time when a computer wasn’t even a thing, now not only was it so important to life apparently, you have to have a tiny one in your pocket ready to go whenever. It was that constant, nagging realization of how she was seemingly on Earth, but might as well have been a whole different planet. Technology had advance well past whatever sci-fi fantasy her reality could of predicted. The US landed a spacecraft on the moon for crying out loud! So much so that the US doesn’t even seem concerned about the moon anymore.

The thoughts kept making Stephanie more and more depressed. She was seeing all these amazing things around her. Stuff she actually liked, but she saw so many people not care. People who took the amazing things they have, and still found small, silly things to complain about. Soon Stephanie wasn’t even paying attention to the ball game anymore. She was just sad, the realization of where she was, not in terms of being at the ball park, but in life, was just difficult to swallow.

“Uh excuse me, Ms. Rogers?” A woman from the stadium tapped Stephanie on her shoulder as Stephanie slouched down on the seat deep in depression. Stephanie glanced up to the woman. “You have a call waiting for you, it’s very important from what I understand.” Stephanie nodded and following the woman to an office with a phone waiting off the receiver. Stephanie reached down to pick up the phone.

“Hello?” Stephanie asked, wondering what the call was for.

“Stephanie.” It was Nick Fury, she’d recognize that voice anywhere. “I know you’re at the ball park but we need you back at HQ immediately. There’s been an attack in New York City.”

Stephanie’s heart stopped for a moment at the news, “Alright, I assume you have transport coming out?”

“Should be there in a moment, it has your gear as well.” Fury’s tone was the same as it usually was, something to it though, very small but one Stephanie sensed. Something that said Fury was worried, whatever was going on was huge.

“Understood.” Stephanie hung up the phone as on cue a limo arrived to pick up Stephanie Rogers.

SHIELD Helicarrier

The flight back Stephanie took the time to get suited up. The new suit SHIELD had given her was meant to both be a call back to the suit she wore during World War II. However it was upgraded with new, stronger material. The shield and the wrist strap she wore for it though? Same as it always was. Not that Stephanie would have it any other way.

Strolling through the seemingly massive helicarrier still had an awe effect on the woman. She used to think the Empire State Building was the crown of human achievement. Now though, that was just a building, this was a thing that flew. Something that flew and in ways Stephanie didn’t even realize things could fly. Now though she had something to keep her focus on. Something horrible.

Arriving into the room Nick Fury and Stephanie Rogers both gave one another a salute. “Good to see you got here quickly enough.” Nick noted. “I assume you were given the briefing on the way over.”

“Yes...” Stephanie had been told a little but what she had heard was bad enough. “A bomb went off at some rally. Right now the suspicion is terrorist motive.”

“Correct.” Fury turned on a large screen behind him. On it was a large group of people protesting, some normal looking, others much less so. They were lined up in front of a bakery rallying against mutant prosecution. Something else Stephanie had to be filled in on when she came back. Suddenly a massive explosion ripped through the street. Stephanie’s eyes widened as she cupped a hand around her mouth in shock. A sickly swell raising up in her stomach.

“Oh my God.” Stephanie could only breathe out in shock.

Fury himself seemed like he was only now getting over the shock. Shaking his head in disgust as he put a hand onto a table next to him. “What’s worse is while you were coming out here we’ve gotten news that this is a confirmed terrorist act. Even worse, the terrorist group in question is why I'm specifically putting you in charge of this assignment as of right now.”

Nick Fury reached into his coat, pulling out an envelope, before handing it over to Stephanie. As she started to open it, pulling out the paperwork inside. She saw something which immediately made the blood in her veins start to boil viciously. The picture was blurry, in black and white, and didn’t show much, but it showed enough. A man in a Nazi looking suit, with a mask that looked like a skull.

“Red Skull...” Stephanie’s hands gripped the envelope tight as she started to visibly shake from anger. Somehow, someway...

The ride from America to Europe was uneventful and tedious. Fred slept a good deal of the way, but his father eventually woke him up closer to their destination. Their private plane was something out of a music video. The luxury vehicle had an incredibly elegant and simple design, and along with Fred's father's two personal bodyguards, only had five passengers. Steve and Jack, one of their last names was Kirby... Fred could never remember which. The young adult's phone went off, with a roar sound effect from Godzilla. A text from the girl in his apartment building, Nomi. There was a sudden change of weather outside. The clouds grew dark, lightning began to crash. Fred's phone began playing the Blue Oyster Cult song 'Godzilla'. Now he was getting a call. That's when the pilot saw trouble.

"Everybody better strap in tight! There's something big outside..." the pilot exclaimed.

"Time to shine Fredzilla!" one of the guards said.

"That's NOT my codename, Steve." Fred commented pressing a button on his wristband and taking off his coat.

Nanomachines covered his torso and legs and in seconds used the raw materials of what he was wearing to help generate his battle gear. Nothing too flashy. Fred liked the red scales.

"It's that ringtone, son. Couldn't you have picked something else?" Fred's father responded with a bit of a laugh not even worried about what was outside.

"When I had 'Don't Fear the Reaper' you thought I was thinking about suicide. What's your problem with Blue Oyster Cult?" Fred responded fixing his cap.

"I love the band, but you got nothin' better for a superhero code name. Might as well accept it, kid." responded the bigger of the two bodyguards, Jack.

"Eventually I'm gonna come up with something, but right now can I please go beast mode outside the plane and see what's going on?" Fred asked rolling his eyes now.

"Go get 'em, son!" responded Fred's father.

Leaping from the back end of the plane towards the ocean below, the coast of Europe, wherever they were presently, could barely be seen in the distance. Fred's eyes turned fiery gold, scales began forming, and the kaiju was coming out to play. The red giant crashed down into the ocean below, grayish plates running down his back and tail. Staring back at him was an enormous orange creature with two large horns and long hair running down it's spine. Oddly enough, the creature also seemed to be wearing briefs. Even in kaiju mode, Fred thought there was something off about this thing.



Elsewhere in Europe...

Brian Braddock sat in a pub noticing the weather outside changing almost immediately. The buff blonde European man was sitting at the bar in a brown leather jacket. A news bulletin came on the tv interrupting the football game at the worst time during the match and aggravated several patrons. Braddock pulled some money out of his jacket and put on the bar and said a couple byes on his way to the door. On his way out he began unbuttoning his shirt revealing part of his Captain Britain uniform. He finished changing mid-air and was en route to the conflict in the ocean. The only facts he knew was that there was a plane about to make a crash landing in the water, and not one but TWO monsters to contend with.

~KL~

-A bar on one of the many long roads in Massachusetts-

The locals were having their regular night, a woman in cowboy attire was behind a wire mesh and singing country music whilst playing a guitar. The last thing that the inebriated patrons were expecting, when they heard the door open, was for an 8 foot tall man wearing red armour and a domed helmet to be stood there. They looked around and several fell off their chairs and the only sound heard from behind the wire mesh was an out-of-tune twang from the guitar and "Holy hell, lookit the size of him." The bar-man immediately looked at a "Super-Villains Warning Sheet" that he had gotten off the internet. One of the rows mentioned "Juggernaut" who was described as "8 foot tall and wearing red armour, as well as a domed helmet" The man took his helmet off and left it by the door.

"Now, look, Mr Juggernaut, I don't want no trouble." he said, looking up at the man (Who it was hard not to look up to, as he was a clear 2 foot taller than anyone else in the bar)

"And I don't want none." he replied with his thick british accent. "Just get me a beer." he said, placing 3 dollar notes on the bar. The bar-man looked at him, not moving. "Look, I don't care what type of beer, just get me something that's alcoholic and tastes like piss!" he snarled. The Bar-man didn't take his eye off the giant whilst walking to the fridge and putting grabbing a bottle of Budweiser, before putting it in front of Juggernaut. Juggernaut pushed the money towards the bar-man who looked down at it before looking up at Juggernaut again.

"It's on the house." he said. Juggernaut pushed the money further towards him.

"If you don't want me to flip out and wreck everything, you'll stop treating me as though I am going to and take the money." he growled. The bar-man snatched the money and shoved it in the till. Juggernaut sat down on a bar-stool which collapsed under his ultra-dense weight. He fell over with a loud thud that shook the bar. He growled before getting up and sitting on another one, this time, keeping his feet on the floor and only putting a tiny portion of his weight on it. A severely drunk patron that he was sat next to stared at him.

"30 years i've been coming here and you've never once given me one on the house." he said, staring angrily at the bar-man.

"That's because he's not afraid that you'll wreck the state if you get angry." Juggernaut replied. The drunk man looked at his beer and then back at the giant.

"Ooooh, i get it. You're one of them Super-villains." he said. "Like that Galactus Feller that tried to eat the world." The Bar-man stared daggers at the drunk guy.

"Zeb, shut-up." he seethed. Juggernaut took no notice of the bar-man.

"Summut like that." he replied to Zeb, taking a swig of his beer.

"So... How did you come decide you was gonna be evil and try to take over the world or destroy everything or whatever the hell your tryin' ta do?" he asked.

"Zeb, shut-up." repeated the Bar-man, he was sweating quite profusely at this point. Juggernaut looked at the bar-man.

"He asked a legitimate question. And if you can't share your backstory with a room full of drunk hicks, then who can you share it with?"

"AMEN TO THAT, BROTHER!" Came a call from across the room from another drunk patron.

"It all started when I was a kid, me and mum and dad... We were so happy back then... Well, up until she died."

"That's a shame." Zeb butted in.

"Well, after that, Dad went into seclusion and left me to my own devices. He grew really distant... That's when he met Sharon. Well, he wanted me to call her mum, but I called her Sharon. Always did... He married her and I got a new little brother. One from her previous marriage. Charles... Well, I called him Chucky, but he hated it... So, naturally, I kept calling him that." Zeb laughed a little, but Juggernaut continued. "We were the best of friends growing up. He did my homework, because he was so smart and I protected him from the school bullies, because they knew I was king of the playground. That's when dad started getting mean... Drunk and mean... He only married Sharon for the money, you see, and soon he had drank a large chunk of it away. Sharon killed herself due to the neglect and feeling like she betrayed Chucky's dad or some bollocks like that. So, dad started taking his anger out on me, because he didn't want to hurt his little prodegy... Can't deny, I did resent Chucky a little, but I decided that that we needed to stick together."

"So, who killed Chucky?" asked Zeb.

"What?" Juggernaut looked at Zeb.

"Who killed him? That's how these stories go. Someone killed your little brother, you got a taste for revenge and you've been tryin' to taste more ever since." Zeb said, before putting more money on the bar. "Bar-keep, more beer!" he called.

"Look, do you wanna tell the story?" asked Juggernaut. Zeb gesticulated that Juggernaut calm down and that he didn't mean any harm. "Anyway, I decided it was time to leave that old bastard to rot. I joined the army and went out to earn money. I was planning to secure some money, buy a house and get custody of Chucky when I came back. He was much younger than me. Well, one christmas, I come home... There's Dad and chucky. We have a nice chat, then dad goes away for a bit, comes back drunk and tries to hit Chucky. I sock 'im one and we got into a hell of a nasty fight. Of course, I was in the army and he was a drunk achademic. We all know who was going to win." there was a laughter of agreement.

"Hope you gave the sorry bastard what was coming to him" one yelled.

"Tell the truth, I fucking lost it that night. I nearly beat him to death... That's when Chucky stopped me... Turns out he was a Mutant." there was a chorus of disagreement.

"God damned mutants. It ain't natural." one called.

"That's my little brother you're talkin' about!" Juggernaut growled, the jeering quickly stopped. "So, anyway, he has these mind control powers. He made me stop and... Well, that's when I decided I wasn't having any of that. I left, didn't see him again for 10 years. Turns out that dad, the stupid prick, set fire to the house that night and burned to death." He raised his beer bottle. "Here's to you, dad, you useless waist of fucking skin." he downed the rest of the bottle.

"So... That was nice an' all," Zeb started "But this is startin' to sound like a Superhero story." Juggernaut looked at Zeb with the look of complete and utter bafflement.

"What on earth are you talkin' about?" he asked.

"Well, you got beaten as a kid, you loved your little brother, he got beaten and developed mind control powers, you set out to go save kids that had got the problems that you had, with your 'Pa and all that." Juggernaut shook his head and took no notice.

"Anyway, I became a merc. A pretty good one at that. Helped some of the locals in Kuwait, fought a couple of african warlords. The usual. Then 10 years down the line, who should show up but dear old Chucky. He hires me to be his bodyguard against some Cambodian bandits, because he wanted to visit some ancient temple in the middle of the ass end of no-where. Well, we go, I kill a few bad-guys, tried not to get personal with Chucky and just did the job. That's when we found the temple and my true birth into super-villainy arose. Picked up this weird Ruby... Turns out that that was a fragment of a very old, very angry, very powerful god. And we aren't talking about Thor or any of his lot, we're talking older and even more powerful. That's when I got this..." he gesticulated to the armour and his size.

"OOOOOH, so you aren't naturally that fuckin' big." Zeb said.

"No... It's all thanks to Cyttorak... Now I have to wreck things for him... That's it." Zeb looked at him with confusion.

"So... You get a say in the matter, otherwise you'd have plowed straight through here and taken all of the booze for y'rself." he said.

"I broke a lot of things... I decided I wasn't going to break anything else for him. He is making me do things I don't like."

"Well, then why are you a villain?" he said. "If you don't like this Kite-or-ak or whatever the fuck his name is, why are you bein' a villain? Surely the best way to piss him off is to start buildin' shit, 'stead of knockin' it down."

"Because when he gets angry, he keeps pestering me and pestering me until I can't stand it any longer and have to wreck things."

"So... You ain't a bad guy by choice... Hell, that don't make you a bad guy at all. That makes you one unfortunate son-of-a-bitch." Zeb said. Juggernaut stared into the empty bottle.

"Hmmm... Maybe..." he got up and threw some more money onto the bar, about $100.

"Wha... What's that for?" asked the Bar-man.

"This." Juggernaut replied as he punched his way through the wall of the bar and out onto the lonely street. Zeb started laughing until he fell of his chair. Juggernaut looked into the sky and exhaled loudly. "Damn... I can't keep this up forever..." he said. Punching that wall was all that had given him the strength he needed to not destroy the entire place. He then walked back and grabbed his helmet. "Sorry again, about the mess." He walked back out and looked down the roads. "Maybe I do need some help... Not yet." he said. He was determined to beat this thing on his own. He began to walk, then jog, then run, and as he started running, he found himself running faster and faster, until he was charging down the street, completely out of control, speeding across the state as an unstoppable force, trying to meet the immovable object.

Thor slammed all his weight down as he swung the hammer towards his foe, blocking it with a mere sword a shockwave went rippling throughout times square. _{"I GIVE YOU THIS ONE LAST CHANCE TO SURRENDER MORTAL, NONE CAN WITHSTAND THE MIGHT OF MJOLNIR!"} The man kicked out at his stomach, throwing him back with surprising strength before running at him sword raised.

"Heathen! Blasphemer! There is only one God!"

Thor had heard of this, Christianity. He felt like he had seen many Gods but this was not one of them. After all which was a God without a name? Though he couldn't exactly prove, nor would he want to, that this one God did not exist. What pained him was how mort- people fought over their religion. Surely part of religion was the right to choose? The idea of one person killing another over religion was absurd, men like the one he currently faced.

He charged hammer raised, sparks flying from it as the dark clouds overhead began to let rain fall all over the city. Many cursing at the Weatherman who had told them to expect a sunny day with clear skies. They exchanged blows, the sound of metal upon metal being heard through the nearby blocks. He considered calling his allies in the Avengers, though truth be told the part of him that was Thor was glad to have a fight. _{"YAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH"} He couldn't help himself from grunting as he let loose a particularly powerful side blow. It caught the mans shield sending him careering off and through the wall of a nearby building. As his foe disappeared he turned to the captives.

He moved between them swiftly, toying with their binds until they came undone. _{"GO NOW, I SHALL DEAL WITH THIS VILLAIN."}

"You get him Thor!"

Thor chuckled. _{"OH I INTEND TO."} He turned as his foe came running out of the building, raising his hammer the lightning from the sky came crashing down, gathering in the hammer. Then with a slight twist of his arm Thor aimed it directly at his foe, the lightning bursting forth and hitting him directly in the chest, once again knocking him back into the building where the lightning continued to strike. This time Thor followed it, pushing against him to ensure that it wouldn't let up.

_{"I KNOW NOT OF YOUR GOD, NOR HIS PLANS. HOWEVER I DO NOT BELIEVE HE WOULD WISH FOR YOU TO HURT INNOCENTS IN HIS NAME."} The lightning stopped as the man crouched there, panting. Smoke could be seen coming off his armour due to the intense heat of the impact. _{"STAY DOWN, YOU ARE BEATEN."} Truth be told, he didn't know if it was due to his inner conflict or if he truly wasn't the real Thor and just gaining his memories but fighting a foe that seemed to match him in power had him tired, especially the last move. Historically the longer he spent in this form the stronger he became, likely a side effect of whatever magics empowered him.

The side effect was the more and more memories he gained, and the part of him that was Donald Blake couldn't help but wonder, was he willing to lose that part of himself forever yet? Though before he could get bogged down too heavily by his internal debate his foe stood up again, a look of hatred in his eyes as he charged him. _{"ODINS BEARD, BUT HOW?"}

"The power of Our Lord compels me!" He raised his sword and charged, staggered Thor barely managed to deflect the first blow. The second cutting into his skin. This was impossible, wasn't it? To be a mortal with such strength... He spun to dodge another attack, as a can hit his opponent squarely in the face. Followed by a brick. Thor turned to see the source of the disturbance, to see the group of people he had just rescued throwing various items at his foe. "Get outta here you phoney! That guys a hero, but we've seen what you do. You ain't no hero, you're a murderer. Your God would be ashamed..."

It only took the shadow of doubt to cross the mans face for Thor to know that the fight had spun in his favour. "No, that's not true." He went for the lunge and Thor just spun Mjlonir towards the sword, which promptly broke in half. This caused the man to fall back. "No this can't be. I'M GODS SERVANT!"

Thor swung his hammer, throwing the man into the back wall. _{"THIS IS WHERE YOUR PROBLEM LIES MORTAL, THE GODS DO NOT NEED NOR WANT SERVANTS CAPABLE OF COMMITTING SUCH FOUL ACTS. AN EVIL DEED IN THE NAME OF A GOD, IS STILL EVIL."} He threw Mjlonir, the weapon leaving his hand and crashing through the wall. Hitting it perfectly causing some of the wall to fall on top of his fallen opponent, not enough to cause damage but enough to contain him until the respective authorities arrived. He nodded, simply turning to leave.

Los Angeles National Bank, Los Angeles

“You shut your mouths, the lot of you!” President Nixon shouted, waving his gun in the air wildly. “Else I can’t be held accountable for what Obama is gonna’ do for ya’!”

So far the robbery was going swimmingly. The three men had moved into the lobby quickly and efficiently only a few minutes prior, each sporting realistic latex masks characterising several former and current Presidents of the United States. It was a ballsy tactic, which had gained the group a lot of media coverage over the last few weeks as a result of several similar bank heists around the Los Angeles area. Today was the sixth recorded robbery at hands of President Nixon, Clinton, and Obama, and by now, the three of them were a well-oiled machine. While Nixon and Obama took care of the lobby and the hostages, Clinton made his way to the vault where he worked his magic.

One might think that Clinton had the hard job. Nevertheless, it was Nixon and his dislike for keeping hostages that was the most volatile part of the job. Much like now, where the masked man had decided to rile up an elderly woman, who in turn had decided to not take any of the man’s ‘shit’.

“I don’t care who you think you are, young man. But I will not be spoken to in that tone!” She boomed, rising up slightly from her mobility scooter.

The response shook Nixon slightly. He froze for several seconds, before regaining his cool and reaffirming his grip on his weapon.

He snarled, getting down into her face as he did so. “Obama over here will be putting a cap’ in yo’ ass in a minute. Ain’t that right brother?”

Instead of a similar sounding threat emerging from Obama’s mouth-hole, the man lightly groaned for a few seconds, his body going somewhat limp. Nixon seemed to have picked up on this, as he turned to look at his partner in a questioning manner.

“Lou? Wh... what are you…”

Bang.

Nixon instantly collapsed onto the floor in pain, clutching his leg screeching as he did so. The screeching was soon mirrored by the various hostages around the room, with the crouched crowd recoiling in a mixture of fear and confusion at the current precedings. Obama however continued standing, his gun still cocked and aimed at where his partner’s leg had previously been moment before, the end smoking.

Nixon swore loudly into the air as he gripped his leg tight in an effort to stop the bleeding. “What the fucking hell did ya’ do that for ya’ crazy bastard!?”

As if waking up from a deep sleep, Obama sprang into life, panting and sweating. His eyes widened underneath his mask at the sight of his outstretched arm and the smoking, with them widening even more when he spotted his partner down below him.

“I..I don’t…” He sputtered, his European accent littered with an innocent confusion.

Before Nixon could inform Obama of what he had bloody well done, but his words soon died out as another voice echoed throughout the lobby. It was high, cold, and clear. Yet mocking. There was absolutely not telling as to where it was coming from.

“So, there’s something I’ve been meaning to try recently.”

The two thieved stopped in their tracks at once, the two spinning around in terror for the source of the sound.

“You know those terrible cartoons from the nineties that everyone praises beyond belief despite their awful animation and plotlines? Well a lot a’ them have these telepaths or guys who can channel psychic energy into the form of a weapons like swords or daggers. Well I’ve been thinking…”

At once he appeared, standing directly in front of the two men, posing nonchalantly. His clothes were extremely casual in nature, with the teenager simply sporting a pair of ripped black skinny jeans, along with a slim fitting running top, sporting a large red empowering ‘W’. To top it off, he wore a slightly tatty sleeveless denim jacket, the back of which was decorated with the before mentioned ‘W’. His hair completed the punk look, with it erupting out of the top of his head in a violent pink Mohawk. What was more violent than the hair however, was the menacing smile that was stretched across his face. He was Quentin Quire. He was Wonder Man.

As he appeared, his arms moved about in front of him. Before long, something bright seemed to appear within them, slowly growing and evolving. That is until in his hands was the light blue translucent body of a shotgun.

“Heh. Psychic shotgun.”

He fired. Unlike Obama’s shot, this time, not a sound could be heard. However that didn’t mean that it didn’t do anything. At once Obama and Nixon found themselves going flying, hitting the wall behind them in unison. They were unconscious before they even hit the wall, their minds having just been metaphorically shot.

“Also, why the Presidential masks? I mean I know Nixon said that When the President does it, it means that it’s not illegal, but I’m pretty sure that quote had some context to it.” Quentin jeered, as he moved forward, sheepishly walking over the bodies, inspecting them mentally.

As if arriving solely to answer his question, the door’s to their left burst open, as Bill Clinton barged into the room, his own gun raised. At the sight of his unconscious partners however, he froze. Ever so slowly, he moved his eyes between their bodies and the teenager above them, visibly growing angrier with every second that he did so.

“What the fuck have you done?” He demanded. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Me?” Quentin asked with a smile, as he psychically cocked his weapons. “I’m Wonder Man.”

Cain slowly stomped forwards as he clutched his head. "Dammit..." he grunted, he had come to New York to try and finally have a true tete-a-tete with Charles, but now he was feeling the urge to destroy. "No... I'm gonna talk to Chuckie... He's going to go fishing in my brain and he's gonna pull out a-" At that point, the world in front of him disappeared, going black... Very black... Now Red... Very Red... Unbelievably Red.

"You think to try to deprive me of my food, WORM?!" He then saw the Monsterous form of his benefactor "You like to forget your place... Because you like to think that, deep down, you are a good, kind, honest man..." Cain fell to his knee's before the god.

"I don't... I don't know what books you've been readin'" he panted. "But they sure as fuck ain't about me."

Indeed... You are a destroyer, my destroyer and you will destroy."

"Again..." Cain grunted. "No clue who you're talkin' about..." he began to laugh, as did Cyttorak.

"Indeed. You want to get my gem from your soul, but you cannot fathom how insignificant you are next to me." He began to laugh again. "Even now, you serve as nothing more than my puppet." At that moment, a small portal opened up, Cain looked into it to see city rushing by at what seemed like a hundred miles an hour. Hands lashing out to grab a car and rip it apart before throwing it straight through a building next to him.

"YOU FUCKING MONSTER!!!" he roared. Cyttorak laughed again.

"No, you are the monster, I just decided to take that stupid little part out of your mind and let the rest run free."

****

Downtown New York was used to villain attacks. They were New Yorkers, they had seen everything from world-gobbling gods like Galactus to costumed cooks like Batroc The Leaper. Well, today would be no different, people now saw it as more of an inconvenience than anything horrifying. Insurance rates in New York had gone through the roof, by this point and now Juggernaut was single handedly bankrupting several of their firms. "AHHHAHAHAHAH!!!" he cried out. "I'M GONNA TEAR THIS PLACE A NEW ONE!!! AND AIN'T NUFFIN'S GONNA STOP ME!!!" He bellowed, before charging down the street. As he reached an intersection, he saw a truck drive in front of him, which he simply nutted his way through, spraying the produce that it was transporting all over the street. "I'M GONNA KEEP ON RUNNIN' FOREVA!!!" His speech becoming less and less coherant.

It was a bright and sunny day on Olympus, although this was not usual for the home of the Olympian gods. On that day, Hercules was training at the gymnasium. A god that embodies strength and masculinity must always keep himself at peak condition. Many minor deities would always come to challenge the son of Aegis-bearing Zeus. Yet all would leave disappointed and defeated. And this day was no different. Whether it was archery, discus-throwing, or wrestling, Hercules always came on top.

After a hard day’s toil on the competitive playing field, Hercules would hit the showers, or rather the gymnasium. After lathering oil onto his muscular frame, he used a strigil, a curved blade, to scrape off the excess along with the dirt and grime that he had accumulated during his athletic endeavors. The soothing waters cooled down the god’s body as he relaxed in the bathing pool. However, this refreshing post-victory bath was only to revitalize Hercules for his next struggle. Word had reached Hercules’ ears that some mortal has dared to claim himself to be Thor, the Norse god of Thunder. Stories of mortals claiming superiority over the gods fill the archives of Greek mythology and all those who have succumbed to hubris are swiftly crushed by the heels of the gods. And this would not be any different.

Once he had arrived home, Hercules began to brandish his war-gear. First, he covered his shins with his ever-enduring greaves, tied on by silver fastenings at his ankles. Then, on his strong chest, he placed his well-wrought breastplate, which has enduring countless battles. His bronze sword was next, which was strapped onto his belt along his waist. Hercules then crowded his head with the hide of the Nemean Lion, whose skin is entirely impenetrable. The head of the lion rested on his head, while the rest of the skin was draped down his back, just like a cape that certain caped crusaders would wear. Finally, Hercules lifted up his mighty club, his most trustworthy weapon in his arsenal besides his own raw strength.

Now that he was armed for battle, Hercules summoned his half-brother, Hermes.

“Carry this message to that doppelganger of Odin’s son.” Hercules instructed the swift-footed messenger of the gods, “I, Hercules, the Lion-Hearted son of Aegis-bearing Zeus, challenge you a contest of strength and endurance in order to prove that you are not some mortal pretending to be a god. For the gods do not take lightly at this sort of mockery, when a mere mortal compares himself to that of a god. Name whatever place you wish for this trial to take place at and I shall be there, waiting.”

After the son of Zeus had spoken, wing-footed Hermes sped off, soaring down to Earth in order to deliver this message to the so-called Thor. At his home on Olympus, Hercules awaited a response. He relished in this moment. For once more Hercules would be face a challenge worthy of his lineage and strength.

Red Skull wasn't the only person from the 1940's to survive the war ... if you could call The Winter Soldier's existence "survival". Had Bucky the autonomy, the power to control his thoughts and actions, he'd have ended his life. Back in the 1940's, war had been a big enough trial, he hadn't enlisted out of his own desire to serve his country, he'd been sucked in because of the draft. If he'd had a choice, he'd have refused on the grounds that someone had to keep Stephanie's punk-ass out of trouble. Still, that had worked out in the end, Stephanie took care of herself well enough while he was in training and later deployed in Europe, she became a hero in her own right. Bucky hadn't wanted any of that. He'd fight for Stephanie given the choice, he didn't give a damn about the Nazi's and their war, he'd always been a little selfish that way. Steph could see the greater good, humanity, the kindness of other people, Bucky was the skeptical protective friend, shielding her from the nasty parts of life as best he could until one day, she lost her Bucky-shield and picked up another, she was able to fight for herself. Bucky had been damn proud, just like she'd been proud of him when he went off to fight. He couldn't have fallen further from himself if he'd tried.

This Bucky, the human-weapon, wasn't a reluctant hero protecting his friend or the freedom of his people ... he killed an entire group of innocent, unsuspecting mutants and mutant-sympathisers and that was just in one day. He'd spent decades drenching himself in blood for HYDRA ... the terrorists he'd fought against when he had the free-will to choose a side.

The Bucky capable of feeling guilt, remorse, regret ... he was locked away, only this .. machine man was left and he felt nothing at all.

HYDRA were well aware of Captain America's new presence, it was inevitable she'd become involved in the operation to counter the terrorist attack, if not of her own free will, pressure from the military, SHIELD and th wider public, her fans, would demand she take action against this new threat (or rather, old threat).

Reporters and coroners and investigators flooded the scene of the bomb attack, police cordoned off the street but a huge crowd had gathered anyway. HYDRA prepared a broadcast, to claim responsibility and make known their demands and just how viable a threat they were. A black skull emblazoned with tentacles, the HYDRA logo, blazed to life on huge TV billboards across the city, TV streams were interrupted, HYDRA was speaking and the world had no choice but to listen. The Winter Soldier watched from a distance through a sniper scope on a primed rifle as the long drawn out speech began and went on and on and on ...

"... And to prove that we are no hoax, and that HYDRA can strike you down ANYWHERE, ANYTIME, I will now kill CNN News Anchor, Caroline Haines, live on air ..." The broadcast screen flickered to the now-panic-stricken reporter who was standing amid the crowds, looking frantically to pick out an assassin she'd never see coming, she tried to flee, police officers swarmed to cover her but they didn't stand a chance, they didn't know where the sniper was lurking and just how deadly he was. The Winter Soldier watched as the crowd dissolved into panic, just as it had that morning during the bomb blast. He levelled the crosshairs on the centre of her forehead, pressed his finger to the trigger, it would only take a second and she'd be instantly dead. The Winter Soldier didn't feel any need to hesitate, any impending guilt or regrets, he was just a tool, a weapon with a weapon doing his job.

There would be no questioning that HYDRA were everywhere and they were dangerous. Mutants weren't safe, and they weren't above taking civilian causalities just to make a point.
"You cannot stop HYDRA ... if a head is cut off, two more will take its place. Goodbye Ms. Haines."
"Stop- Please no!" the reporter wept and pleaded.
"Soldat. Take the shot now." Vasily Karpov Jr ordered via ear piece.

The scene in person was just as much a disaster as it was when she saw the recording of the explosion. It made Stephanie’s stomach churn to see the charred corpses being carried out. It wasn’t so much the carnage and death, Stephanie had to become used to that during the war. It was more the people involved, mutants or supporters, none of them deserved this. By all accounts from what she saw the protest was very peaceful, even though some news channels were trying to spin it saying they were being hostile to people who disagreed with them, regardless of a lack of proof.

Stephanie’s mind was clearly wondering in numerous directions, even as she agreed to be interviewed at the scene of the disaster. Giving out whatever information SHIELD had and was willing to let be out there. It wasn’t a lot, but it was all a start. They know HYDRA is involved, but to what end, and why remained unsolved. It was the why that bugged her the most though, HYDRA took after their forefathers in Nazis by not exactly being subtle. But this seemed so forward that it still felt uncharacteristic. Were they just trying to prove something? Remind people who they are? She didn’t need the reminder, just seeing that octopus logo of theirs made her just as furious as 80 some years ago when she would see it.

She was speaking to another SHIELD operative about picking up any security footage that they can get their hands on when suddenly the televisions all around the scene started playing a message from the bastard himself, Red Skull. She never had many moments of feeling helpless, barring being frozen and thawed 80 years later. This though was driving her mental, he was gloating about killing innocent people. Why? Because he could.

"... And to prove that we are no hoax, and that HYDRA can strike you down ANYWHERE, ANYTIME, I will now kill CNN News Anchor, Caroline Haines, live on air ..."

“Wait what?!” Stephanie blurted out. She needed a second but she remembered the name and looked over to where the reporter was. She was scared, and although SHIELD agents were rapidly trying to give her some means of protection Stephanie knew it was probably not enough. The early reports made it clear that HYDRA had some kind of sniper in the area. But where? She had to frantically look around the nearby rooftops until... a single glint of reflecting light. Stephanie quickly reacted, grabbing hold of the side of her trusty shield, and throwing it as hard as she could.

The curve of the shield and launch speed had to be perfect to save Ms. Haines’ life. In an instant a thundering hard sound of metal hitting vibranium smashed through the air. the bullet was caved in and sent sky high. Finally landing harmlessly on another rooftop. The shield though ricocheted off of a phone pole nearby before swinging back around to Stephanie who caught it effortlessly. The sound of the bullet still rang deep in the air for a moment before people finally realized what had happened. A sudden and very loud applause broke out as Stephanie was already back to looking to where that glint of light came from. Only to get a hug from Ms. Haines. Bawling her eyes out and thanking Stephanie for saving her. “Yeah no you’re welcome, hold on no here let go please?” Stephanie awkwardly stammered as she had to muster seemingly every ounce of strength she had to scrape the thankful news reporter off of her. Finally the reporter did so, as the crowd part for Stephanie as she was off to go catch some HYDRA scum.

"<<Soldat, Haines is still alive, what happened?!>>" Vasily Jr barked into The Winter Soldier's ear-piece yet the soldier didn't flinch.

"<<Target was intercepted. Orders.>>" The Winter Soldier replied cool as ice, awaiting to be told to take the shot again or take out who had intercepted the shot.

Karpov was watching the chaos unfold live on air, when he realised exactly who had deflected the fatal-bullet he knew he had two options. The first, take out Captain America from a distance and end her for good ... or two, get the Winter Soldier out of there. Missions in America were usually more risky for the Soldier, HYDRA feared some of his old memories could be triggered and that his conditioning would be undone. His oldest friend, Captain America, would surely be a risk, but the Winter Soldier was the only person in HYDRA with a strength and ability to match Stephanie Rodgers. As far as Karpov was concerned, it would be a great opportunity to rid himself of this bothersome woman once and for all.

"<<Kill the intercepter->>" Karpov ordered coolly, "<<Then shoot Haines for good measure.>>"
"<<Understood>>" The Winter Soldier trained his weapon on Stephanie's head as people clamored around her and she struggled against the crowd.

He was un-phased by the fact she'd intercepted the bullet ... it was an impressive feat, but he was still going to get his job done, he wasn't afraid of her, or impressed, he didn't think, or feel, he just acted.

Captain America had finally broke away from the crowd and was on a B-line straight for the building. Though she was carefully making sure to not make herself a clear target, since the shooter was still there presumably. Hopefully aiming at her now rather than the CNN reporter.

Karpov's headpiece started to buzz loudly though, as reception came in from the main base. "Comrade Karpov, what the hell do you think you're doing with Soldier?!" The deep, raspy voice bellowed in. "You are not to engage her. We're only going to take care of her when the time is right and on our terms. Get yourself and him out of there, have the cyanide pills ready though if you're intercepted, am I understood?"

As it was happening, Captain America was in the building, making her way past people to get to the elevator. Rapidly pushing the up button to get to the shooter and hoping they're still there.

The Winter Soldier was ready to fire off a lethal shot but he hesitated as Red Skull intercepted the comm channel and chided Karpov.
Karpov was conflicted, Captain America, or rather, Stephanie Rodgers, was a piece of Bucky's past, and the past was a dangerous weapon when it was primed and aimed towards the Winter Soldier.

"<<Soldat! Hold your fire>>" Karpov ordered. The Winter Soldier complied but didn't move, he kept his weapon trained on Stephanie. When she vanished out of sight inside the building, he switched out the sniper rifle for a handgun, better suited for close range, she was clearly searching for him and he may have to take her out.

"<<Go to extraction point B. Engage hostile if you must but do NOT kill. Understood?>>" Karpov ordered. If Stephanie caught up, The Winter Soldier could use any means necessary to shake her off, but she wasn't a target ... not yet.

"<<Understood>>" The Winter Soldier replied, turning to run across the rooftop and jump to the next building, from there he'd scale his way down and disappear across town.

"The Asset is heading for extraction, Rodgers will be spared." Karpov reported to Red Skull through clenched teeth. He didn't like it ... it just didn't sit well with him, letting Captain America walk would only cause trouble in the future, especially since Karpov had plans for the Winter Soldier in the 'States. He couldn't afford to "remember" who he'd once been. "I think this is a terrible idea, she will cause trouble for us later, I could end her now" Karpov grumbled, of course, what he meant was that he could order The Winter Soldier to end her....

It took a bit of time but finally Captain America reached the top floor and as she got out, looking around and not seeing anyone. "Darn it!" Captain America was ready to lambast herself as an idiot for trying to run after the shooter. Best case scenario they would've opened fire on her. Worst case he might've taken another shot at the reporter while she was in the elevator like an idiot. Only though the rooftop wasn't as high up as many other buildings in New York City, so she could hear the distinct sound of peeling tire nearby. Running over to the building ledge she saw what looked like a silver SUV pulling away quickly from the scene. They weren't getting away from her that easily.

Using the fire escape to make a quicker decent down the side of the building. Captain America had to stop and look around. Needing a vehicle she finally spotted a guy nearby about to get on a motorbike. The thing was one of those speedy bikes she's seen, doesn't like nearly as much as her beloved Harleys, but it'll do nicely. "Sir, may I borrow your bike? This is a very big emergency!" She asked, trying to sound polite, but her winded tone and very frantic nature made it clear it was as important as it sounded like.

"Holy crap THE Captain America?! Yeah sure go ahead!" The rider seemed awfully chipper for being a New Yorker, must be visiting from out of town. Still stepping aside the rider gestured to the bike which Cap hoped onto. Kicking the bike's engine alive but stopping for a moment.

Glancing around Cap spotted the helmet in the guy's hand. "Oh uh... the helmet too please?" The rider paused confused what she was talking about until he remembered the helmet in his hands. He quickly handed it over and Cap put it on, thankfully it fit well, even though the front cover wasn't something she was used too. "Thanks, I'll try to get it back to you when I'm done!" Cap muffled through the helmet before finally speeding off to catch up with the shooter.

"Karpov's lapdog failed ... HYDRA's secret weapon my ass." a grunt in the get-away van grumbled, giving the Winter Soldier some side-eye. The Winter Soldier didn't respond to the various barbs. Even though they didn't say it, the HYDRA goons knew what Captain America was capable of, everyone did ... and they were on edge. They knew The Winter Soldier was possibly an even match for Captain America, but it was unsettling to know Captain America was pursuing them. At least The Winter Soldier was her target, not the lackeys, they could probably get out of this alive if they stayed out of the way.

"Don't waste your breath, you won't rile him, ain't nothin' left in his brain, Dr Zola scooped it all out ... Plus, Karpov and the Red Skull will likely take care of him for you" the other HYDRA agent replied to his teammate.

The van careened in and out of lanes, sharply cutting off other drivers and driving with reckless abandon, they didn't care if they caused a few pile-ups in their escape, shaking off Captain America was most important. She'd hijacked a motor cycle and was in pursuit

The driver glanced warily at his rear view mirror and noticed a motorcycle tailing them.
"Shit!" he cursed.

The passenger made a movement as if about to get up and throw a grenade out the window but the Winter Soldier pushed him back down into his seat roughly, priming his hand gun, he opened the rear doors of the van and aimed for the motorcycle, a quick shot to the front tire ought to end the pursuit. Super Soldier or not, she couldn't keep up on foot.

"Captain America is pursuing us. We may be compromised! Give us a kill order!" a terrified HYDRA agent called in for Karpov, hoping that Red Skull's orders may be overruled, just this once to spare them, though it wasn't likely. No one betrayed Red Skull and didn't regret it afterwards.

As Cap was able to get closer and closer, the SUV was clearly wrecking mayhem in its wake. Smashing and just missing other cars leaving Cap with an obstacle course of cars to swerve around to avoid. Finally the SUV was in range of her and Cap was only able to get a moment of something interesting, an arm. The arm though was metallic, shined and with a red star it looked like at the shoulder area. It also had a pistol aimed at her. The bullet blasted out and nailed the front tire, leaving Cap having to quickly think of a plan.

Immediately as the bike started to wiggle violently under her she hopped up, getting as good a footing on the front of the bike as she could before she was airborne. Sailing towards the SUV and pulling out her shield to slam it through the roof of the SUV. Leaving her dangling off the back of the SUV and grasping at her shield to stay on, only to use one hand awkwardly to yank the helmet off her head and throw it out of the way to the highway just below her.

Bucky hadn't been ordered to kill Captain America, and therefore, he'd disable her from attacking, or shake her off their tracks ... but he'd spare her life ... albeit barely if it came to that. Perhaps The Winter Soldier took orders too literally ... or perhaps it was a small piece of Bucky piercing through, defiant enough to spare who he could, even if that didn't mean sparing everyone.

The tire exploded, surprisingly, Captain America kept up her pursuit. If Bucky knew who his assailant was, it wouldn't have surprised him in the least, but he wasn't Bucky any more and the fact that this stranger was still pursuing him was odd.

She leapt onto the roof of the van and The Winter Soldier fired a round of shots through the roof to try shake her off. Failing that, he gripped onto the metal frame of the van, steel buckling under the pressure of his metal hand, and swung himself up onto the roof to try and wrench the pursuer off himself.

His nose and mouth was covered with a black tactical mask, but his eyes, vacant and blank, were trained on Captain America. His dark brown-black hair whipped in the wind as they raced through traffic. He reached for Captain America's wrist, to pull her from her hands off her shield and throw her off the van.

As bullet started flying out of the SUV around her Cap swayed around, awkwardly trying to avoid getting shot as she moved herself around to the other side of the SUV. Suddenly though she watched on as from the passenger side came a man clad in all black who swung effortlessly up onto the roof with her. He grabbed her hand, leaving Cap for just a moment to let go of the shield, clinching at his wrist. Just a moment of trying to find footing and Cap moved quick. Yanking herself hard on Winter Soldier's grasp she got enough momentum to get up and forward. Planting a boot into Winter Soldier's chest before landing, her other foot kicking the shield to pop it out of the SUV and catching it.

"Alright buddy, I don't know who the heck you are but you're coming with me." Cap boasted with a stern tone. She winded back to throw a haymaker but as she did so she looked into the man's face. Though most of it was covered Cap couldn't finish the punch. There was something there, familiar, strangely comforting. She stood motionless, just enough to barely keep her balance as she struggled. She knew she had to do it, but something was getting to her to not do it. Something much deeper than she could prepare for.

The kick knocked The Winter Soldier down with a heavy 'thud' onto the roof of the van, though he planted his metal arm firmly into the frame of the car so he didn't slip off, quickly regaining his footing, though now Captain America was re-armed with a shield and they were in too close-quarters for him to draw a gun, he had a tactical combat knife on him but he'd need to be quick to draw it before she struck. One thing he had though, was his bionic arm, and it was always primed and ready to strike.

His arm swung up to deflect a blow but ... it never landed. Captain America paused and stared at him. Even The Winter Soldier was slightly disarmed by the strange staring match that took place. She had her shield and she'd reeled back to try level him with a punch but instead was frozen before him, but unafraid.

No one ever did that to the Winter Soldier before... they either never saw him, froze in fear, or struggled hopelessly for their lives... Captain America was not doing any of that. She saw him, stared at him with an air of bewilderment, a prying look in her eyes, boring into his. Was this some sort of mind game? A trick? His gaze flickered a moment, but returned to the steely, determined, and oddly vacant mode of before. She'd given him an opening and now he could take her out and get away to receive his next order.

He quickly took advantage of her shock , aiming for her weak spot, the legs. He swept an undercut-kick to take her legs out from under her to chuck her back into the traffic behind the van weaving through lanes.

Captain America was still trying to make sense of the jumbling thoughts clouding her brain. Why was this happening? She was a trained soldier, and she sure as Hell wasn't normally one to not take advantage of the situation when it presented itself. Why now? What was causing her to not pull the metaphorical trigger? Something just couldn't let her do it, and it was about to cost her.

Her already weak balance on top of the vehicle came out from under her. A sweeping kick by the mysterious man took her off her feet plenty. She couldn't even let out a noise as the surprise sent her falling back to the asphalt below. Although she was able to get the shield under her for protection. It didn't do much good though as the shield slammed into her side and chest. The force still causing her to roll scraping the bit of exposed skin her suit had against the road.

Finally rolling to a stop Cap finally got a moment to breathe. Laying still for a moment, staring up at the light of the highway tunnel. After laying there she finally started to slowly get back upright. Her hands rubbing her face as she looked around. Thankfully traffic coming on the lane she was on was blocked so she didn't have to worry about someone making her a hood ornament. It didn't help matters though as she was bruised, scrapped up, and her heart ached she let the bastard go.

"Captain, Captain come in." Nick Fury's voice blared through the ear piece she had forgotten she was even wearing. Awkwardly as she glanced back to where Winter Soldier escaped too, she put a hand up to it. "Cap speaking, he got away. Got a detailed look at the shooter though. He got away in a silver SUV, Connecticut license plate." Getting to her feet Cap felt aches all over and slightly winded. Though normally she would just be able to shrug something like this off, she'd been out of practice since thawing out. So Cap still moved a bit slow. "Need clean up crew, also reimbursements for a civilian's sports bike used..." Cap felt what seemed like something in her spine popping. "AH... medic would be great too..." She clinched at her back with a hiss as she waited for a response, God she needed a stiff drink.

What a perfect way to start out the new school year. Here I was, the very first class just about to begin, and still minutes out from campus. And unlike most occasions, this time I didn't have my super-activities to blame for sleeping in. I had even turned in early last night in preparation for today, yet here I was as usual. I had planned to meet with Gwen before today's lessons, but at this rate I'd be lucky to make it to class before the lecture began. Word had it this professor was a no-nonsense kind of guy, and didn't tolerate students he saw unfit for his course. Showing up late on day one wasn't exactly my idea of a good first impression, which was why I was currently swinging through the city's skyline desperately trying to make up lost time.

It was the first time I had been back in the costume in a couple weeks. With how hectic things had become for me in my hero life the last year - what with handling Rose and his goons, and being framed for murder - I had needed a break. Spending the entirety of August with Gwen and the others relaxing and having fun had been just what I needed. In fact, despite fighting more crime in the past year than I ever did in high school, that whole period had been amazing, and it was all because of Gwen. Since becoming a couple, I've been happier than I can ever remember being. Her bright smile always warms my heart, no matter how tough a day I've had. Sometimes I ask myself why I had been so stupid in waiting for so long to be with her; if it hadn't have been for Norman Osborn's insanity I'm not sure if I ever would have recognized my feelings for her. Strange as it was, and as much as I hate to admit it, I owed my current happiness to the madness of the Goblin.

Swinging low over Greenwich Village, I tried to calculate how much time I had remaining before the class actually started. The costume didn't allow for a watch, and my phone was stuffed in the backpack I wore with the rest of my civvies. I knew I had left Queens with just under fifteen minutes to spare, and at my best estimation I had been traveling across the skyline for ten minutes or so. Which would give me just a scant couple minutes to change into my street clothes, and make my way to the university's East wing. So long as the professor didn't mind a few seconds of tardiness, I might actually pull this off. Consider me hopeful.

As I adjusted my body weight to my right side, preparing a quick left turn into the boulevard leading towards Empire State's campus, my spider-sense tingled sending mild pulses through my head. No sooner than I had groaned, cursing my bad luck and the poor timing, than a muffled explosion rocked the streets behind me. I whipped around in time to see dust and glass scattering across the road, with drivers slamming to a stop to avoid the debris. The building the explosion had come from was a little mom and pop jewelry shop, because of course that and banks seemed to be all that the creative criminals I dealt with were capable of targeting. Not that I minded in the long run, it certainly made it easy for my patrols, but this wasn't the time for it.

A lone figure's silhouette stepped through the cloud of dust towards a van that must've been their brilliant getaway plan. I didn't know who this guy was, and at the moment I didn't care. Just a quick quip, a couple strands of web-fluid, and a soft tap to the skull and I could be on my way to class again. As I got closer to the would-be-thief, and the surrounding soot cleared I made out their features. White armored portions over black spandex was his fashion statement of choice. An awkward looking helmet, and some kind of small, wing-like structures on his back completed the look. Alright then, he doesn't look all that threatening, this should be a piece of... oh, no. No, no, no. You've got to be kidding me.

Directly overhead, and mid-heroic landing I had noticed a few extra details about the outfit. Namely the curved, sharp instruments strapped all over his chest, and thighs. Those things attached to his back I thought were wings shared the same curved design, and all were too familiar, as was the man who wielded them. God, not this guy again. There was good news and bad news to this encounter. The good news was this would be a ridiculously easy fight that would take all but a few seconds guaranteed. The bad news was it caused me to relive memories of a pretty embarrassing event in my early Spidey years in which I had come across two idiots trying to rob a very similar jewelry store. Two complete buffoons, one using run-of-the-mill boomerangs, and the other on stilts, and both of whom gave me a headache from their sheer stupidity and claims of epic villainy. Harry hadn't let me live that down for months afterwards, and it was one of the lower points of my crime-fighting career having my name forever linked to those two numb-skulls.

Granted this time the guy - who in a previous bout of originality had named himself Boomerang - seemed to be wearing a legitimate costume as opposed to the trench coat and long-johns from before, and his weapons appeared a tad sharper than the typical child's variant. That, and the fact that he was supposed to be locked up in Ryker's Island Penitentiary, gave me a slight pause as I landed in front of him. As much as I wanted to mock and question him on his new getup, though, I was limited on time and got right to it.

"Hey, Freddy." I called out, using his given name of Frederick Myers, "you keep acting out like this, and mommy'll have to take away all your little toys."

His head whipped around to face me at the sound of my voice, and there was a grin on his face and a fire in his eyes as he noticed me. "You!"

"Oh, come on now, Freddy, you don't remember my name? I'm hurt." I clutched a hand over my chest for dramatic effect.

"Don't call me that!" He shouted, "my name is Boomerang. Boomerang!" His left hand tightened around the bag of jewels he had taken, and his right reached towards his hip to rest atop a boomerang. "I've waited for this moment for so long, and now you'll finally give me the respect I deserve!"

"Sure thing, Freddy, if that's--"

"My name," he was screaming now, spittle flying past his lips, "is Boomerang!"

My spider-sense flashed a warning, and my body was already moving to dodge the bladed boomerang that arced past my face. I'll give him this much, he certainly got a lot faster at throwing those things, but bringing a toy to a super-fight was still to be frowned upon. "Now, now, Freddy, I know it's been awhile, but you remember how this works. I make with the jokes, and you make with the rage after I've apprehended you."

Another tingle indicated the boomerang had curved back around and was making it's path back towards my head. I leaned towards the left to avoid it, and reached out with a hand to grab at it with the intention of snapping it in half. However, a third, more powerful alarm bell rang throughout my skull and I snatched my hand back just in time as the boomerang that was now a foot in front of my face exploded. I reeled back, caught off guard and confused. That was definitely new. What the hell--

My thought was cut off as my spider-sense continued to buzz, and I moved on autopilot, ducking and weaving out of the path of another two boomerangs. This time I was ready for them, and as they passed me by I whirled around and let out several blasts of web to coat them, knocking them off balance, and muffling the oncoming detonations as they tumbled to the ground. More buzzing, and I leaped up high to avoid a slightly larger boomerang, this one from his back wing-like formation. A brilliant flash of light erupted from it in some sort of stun grenade effect, but my tinted lenses shielded me from the severity of the blinding light. It did momentarily distract me, though, and I barely dodged the next boomerang as it missed my face by mere millimeters. Expecting another explosion of some sort, I moved to shield my face from the blast. Nothing happened, however, aside from another warning as yet several more smaller boomerangs flew towards me while I was still mid-leap. I aimed two web-lines at the ground ahead of Frederick, and pulled, tugging myself speedily towards him. He seemed prepared for this, however, and back-stepped, dropping the stolen jewelry and grabbing two of the larger boomerangs, wielding them like daggers.

As I landed, he swung out, right, then left, though I easily avoided both attacks. I may have been caught off guard by all of this, but the novelty had worn off, and I was ready to end things. As he went for another right-handed strike, I deflected the blow with my arm and fired off a quick blast of webbing at his raised left-hand he prepared to swing at me with next, catching him at the wrist and pinning him to what was left of the storefront's wall. Gripping his right arm, I pushed it against the wall's surface and webbed that, too. Frederick kept trying to scream at me, shouting about how he almost killed Spider-Man, and so I webbed the nutjob's mouth shut, too. What just happened was bad enough without him piling on with embellishments of deluded grandeur.

Jesus, Peter, you nearly let the freaking Boomerang walk over you. If Harry had been around to see that, I'd never hear the end of it. That officially took the place as the most embarrassing moment of my time as Spider-Man, bar none. Talk about a sad turn of events.

A crowd of people were now starting to gather around as they realized the danger had passed, cellphones beginning to be pulled out to document the event for social media, and typical New York gawkers searching for an interesting tale to brag to their friends about. I gathered up the jewels and walked them into the ruined shop, offering my apologies to the owners as I handed back their property. At least they didn't accuse me of trying to steal the jewels myself in the first place as had happened the first time I apprehended Frederick Myers, so I could chalk that up in the very short "win" column for today.

A quick glance at their clock told me I was more than late to class, and shook me out of the slight daze I had entered upon the surprising return of Myers. I would have time to reflect on all of this later, but for now I had somewhere to be. Taking back to the skyline, I continued heading towards ESU with all previous hope of this being a good day now gone. Yeah, perfect way to start the new school year indeed.

As was the general custom after a superhero stopped a crime, Quentin Quire found himself swarmed by a horde of reporters and flashing cameras as soon as he found his way down the bank’s front steps and out into the street. Here he was to give a witty or heroic remark regarding his actions. Maybe some moronic spiel about how he couldn’t have done it without LA’s Finest, despite how useless they always were, or even some modest remark about how he was just doing what anyone else would do.

All lies. The lot of it. The silly quips. The deranged catchphrases. All of it complete rubbish. Back in the day Quire would have relished a media opportunity such as this. He’d rant and preach about the failures of humanity and the power of homo-superior.

Now all he did was walk away, disappearing into the crowd.

As he made his way through the LA streets, Quire kept to himself, mentally blocking his presence from all he passed. To them, all they saw was an empty place on the sidewalk. To him, he saw everything. The mutant constantly found himself flicking through the minds of everyone around him, learning their names, lives and secrets. He was the human embodiment of the NSA. It was a filthy habit he had come to pick up, now that he thought about it. He was invading everyone’s lives. This was something the old Quentin would do.

Hell, at least he knew it was wrong. That was a start.

It would seem that this habit wasn’t entirely bad as he came to discover once he neared his apartment. Wonder Man stopped in his tracks as soon he read him, his thoughts as clear and dazed as the day that he had met him. The teenager felt his signature scowl washing back across his face, yet made no effort to hide it, as he surged on forwards.

All regrettable thoughts that he had previously had in regards to his telepathic habits temporarily left him, with Quire forcibly veering people out of his path, as well as even commanding the doorman of his apartment building to hold it open for him as he charged inside. Paying no attention to the occupants of the luxurious lobby, he crossed the room, stepping straight into the elevator which he had gotten somebody to call moments earlier while outside.

He took the elevator in silence, his mind still trying to comprehend what he would say. He was thinking so much, that he even forgot to move for a couple of seconds when that all so familiar ding from the elevator door’s met his ears. Finally he reluctantly stepped forward, striding across the short corridor towards the penthouse suite. He stopped once more outside the door, readying himself. After running his hands through what little remained of his hair, he turned the handle and stepped inside.

“I don’t give a damn what you’re doing here.” Quire barked as he strode into the room towards the blob of pink goo that made up the body of his old friend. “Just get the hell out before I lobotomise you!”

“That’s no way to treat your old pal, Quentin!” Glob Herman exclaimed, the gelatine man rising from his seat. “Now come give your buddy a hug!”

“Fuck my life.”

San Francisco, CA

When he didn’t get any answer the second time he knocked, Bullseye kicked the door in.

He came in gun first through the tiny studio apartment. It took Bullseye all of thirty seconds to clear the place of any human life. He slid his supressor-equipped piece back in its shoulder holster and did a quick inventory of the surroundings. Bare walls and cracked wallpaper greeted him. A scuffed hardwood floor was obscured by stacks of garbage and filth. The place stunk to high heaven and Bullseye had to hold his nose as he went into the little bathroom nook.

From the window he looked out across the city. San Francisco's lights were ablaze in the early darkness of dusk. A movement below him caught his eye and he looked down. A fat man in a ill-fitting suit was running down the fire escape for dear life. Bullseye yanked the window opened and raced down the rickety, rusty stairs after him.

The fat man was off the stairs and running down the alley by the time Bullseye got to the bottom of them. He leapt the five feet down to the pavement and pulled his gun from its holster. The fat man was at least forty yards away when Bullseye drew a bead on him with the gun's iron sight. The gun jerked just once and the fat man crumpled to the ground.

Bullseye kicked the fat man over and made sure he was dead. A neat little hole in the back of his head wasn't nearly as neat when it exited just under his left eye and took out what little brains he had with it. A quick search revealed a wallet, a cellphone, and a half brick of heroin tucked in the man's suit jacket.

The wallet had a driver's license made out to one Henry Carter with matching debit and credit cards. Bullseye pocketed the wallet and dope into his own jacket and held on to the phone as he walked out the alley towards his car. The rental was parked down the black from the flophouse he'd just went in on. This part of town was filled with rundown apartments and no-tell motels so he knew he'd be able to leave the area at his own pace before anyone found the body.

He drove to a parking lot three blocks away and let the engine idle while he inspected Henry Carter's phone. The man didn't make many phone calls -- but who did in the age of texting -- Most of the calls were either from contacts listed a HOME or SARAH. The texts revealed Sarah to be Carter's wife or girlfriend or something. Bullseye didn't remember seeing a wedding ring on Carter's pudgy hand. Most of the text were mundane stuff from Sarah and friends, but one number jumped out at Bullseye.

Briz -- number 415-202-6005 -- never called Carter nor did Carter ever call him. But they texted. Every two weeks, Briz would text Carter the word 'Package' and Two weeks later, Carter would text '$' The last such text was a package one from Briz a week ago. Bullseye pocketed the phone and started the car. He pulled out into the street with a few ideas on how to proceed next.

48 Hours Earlier
Las Vegas, NV

"What do you know about dope?"

Don Carlo Gallo looked at Bullseye from across the patio. The old man had a cigar in one hand and a bourbon in the other. He was dressed only in swimming trunks while Bullseye wore a dark suit.

"It gets you high," Bullseye said with a shrug.

"It does and you can make a lot of money at it, if you do it right." Gallo took a long puff on his cigar before exhaling a cloud of smoke above the patio. "Someone ain't playing by the rules. Some sons of bitches in San Fran are cutting into our action out here on the coast."

Bullseye could feel the sweat pooling under his shirt. He hated the heat, even more than he hated the old man's drawn out little speeches. Maybe it was because he was a contract killer, but he always like to cut to the chase. "How many people do I need to kill?"

"As many as it takes," said Gallo. "I don't care if you gotta waste the fucking 49ers to find the people importing and selling that dope, but find out who it is and make it so they can't fucking do it again."

"Twenty grand a murder."

"Fair enough," Gallo said after a long sip of his drink. "But you better not fucking pad it, killing motherfuckers just to get paid."

"As many as it takes, right?"

San Francisco, CA
Now

"Yo, what the fuck--"

"Briz," Bullseye said in his most panicked voice. "I-I-I-It's me!"

"Yo, we don't talk on the fucking phone, yo--"

"We need to meet! Something's gone wrong, shit has gone wrong. I don't know what to do!"

"Chill the fuck out," Briz said with some force behind his voice. "And stop talking over the phone about this shit, alright?"

"What do I do?"

"Meet me at that parking garage over on 20th street, alright?"

"Okay. I'll be there in twenty minutes!"

Bullseye hung up and put the phone back into his jacket pocket. With the car still running, he got out and walked to the back. He popped the trunk and looked down at the shotgun resting inside. He picked it up and racked a shell into the breech.

"That was too close dammit!" Karpov cursed in Russian to some of his Soviet henchmen. "I don't know what the heck RedSkull is playing at letting that cursed woman stay alive this long. We could have lost the Asset, does no one have any idea how much the Asset is worth, how much he knows?"
Karpov sank down into his seat and drank a stiff shot of vodka, good strong stuff.
HYDRA may be working for a similar goal, but Karpov knew that RedSkull wasn't a Soviet, if push came to shove, Karpov knew he, and the Winter Soldier, would be thrown under the bus. They had a similar goal of course, but Karpov had more to lose, Red Skull was calling the shots, not him. If he didn't obey, Hydra would make his life hell, so he'd have to acquiesce until he could make a contingency plan and seize power of his own. There would be no more room for errors now, Karpov had to protect himself, he had to protect the Winter Soldier, to an extent. The Soldier seen and heard things, Soviet secrets, Karpov could never allow them to fall into the wrong hands. The Winter Soldier had to be kept on his tight leash, or exterminated and Karpov intended to keep him alive for the time being but he wouldn't forget that the Winter Soldier was expendable.

Finally, the agents, a handful of hand-picked Soviets and some of RedSkull's own Hydra operatives, returned with the Winter Soldier. Another psych evaluation took place, Karpov remained present. The Asset was still under control.

"Quite the standoff huh!" One of the operative joked to the other in a separate debriefing room.
"The Soviets are convinced there's no one stronger than their Winter Soldier, but they don't make them like a good ol' American soldiers. Even if she's a chick, Captain America is a tough bitch. I thought we might have been in trouble there."
The other operative shook his head, "American or not, shes a girl with a special frisbee, Hydra has an assassin with 70 years under his belt and an indestructible arm, I wasn't scared"
A third agent chimed in, "Don't trust the Soviets ... they're working with us now, but they have their own agenda, don't trust the Asset to watch your back all the time, we might find ourselves in a situation where we need to shoot him in the back"
"Don't let Karpov hear you say that. Whatever he's doing, he's working with Red Skull now and Red Skull told us we're working with him. We can't mess with Karpov's toys, let him play with his toy soldier and keep your head down."
Karpov's two personal guards left Karpov with the Winter Soldier and entered the room with the America Hydra agents, they quickly shut up when the Russian soldiers cold steely gaze fell on them. They spoke quietly and briefly in Russian amongst themselves and the room was filled with a tense aura.

<<"Soldat. You failed to eliminate a target">>
The Winter Soldier remained silent during his interrogation at the hands of Karpov.
<<"Worse still, you attracted the attention of St- ... Of The American">> Karpov was careful not to accidentally trigger some of Bucky's memories and untangle the Winter Soldier's rewired thoughts.
<<"You give me no choice Soldat.">>

Karpov was ruthless, but the Winter Soldier silently endured punishment after punishment. The shocks, the punches and beatings. His elevated healing factor would ensure that wounds healed quickly enough, but he was black and blue and bloodied beneath his combat armour next time he was in the field.

The Hydra agents kept quiet but eyed the Winter Soldier with a mixture of scorn, terror and what could almost be described as pity. The Russian agents that usually flanked Karpov dragged him, half-naked and beaten black and blue. As scary as Red Skull was, Karpov was ruthless in his own ways. Karpov emerged moments later and let his steely eyes linger on the Hydra goons for a moment.
"Learn from the Assets mistake." he warned.

Despite the agony of taking a ruthless beating without resisting, even though he could easily have snapped Karpov's neck ... The Winter Soldier knew their was worse to come. Cryo was horrible ... but the memory wipe that succeeded it was pain beyond pain. Even when he didn't have memories to rip away, they pulled his brain to pieces and shoved a gun in his hand. The headaches were unbearable but he couldn't complain, he couldn't resist. He had orders.

Right now, his order was to wait. To be a toy locked away in Karpov's toybox until he wanted to play with his broken puppet again.

It was a calm, clear night on the Atlantic Ocean. Hercules had sailed past the Pillars of Hercules, otherwise known as the Rock of Gibraltar in the north and the northern coast of Morocco in the south, and had found himself deep out at sea. He checked the constellations in the sky in order to make sure he was in the right spot. Once he had confirmed his location with the stars, Hercules dove into the sea, descending into its depths.

At first, the moon’s radiant light, Artemis’ jewel, provided some visibility in the water as Hercules swam down into the darkness of the ocean. However, as he went further and further down, even the superior eyesight of an Olympian god, let alone a mortal, could hardly see anything at all. But as he continued his journey, Hercules began to catch sight of some ominous lights shining from below. Those were the lights of Atlantis, the lost continent of old.

“χαίρετε, Ἀτλαντικοῖ.” Hercules shouted out once he had entered the city, “Ἡρακλῆς ἥκω!”

But Hercules did not receive a greeting in return. In fact, he realized that strange was going on because the entire interior of the Atlantean buildings were drained of their ocean water, which allowed Hercules to speak in the first place. Something obviously was astray. Zeus, the Father of Gods and Men, had sent Hercules down to Atlantis in order to retrieve the Omphalos, a powerful magical relic that could teleport its user to a parallel universe of the wielder’s creation. It could not be a convenience that someone was attacking Atlantis on the same day that Hercules was sent there to retrieve the Omphalos.

After searching most of the sunken city of Atlantis, Hercules finally found the chamber that housed that powerful relic. A large security door guarded this room and Hercules would have needed to use his divine strength in order to make it budge if it had not already been open. Inside the vault, Hercules discovered the culprits of the invasion of Atlantis.

“Hippolyte” Hercules growled as he saw once of his old enemies.

“Hercules, long time no see.” Hippolyte taunted the greatest of all Greek heroes, “I suppose you are looking for this?”

At that moment, Hippolyte held up an old, cylindrical object that had engravings carved around its sides. This was indeed the Omphalos.

“I suppose that you’ll not going hand over that relic to me.” Hercules asked.

“It’s far too late for that, son of Zeus.” Hippolyte declared, “For on this day, I shall reshape this world in the image of myself and my sisters!”

“You do realize that relic will only create a self-contained universe, right?”

“Silence!” Hippolyte yelled at the lion-hearted son of Zeus, “Do not spoil my final victory!”

The Amazon queen raised the Omphalos above her head. At that moment, a blue light began radiating out of the open top of the relic, while at the same time the same light was slipping out of the carving on the object’s side. This blue light started to swirl around the chamber, just like a whirlpool spinning around is a glass of water. Faster and faster did it rotate around the room until the light filled the entire room. But almost as fast as it had filled the chamber, just as quickly did the light flow back into the top opening of the Omphalos. Once the blue light had finally receded back into the relic, if one were present in that room, you would have been shocked to find that no one else was left in the room.

---

*English translation: "Greetings, Atlanteans. I, Herakles, have arrived!"

Hercules woke up in an unfamiliar room, lying down in a bed. The room itself was well furnished, having a wardrobe, chairs, and even an entertainment center with what Hercules knew the mortals called a television. He wondered whether this was some new type of interrogation tactic, placing a prisoner in a nice environment in order to make him let his guard down. But that would never work on Hercules.

“Where could I possibly be.” Hercules muttered to himself aloud. He was surprised when he hurt an electronic voice attempt to answer his question.

“You’re in A-Force Mansion, Hercules.” The feminine sounding voice said almost out of nowhere.

“A-Force?” Hercules pondered. Even before he could leave this room, the son of Zeus already began seeing the differences in this alternate reality.

“Yes, the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.” The voice told Hercules, “You should know, Hercules, because you’re a member.”

While trying to understand the changes in this world, Hercules turned to look at the clock that sitting on the nightstand located next to the bed. When he examined the electronical device, Hercules discovered another change: the clock said it was currently 2021 in the Common Era. Somehow, the Omphalos has set this pocket universe five years into the future. Now Hercules needed to not only have to worry about changes that Hippolyte caused with the Omphalos, but also what has been changed due to being five years ahead of the present day.

“Hey, Herc.” The son of Zeus heard another voice speak. This time, it came from the entrance of this bedroom. Standing in the doorway, were two women. The woman who had spoken had short, dark brown hair, while the woman standing next to her, who stood maybe an inch or two taller, had radiant red hair. “MJ and I are heading to the roof to catch some sun. What to join?”

“I’ll be up in a moment.” Hercules improvised. These two women obviously knew who he was, but he did not personally know them. He did recognize the woman with brown hair as Janet van Dyne, who was one of the Avengers on his own world, but he did not know who this MJ girl was.

While he pulled on a pair of swimming trunks and draped a towel over his strong shoulders. Hercules used the computer in his room to do a very quick search on his fellow teammates. While he did stumble upon many surprises, such as a woman named Jane Foster held the title of Thor, while Tony Stark’s younger sister, Antoinette, was the armored hero, the Iron Maiden, but the most surprising thing he found was about Captain America.

“Steve Rogers?” Hercules muttered to himself, “Wait, Captain America is a man?”

After discovering these changes to this world, Hercules left the bedroom and entered a nearby elevator that would carry him to the rooftop. When the elevator door slid open, Hercules found a rooftop pool. Beside this pool, both Janet and MJ were reclining in those white reclining chairs that you would normally see at public pools. And once Hercules stepped out of the elevator, he discovered yet another change to this world regarding swimwear preferences among the sexes.

“No shirt?” Janet said as she peered over her sunglasses, “Quite risqué, Hercules. Wouldn’t you agree MJ?” The redhead nodded in agreement with Janet.

“Alright, I love this world.” Hercules muttered under his breath. Then suddenly, heard a ringing sound coming from the little side table that was between Janet and MJ’s reclining chairs. Janet picked up what looked like a small card, about the size of a driver’s license.

“Please tell me you gals can handle it?” Janet said after she picked up the card.

“We need the entire team down here right now!” Antoinette Stark barked at the two women, “Some weirdo dressed in Green and Purple is floating above Time Square and we need the full strength of A-Force, just in case.”

“Is Doom at it again?” MJ asked when she leaned over towards Janet so that she was looking directly into the card.

“No, it’s someone else. Not sure who. But get here now!”

“Alright, we’ll be there.” Janet promised Antoinette. Once the communication via the card had been terminated, Janet added one more comment, which she probably would never say to Antoinette’s face. “She needs to relax more or people might start calling her the Iron Bitch.”

“Looks like it’s time to suit up.” MJ said as the pale color of her skin began to change into a green hue. At the same time, a blinding light concealed Janet for a second or two and when it disappeared, she was wearing a red and blue costume that had a golden, eight-point star on it and four golden chevrons that were located directly below the star.

“Man, I wish I had a quick-change costume.” Hercules muttered as he turned around to head back to the elevator.

---

Tony Stark stood at the top of his penthouse, hands grasping behind his back onto a magazine as he looked out of the windowpane and into the Atlantic Ocean. A melancholic expression persisted on Tony’s face, replacing the normal appearance of a smirk or childish grin as a light, sorrowful breath exited his lips. There was no sound in the penthouse apartment— no music, no busy machinery, no background chatter from a television; it was a pause correlating to the rotten sort of news that he refused to think was even real. Normally his mind would be too busy to stop in a hushed moment like this; too busy with ideas and enthusiastic concepts, ludicrous designs, imaginative plots, and pompous announcements to speculate upon— but today it was not the case. Today Tony’s mind was still, an ailment that was the rarest thing that could befall the black-haired billionaire.

He hated it.

He hated it so much that he couldn’t even will the desire to wash it away with alcohol, cigarettes, or some other indulgence. He didn’t even want to be angry, a fact that made him more uncomfortable and helpless as he thought about it as he looked over the oceanic view. New York sludge hadn’t looked this appealing to him for a long, long time. Not since his parent’s death a decade ago.

His hands held a magazine that recorded his very first candid interview, a piece that took him back to a time before he was Iron Man, even before he was head of Stark International, or even completed his college course for his accreditation. The large bold letters in bright red across the header spelled out ‘SAVANT’ as a youthful visage of his face was photographed under it. It was signed personally by the author of the article in stylistic yet professional penmanship. A name that had been the cause of his rather dour mood— the first girl to call him stupid and dismiss his flirtations, the first girl he boasted he would marry when he was ten, and the girl whose life had just been threatened. Caroline Haines.

A loud ‘clank’ echoed in the room as the Iron Man suit’s faceplate closed, covering Tony’s face as his brows narrowed from underneath the helmet as he slid the magazine on the table next to him.

Going to have to give you a good thank you, Captain.

Had it not been for Captain America’s efforts he knew he might be planning a funeral instead of chasing down that sniper and by proxy, this new resurgent Red Skull. He had already had the discussion of helping the government in stopping neo-nazi efforts thus breaking his sort of ‘Superhero Switzerland’ concept he had been pushing in the past few years, but this was a whole new level of ammunition. If he needed a bigger push, there was no question that harassing his only childhood friend was going to be a big one.

“Computer, I’m going to need any available info on the shooting. You can fill me in on the way there— should only be a short skip and a hop.”

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much information that could’ve been useful. No police reports had been filled due to how absolutely recent it was, and any media speculation was just that— speculation. It was frustrating, but it was what it was and while Tony didn’t like it he knew he couldn’t be bothered all too much about it. So it left him with few options in the very small window of time he had before the would-be sniper was half-way to Canada. Said options were ones that Tony would’ve honestly preferred to leave out of it, as from his perspective it kind of damaged his pride to ask for help, especially from the government. It was probably why whenever he did consider it he decided to do it in the most ridiculously obnoxious way possible he could.

And Fury did tell him to call back when he had more “stupid questions” for him to answer.

With thrusters on and pushing himself now above the streets of New York City’, a wide smile finally formed under Tony’s face.

“Yooo, Fury! You said to call back when I had more of those stupid questions, right?”

Tony nearly chuckled as he heard what sounded like an irritated groan on the other side of the communication channels.

“This isn’t a good time, Stark.”

“Well, it looks like a good time as any considering that those friends of yours just tried to execute one of mine. You know, the ones who like swastikas and jagermeister? Yeah. I’m on approach so any information would be swell. Just point me in the general direction and this Iron Patriot will surely be thankful, promise.”

“Negative. We’ve got agents analyzing the traffic cam footage and cracking what intel we have right now.”

“I’ll drop by. See if I can’t help them crack it faster since you know, they aren’t as smart as I am. Nobody is.”

“…don’t waste my time with this Stark, SHIELD is not a platform to feed your ego.”

“It’s not boasting, colonel. It’s a fact. See you in fifteen.”

1942 CE AU

A man, wearing what could only be described as a green and purple exo-suit, hovered over a World War II battlefield. Although he could fully perceive everyone below him, this man was entirely invisible to the combatants. This man had travelled back in time because somehow someone or something had changed and past and had destroyed his future in the 31st century. When this man first arrived in this alternate version of 1942, he immediately saw some changes that might have rewritten his own timeline. Women, instead of men, were fighting and dying on the battlefield below himself. He wondered how such a change could have allowed such a similar event as the Second World War to happen. But obviously it somehow happened here.

“Amusing.” The man decked in green and purple said to himself, “Even with this woman dominated world, somehow Steve Rogers still became Captain America. How amusing.”

Once he had his fill of watching these primitives spill on one another’s blood, the man from the future activated a device located on his wrist.

“Computer.” He called out, “Time jump me to the year 2015 CE. Select target, the Hulk.”

In a blink of an eye, although even the combatants below could not see it, this man disappeared in a flash of light.

2015 CE AU

The man reappeared in an alleyway in New York City. A teenage boy, probably still in high school, cowered behind a woman, who appeared to have been the same age as the boy, if not just a little younger. The boy was wearing regular clothing, or at least what was the norm in this decade of the 21st century. However, the woman was wearing a white, black, and pink costume that had spider themed patterns on the costume. She was standing in front of the boy, extending out her arms toward each side of her as if she was shielding the boy from someone. When the man peered over toward what the woman was staring at, he discovered a dozen or so S.H.I.E.L.D. agents with weapons drawn at the young boy. The man first believed that his technology must have malfunctioned because the Bruce Banner was not in sight. However, when the leader of the SHIELD agents there deterred this man from the 31st century from leaving prematurely.

“Step away from the boy, Spider-Woman.” Maria Hill demanded. “He’s a danger to everyone.”

“If you would just leave him alone, no one would need to worry about any danger.” Spider-Woman claimed as she defended the boy.

Suddenly, the crack of a sniper sounded from a window of a nearby building. Spider-Woman instinctively turned and pushed the boy that she was trying to protect out of harm’s way. However, she was so focused on saving the boy that she did not realize that she had put herself in the line of fire of the sniper. The man of the future, without flinching at all, saw the sniper bullet pierce the woman’s skull, coating her white mask and hood with her own blood. She then crumbled to the ground, almost like a lifeless doll.

“Gwen!” The boy shouted as he rushed over to the woman’s body. He tried putting pressure on the wound, but it was all in vain because she was already dead.

“Fire!” Maria Hill ordered to the agents with her. However, it was too late, as the boy’s skin had already began to turn green as he transformed into what the man from the future knew as the Hulk. The Hulk, ignoring the bullets that were bouncing off his skin, turned towards the direction where the sniper fire had come from. He leapt towards the window where the sniper was and crashed into the building.

The man from the future had seen enough. Knowing that the Hulk would now be rampaging through the city, the man teleported away to a different point in time.

2016 CE AU, the current day

The man now appeared above time square in New York City. This time, however, he did not make himself invisible to the inhabitants of this time period. He just hovered there, waiting for the Avengers, or Ultimates, or whatever this world’s team of heroes was called, to arrive. The first three on the scene were Captain America, a female Thor, and a female Iron Man. The man was amused how sometimes somethings just never change.

“What’s your game, mister.” Captain America called out to the man clad in green and purple armor.

“I am Kang.” The man finally revealed himself. “I have come from the future, which has been destroyed because of some meddling with the timeline. I will do whatever is necessary to restore my future.”

“And what do you intend to do?” Captain America asked.

“Well,” Kang replied smugly. “The annals of time do not call me ‘Kang the Conqueror’ for nothing.”