Booster shifted restlessly in the lab as she watched Doctor Irons buzz around the lab like a very large and muscular bee. She had never seen a scientist that also looked like an NFL linebacker. He told her he had played football in college, not that it came as much of a surprise. Still, it was interesting to watch him work. For someone as large as he was, he worked on the machinery with incredible touch and delicate percision. She watched as he worked on the helmet for the suit he showed her when she walked in.

Then the edges of her vision began to blur, and she was back in the time she came from. She was in a lab, but totally different from this one. While Irons's was a bit disorganized, this one was sparking like someone was following the man working it constantly cleaning. Actually, there was. A tall, one-armed robot was following the salt-and-pepper-haired man like a puppy.

"Would you stop?" Tony Stark snapped at the robot. "You're like an orphan following Daddy Warbucks around. Except I have more money than he does."

She giggled. Booster wasn't sure if that was from her fractured memories or from her now. It was a good line.

The genius inventor put his head up and looked right at her, answering her question for her, "Can you grab that power core for me? Dummy here would probably drop it and vaporize us all."

Booster watched as she got up and grabbed a glowing blue cylinder and walked it over to the inventor. He took it and smiled at her. Again, she wasn't sure if it was her memory, but he seemed larger than life. The great inventor smiled warmly at her and took the part. He put it in the new suit of armor her was working on, "Thanks, Booster. I would be lost without you, you know that?"

From behind her a door slid open and Steve Rogers, Captain America stepped through it, smiling at the two of them, "Looks like things are going well here."

"Splending, El Capitan," Stark mock saluted, which drew another laugh from Booster. "We're just finishing up here."

"Good," Rogers, whose blue eyes had begun to pale slightly at his advanced age, turned to Booster. "Because we have a mission, Gold-"

She was shaken and came back to the present, where John Henry Irons was rocking her shoulder back and forth, "You okay?"

"Huh? Yea," Booster nodded, shaking the cobwebs out of her head. Skeets was hovering worredly next to her. "Was just lost in my own head there for a minute."

"You seemed to be in a trance, ma'am," Skeets responded with a hint of knowing.

"I'm fine, Skeets," she beamed back at the robot. "Tip top shape. I'm a superhero after all. Nothing gets by me."

"You sure?" Irons was unmoved. "You definitely seemed like you were somewhere else."

Her smile said she was fine, but she was beginning to worry. Her visions seemed to be becoming more frequent. So far they had failed to materialize during an engagement with an enemy, but she had begun to wonder when her luck would run out on that front. What happened when someone tried to kill her and she was paralyzed by some nonsensical flashback?

"So you really think Roxxon isn't going to sell your tech as weapons?" she asked him, quickly changing the subject away from her. She already felt uncomfortable as-is.

He looked over his glasses at her, "Seriously? You're the one asking me if Roxxon would use my work as a weapon? Isn't that exactly what they're doing with you?"

She probably should have saw that one coming. It's true, she was a hired good for Roxxon. A very well paid hired goon, but a hired goon none the less.

"Touche," she tipped her head to him. "That being said, I can leave whenever I want. They tell me to do something I don't agree with, I'll walk. It'll hurt to leave behind all those zeroes, but hey, that's the way the cookie crumbles. But they're going to own the patents for these things. You don't get to choose when and where these suits will go once you meet your deadline and hand them over to the boss man. I dunno, I'd be worried that they were going to do some shady shit."

"I can't think like that," he waved her away and went back to work. "If we all assumed the worst things could happen with our work, there'd be no scientific progress at all. We'd still be sitting in caves heating ourselves with meager fires. Plus, in a world where teenage girls can lift a skyscraper, I think we owe it to people risking their lives for natural resources to make their jobs easier. My inventions can do just that."

He made a lot of sense. She could see his passion regarding the suits as well, "This means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

"My grandfather died in a cave in," he responded, not looking up from the helmet. "My dad never even knew him. Was too young to ever really remember his old man. My grandmother barely was able to keep food on the table. My dad worked himself near to death in order to get me to a place where I could even think of college. Now that I got that education, you damn well better believe I'm going to do my best to help the kind of men that helped me get here. Paying it forward is the most important thing we can do. Way more important than padding your own wallet."

That was aimed squarely at her. She was tempted to fire back, but there was no need for it. He wasn't all that wrong. There was probably more that she could be doing to help. But there was also so many other heroes out there. They could take care of the people for now. She'd lend a hand if they really needed it.

"I think you could be great," he added. "You've clearly got all the tools. But something's holding you back. You gotta get out of your own way, kid."

Before she could really ponder whether he was right or wrong, and alarm started to blare through the compound. Booster sprung to her feet as two guards burst into the lab, "Booster, there have been explosions going off throughout the city. We have no idea what's going on. Orders from Roxxon are to stay put and protect Dr. Irons."

She recoiled at that. They wanted her to protect the investment. They didn't care about the people in the city. She was sent here to guard the guy that was going to deliver astounding tech to them, not play hero.

Irons caught her eye, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. This was the time to help people. If she listened to what the company wanted, she'd be the ultimate hypocrite. But more than that, she wouldn't even be a pretend hero. She'd just be a good, and that's not what she was.

"Yea, well, you're going to have to tell Mr. Agger that he can take that order and shove it where the sun doesn't shine," she said through gritted teeth. "There's no way I'm going to let innocent people die while I sit on the bench. Doc, looks like you're gonna have to look after yourself for a while."

"I think I can manage," he smiled warmly and went back to work on the helmet.

"Well, my number's on the fridge if you need anything," Booster winked at him.

---

One of the roof guards watched with a smirk as the hero speed off towards the smoke rising from the city. The plan had worked exactly as the Spymaster said it would. The hero would take the bait, because they always did. They were all so predictable.

In a flurry, the guard drew his weapon and fired a successions of shots that killed the other two guards he was stationed with. As their bodies fell, the guard began to morph and warp. In mere moments, what was once a Roxxon private security member was now an exact replcia of Booster Gold.

"Booster" made "her" way towards the entrance to the building, ready to take what was Onslaught's.

---

The Hasselhoff travelled through hyperspace towards Niðavellir, the land of the Dwarves. It was a location known to very few in the Nine Realms. The Asgardians and the Dwarves had come to an agreement long, long ago to keep it that way. The Dwarves would make the Asgardians weapons while the Gods would keep the Dwarves hidden from others that would seek to use their skills for ill.

It had been a successful partnership for eons, until the Dark Elves had found their way there and forced the Dwarves to make them weapons to overthrow the Asgardians. The resulting conflict had nearly destroyed the Realms, and had pushed the Asgardians to the brink of destruction. The Dark Elf leader, a rogue named Malekith, was cunning and powerful, and with the Dwarves weapons backing him he was nearly unstoppable.

In order to turn the tide, Odin and the Dwarves forged a suit of armor made from the same metal that made up the great hammer Mjolnir. The amor, controlled by putting one's very sould into it, was so powerful that it ripped through the Dark Elf Army as if it were made from paper. Malekith was forced to surrender to the Asgardians and Odin, and the armor, dubbed The Destroyer, was hidden where no one could find it besides Asgard and the Dwarves, in case it was ever needed again.

"The Destroyer," Quill mulled over the name of the weapon as the Guardians sat around the ship's communal table. "That does not sound like something we should let fall into the hands of someone who wants to kill us."

Rocket stood up on the table, "It does, however, sound like something that should fall into my hands. I would like that very much, please."

The group had been sharing drinks and stories after their narrow escape from the Brood, as they had dubbd the insect-like creatures. It was the first time they had really sat down and talked as friends since they had become travelling partners. Thor wasn't sure if the five of them truly trusted each other yet, but this was a start. If they could break bread as friends, they could certainly learn to be true brothers in arms.

"Sounds like some good old fashioned karma that it might be used against you, too," Hawk added in with a wink. She had seemed to lighten up since she had rescued them from the depths of the previous planet, but there was still something holding her back from truly opening up to them. Thor thought it was the fact that she didn't trust him. She clearly knew more about what he was than the others. Since that was the case, he could barely blame her for not trusting him.

"Well, you gotta figure whoever this guy is, he's not going to stop with Thor," Quill added in. "With a weapon like that he could probably take over the galaxy. That's the last thing any of us need."

"Especially when he wants to kill us too," Rocket agreed.

"I am Groot."

From the bunk area, they could hear the girl stirring. She still hadn't spoken since they rescued her from the planet. Hawk theorized that she was traumatized past the ability of speech. It was possible. What had happened to the other settlers of the mining colony was horrific. Her parents were more than likely part of the slaughter that helped birth the massive Brood population of the planet. And all of that was done so the Brood's masters could find a weapon. That was enough to send anyone into a permanent state of silence.

The five Guardians had taken turns sitting with her and attempting to get her to open up. They had all failed, but Thor felt like the exercise had been good for the lot of them.

"So, Hawk," Quill looked over at her while he opened another bottle of ale, "why did you decide to come and help us down there? You could have easily left us to be eaten."

She looked over her glass at him, "I told you, I feel the urge to make mistakes sometimes. Plus, if you had gotten killed, I probably wouldn't have been able to claim the bounties on you all. That would have been a terrible, terrible waste."

Quill's eyes narrowed, obviously not believing her excuse, "Nah, I think there's something more than that. You're a good person."

"No, I'm definitely not," she shook her head, but a laugh managed to escape her lips.

"Haha!" Rocket pointed and laughed. "You totally are a good person. How embarrassing."

"I am Groot."

"No way am I one too!" Rocket protested. "How dare you even insinuate something of the sort."

Hawk chuckled before letting out a sigh. She looked around the room, meeting the rest of their eyes. She had never told anyone why she had left the Thanagarian Empire. Why she was made to do so. But if she went through life hiding from everyone, she wasn't so sure that would be much of a life at all.

"Fine," she shook her head. "I was exiled from Thanagar. Made to leave me home and the only life I ever thought I would know."

Thor had figured as much when they had met. No soldier of Thanagar leaves voluntarily. They were raised to believe that the Empire was the one true power in the universe. They were almost fanatical in their obedience and belief. For one to be exiled, though, meant they had betrayed their people completely.

"It was during the war with Rann," she continued explaining. "Such a small planet. Even at the beginning I didn't understand why we were going after such a minuscule prize. At least until I infiltrated the planet with my black ops team. Then I found it. The Zeta Beam Transport device. Capable of sending whole armies over the entire reach of space in moments."

"Very similar to the Bifrost," Thor mused to himself. He would have to remember that.

"The Empire wanted it," Hawk looked down. "With it they could conquer the universe. Or, as I found out, exterminate anyone that gave them too much trouble. With that knowledge, I realized I could no longer fight for a people whose goal was dominance at any cost. I defected and gave Rann the secrets to defeating our forces. In exchange they transported me across the galaxy, giving me a head start against the Thanagarian hunters. I've been running ever since."

With her story finished, silence hung over the ship. It made perfect sense to Thor, and he felt more respect for the bounty hunter than he had before. She was a warrior that knew what was right. There was nothing rarer in the galaxy. He should know, as one that all too often lost sight of just that.

"I just want you to know, you did the right thing," Quill tried to assure her.

"Ah, jeez," Rocket rolled his eyes.

"What you did took great courage, truly," Thor nodded. "I am glad to have a warrior of such honor fighting alongside me. Allfather knows I need some of that myself."

Before Hawk could respond to that, the ship alerted them that they had came to their destination. The five of them stood, and the girl they had saved emerged from the sleeping quarters, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

When they reached the bridge, Thor immediately knew something was wrong. The Realm of the Dwarves was famous for its intensely burning suns, where the great weapon smiths had created the legendary weapons of Asgard. But now there was nothing but darkness illuminated by light from the distant stars. In front of them stood the planet of the Dwarves, which was now coated in snow and ice.

"Prepare yourselves," Thor warned his comrades. "We have come to a planet of death. Who knows what waits for us below."

---

"What the fuck are we even doing, Nancy?" Mari asked. The green park bench she was sitting on was uncomfortable and covered in a layer of filth. She hoped it was only food. Between her hands she cradled a cup of coffee. It's warmth was the only thing keeping her alive. The hint of Styrofoam that she tasted with each sip was a reminder that she was living the high life. She'd been sitting there in the cold for hours, a maroon hoodie pulled tight over her head and tunes blasting into her ears. She was bored out of her mind and the talking spider sitting next to her wasn't helping.

"Following the plan, we're following the plan," Nancy said. All eight of his compound eyes remained focused on the bank. He had been sullen all morning. Mari suspected it was because she'd thrown a pillow at him. She did not believe in early mornings or mornings, the opinions of talking spiders be damned.

"What plan?"

"My plan."

"And who the fuck are you supposed to be?"

"Don't worry about it."

"We're casing a bank. You're telling me to rob a bank. I’ll fucking worry about it."

"A bank that's being used to funnel money."

"Oh great, so that makes bank robbery legal, yeah?" Mari scoffed. "I thought I was a hero Nancy, but clearly, this was all a get-rich-quick scheme masterminded by a diminutive arachnid."

"Think. Think for just a moment. This is a bank that is being used to funnel money to a pack of gangsters and the politicians they have purchased. It is a corrupt institution that is complicit in the violence that has overwhelmed this city. Greed and human weakness cast in tasteful stone. It needs to die, just like Wall Street, fuck what the laws says about it," Nancy added, glowering right back at her.

"Sure, fine, let’s burn the motherfucker down then."

"Rob not burn. Did you even listen to my briefing? We need this place standing, but emptier. We need the Blood Syndicate to retain some power. We can’t destabilize the system too much, not right now. Dakota City wouldn't survive it, not yet."

"The Blood— What?" Mari sputtered, choking on her coffee. "Don't tell me there's a coven of vampires in Dakota City? That's way above my pay grade."

"Vampires? Don't be ridiculous," Nancy hissed back. "Vampires. Vampires. Have you been drinking?"

"Forgive me, oh wise one," Mari replied. "Then who are these jokers?"

"The Blood Syndicate are OGs. They were here before the Big Bang. Although they were two gangs then. The Paris Island Bloods and the Force Syndicate. They've been running the show for almost two decades now. Long enough to acquire quaint ideas of honor. They're some proper kitted up street samurai is what I am saying. They're ready for a long war and they're used to taking losses. They're going to put up a fight. A big fight."

"They got guns?"

"Yes, lots of them. Chrome enough for a small army and bullets to spare."

"They have any metahumans?"

"They do indeed. They've got several. Some of the strongest ones. Real monsters."

"Great," Mari sighed. "I'm going to need some second skin to deal with these assholes."

"Dragon scales should suffice. Just reign fire down on them from the sky."

"What?"

"Never mind. We'll talk about it later."

"Fine. Who's in charge?"

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

"Right now, a chap by the name of Holocaust. He's a brutal fellow. Built like a German tank. Big, large, and with far too much steel. Burns his enemies alive. A veritable cremation machine. Nasty stuff really."

"Wonderful."

"He's got a talent for it. Leadership that is. He's exactly the type needed to keep a group of marauding brutes like the Blood Syndicate under control. They're a fractured bunch, old, bitter sets smashed together in the name of profit. Lotta bad blood, lotta festering hatred there. They fight each other almost as much as they fight the other gangs. Holocaust keeps them in line with violence. It's hard to rebel when you're on fire, after all," Nancy mused with a tone of appreciation in his spidery voice.

"So I wreck their bank and then what?"

"We leave a message."

"A message for who?"

"For Static. We need him to know he's not alone."

---

Earth #3311
The White House

President J.J. McGuillicutty checked his watch for the third time in the past ten minutes. The sound of the ticking clock seemed almost deafening to him. It was completely silent in the Oval Office. For the first time in over twelve he was completely alone in the room. McGuillicutty ordered the gaggle of science, political, and military experts out while he took a seat behind the Resolute Desk.

“There’s a button under the desk,” President Dolbert had told him two years ago. It was just before McGuillicutty’s inauguration. Dolbert stared at McGillicutty with his beady eyes and showed no hint that this was some kind of jke. “You only press that button once in a lifetime. Only in an extreme emergency.”

“Like a national collapse?”

“No,” said Dolbert.

“A global plague?”

“Kids stuff.”

“Bacon shortage?”

The soon to be ex-president shook his head. “Not even then.”

“Then when do I use it?” asked McGuillicutty.

Dolbert placed a beefy hand on the president-elect’s shoulder. “When the time comes, you’ll know.”

And the old bastard was right, thought McGuillicutty. It took him a while to remember Dolbert’s cryptic warning, but after he did he quickly shooed his advisors out of the room and found the little button beneath the Resolute Desk. The president heard a soft whirring as something shifted beneath the desk. It took McGullicutty a moment, but he realized the button itself was moving. It took its place on the wooden desk. It pulsed a soft yellow and a tinny, chipper voice began to emit from it.

“Thank you for contacting Peck Property & Casualty Insurance, this is Bobert and I need to inform you that this conversation is monitored for quality assurance. How may I help you?”

“Bobert?” McGuillicutty asked.

“Yes, how may I help you today?”

McGuillicutty struggled to find the right words. “There’s an… invasion, I guess? Men from outer space.”

“Oh, no,” Bobert said sympathetically. “That must be real inconvenient for you. Let’s get some information out of the way first before we continue. Am I speaking to the policy holder.”

“I’m the president of the United States,” McGuillicutty offered. “Does that… help any?”

“Yes it does,” said Bobert. “You are the de facto policy holder for your planet’s coverage and… I am pleased to tell you that, in fact, alien invasion is covered by your homeworld owner’s insurance. This claim is processing. Please standby, a Peck Property & Casualty Insurance agent will be touch with you shortly with an update on your claim. Did you need anything else from me today, sir?”

“Help?”

“Help is on the way,” Bobert said, in a voice so soothing that McGuillicutty actually felt a fuzziness in his chest.

What McGuillictty did not realize was that the warm feeling in his chest wasn’t due to Bobert’s exceptional customer service. It was due to a narcotic spore Bobert had released from the button. Bobert’s programming, because Bobert was in fact an AI and not at all a real person, was to lightly tranquilize claimants during times of extreme duress.

“Cool,” said McGuillicutty. The president looked around the Oval Office and his eyes widened in amazement. “Wow…. there’s no… corners. It’s so… round.”

McGuillicutty leaned back in his chair and laughed as both Howard and Bruce Banner appeared in front of him with a flash of light. The president took in the sight of an anthropomorphic duck in stride, Howard thought. In his experience most sapiens had extreme reactions to seeing him.

That’s when Howard heard the collective sound of many guns cocking. He and Banner slowly turned to see a small platoon of soldiers and generals, each of heavily armed, standing in front of them.

“They’ve infiltrated the White House,” one very decorated five-star general barked. He pulled back the hammer on a very large revolver. “Die, alien scum.”

Before the general could squeeze the trigger a massive emerald arm snatched the gun from his grasp. The soldiers collective took a step back at the sight of the Incredible Hulk looming above them. He growled and the military men prepared to fire.

“Hold your fire,” Howard shouted. “We’re here to help!”

“Help, I need somebody,” the president mumbled from his chair. “Not just anybody…”

Howard reached into his suit jacket, slowly, and produced his I.D. card. It showed that Howard T. Duck was in fact a licensed interdimensional insurance agent for Peck Property & Casualty Insurance, specifically for the Life, Fire, and World Destruction Division. The soldiers scrutinized it while the Hulk played hacky sack with the general’s gun.

“The commander-in-chief back there filed a claim,” said Howard, his thumb pointing back toward McGuillicutty.

The president was clearly doing an air guitar solo to Foghat’s “Slow Ride”, which was in this world the most popular song of all time. It had become so popular that a group of fans in 1980 incorporated the First Universal Church of the Slow Ride. Their motto, naturally, was “Take it Easy.” Contrary to their motto, however, the FUCSR were incapable of taking it easy. They currently sat at #1 on the FBI’s list of most dangerous criminal organizations. Even when set to the bitchin’ tunes of Foghat, a vast network of gun running, meth production, and tie-dye t-shirt smuggling was still illegal.

“I’m here to investigate the claim,” said Howard. “So can someone please explain what’s going on?”

One of the generals pointed at the Hulk. “He doesn't look like an insurance agent.”

The green giant took the revolver in both hands and bent it into the shape of a poodle.

“You're right. He’s my intern.”

---

“At 0300 hours a collection of twenty-six portals all opened up at various points across the globe. From those portals spaceships poured out. Massive motherships with a full fleet of fighters and bombers inside their holds.”

Howard sat at the conference table in the Situation Room with the rest of the president's cabinet and watched the scientist at the front give his briefing. Bruce had transformed back and was sitting next to Howard, wearing a pair of borrowed sweatpants, crocs, and a baggy shirt that read “It’s Always Five O’Clock In Margaritaville.”

“So far they have yet to make a strike on anything,” said the scientist. “But they have been playing their demands across every media platform. It took us some time to interpret it.”

The scientist pulled a remote from his labcoat and pressed a button. A high-pitched screeching noise filled the situation room. Bruce put his hands over his ears to muffle the sound, but Howard listened intently. He could pick out the rhythms of the sound and knew it was some language. It seemed very close to another alien tongue Howard had heard before. But he couldn't quite place it.

“Best as we can figure, they are saying they wish for a complete surrender before the end of the solar cycle or they will destroy the world.”

“And the nukes won’t work,” said one of the generals. “There’s some kind of goddamn forcefield on the things and the missiles just bounce off.”

“And ricochet back to earth,” the Secretary of the Interior said testily. "Where people live.

“I did us all a favor,” the general spat back. "Is anyone here actually going to miss Cleveland?"

“Can you just keep it down,” President McGuillicutty said from his seat. He had on sunglasses and held a half-empty bottle of Gatorade. “My head is pounding.”

While the president and his cabinet bickered among themselves, Howard had his head in his lap. The tablet in his lap displayed a list of clients and details on them. The readout displayed this current version of Earth and what exactly made them different from the other realities in the infinite multiverse. A smile appeared on his face as he looked up.

“I have a plan,” he announced. “I need a few things. I need the militaries of the world to prepare all fighter jets for aerial combat, a list of the highest grossing films of 1996, an Amazon Prime account, and most importantly… the actor Michael T. Weiss.”

C R O S S R O A D S I N N O V A T I O N S

---

^{Two Weeks Post-Crisis | East Rutherford, New Jersey… ugh… New Jersey}

Scott Lang stepped out of his old beater van and walked the few remaining blocks to Crossroads. Their carpark was strictly ‘Employees Only’ and didn’t allow exceptions to contractors. Just another way to keep the likes of Lang in their place. Pulling a leased wet/dry vacuum and a mop and bucket out of the back of your van which used to be filled with your electrician’s tools and trudging it two blocks up the sidewalk will do that to you.

Still, a job’s a job, and if he’d been taught anything over the last few months it was humility. The ego fades and your priorities change. You learn what’s really important to you.

And right now that was doing whatever it takes to maximize visitation. See Cassie regularly again. Heck, maybe even see Peggy again. I mean, she took her maiden name back and that’s seldom a good sign but, you know, who knows..? Maybe a work in progress?

Still, he thought to himself, if he couldn’t pull off this other job they wanted him to do it would pretty quickly put the kybosh on all of that. Kybosh it all up. Have it all kyboshed to kybosh or whatever way you appropriately use ‘Kybosh’. So it meant focus up and stop thinking about the usage of odd obscure words with a lineage you have no idea about, there’s a burglary to plan. Not that there was much of a plan.

He tapped his chest pocket to make sure he had his electromagnetic card for the security doors, and glanced down subtly checking he still had what he stole from Red Ant stowed away in the wringer section of his mop bucket. He started mindlessly whistling some song as he walked.

He looked back up and suddenly found himself blinded and staggered by a bright light. He stumbled around blindly trying to regain his bearings before his vision started to blur back into focus.

The last thing he thought he saw was a tiny winged woman, with a rage so bright it had literally begun sparking, then darkness.

He woke up some time later to find himself tied to a chair and being looked down upon by a now considerably larger rage filled woman and the stern expression of that guy the news had been proclaiming as a hero… Blue Beetle? Except his expression isn’t so stern. Shouldn’t it be more stern? That’s what these types are supposed to be like, right?

Then the realisation of what all of this meant finally hit home.

“Oh God! They’re gonna kill Cassie!”

---

Ted and a now full-sized Janet stood over a trussed up, unconscious Scott Lang.

“That’s the guy?” He asked, surprised and more than a little unimpressed.

“Game face on, Beetle. He’s a hardened criminal.” Janet replied, scowling at the incapacitated thief.

“He was whistling ‘I’m Walking On Sunshine’, ‘Wasp’. I dunno. I don’t think I’m normally supposed to feel so bad for the real ‘hardened criminals’.”

“You’re not SUPPOSED to feel bad for this one, either.” She crossed her arms grumpily, which only added to her already imposing angry figure which the cleaner would see when he came to. She grumpily kicked his foot trying to see if it would wake him from his slumber.

Ted looked at her and gave her a surprised expression, he’d never seen this frustrated side of her before. She’d always seemed so in control at all times.

“Oh don’t look at me like that. You know what he did. Taking advantage like that, it’s what he does. We don’t know that he’s not already awake and playing us.”

Ted looked back down at Lang. He seemed pretty out of it.

“So how long are those things supposed to last anyway, Jan?” He asked her.

She stared at him wide-eyed, and then shot her eyes at the figure tied to the chair. "Codenames, Beetle!"

"Oh please, you're one of the most recognizable people in this city. Particularly for a guy who's spent the last few year in stir, where they probably trade magazines you're in for packs of cigarettes. And you're not wearing a mask or anything."

Janet gave a nauseated expression.

"Ewww!"

"Yeah. Sorry. That's probably one of those things that should have stayed unsaid... Anyway, how long do those things last?"

“I don’t know. I gave it to him pretty hard, but I hit you with them a bit back at the complex and it didn’t seem to do that much, so I figured I probably should unload on him a fair bit. It doesn’t seem like an exact science… _{Yes, alright Hank. It IS an exact science. You know what I meant. It’s a turn of phrase.}”

Ted shook his head and smiled. “For what it’s worth, I’m with Hank on this one. It’s not a turn of phrase. And it is an exact science. You just haven’t tested this stuff enough to really know what it’s going to do.”

“Oh, hush.”

Ted shrugged. Then a small smile crept across his face.

“What?” Jan asked irritably. “Why the smirk?”

“You two really haven’t tested this stuff enough.”

“Oh, because YOU have it all together and under control.”

Ted shook his head with a chuckle. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh yeah? Well feel free to enlighten me, ‘Beetle’. Since you’re clearly so much more advanced and experienced at this than me.”

“You haven’t tested this enough. And you know Hank, he is METICULOUS…”

Janet uncrossed her arms, trying to follow Ted’s chain of thought.

“Which, to me, means either he’s REALLY scared about this falling into the wrong hands. But that doesn’t really line up with how he’s generally viewed science. Unless he specifically knew WHAT the thieves who took his tech were up to and they had malevolent purpose, or if he were worried about the potential harmful consequences of others who are less qualified trying to complete his work. Well, he’s generally seen science as a boon for the world and it’s own reward. He’s never really sought credit or plaudits for any discovery or creation he’s had. And he doesn’t much care for patent law… as he let me know earlier today about Max. So, that leaves…” The Blue Beetle extrapolated.

“What?” Janet asked, far more gently now.

Ted chuckled. “He really would do ANYTHING for you, Jan. Don’t you see that? He doesn’t ‘get’ any of this. Why you’re interested in it. Why you think it’s cool or heroic, or a fun notion. All he knows is it would make you happy.”

“Oh…” Janet replied, reddening slightly from the public discussion of her and Hank’s relationship.

“And I know you can hear all of this, buddy, but I’m guessing you’re being mighty quiet on the other end of that line to her right now. I’m right aren’t I?”

“_{Oh Hank…}” Jan started to walk away to talk to Hank in private.

“Hup, he’s starting to stir…”

Janet was immediately locked back in, rage-filled game face and all. Righteous anger. How dare he think it acceptable to take advantage of that sweet man! Ted was almost amused to the point of laughter by the sudden switch in his partner, when their prisoner practically exploded in panic.

“Oh God! They’re gonna kill Cassie!”

Ted jumped back at the surprising exclaimation from the previously unconscious thief.

“Who’s Cassie?” He asked.

Janet put her hand to her ear as she received incoming from Hank. “She’s his daughter.”

“Hey… HEY!” He grabbed Lang’s face to ensure he had his attention, as the subdued former… and maybe a little current… criminal averted eye contact. “Who’s going to kill her?”

“Darren Cross. Or at least his lunatic half brother...”

Scott looked at Jan in her costume, and began to recognize where he’d seen her.

“Wait-- you’re Janet Van Dyne. Hank showed me pictures of you. So, this is about Hank, isn’t it?”

Ted tried not to chuckle as Janet went through a whirlwind of expressions, the nausea first returning when he recognized her, followed by a quick flash of relief when he mentioned that it was because of talking with Hank, before the anger quickly returned.

“Yeeeees. This is about Hank.” Janet said as menacingly as she could, whilst letting her stingers crackle and spark threateningly. “This is all about Hank, and how you’re going to give back what you stole from him...”

“I can’t.” He said. “Well, I can. But not yet. I need it.”

Ted stepped in front of the Wasp before she could respond to this impasse with large quantities of bio-electricity. “Hold up a second. It’s pretty clear Hank’s not been the only victim here…”

“Why don’t you start from the top. Tell us everything that’s happened so far, and maybe we can find a way to fix this.”

And so Scott Lang told the whole story. Weaving a tale of intrigue involving extortion, kidnapping, burglary, corporate espionage and threats of murder.

The brothers Cross had demanded Scott steal for them after getting to Lang’s parole officer. First they had demanded he raid the works from Hank Pym’s Red Ant, but due to his company’s superior encryption and security measures, handled by Pym himself, it had been a blind request - they knew he was at the very frontier of cutting edge technology, but had no idea what specifically he had which could be stolen. Scott, however, who had grown to like and befriend the complicated scientist, had been able to lie about his interactions and claimed he had been unable to achieve their request, realizing the Cross brothers had no means to know what could or could not be stolen. But the pair would not accept no return on their investment into forcing Lang back into a life of crime, so their next attempt was a more targeted approach. They were well aware of direct competitor PalmerTech’s inroads into medical nanites and this time they would not take no for an answer. Suspecting Scott Lang was insufficiently motivated with a mere return to prison, the less stable Cross brother secured further leverage - kidnapping his daughter Cassie and threatening harm if he did not achieve the desired outcome.

It put Scott in a precarious position. The Cross brothers knew he had spent time in prison as a burglar of some notoriety, but what they didn’t understand or care to know was that a successful burglary takes time and planning. They provided him with neither and demanded results.

Lang needed an ace in the hole. He needed a miracle. He needed magic to help him pull off the perfect burglary with no time to background and stake out the target, whilst still somehow reducing the risk of being caught.

Or failing magic, he needed the next best thing. Pym tech.

Scott remembered Lang ranting and rambling about his most recent attempts to ‘solve everything’. And what that plan entailed. Somehow, the genius had found the means to change the size and mass of objects. Growing and shrinking anything exponentially.

And he’d produced multiple devices capable of performing such a feat. Including a ‘suit’.

He watched and waited until Pym returned his discoveries to his hiding space, and then only needed to wait on the opportunity. An addled Pym who was off his medication created even more murkiness and doubt as to whether he would have just misplaced his work. Opening up the possibility that he could ‘borrow’ the suit and then bring it back without the scientist being sure it was ever gone.

Lang had the means. He could still pull this off! He could get the Cross brothers their PalmerTech trinket! He could still have a life! He could save Cassie! He could re-spark things with Peggy!

And then the flash of light, the long black darkness, and here he was, doomed. Strapped to a chair with the Cross brothers doubtless expecting him to check in. What would happen to his daughter; completely unthinkable.

Ted waited and heard the whole thing out, and his heart felt for the man. His heart felt and his mind raced and when Scott was finally finished telling the story he broke the silence.

“Alright. I think I know how we handle this.” He started to fiddle with the controls on the back of his glove.

“I’m bringing the Bug around. We’re about to rip off Ray Palmer…”

---

---

Jaime moved his head up and down, smiling like a child as his head movement altered his course. He had to only look somewhere and think about it and he would go in that direction. This was easier than driving, or at the very least it was easier than he expected driving to be. Once he was old enough to get his learners permit.

Detecting high levels of dopamine

"Que?"

Dopamine is a pleasure hormone released in the brain of mammalian creatures when they are enjoying themselves in a multitude of forms from playing games doing sports or performing sexual-

Jaime nearly threw up in the suit. "Awh, learn to know when to stop Hermano. Just enjoy the moment, have you ever seen anything like this?" Jaime closed his eyes, despite the armour covering his skin he could still feel himself floating through the air relatively easily. It required minimal effort once the Scarab - Khaji Da it had called itself, was initiated it seemed to do most of the complicated work. He had been near the Pym residence before it had landed on the street. He was some kind of scientist right, he had heard that somewhere before. Maybe this was some kind of A.I developed by him, a counter to the Iron Man armour? Though he could always just ask-

I am a product of the reach a means to protect and serve the people of the reach and [error] The entire screen glitched as Khaji-Da encountered some form of internal memory glitch. As the screen resolved itself Jaime decided not to probe anymore in the scarabs purpose.

"Well, who are the-" There was an explosion below them, Jaime kicked back as wings pulled bringing him to a sudden stop midair as he looked down at the ground. He could see people running from the explosion as other people seemingly walked right out of it. Still on fire as their clothes burnt away.

"What am I looking at?"

[ERROR] [ERROR]

Jaime concentrated, pushing his mind into that of the scarab as much as possible. Willing it to answer his question, whatever was going on had it terribly unhappy and that wasn't useful to him right now. What he needed was answers, he wasn't a superhero but he couldn't just stand by while bad things were happening. This suit was designed to protect afterall, apparently. "What am I looking at Scarab?"

[ERROR] [ERROR]

"Tell me-"NOW He didn't say the last part, but Jaime pushed with all his might the concept of telling him, the idea of the Scarab telling him what he wanted to know. That had to be how this thing worked, right?

Detecting rogue #:&%^$% reboot:// alien units. Suggest using plasma cannon.

"Ugh, always with the killing." He looked down, as the so-called 'aliens' shambled towards the nearest inhabited building. Jaime would have sworn they were zombies if not for the blue bolts of energy they occasionally shot. "First of all, do you have any defensive capabilities?" Suddenly ideas and schematics thrust themselves into Jaimes head, disorientating him slightly so much that he fell a good ten feet before managing to get back to hovering. "Que demonios?"

I have just given you access to defensive subroutines

"Okay, a little warning next time please." Jaime tilted forward, heading directly for the ground as he saw one of the shambling, Zombiens or whatever they were, aim its arm at someone. A blue lance of energy heading straight towards them. He got there first, going into a knee his put both his hands together in front of his face forming a dome shield which deflected the energy blast. He could feel himself getting pushed backwards slowly, until he regained his footing.

Recommend aiming for the head complete decapitation is optimal procedure

"Ay, always with the killing. No. We do it my way." He put the shield down, he could feel the pull, the force of Khaji-Da trying to redeploy it. He felt like he was fighting his arms as they were willed to move. That wasn't going to happen. So long as he was alive it was his body.

Jaime Reyes I recommend against this plan we are leaving ourselves open to attack

Jaime ignored the voice as he shouted over the din. "I don't know who you pendejos are, or where you came from, but you better head back there! Because the-" Think Jaime, think of a Superhero name. Something that sounds threatening, intimidating, yet makes sense for your outfit. Something that will be Zombiens run away in fear. Something truly- "BLUE BEETLE! Is here to stop you."

Jaime could have facepalmed if he wasn't stood, arms on his hips, one leg forward, trying to look impressive and intimidating. Blue Beetle? That was the best he could come up with. That wasn't scary, wait, was it not already taken?

P A L M E R M E D I - T E C H B U I L D I N G - N E W Y O R K O F F I C E

---

^{Two Weeks Post-Crisis | Brooklyn, New York}

Scott Lang had checked in an hour ago. Forty five minutes late and to a very dissatisfied response from the now aptly named Cross Brothers, who felt the need to remind him of his daughter’s precarious situation. He gave his final briefing before the PalmerTech heist, and arranged for the drop-off and exchange to take place at another CrossRoads site which was currently vacated for “Industrial level cleaning and sterilization” in between their company’s projects.

Apparently New Jersey could never be fully sterilized, surprising no one.

Janet, Ted and Scott all knew their roles and cues.

Scott had on his new shrinky suit underneath his cleaning jumpsuit. He scanned his way into the Brooklyn office and made himself part of the background, mopping up on the fourth floor.

Ted walked into the lobby in a business suit and announced his presence to the receptionist on the front desk, claiming to have a meeting with Ray Palmer. She asked for his name and Ted feined outrage and a ‘Don’t-you-know-who-I-am’ attitude.

He didn’t have to stretch too hard to really sell the ‘don’t-you-know-who-I-am’ irritation.

She called upstairs and after a few hurried redirects managed to get through to the CEO himself and appraised him of the situation. She hung up, and the receptionist informed Ted that he was coming down. A small bug seemed to fly off of Kord’s shoulder and seeing her reaction, Ted swatted at thin air and loudly exclaimed “And is it too much to fumigate in here? What kind of operation is Ray Palmer running here?”

“I’m sorry, Mister Kord. Doctor Palmer will be down very soon.”

Janet was carrying the message that the CEO was in motion and that Ted would look to stall him downstairs, or preferably off-site, for as long as possible. She flew into a thin air conditioning vent and rode upon air pockets which helped carry her up to meet up with Lang faster than her wings would generally carry her. She popped out of the vent, flew over and whispered Scott Lang’s cue to him.

“Clear. Ted’s got him downstairs.”

Lang unzipped his cleaning jumpsuit, and dropped his mop. Running for the CEO’s office through the wet floor, he shrank down to slip past Palmer’s personal secretary’s desk.

Wasp meanwhile flew over to the front facing window and looked down, hoping to see Ted lead the CEO away from the building. If he couldn’t convince him to walk off-site, their window of opportunity was set at two and a half minutes. If he could get him to leave, they agreed upon one and a half from the second he walked back into the building. Ted knew he wouldn’t be able to stall as well to drag out a goodbye, but if he could get him off site he also knew they should have more than enough time already.

“What is this, Ted? We don’t have any appointment.”

“Ahh, yeah. We do. April fifteenth last year ring a bell?”

“... No. Not particularly.”

“LAST April fifteenth. You don’t remember? We were at the Ivy Town Cybernetics Seminar…”

“Yes. I vaguely remember having a discu--”

“And we said we should meet up and compare notes on our preliminary nanites findings and discuss our ethical concerns for the industry... In OCTOB--”

“October. We said October, we never set an exact date and we haven’t even spoken since.”

“Well, forgive me for correcting you, Ray. But we did set a date. It’s why I’m here.”

“If we set a date I would have put it in my calen--”

“You didn’t have your calendar on you. We were at a seminar and just going back and forth, you said you’d add it later when you had a better working network connection.”

Ray Palmer furrowed his brow.

“I may not be a doctor, and I may not have gone to MIT but--“

“Oh don’t pull that card again, Ted…”

“--but if I can be so blunt, I know whose memory I’d trust...” Ted’s stomach churned from his deception.

“...” A smile gradually creased across Dr Palmer’s face.

“Well how can I argue with that? So where are we gonna do this? I should have a conference room free on--”

“No reason we should be so formal,” Ted replied, walking to the front entrance, “we could just do this in the grounds outside. Weather’s fine. Justify the gardeners pay.” Ted smiled.

“Just a second…” Ray turned back to the receptionist at the front desk. “Just call up to Tracey and tell her I’m going to be out the front for a while.” He turned back to Ted. “I may not be my brother’s keeper, but my secretary keeps me on a short leash.” He returned the smile. Ted was about to tell Doctor Palmer that his secretary was in the same boat when he spoke again.

“Probably for the best. When she lets me walk around free range that’s how appointments get missed.” He made a self deprecating joke and Ted’s guts churned like a tumble dryer as he gave a hollow laugh in response.

“He’s done it! He’s going!” Janet said, before flying over to Scott in the CEO’s office to tell him in person.

“He’s--”

“Got it!” Scott whispered hoarsely. “Clean room third floor, I’ve got the drawer and container numbers!” He quickly scribbled down two figures for himself. Got up from the chair, shrank back down and ran back to his cleaning coveralls. In seconds he zipped up the outer suit, grabbed the mop, rolled the bucket to the elevator and called for the lift. Wasp spent a final few seconds checking the CEO kept walking away from the building, before flying into the elevator as it dinged, the doors closed behind them.

“I should go get my notes though.” Ray Palmer thought, breaking free from Ted’s grip and stepping back towards his building.

“No!” Ted barked, before putting a lid on it. “No. As I said. No need to be so formal. I mean I’ve caught you at a bit of a disadvantage since you outright… forgot we were having this meeting. We’ll just keep it cazz. Just a chat. I won’t use my notes, you don’t use yours, we’ll just talk preliminary concerns. Shoot the breeze and then we can dig deeper next time we talk. You know. When you’re better prepared.”

“Wait a-- You’re not carrying notes.”

Ted’s mind kicked into overdrive. He tapped the side of his head and winked. “Truth be told I don’t ever need them. I just bring papers as a prop normally. Psychological.”

“So when you said you ‘won’t use your notes’... That was just bulls--”

“It was a gesture, since you’ve come in less than prepared.” Ted was making himself feel sick diving deeper with lie after lie.

“First general concerns to address... No Skynet, and no destroying New York or Star City with nanite drones.” Ted winked, as the pair walked.

“Ah, I see. Yes, I suppose there have been some recent developments which make it a bit more urgent for us to get the ball rolling.” Palmer chuckled. Believing he was reading between the lines as to why Ted had been pressing so hard that they go out and discuss their work. The tension in Ted’s shoulders left as the Doctor seemed to feel comfortable that this meeting was justified, but his stomach continued to tie itself in knots.

Scott pushed the mop bucket forward and out of the elevator as the doors opened. He swirled the mop around the floor, Wasp flew up to blindside the surveillance cameras. She disconnected the camera aimed at the Clean Storage room, and plugged the wire into the other camera.

From what little advance research on Palmer’s security Scott had been able to do, it seemed they used a system which cycled through camera angles on three monitors every five seconds, unless there was a manual override in progress. Every single camera in the facility, changing in five second increments. The risk was in the specific camera they were trying to take out being monitored by one of those three at that exact time. Otherwise, the cycle would just seem to skip the room they were in and use the other angle twice as much. Scott and Wasp would know soon enough if anyone had been watching that camera at the moment of change. Alarms would sound and they’d have maybe a minute tops, and more likely seconds, to shrink down and evacuate via the duct system roofside.

But no alarms had sounded. Scott ran into the clean room, he produced his scrap of paper and flicked through the draws until he found what he was looking for. He pulled the canister out of the drawer. About a foot long and clearly professionally labeled with a Palmer Medi-Tech decal. Scott reached inside his suit pocket and took out the other generic looking canister the Blue Beetle had given him.

Wasp looked at him as he held both canisters. “Do it!” She ordered him.

“Look it’s all well and good for us to talk all day.” Palmer surmised getting to his feet. “But we aren’t alone in this field. I mean if we can’t involve the likes of Pym, of Stark, so many others then nothing we say here is going to mean anything here.”

“But it’s got to start somewhere, Ray. And I speak with Pym on a pretty regular basis. We’ve discussed this before.”

Palmer raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you do? So let me see if I’ve got this down. You talk all of this out with Pym, and carve yourselves out the world of nanotech and then you come strolling up to Stark, a desperate Stagg, ME and whoever else and offer up the scraps if we go along with what you two are putting together. Then push out all of the other competition.”

Ted laughed, which only raised Palmer’s ire further.

“I’m sorry,” Kord said as he wiped his eye, “if you knew Hank Pym at all you’d know how ridiculous that assertion is. And frankly, I figured you knew me a little better than that too, Ray.”

“Stop using my first name. I barely know you at all.” Palmer grimaced.

“Hank doesn’t view science like that at all. The reason why I’m talking to you alone is because he’s pretty much a complete recluse. If I don’t go meet with people and have these discussions then they don’t happen. And they NEED to happen, Ra-- Doctor Palmer.”

Doctor Palmer looked over the younger CEO with significant scrutiny.

“I had a fully functional B.E.E.T.L.E suit already put together and with the means of production set when Stark pulled his Iron Man suit out of the market. I had the means to print money and I didn’t take it. Mankind has enough ways already to destroy itself, that’s not what I’m looking to do. Palmer Medi-Tech? I’m banking that you’re not looking to either.”

There was a long hesitation as Palmer eyed Kord, looking for the slightest tell that he wasn’t being straight forward with him. Then he reached out a hand. Ted took it and stood up, the pair started to walk back towards the building.

“So what’s he like? Hank Pym?” Ray Palmer asked him.

Ted looked up to the bright blue sky as if searching for the right words to describe him.

“Hank is… unique.” He finally came out with, as a broad smile crossed his face. “And thank God, because I don’t think the world could take a second one of him. I know I couldn’t.”

Scott stood on a chair and reached up for the camera, he unplugged the first camera from the second, and plugged it back in.

He got down and moved the chair back.

And that was when the alarm sounded. Scott sighed deeply. He tapped his interior pocket to make sure the canister was still there and shrank down. The pair made their escape.

Ray Palmer stepped back into his building as security was going into pandemonium. There had been some kind of breach down in Clean Storage. Palmer called for a report of the incident to be delivered to him as soon as facts came to light. He quickly went up the elevator to his office.

He sat behind his desk and tapped it anxiously. Then he looked down at his desk’s blotter paper and was stunned at what he saw.

A series of tiny wet footprints leading from the far side of his desk towards his seat. He rolled his seat back to try and get some sense of perspective. He furrowed his brow and looked at his note pad. He tore off a sheet from the bottom and using a pencil he scratched an etching of the note that had left a deep indentation in pen on the top. It was two numbers. Ray thought for a second and then called down to security, giving them the tip of what to look for in the Clean Storage room. After a few minutes they confirmed his tip was right. The canister at that number had been replaced with another. Generic and unlabelled.

His prototype medical nanites. The topic of discussion he’d just been having with Ted Kord as they were stolen right out from under him.

He looked back at his blotter paper. A drone of some kind? The footsteps were irregular. And shaped like a person’s, albeit miniature. But if they belonged to a robot then they should be uniform?

He rocked back in his seat and pondered what this could all mean for a few seconds before hitting the button on his phone for his secretary.

“Tracey, that lump of rock we’ve got down in Boston. I want you to double security on it and clear a sizable block of time with our senior scientists on site down there.” He said to her.

He tore off a section of the blotter paper with the footprints and held it up to the light.

“I think it’s time we had another look at that white dwarf star matter…”

---

C R O S S R O A D S I N N O V A T I O N S - T E S T F A C I L I T Y

---

^{Still Two Weeks Post-Crisis - But Later | A Not Particularly Clean Part Of New Jersey}

“I’m going to be fine, Hank.” Janet whispered into her mouthpiece.

“I told Ted to take care and make sure you were OK. This doesn’t sound safe.”

“Everything’s going to be fine, Hank. It’s a good plan.”

“Everything is a good plan until it isn’t.” Hank replied, his voice rich with concern.

“Now hush. I have to concentrate for what comes next.”

Scott stood out in the open, exposed and worried about what would come next. Darren Cross and his lunatic brother were supposed to meet him here with Cassie. He still had the suit on underneath his cleaning coveralls, but it was a trump card he hoped to never use. The thought of what the Cross brothers might do with access to such technology was frightening to Scott. He’d not said anything to the Blue Beetle and Wasp, he didn’t want to make raise any more problems than he already had. He could barely believe when they’d agreed to help for the sake of his daughter, but I suppose that’s the kind of thing these hero types do.

Meanwhile, Ted crouched from his position of cover. He’d got to the meeting place a half an hour early and staked out a prime location to provide cover for Lang. Between him and Wasp, these Cross idiots wouldn’t know what hit th--

“Alright. Take your right glove off and throw it in the dirt and come out slow.” Came a rasping growl of a voice.

Ah shit.

Ted did as he was told. He removed the glove with the Bug’s controls and threw it away. He then raised his hands above his head, with his palms open and stepped out from behind his cover. He turned around and came face to face with “the other Cross brother”, decked out in a red and white tactical suit, with a cybernetic sight over his left eye and armed with a high powered rifle. Scott Lang was able to easily identify Darren Cross, the CEO and frontman of CrossRoads Innovations, but he had limited information on this more dangerous brother. All he knew was that he went by ‘Crossfire’ rather than an actual name and was former CIA. If Darren Cross had no brother according to birth records, it wouldn’t have surprised Ted at all. Hank couldn’t find a thing on him working behind the scenes other than a bunch of dark ops which even he couldn’t hack his way past to see what they entailed. Ted wasn’t sure he wanted to know, even if he had been able to.

“Wow. What do we have here? A gen-u-wine superhero. Now how on Earth did a scumbag like Lang find a way to get in touch with somebody in the capes and cowls community?” His voice was loaded with venom, but had a dark humour behind his growl at the situation.

“When you stole his daughter it activated his regional superhero social worker...”

The Cross brother with the darker past laughed, but without any trace of good humour to it. He poked him in the back with the muzzle of his rifle and gestured for the Blue Beetle to join Scott Lang in the clearing. Darren Cross was unseen, probably with Cassie Lang, and presumably armed. There was no play to be had here.

“I saw you when you got here thirty minutes ago. Pro tip, don’t leave it for the last half hour if you’re going to stake out an exchange point. I’ve had eyes on here for four hours.” He tapped his cybernetic implant.

“You capes and self-proclaimed heroes are all the same. All flash, no substance. Headline grabbing antics without basic fundamental training and craft behind what you do. Pitiful.” The former CIA agent spat his distaste.

“You’re just jealous because I have functioning depth perception.” Ted quipped as he was perp-walked down to where Lang was.

“They found me.” He said, stating the obvious to Scott.

“They did.” He said. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t risk her.”

Ted snorted as if he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“You ratted. The one person who came in willing to hear you out. To take your side and you sell me down the river…” Ted shook his head and looked away from Lang.

“It’s my daughter.” Was his only reply, baleful and regretful as it was.

Crossfire laughed. “He’s a goddamn thief, you idiot. You really thought you could trust him to be straight with you?”

The Blue Beetle drew his BB gun and levelled it at the Scott in rage.

“Uh, uh, uh.” Crossfire tutted at the Beetle. “As entertaining as it would be to watch you two tear each other apart, we’re not going to have any of that gun play here. Toss it in the dirt.”

The Blue Beetle let the BB gun swivel on his finger from the trigger guard, as he bit his cheek in frustration. “That’s a good boy.”

Crossfire spoke into a shoulder holstered mic. “Well, it looks like we’ve got everyone ready and waiting, brother. Time to make your fashionably late entry.”

A long Lincoln towncar rounded the bend a few hundred yards ahead of the trio. It drove up to them and took a hard turn right in front of them, showing the passenger side doors to the waiting onlookers. A large boot touched down in the dust ahead of them. The backdoor opened and a small girl came out calling for her father.

“Daaaaaad!”

“Cassie!”

“Hold it right there, Lang.”

“Cassie! Wait!” He held out an open palm. The blonde little girl stopped, clearly distressed.

“Have you got what you’re here for? I’d hate for this to abruptly change from happy family reunion to funeral.” The CEO of CrossRoads asked.

Scott Lang held out a single finger with his right hand to ask for a moment to get it. He put his left hand well within the folds of his own clothing and produced the Palmer Medi-Tech canister.

“What’s going to happen to him?” He asked about the Blue Beetle.

“Do you care, or furthermore, do you really want to renegotiate terms so close to getting what you want whilst looking down the barrel of a gun? I know you’re not in the business world, but a word to the wise… it’s not the best bargaining position.” A large smirk crossed his face.

“See, you’ve just proved your value here. But when I said no police, it kind of goes without saying that you shouldn’t have been going to the likes of him either. I think you’re getting off pretty light here by just having him be the cautionary tale in this one. What say you, brother?”

“I couldn’t agree more. Besides, I must say this one would reeeeeally pad out the resume. Never liquidated a superhero before.” Crossfire darkly leered.

“So… how are we going to do this?” Scott asked. “Because in terms of trustworthiness, I think I’ve proved myself at the head of the class on this one. So I think I get Cassie first, then someone - maybe this guy?” He suggested the Blue Beetle. “Gives one of you the canister, you give him the bullet and we should be all square.”

Cross snorted at the ridiculousness of giving the prize to the hero. “Leave the canister on the ground and come forward and get your daughter.”

He put the canister in the dirt and slowly started to walk forward, with his back to Crossfire. “Come here, Cassie.” He called. “It’ll all be over soon.” He had his suit coveralls unzipped and was wearing something strange underneath that he was also unzipping, but this wasn’t what had captured Darren Cross’ attention.

The would be the Blue Beetle, who had moved fast, spurning subtlety and drawing the CEO’s attention. Stomping on the ‘Release’ button on the canister, and releasing what nanites it contained in a quick expulsion of air. As well as the rest of its contents.

Scott Lang grabbed his daughter and held her tight to his chest, zipping up the suit over the pair of them and rapidly shrinking away from any stray gunfire.

“No!” Came the call from Darren Cross. Crossfire quickly swung the barrel of the gun to make short work of the hero only to find his muscles seize from a blast of bioelectricity.

Wasp had grown exponentially as soon as the canister’s release freed her from her own hiding place. She had seized the advantage and made sure the CIA agent would never get a shot off.

The Beetle dived back for his B.B gun and pulled the trigger on a blinding flash of light.

“Aaargh!” Cross howled, flinching away from the action.

It was all the opening that Scott Lang needed, he’d let others fight his battle for long enough. He grew once more to full size and in one motion spun to let Cassie out of the suit, before growing to nine feet tall. The giant figure took three lunging steps and unloaded a heavy right with the full weight of a much larger man into Cross’ jaw and the senior executive crumpled.

Scott stood over him and panted, the exertion had worn him out fast. And he was only slightly larger. He felt exhausted. He staggered back to Cassie and shrank back to his regular size. He dropped to his knees and hugged her, the pair of them emotionally and physically wrought.

---

“So, what have you got for me?” Palmer asked his head of security.

“Well, we’ve checked out the reference number you provided…”

Ray Palmer furrowed his brow. Ted Kord kept him out of the building discussing issues pertaining to his prototypical medical nanites, whilst someone else broke into his building and stole the exact thing they’d been discussing under the pretext of a meeting they were “supposed to have” which Ray had no record for in his calendar. The whole thing was far too on the nose to be any kind of coincidence.

“Let me guess... It’s gone.” Palmer finished his sentence.

“Well, yes and no, sir.”

“Yes and-- How do you figure?”

“Well, the canister itself is gone, sir. In it’s place is this generic canister. And when we checked it the contents. Well… It’s a full canister. And it contains your patent-pending medical nanites. It appears that the break-in culprits just relocated the nanites to a fresh canister and stole the Palmer Medi-Tech tube.”

Ray Palmer considered this news, adding it to what he already knew, tenting his hands with his fingers to his mouth.

“Thank you.” He said as he turned his seat. “That should be all.”

The Hell was Kord up to..?

Doctor Palmer pondered. Switching nanite canisters still left trace quantities in the original. Trace quantities would be all the likes of a Ted Kord, or especially a Hank Pym, would need to replicate and learn from the technology. Technically, this could just be Kord trying to steal his tech so he could learn from it. But that didn’t scan for a few reasons. First of all, it would make more sense to just outright steal the nanites in their original canister. Replacing the tube made it no less obvious that the theft had taken place. In fact, the presence of a non-Palmer MediTech tube made it more blatant that something strange had taken place. Did Kord WANT him to know he was stealing his tech? Was this part ofthat Kord-Pym powerplay he’d suspected. Trying to edge him out, so they wouldn’t even need him? Or was this something else? What else could it be?

---

Scott, Janet and Ted all sat around Hank and Janet’s kitchen table in full costume. Hank was also there dressed in his regular lab coat. And L-Ron was naked. Which was usual, unless a chassis counts. Which it doesn’t.

Scott had dropped Cassie back off at Peggy’s. A lot of the stress having dissipated and changing form more to general excitement than anything else. To her, her father had become a superhero just to save her. She knew enough that if her mother found out what had happened, there would be no calming her down, so it could be their little secret. Couldn’t it? Her dad was a superhero. Her dad was HER superhero and she couldn’t wait to see him again, next time she got to visit.

“So I suppose you want the suit back, Hank? It’s only fair--” Scott started to unzip. Janet looked away until Ted told her he was wearing shorts and a t-shirt underneath.

“No. I-- I don’t think I need it.” Hank said.

Scott raised an eyebrow.

“I was just upset that it was stolen. That people close to me would do that.” He said.

“Aww Hank. Buddy, I’m sorry. But I-- I know it doesn’t make it right, but I needed it.”

“I know. I’m not really upset about that now. I’m more upset that you never asked and just took it.”

“Well, I couldn’t really risk you saying I couldn’t have it. I needed it. It was Cassie.”

Ted rocked back and watched everything, before making a suggestion.

“I think I’ve got an idea that makes a lot of sense.”

Janet looked at him and scowled. “Ted, no.”

“Well, Hank pretty much just gave him the suit.”

Scott turned to the pair, not really understanding what was being said.

“The only job Scott’s been able to get is as a cleaner. I’m pretty sure he could use a job which pays a bit better for his skills. This gives us a chance to make sure the suit isn’t being used… improperly. It puts pay in Scott’s pocket, which in turn will let himself get set up enough that he could still keep in touch with his family. And it gets us another team member.”

“What are we talking about?”

Janet and Ted both turned to him, on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum regarding his possible membership.

“Super Buddies.”

“Oh. You’re going to have to come clean with Ray Palmer too. It’ll be alright, I’ll go with you and smooth all of that out with him. Explain why we needed one of his company decal’d containment tubes. I’ll have a word with the parole board in the morning as well. And we can work out a system where this will count towards work and time served on your parole period, in addition to having your name kept out of things. The last thing we want is for this to splash back again on Cassie and your ex-wife.”

“My wife. We’re not divorced.”

“Didn’t you say she’d changed her name?”

“It’s probably just a phase. It can’t be easy being married to someone who’s in prison and having to explain that to people!”

Ted offered a skeptical, yet sympathetic expression.

“This is a terrible idea.” Said Janet. “You’re just going to completely forget what he did to poor Hank?”

“I’m not forgetting it at all.” Ted said to Wasp, before turning to face Scott. “And he’s on a ZERO tolerance probationary period, where he has to be COMPLETELY HONEST with us about things like this. Anything that’s giving him trouble. We can work through stuff like this. You’ve just seen that, Scott. But you’ve got to let us know. No long cowboy stuff and absolutely no robbing. OK?”

Scott nodded enthusiastically.

“See? He gets it. Part of this whole Super Buddies thing is trying to make a difference in society. Whether that be accepting metahumans as people who have the same rights as all of us, or whether it’s showing the public that reformation is possible and should be the goal of the prison system. Wait, you’re not one of those metahuman bigots are you?”

“Uhh… no?” Scott replied, wondering where that question came from.

“Great! That’s what I thought.” The Blue Beetle continued jovially.

Janet did not look happy about any of this.

“OK. But I get to treat him like crap, and stinging him is an acceptable communication method between us.”

“Fine by me.” Said Ted.

“Wait, what?” Scott asked.
“OK. Yeah.” Janet said. “Maybe this could work, after all…”

---

' T H E E M B A S S Y ‘

---

^{Present Day | Manhattan, New York}

The man in red showed his little girl around his own bedroom in the superhero fortress known as ‘The Embassy’. She gaped in wonder at the ins-and-outs and had a hundred questions ranging from his female teammates through to what he thought he’d be doing for this team. How big he could grow. How small he could get. Then the one in the blue cowl came and wrapped on his door.

“Sorry, Scott. Her mother’s at the front door. Time to go home, kiddo.”

Scott picked Cassie back up, put her on his shoulders, although he could barely do it anymore. She was growing so fast. Even without affected Pym Particles.

He put her down as they got close, and she took his hand and they walked to the front door and revealed Peggy, not too pleased to be kept waiting.

“Oh is she going?” A Scandinavian voice called out, as a beautiful woman in tight blue pants and white hair ran over and gave his daughter a hug. “We’ll see you next time, Cassie! Come back soon!”

Peggy looked at Scott and raised a single eyebrow. Scott looked at his wife with curiosity until he realized what she was suggesting.

Another beautiful woman in a two-piece swimsuit, with long green hair cascading down her bare shoulders walked past calling out in a thick South American accent “Bye, Cassie!”

The eyebrow dropped and the skepticism left her face as if she’d just had her doubts justified.

“Oh! No. That’s not--” He raised a single finger to correct her.

Suddenly Janet Van Dyne stepped into the doorway in front of Scott. Arching her back against him and purring.

“Ohh, you’re not going too, are you, Scotty?” She played with his hair.

Peggy flushed red with anger.

“Ohhhh no. No. This I can explain. I know how this looks, but she’s messing with me. This isn’t that kind of place.”

Suddenly L-Ron clanked to the doorway from parts unseen within the compound.

“Oh, Hello! I don’t suppose you have any pictures of yourself?”

Peggy’s jaw dropped to the floor. She quickly grabbed Cassie and began the long march to the main gates.

“OK. That-- That I can’t explain. Peggy? Peggy!?” But she was well beyond earshot.

“I don’t suppose you think we’re even now, do you?” He turned, speaking to Janet.

“Not by a long shot, 'Scotty'. Never. Ever. Mess with my Hank.”

Sparks flew and Scott Lang cried out.

---

The Halls of Niðavellir were dead. That much was certain as the group reached the atrium of the Great Dwarven Forge after a short entry hallway. The tall columns of glittering stone were adorned with carvings of the great Dwarven Lords and great victories of the past. They began to swirl when they got to the top, culminating in a swirling dome representing the sun of their world. It was incredible and a testament to their skill.

The beautiful, gleaming stone that had once echoed with the sounds of smithing hammers and the roar of the fires were now cold and silent, save for the sounds of the Guardians' footfalls. This was one of the most beautiful places in all the Nine Realms to Thor. He had always been fascinated by the creation of weapons, almost as much as he enjoyed wielding them. And the work the Dwarves did was unparalleled in the universe. That was something that he was always fond of.

Thor was taken aback at the amount of bodies that were strewn about the beautifully carved stone walkways of the Dwarves. These had been his friends and comrades in years past. Next to them laid Chitauri warriors, the drone army sent by their enemy to slaughter mindlessly.

Thor spat, and the liquid mad a strong slap on the stone floor. He couldn't help it. There was no honor in this battle. Their enemy had sent another army of mindless, killing machines to do their dirty work instead of doing it on their own. There was no honor in this slaughter.

He had seen many of these dwarves in the halls of Odin’s very castle. Some of them had carved the Throne of the Allfather themselves. To see them meet such an ignoble end was disheartening to say the least. That they were cut down for The Destroyer was made even worse. A weapon they never wanted to create had been their downfall.

Still, Thor could scarcely believe the amount of dead that were here. While the dwarven people were known more as smiths than warriors, they still could hold their own in most fights. For the Chitauri to have overwhelmed them, it meant their numbers were staggering. The Chitauri force must have numbered in the thousands. That was another sobering thought.

There were far too many set against them at this point, and more seemed to be piled on every minute.

“You know, for dwarves they’re pretty big,” Rocket murmured, trying to break the tomb-like silence.

“Dude, definitely not the time,” Quill hushed him.

“Dwarves being short was a tale they themselves spread,” Thor explained to the group, ignoring the raccoon’s discretion. “They believed it would lead anyone who wanted to invade their lands to underestimate them.”

In fact, the Dwarves were nearly seven feet y’all. Not as big as the giants, but large and very strong in their own right. But while they could hold their own and were dangerous in numbers, they had no natural affinity towards battle.

“They were slaughtered,” Hawk was equally disgusted. “There was no honor in this. Merely an extermination. Such an end was not fitting for the legendary smiths.”

Thor nodded to her with appreciation. She had begun to open up to them, and he was happy to see it. When they had first met he had thought she had no honor. It had been the only explanation for a Thanagarian warrior to be exiled. But instead he had found that it was the exact opposite. She was more honorable than any warrior he had ever seen before. She had sacrificed her people's goals for the good of the universe. It was astounding.

Still, the eyes that met his weren't completely trusting. She didn't trust him. She had always seemed to know more about him than the others did. That was enough for Thor to understand her distrust. The gods, not just the Asgardians, had disappointed and deserted the galaxy for ages. He saw that now. They had shirked their responsibilities and the mortals were suffering for it. He could feel it in his blood. It had been reawakening in him as he traveled with these weird, lost creatures he was beginning to think of as friends.

Now he needed to slay his enemy so he could get around doing something about that.

"So what is this Destroyer?" Rocket asked. "Could it say...blow up a moon? I've always wanted to blow up a moon."

Thor chuckled despite the ridiculous question, "It could, depending on the soul, or souls, that inhabit it."

"I am Groot?"

"Yes, the weapon is powered by souls," Thor allowed his embarrassment to tinge his voice. "As I told you, the weapon was designed to fight the dark elves. The war against them had ravaged the realms. Odin, my father, was both enraged and vengeful when he ordered the Dwarves to create the Destroyer. He used the souls of every elf he killed on the field of battle to power the weapon. He saw it both as a path to victory and punishment at the same time. A, what would you call it Quill, double whammy?"

"Yea that's a doozy, to be honest," Quill patted him on the arm.

"My father should have destroyed it, not hid it," the Thunderer shook his head. "Failing to do so was always going to be a problem."

"Weapons like that never stay buried forever," Hawk agreed.

"So it *can* blow up a moon," Rocket stroked his chin.

Suddenly, Quill put his arm up, "I got life signs. One down each of the hallways."

"Oh of course," Rocket put his face in his palm. "Because that doesn't scream trap or anything."

"I am Groot."

"Yes I am being sarcastic," Rocket sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if there's anything but bark inside your head."

"Trap or not, someone here may be alive and have answers for us. We need to find them," Hawk shrugged.

"Gang, let's split up and look for clues!" Quill exclaimed excitedly. Everyone else looked at him out of the sides of their eyes. "Sorry, I've always wanted to say that."

Houston had become a disaster zone in the hour since Booster had arrived in the city. Explosions had ripped through the downtown business district as rush hour began, and she saw that some of the city's extensive highway system had collapsed. Cars and people were strewn about along the ground, some under mounds of rubble that other people were trying to dig them out of.

She cursed herself as she looked over the scene. If she hadn't hesitated maybe she'd have been here to save people. Maybe if she hadn't considered following the rules Agger had given, she may have gotten here in time.

Those thoughts were nothing but distractions though. She got here almost as soon as she had heard about the explosions. Blaming herself for something these monstrous act was nothing more than self pity and doubt from her current situation. Booster couldn't allow her doubts about what Roxxon was doing to stop her from doing her job correctly.

And her job was to save people.

Swooping down towards the nearest pile of rubble, Booster moved between the citizens standing and gawking at the destruction and towards the ones doing their best to dig out their fellow commuters.

"How many are underneath!?" she asked, coming up alongside them.

A man beside her hurled a small boulder of conrecte down the hill. It clunked against the rest of the rubble before coming to a stop next to a crushed car. He shook his head, "At least three cars. Dunno how many people. But we don't need your help, supe. It's because of your kind this happened in the first place."

Booster recoiled as if she had been slapped by the man's words. She knew that the public sentiment towards the superpowered was turning ill ever since the incidents in New York and Star City, but she had never experienced anything like this. Usually she just got a dirty look or two. This was full on hostility.

"Wh-what do you mean?" she managed to get out. It was all she could say through the daze of surprise.

"I saw her," the venom in the man's voice was palpable. "Blond woman on a pink motorcycle. She touched the supports with her hand. They started to glow. She took off on the bike, and once she was clear the whole damn thing went up. Came crashing down. Because of you people."

There was no point in arguing with the man. He had made up his mind about her, and she couldn't blame him after what he had seen here and all the propaganda that the government was putting out. But he had given her enough information to start tracking the subject. She motioned for him to move, and he did reluctantly. Using her force field emitters, she scooped a large amount of the rubble off the top of the pile, and moved it to a safe location. Underneath, she saw the people in the cars were alive, but injured. First responders rushed by her and down to help them. With a nod to the man, she took off once again.

"Skeets," she asked her AI companion, "can you track the woman that guy was talking about? I figure it's the only way we're gonna stop whatever's going on here."

"Affirmative, ma'am," the robot said with a chipper demeanor. "Showing up on your heads-up display now."

Instantly, a line running away from the disaster site appeared on her visor, "Skeets, what would I do without you?"

"Probably very little, ma'am."

She took off towards the culprit, hoping she could stop them before anything else went wrong.

---

The door to John Henry Irons's lab slid open with a barely-audible whoosh, and a guard stepped in through it, before locking it behind him. The engineer peered up from his work thanks to the odd occurrence. Never before could he remember being locked into his own lab.

"Something wrong?" he asked, almost bored with the entire situation. He didn't think there was any reason for him to be moved here in the first place. Surely if he was going to be defended, it was better to do so away from a population center. Here in Houston there were far too many variables. As a scientist, that was disconcerting. But the people who signed his checks felt better with him being here, so here he was. He wasn't about to upset the cart and lose his funding.

"Wrong? No, Doctor Irons," the guard shook his head but continued to move around the room. "We just want someone in here with you until we have the all clear. With the superhero gone and all, we don't want to risk someone getting in under our noses."

"Mhm," the engineer's eyes narrowed at him. "Shouldn't you be standing by the door then? Just in case."

"No I think I'd rather be-"

Irons flipped one of the sonic gauntlets he had been designing for the suit around and shot it towards the guard. Unfortunately the impostor was ready for the move and rolled out of the way of the blast, which shattered part of the gleaming white wall behind them. The guard raised a gun and fired on the doctor, striking him in the neck with a tranquilizer dart. The guard smiled maliciously as Irons fell to his knees.

"Sorry about that, Doc," the guard grinned hungrily. As he did his face began to contort and change. It lost color, quickly become a pale, chalky white. The skin started to hang loosely on his face, almost as if it wasn't attached to the bone at all. Scars ran through it, and John Henry Irons was disappointed he hadn't added to them. "Name's Chiller. I've been paid a lot of money to bring you and your toys in. No hard feelings, okay?"

As Irons began to slip into a medically induced sleep, he heard the Chiller say into his comms device, "Package is secure. Waiting for extraction."

---

Thor took Star-Lord aside before the groups split apart. He had to admit he had come to look at the mortal, as frivolous as he often was, as a true friend. The God of Thunder could scarce remember if he had ever looked at a mortal in the same light. He had considered them brave warriors, useful tools, willing lovers, and strong workers in the past, sure. But never had he considered one a true friend until he met this odd human in the middle of a chaotic galaxy. That Quill continually rose to the occasion helped. But there was something else. He saw the propensity for greatness in this mortal, and the others he had gathered to Thor's cause.

"This is a trap," he confirmed to the human. He had no idea what that trap would end up being, but he was fairly certain it was the case. It was too easy to find this place. Too easy to go to the dwarves. "But I think more meant for me. Whoever has led us here is taunting me with my failures. They will try and kill you, for sure. But they are focused on me. Keep your wits about you, Peter Quill. Do nothing that will endanger you or the Hawk. If we do that, we can all come out of this alive."

"Awwwww," he smiled sarcastically, "you're worried about me. How cute."

"I am not in a gaming mood, Quiil," he shook his head. "We're in the lion's mouth now."

"Well, let's not get bit then," he nodded.

Thor patted him on the shoulder and moved to the hallway he had taken for himself. Rocket and Groot were going to head down the left hallway, Quill and Hawk the right, and he was tasked with the center. He looked over his ragtag team, hoping to all the cosmos that he hadn't led them to their death. He had already upturned them enough. Ending them would be his final failure. He would be laughed out of Valhalla, if he was even allowed in that hallowed hall in the first place.

"Keep your heads," he nodded to them. "We do that, we'll get out of here alive."

Rocket looked around at the others, "Wow, that's it? I mean, I know you're not the smartest guy in the room, but that was kinda crap, dude."

"I am Groot."

"I am not pumped up either, pal."

"He's right," Hawk rolled her eyes. "Stay smart. Stay alive. We used to say it all the time in the Thanagarian army. It's all you need to know. Now let's go. We have a job to do."

---

Thor had been walking for what felt like an eternity. His steps echoed off the bare stone walls of the Great Forge, but at least he found no dead of the Dwarven folk in this one. This was merely empty. At least before, his footfalls had been joined by the other Guardians. Now he was wholly by himself.

As you should be.

The voice filtered through his head, and he shook it out quickly. It was unlike him to be that fatalist. The only time he thought like that were the moments after he found himself on the rock floating out in space unable to lift his hammer. But since then he's had at least a little bit of hope. That hadn't changed by coming here. So where was that kind of thought coming from?

After what felt like another hour of walking, Thor found himself in the heart of the Great Forge. He had been here before, long ago with his father. On that day, the fires in the pits around him were raging like the fields of Musphelheim when Surtur had his blood up. But now the fires were a mere smolder with no one to tend to them. The bellows were still, and while there should be the sound of metal tempering metal, there was now silence. Thor's heart was heavy at the knowledge that the universe would never again know the beauty of the Dwarves' work.

All because of the monster Thor and his compatriots were hunting.

Footsteps from behind the great anvil in front of him brought his guard up. Jarnbjorn was in his hand in a flash, and he readied himself for whatever would come.

What did, surprised him. Confidently, almost mockingly, the girl they had saved on the last planet strolled out with a smile. Her void-black hair stood out against the gleaming white stone of the forge. Her green skin and even more strikingly green eyes burst with color in the monochromatic space. She was like a living exclamation point on a sentence Thor did not understand. She tilted her head at the God of Thunder and studied him curiously, before letting out a mischievous giggle.

"How did you get off the ship? How did you get past us?" Thor demanded and explanation. The pommel of Jarnbjorn strained against his tightened grip.

"Oh dear he still hasn't figured it out," the girl said the first words Thor had heard her speak. The words sounded like they had come from a little girl's mouth, and yet there was a strange, deep stab behind them. "You are such a sanctimonious oaf, you know that? I can't believe you fall for this every time."

With those words the glamour fell from Thor's eyes and the girl in front of him began to melt away. Her form stretched and grew until it was almost as tall as him. Her hair stayed the long, coal black it had been, but her skin turned as pale as fresh snow. The eyes, though...the eyes did not change. They were the same, piercing, mocking green. When the transformation was done, Loki, the brother of Thor stood and bowed to the God of Thunder.

Thor stood dumbfounded, "You...you survived."

"Of course I survived!" he laughed. "Honestly brother, you always underestimate me."

"And you're working with the being that killed our friends!? Our family!?" Thor raged. Loki had always been a trickster, that much was certain. But to participate in the genocide of his own people and family was beyond anything he had ever considered possible from his brother.

"No...well yes," the God of Mischief shrugged. "I did not help him perform Ragnarok. But he found me after I survived. Said he would kill me if I didn't help take care of you. And well, I couldn't pass up being a thorn in your side yet again. You should be thanking me. I did manage to ferry some of the Dwarves off this rock before he wiped the rest out."

"Who is he?" Thor seethed.

"Do you remember a few centuries ago? When you felled that great space dragon that was harassing that backwater world? You became their hero. Their great god," Loki strolled around the forge, fiddling with tools as he went. "But then you forgot about them, as all of us forgot about the mortals. The dragons returned after centuries and laid waste waste to the world. I believe you saw their handy work when you first attempted to retrieve Jarnbjorn. You ignored their prayers, and the locals were slaughtered. Well, all but one."

"Impossible," Thor shook his head. "That world was primitive. How could one of its inhabitants bring down Asgard?"

"Ah, and there was another of our faults," Loki wagged his finger at his brother. "We underestimate the mortals. You did until very recently. Too late of course, but I am proud of you brother. But a mortal with vengeance and rage in their hearts is just as powerful as any god. And Despero proved that."

"Despero," Thor growled. "Where can I find this villain so that I may relieve him of his head."

"Oh, you'll see him in good time," Loki smirked broadly. "Now that you've been separated from your little friends, it won't be long at all."

Thor realized that Loki was not here to fight. He was not here to kill Thor or incapacitate him. His brother was merely here to break up the Guardians from one another. Thor spun to go back and find his friends, but found that great stone doors had closed the way.

"Ah, ah, ah, brother," Loki chuckled. "Don't worry. They'll be fine. And you wanted to go to Despero, did you not? Wait around and you'll be taken right to him."

---

He is leading you to your death.

The voice echoed through Hawk's mind at the exact moment that the wall beside them exploded and a cadre of Chitauri warriors burst through it. Her and Quill turned to run, firing the entire way. She saw his element guns take out quite a few of the drone soldiers, but they kept coming. She really hated how much whoever they were up against had numbers against them. She hated being outnumbered, and deep down wished she had a Thanagarian battalion to call in.

Instead she had to run with her new ally. If they made it out of this one, maybe it would be time to call him a friend. But that was very much in doubt at the moment.

When the two of them once again reached the atrium they had started in, they almost collided with Rocket and Groot.

"You guys got an army's worth of purple alien guys chasing you?" Rocket deadpanned.

"Yup," was Quill's only response.

"Good, at least Groot and I got to share the wealth."

"I am Groot."

"Come on, we need to get out of here," Hawk motioned backed towards the ship.

"Not without Thor," Star-Lord protested.

"Now ain't the time for feelings, Quill," Rocket started to run towards the exit. "We got more company?"

Peter turned and felt his face fall at what he saw coming down the hallway Thor had gone through. Another teeming horde of Chitauri was charging towards them, firing their weapons. The two groups from their hallways weren't far behind. Quill's heart fell, and he knew that escape was the only means of survival.

"Sorry, Thor," he said quietly as he turned and ran.

---

"Your friends have been allowed to escape," Loki smiled. "Their bounties will be cleared, and Despero has promised to leave them alone. As for you, you will face him in combat. He has granted you that chance."

"Battle against the Destroyer, no doubt," Thor spat as his brother's feet as the Chitauri began to bind the God of Thunder.

"Yes, I am disappointed he got the weapon, but he is resourceful," Loki shrugged.

"And what will he do when I am gone? One does not merely use the Destroyer to kill one God."

"Maybe he will do what I plan on," Loki sat in front of his brother cross legged. "I long to try on a crown. Heavens know Odin was never going to allow me one. Maybe Despero will do the same."

"Or maybe he's played you and he'll exterminate you and all the other gods," Thor suggested. "Who's to stand against him?"

"Possibly," Loki nodded. "But he's given me his word that once you're captured I'm free to go. So go I shall."

With that, Loki dematerialized in front of Thor's eyes, with that smug smile disappearing last.

_{Valentine, Texas - A Night 2 Months after the Crisis}

Issue 2.01.03: Lady

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: Issue 2.01.02: Blue Collar Man

The roar of the bike’s engine hummed throughout the small town, only dwarfed by the red-headed figure’s two-word scream. It had taken her nearly a month to track down Roy after he had fallen off the map. From what she put together; SHIELD had brought him in as a consultant, he fought alongside Captain America in New York City, and then he assassinated the Director of SHIELD out of the blue and disappeared. It didn’t make sense… but the bounty on his head was certainly worth the effort in searching for him.



She had been on the road with him for months. They had begun setting up patterns. Limited list of aliases, dead drops… the sort of cloak and dagger shit she could expect from someone working for the world’s largest spy organization. He kept up the tradition as he was moving, and Grace had picked up his trail in Oklahoma. He was moving rapidly towards Mexico, perhaps to try and just get out of the country to avoid any prying eyes. But she was gaining rapidly on Roy, barely eating and sleeping to make sure that she could catch up to him. And from the sights and sounds she was picking up on, she had cornered her prey. The motorcycle sped in the direction of the flashing lights, only slowing down as two police officers positioned themselves behind their cars and pointed their guns towards the lone biker.



Grace gently squeezed on the brakes to slow the motorcycle down, but refused to stop. Just as the police officers began to realize that she wasn’t stopping, the Amazonian was close enough that she could swing her leg over the side of the bike and send it launching towards one of the officer’s cowering behind the door. The sickening crunch of bones snapping was only overshadowed by the loud scraping of metal as the police car’s door was ripped from the vehicle by the collision.
It took only a moment, then, until the other officer began firing off shots with his sidearm towards Grace, who had used the temporary distraction to position herself behind the same car. Once the gunshots had halted and the officer began reloading his firearm, the Amazonian exile stood up to her full height and delivered a swift kick against the police car. The tires of the vehicle squealed as it lurched a few feet, and the force knocked the officer a few yards onto his back and into a rather deep sleep.

The police captain kept the gun placed against Roy’s temple as he watched in horror as the Amazonian slowly sauntered over, the only weapons visible on her person being a whip and a sheathed sword hanging from a belt on her tight leather pants, and her sleeveless denim jacket showcased her immense strength. But the police captain dug his knee deeper into Roy’s back and readjusted the grip on his firearm. ”You take one more fucking step and I’ll blow his damn brains out.”

Grace stopped in her tracks at this point and placed one hand on her right hip, directly next to the coil of rope dangling from her belt. With rolling eyes, she barked back, ”They only offer money if he’s alive.”
Within a split second, Grace gripped on to one end of the lasso and slipped it out with immense strength and speed directly towards the chief. The rope coiled around the barrel of the sidearm, and yanked away the weapon just as the chief pulled the trigger. The bullet impacted against the ground, and the gun flew off into the darkness behind the Amazonian. The police chief looked in surprise towards Grace, before he regained his composure for just long enough to shove himself to his feet and reach for the truncheon strapped to his waist.

Grace Choi didn’t take kindly to this threat, and grit her teeth as she approached the police chief. As he lifted his truncheon into the air to strike at her, Grace simply delivered one punch into the chief’s chest. A sickening crunch caused Roy to wince as the Chief flew backwards, only to end up colliding into the brick wall of the bar. Roy turned his head to see the chief not too far away from him, lying completely motionless. He wasn’t breathing.

Roy quickly scrambled up to his feet as his savior by circumstance stomped toward him. The scarlet archer raised his hands into the air in surrender. ”Grace… look, I didn’t do it.”

Grace, without so much as a word, used one hand to lift Roy into the air by his neck. She gave a slight squeeze, nearly collapsing his windpipe in the process. His feet began kicking, and his hands were desperately trying to pry Grace’s fingers off his throat. Her eyes were filled with hatred, but just as Roy could feel himself beginning to black out, she let go and dropped the vigilante to the ground. He gasped for breath on his knees, and Grace knelt next to him. ”That’s all you have to say? That you didn’t do it?”

Roy’s bloodshot eyes turned up towards Grace’s face, and the desperation plastered on his face caught the Amazonian off guard. ”Whoever it was had SHIELD access… they tricked me into going to the scene of the crime. Killed the Director of SHIELD just so that I would become public enemy number one.” He shakily rose to his feet, coughing as he did so. ”My… the man who made me this, he reappeared. And he’s worse now than what I remembered.”

Grace sighed and rose to her feet, walking towards a nearby pickup truck and tried the door handle. It opened with ease, and she rolled her eyes at the negligence. ”So then what’s your plan? You running away to Mexico?”
Roy shrugged as he massaged the tender flesh around his neck. ”Looking for help. I knew someone who used to live in Warpath, and figured I’d ask him. Assuming you wouldn’t show up.”

Grace’s face wasn’t visible, but Roy could have sworn he heard a near inaudible sigh between the sounds of the sparks as she got to work trying to get the engine running. It took her a moment before she responded. ”Well, I’m here. So what do we do now?”

Almost as if on cue, the engine of the truck hummed to life. Roy sidled up to the other side of the truck’s cab and hoisted himself in as Grace resituated herself into the driver’s seat. She turned her gaze to him expectantly as she put the truck in drive. ”Oliver helped me build a place outside of Star City so that I could take up the title of Green arrow one day.

I guess now is as good of a time as any to see if it’s still around.”

---

The Chitauri warship glided silently through the void of space towards Despero's flagship, of that Thor was certain. His brother had told him that's exactly where he was being taken. The voyage would almost certainly end in his death. That much wasn't fate, but it felt like it was the most logical endpoint whether Despero would give Thor a chance in combat or not. One does not invite their mortal enemy into their home without confidence. Thor had often upended such confidence, but now he was not sure.

This felt like the end.

He could have probably fought his way to escape. The Chitauri were dangerous, but they were not his match, even at their numbers. Still, he did not want to take the chance. He wanted to look the being that had killed his people in the eyes before one of them died. Either Thor's failures would be complete, or he would somehow pull off his vengeance. Either way, he would live or die on his feet.

His alien captors said little to one another, not that he could understand them if they did. Being a hivemind probably came in quite handy in captive situations. They couldn't give any intel out by accident, though he's not sure what he'd do with it if he got it. The Guardians were long gone. If Loki was to be believed, and that at the moment was hard to conceive, they had been allowed to escape. He tried to pawn that off as a kindness he was doing for Thor. The God of Thunder feared that they had been blown to space after taking off from the Dwarf planet.

"I am sorry, my friends," he said shaking his head, hoping that wherever they were they could hear him.

---

"What!?" Rocket yelled, turning his head back and forth from Quill to Hawk with an exaggerated, shocked look on his face. He turned to Groot, his mouth hanging open. "Do you believe these guys?"

Groot looked down at his feet and shuffled them together a little before looking back up at Rocket, "I am Groot."

"What do you mean you agree!" Rocket was dismayed. "Ugh. You've been spending too much time with these lunatics."

The small mammal plopped back down into his chair and folded his arms over his chest in protest. Quill knew he was going to be the hardest one to convince of his plan, but Star-Lord was still surprised when Hawk agreed almost immediately. Not that he was disappointed, of course. She really had begun to show her true colors, and for that he was thankful.

"Come on, Rocket," the Thanagarian protested. "You know he'd do the same for you."

"Yea, because blondy is an idiot," Rocket rolled his eyes. "We were allowed to go. We had our bounties wiped clean. We got a fresh start, and I for one would really like to take it and live a little longer."

"Please, dude," Quill shot back. "You're a raccoon. How long can you live? Like 10 years?"

"I keep tellin' ya I have no freakin' idea what a raccoon is!"

"We're going back," Hawk was adamant.

"We. Will. Die," Rocket responded emphasizing every word. "They've got the numbers. We don't stand a chance. We'll go back and get shredded by a Chitauri war fleet. You know that, right?"

"I have a plan for that," Quill assured him.

"And what about just finding the guy?" Rocket was unmoved.

"Weeeeell," Quill had an impish glint in his eye. "Let's just say I planted a tracker on Thor a while ago."

"In case he ran after you changed your mind to not turn him in for the bounty?" Hawk crossed her arm and looked at Peter.

"What!? No! No!" he shook his head profusely.

Everyone else in the ship looked at him unconvinced.

"Okay fine, yes," he rolled his eyes. "But look, we can use that. Come on. They're never gonna see us coming. We're going to have the element of surprise man. Let's do something here. I know, deep down you've enjoyed the last few weeks of doing good and traveling with us. So let's go save our friend and keep doing it."

Rocket grumbled and looked at the ceiling of the ship.

"Pluuus," Hawk added in, "you'll get to shoot a lot of Chitauri."

Rocket's eyes snapped to her, "Okay, you got me. I'm in."

---

Thor had to admit he was in awe of Despero's flagship as the ship he was in approached. It was like an obsidian splinter shoved into the void of space. Black, violent shards shot off the main spear head. They looked as if they could fire off at any moment and infect a planet with its evil. Around the flagship were two Chitauri capital ships and a few squadrons of fighters. He truly had a formidable force, and if Thor was unable to stop Despero here the alien could roll over the galaxy if he so chose.

They docked and Thor was shoved from behind by his Chitauri captors and he stumbled off the ship into the hangar. As he was walking down the corridors of the ship, he was amazed to see the Chitauri and the Brood cohabitating these spaces as if it was as nature had intended. As he passed them, they looked at him, as if they all hated him as much as their master.

Before long, he found himself in a large atrium. Above him a hologram of the universe flowed, and in the center of the room, on a large, black throne, sat a striking, hulking, red alien. His skin shined like fire in the dark ship. He was shirtless, and his muscles tightened when he laid eyes, all three of them, on Thor. He smiled, revealing sharp teeth, and the frill on the top of his head seemed to stand at attention, ready for the kill.

"Well, well," his voice was deep and doubled, as if it echoed through Thor's head. Telepathy, he figured. Made sense as to how he took over two hive mind races to do his bidding, "the God of Thunder finally graces me with his presence. How long have I waited for this moment. For years I prayed, and prayed, and prayed when the dragons hunted and devoured my people and my family. I watched as the beasts snapped my son in half when he stepped out for food he was desperate for. It was in that moment that I knew the elders were wrong. You were not the great hero of legend. You had happened upon our planet in search of glory. Once you had gotten that, you forgot about us, didn't you?"

Thor knew he couldn't lie to the villain, "Aye. You speak true. And I would not beg your pardon, as I would not deserve it. But in your quest for vengeance you have become a monster yourself. And for that I must kill you."

"Monster, Thunderer?" Despero laughed heartily. "No. I have become a god. I found a way into Odin's treasure room. I bathed in Asgard's eternal flame and it gave me powers you couldn't even believe. And after I was done I threw Sutur's skull into it and destroyed the great realm of Asgard. Then I found the Chitauri and the Brood, creatures almost exterminated by your kind. Together we've been brought oursleves back from the brink, and now we are the powers in the universe. Soon enough, everyone will see that."

"No," Thor shook his head as the Chitauri let him free and handed him Jarnbjorn. If nothing else, Despero was telling the truth when he said this would be a fight. "Soon enough, you will be dead. And my people will be avenged."

Despero smiled and stood, flicking the cape he wore off his shoulders, "Then come, Asgardian. Let us finish this."

With a great battle yell, Thor took off towards the would-be tyrant. The God of Thunder stared into those yellow eyes which stood like a statue, ready for Thor to reach them.

But he never did. Half way, Thor was struck across the face by a metallic haymaker. The Asgardian was flung across the room, but managed to land on his feet, albeit with a little wobble. When he regained his sight, he saw that the Destroyer was bearing down on him. Of course. The weapon that Despero had been after.

The giant, metal, living armor swung at Thor again, who managed to roll out of the way and bury Jarnbjorn into its shoulder. The blade passed through the interlocked shards of metal, which reformed as it passed by. The blow did nothing but leave Thor open for a viscous backhand. He rolled across the ground, losing his ax in the process. When he came to a stop, the Destroyer placed the hell of its boot on his throat as he reached for the ax just out of his reach.

"Powered by Chitauri and Brood essence at the moment," Despero sounded almost disappointed he had the Asgardian prince on the ropes. "But soon it will be powered by the essence of Thor Odinson. And then I will be unstoppable."

Suddenly the ship rocked violently, sending the Destroyer off balance enough for Thor to roll out form under it.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Despero raged as the hologram of the galaxy distorted into a resemblance of Peter Quiil.

"This is the Guardians of the freakin' Galaxy, a-hole!" Quill yelled in triumph. "Get ready for an old fashioned ass whoopin'!"

---

Across the galaxy, where Thor's hammer Mjolnir once stood, there was now nothing but bare rock.

---

---

Peter didn’t know that his bones could ache. He figured it was mostly reserved for muscles stretched to their limits, pulled during whatever flips or acrobatic hijinks he got up to during his nightly spider crawls.

Or from pulling down an X-Man’s car… He still felt pangs of pain from that one, now and again, but it was mostly overshadowed by the way his ribs still made a tiny crunching noise with every sway of his body as he walked towards Doctor Connors’ lab.

“...and christ, Peter, you’re lucky to be walking at all!” Gwen was in step with him, strawberry blonde hair tucked back behind her black hairband. He found himself trying to meet her eyes, only for the sunshine’s flash in his vision to punish him with waves of nausea.

At this rate I’m happy I walked away with my life.

“Well, y’know. Bed rest is a wonder drug.” Peter said. He stumbled and tried to reach out to catch himself, but his arm caught in it’s nylon sling and he pitched forward. Then he felt Gwen’s hand grab his opposite elbow. She pulled him back, gently, righting him on the pavement. His cheeks burned. He swallowed.

“Uh, thanks.” Peter pulled his arm back into himself, reaching over his own chest to adjust the strap of his bag.

“Don’t mention it, Pete.” Gwen sighed. She tucked an escaped strand of hair behind her ear and began to fish for her lab keycard in her jacket pocket.

The lab hadn’t suffered much during the MSF’s attacks -- the Connors were bolted in their apartment in Queens, and the place was locked down like a fortress when they weren’t in. When Michael Morbius wasn’t making after hours visits, anyways. That still rubbed Peter the wrong way. At least Morbius had his run in with Spider-Man to think about, instead of whatever he was sniffing out over--

“Have you been here? Since, yknow?” Gwen’s voice broke his concentration.

“You know I haven’t been coming to the lab, Gwen.” Peter offered his arm, and the fabric of the strap brushed against his neck. Gwen frowned.

“I mean the campus, Pete.” Her voice was soft. She fiddled with the door, and she rotated her ID too many times, trying to make the keycard fit into the slot. Her hands were shaking.

Peter remembered the carnage he saw on the streets, the infected civilians tearing each other apart. They would’ve turned each other into mincemeat if he hadn’t stepped in. But he saw it from a bug’s eye view, a Spider skittering in and webbing all the problems away. Tie people down, make them stop. He hadn’t seen it like they would have, friends and neighbors ripping each other’s throats out with bare teeth.

At least he’d been there, to stop them. All up and down the road from the Queens-Midtown tunnel. But he hadn’t been here. He looked at the campus green, squinting against the light refracted off the morning dew. He thought about what he’d seen on the news, how you couldn’t see much of the grass beneath a coating of red. Like the outline of May’s eyes when he dragged himself through the door.

“No. No I haven’t.” Peter said. Gwen’s keycard found its way into the slot. A green readout flashed and plexiglass doors receded, opening to the lab.

Every time Peter had to take a leave, some part of him assumed the lab would change on his return. Science stops for no one, that sort of thing. But the lizards still hid in their cages, snaking between miniature plant shoots and resting their bodies in warm pools of water. Watching. Waiting. The greenery still hung in its pots, like the gardens of babylon. No, this time the only difference was that Michael Morbius had his shirt off.

Mrs. Connors was towards the back, fitting a glass slide into a microscope, while the Doctor himself had Morbius sat up on the central table, with his button up shirt sitting off somewhere in the distant reaches of the lab. Still, if Peter hadn’t looked twice, he would’ve thought Morbius was wearing a vest. Something inky and black was wound around Morbius’ chest. It was a band as thick as the tac armor Peter had seen on the Enforcers, but throbbing with every beat of Morbius’ heart. The substance was traced with lines like steel cords, their color distorting and shifting through the spectrum of black as liquid shifted through it. At its edges, it was rooted into Morbius, black tentacles spliced with skin and plunging the depths of his chest cavity. It’s thickest point was the center of Morbius’ chest -- right where Peter had tagged him with the suit.

Peter thought about the word OsCorp scientists had used to describe the suit before its breakout. Symbiote.

Gwen tapped Peter’s arm and stepped away, heading towards the rack of labcoats. Peter stepped forward. Doctor Connors flipped through his charts, holding a tablet against his chest and sliding through it with his thumb.

“We can do more for you than the hospitals can, Michael, but… Well, the prognosis isn’t exactly positive.” Connors said. Morbius ground his teeth.

“The children have arrived, Doktor.” Morbius snapped. He pushed himself off the table and Doctor Connors lurched backwards, out of his way. Morbius swiped a towel from the workbench and draped it over across his shoulders like a fine silk. He moved away without a word, evidently content to sulk in the corner.

“Mr. Parker! Great to see you.” Doctor Connors placed his tablet on the table and smoothed the folds out of his labcoat. Peter still saw the screen lying against the table, readouts and bright red exclamation points surrounding a 3D image of a black mass of tissue.

“How do you put up with him, Doc? He just--” Peter began. His eyes followed the Vlatavan scientist, struggling into his labcoat from across the way, wedging the buttons closed over the mass of black symbiote sealing his chest.

“He’s having a rough time. We all our, in our own ways. How are you feeling?” Doc’s hand was on Peter’s shoulder. Something in his muscles tightened and he pulled away. He rubbed at it with his free hand.

“Better, mostly. Docs say another few weeks in this thing.” Peter lied. A few days was more likely, it seemed like the suit had a way of helping him bounce back. Doctor Connors looked at him from over the rims of his glasses.

“Peter. I mean how’re you, y’know,” he made a vague gesture with his hands, “feeling?”

Aside from getting crippled by Mo, Larry, and Curly? Peachy, Doc, just peachy. The Enforcers were probably laughing their way to the bank with a fat paycheck by now, all for squashing the spider. And here he was, almost a month later, still nursing the same damn hits.

“Fine, I guess.” Peter mumbled. He started to turn towards the labcoats.

“Son, you don’t just… You don’t just see something like that with your own eyes and, and…” Connors said, searching for the words.

Son, you don’t just -- what don’t I, Connors? Do you wanna go a round with Megawatt and his merry minstrels?

“What are our goals today, Doctor Connors? Further assessment of formulae bonding agents?” Gwen appeared to rescue him, with Peter’s labcoat draped across her arm.

“Uh, yes, Ms. Stacy. There’s a crate of testing materials over by Martha’s station.” Connors offered.

“We’ll get right to it! C’mon, Parker.” Gwen hooked her arm through Peter’s and dragged him across the linoleum, parking him at his station. “D’ya need help with your coat?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Peter grumbled. He accepted the smock and threw it over his back, now attempting to jam his good arm into an appropriate hole.

“Doctor Connors is right, you know.” Gwen had already placed a test slide in her microscope, and set to calibrating the focus, twisting each knob.

“What, about Morbius?” Peter finally pushed his arm through and began fumbling for his own slide, groping about the hard surface of the table. But his eyes tracked Morbius, snaking between the tables towards Doctor Connors.

“About you. You sneak out of the house the night of the worst terrorist attack in the world, and you’re just… Good?” Gwen shook her head. “I don’t believe it for a minute.”

“I’m fine, Gwen.” Peter said. He had already stopped grabbing for the slide and watched as Morbius and Connors talked in hushed tones. Connors hand was open and his shoulders were up, shrugging. Morbius’ shoulders were like low points, stabbing out of the top of his labcoat.

“Even Flash is worried about you, Pete.” Gwen said. Peter recoiled. He turned to face her.

“Flash? Now that I don’t believe. That meathead has never--” He started.

“He was also asking about you after what happened to Ben. You’ve been through a lot. You’re allowed to… To hurt.” Gwen cut him off. She reached for him but he stepped aside. He stepped past her and around boxes of equipment, making for Martha Connors’ workstation.

“Can we drop it, please? I’m going to get the materials.” Peter turned. Then, there was a crash across the lab, shattered glass and twisted metal bouncing across linoleum tiling.

“I need better, Connors!” Morbius roared. The Vlatavan towered over the Doctor, and the first several buttons on his labcoat had burst, revealing the black mass that swelled with every breath he took. The twisted remains of a microscope swept off the table lay at his feet.

“I need you to calm down, Michael--” Connors pinwheeled backwards, nearly tripping himself on the hem of his labcoat.

“Calm down?” Morbius spat. He stabbed his finger into his chest. “This thing is killing me!”

“Michael, Michael--” Connors made eyes backwards and Pete and Gwen, trying to keep his body between Morbius and the children, “the organism is affecting your amygdala. I need you to take deep breaths.”

Morbius sucked in a breath. Every muscle in his face was shaking, and his pale features had flushed fire truck red. “You will find an antidote, Connors.” The more Michael talked the further his accent crept into his voice, his finger jammed harder and harder into Connors’ chest.

“We will Michael. I promise you.” Connors put his hand around the other scientist’s and met his eyes. “We will.”

Michael stared back at him for a long time. He wrenched his hand back and set to unbuttoning his lab coat as he made for the door. “A promise isn’t good enough.”

The door dinged cherrily as they slid open and Morbius stormed out. Martha Connors rushed to her husband's side, sweeping him into her arms.

“Sweetheart, are you --?” Doctor Connors waved her off.

“I’m fine dear, I’m fine.” Connors said. He straightened his coat and ran his hand through his hair. “Kids, I’m sorry you had to see that.”

It was only then Peter realized he’d been up on the balls of his feet, muscles tightening even as his ribs protested. His suit had already snuck its way up past his legs, beneath his jeans, and was already winding together around his torso. He rocked backwards against a lab table and it receded, rushing back down his body.

“It happens, Doctor Connors. Like you said. It’s a tough time.” Gwen was the first to speak.

“I… Yes, I… I suppose so.” Connors scratched the back of his head. “Kids I, um, want to thank you for coming out, but you can take off, if you’d like. I think Martha and I are going to cool down for a little while.”

“It’s fine, Doctor. Science stops for no one. Peter and I can wrap this up and we’ll get out of your hair.” Gwen offered. Peter nodded and shifted his eyes to the ground. He went for the box.

“I appreciate it, Gwen.” Connors nodded to them. “Thank you.”



By the end of it, Peter and Gwen had the process down like clockwork, rotating each slide in and out and scribbling notes about bonding agent efficacy, effects on the tested stem cells and resultant implications for formula stability. It was a grind but with each slide was progress, a little closer to cracking the code. It meant something.

Unlike that fight with the Enforcers. The loss burned in Peter’s mind, bubbling up with every pang of pain from his body. There had to be some way to beat them. They had mentioned they were a squad of Enforcers, right? Were they from some other organization? At the very least they were in Tombstone’s pocket. And then on top, on account of them he had to pretend he had some troubled home life that lead him to sneaking out and getting beaten on the streets. Fun fun fun. As if Ben wasn’t on his ass enough already. And now Gwen was looking over at him every five minutes like she kept seeing a new sick puppy.

“So. How’s it going for you?” Peter broke their silence.

Gwen shrugged. “The protein-chain solutions seem the most effective so far, ” She began.

“No, I mean,” Peter sighed. “This has gotta be the fifth time someone has said something like this today, but how are… Well, you?”

Gwen looked back at him. Her bangs framed her eyes. “To be honest? Not stellar. Dad’s been on the warpath lately. With what Captain America did, and Spider-Man out there somewhere? He’s not, um. Handling it super great.”

Peter cracked a grin. “Then he’s gonna flip when he hears the Spider-Man song you guys have been working on.”

“God, no,” Gwen said. She looked down and began jotting in another row of notes. “We dropped that last month.”

Peter nearly dropped his next slide. “You what?”

“I mean, he attacked a Hospital.” Gwen said.

Everybody reads the Daily friggin’ Bugle…

“Uh, yeah. True.” Peter pressed his eye into the microscope, seeing proteins list into each other, one at a time.

Maybe once I find a way to flush the Enforcers out I can find the time to bump up my street cred…

“You almost ready to head out?” Gwen asked.

“Last one.” Peter reported. Gwen had already started breaking down her station, packing away slides and research notes into marked file folders.

“Hey, Pete?” Gwen said.

“Hey, yeah?” Peter responded. He pulled the last slide off of his observation deck.

“I know you’re trying to be tough guy about, well, everything. But, really honestly, if you ever want to talk. I’m here. Okay?” Gwen squeezed his shoulder.

Peter turned up his eyes to meet hers. Brilliant and baby blue and piercing. Like she could see into his soul. He looked back down. “Thanks, Gwen. Really.”

She squeezed again and left his side to hang up her lab coat. Peter pushed back from his station and rolled his shoulder, judging the feeling in his arm.

Still another day or two until I can hold a webline, but… I’m coming for you, Enforcers. I’m coming.

---

The blasts continued to pepper the side of Despero's flagship, sending tremors through the interior. The shaking allowed Thor to keep one step ahead of the Destroyer as it attempted to crush his bones into dust. The Destroyer was bigger and stronger than he was, but the Asgardian was fast and more sure footed in the current conditions. Still, the hulking mass of metal was able to get in a few shots, and Thor was beginning to tire. There was a reason his father had created this horrible weapon, and it was becoming clearer by the moment.

Depsero, on the other hand, seemed distracted by the attack. That may have been the only reason Thor was still alive, if he was being honest with himself. For that he was thankful for his friends. Thor now understood why Despero wanted to separate Thor and the Guardians. It had nothing to do with sparing mortals. He just did not believe he could defeat all of them.

Good. All he had to do was survive until his friends came to help him.

The Destroyer barely missed with a devastating downward blow, and Thor managed to sever both arms as they were stuck in the steel of the ship's floor. They would reconnect shortly, but at least it allowed him to put some distance between him and the weapon.

Not wasting any time, he took off towards Despero, hoping to get a few licks in before his magical lapdog could protect him once again.

"Despero, time to die!" the Thunderer yelled as he rushed at the villain. Before he could reach the red alien, however, he was shoved by an invisible force. Despero had raised his hand, and his third eye on his forehead had begun to glow. With a flick of his wrist, Despero showed his full power and sent the Asgardian shooting across the throne chamber.

"I think not, Asgardian," the red alien chuckled slightly. "Again, you underestimate the ability of mortals. You think I am helpless without my weapon. But I am a match for you, Thor."

"It is not I that underestimates mortals, Depsero," Thor wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. He was hurting. That much was obvious. But he needed to continue to stall until the others could make it to him. "Nay, no more will I fail to see the worth in the short lives that burn hotter than any sun. No, it is you who failed to see the worth in the bonds between those mortals. The very bond that has brought you under attack as I speak these words."

By this time, The Destroyer had regained its advantage and drove its knee into Thor, knocking him down. As his vision started to blur, he scrambled away from strike after strike from the Destroyer.

Then the alarms started to go off in the ship.

---

The sounds of happiness coming out of Rocket as the Hasselhoff tore through the Chitauri fighters that buzzed around them like a squadron of stinging insects. Quill had heard many guttural battle cries over his years with the Ravagers, but a raccoon yelling as he mowed down ship after ship was something the man who called himself Star-Lord would never forget. It was almost keeping him from piloting the ship correctly if he was being honest.

"Don't shoot any of the Ravager ships you maniac!" Quill half-yelled, half-laughed at the little creature manning the guns.

Luckily they weren't alone in this assault.

"Would someone shut that rat up!?" Yondu Udonta's gravely voice came over the comms as his massive Ravager cruiser, the Constellation, overtook the smaller Hasselhoff. The bigger ship looked like a mix between a trash truck and an asteroid, but Quill knew it packed a punch. As if on cue, the main, circular canon on the front of the ship fired. The single, uninterrupted, red beam slammed into the side of the main ship in the enemy fleet. The old mining laser that Yondu had installed to punch into the holds of cargo ships did its job, punching through the hull of the capital ship in short order. "Quill, you're set. Remember our deal!"

"Yea, yea," Star-Lord waved his hand even though he knew the blue alien couldn't see him. "You get whatever tech you can salvage from the ships."

"Including that superweapon, boy," Yondu reminded Quill about the Destroyer. "That's gonna fetch one hell of a price on the black market."

Quill killed the comms to the Ravager ships as he made his way towards the hole that was now their way into the ship. He looked over his shoulder as he did, finding Hawk's disapproving glare meeting him, "What?"

"You're giving a magical god-weapon to a space pirate," she responded dryly.

"No I'm not," he rolled his eyes. "Thor's just gonna destroy the...Destroyer. Yondu will never come close to it."

"Oh so we're gonna have another price on our heads?" Rocket asked in between gunning down fighters that had moved in to try and block their way to their destination. "Thanks Quill."

"I am Groot," the tree added in from his seat.

"Yea well we needed help or we'd all be space dust at this point," Quill grumbled. "Can we fight about this after we kill the God-murdering alien general?"

"Sounds fair," Rocket shrugged.

"Coming up alongside, Peter Quill," the deep, powerful voice of Heimdall alerted the maneuver. Quill looked up to see the yacht that had been stolen from Warworld at the same time as the Hasselhoff. "Let us avenge our fallen people together."

"You take care of disabling the ship, we'll find Thor," Hawk assured the Asgardian.

The two ships passed into the enemy capital ship, where they found themselves in the hangar. Rocket didn't take any chances. He opened fire on the fighters that were still docked. Since the air had been sucked out of the hold, the ships merely disintergrated, their pieces floating in the lack of gravity. The attacking ships set down, and the Guardians stepped out in their space gear.

On the other hand, the Asgardians stepped out of their craft in gleaming gold and silver armor, each one more ornate than the last. They wielded swords that gleamed in the starlight, and it was one of the most beautiful things any of the Guardians had ever seen.

"Is it weird that I'm turned on right now?" Quill asked.

"No," Hawk answered.

"Good hunting, Guardians," Heimdall nodded to them as he turned to head towards the bridge. As the airlock opened as they approached, he yelled out, "For Asgard!"

The Asgardian warriors poured into the ship, fanning out and cutting through all that stood in their way. The sight of a battalion of gods fighting the creatures that had killed most of their kind was a sight to behold. It wasn't ferocious or haphazard. They all seemed to know where the other was and how they were moving. It was more of a dance than a battle. When they came to a junction, the Asgardians went one way and the Guardians another.

Hawk led the way, swooping into columns of Chitauri and Brood, smashing away with her Nth metal mace. This was where the Thanagarian was at home. Not in a skirmish, but in a proper battle. The other three Guardians picked off any stragglers that needed taking care of, but she plowed their way to Despero's inner sanctum.

When they broke through the door, they found Thor suspended above a throne, a hologram of the galaxy swirling around him. In the throne, the tired, red form of Despero looked at them smiling with needle-like teeth. He merely muttered, "Kill them."

With frightening speed, a mammoth figure to Quill's left rushed at them, scattering the Guardians. Groot was the first to step to the black, armored figure. He wrapped the being in vines of wood and leaves, attempting to allow Hawk to swoop in for a head shot. Instead, the Destroyer burst from its wooden cage, shattering it so hard that Groot's very arms splintered and cracked, sending the living tree stumbling backwards. Meanwhile, Hawk was spiked out of the air into him. Rocket ran at the weapon, firing with his pistols, their projectiles bouncing off harmlessly. The Destroyer reared up to smack the little creature into oblivion, but Quill managed to snatch up his friend just in the nick of time with help from his rocket boots. Unfortunately the Destroyer grabbed Quill by the feet, crushing the boots and tossing the two of them on top of Hawk and Groot.

"Hm," Despero mused. "I expected more. Well? Finish it."

---

As the Destroyer's head began to open up, revealing the glowing, crackling energy within, Thor struggled as strongly as he could against the grip of Despero's mental vice. The powers gifted to the being by the Eternal Flame was incredible. Thor thought it may have been a divine trick by the flame to teach the Asgardians the folly of their past ways.

Whatever the reason for Despero's for power, now was not the time to wonder about it. He reached, clawed, and strained against the psychic bonds that clasped against his arms and legs. There was no use, but he continued to fight. He was not going to sit by helplessly as his friends were vaporized by the weapon of his father.

"After the Destroyer steels their essence," Despero laughed as the idea came to him, "I'm going to have it kill you with them. Yes, I think that's an acceptable punishment for all of you."

Thor thrashed against the invisible bonds, managing to move violently, but still unable to escape. Despero looked up at him with the same, smug smile from earlier. The sound of the Destroyer powering up for the final stroke was hall he could hear as he screamed internally .

No. That was a lie. There was something else he could hear. A low, drumming hum that seemed to be getting closer and closer. As the sound continued to increase, Thor realized what it was. But it was impossible Nothing more than a figment of his desperate mind.

At least that's what he believed until the wall of the chamber shattered like glass. A small, speeding projectile flew low through the room and smashed through the Destroyer's chest, exploding the metal outward and discharging the energy into the ceiling of the atrium, causing even more of the chamber to come raining down around them.

The hammer found Thor's hand, and the energy that surged through him was something he never thought he would feel again. Mjolnir had returned to him in the moment he needed the hammer most. Lightning exploded from the heavy metal head of the hammer, striking Despero and releasing Thor from his hold.

He fell towards the floor, and landed in a crouch, the head of Mjolnir hitting the floor with a dull thud. Electricity crackled around the God of Thunder as his Asgardian armor and vestments appeared on him as if from thin air. His eyes shone white with power, and his cape fluttered behind him, animated by the energy.

Despero attempted to reach toward him once more, but Thor spun and fired a bolt of electricity at the alien's third eye. It struck home, blinding the would-be despot's power source. In agony, the alien yelled at the Destroyer, "Kill him!"

As the living armor turned to Thor, Despero ran. The Destroyer fired a beam of energy at Thor, who managed to bat it away with the mighty hammer of Asgard. The weapon of his enemy was charging up again, and Thor turned to his friends, "Get Despero! I'll take care of this!"

Another, steady beam came his way, and Thor spun Mjolnir so fast that it became an impenetrable shield. The energy was scattered in a starburst as Thor made his way closer and closer to the Destroyer. Once he was within range, he ducked out of the way below the energy, and came up with a devestating uppercut with Mjolnir. It shattered the the metal of the armor's head. It swung an arm clumsily at Thor, who brought the hammer down onto it, shattering it as well. He went to work systematically destroying the armor bit by bit. He took out all his frustrations, all his failures, on the Dwarven creation. The metal split, splintered, and shattered like glass against the might of Mjolnir and his vengeance. None would ever be threatened by Asgard again, but he and his kind would make up for their failures.

When there was nothing left of the Destroyer, he rose and headed towards where Despero had fled from the Guardians of the Galaxy. As he walked, he found the corridors of the ship were chaos. The Brood and Chitauri, without their new master, were slaughtering each other indiscriminately. Blood and viscera flew as the creatures were at one anothers' throats, and Thor beat back any that came close enough to he and Mjolnir.

He found the rest of the Guardians standing in front of a destroyed escape pod, Despero bound by Groot's strong limbs.

"Took you long enough," Rocket grunted.

"Sorry, had to destroy a suit of enchanted armor," Thor smiled weakly. "You understand."

"I hate it when that happens," Hawk responded with a sigh.

"Fools! You're all fools!" Despero sneered.

"I keep telling you, dick weasel, it's 'The Guardians of the Galaxy'. Get it right," Quill shot back. "You wanna kill him or should I?"

"Oh let me do it!" Rocket pleaded.

"Hehehehe," Despero laughed. "If I am going to die. You will all be joining me."

Before any of the Guardians could say anything the ship rocked violently. Then again. And again.

"Shit," Quill growled.

"Self destruct initiated," an electronic voice called.

"Run!" Thor called. Groot dropped the psychically blinded Despero as they fled. Thor looked over his shoulder to see the alien engulfed in the flame of an explosion.

The Guardians and the Asgardians made it back to the hangar in the nick of time. While the Hasselhoff had been crushed by the collapsing ship, the combined group got in the armored yacht and escaped. As they took off, the ship began to shake apart. Explosions ripped through the capital ship. Its final shudder led to it coming apart totally. In turn, the Chitauri motherships also exploded, ending Despero's fleet.

"Well, that was fun," Rocket rocked back and forth on his feet. "Who's hungry?"

"Not now dingus," Quill hissed.

"My friends," Thor turned to them, glancing down at Mjolnir for a second as he did. "You have helped me avenge my people. You have helped create a safe galaxy. For that, there will be songs sung in your honor for all eternity."

"Cool, can we get Kenny Loggins to sing it?" Quill perked up.

"Who?"

"You know! Fly in to the danger zone!" Quill stopped as everyone looked at him sideways. "Aw you're no fun."

"You have all also brought me back," Thor smiled. "You have taught me what it means to truly be a god. My purpose is to protect, not to fight and revel in the spoils of victory. And I hope...I hope we can do that together."

"If we do, I'm gonna revel in some spoils of victory," Hawk shrugged. "I just have to be honest."

"Oh yes, there's gonna be reveling," Quill nodded in agreement. "Can't live without the revels."

"I am Groot."

"Good question, pal," Rocket patted the tree's trunk-like legs. "What's next?"

"Yes, Odinson," Heimdall approached the prince of Asgard. "Your people are assembled. What remains of us. And we look to your guidance."

"I think a home will be needed," Thor pondered the question. "And I think I know just where we should go."

"Plot a course for Midgard."