The Triskelion, Washington

The sound of beer bottle opening woke Guy Gardner from his sleep. His tired eyes opened slowly to the familiar sight of Ben Grimm. By Ben’s side was the man that had supported Gardner’s career at every turn: Timothy Aloysius Cadwallader Dugan – or as his friends knew him, Dum Dum. He’d sworn off his trademark hat and traded in his SHIELD uniform for a set of military fatigues, but otherwise he looked the same.

Two years after retiring from SHIELD, the attempt on Nick Fury’s life had brought Dugan in from the cold. Gardner’s heroics against Hammond had earned enough him good-will with Maria Hill to allow Dugan to prize his protege back from babysitting duty – especially now that there was no Fantastic Four left to babysit. Grimm agreeing to come work for Dugan alongside Gardner had been the cherry on the top.

“I’m not going to lie to you, kid, you look like week-old shit. But thanks to you Zhang Chin is sat in a holding cell in The Hague awaiting trial.”

Gardner took the beer gratefully and knocked back a swig with a moan. It might not help him get out of the infirmary any quicker and his doctors definitely wouldn’t thank him for it, but it sure as hell tasted good. And after taking two bullets in Juba, he figured it was well-deserved.

The injured SHIELD agent set the bottle down on the table beside his infirmary bed. “Well, I guess that’s something.”

“You should have been there to see his face when I dropped in on him,” Ben chuckled. “I’ve never seen someone look so relieved in my life.”

“I was relieved you didn’t land on me, you big lug,” Gardner smiled.

A look of faux-outraged crossed the superhero-turned-SHIELD agent's face. “I’ll have you know that my aim is second to none, Carrot Top.”

Dum Dum Dugan let out the kind of hearty laughter a father might laugh watching his children squabbling. Guy and Ben joined him in it until the former had to reach for the side of the bed to steady himself a little. SHIELD had pumped him full of painkillers but there was still some pain in the through-and-through to the side of his stomach. It was nothing another mouthful of beer wouldn’t get him through, Guy thought to himself, as he gestured to Ben to pass him it.

“No blowback on us then?” Guy asked Dugan as he knocked back another mouthful. “The South Sudanese couldn’t have been too happy with us for that little firefight in their backyard. We racked up a bit of a body count.”

Dugan let out a little laugh. “Are you kidding? South Sudan is one long firefight after another – has been for years. It’ll be a long time before they figure out we were there. Even longer before they figure out why we were there. So no, no international incidents this time around either.”

The first extraction mission in Juarez had gone off without a hitch. Some gun-runner that had fallen foul of the cartels that was willing to turn in his suppliers in exchange for safe passage out of Mexico and a fresh start. They had got in and out without dropping a single body, although Ben had been forced to break some poor kid’s arm. The information the gun-runner had given SHIELD put them onto a company known as Advanced Ideas Mechanics.

Ben's smile announced that the two-man team’s success hadn’t gone completely unnoticed. “So what you’re saying is we’re two-for-two?”

“Don’t go getting cocky on me, Grimm. This isn’t the Air Force and you sure as hell aren’t a fighter pilot – or a superhero – anymore. There’s no room for self-aggrandisement in our line of work. Heck, if you'd arrived a few seconds later, poor Gardner would probably be a dead man.”

“Or worse,” Guy grinned as he pretended to claw at the side of his face with his nails. “I could have ended up with an ugly scar like yours.”

Though the comment had been made in good humour it seemed to rattle Ben. A lot had changed in the months since Hector Hammond’s attack on the Baxter Building. The Fantastic Four had lost their only means of returning home, the Surfer had been revealed to be serving Darkseid, and, perhaps most difficult of all for Ben, his face had been badly scarred. Guy at times sought to make light of it in the hope that it might convince Grimm to talk about it, but the tactic had proved unsuccessful to date – as it did on this occasion.

He offered a curt exhale by way of acknowledgement of his partner's misjudged joke. “Yeah, yeah, make fun of the ogre again, very funny.”

An orderly in a SHIELD medical uniform entered Guy’s room and the three men fell silent. As if sensing that it was the wrong time, the orderly smiled awkwardly, stopped on a dime, and left the room without saying a word. Dugan took a few short paces to stand by the window and inspect the Washington skyline – his eyes resting on the newly-rebuilt Washington Monument.

Gardner pushed through the pain to stack his pillows in a way that allowed him to sit up more comfortably. “Any word on the old warhorse?”

“The doctors still have him in a medically-induced coma,” Dugan said as he removed a cigar from the pocket of his fatigues and slipped it between his lips. “They say if he wasn’t so damn strong he’d have given up the ghost months ago. Nick always was as tough as old boots.”

To say that Nick Fury’s toughness was the thing of legend was an understatement. The old man had been running SHIELD since the beginning of time – or least it felt like it. Up until recently he’d showed no signs of slowing down. Then one of his own had turned on him. The director had been gunned down by a SHIELD agent gone rogue at one of the organisation’s own black-sites.


“I never should have left. Twenty years I’d been promising Mary I’d hang up my badge but there was always another mission, always another threat. By the end, when Nick told me about his little theory, I’d thought maybe all the fighting had finally started going to his head. Heck, I thought maybe it had gone to mine. Turns out the stubborn son of a bitch was right – and I wasn’t there to watch his six when he needed it.”

There was regret in Dugan’s eyes. The kind of deep and unabiding regret that strikes people when they make a mistake they don’t think there’s any coming back from. Perhaps some part of the old deputy director had already accepted that his old friend was not long for this world – or maybe he was just worried that Nick would never be the same when he came back. Either way, there was only one thing that needed to be said, and Ben was quicker off the mark than Guy in saying it.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dugan.”

“I hate to say it but Ben’s right,” Guy nodded as he preempted his mentor’s attempt to disagree. “What could you have done? What could anyone have done in that situation? Nick’s the best in the business. If they got the drop on him, they would have got the drop on you too.”

Dugan let out a grunt that made clear he didn’t concur with Guy and Ben and turned back to the Washington Monument. Guy could tell by the way Dugan’s fingers were twitching that he was itching to light the cigar up but he couldn’t – another promise he’d made his wife. Instead it rested between his lips unlit as a comfort blanket more than anything else.

“Just make sure you look after one another, alright?" Dugan sighed. "This game we're in is brutal. One minute you’re here, the next you’re gone just like that. You find someone you trust with your life, you stick with that person until the bitter end. No matter what. You hear me?”

“I hear ya,” Ben murmured as he and Guy shared a solemn look.

Dugan glanced down at his wrist. “Alright, I’d better get going. I’m meeting Director Hill on the hour and that woman is a stickler for time.”

He shoved the unlit cigar back into the top pocket of his fatigues and walked back towards Guy’s bed. With their long, shared history, a supportive hand on the wounded agent’s shoulder was all the goodbye that was needed between them. Dugan offered Grimm a nod as he passed by SHIELD's newest super-agent on his way towards the exit.

“Hey Dugan,” Gardner called out across the infirmary to his mentor with beer bottle in hand. “Make sure you send the Führer my regards.”

Dugan shook his head wordlessly as he disappeared through the exit. He’d always hated that nickname, Guy remembered. He was worried for Dugan – perhaps more than ought to be given he was the one who’d been shot twice – but his sympathy was soon interrupted by Ben’s rocky fingers unexpectedly jabbing him in his stitches. Gardner let out a howl of pain that echoed through the halls of the Triskelion's medical unit.

Ben shot Guy a mischevious smirk. “So, you wanna get some pizza or something? Because I could really murder a pizza or twelve about now.”

The Goblins hover over me like a group of mechanical Michael Myers's. They stare. They wait. They don't move. They merely survey me with a cold, calculating glare that says "You're not getting out of this one." Up until now I've been lucky. The WEB has kept me one step ahead of these beasts for the months they've been out on the streets, but even Peter knew that they would catch up with me eventually. Norman Osborn may be a blowhard, but the man is the definition of a genius. If he says something will be able to hunt me down, then that thing is absolutely going to do just that.

At least until I beat them in a fight.

The biggest problem with that thought is that I haven't really seen them in a fight. Sure, I studied the YouTube promotional videos and commercials Oscorp put out to drum up business in the international community, but that only gave me the basics. I know what kind of weaponry they have, but not how they use it or what kind of formations they work in.

Such are the perils of having a superscientist's attention, I guess.

"Well, well, well," a voice comes out of the green Goblin, emanating from a speaker system inside the chassis. "We've finally got you. Will you come peacefully, Spider-Woman?"

I know that voice. I've heard it many times before calling from his lab while we were playing or hanging out at Harry's house. Norman Osborn is watching me right now, probably from some control room at Oscorp.

"Well, according to you that's not my style," I call back, trying my best to make sure he doesn't recognize my voice. Then again, Norman's been in his own little world for as long as I've known him. I'm surprised to this day that he remembers what I look like. The chance of him making me by just hearing me is slim. "Maybe just this once I'll live up to what you think of me, Normie."

"You have something that belongs to my company," the voice, distorted ever so slightly by the electronics, filters through the snow. "We know your powers came from our lab. From a spider we know escaped our labs. If you allow us to study you, you will be allowed to go free."

Norman's words shock me, even though they shouldn't. Of course he knows that my powers came from that damn spider form the lab. That wouldn't be some great revelation to someone like him. But the fact he wants to make a deal tells me there's something more to the whole equation that I'm not seeing. Norman's put on a show the past few months that he wants me gone. If what he really wants is to capture me, then all my assumptions go out the window.

"Hmmm..," I mockingly muse over the offer. "Nah I think I'm good."

I fire a web to one of the orange Goblin's gliders. It finds it mark, and I yank the glider sideways. The other orange one has to make a maneuver in order to get out of the way, which gives me an opportunity to run.

making a break for the opening I just created, I come sliding to a stop as a fourth orange Goblin zooms up the side of the building to cut me off. I curse myself for believing that it was going to be this easy. Of course these damn things were going to be more clever than to allow me to escape when they've finally got me cornered. Looks like I will be fighting my way out of this one, whether I like it or not.

Good. It's time to show Norman Osborn what I can really do.

The Goblin that cut me off zooms towards me, and I kick off the roof of the building and launch myself in a flip over the drone. As my head passes a few inches over it, I attach a webline to its neck, and yank hard down as I make my landing, pulling the robot off its glider. The metal body clangs onto the roof, and I manage to rope the glider. With another tug, I directed the flying machine back at its rider, causing the two to crash into one another. The sound echoes through the night like a car crash, and the severed top of the robot claws at me as I crush its head like a tin can.

"Well, Norm," I toss the head at the green Goblin, who catches it with mechanical precision, "one down. Who's next?"

The two remaining orange ones come at me in tandem. I manage to corkscrew out of the way of the first, but the second clips me with its glider wing, sending me careening through the air. I hit the ground, and my spider sense starts going crazy. I roll, and three bladed projectiles smash into the roof, embedding themselves into the building.

Sliding out of the way of three more, I see the bladed, bat-looking flyers coming from slots in the robots wrists. I contort and flip as more and more come my way, barely keeping away from their sharp strikes.

There's just too many of them, however, and two slice across my left leg and right arm. I feel the searing hot pain as metal cuts cleanly through skin and muscle. I keep myself from crying out, not wanting to give Osborn the satisfaction of knowing he's hurt me. Looking down, I see the drops of blood changing the thin layer of pure white snow. First to a deep red, then, as the blood things, into a sickly pink slurry.

One thing is for sure. If I'm going to get out of this one, I'm going to need to even the odds and quick. They're going to tear me apart if it stays 3-on-1.

"Give up yet, Spider-Woman?" Norman muses from the green unit.

I don't pay attention to him at all. Instead, I focus on the weapons that have already been fired at me, "You know, Norm, I think Batman may have a solid case of copyright infringement against you for these. Bat weapons are kind of his thing, no?"

The only response from the Goblins is another volley of the little projectiles. Unfortunately for Osborn, he gave me a breather, and an opening to go on the offensive. If he had kept up with the offensive, he could have driven me into the ground.

Instead, I snag two of the weapons right out of the air, flipping, and flinging them back at the orange Goblins that sent them my way. The blades strike true, slicing clean through the heads of the robots. The bodies seize, before the gliders take a nose dive towards the street below.

There's no time to celebrate, however. The green one is on me in a blink, leaping off its glider and coming at me with its fists. Now I understand why this one is considered the matrix for its battle group. Its faster. Its stronger. It has me on my heels almost instantly. My injured arm and leg aren't helping things. Each time I try to block a strike or maneuver away from one, they scream with pain and protest. The glider swoops at me every time I try and escape.

An energy blade extends from the hand of the Goblin's right arm, and I gasp, "You invented lightsabers and you're using them for evil!"

"Enough games, Spider-Woman," the voice coming through is angry and embarrassed. Norman doesn't like the fact that I just took out three of his prize projects in the span of a few seconds. Not a very good selling point, if I were to bet. He doesn't just want to know why I am the way I am. He wants to use my capture to sell even more Goblins. Sorry that I'm gonna have to disappoint him on that end. "It's time for you to come with me."

"Hard pass, Osoborn," I growl back at the robot. "I'm gonna warn you. I've seen a lot of Star Wars movies, and I am pretty sure using a lightsaber almost always leads to losing your hand. I mean, you've lost so much money tonight already. I'd hate to wreck a whole Goblin group."

That's enough taunting. The Goblin comes at me again, swinging the sword with precision. It backs me towards the edge of the roof, and I can feel the glider behind me, pinning me in. Good. That's how I want it. When I feel my heel reach the very edge of the building, I kick off it. The glider flies at me to knock me back towards the roof, and the Gobline slices at me with the sword. Instead, the energy blade rips the glider in two, and I land on the other side of the Goblin. With a swift kick to the back, I send the robot tumbling off the roof and watch as it smashes into the pavement.

I take a sigh of relief, and use some webbing to bind my wounds up.

Before I can really relax, Dad's voice comes over the comm, "Are you okay? I heard all of that."

"Yea, I'm good," I lie.

"I managed to follow the robber," he responds. "I found where they're hanging out. Are you up for some more action."

Oh right. The robber. The whole reason I was out here tonight. Probably shouldn't have forgotten about him, huh? A girl's job is never done, especially when that girl has the proportional strength of a spider.

"Yea. Yea, I'm good. I'll be there soon."

| THE DREAM DIMENSION
| _{The House of Mystery | Present Day}

Carefully, the young squire helped the Caretaker to his feet.

Overhead, the boy heard Morpheus give a low growl. Craning his head back, as he watched, the Lord of Dreams made a gesture with one arm. After which, the interior of the great hall seemed to become blur. Almost like a haze of smoke. Then everything snapped back into focus, with everything back where it ought to have been.

Except one thing that was out of place.

Mordred would have easily missed it, except that Morpheus passed between the bookshelves, pausing precisely where there was a gap between the tomes on the shelf.

"What..." the boy began, only to stop short as Morpheus turned to face him. A plume of smoke shot out toward the boy, taking the form of a grimoire hovering in the air.

"The Libellus Sanguinus," the Lord of Dreams intoned gruffly. The elder god seemed lost in thought for a moment. The illusionary fabrication flipped open, several pages fluttering as the Lord of Dreams continued. "A 'Book of Blood.' It was said to have been authored in the Twelfth Century by Mary, Queen of Blood. It contains some of most horrible writings ever conceived of a deranged mind."

A deranged mind.

The red eyes of the satyr-like figure immediately came to mind. "Who was that?" Mordred asked, reaching out to close the illusionary tome. The fabrication vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Some people are kept alive through the stories that people tell of them," Morpheus remarked cryptically, turning to regard Mordred with a gaze that made the boy immediately question whether the elder god referred to him. "Others are brought to life through the stories. Spring-Heeled Jack is fear and paranoia given form," Morpheus explained. The description did nothing to put the boy's mind at ease as to the chaotic nature of the devish figure. Morpheus, however, seemed to continue his brooding. "What possible use could he have for the book? It seems an odd choice for an imp such as he..."

The Lord of Dreams seemed to speak out loud, pausing for a time, before he finally looked back up. Flashing a wan smile, the man offered only, "Perhaps we are fortunate. He may have merely grabbed an object at random and know not what it is that he now possess."

The elder god stretched out his hand. As he did, a column of smoke seemed to rise up and swirl up around the young Pendragon. As he looked down over his body, Mordred found his clothing transfigured. The familiar red and white tabard, emblazoned with the golden Roman aquila hung off his form. The colors of the Silent Knight. A leather twin-belt replaced the length of soft rope. A rondel dagger was sheathed at his hip.

"You must recover the book," Morpheus' voice remarked, though when Mordred had looked up, the elder god was no where to be found.

"I cannot depart this realm. And none here now are better equipped for this task."

Making his way through the bookshelves, the boy passed through the familiar labyrinth that was the House of Mystery. Even as he watched, the shelves and books all recognized themselves. The walls shifted. The stairs moved. It was as though the House was alive. Always in motion. Always changing.

As he stepped forward, two bookshelves pulled apart to reveal a doorway. A different exit than the one he had entered through.

There were many portals that passed through the Dreaming. The House was no different. Reaching out a hand, the child's hand hovered near the doorknob that would open to a world full of weeping than he dared to recall.

"Son of Pendragon, this quest is yours."

Son of Pendragon.

A single tear slipped down the side of the boy's face. In mind, he saw a man. And it wasn't Arthur of Camelot. "My name is Mordred of Kent," the boy declared, pushing open the door. Steeling himself there, the child said only, "Arthur is my king. But he is no father of mine."

That was Sir Brian.

He was the squire to the Silent Knight. And in his name, the boy took just one step forward, into a brave new world.

---

𝖹𝖠𝖬𝖡𝖤𝖲𝖨
𝖣𝖤𝖢𝖤𝖬𝖡𝖤𝖱 𝟤𝟢𝟣𝟪 ⫽ 𝟣𝟦𝟦𝟢

Vixen entered the building to discover Abiesa on the ground, beaten until she passed out. She was most likely interrogated to see if she had information on the corrupt government. What matter more to Vixen was keeping Abiesa alive and well than the information that she had on General Maksai. Abiesa used to live in Zambesi before President Jiwe's assassination as a former physician from Doctors Without Borders. She helped dozens of Zambesians everyday until Maksai expelled all types of foreign aid, including Doctors Without Borders. However, she and a few others attempted to stay behind to help out the locals. Once she was found and forced to leave, Abiesa became a vocal opponent of Maksai and his government.

Eventually, Maksai came across some classified information and planned on releasing it for the general public; however, she was kidnapped in broad daylight. Now, she was going to be saved. Vixen placed one hand on the cuffs while the other on her necklace. The aura of a gorilla appeared while she placed her hands on the cuffs and ripped them off in seconds. Before either one of them could react, she heard bullets hitting against the windows near them. Almost immediately, she grabbed Abiesa and dragged her towards the wall while the aura of an owl appeared overhead.

Looking out of the window, she saw two people on the rooftop of a nearby building. It looked like she walked into a trap. Then, she heard shouting outside as the men from the campfire were caught off guard. Regardless, it was time to escape, but she needed help. After looking away, she pressed the earpiece to contact M'Baka.

"I found her, but it was a trap. Two people are shooting up the building that we are in. I would appreciate it if you can assist us." Vixen said.

"I am dealing with them right now." M'Baka answered while he was grabbing something before throwing it. "One of them is coming towards you. Be careful, Vixen."

"You too." She pressed her earpiece again and looked outside again. He was right. A woman was running towards them carrying a pistol. The guards heard the bullets hitting against the building and were ready for almost everything. Besides someone charging towards them with a death wish. Vixen told Abiesa to hide as the sounds of gunfire and screaming could be heard outside. It was a losing battle for the guards. Vixen placed her hand on the necklace and the aura of a goat. It wasn't the best choice but it should get her outside and away from Abiesa.

Vixen got into position and waited for her target to open the door. And when she heard only footsteps, she knew that things were about to get real. As soon as the door opened, Vixen headbutted the assassin and threw the gun to the ground while pushing her away from the door. The assassin shoved her aside and reached for her knife. Vixen quickly got up from the ground and looked at the other woman. She was wearing a red and black outfit with a white target on her chest. With the knife in hand, she ran towards Vixen with the intention of stabbing her.

"Who are you?" Vixen asked while dodging her attacks.

"Someone that's interesting in finishing their job." the woman answered. The fighting lasted for a few more seconds until Vixen managed to knock the knife out of her hand.

"Are you here for Abiesa?"

"Who? We are only here for you." the woman answered and then delivered a punch to Vixen's gut. She ran towards her pistol and fired several shots at her direction as Vixen ran towards cover. "You have something that belonged to our contractor. Give it up."

"You will have to kill me." Vixen answered.

"That's the plan, hon."

Staten Island, New York City

---

"This isn't how we do things, Davos."

Daniel Rand tossed his house keys onto the table near the door before moving towards the parlor, stripping off his hoodie. His friend from K'un-Lun stripped his grey hoodie that was now soaked red with blood, leaving it on the floor near the door. "They were a plague onto this city, brother. I was simply trying-"

Daniel was quick to respond, cutting him off before he could continue. "We can't just kill those who have done wrong. There are systems in place for rehabilitation... When we went down to the village and took the cart for a joyride, should we have been condemned to death?"

"You told me this gang was responsible for murder. The punishment for murder in K'un-Lun was execution. Have you forgotten home already, brother?"

"New York is my home, Davos."

The two men stood there quietly for a moment. They both had so much more to say, so much more to argue about... but they just couldn't. Danny knew if he went further he'd be pushing Davos away... and he couldn't quite bring himself to do that. So the Iron Fist and his trusted companion went silently about to do their nightly rituals before resting for the night in a small mansion on a silent night.

Staten Island, New York City

---

The distinct chime of a cell-phone's ringing was what awoke Daniel Rand from the sweet comfort of sleep. His left arm swung to fetch his phone, looking at it through tired eyes before finally swiping. As he lowered the phone down to his ear, he heard a familiar voice speak frantically. "Mr. Rand... Danny... Terry isn't here. We don't have any other volunteers... and people are already lining up around the block. I hate to bother you on Christmas Eve, but could you please send someone to-"

"I'm on my way."

Chinatown, New York City

---

Danny quickly rushed past those who were waiting, wearing sweats instead of the usual suit he was often coaxed into wearing. He rushed inside, the various smells of cooked meats and potatoes filling the air. Colleen's head poked through the door leading into the kitchen, holding a still-simmering pan of ham. "I wasn't asking you to-"

Rand was already past her and in the kitchen before his voice rushed up to meet her. "It's Christmas Eve. I wasn't going to call someone in and take them from their family..." To the surprise of Colleen, Rand almost immediately found his place in the kitchen, checking on several pots of soup and dashing in spices as needed. "What time do you need to head out to get dinner with your family?"

A chilling silence washed over Colleen and Daniel for nearly a minute as they worked diligently, to the point where Danny wasn't sure if he actually spoke aloud to ask the question. "What t-"

"I don't have plans. My father flew to China a few weeks ago and won't be back until March."

The silence again overtook the air. Colleen removed another ham from another oven while Danny began turning off the burners for the soup. The somber mood was uncomfortable for both of them, leading Danny to break the tension first. "If you don't have any plans... we could grab dinner at the place next door."

Colleen took a second while carving ham to give a nod and a smile. "Sure."

Chinatown, New York City

---

"The cart was tilting around the corner, and Davos was flapping his arms like he was trying to fly..."

The two burst out laughing, unable to continue the story. The normality of the scene was refreshing for both of them. The streets outside were quiet, and only a few couples and a single family of five were scattered about the dining area.

A joyous and simple scene was doomed to be interrupted by violence in the New York in which it took place. The brief flash of cold air pressed against Danny's back. The look of shock on Colleen's face was a distinct cue that something was off. His head spun around to catch the sight of five Golden Tigers entering into the restaurant, one branding the claw-like weapon that signified him as a higher-ranking member of the notable gang.

Colleen and Danny almost stood up in unison, both pausing only in confusion at why the other rose. But the Golden Tigers approached and the fists flew. Danny took on the lieutenant and two of the Tigers, while Colleen rushed in to divert the attention of the remaining two. Without much thought or communication, Danny and Colleen traded their opponents seamlessly. The two fought as if they had fought together for years.

The civilians in the restaurant gathered near the back of the restaurant, huddling in fear. The fight itself only lasted a minute, at the end of which the five criminals laid upon the floor unconscious. Danny and Colleen observed the small carnage they had wrecked, panting, before locking eyes with the other. The faint recognition of a kindred spirit sparked in their gaze, only to wash away as the familiar voice of the restaurant's owner greeted them. "I... I don't know how to thank you for helping me again. They must have come for the protection money."

Danny nodded, his expression somewhat grim, before giving a small smile. "Don't worry... I'll handle this." He spun on his feet and tossed a hundred dollar bill on his table before rushing out the door, Colleen narrowly at his heels. There was a lot of work to be done. And the Iron Fist was going to give Chinatown a gift for Christmas.

The Golden Tigers were going to be brought down... or so he thought.

”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - The Magnificent Seven: Part Two

---

---

The Solomano building was a monolith, arcing up into the sky as the hand of mankind, waiting to touch the face of God. It rose from a cluster of freshly renovated buildings, their owners warm inside with full bellies and fuller wallets. It’s access was a bay of revolving doors, open to an alley so large it could hardly be called an alley at all. Fifty floors of young professionals flush with cash culminated in the fifty first -- The Offices of Roman J. Solomano.

His office layout had changed over the past month. A mahogany piano seemed to grow from the dark tile of the floor itself, dominating the space. A black wood circular desk was situated at the window, sporting a chromium-tanned leather swivel chair. Its occupant sat with hands clasped together, all ten fingers interlaced. His dark hair flecked with grey was slicked back, and he considered the ice cubes bobbing in his tumbler of bourbon. He was Roman J. Solomano.

“Lupelinos just got outta town with your, uh, project, boss.” George ‘Big Caesar’ Vincenzo rapped his knuckles on the office’s wooden door as he entered. “Preparations are goin’ well otherwise.”

“Goblins are giving us a wide berth, yes?” Solomano pushed back from his swivel, standing and straightening the wrinkles in his suit.

Big Caesar smiled. “Like you always say, boss. Friends in high places.”

Solomano’s eyes flickered down. “One way of looking at it.”

“Anyway, everything’ll be gone by tomorrow morning.” Big Caesar pulled a toothpick from his pocket, rolling it around in his mouth. He sat on the piano. “N’ Castle hasn’t bothered hitting any of our trucks, neither --”

“Get your ass off of my goddamn piano, you fat fuck.” Solomano stepped forward.

Big Caesar’s hands shot up and he stumbled forward. “S-sorry, boss. M-my mistake.”

Solomano nodded, running a hand back through his hair. To think it all lead up to this. He shot his gaze back out over the city. It’d been a quiet takeover. Slowly moving in on operations as the ‘heroes’ picked them off. Setting them up and knocking them down. His piece of the pie was still small, to be sure. But profits had quintupled in the past six months. Nobody wants to fuck with you when the worst man on your retinue is Barracuda. Projections saw Solomano in control of the City within the next two, three years -- Osborn’s Goblins or not.

“Always mistakes with you, Vincenzo. Why am I tolerating your presence now?”

“Ah, Mehrunio’ll be up in a coupla with the equipment you requested. Order just came in a coupla minutes ago. Just, uh, thought I’d letcha know.”

The requisition. He’d almost forgotten -- no, he hadn’t. He just told himself he had to make the wait feel shorter. He turned his hands over, looking at all ten of his fingers staring back at hm through the black leather of his gloves. It’d taken pain to get this far. Pain and death and enough blood to make the streets of New York run red.

Solomano could hear the creak of the door. “Vincenzo?”

“Y-yes boss?” Big Caesar gulped, halfway through the door.

“Is that cocksucker Laughton still in the wind?”

“Our boys traced him past Gotham… We’re trying to get more, but, you know how the folks there are…”

“Course I fuckin’ do. Get out of my sight.” The door closed with a resonating thud.

He pulled his gloves off, one finger at a time. One hand the pink of flesh. The other hard plastic green. The joints clicked and whirred as he adjusted the joints. He picked up his drink.

Another assassin dead. That sick fuck Laughton taking the power and leaving. One chance left. He still remembered it. Who else could it be?

The form of the devil himself, drawn up in his own blood over his desk. It dripped into the fabric of his clothes and ran through the gutter of the tiles. He could still feel the cleaver in his hands now. His choice, his final assassin. After all, no one can escape The Hand.

A mousy man appeared in the doorway, arms wrapped around a wooden box. He made no sound. Solomano’s fingers probed at his elbow. There was a click, and the green plastic of his false arm shattered against the ground.

The man knelt, holding the box over his head like a holy weapon. The box was old, willow carved so fine you’d think it grew out of the ground that way. A glossy black metal hand sat in a nest of velvet fabric. It gleamed in the subtle lights of the office. Solomano’s hand closed around it.

It clicked into place. A familiar symbol on its surface began to glow.

“Mark my words, Mephisto. The Iron Hand shall take no prisoners.”

---

---

---

---

There was always a stillness to the air before a storm. Leonard Snart, the self proclaimed Captain Cold lay in his little hiding spot near the edge of the badlands. The plan had fallen through with the Gotham Penguin and his lieutenant Mr.Freeze. Thankfully while the participation of someone who possessed more or less the same abilities as his weapon did was desirable it wasn’t necessary for the next part of the plan. Get the Flash outside of Central City, then he had time to execute the plan before[color=#93c47d] [/color][i][color=#6aa84f]Weather Wizard[/i] [/color]was captured. Should he succeed in actually taking out the Flash then that would save him a lot of time and effort, but he sincerely doubted it. He hadn’t won last time afterall.

Snart flipped open his phone, hit speed dial number three and as soon as the phone was picked up he spoke. “One hour. Then it’s go time.” Flipping the phone closed without listening to the response he turned and slapped his driver on the shoulder, breaking him from his reverie. Without a word they walked towards the black ‘Prizn Buss’ parked at the edge of their little outlook.

---

Iris sat at her computer, hands sitting on the keyboard. This is typically the point where you start writing West. The words didn’t come though, writing some piece on the decline of crime since the arrival of the Flash, and the apparent knock on effect. She had barely been active in the last couple of weeks, hell she hadn’t donned the cowl for days since she took down Atom Smasher. Part of her felt bad about that, there was always more she could be doing. She should be doing her part for everyone rather than just going to work, going home and then reading a book. This whole Wally mess though had her all thrown around, a wrench in her plans sending her off the rails and into a spiral that was all too familiar.

Iris had been like this when Barry had died, albeit to a greater extent. Life thrown into chaos at losing him, the only thing holding her together being her work. She looked at the flashing I-Bar, it’s flashing mocking her as her mind refused to provide her with a view to write. She wasn’t entirely sure that the decreased crime was because of her, and that was half the problem. She groaned in frustration, slamming her head down onto the desk.

“Coffee Miss West?”

Iris turned her head up to see a cup of coffee held out towards her, a lightning bolt on the cup. A Flash as it was being called around the city. She had to admit she found it a little odd having a drink named after her, she had yet to see someone drinking a ‘Thor’. That said he would be ideal for hair adverts. Looking up further she saw the white hair of the intern Tommy, and that continuous mischievous grin plastered across his face. He had started working here as an intern a couple of weeks ago, after having recently moved to Central City with his foster family. Iris pretended not to notice but he spent a lot of time hanging around her desk, trying to peek at stories or sources for her information on the Flash. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was that had him so obsessed about the cowl but after she found him looking through her notes she took extra precautions to hide the information on her sources.

She didn’t suspect any ill intent, he just seemed to be a serious fan of the Hero of Central City as everyone was calling her. The last thing she needed however was a seventeen year old shadow following her around and finding out her secret. It would likely be on Snapchat or Instagram by the end of the week. Iris took the cup and nodded her thanks to Tommy, not surprised at all when he didn’t move off with the rest of the Coffees on his little cart. Sighing she looked back at him. “What’s up Tommy?”

“Do you need some help? No offense, but you seem a little-”

“Stuck?”

“Frustrated.”

Iris let out a short chuckle. “It’s all part of the process. You’ll learn that one day.” She pointed at the cart of coffee before he had a chance to complain at his status as an intern. “Once you’ve finished paying your dues of course. Don’t worry, we’ve all been there.”

Tommy groaned in frustration. The boy liked to move fast, everyone in the office knew that. The issue was that there was a right way to do it, in their profession if you moved too fast and didn’t pay attention you missed facts or details. An incomplete story was worse than no story, and until he learnt not to rush things he wasn’t likely to do much more than grab the coffee. “I know I just get a little-”

“Frustrated?”
Tommy nodded to her.“You know, I’m no Jimmy Olsen yet but I think I’m a pretty good photographer, I’m fast and can get into places not a lot of people can. I just need to-”[color=#ff9900] [/color]Iris tuned him out as the rest of the room went quiet, a couple of people standing up from their desks all looking towards the TV in the corner of the room. She couldn’t hear it though as Tommy hadn’t quite gotten used to the way the newsroom worked.

Iris turned to look at Tommy. “Shut up a second, look.” She nodded her head to the television as the colour rose into Tommys cheeks, embarrassed at making such a fatal mistake. For a second she thought he was going to speak again to apologise but he seemed to realise better. Someone nearer the television set reached up and turned up the volume on the set. There was a face on the television set, one she recognised.

Mark Mardon, the Weather Wizard standing in the middle of an open area. If Iris had to guess she’d assume he was out in the badlands. The camera zoomed out, obviously mounted on some form of drone. She didn’t flinch as there was a crack of thunder outside. “Dear Central City. Did you miss me?”

There was murmuring around the room as people grabbed phones, typed into computers or grabbed files out of desk and out of cabinets. Iris fixed her attention solely on the screen and nowhere else. “I’m back and oh I’ve missed you. Which is why I’m going to be nice. Give me five million dollars, transferred into a secure bank account - the details to which are posted online for those that know how to find them. In return I won’t let a storm loose on the Gem Cities the likes of which they have never seen.” Mardon went to turn around, turning back nonchalantly as if this was him ordering food from a café. “Oh and by the way, you have one hour.”

Iris stood up leaving Tommy behind. She spotted David, the editor, standing amid a crowd. She waved her hand in the air and yelled. “Chief?!” He raised his head to her, and nodded.

Without waiting to hear what he said she dashed out of the door as fast as she could, or at least as possibly believable. Once outside she darted down a nearby alleyway, lightning streaked across the sky as she sped into a full pace run.

If Weather Wizard was feeling nostalgic after getting out of prison, then he was just going to love the reunion she had planned.

The swing over to where Dad directs me to is not a fun one. I may heal quicker than most people do, but getting gashed with razor sharp bat projectiles is still going to smart. The fact that I can't go home and heal up, and instead have to go track down another super weapon wielding nut job. This is not what I asked for for Christmas, and I'm beginning to think Santa has me on the naughty list. Was it all the punching last year, big guy? I mean, it's part of my job. I punch. Stop torturing me.

Landing on a street light, I see that it's a warehouse. Of course it's a warehouse. Where else would a super villain hang out? Why can't they ever be at the mall or something?

"Dad, I'm here," I tell my father, announcing my presence. "You're sure this is where they are?"

"Positive," he affirms. "I managed to follow them at enough of a distance that they didn't notice me. I watched them go in there. Probably splitting up the money before going their separate ways."

I nod to myself, knowing he can't see me, "Yea, I remember you telling me that's what bank robbers usually do. Why it's so had to really catch them."

"That's my girl," he responds with pride. I can almost see his smile. "So what's your play on this one?"

I take a moment to consider my options. I don't really want to take on five guys, including the one with the gauntlets. But if I can get them to scatter, maybe isolate the guy with the sound weapon, I may stand a chance in taking them out without killing myself.

"Okay, I'm gonna go inside," I start explaining the plan. "I'll look over the tags on the getaway cars and relay them to you. You can relay them to the rest of the NYPD. When they're about ready to move, I'll surprise them, and isolate the heavy hitter. The rest will get away, and the cops will be waiting for them."

He takes a few minutes to consider the plan, "That...that is actually really good."

"Jeez don't sound so surprised, Dad," I snort.

"Hey, I'm not," he defends himself. "Just impressed. You're sure you're okay for this?"

I want to say no. I want to tell him I'm nervous about doing this after escaping the Goblins by the skin of my teeth. But that's not what Spider-Woman does. Spider-Woman catches bad guys, and I have a bad guy to catch here.

"Yea, I'm fine. I'm going in."

It doesn't take long to locate an open window I can slip through. Inside, I find the gang dividing the money between three cars for five men. My guess is the guy with the sonic blasters will be going by himself. Maybe will try and draw the cops away from his friends, since he has the best chance to escape. I mean, he's not going to get the chance to do that, but it's a good plan.

Crawling over the dusty ceiling until I'm nearly right above the men speaking below, I start to relay the make, models, and plates of the getaway cars.

"So you remember the deal, right?" the guy in the costume starts saying as he finishes putting the last bag of money into the trunk of his car, a black, unremarkable sedan. "We get out of the city. We get out of the damn state. We meet up in the safehouse in Connecticut, then make for the Canadian border. Then we're home free boys."

"All because of you, Herman!" one of the other one clasps his hand onto the man's shoulder. "Without those gauntlets we'd still be mucking up Kingpin's scraps!"

"Yea, the fat man's gonna be sorry he never gave the Shocker Gang more of the pie," another one of the guy laughs triumphantly. Man, I almost feel sorry for them. They are so sure they're getting away with this.

"That fat bastard never believed in me," the guy in the getup, "Herman", says. "Said these babies would draw too much attention. Said that they would ensure Spider-Woman took us on directly. Yet here we are with the loot, and she's somewhere getting pummeled by the Goblins. Thank god Osborn and Cassidy are so focused on her they forget about people like me."

"You got that right, Schultz," another one of the men laughs like the goon that he is, yucking it up.

Okay, time to make my entrance. They've had their fun.

Dropping down behind them as they finish their packing, I clear my throat, "You know, where do you bad guys get all the warehouse space from? Is there a criminal version of AirBnb I don't know about? Because that would seriously cut down on my swinging time."

The men who aren't wielding sonic disruptors all panic, making a beeline for their respective cars. The leader merely turns to face me, laughing as he does it. He clearly thinks he can take me. Good. I like when they're over confident. Makes things a little more interesting on my end.

Winding up, I deliver a punch to his chest as the others begin to speed out of the warehouse, just as I figured they would.

What I don't figure, is the concussive force that greets me as my hand makes contact with Herman Schultz. At least I think I make contact with him. Instead, Schultz must have a sonic disruption literally enveloping him, meaning I won't be able to hit him directly. Great.

The vibration explodes through my body, starting at the hand. It flings me back from the criminal, who is tossed back into his car, totaling it in the process. I feel like my teeth are still chattering when I stand up, and I call out to Dad on the comm, "The others are on the move. I'm gonna have to take care of this guy on my own. Wish me luck."

"Be careful," he responds. "Let me know if you need help."

"Like my sonic gauntlets?" Schultz half-groans, half-laughs as he climbs out of the wrecked trunk of the now-wrecked car. "Designed them myself. They were just going to get me a big enough score to let me spend my life on a beach somewhere in Asia, but I guess now they're also gonna be known for killing Spider-Woman."

"Oh please," I roll my eyes. "More evil people than you have tried, Quilt Boy. You get your costume from your Grandma's couch? She's not gonna be happy that you ruined her favorite crochet project."

"You think you're funny huh?" he growls at me, and I can hear his weapons charging up. The hum of their sonic amplifiers rolls through the warehouse in waves, rumbling through my ears. "Let's see how funny I am after I break all the bones in your body!"

He lets loose with the gauntlets, and I manage to dive out of the way. The blasts slam into the crates located behind me in the warehouse. The wood explodes into a shower of splinters and chokes the air with the fine layer of dust laying on top of them. He follows me around the warehouse as I bounce from place to place, staying out of the path of the path of destruction he leaves behind.

The sonic wave obliterate everything in their wake. Boxes, mechanical equipment, and even the steel supports of the warehouse are broken and twisted by the powerful waves. That, unfortunately, gives me an idea. I may not be able to take this guy down hand-to-hand, but if I can bury him under some steel, I can trap him. The force field protecting him will ensure he won't be hurt, and then I can disable the gauntlets.

Super, duper easy, right? I never come up with ridiculous plans. Nope, not me.

Snagging some of the broken steel from the building's structure with a web, I toss it at him. The metal strikes him, clanging off the protective barrier, but still bringing Schultz to his knees, "What's wrong, Herman? Not fast enough to hit me? You can do better than that!."

"Rah!" he yells, now firing wildly with the gauntlets as I speed up my erratic movement through the warehouse. I fire webbing to yank myself across the place, and he leaves a hole in the metal where I was just standing. The interior catwalk system of the warehouse begins to groan under the stress of losing its support. Good. Only one more support and it's gonna come down on top of him like a ton of bricks.

I swing in front of said support, and he takes the bait. One more shot from his weapons brings what has to be close to a ton of steel crashing down towards him. He brings his gauntlets to his chest, amplifying the protective barrier to try and save himself. As the power from them increases, however, I can see sparks begin to fly from the apparatus. I can see the field waver, and I wait for it to deactivate. When it does, I fire a webline into Schultz's chest and pull him to safety in the knick of time.

Once he's in my grasp, I pull off the gauntlets and snap them in half, "Oh no. I hate it when new Christmas toys break in one day."

"Damn you, Spider-Woman. You bit-"

I shut him up by covering his face in webbing. He'll be able to breath, but he won't be talking. Before I leave, I web him to the pile of fallen steel, and head home.

Thank god I don't have school tomorrow. I'm gonna sleep for like twenty hours.

“Good evening, do you have a reservation?”

“Heh, I wish. I’m just here to see someone.”

In reality, Zeke wanted nothing to do with the restaurant. He had heard stories from his father about the place; the food was mediocre, and the atmosphere was much too laid-back for his liking. Looking around, he could tell the latter statement was correct. Hell, the fact that the hostess was willing to let him in without a reservation had confirmed his dad’s claims.

He could see Stark from the waiting area. The man was chatting it up with who he could only assume was a new girlfriend. There was a single moment where he and Zeke made eye contact; Stark lingered, as if trying to remember the face, then went back to cutting away at his steak.

Zeke figured as much.

Pretending to be on his phone, he perked up as he noticed the hostess approaching him with Stark in tow. “Hope I’m not interrupting a well-deserved night out.”

“No, it’s nothing,” Stark replied. Zeke could see he was still struggling to identify him. Had he remembered him after all? Perhaps he’d had a bigger presence in Stark’s life than he recalled. “Sorry, you just look so familiar. Have we met before?”

“Not formally,” Zeke said, offering him a hand.

“Ezekiel Stane. You worked with my father, Obadiah.”

____________________________________

“What about Osborn? You’ve met with him several times, maybe we could convince him-“

“Forget it, Zeke,” Obadiah said, before being wracked with another coughing fit. “We’ve exhausted all our resources, not that we had many to begin with.”

“So, what? That’s it? You’re just going to lay there and die?”

He shrugged. “Not much else I can do.”

The young man clenched his fists and eyes shut, taking in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. “That’s not like you. All my life you’ve told me there’s always a solution to be found; you just have to keep looking.”

“Not everything has a solution, son,” Obadiah replied, voice hoarse from his early coughing. “I’m going to die, plain and simple. Whether or not it’s because of Stark doesn’t matter at this point. What’s done is done. I have regrets, and I’m sure he does as well, but as much as we both wish we can go back and fix things and have a happily ever after, it’s not going to happen. This,” he said as he gestured to the bed, surrounded by medical equipment, “is the closest thing to a happily ever after I’ll get.”

He watched as Zeke slumped down into his chair. How heartbreaking it must have been; watching a man who preached about never giving up basically turning right around and doing exactly that.

Or so it seemed.

“But Zeke…”

Zeke raised his head, eyes locked on his father as the old man carefully shifted into a sitting position.

“While death may not have a solution, our problem with Stark absolutely does.”

“If I don’t get my happily ever after, then why should he?”

____________________________________

Tony nodded solemnly. “When did he die?”

Zeke hesitated. “Last week. He went peacefully, thank God.” His head drooped.

Tony put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “That’s all you can hope for, isn’t it?” He gave Zeke a smile, and Zeke eventually returned it. “I wish we could’ve patched things up between us. Looking back, our disagreements were pretty miniscule.”

Zeke nodded. “Yeah, he told me he had some regrets as well. But what’s done is done. All we can do now is focus on the future.”

Tony couldn’t help but chuckle. “You know, he said that exact thing to me when my parents passed away. I guess he lives on in you. In all seriousness, if there’s any thing you need help with, arrangements and the like, don’t be afraid to ask."

Zeke smiled. “I’ll let you know.”

____________________________________

Ever since his father’s passing, Zeke made sure to keep the lab clean. He and Obadiah always did the cleaning themselves; they could never trust any sort of help whatsoever with such…precious work. It also saved them money, which was great, as they needed a lot of it to fund their latest project.

The fluorescent lights flipped to life, row by row until the hulking mass of metal was lit. It was by far the longest project Zeke and his father had worked on. Several weeks of combing the desert for the parts and restoring them, on top of months spent reverse engineering the technology. It was all worth it, though. Soon, he’d have the final piece, and he could begin phase two. Stark Industries would be destroyed, Tony himself would be eliminated, and Zeke would build a bigger, more powerful company from the rubble to carry out the mission his father died trying to prepare for.

He’d become the thing Tony Stark didn’t have the balls to be.

A warmonger.

Seymour, Indiana

In the small motel room that passed for Rachna Koul’s temporary Seymour residence, Johnny Storm was observing the pieces of evidence the scientist had brought with her to Indiana. There were journals, almost half a dozen of them, and folders full of pictures. It was almost too much for Johnny to take in. His blue eyes ran over the words, daubed in a handwriting that felt faintly familiar to him, trying his best to hear his father’s voice in his head. Every now and then he would have to remind himself that the words weren’t coming from the mouth of his Franklin Storm, of his father, but in the moment it didn’t seem to matter at all.

There was no smoking gun amongst all it all but it was clear that foul play had taken place. SHIELD were keeping tabs on Franklin. The man was a genius, maybe the second most intelligent man on Earth, so if he felt the net closing in around him, chances are that he wasn’t making it up. The pictures of unmarked cars following his every move, the financial irregularities, the autopsy notes that had been tampered with.

Koul seemed to sense that Johnny Storm’s mind was opening to the possibility that SHIELD had murdered Franklin. “Do you believe me now?”

“Holy shit,” Johnny whispered as he inspected one of Franklin Storm’s journals. “You weren’t making it up. SHIELD were up to something.”

“I don’t know that something quite does it justice, Johnny," Koul murmured as she produced the most recent journal. "These journals arrived at my parent’s home last week. In all my years at the Baxter Building, Franklin never even met my parents. I don’t know when he sent them but if he did, it was because he wanted me to know what was going on. The last entry is from the morning Franklin apparently committed suicide.”

Johnny saw Koul’s lip quiver somewhat as she flicked through the journal's pages. The scientist tried several times to read from it and each time her voice died in her throat. Johnny had been so busy thinking about his own strange non-familial relationship with this world’s Franklin Storm that he’d forgotten that he’d been like a father to Koul. He could only imagine how traumatic all of this must be for the scientist.

“SHIELD are watching me. I know that. I feel their eyes on me. Nowhere I go is safe. Not even my own home is safe. It is not enough that they have taken my children from me. Now they are intent upon ending my life. If you are reading this, they have succeeded. Be careful, Rachna. They will come for you and Victor too eventually. They will come for all of us. Be careful.”

It didn’t make for pretty reading – or listening. Johnny gritted his teeth through it. It was either the paranoid ramblings of a delusional man still reeling from the death of his children or a desperate cry for help from beyond the grave. Perhaps it was both. Johnny didn’t know what to think. Coupled with the other coincidences scattered through the documents, it was hard to deny the weight of evidence staring him in the face. Yet the mention of one name amongst the passage Koul recited seemed to pique his interest more than the rest.

“Victor?” Johnny said with a suspicious look. “As in Victor von Doom?”

Koul nodded. “Yes, Victor von Doom. He studied alongside us at the Baxter Building. A brilliant scientist – though he seems to have traded it all in of late and become something of a leftist firebrand in Latveria. Not that I’m surprised. There always was a crusading zeal about him.”

“And you’re sure that there’s not some way that maybe Doom was involved? Not to completely disregard old Franklin’s words there but Doom being behind this all seems to make a lot more sense than Nick Fury holding the smoking gun.”

“What?” Koul sighed as the scientist's face seemed to crumple with displeasure. “No, Victor would never do that. He and Reed were like best friends. They worshiped the ground that Franklin walked on. There was no way he would ever turn on him. Loyalty was kind of Victor's brand.”

To see the way that Rachna had leapt to Doom’s defense was to think that Johnny had insulted Mother Teresa or Mahatma Gandhi. Koul seemed so offended by the prospect of Victor turning on them that Johnny was reminded just how difference this world was from his own. The Fantastic Four could barely sneeze without stumbling into some deathtrap set for them by the iron-masked Latverian. In this world though, Victor was anything but a villain. Though he hated to admit it, having read up of Doom some more since leaving Latveria, Johnny might have admired him – if he’d not had a lifetime of experience that told him that anything and everything connected to Victor von Doom was evil.

The pointedness in his response seemed almost reluctant. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that old Doom turned heel on us out of nowhere.”

“What am I meant to do? Pretend that I don’t know all of this? I work for SHIELD. I’ve built a career within the organisation that murdered a man who meant everything to me. Am I supposed to walk away from this and act like it didn’t happen? It doesn’t feel right. Franklin sent me this because he wanted the world to know what SHIELD had done to him – because he wanted justice.”

“Or maybe,” Johnny began quietly. “He sent it to you because he wanted to protect you, Rachna. Maybe he wanted you to get out whilst you still could. I mean, it’s right there and black and white, isn’t it? ‘Be careful’ – I really don’t think he wants you to go all Snowden on this one.”

Johnny watched as tears welled in Rachna’s eyes. He wanted to cross the motel room and reassure her that everything was going to be alright, but he couldn’t do that anymore. He wasn’t sure that things were going to be alright. His world were gone, the Fantastic Four had disbanded and one of these days Darkseid was going to arrive looking for retribution for what Thor had done to his herald. The days of distributing hugs and comforting words were gone. Instead he watched whilst Koul’s tears wet the pages of Franklin’s journal.

“What would you do?” Rachna asked as her bloodshot eyes fixed on Johnny Storm. “Tell me what I’m meant to do with this information.”

“Look, I don’t know if I’m the right person to be asking this kind of thing. I’m not exactly famous for my self-restr-”

Koul lobbed the journal across the room. It smacked into Johnny’s chest and then fell to the ground in front of him. “What would you do?!”

“Is that what you want, Rachna? You want me to give you permission to not give a damn?” Johnny shouted. “Or maybe you want me to tell you that it’s alright for you to throw your life away after a man that’s been dead for two years. That it’s worth risking having whoever murdered him coming after you just so you can have a clear conscience?”

There was no answer from the scientist. Johnny suddenly raising his voice had shocked her into silence. There was fear in her eyes. Johnny felt a pang of guilt hit him as he realised he’d managed to terrify the woman that had travelled halfway across the country to confide in him. If Sue were here, she’d never let Johnny hear the end of it.

“I’m sorry,” Storm whispered as he knelt down to pick up the journal. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

Koul shook her head and a weak, waifish voice escaped from her mouth. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have come here. You left New York to get away from all of this, it was wrong of me to try to drag you back into it. I understand that now. I understood it before too but I guess I just ignored it.”

Johnny handed Koul the journal. As she clasped it with her prosthetic hand, Johnny’s hand remained glued to it. He looked at her shattered features and realised too late that the tears in her eyes were far from the first she had cried this week. That only served to intensify his guilt.

“I mean,” Koul sniffled feebly. “I don’t know why I expected you to care, really, he wasn’t your father after all, and he definitely wasn't mine.”

It was true. It wasn’t his Franklin Storm. But then, even Johnny’s Franklin hadn’t quite been his. He’d died when Johnny was so young that he could barely remember him. For all intents and purposes, Sue had been both his mother and father growing up. Yet stood there staring into Rachna’s teary eyes, Johnny felt the pull of responsibility across time and space – as if the Johnny of this world was imploring him to act. He tugged the journal out of Koul’s hand and waved it in front of his face.

“You want to know what I’d do? I’d keep pulling on these threads until the whole damn thing unravelled. SHIELD? Fury? The government? I’d take them all on – and more – if it meant finding out what happened to the person I loved. And that’s what we’re going to do.”

The scientist’s teary eyes beamed with joy as she heard the words leave Johnny’s mouth. “You’re serious? You’ll really help me?”

“I’m serious,” Johnny nodded. “Though if you ever refer to anything other than base villainy as being Victor Von Doom’s brand again, you and I are going to have a major problem. Do we have a deal?”

A confused expression appeared on Koul’s face but she shook Johnny’s hand all the same. The pair of them made their way to Rachna’s bed where all of the evidence was piled and began to sort through it. Johnny tried his best to lay it out in a way that was sequential. Even once it had all been assembled, there wasn’t nearly enough to get either of them the answers they wanted.

“It’s not going to be enough,” Koul sighed as she inspected it all. “If we want to find out what really happened, we’re going to need people that can substantiate Franklin’s accusations – put some real flesh on the bones of all of this conjecture.”

One of Johnny’s eyebrows cocked at the talk of witnesses. “That doesn’t make any sense. I mean, if there were witnesses, we’d know about it already – or SHIELD would have got to them too. Who could possibly know more about this situation than we do? We’ve got Franklin’s entire back catalogue right here in front of us.”

It was clear that Rachna had the answer to Johnny’s question. Clearer still from her face was that she knew that Johnny wouldn’t like it. He couldn’t bring himself to ask for the name on the tip of her tongue, but eventually the scientist sighed and let her head fall into her hands.

When she spoke from the edge of the motel bed, Johnny’s fears were all but confirmed. “We’re going to have to speak to Hector Hammond.”

Shi Hao Xia Savings and Trust
Chinatown, Metropolis
Two Months Ago

"All right, everybody down!" shouted a gravely voice, coming from a man decked from head to toe in hi-tech armor. "This place is now officially under the gun of the one an' only Barrage! You don't try anything stupid, and I don't blast any of you to dust!"

As the panic-stricken crowd cowered before him, the armored man sneered, brandishing the massive cannon slung under his right arm.

"Well, maybe I don't blast most of you, anyway," he said. "Depends on my mood."

A green-uniformed security guard began to approach him from behind, drawing a taser from his back pocket. Before he could reach him, however, Barrage wheeled around, smashing the man across the jaw with the barrel of his cannon. With a sickening crack and a spray of blood, the guard crumpled to the ground, a loose tooth clattering across the tiled floor.

"Ohhhh, man," said Jimmy Olsen, peeking out from behind a teller's desk a few yards away, snapping photos of the armored criminal, "this is really bad."

"You're telling me," Lois Lane said as she fumbled through her purse for her voice recorder. "This is the third place Barrage has hit in the past five days. There's no way a loser like this should be able to operate in Metropolis without Superman shutting him down in a hurry."

"No kidding," said Jimmy, his timbre beginning to shake nervously. "Where the heck is the big guy, anyway?"

Lois sighed, her own worry plain as day across her face.

Clark had been staying over at her apartment when, in the small hours of the morning, he had gotten out of bed to 'check on something.' He hadn't been back since.

She'd gotten used to him vanishing in a split-second to go tend to some emergency on the other end of the world, but he was usually back within a few minutes, an hour or two at the most.

This time, however, nobody had seen or heard from Superman in five days.

She knew danger came with the job, but this was Clark, a man who could shrug off death rays and bunker-busters like they were nothing. This was a man who was caught in a nuclear blast, and was back on his feet an hour later.

What the hell could have happened to him?

"Wish I could tell you," she answered, not wanting to see what the thug with the cannon was about to do next.

Sure enough, Barrage turned his gun on the downed security guard, the barrel beginning to glow a bright blue.

"Looks like you people need an example," he said, sporting an eager grin as he charged his weapon. "This is what happens when you fu--"



The interior of the Shi Hao Xia Savings and Trust Bank erupted into a storm of flying papers and upended furniture as a gale-force wind blasted through the room. A blur of blue and red, mixing together into a violet comet, surrounded Barrage for a moment, the sound of crunching metal and electrical sparks emerging from inside the blur.

Jimmy peered out from behind his cover, and as the chaos cleared, he was able to snap a photo of Barrage, now unarmed and stripped of most of his suit, held by the scruff of his neck by a familiar figure.



"That's enough of that....Barrage, was it?" said Superman, his old T-shirt and jeans replaced with a sleek blue uniform. "You're not hurting anyone else today."

"What the--"

"Superman!" Lois exclaimed, jumping out from behind the desk to approach the Man of Steel. Frankly, she wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss him or slap him across the mouth. "Where the hell have you been?!"

Caught off-guard somewhat by the question, Superman gaped for a moment.

"I, erm, I think I should finish dealing with this guy first before going into that," he said, embarrassed.

"Oh, he's easy," Lois scoffed. "Philip Karnowsky, a career criminal who's been working as a hold-up man for various syndicates for a few years now. This whole 'Barrage' routine is new, though. He hit the Shen Li Po Gardens five days ago, killed twelve and injured another thirty or so. Then two days ago he leveled Shen Lo's Electronics, killed five and injured six. This is his third job this week."

"This isn't a 'job,' lady, this is a war!" Karnowsky snarled, struggling in vain against Superman's grip. "I'm a one-man army, an' this isn't--"

"Oh, and that 'one-man army' bit?" Lois continued, "You really shouldn't have been so obvious with your targets. All three of the places you hit are owned by the Sheeda Triads. That's why I knew to be here today. The Sheedas are the biggest rival to Intergang in the city. So while you're pretending to be some independent lone-wolf lunatic, it's blatantly obvious you're really working for Bruno Mannheim, aren't you?"

"That would explain where he got his gear!" Jimmy said, snapping pictures of the apprehended killer. "Everyone's saying that Mannheim's been dealing with experimental super-weapons, trying to find the firepower to take on metahumans like....well, like you. Barrage is--...was packing a one-of-a-kind particle projector cannon, one that STAR Labs was saying could have flattened a city block if he went all-out with it!"

"A particle cannon, eh?" Superman said, looking at Karnowsky with a raised eyebrow. "That might have actually hurt if you had the chance to hit me with it."

"Y-you....you p-piece of--....." Karnowsky stammered before shouting out. "I'LL KILL YOU!"

"No you won't," Superman responded, not even the least bit phased by the criminal's threat.

"Anyway, now that he's taken care of," Lois cut back in, whipping out her voice recorder, "Let's get to the important question: where have you been for the past five days? How come this moron was able to get away with killing seventeen people while you were gone?"

The tone of her voice made it perfectly clear to the Man of Steel that this wasn't Lois Lane, his lover and closest personal confidant, asking questions for her own sake. This was Lois Lane, the hard-nosed reporter, asking questions to a powerful man who needed to be held accountable.

"It's.....it's kind of a long story," he answered sheepishly. "One that I don't necessarily want to just shout out in public."

Lois, not happy with having to wait but knowing she wasn't going to get her answers just yet, gave Superman a nonplussed look, then put her voice recorder away.

"Rooftop, one hour," she said, determined to do this on her terms. "Make sure they put this guy away, then I want something I can use."

---

Rooftop of the Daily Planet
One Hour Later

"......I can't use any of this," Lois said, throwing up her hands in frustration.

"Sorry, but it's the truth," Clark shrugged, an apologetic look on his face.

"True or not, if I run this, Perry's going to kick me out in the street, if he doesn't have me sent to the looney bin," she said, pacing back and forth. "I mean, Superman disappears for five days, comes back with a new suit-- which, off the record, does a phenomenal job of showing off your pecs-- and when asked where he's been, what do I tell everyone? That you were exploring an abandoned alien colony at the North Pole? That you were nearly trapped forever in some kind of black-hole dimension by your robot butler? That your new suit is based on an ancient extraterrestrial version of the Knights of the Round Table, made for you by your birth-parents' ghosts?"

"I know it sounds crazy--"

"It sounds certifiably insane, Smallville," Lois cut him off. "And for all I can prove, you might have just made it all up."

"Come on, Lois, you know me," Clark pleaded.

"That's right," Lois nodded. "I know you. I believe you. I trust you. You tell me that you've spent the past five days clearing out some mysterious Fortress of Solitude, and I'll stand by you."

"'Fortress of Solitude,' heh," he chuckled. "I'm using that."

"But that's not the point," Lois said. "Even if I'm able to convince Perry to let me run that story, how do you think the public is going to react-- let alone people like Luthor or Godfrey-- when they hear that not only is Superman from another planet, but he's got a secret hideout full of crazy alien technology? How long before half the world's governments are banging on the door demanding you share Kryptonian secrets with them? Or before some nutjob finds a way in to get their hands on a doomsday device? Hell, how many obsessive Super-stalkers are going to end up freezing to death in the Arctic Circle hoping to find your secret getaway and sneak a picture of you naked in the shower or something?"

"I don't know," Clark admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I don't want to just hide it away and act like it's not there, but I don't know what's in it. I still need to make sure if it's safe for Ea--....for people to explore. If the things in the Fortress can actually be used for humanity's benefit, or if there's a risk of accidentally releasing something that might hurt people. Then, I can start letting in people I trust. Until then, I don't know.....maybe we just sit on the story?"

Lois rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to suppress a stress headache.

"You've really put me in a tricky situation here, Smallville," she said. "People died while you were gone, and they need to know why you weren't there. I'm not going to write a lie, but there's no way they'll believe the truth. And if I just sit on it, well....that's another one added to the great big pile of Clark Kent's secrets I've been building at the expense of my journalistic integrity. It's getting pretty damn difficult for you to be you, for me to be me, and for us to be, well...us."

"...are you saying we shouldn't be...us?" Clark asked.

Lois paused for a moment as she thought it over, then shook her head.

"No, no way in hell," she said, her conviction returning. "We'll make it work. You do a thousand things every day that are just plain impossible. I think I can deal with 'difficult.' Besides, I remember how mopey and moody you were when you were trying to go it alone; no way I'm letting you go all navel-gazing again."

A wave of relief washed over Clark, and he gave a smile that could light up Glennmorgan Square.

"Good, that's....great actually," he said. "I, erm, I still need to tell Mom about everything, but once I get back, I'll cook dinner tonight. Sound good?"

"You'd better, you owe me after running off like that," Lois said, putting her arms around him. "And hey, whatever questions about yourself, or your home, or whatever else might be bugging you, you don't have to go looking for that by yourself, okay? Whatever happens, you and me? We're in this together. Got it?"

"Got it," Clark smiled, as Lois's hand cradled the back of his head to pull him close for a long, deep kiss.

All of their individual worries, all of their doubts and concerns and fears for the future, all fell away as they embraced. None of it mattered compared to this.

Clark Kent, Kal-El of Krypton, may have been the last of his kind.....

.....but come what may, he was not alone.

---

The Danvers Farm
Outskirts of Midvale, Delaware
02:42am

The night was quiet and still, the air of late fall just cold enough to turn the dew into a thin layer of frost that would be thawed by sunrise. A few clouds drifted lazily through the deep inky black sky, glittering with stars that, just a short drive away in Metropolis, would be drowned out by the lights of the city itself. For nearly a mile in all directions, the only creature stirring was a rabbit that had gotten through the fence and was gnawing on a head of lettuce.

The Danvers Farm was well known to the people of Midvale, but somewhere they rarely visited. Devoutly Amish until the last generation or so, the very large family was known for having the best pumpkins in the tri-county area, as well as the worst social skills. This of course led to all sorts of unsavory rumors circulating about them, but in truth they mostly just kept to themselves and had trouble keeping up with the rest of the world. Fred Danvers, his wife Edna, and the immense network of brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins who lived on the farm or in the surrounding country were well-meaning people who were all too happy to welcome guests and visitors, but couldn't get their heads around using a smartphone, let alone adjust to a world populated by superhumans, and would just as well not be bothered by it.

The cold night air began to stir, at first a gentle breeze, slowly growing into a powerful whirlwind. The rush of air grew stronger and louder, rumbling like a freight train before a bright flash of lightning and a thunderclap that might have woken the dead sent the confused rabbit in the field scampering away into the night. At the heart of the whirlwind, flashes of white and deep black flickered in and out of existence, barely perceptible sparks at first, before they began to take shape.

As the wind grew to the strength of a tornado, tearing up the ground near the heart of the whirlwind, the flashing white and black formed a swirling sphere, a three-dimensional hole in space that began to suck in air and dirt and anything else caught in its pull. Just as the storm grew to its most violent, the white and black lights gave way, and suddenly the air being pulled towards it was pushed away, the sound like a bomb going off.

Where the hole in space had been, there was now a shining silver pod, about six feet in diameter, polished to a mirror shine.

The lights in the Danvers farmhouse had come on, and a lanky, middle-aged man, still wearing his pajamas and bed robe but carrying a double-barreled shotgun, wandered out of the house to approach the silver sphere that had appeared out of nowhere.

"Is everything okay, Fred?" a voice called from back inside the house.

"Stay inside, honey," Fred Danvers called back to his wife. "I, er, I don't rightly know what I'm lookin' at here. Keep the kids inside until I say it's--"

Suddenly, a line of golden light appeared to split the silver pod down the middle. Nervously, Fred held his shotgun up, not sure if he was being visited by an angel, a devil, little green men from Mars, or some elaborate prank. The pod opened, bathing Fred with light so bright he had to look away.

came a voice from inside the pod.

"Y-you stay back now, y'hear?" Fred stammered, the gun rattling in his trembling hands. "I-I- don't wanna h-have to h-h-hurt you, but y-you need t-to--"

Before he could realize what was happening, a smaller silver orb emerged from the larger one, and began to circle around him. Fred could feel a tingling inside of his head, like something was poking around inside his brain.

On instinct, he raised his gun to fire, but a hand reached out from the golden light and, with one finger, turned the gun aside.

"I'll ask again," said the voice, belonging to a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair. "Where am I......and where is Kal-El?"

| CAMELOT
| _{Sub-Roman Britain | The Year of Our Lord 535}

The banners were streaming from atop the parapets.

The sounds of minstrels and the singing of bards punctuated the celebrations on this, the Feast of Stephen. The courtyards and markets brought alive by the tourney that had sprung up around the castle walls to celebrate the hallowed festival of the martyred saint.

The sound of dense wood smacking against wood beat the rhythm of the war drums of child's play. A small gathering of knights and squires surrounding where a pair of boy's sparred in the round. Of the audience, they were the legends. Gods of war in this era and every era since. Sir Galahad, the Knight of the Grail. Jason of Normandy, the Knight of the Blood. Sir Gawain, the Maiden's Knight, greatest of the Knights of the Round Table.

The larger of the boys was Anduin, squire to Sir Jason. His tunic was overlaid in a short coat that was a field embroidered with the likeness of a gold lion - the colors of his knight.

His opponent was a child of two worlds. His Welsh heritage bespoken of by the blue eyes that cast a likeness to the king himself. His tunic shifted about his body, cinched at the waist by a double-wrapped Celtic belt. His feet pressing into the moist earth, clad in a pair of caligae that - like his tunic - were largely unchanged from the days when Roman soldiers had marched upon Hadrian's Wall. A time which, for them, was but a few decades earlier. His tabard was two-toned, sewed together of equal parts of white and red.

The colors of the Silent Knight.

Anduin started forward. His size making him like a Goliath moving upon David and fueling an overhead swing that threatened to overpower the smaller page. But the Welsh bastard was fleet-footed, his movements like that of a dancer as he stepped off t the side. His wooden sword angled back as he brought it up in a watershed block that pushed Anduin's blunted blade aside.

It created an opening, into which he neatly stepped through. His wooden sword brought around and then forward, an overhead strike as he pressed the advantage. The attack drove the larger boy back, his desperate leap robbing him of balance as he careened into the audience behind him, stumbling and falling arse-over-backwards. The sight of which sparked the men to laughter.

Still clutching at his wooden sword, the Welsh page had watched the scene transpire with a kind of detachment. His throat warm as he sucked in breath, felt his heart racing inside his chest.

A hand reached out, grabbing his wrist and pulling his sword arm up into the air. As the boy's gaze turned upward, he saw his knight smiling over him as the man raised the boy's arm in a triumph that signaled the end of the match. There was a small smattering of applause, while a others helped Anduin back to his feet.

For his part, the Welsh page was confused. This was his first time taking part in a tourney such as this. Or even seeing such a thing as the Feast of Stephen on the lawn of Camelot.

The confused only deepened as he felt himself seized and lifted up, then spun around. Tankards of mead were raised, as the knights began belting aloud a song of Caedmon. Hugging onto his knight, the page saw the world turn. A merry go round of revelry and good cheer. The minstrel's ballad inciting people to dance.

Shifted around, he found himself feeling somewhat weightless as he went upward. He settled a moment later on the shoulders of the Silent Knight. A man who stood there, wordlessly, as he expressed his gratitude in a language without words for a tankard of mead.

Stood there.

The two of them.

In the shadow of Camelot. From atop the man's shoulder's, the boy looked up and saw the Kent banner flying beside all of the banners. Not least of all the standard of Pendragon.

His mother told him that he would be a king.

To be honest, there was nothing more he wanted so much as to exist in moments like this one. Sir Galahad speaking to Sir Jason. Sir Gawain regaling the maidens fair with stories that were both adventurous and bold. And the Silent Knight, a voiceful member of the company even without uttering a single word.

Maybe he should want to be a king. But to be a knight... to be a knight of the round table... that seemed a far more magnificent thing to him.


| NORTH AMERICA
| _{Rutland, Vermont | Present Day}

He stepped across the threshold.

A single step.

The moment that his heel connected with the dry, rotted board on the rustic front porch he knew that he had arrived. He felt some of the magic fade away, as the familiar bitterness of reality nipped at his senses.

Tears were streaming down either side of his face. Once, many centuries ago, he had been willing to die to avenge the death of his patron knight -- a better man than any he knew. Now, taking his first step into the realm of the living, Mordred faced life in a world without the Silent Knight.

Even if no one knew that name, even if no one sang of his deeds, to Mordred he was a greater knight of the round table than Arthur could have ever hoped to be. The boy knew no other father, and no better friend. That Mordred was here and Sir Brian was not, it was a thought that was instantly lonely for him.

He continued another step. The caligea wrapped around his foot and ankle pressing down on creaking planks, until the youth had passed from out of the door, across the porch, and down the steps. When his feet touched down on the ground, the boy stopped to look behind him.

It seemed an abandoned house. The front door lay off its hinges, the inside gutted and warped with exposure to the humid air. Not at all what it seemed on the other side of the open door.

Holding his head back, the child felt the breeze blowing through his dark hair. The caress of the sun on his face dried his tears, the warmth of cold world. A place he was born and condemned for it. Because of who people said that his father was. A man that Mordred knew only from afar.

Stretching out his arms, the boy braced himself for a moment. An intricate series of movements occupied his fingers, as the child uttered something in ancient Gaelic. "Benthyg dros amser..."

The breeze picked up, leaves swirling around where the young sorcerer's apprentice uttered aloud the will and word. "...byr yw popeth..." he continued, centering himself as he tried to understand how the energies moved in this reality. It was quite different than in the Dreaming.

The magic flowed so seamless there, so effortlessly. Here, he could feel the resistance. "...a geir yn y byd hwn," the boy said, the last syllable slipping from his lips as his eyes seemed to radiate with a luminous energy as the incantation was completed.

The breeze passed him by, as the boy's form was transfigured amid the swirling leaves. In place of the tunic and tabard, the boy was dressed in a pair of jeans. A white, A-frame shirt was dressed with a red hoodie that had white accents.

Holding up two fingers and his thumb, the boy used his other hand to make a circular motion. There was a spark in the air, as a teleportation circle opened a portal in front of him.

As his arms dropped by his side, the boy crossed through the portal, as the path closed behind him.

It was a timeless piece of knowledge as old as civilization. Everything in this world that one might possess was merely borrowed for a short time.

A man's life.

A wizard's magic.

---

---

---

---

If Weather Wizard was feeling nostalgic after getting out of prison, then he was just going to love the reunion she had planned.

Iris ran against the winds, as she reached the edge of the storm the air became cool. She could feel the wind fighting against her, trying to push her back. Rain began to fall, splashing off ground as it struck the harsh surface of the badlands. She ran straight at Weather Wizard, intending to take him out before he even noticed she was there however as she started to get close Iris noticed that he raised a hand to the side and a massive gust of wind hit her right side. She went tumbling away, feeling as if she had just been hit by a car. Rolling with the wind she came into a crouch looking right at Mardon.

“Give up now Mardon. I’ve already beaten you once before, don’t make this worse than it has to be.”

Pushing herself onto her feet as there was a clap of thunder she charged Mardon, a bolt of lightning striking the ground behind her. She felt the surge of power as the electricity dissipated into the ground.

---

Snart crouched behind the seat, pushing his feet against the seat behind him. Bracing himself as the bus shook from the impact, he nodded over at Mick who stood up suddenly, running down between the rows of seats and out of the door. He could hear the sound of flame being thrown from the modified flamethrower Heatwave used. Standing up himself, Leonard Snart walked down between the rows of seats. Stopping to pat their driver on the shoulder. “Good job, Overdrive.”

The kid looked up at him, through that emotionless helmet and nodded. “I’ve done my part.”

“Now we’ll do ours, five minutes. Keep the engine running.” The sounds of alarms could be heard by this point, he looked down at the watch that sat on his wrist. By all estimates based on her takedown of Mota, takedown of Heatwave while he was enhanced by the Silver Surfer and her subsequent injured travel time to New York they had approximately ten minutes where it would take her to beat and subdue Weather Wizard, learn about their current operation and then arrive in time to stop it. Five minutes gave them a safety net, should Mardon fail to hold her for a full ten minutes. Besides, the job shouldn’t take too long anyway.

---

Iris jumped into the air to try and grab Mardon, she had initially moved in for a punch but the wind had picked up behind him and raised him into the air. Obviously since the last time that Iris had thrown him in jail he had decided to go out and learn some new tricks. Jumping into the air she could see the smirk on his face as she was obviously going to fall short. Arms at her sides she spun them, casting herself into the air after him.

The two collided in a mess of limbs as he knocked her off course, the two falling onto the dirt. Rolling to the side as she heard a particularly nasty gust of wind coming towards her she winced as he back was hit by a shower of hail. It felt like getting hit by thousands of BB Pellets. Iris pushed herself back onto her feet and focused on the vibrations within her body. The pellets dropping straight through her without hurting her. Iris smiled as she looked at Mardon. “You’re not the only one that’s learned new tricks Mardon.”

---

---

???

Everything was black.

It had been so dark in the warehouse that Jaime couldn't see his hand in front of his face, but this...this was different. He could feel this darkness. It weighed heavy on his shoulders like an invisible thumb pressing against his back, moments away from squashing him like the insect he was. The shadows around him were thick enough that he felt slow pushing through them; it took considerable effort just to blink.

"Where the hell am I?" He muttered, his breath ragged. He was growing tired just trying to remain standing.

"That's a good word for it." Another voice echoed through the dark, bouncing around on the streams of shadow like the bang of a gunshot echoing through a canyon. Jaime couldn't tell where it was coming from; like it was sounding from everywhere yet nowhere all at once.

Something sharp pressed into the small of his back, slashing through layers of chitin and living metal until it kissed his flesh and drew a drop of blood. Jaime spun around, swinging his arm like a baseball bat to strike at whatever had stabbed him, but his arm found nothing but empty, noxious air.

"Hell." The sharpness slipped along Reyes's cheek as the voice called out in a taunting tone, dragging the unseen blade down his jawline, retreating a moment before the Blue Beetle could land a counter blow of his own.

Reyes felt heat rising in his cheeks. "Sorry, but I've met the devil and he is so much more intimidating than you." He held his hands up in front of his chest, listening carefully for even the slightest sound around him. The blaring static from his malfunctioning helmet made that quite difficult. Jaime waited, keeping perfectly still right up until he felt another strike land on his back. It tore through his armor with disturbing ease, taking another long chunk from his back and sending a spray of blood through the blackness.

He was struggling to keep it together. Every cut and stab caused him immense pain. Khaji Da had gone silent save for the obnoxious ringing in his ear, and the armor was doing next to nothing to protect him. Reyes felt exposed. And he felt alone.

"You're not like the other one." The shadows hissed again, menace and rage laced into every reverberating word. "Barely putting up a fight!"

'Other one?' Jaime furrowed his brow, his mind racing with questions even as he felt another agonizing slash race across his chest. He buried his concerns and swallowed his panic. He couldn't die here. Not after everything else he'd gone through. If the Silver Surfer couldn't kill Jaime Reyes then this two-bit phantom didn't stand a chance. He counted out the seconds in his head, his body turned slightly and his elbow locked in preparation. 'One. Two. Three-' Then he let it loose like a rocket, flinging it back just as he felt the knife touch his back. The elbow struck true against something solid. Something that audibly cried out at the contact.

"Ha!" Jaime celebrated, spinning around to throw another wide punch in the hopes of following up on his success. It went wide, but it did little to impede his reinforced morale. "Knew you weren't a fuckin' ghost!" It was a person- maybe a metahuman. If he could hit them, and if he could hurt them, that meant he could win.

His celebration was cut short when he felt a weight land on his back, forcing Jaime to stumble forward and nearly fall. Limbs wrapped around his waist and another around his throat. A moment later he felt something impale through his shoulder, slicing up muscle and sinew with ruthless efficiency. "DIE YOU BASTARD!" The shadow roared right in Reyes's ear as it pulled out the knife and plunged it right back in a few inches to the left. "Won't- won't let you hurt me again-"

Reyes took hold of the arm around his throat, squeezing down on it with all of his strength. Even if the armor wasn't doing much to protect him it still offered him the overwhelming physical prowess needed to snap bone between his fingers. The shadow let out a pained, almost pathetic yelp as Jaime broke its wrist and dragged it from his back. He threw it to the floor, an audible CRACK! sounding as it made impact.

"You came at me!" Reyes snarled between panted breaths, holding steadfast to the broken arm to keep his attacker from scrambling away. He shuffled forward, his hand moving through the dark until he found something solid to take a hold of. Now he had...whoever it was pinned to the ground. All they could do was flail and thrash uselessly against the infinitely stronger Reyes. "Now who the hell are you?! Where'd you take me, and where'd my friends go?!" He demanded, ignoring the pain that stretched across his body.

The metahuman wasn't speaking anymore. All it gave were anguished whimpers as it continued to fling itself around in a desperate and useless bid to escape from Beetle.

"What 'other one' were you talking about? Another person-"

"Another MONSTER!" The shadow person screamed. Now that the fighting had stopped and Jaime was close enough to it to hear, the voice sounded feminine. And it sounded angry. And scared. "Let me go, damn it- LET ME FUCKING GO!"

Jaime felt his heart drop into his stomach. He'd been called a lot of things over the last few months. Criminal, terrorist, murderer- but that was a new one, and it hurt a great deal more than all the rest. Jaime loosed his grip, only holding on enough to ensure she couldn't slip away without causing the metahuman too much unnecessary pain. After a moment's hesitation, he willed his helmet to peel away, exposing his sweat-soaked face. His human face.

Struggling to keep his voice even, Reyes spoke as calmly and quietly as he could. "I don't want to hurt you." He promised. "I didn't come here to hurt you. I just wanna talk."

She stopped thrashing, though she still refused to speak. The static that once clogged his hearing left with the helmet. Now all he could hear was their shared ragged and pained breathing. Silence otherwise hung with the same weight as the darkness. Minutes passed before the other metahuman finally spoke, her throat raw and her voice ragged with pain. "The other one would've killed me by now." She muttered hoarsely. Again she went quiet, and again she waited a few moments before coming to a decision. "Okay. I...trust you."

Then Jaime felt the floor give out from underneath him.

He fell through the black, emerging to the blinding light of the moon and the stink of old fish in the air. He was back in Metropolis, standing over a woman perhaps only a few years his elder. Her dark flesh and curly, black locks were as slicked with sweat as his own, and her eyes were glazed over with pain and exhaustion. Reyes slipped his hands off of her only to slip them underneath her arms to keep the taller metahuman from falling over- it took a great deal of effort for Reyes not to collapse with the extra weight placed upon his torn and cut shoulders. "You really did a number on me, chica." He groaned, stumbling toward a nearby stack of crates that they could rest upon.

She just laughed, practically throwing herself at the first box they came upon. Despite the questionable quality of the wood, it looked like the most comfortable thing she'd ever sat on at the moment. "Expected more from you, to be honest." She rasped, a hint of an Indochinese accent peeking through.

"Hurtful." Reyes chortled. He took a second to catch his breath, casting his gaze around their lonely surroundings. Tall, abandoned warehouses stretched on for miles all around then. The one he, Paco and Brenda had entered was just on the other side of the street, yet there was no sign of their of his companions. "Where'd they go?" He asked, casting his gaze over toward the unnamed metahuman.

"...I don't know." She answered, a hint of fear in her voice. "I didn't take them with me. Just you."

Jaime was relatively sure she was telling the truth- which made him all the more worried. They should've been there. "Guys? GUYS?" He called out as loudly as he could, listening to the sound of his voice echo through the warehouse district. No reply came, save for the returning reverb of his own cry.

"GUYS?" He asked again, shoving himself off of his resting point. Jaime only made it a few feet forward before he tripped and stumbled, landing on his knees. "Where the hell did they go?" The only answer the night had for him was silence.

"So you're gonna go meet with weird karate guy?" Pete's eyebrows raise at me. I know he doesn't think it's a good idea. Hell, I don't know if I think it's a good idea or not. But after what happened Christmas night, I don't have much of a choice.

"You think it's a bad idea, huh?" I chuckle nervously.

"I mean...I don't think it's a great one," he shrugs. "Seems like a ready made trap. I mean he knew where to find you. He knew who you had fought the night before. He knew she got away. And then he gives you his card and tells you to come find him? Seems really shady, if I'm being honest."

"You're not telling me anything I don't already know," I admit. "But this city is becoming more dangerous. That's a fact. We've been lucky up until this point with staying ahead of the Goblins. The other night, I was lucky to come out with just the cuts I did. If the Goblins had managed to get backup there in time, or if I made one mistake, I may not be here right now. Not to mention having to fight Shocker after that. I can't keep skating by on luck."

"Shocker" is what the media has dubbed the bank robber Herman Schultz. They took the name of the gang he led and slapped it onto him, not realizing how kind of embarrassing calling a villain "The Shocker" is. Not that I feel bad for him, of course. I mean, come on. He's a criminal. But "The Shocker"? I mean...read the room, guys.

"Are you coming to Harry's New Years party?" he asks sheepishly, changing the subject since he clearly sees I've already made up my mind regarding the dragon guy. Not that the topic he decided to change to is one I want to talk about either.

MJ and I still haven't really talked since our fight. Christmas Eve made things worse, mostly. Pete says she's been livid ever since, and not a moment's gone by when she isn't railing about me. Pete says now he can't even hang out with her, it's gotten so bad. But he says one thing's for sure, she's hurt. And she knows I am. But our pride is getting in the way of fixing things.

"I don't know," I shrug. "I want to. But I also don't want to ruin the time for everyone else. Plus I really wasn't invited."

"I mean they gave me a plus one," he winces, realizing how it sounds. "They want you to come."

"Yea, that definitely makes me feel very wanted. Thanks, Pete."

"I mean, if you don't want to come, don't," he sounds defeated, and I feel like I'm probably be way too harsh about all of this. "But you two are going to have to make up eventually. And there's no way Harry is gonna be any less of a douche until the two of you are on the same page. And I don't want any of this to get any worse. But if we keep going on like this it will."

He's right. Of course he is.

"Okay. I'll be there. Well, as long as the weird karate guy doesn't take me out or something."

"That's not funny."

"I mean, it's a little funny."



I keep my suit's hood up around my head as I huddle against the biting cold outside of the Chinatown building that I've been directed to. It's nothing special from the outside. Just a normal, brick building with a faded out sign swinging in the window above the entrance. Emblazoned on the sign is the same red dragon on the business card he had given me the other night, now smeared with the dirt of years hanging in the New York air.

"So if you need help, I'll be out here in the car," Dad says from his car, parked in a lot across the street. He insisted on coming, so I couldn't say no. I know he has my best interest at heart. I'm not sure how he can help if this is just a big trap, but it still makes me feel good that he's here.

"Sounds good, Dad," I smile under the mask. "But I actually have a good feeling about this."

That feeling dissipates slightly as I swing over to the building and find the window closest to me slides open without a problem. The inside of the place is light softly, but is warm, and only some of the stuff is covered in dust. It's clear that the building is seldom used. But still, it's heated. So someone is here. But so far, I don't see any signs of an ambush, so at least I've got that going for me.

I head down a hallway, passing locked doors as I do. From downstairs, I can hear someone moving around. Guess my guy doesn't have a security system, because he doesn't seem to be panicking. I can hear him enter a room, and then stop.

Following the hallway to the steps, I follow them down, finding an old waiting room on the first floor. A single door leads to what I assume is the room he's waiting in. I approach it carefully, and push it open, waiting for my Spider Sense to go off at any moment.

Luckily, it doesn't.

On the other side of the door, I find a modest dojo, like something out of a kung fu movie. The soft, padded floor squishes lightly under my feet. The light is scares here, all of it coming from a single, ornate lantern hanging from the ceiling. The dim lighting is accented by the dark wood walls.

In the middle of the floor, sitting cross legged and meditating, is the guy from the other night. He barely seems to register my entrance. I can watch as his bare chest, scarred from past battle I assume, rises and falls rhythmically. His face, aged not only by time, sits serenely in place. He radiates experience, if nothing else.

"So you came," he says almost imperceptibly, almost causing me to jump in surprise. "I was beginning to wonder if you would."

"Yea, well," I rub my shoulder where the Goblin managed to hit me with the blades, "I guess I've realized how dangerous the city is getting. Some new neighbors are in town, and they're not very friendly."

"Not to mention your cat problem," he adds in. "Still haven't caught her, huh?"

I roll my eyes, "No. How do you know her?"

He looks up at me, smiles, and stands, "That's a story for another time. First I need to know if you're truly here to train, or if you're only here to make sure I'm not trying to kill you."

"I'm gonna be honest," I sigh, "it's a little from column A, and a little from column B."

"Well if I wanted you dead, you would be," he shrugs. "I saw you fight Felicia. She could have taken you if she wanted to."

"Oh really," I snarl. "Wait, you were watching me!?"

He sighs, "Yes. I was here looking for her. I had no idea what she had gotten wrapped up in. I watched because I was curious. We've all heard the stories. I wanted to see what the Spider-Woman could do on her own."

"Yea, that's not creepy at all," I shoot back at him.

"Maybe it is," he admits. "But I saw you have potential. If you can control your emotions, you could be a legend."

"Yea," I nod. "You gave me the Obi Wan talk on the roof. But why should I trust you? Training isn't a one time thing. We're going to be working together a lot. I need to know you have my back. I need to know why you have any interest in me."

"Because you have a heart, Spider-Woman. For too long I've trained people and watched them fall to their worst instincts. You've seen what's happening in this world. You've been in this fight," he waves, presenting a picture that's not there, but one that I can see in my mind. "You realize that the world is in danger. You're someone that can do something about it, and I can tell you're one that won't turn away when the going gets tough. I want to train you because I see what you can become, Spider-Woman. Do we have a deal?"

I consider what he says. It's almost exactly what I wanted to hear. It's what's been going through my thoughts whenever I consider training. I'm not prepared for everything that's come my way. If this is what it takes, I guess it's what I have to do.

"I'm in. When do we start?"

"We already have," he smiles. "My name is Richard Dragon. I have trained many before. I may train many after. But as long as you're training under me, you may call me sensei. Now, prepare yourself."

He charges at me, and I realize that I am definitely not going to get a lot of homework done when school starts back up.

Castle Doom, Latveria

The inaugural class of the Future Foundation stood in the throne room of Castle Doom with mouths agape. A mere six months ago the spacious hall had once been Lucia von Bardas’ inner sanctum but now served as a makeshift office for Latveria’s newly-elected president. Though Reed’s life had changed a great deal since the breakout at The Raft, life in Latveria had been relatively stable. Victor von Doom had seen to that. After two decades of suffering, the last thing the Latverian people needed was more of it. Once the nation’s former dictator had stood trial later that month, the process of healing could begin – though Doom had done anything but rest on his laurels in the interim. It was why Reed had chosen Latveria for the Foundation’s first field trip.

Richards stood with his arms gently crossed across his chest whilst Doom made his way up towards the large desk in the centre of the doom. The eyes of Reed’s students followed his every move. He had to admit that there even in this world there was a magnetic quality to the man. His well-tailored suit hung off his limbs freely and the deep green waistcoat complimented it perfectly. Once he’d climbed the steps to his desk, he lent against it in a carefree manner that was almost unbecoming of a head of state.

“Good afternoon to you all. My name is Victor von Doom. I am the president of the Democratic Republic of Latveria and I also happen to be a close personal friend of Professor Richards. When he informed me that he was starting the Future Foundation, I was ecstatic. There are few people on Earth that possess the kind of vision that Professor Richards has – and I knew that no one was better equipped to help craft the minds of the next generation.”

“Well, no one except President Doom but as the five of you may have noticed, he’s a little busy running an entire country at the moment.”

Victor shot Reed a grateful smile for the compliment.

“Latveria is currently undergoing one of the most rapid development programs in the history of our planet. Having liberated my country from oppression, retaken its wealth from foreign corporations, and finally put the natural resources of our bountiful countryside to use to ensure that all Latverians get a fair chance, my country stands transformed – and we have only just begun.”


With an easy click of his fingers, holographic images that illustrated Latveria’s progress under Doom appeared around the throne room. Reed’s students let out an impressed gasp at the fluidity of the holograms – and the achievements that they documented. The Thinker’s white eyes rested on a hologram of a young woman with a cleft lip. She had piercing green eyes and black hair that ran the length of her back. He reached out to touch it but hesitated at the last moment as the image was transformed. Her cleft lip was gone. In its place was a perfect smile.

“For this weekend, all of Latveria is open to you," Doom said with a welcoming smile. "You are free to go wherever you choose. The mountains, the hills, the rivers, they are yours to explore. I want my nation to become a global hub for cutting-edge science – and only by inviting talent like yours to experience Latveria, to see its transformation in person, can we ensure that the rest of the world isn’t left behind.”

There was a smattering of applause from the teenagers, led enthusiastically by Kamala Khan and very slowly joined by the others upon Reed’s insistence. Victor shot them a disarming smile and waved off the applause after a few seconds. He ceded the floor to Reed who looked as if he may have already been regretting accepting Victor’s invitation to bring the Future Foundation to Latveria so early into its lifetime.

“Of course, by “free to go wherever you choose”, President Doom means provided that the five of you stick together and don’t cause any major international incidents that result in the Future Foundation being closed down in disgrace.”

Victor nodded as a comradely show of support for Reed’s concerns. “Of course.”

The statement was met with muted silence from his five students. He’d become accustomed to that over the past week. Though he was only in his late twenties, the second Reed had self-identified as their “teacher” he had become an authority figure – and, perhaps outside of Kamala Khan, his students treated him as such. He was no longer “Reed” but “Professor Richards” and with that came a necessary distance. It also meant that Reed could no longer fool himself into thinking that he was young anymore.

Despite being close in age, there was something about Victor that was still boyish. He could tell from his student’s eyes that they didn’t consider Doom in the same way that they did Reed. Perhaps it was because his armed struggled in Latveria had been splashed across every newspaper in America for the past two years. Perhaps, though Reed hated to admit it, it was because he was simply cooler than he was.

As Doom approached his students, Reed directed him towards the Future Foundation’s first recruit. “Victor, this is Michael Holt.”

Doom extended his hand towards Holt. “Ah, yes. I understand that you’re a dab hand at making weapons, Mr Holt. In fact, I’ve been lead to believe that half of all the stick-up artists in America have you to thank for their equipment. That’s certainly some claim to fame.”

“Yeah, well, people change,” Holt said as he shook it reluctantly. “Once upon a time, you were just some nerd with a silver-spoon in your mouth that spent all his time sat in the Baxter Building reading books. Now you’re president. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be president one day.”

Holt had lost none of the spikiness to his voice – nor the chip that he seemed to carry on his shoulder everywhere that he went. In different company, that spikiness might had caused some discomfort. Victor von Doom seemed unperturbed by it. He shook the boy’s hand and inspected the athletic young man closely with his dark brown eyes. A wry smile appeared on his face after a moment or two as if he had found some quality in Holt that confirmed that he was a kindred spirit.

“Maybe you will,” Doom shrugged. “Though, I am compelled to correct you on one point, Mr Holt. I may well have been a nerd and I certainly attended the Baxter Building with Professor Richards, but silver spooned? I was an orphan. And I can assure you, to be an orphan in Latveria is several measures harder than in America. So perhaps next time you should avoid making judgements without having all of the evidence available to you. It would hold any political ambitions you might have in future in good stead.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Reed murmured as he lead Victor away towards Amadeus Cho but found Jean Loring planted firmly between them.

“Jean Loring,” the teenager said as she thrust her hand out towards Doom expectedly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. President Doom. I can’t say that I agree with your politics, but my father always taught me that there are two kinds of people in this world: men of action and me-”

It was the first time in Loring’s life that someone had looked through her. Her Ivy Town upbringing had not prepared her for the embarrassment she would feel at being all but ignored by the president. Doom passed her by and instead approached the dark-skinned fifteen-year-old that had clapping raucously after he’d finished speaking. With every step towards he took, the girl seemed to shrink with nervousness.

“And who might you be?”

“Me?” Kamala asked as she looked around the throne room with shock. “My name is K-... my name is Kamala Khan.”

Victor placed a supportive hand on the girl’s shoulder to help calm her nerves. “It’s wonderful to meet you. Professor Richards has told me so much about you. I understand your powers work similarly to his. You’ll make a formidable superhero one day if you take his tutelage to heart.”

Despite all of Doom’s encouragement, Kamala seemed to shrink even more into herself with every second. Reed took a step towards them, hoping to help her find her voice, but an assured glance from Victor kept him planted to the spot. He placed his other hand on Kamala’s shoulder and lent towards her with a paternal smile.

“Is something wrong, Ms Khan?”

“Wrong? What? No, no, there’s nothing wrong,” Kamala babbled incoherently. “Absolutely nothing wrong at all, gorgeous, woke European president with rippling muscles. Why would anything be wrong? Oh god, did I say that out loud? Please tell me I didn't say that out loud.”

An oversized hand came stretching across the room and ushered Victor away from Kamala before the president could respond. The proud smile on his face was matched only by the horror that Kamala sought to mask beneath her thick black locks. Loring had almost instantly set about tearing into Khan for interrupting her conversation with Doom once he’d moved on but the younger girl seemed too busy wishing she was dead to humour it. Finally, Reed brought Victor to a stop before the Thinker and Amadeus Cho.

“And you must be the Thinker,” Victor murmured as he inspected the hologram. “Which would make you his trusty sidekick, Amadeus Cho.”


The fourteen-year-old was so distracted playing with the coyote pup between his hands that both Doom and the Thinker’s statements had been lost on him. It was only several seconds afterwards that Cho heard the words ‘trusty sidekick’ playing back in his head. It was clear from his face that he strongly disapproved of the suggestion – and any deference to Doom came a distant second to his consternation.

“Wait, what? No, I’m not Think’s sidekick,” Cho protested as he used the puppy in his hands to gesture towards the hologram. “If anything, Think is my sidekick. And anyway, what would that make Kirby? Because if I’m a sidekick, there's no way I'd have a sidekick of my o-”


Cho’s annoyance at the Thinker cutting across him seemed to melt away upon realising that the hologram was right. The playful smile on Doom’s face confirmed it. More than anything, it appeared that Cho was disappointed in himself for letting the joke pass over his head at great speed. It wasn’t a sensation that the boy genius was used to.

Amadeus made no effort to disguise his disappointment. “I can’t believe that you were doing a thing and the disembodied AI that can’t speak without saying ‘STATEMENT’ or ‘QUERY’ before it opens its mouth got it before I did. Wow, I’m really good at this first impressions thing.”


“You are an impressive young man, Mr Cho," Doom demurred. "I wouldn’t concern yourself with first impressions. They’re rarely as important as people make out. What matters is grit – tenacity – and I understand that you have both qualities in abundance. Especially for a sidekick.”

For the first time since arriving at the Franklin Storm Institute, Reed saw a sincere smile flash across Amadeus Cho’s face. The boy offered no quip in return, but instead seemed to accept Victor’s compliment in earnest. With the gruelling set of introductions done, Reed was about to suggest that he and Victor retire to their conference as planned, but the sound of an alarm from the phone in Doom’s inside pocket seemed to achieve that for him.

“President Doom and I need to get going. We’ll be gone for around eight hours. It bears repeating that I do not want to exit the conference to “BREAKING NEWS” from this little outing of ours, so try to behave yourselves. Not many outsiders, let alone teenagers get given the opportunity to explore Latveria with the expressed blessing of its president. I’m choosing to trust you. Please don’t make me regret it.”

One again, Reed failed to receive the reassurance that he’d hoped from his students. They stared at him, varying degrees of unimpressed by his constant reminders to behave themselves. Could they blame him? Holt had gone out of his way to insult Doom, Kamala had very nearly expressed her dying love for him, and the Cho-Thinker double act had made a pretty caustic assessment of Victor’s sense of humour – all this in less than five minutes. What would they get up to with an entire day to themselves in Latveria? It almost didn’t bear thinking about.

As they made their way towards the exit, Doom felt the need to end on a more positive note. “What I think Reed is trying to say is: have fun.”