[IC] (NOW CLOSED:) Marvel RE: Imagine - A Marvel Comics Roleplay

A N R V N W O R L D N E W S S P E C I A L R E P O R T

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May 15th 2023
_{1 RVN Centre
Atlanta, GA}

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Good evening, RVN viewers. Today, we commemorate the 6th anniversary of the completion of The Raft, the maximum-security prison constructed to house the world's most dangerous criminals with superhuman abilities. Situated off the coast of Ryker's Island, The Raft has proven to be a critical tool in the ongoing efforts of law enforcement to keep our communities safe and free from crime. The facility faced significant opposition in its early days, with calls to prevent its construction coming from all sides of the political spectrum, chiefly from human rights watchdogs and from conservative advocates of decreased government spending. Despite this, the project went ahead and six years on, it's hard to consider it to be anything short of a resounding success. Boasting a virtually unheard-of 0% escape rate for prisoners, The Raft has ensured that our communities remain safe from super-powered criminals.

The prison currently houses approximately 600 prisoners, each possessing powers and abilities deemed too dangerous for an ordinary penitentiary. One such resident, and a prime example for the need of this facility, is Magneto, real name Erik Lehnsherr. This infamous mutant terrorist was the leader of the group known as 'The Acolytes' and possesses the mutant ability to control metal. Understandably, such abilities would prove a minefield were he to be jailed in a regular prison.

Following the devastating M-Day attack of 2018, government contractor Trask Industries got to work on a seemingly impossible feat: building a plastic prison to house the ferrokinetic Lehnsherr. Buried deep beneath The Raft's surface, his bespoke cell is a technical marvel, serving to cut off his access to his powers by replacing all metal with perfectly harmless plastic.

Magneto is just one of many dangerous individuals within The Raft's walls who pose a significant threat to society if left unchecked. With ongoing support from lawmakers such as Senator Robert Kelly, we can expect to see continued progress in the fight against superhuman crime.

Earlier today, RVN News had the opportunity to speak with Kelly, one of the early backers of the programme, and a vocal figure among the growing movement to push for stricter restrictions on the growing mutant population.

"Six years ago, The Raft was a large but necessary step in our fight against the dangerous individuals who threaten our way of life, and this is as true today as it was then," Kelly began. “The first-of-its-kind facility is a testament to American ingenuity and it has allowed us some much needed breathing room in this conflict. However, we cannot rely solely on containment to keep our communities safe. It's clear that we need to do more to be able to react to growing rates of super powered criminals and the mutant phenomenon."

The senator continued, "We need to invest in further research and technology that can help us identify and neutralize these threats before they can do us harm. This means working with experts in the field of superhuman abilities, such as the capable scientists at Trask Industries, to examine the risks we face and develop strategies to mitigate them. It also means providing resources and support for law enforcement, to better identify and respond to superhuman crime, and growing instances of mutant activity. This is why it is so important that my MRD Bill is signed into law."

The Mutant Response Division Act, as proposed, would mandate the creation of a new federal agency, the MRD, which would be responsible for responding to mutant threats. When asked about potential criticisms of these measures, Senator Kelly responded, "I understand that some may see these efforts as invasive or discriminatory towards mutants. However, our ultimate goal is to protect all members of society, human and mutant. By working together we can create a safer and more just future for all."

Following Senator Kelly's comments, RVN News was able to secure an interview with Professor Charles Xavier, mutant rights activist, and founder of the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. Known for his failed 1984 presidential bid, Xavier has been a vocal detractor of The Raft since its inception. He was happy to address his concerns about The Raft's legacy with us today:

"The Raft does not offer rehabilitation, nor any true path towards redemption," he explained, “This facility’s sole purpose is the incarceration of these super powered individuals. But incarceration alone does not solve the core problem."

Professor Xavier, a well-known advocate for mutant rights, was the target of what is now believed to have been a coordinated assassination attempt, in the same year as the prison’s completion, which left him reliant on the use of a wheelchair.

He emphasized that investing in prevention is crucial.

"While The Raft has been effective in containing dangerous individuals, it's a solely reactive measure. We need to focus on prevention by addressing the root causes of criminal behaviour," he stated.

When asked what measures he would favour to stem the tide of super powered violence, Professor Xavier shared his work with mutants as an example. "At the Xavier Institute, we help mutants control and understand their abilities. We teach them how to harness their powers, to use them for good, instead of resorting to violence or criminal activity," he explained. However, he emphasized that this approach requires resources and support. “It is my great wish that other such facilities such as mine be created, to give our mutant children the best chance to flourish. For this to happen there would need to be a push for greater government funding for research, education, and outreach to the mutant community," he said. “We can’t do it alone.”

“By creating a society that values and supports mutants, rather than punish them for the crime of existing, we can prevent the isolation and desperation that so often leads to criminal activity."

As RVN News commemorates The Raft's 6th anniversary, it is clear that the conversation around the facility's legacy and mutant rights is far from over.

[mickilennial]

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P O L A R I S
P O L A R I S

_{Location: The Raft - Visiting Room}

Post #1: His Penance

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“You’re back again.”

Lorna Dane sighs, as the words of the prison guard swung at her like a well placed punch to the stomach.

She thought she’d be used to it by now, but by all consideration she had been having a pretty shitty ten months. She had no love for the bought-and-paid-for prison monkeys, or their comments and prying eyes that latched onto her like magnets.

“I bet it gets real lonely, huh?” The man chirps again. His uniform tags read ‘H. Taylor’. He’s unkempt, the kind of guy that would say something to a girl to make her run as far away as she possibly can. She can’t stand him, even after years of dealing with his remarks about her, Alex, or mutants in general. He’s a racist. He fits right in with the rest of The Raft’s detail. “Man, you’re some girl. Loyal. When are you going to give up on him?”

“Never.”

It had been five years since M-Day, the incident that still had its claws deep inside of her.

Her father, the mutant extremist known as Magneto, had initiated an attack that had ended with his capture and that of all of his accomplices. This included that of her boyfriend, Alex Summers, or as the world knew him: Havok.

The Raft had been built to hold mutants like them. People who were too dangerous for civilized society. People who technically, by legal definition were not ‘human’ so were not privy to ‘human rights’. That was the quiet part that nobody, not even her mentor, Charles Xavier, wanted to talk about. The United States Government hadn’t exactly labeled mutants as non-human, but they hadn’t exactly subjected them to normal due process either. To Lorna, her fathers talk about Nazi Germany echoed in her mind every single time she thought about it and politicians like Robert Kelly or anti-mutant militias like The Purifiers only made the worries cycle faster and louder.

“I wonder what it's like for you. Knowing that he might not ever be cleared for release. Knowing you put him here.”

She didn’t. Not technically. But the words still cut.

M-Day was a battle for the soul of mutantkind. Were they the vicious terrorists that people like Senator Robert Kelly painted them as?, or were they defenders of humanity and mutantkind alike like Charles Xavier and Hank McCoy insisted?

It all climaxed in a final battle between her and her father. Their powers were the same, though their masteries were not at all alike. In an emotional rage she had not quite seen ever, her aloof father had tried to show her how big the gap between their powers were. She still didn’t know if he would’ve killed her, but Alex, who had switched to his side like she had once switched to Xavier’s, saved her. In a way it saved their relationship, vindicating all of her efforts to change his mind. He could’ve avoided his imprisonment in The Raft then and there, but he felt too guilty and desired to face the consequences of joining up with Magneto in the first place. She screamed and cried, but in the end it didn’t matter.

The public story was Polaris and the other X-Men stopped Magneto and the Acolytes. They didn’t know the details.

“I know you like tormenting mutants, but could you do me a solid and fuck off?”

Guardsman Taylor laughs, Lorna grits her teeth and sighs.

This visit was nearing Alex’s re-evaluation period. They probably were not going to give it to him, but that was the thing about hope–they liked dangling it in front of people.

But if somehow Xavier had enough pull that Havok could be released into his care, there’s still a piece of her inside that doubts it’d work. Her relationship had been strained by Alex’s decision and society’s reaction to her–to mutantkind, but if it was another five years she would continue to do as she had done for the last five: every single month she would make sure she saw Alex face-to-face, or behind a sheet of glass, whatever it was, until he was clear and free.

That was her promise to herself.

“Alex…” she mutters, as she sits down in the visiting room, surrounded by guards, waiting for him to finally reach her. “...where are you?”

[mattmanganon]

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S P I D E R - M A N
S P I D E R - M A N

_{Location: Parker Industries HQ}

Post #1: Just a Friendly Board Meeting

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Peter sat at the head of the table wearing his business suit. It was a light grey Armani suit with black shirt and red tie, he personally hated frivolous spending on such an expensive suit when he still had a few of Uncle Ben's old ones that looked just as nice, but he remembered an old conversation with Harry where he mentioned about how your suit was your weapon in the business battlefield, it was a symbol of control and power. If you wanted to survive, you'd need the best weapon possible. "$1000 on a suit now, can potentially get you that extra $1,000,000 at the negotiating table." Well, as he sat here, waiting for the others to arrive, he hoped that Harry was right about that.

Alistair was the first to enter, he was clad in a suit that accomodated his shoulder talons. He sat down, there were a few polite words, pleasantries that Peter was expecting. Damn, he had faced every single man that was going to be in this room on the battlefield before, most of them at the same time, yet this time it was going to be different. This wasn't going to be a friendly "How's the wife and kids?" this was a "I'm gonna need you to put your lives on the line alongside your hated foe." and he wasn't sure he had any right to order them to do so. I mean, technically he did, it was part of their parole agreements that they agree to do "Community Service" but he knew that most of them assumed it was the science that they were doing for him.

Next to enter was Otto, he gave Peter a friendly smile. Otto and Michael were the only ones who would be at the meeting that knew he was Spider-Man. Then came Maxwell. That one looked rather shifty, but that was normal for Max. Peter just hoped that the money was enough to keep him onside. Next came Michael and finally Adrien in quick succession, not enough time for Peter to really mentally comment on them before they sat looking at him. Peter took a deep breath before tapping the side of his neck right under the edge of his Jaw. He had heard it was a calming technique.

"Gentlemen. I have called you in here today for something that you're not going to like." There were a few quiet murmurs among the group. He had confidence that Alistair and Otto would side with him, but the other 3 would be a problem. "Last year when i managed to get you paroled at my company, i said that there would be certain Community Services that the 5 of you would have to perform. New York is our home and it's not exactly the safest place on the planet. As such, i have taken some steps to bring our criminal population down. I have talked with the Police and they have agreed to allow me to trial something." He took out his Spyder Phone and tapped on it a few times, the television screen on the wall lit up and a picture of 5 of them stood there, cobbled together from various mugshots with the words "Superior 6" posted underneath them. "The police in this city have to deal with Super Powered individuals that they have no hope of dealing with, Rhino, Grizzly, Scorpion, but we can give them the edge that they need." There was already a chorus of discord in response to this from the 5 men.

"Ummm, Peter, dear boy. May i remind you how well that worked last time some of us came together to form a team?" Otto asked. "We ended up pretty much killing each other. Now, i appreciate what you ask, but are you sure that this is such a good idea?" Peter looked in Otto's eyes. He could tell that Otto wasn't actually opposed to the idea, but he was voicing the obvious response to this idea in the most civilized way anyone in the room would. Peter appreciated that.

"The thought crossed my mind a few times..." He replied sullenly.

"Hey, i'm good so long as there's moolah in it." Max responded. This caught Peter offguard. He wasn't expecting Max of all people to be the first to unquestioningly agree. He assumed he'd have to bribe the guy... But then again with his response, maybe Max was offering Peter a way to bribe him onto his side.

'Oh Max, never change.' Peter thought. He then tried to re-rail his train of thought in response to the blindside.

"In any case..." He paused to collect his thoughts and decide how to proceed now he had 1 of the 4. "We need to consider public image. Parker Industries is paying quite a sum to get you 5 onboard-"

"Which begs the question-" Toomes butted in "That says Superior "SIX" with an emphasis on the number SIX!" He sneered. "Who you brought in as number 6? Oh don't tell me it's Chameleon" There was a chorus of groans from Max and Alistair

"Oh not Chameleon, that jerk still owes me money."

"It's... It's not Chameleon..." Peter swallowed hard before pressing a button and a picture of Spider-Man appeared in the center of the 5 of them on the screen. Max and Adrien immediately let out a great pained groan as both buried their faces in their hands. Alistair didn't seem to move. Otto and Michael simply stared at Peter.

"You know what, count me out." Max replied. "Ain't no way i'm working with Web Head. That jerk has beat me up too many times. Ain't no amount of money in the world could make me want to work with him. Peter stiffled a snicker, knowing that Max was unwittingly already doing that.

"Peter, we all have history with the guy." Otto stepped in as the villain liason again. "You should no more ask us to work with him than we should ask you to work with Norman Osborn. Too much bad blood." Otto had a point, and yes it was pretty common knowledge in the business world that Norman was utterly pissed at Peter for taking his money and his grandson. "Now, i don't personally have a problem with Web Head, sure the guy beat me up a couple of times, but let's face facts, i had it coming." There was a few murmurs of agreement. Peter suspected it was more them agreeing that Otto needed to be beaten than of them agreeing that Spider-Man was justified. "But..." He guestured around to the others. "Face facts, we are NOT heroes." Again, even though Otto was fighting him, Peter knew that this was a necessary fight that was going to happen one way or another and Otto was just getting in front of it to keep it civil.

"Alright, Alistair, Michael, neither of you have said anything, let's get an idea of where the room stands." He motioned to the pair of them. Michael talked first.

"I do not have a problem working alongside Spider-Man..." Michael began "But i am still... A little unstable at the moment. I cannot guarentee that i will not start... Feasting... If the opportunity presented itself. I will need more time in the lab to stabilize my condition before i can agree to this." Michael had a VERY good point. Peter was trying to change the public perception of these people and a vampire ripping a guys throat out with a big "Parker Industries" Label on him was probably not the best advertisement in the world.

"And you, Alistair?" Peter asked. Alistair looked down at his hands in response.

"I recreated myself as a machine to destroy Spider-Man..." He muttered in his deep, gravelly, mildly electronic voice "The Spider-Slayer i called myself. I wanted nothing more than to feel his heart beat its last in my hands... But now... I feel nothing towards him. No animosity, no hatred..." He looked at Peter. "I am willing to give Spider-Man a chance. I... I owe him that much for what i have done." Peter could see the genuine regret in Alistairs eyes. The man had turned himself into a spider-killing machine in the name of revenge for his father on a man who had never had anything to do with it. Alistair had played directly into the Maggia's hands and he could tell that it was eating him inside.

"Where is the bug anyway?" Adrien asked. "If you are so onboard with bringing in the bug to lead this team, then where is our oh so fearless leader?" The old man grinned.

"Spider-Man has agreed to join Parker Industries on the proviso that you 5 are all onboard. Naturally, he's afraid of this being a trap. I mean, last time..." Peter stopped for a second. He was about to say the wrong thing... It pained him to say the words, but appearances needed to be kept. "When Harry Osborn brought you together last time, he called Spider-Man in a similar manner. Can't blame the guy for being cautious..." There was a shift in Adrien and Max's demeanor. They both shifted a little uncomfortably... They both knew Harry wasn't the REAL Green Goblin. "I want to make sure that everybody is onboard before i bring him into the company first. I will not have my company becoming the battle ground of a Sinister 6 Reunion show." A quiet descended upon the room. "Alright, let's put it to a vote. Because of the nature of this, i will abstain and only a unanimous vote will carry." There was nods around the room. "All in favour?" Alistair, Max and Otto raied their hands. Peter was surprised, but then again, Max was probably thinking about the money and how it might dry up if he doesn't suck up to the boss. "All opposed?" Only Adrien raised his hand. Michael seemed to abstain. "Motion fails. Very well, is there any other business that we need to discuss?" He looked around the room. "Alright, meeting over. Adrien, can i see you for a minute?" The rest of them left. Adrien sat, elbows on table, fingers tented and chin resting atop them. "Strictly off the record, what do i need to do to turn that no into a yes? I need six people because alliterative names are a hassle and 4 already has a good one taken."

"I don't want to work with him, simple as. Find another." Adrien growled. "Maybe get Mac or Herman... Scorpion or Shocker, but not that guy." As Peter opened his mouth, Adrien butted in again "I'm not saying this because I hate him... Well, i do, but that's not the main reason. It's because you are trying to mix oil with water. It won't work. It's always been him vs us. And i'm still on the side of us and he's still on the side of him. And there's another reason. Web-head has it pretty good... Maybe give one of the other rogue's of New York a chance at something better." Peter wanted to argue and disagree, but Adrien did have a point. Maybe he should work on some of the others... At that point, Mary Jane walked in through the door.

"Pete- Oh hi Adrien-" She said, waving to Vulture who simply nodded. "I need to-

"MJ, Adrien here has had a good idea, can we maybe put out the feelers and see if we can get in touch with either Scorpion or Shocker?" The colour drained from Mary-Janes face as he said that. "What's wrong?" Mary-Jane looked down at her phone and tapped a few times, before up on the TV screen, a video appeared. Norman Osborn stood on a podium alongside Scorpion who was in a large coat that fitted over his battlesuit with the words "Security Detail" written on it.

"- too long, this country has stagnated and acquiesced to the wishes of the superhuman whilst completely ignoring US. Studies show that as few as 10% of this nations people are Mutants and yet with their freaky powers, they are able to take our entire nation hostage. Well we need to put a stop to that. Democracy is a system that benefits the many, not the few and it's what separates us from the dictatorships like Latveria and Madripoor... Such weak leadership led to... The death of my only, beloved son... As such, i officially announce today Peter's heart went through the floor as he realized the word that were about to come colourfully marching out of Normans mouth. "That I, Norman Osborn, will be running for President of the United States of America in 2024, for a better and safer America. Where Homo-Sapien need not live in fear of these so called "Homo-Superior" that the terrorist Erik "Magneto" Lehnsherr would have you call them."

"Well... He ain't getting my vote." Adrien stated as Peter and MJ stood slack-jawed at each other, lost for words. The pair of them looked at him. "Convicted Felon." He shrugged.

[Master EffeX]

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H A V O K
H A V O K

_{Location: The Raft}

Post #1: The Inside World

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Where was he?

Alex Summers A.K.A. Havok was where he'd been for the past five years.

Not his cell, though he was there too -slouched on his bunk, one knee bent and an arm draped over that- he was in his mind.
His evaluation was coming up, and Alex was doing some hard evaluation of his own.

His mind. One place that was everywhere, and the only place he was still free.

That was, actually, an odd kind of perk about being here. No telepaths like there were back home. Though Jean Grey A.K.A. Marvel Girl tended not to tap people's minds uninvited, certain circumstances caused her to pick up on loose thoughts anyway, and Xavier...Alex was never sure if he had such respect for privacy; if either of them came for visitation, Alex was always certain they were going away with a lot more than he'd spoken aloud.

Incarceration, Alex felt, was getting him to be real good at thinking. Something he didn't think he'd been good at before. Joining Magneto.....Alex thought there was something there. Magneto hadn't gotten into his head, Alex saw something in his, figuratively speaking. Honestly, Alex still believed Magneto was right to make his stand at the power plant. How the non-mutants were using Kuan-Yin Xorn.....Alex's hands would still shift towards fists thinking of it.

The X-Men would've rescued him, this he knew.
But what would they've done to stop what Kuan-Yin was merely one example of? Magneto set out to make an example of that.

Alex could go with him that far. But when it seemed Magneto was willing to go so far as to get rid of the "problem" that was his own daughter....Alex could trade blows with his former allies, but Magneto had far too radical a view on what constituted "necessary" actions.

'He'd spill his own blood!'

An unfeeling voice narrowed his existence back down from everywhere to this one, inadequate space: "Make yourself smart, you Mute -ha! if that's even possible- one of your regulars is here."

"Mute", a word that was a higher level of derogatory than the usual "mutie". "Mute" carried with it the implication, the hope, that one day all the mutants would be silenced. Alex ignored this, and instead asked, as he got into an upright position: "Which one?"

The guard shook his head and scoffed: "Think you're somethin'," before actually answering, "not Brother Bazooka, the other one. Mr. Plastic's spawn."

Alex's eyes narrowed. Lorna did not deserve to be defined only by that "relationship"....
Uninhibited, thoughts of Magneto's turn recurred in Alex' mind. Up to that point, he had still held a certain ideal about flesh-and-blood family. That they meant something to each other. Now he knew it didn't matter who you came into the world a part of. It only mattered how they thought of you.

"Forget how to walk or somethin', con'!? Move!" The guard jerked him to start the trek to the visitation area.

Alex's train of thought wouldn't be derailed.
Where his family was concerned, he still couldn't tell what his brother actually thought of him.
Yet, Scott kept visiting. He thought enough of Alex to keep him in his life.

"The Raft" was an apt-named prison. Out here it really felt like you were set adrift, away from society, with the intent you'd vanish completely like a the head of a person treading water suddenly falling beneath the surface without notice. It meant more to Alex than he even thought about, that the few people he had outside hadn't vanished on him when he went in.

He thought at least one of them would. He'd saved her life. Then he heard her screams and cries.
He still heard those screams and cries. They were renewed in his mind every time she visited. Every one of the 63 times and counting. 'God! We should do something special for our "65th",' he thought wryly, as they neared the final corner.

He hadn't thought of what choosing to be here would mean -would do- to Lorna.
Back to that "not good at thinking" bit -because it had been a choice. He had two people, the same two who wouldn't let him slip away, who still saw him through the things he'd done, and would've fought for some other consequence. But he had to be in here. He only wished she didn't have to go through this.

Which brings us -as he sits down in front of her- back to what Alex had been evaluating. If he should tell Lorna to stop. If should do her the "kindness". His expression twisted. That word was definitely wrong. It wouldn't be a kindness - it would be like punching Lorna in the face! All this time she kept believing in him -in them?- for him to say "well, you should just stop now. Get some sense already and cut your losses." He shook his head. Evaluation over-

-"I think you've finally worn on his nerves, Green-Girly," the guard spoke ahead of Alex, wearing a smirk as thick with condescension as his tone, "he almost wouldn't come out here."

Alex was pretty sure Lorna was used to the $*^%iness of the guards and wouldn't take these words for truth, but still he tensed, staring daggers at the guard as much as he dared. Polaris might be able to get away with giving the guards attitude, but Havok had to watch it. Not that he couldn't take it if they felt like making a scene out of it. Sometimes he'd incite them just to make something interesting happen. But he wouldn't risk getting the visitation time cut.

Instead Alex turned a serious look towards Lorna -hoping his expression conveyed how he most certainly had not tried to get out of this and she was not by any means bothering him- and mouthed the word "no" followed by a spoken "Hi," which came out with misplaced tenseness. He glanced off while he got a handle on himself and continued "what's new?" speaking the words he always did to get things started -it was too awkward otherwise- in a tone fully aware of how lame they sounded to even his own ears.

[mickilennial]

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P O L A R I S
P O L A R I S

_{Location: The Raft - Visiting Room}

Post #2: How Long Are We Gonna Do This?

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Those same old words.

_{Last Month -- 2023}

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“What’s new?”

Past Lorna clasped her hands together and let out a deep sigh.

“I’m not cut out to be a teacher.” she says, bluntly, as she looks flatly at the table, “I keep thinking of everything going on outside and I can’t stop being angry. It’s so hard. How can I inspire anybody when the world is almost ready to put them in concentration camps? Xavier keeps warning me about my temper. In front of Jean and Scott. Making a fool of me.”

The thoughts play in her mind like a tape on loop. Every time she came up to the prison they were ready, like god was refusing to let her forget.

Truthfully, the stress had been getting to her for a long time. It wasn’t just the last thirty days, but the long strain of years-and-years of dealing with a world that wanted her dead. Even with being seen as a member of the X-Men certain people still threw rocks at her head. The irony was the worst stress came from the people she cared about most. Scott lectured her when she messed up. Xavier admonished her in front of anyone if it’d put her in her place. Her own boyfriend would rather sit in prison than be with her.

It wasn’t fair.

_{First Visit -- February 2018}

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“It’s not fair!”

There’s tears in her eyes. Lorna’s five years younger; she’s still a teenager, though barely.

A chair swings over Alex’s head. The guards give a hearty laugh, though they keep their distance. They know if Lorna did anything crazy she wouldn’t be able to come back ever again. Plus, they like the mutants squabbling. It’s fun sport for them.

“You’re a hero! Yet you want to be here? What? Why? Because you feel guilty that you were tricked by him? Why don’t you feel guilty about abandoning me?!”

She takes a deep breath, her eyes forward.

In many ways her feelings hadn’t changed from when she was a teenager. She was furious… but she was also lonely, scared, and anxious.

She wonders what Alex thinks of her. She’s said so many things in the last five years, showing how vulnerable and uncompromising she was. She felt awful about it. He always told her to look forward while giving her a look like he’s about to say something that’d destroy her. He never says it. She’s grateful that he doesn’t, but she can smell it like a shark smells blood in the water. He probably wants her to move on, but moving on is the last thing she needs. He’s all she has left: Her mentor didn’t respect her; her friends didn’t get her; and her father had disowned her. Almost killed her.

The only thing she really had was helping people from mutants who were even more scared or confused than she was. That and those who had been emboldened by the hate that the world swung at them, becoming shadows of her father in the process. The only thing she had was being a member of the X-Men, and that was… gone too. As of a few weeks ago.

She had not been taking it well.

“The Professor took me off the team.” She utters, looking back down at the table, ashamed, “Told me I was no good.”

An exaggeration, but not that steep of one.

A few days after she had talked to Alex last Xavier had called her into his office with Scott and Jean. In the most diplomatic way he told her she was off the team and that Jean and Scott were worried about her. They didn’t say a word, but when her eyes met theirs it told Lorna exactly how much they agreed with him. Absolutely. One Hundred Percent. It was followed by telling her she needed to ‘be better’ and ‘lead by example’. Then suddenly she was assigned as Sunfire’s teacher’s aide.

A week later, one of her students, a peppy teenager named Kitty Pryde, took her spot on the team she had been so abruptly fired from.

“I… he’s… what…” she tries to find the words. She fails to before Alex’s voice cuts her off.

[ErsatzEmpress]

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T H E X - M E N
T H E X - M E N

^{"Protecting a world that hates and fears us since 2014."}

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_{Location: ROXXON Corporation Facility - Staten Island}

Flashback: M-Day - FIVE YEARS AGO

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"My fellow mutants. We stand here together at a crossroads. We have come to this place today, My Acolytes and I, to take a stand. Against the oppression of our kind. Against the cruelty and the violence. Against God's imperfect creature known as Homo sapiens."

Magneto raises a hand, motioning to the power station at his flank. Its monolithic smoke stack poisons the air around it with a thick, unwavering smog like a cancer. The mutant is joined by his Acolytes, his most dedicated followers, committed as he is to a world free of human persecution. Alex Summers, an ex pupil of Xavier's, now Havok, his most prized lieutenant. Thomas Moreau, the geokinetic mutant known as Zealot. The towering Mammomax; the loyal Exodus; the ellusive Senyaka. Brothers all.

"The nuclear testing facility that looms behind us is a testament to the inhumanity of humanity. But it is also a symbol of their weakness. With all their time as custodians of their planet, this is the final limit of their capability. The extent of their abilities. The death rattle of their dying light. What they cannot achieve on their own they seek to take from us. They cannot hope to match our power so they steal it for themselves."

Erik meets the eyes of each X-Man that Charles has sent to oppose him. Cyclops. Marvel Girl. Beast. Sunfire. Banshee. His own daughter, Polaris, stands against him. He needs them to see what he sees. He needs them to understand.

"My friends, inside this facility is a man. No, more importantly, a mutant. Perhaps only slightly older than my own daughter Lorna, who has graciously chosen to stand against us today."

He motions to Polaris as he speaks, standing across from him and his followers with the rest of the X-Men, She can barely hide her shame for the man her father has revealed himself to be.

"This, you see, is not a nuclear reactor," he begins, magnanimous: "This is a prison."

"A prison, designed by the ROXXON Corporation and approved by our esteemed elected representatives to contain and exploit its only living resident: Kuan-Yin Xorn.

"Does that name sound familiar to you? It should. After all, his brother Shen Xorn was one of your original "X-Men", wasn't he Charles?" He smiles, looking up at the familiar silhouette of the X-men's jet black jet.

"Yes, I know you're here, in that Blackbird of yours," he continues, "hovering in the skies like an insect because you know that you're too weak to face me!" He snarls, losing composure for only a second.

"How does his brother feel about this, I wonder? Did you order him to stay at your school, lest he join me as well?"

He places a proud hand on Havok's shoulder. Xavier's students were not beyond hope. There would always be a place by his side for mutants of vision, even those who laboured still under a false prophet.

"It doesn't have to be this way, Erik." Charles urges, telepathically using Zealot as a mouthpiece.

"Your words no longer matter, Charles. Your dream no longer matters. It is dead. Bury it."

Magneto turns to face the facility before looking back at his assembled enemies.

"The story of Kuan-Yin Xorn applies to us all. He was born with extraordinary powers, to a world that fears his gifts. Perhaps he knows this truth more than most. For Xorn was born with a star in his head. That is the beauty of our race. A living star, among men. His light could burn brighter than any of ours, yet here he dwells. His light extinguished. In Xorn I see a man with dreams. With aspirations. A brother. And what do these neanderthals see? With their characteristic enlightenment and with their grace? A battery. A resource. To power their cars. Their homes."

He pays extra attention to the news copters now circling above.

"Their televisions."

"They saw a way to exploit our power for their own gain, and seized it without hesitation. They take what they want without a thought for the lives they destroy in the process. But hear us when we say we will stand for it no longer. We are not their slaves, their tools, their batteries. We are a proud and powerful people, and we will not be silenced."

"Their world is over. It's been over for sometime but they have been too consumed with the minutiae of their own death throws to see it. Their time has come and gone. It is time for our people to rise above this dying species and take our place in the light. It is time for Genosha."

"Genosha is a thought experiment no longer. It is not a fairy tale. It's certainly not a place, not yet. It is a promise. A social contract made with the mutant people, by the mutant people, for the mutant people. For a Brotherhood of OUR kind. For a world free from persecution. For too long, we have languished in the dark, afraid to show our light for fear of blinding those who choose not to see. But it is our light. Our future. And humanity no longer has a place in it."

He casts a hand to one of the helicopters above.

"We owe nothing to these lesser creatures, these humans who would see us enslaved and oppressed. We have the power to create a world of our own, a world where mutants are free to live and thrive without fear of persecution. Humanity has presided over their world and reaped the benefits, milking this Earth for all she could give. We asked only for a small piece of it. Now we take it all. Atop the ashes of this monument to humanity's failure we will build the Just City."

"Our mutant nation."

"We will make Genosha here on Earth."

[Master EffeX]

---

H A V O K
H A V O K

_{Location: The Raft - Visiting Room}

Post #2: As Long As It Takes

---

_{Last Month -- 2023}

---

“I’m not cut out to be a teacher.”

Past Alex had rolled his eyes at Lorna's detail of Xavier coming down on her in front of Scott and Jean. It was exactly those kind of moments that had Alex questioning the Professor's sense of privacy. "So be angry," he'd then answered, with a shrug, "chances are the kids are feeling that, too. Some of 'em. Maybe they don't need 'better examples' like Scott or Jean, but someone who gets it where they are. Like you.'

Occasionally Alex would question to himself between visits what Lorna was getting out of this. He reasoned he must be giving her something that kept her coming back, and usually settled the matter in his mind on that thought. But then the next time, he'd see that look on her face, or hear that tone in her voice, or maybe she'd outright say it again, and he'd wonder if the only reason she kept coming was to hear him say things he never was.

To be fair he tried. To explain--

_{First Visit -- Feb. 2018}

---

The Alex of five years ago -clean-shaven, more weight on him, better muscle tone- reflexively ducked as the chair swung overhead by his girlfriend's magnetic force. He honestly didn't know if she'd meant to hit him and just missed or if it was a wild throw. He didn't respond to the action -much ("Jeeze!")- just her words -he understood where she was coming from in that moment better than she understood where he was: "I wasn't tricked, Lorna! I knew what I was doin' I just didn't see far enough...I didn't mean to do anything to you." He was still smarting from the reality hit and at once felt guilty and angry -- to make her feel like this, but that he'd be grouped in with Magneto like this now -whether Lorna meant it that way or not, he heard it: her father had abandoned her and now he was. Except he wasn't. "Damnit.. --I'm not a hero, okay. Thanks for thinking it -but I have to be here."

--he didn't have the words that first time, and subsequent attempts weren't much better; his reasoning kept getting garbled on its way from his mind to hers.
The conversation came to exist in an unspoken way. Looks exchanged, often at the end of a visit.

But we're not there yet.

“The Professor took me off the team. Told me I was no good.”

Alex's body language showed what he thought before he spoke it, not that Lorna would've seen, the way she was staring down at the table.
His hands shifted after that. As per the rules -which the guards still droned each visitation; Alex hardly heard them anymore- he had to keep his hands on the table. On his side of it. And it was times like these he wished he could reach across; his hands shifted uselessly.

So he used his voice, instead: "Hey, look up," it wasn't a command, he just couldn't stand to see her looking so shamefaced --internalizing other people's opinion of her.

Alex wanted her to look at him so she'd know he wasn't talking bull when he said: He's a short-sighted mold-maker, that's what he is. Jeeze -just 'cause you're not on his honor roll like Scott and Jean?" He sat back, "but I guess even that doesn't count for much, I mean something like this I'd think was Leader Scottie's decision first, huh?" He assumed Xavier must've gone over his brother's head. Alex knew Scott chewed Lorna out when she "messed up" -that was just Scott- but he wasn't entertaining this decision had been a mutual one.

[mattmanganon]

---

S P I D E R - M A N
S P I D E R - M A N

_{Location: Oscorp HQ}

Post #2: Turnabout Is Fair Play

---

Norman sat in his office, phone pressed against his ear. "Don't worry, Rob, i've got this... Hey, i understand perfectly, you've got a lot on your plate, but i'm here because limp-dick pissants like Creed and Krane have let you down FAR too many times before... Look, my 3:55 just showed up early, but trust me, we're gonna be laughing about this when we're in the Oval Office sipping whiskey together... Ok, bye." The moment Norman hung up, the smile on his face instantly disolved into his usual cold, emotionless, calculating face. "Officious little bureaucrat." He growled under his breath as he took a sip of Whiskey. Due to the Goblin Metabolism, it was pretty much impossible to get drunk, but he needed the taste in his mouth at the moment. Washing away the taste of defeat. It had been over a year and STILL, Parker had his grandson, almost a third of his companys wealth and his happy little family and here Norman sat, his fate was entirely reliant on a combination of word of Senator Kelly (Who he didn't trust) and the the stupidity of the American public (Which he trusted VERY much) A knock came at the door. His advanced hearing had allowed him to hear the heavy footsteps even when on the phone to Kelly. "Yes, come in." The door opened and Mac walked in.

"Hey, boss-" Mac began, but was interrupted by Norman.

"I was in a call with someone very important." Norman scolded in his dark and commanding way. Mac stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh, sorry, boss." He stammered out. Mac was an unstoppable killing machine in a suit of nearly indestructible power armour and yet Norman still scared the bejesus out of him.

"Well, you're here now, what is it?" Norman sighed, swirling his whisky around the glass to lower the temperature as it splashed off of the ice-cube in the middle, before taking another sip.

"I, uhhh... I got a call from Parker." He scratched the back of his head. Norman didn't seem to register this, slowly spinning his chair around to look out of the window. "Said he was looking for someone with my specific skill set for something he was workin' on. You want me to take him up on it? Get some info from the inside?"

"Using your brain? How unlike you." Norman spat out. Mac clenched his fist at this response. He was sick of people treating him like a dumb animal. Norman, as if sensing that he had struck a nerve, span back around in his chair with a big, cheery smile on his face. "Kidding." He said, throwing his arms wide. Frankly the smile scared Mac even more than the scowl had. "Mac, i appreciate the sentiment, but i already have a guy on the inside who is getting me as much info on Parker's movements as i need. And it would look rather suspicious if you just up-sticks and join him without a fight. Look, buddy, i need you here." Once again, Mac was getting a little scared with how polite and friendly Norman was being. "In any case, that little thing on your leg is a stamp of ownership as far as the New York Supreme Court is concerned. Your parole is entirely based on you working your debt to society off in my care. Even if i was certain i had the political clout to get you transfered to Parker's care, he'd never trust that i let you go so easily. No, my friend, your place is here. Call him back, tell him as such, feel free to insult him, but make it clear exactly where you stand. Parker will feel more secure knowing where you are and i want him feeling as safe as possible at this very second."

"The old "False sense of security" thing, right boss?" Mac asked. Norman finished his drink before putting it on the table and letting out the signature "Whiskey wheeze" as it burned his throat on the way down, but in all of the most pleasant ways.

"Very good, you're learning." Norman laughed. Mac pretended to laugh, but he definitely knew Norman meant that and he had been a private detective long enough to know that Norman knew and didn't care that the laugh was fake. Because what choice did he have? It was be in Normans pocket or be in jail. "Anyway, I have a little something for you." Norman said, reaching under his desk for a briefcase, he pulled it out and slid it across the desk to Mac "A little trump card for when you inevitably come to blows with Spider-Man next." Mac popped the clips on the brief case before opening it and looking inside, his eyes lit up with pure awe and excitement. "We good?" Norman smiled a sinister smile.

"Oh yeah, boss, WE are VERY good." Mac laughed.

[Bork Lazer]

---

---

volume 1: hanged tree

chapter 1.1

the cell is dark, beyond light, beyond the realm

in its stygian iron bars a hermit lingers

meditating in ennui

rust creaks

sun enters, seeking truth

and a tale is spun

---

So, finally, you've come. If you are here to extract the truth, then, you shall find it long and protracted. Ah, so quick to anger with that old hex. Let me remind you of your superior's punishment and consider weighing that against the barb of my tongue. I see you have found your wits.

Now, sit. Pacing around the room angrily like an angry mule is unbecoming of any practitioner of the Mystic Arts, even one as foul and deluded as yourself. Sit like me. No, don't cross your legs like that. Breathe in past your diaphragm and concentrate on your first chakra. Your stomach. The one - Are you telling me a well-funded organization like yourself can afford to bind me to this godforsaken rock and yet, fail to teach its pupils the basics of meditation? Ah, where is the Dread One to soothe the aches of incompetence I see before me? Do so again and - it is like a poker on your belly. Concentrate, yes. Now, temper it so you don't give yourself an aortic aneurysm. There. You see, this should give you enough patience to bear my tale.

No, why would I give the last piece of the puzzle to you? Regale me with torture if you must but your master won't give you the pleasure of seeing me die nor will he let me live a free man. Frankly, torture would be entertaining from the likes of you. I have survived tangling with the facets of Shuma-Gorath, face death from the likes of the Dread One, fend off the Nightmare from the aether and fought in the War of the Vishanti. Your imagination is puerile and gauche in the face of their boredom and honestly, your ineptitude would frighten me more.

So, let us start at the beginning of all things.

It begins with a mother.

Her name for me was Stephen Vincent Strange. My father was Bartholomew Strange, a tax consultant serving multiple clients in the New York Exchange. Roxxon, Hammer, Stark, all were at his beck and call. He burned books with a single-minded drive of an automaton and could never leave one number out of place. My mother was Rebecca Brandt, an overworked night-call nurse who lived on a diet of over-processed vending machine food and caffeine overdoses trying to compensate for the schedules of burnt-out nurses. They were both atheists at heart, although, they would never announce it on the census. I am and still hold to their -

You jeer at me but I still remain faithless to this day because I find no God worthy of my undying fealty or worship. I call them allies or friends, yes, in the case of the Vishanti but most remain craven such as Shuma-Gorath or unpredictable like the Greek or Nordic pantheons. Others remain inscrutable. For the ones I have yet to name, is like trying to burn incense in favor of gravity or pray to the laws of molecular attraction. A man flings himself into a hurricane and calls it a sacrifice for his god. I call it what it is.

So, naturally, my mother gave me the drive to batter myself against the marble halls of medicine and my father honed my mind to a razor's edge. There was a time we were a family. I had a sister in case you didn't know. No one really knows. Her name was Rebecca. She was the first I failed to save. It was winter. We were young. We were ice-skating on a frozen lake. That is all I am willing to part with. My life progressed on and so, I earned my M.D at the age of 21 and earned two Noble prizes for groundbreaking surgical procedures that are still in use to this day. For 10 years, St Barnaby Presbytarian became my throne, the media my suitors and I, Ozymandias. It was the height of my career and I became de facto judge, jury and executioner, doling out ridiculous fees for patients that I thought 'were worth my time'.

Worth my time.

These are not proud moments of my life.

My temple collapsed on 2005. I was driving off the coast of Baja, a bottle of rum in my hand. My blood alcohol concentration after the accident was measured to be four times over the national limit. I crashed a 4 million dollar Rolls Royce into the rocks below. My body survived, my hands were crushed and my ego festered and rotted into a sickness. A sickness that, to my shame, led me into the follies that have led me here today.

In spite of all I have learnt, my hands still shake. Why I didn't cure them with magic, you'll have to wait.

So, let us skip forward then. I doubt you want to hear the rest of my journeys. Past my trials to reach the top of the Himalayas where the Vishanti awaited me on the summit. Past my first communion with Agamotto the Wise. Past my first invoking of the sacred principalities. Past my commiseration with the most infuriating and brilliant man I have ever met. Past my first friendship with my once greatest ally. Past my first entanglement with what shall be my one and only heart.

Let us delve into how I first killed for the title of Earth's Sorceror Supreme.

---

It was the middle of Summer on Bleecker Street. It had been two months since I first received the post of Keeper of the New York Sanctum Sanctorum. I see you scoffing. How could I end up with such a menial post? You might remember it as an institutional relic from a bygone era of magic but the Sanctum Sanctorums were once key to the structural defense of Earth's reality. Built on continental ley-lines and inscribed in babylonian rune-script in the time of Agamotto, Earth was in a sense, shielded from the worst of otherwordly predators and beings. Think of it like a filter or a sieve.

The first rule of warding is that no magical barrier is wholly impenetrable. There is always a chink in the armor and in our case, the chink was magical entities small enough to escape our attention. Without the Sanctum Sanctorums forming a network of magical defense, we would return to the Yld Days when the Earth was no more than a nexus in a storm, when our ancestors pounded rocks together in fear of the sky-demons that conquered the clouds, when men was feasted upon.

And in return, we bit back.

But, I digress. You did not come for a history lesson. It had been two months and yes, I rejected the post of Sorceror Supreme. Before me, Baron Karl Mordo was the Sorceror Supreme. The shortest-lived Sorceror Supreme. The Ancient One, had died during our sojourn in the Wundagore Mountains. The details of how my master, teacher, friend and rank asshole of a magician died will come later into this story. For now, the magical world was still grieving. The Ancient One had lived for a good 599 years and had made indisputably important alliances, deep-forged bonds, between Earth and numerous other realms.

Asgard. The Greeks. The Purple Dimension. Weirdworld. The reverberations of his deeds can still be found to this day in the binding pacts he had made. Now, those pacts were to be tested and I, to my shame, couldn't support Mordo.

Perhaps, if.....Nevermind, reflecting in retrospection is a fool's way to trap one self in guilt.

Nevertheless, I found myself on that day sipping on a cup of jasmine tea Wong had brewed. He was out doing a deli run near Manaheim's. Wong came from a delegation of Masters from the east who sought to shore up the lacking defenses I suppose much of the weight he had gathered over that time was due to that disgusting szechaun meatball submarine he kept eating. I amused myself with the only television in the entire Sanctum Sanctorum, an old tube box from the 1980s that had been enchanted to work inside the ambient magic of the Sanctum Sanctorum. The current zeitgeist of the era was the tale of mutant rights.

Mutants.

If there was one reason to explain why magic hadn't gone mainstream, mutants were the answer. Again, that shaking of the head. I know. We could have spread the use of magic into the general populous. Magic was teachable, not inheritable. There was no abberation in human purity you needed to cast a simple enchantment. Could you imagine how S.H.I.E.L.D, the F.B.I, the C.I.A, the very public itself would react? My boy, we would see something far worse than the Salem Witch Trials.

However, magic hadn't been revealed to its fullest extent to the world, yet. No, the world was concerned with mutants and the mutants were the centre of a new Cold War. Senator Kelly was at the forefront of national efforts to suppress the growing mutant population and he was one step away from goose-stepping into a pit of corpses. Charles Xavier, a room-mate of mine in college, was simultaneously the greatest enemy and ally of the Master of the Mystic Arts. The arcane signature of his telepathic abilities was probing our mental wards and he could already access the Astral Plane. Thankfully, a vote was closed on the Council of Masters to make an attempt to globally neuter telepathic mutants using a binding curse. That would be abominable.

Whilst musing on this newest development, a ghost burst through the air in front of me, the window of reality breaking apart into a hundred shards. I had raised my arms, forming the movements for a quick banishment of the enemy phantasm from the borders of the Sanctum Sanctorum when it spoke in an unmistakably terse tone of a human. It was Wong in his astral form. I lowered my hands and asked why he hadn't bothered to rift into the Sanctum.

" Strange. Come to the park. Disguised. Keep the Cloak on you."

And it was that day on Central Park that I found myself facing a stone girl with a stone sword skewered in her belly.

[mattmanganon]

---

S P I D E R - M A N
S P I D E R - M A N

_{Location: Parker Industries HQ}

Post #3: Little Gremlins

---

Normie slowly walked through the halls of Parker Industries, headed towards the Neogenics lab. The clacking of his walking stick echoing through the polished, metal halls. He frowned as some of the workers walked past him. For a moment, he found himself alone, before stopping dead in the hall and listening... He could swear he could hear something. He turned around, nobody there, just an empty hallway... That's when he heard a muffled snickering, before looking straight up and seeing the face of May-Day staring at him as she walked along the ceiling above him. "HEY NORMIE!!!" She screamed at him, Normie startled for a second by the sheer volume this little girl was capable of.

"Keep it down, neither of us are supposed to be here. It's just that nobody questions the crippled kid." Normie sighed, before slowly hobbling away, the clacking beginning to echo again. May skipped along the ceiling above him.

"Want me to carry you?" She asked, him, shooting a web from her wrist to his back and pulling him up to her.

"LET ME DOWN!!!" Normie roared, flailing wildly. May-Day found this, frankly, hilarious. That was until the flailing walking stick smacked her square in the forehead. At which point, she dropped him as she sat down on the ceiling, rubbing her forehead.

"OWWWW!" She moaned, not crying, but visibly distraught. Normie landed on his backside and rubbed himself, before staring up at the little girl. "WHAT'D YOU DO THAT FOR?!" She yelled at him.

"I've told you before, don't pick me up like that!" He replied. At that point, the sound of one of the laboratory doors opened and one of the scientists walked out to see what the commotion was. A web hit Normie on the chest and pulled him straight up to the ceiling out of harms way. The pair of them sat in the shadow of between 2 of the lights in the hallway. The scientist looked both ways, before shaking his head and closing the door. Normie looked at May who smiled smugly at him "Ok, when it comes to not getting in trouble, sure you can pick me up like that..." He sighed. She carried him over her shoulder as she walked down the wall and onto the ground.

"So, Whatchya doin' in here?" She asked, rocking back and forth between her heels and balls of her feet, arms behind her back. Normie shook his head and began to hobble away again.

"I'm doing research." He grunted. May-Day skipped beside him.

"Oooh, just like Daddy, what kind of research?" She beamed at him. "Can i help? Daddy won't let me do it after last time" She groaned, pushing her index fingers together.

"Uncle Pete isn't doing this kind of research..." Normie mumbled. May-Day continued to skip in her upbeat, chipper way. Normie didn't particularly dislike May-Day, but he had to admit that he was envious of her power. Not so much the super strength and the wall crawling, but just the fact that she could walk and pass for an everyday normal person. Eventually, they came to the Neogenics lab, Normie inserted the security card he had swiped from Peter's office and walked in. As he did so, he looked around the lab. Lots of computers, lots of test tubes, lots of experiments going on.

"Hehehehe, we're gonna be in trouble!" May-Day giggled. "It's been a while since I broke in here, although it was mean old Uncle Otto who caught me."

"Otto is in the Robotics division, this is Neogenics

"Indeed, this is my lab." They both stopped dead as they heard a familiar voice speak to them. The pair of kids turned to see Alistair Smythe staring at them.

"BUSTED!" May-Day yelled, before running towards the door, but being unable to open it. Smythe quickly advanced on Normie, towering over him.

"Young Norman..." He said, staring down at the boy.

"It's Normie. Normie responded. Alistair looked down at Normie's crutch, before looking him in the eyes. They stood, looking deep into each other for about 10 seconds.

"I know why you're hear. Trust me, it's not worth it." Smythe responded, turning around and walking back towards his experiments. Normie hobbled after him. but Mayday turned and looked at them.

"YOU READ MINDS?!" She asked, grabbing her own head.

"I recognize the look of a crippled boy contemplating doing something he's going to regret in a vain attempt at normality. There are days that i wake up and would trade anything for my wheelchair again." He sighed. "It is the reason i have agreed to work for your father. If i can mutate myself back to human, my legs will cease to work."

"Why would you ever choose that?" Normie asked.

"Young Normie, there are more things to life than just walking and running and..." He reached a hand up to the spikes raising from his shoulders. "Shooting laser beams... I want to be normal again. I would rather be stared at by people pitying the cripple, than people staring terrified of the mutated freak. Look, Normie, i'm currently working on something that, if it succeeds, it could cure BOTH of us. But let's take time and get it right. Neogenics has the power to do great good, but equally great evil and most of that evil has come from people refusing to have respect for that power. Your father always says that with great power comes great responsibility, well this is one of the greatest powers and it will require the greatest of responsibility to wield it for the betterment of mankind."

"And in the meantime?" Normie asked.

"In the meantime, we suffer and we learn to respect the power we seek." Smythe looked at Normie. He saw a kindred spirit. They had both lost their fathers in a super-powered plot and he remembered sitting feeling powerless as his Spider-Slayers were utterly useless at actually delivering the revenge he sought... But Normie didn't even have anyone to take revenge on. Harry died by his own hand. He knew that the boy needed something to latch onto to focus that anger. "Tell you what, why don't i show you how this works?" He said, the children followed Alistair over to his work station. Smythe pressed a few buttons and brought up a picture of a bunch of cells on the monitor. "These are my bodies cells." He said. The computer showed a breakdown of the chemical makeup of his body. "Neogenics is the science of breaking down our bodies cells and changing them to improve them"

"So... You made yourself a spiky guy?" May-Day asked.

"Precisely. Radiation can cause this at random, but Neogenics seeks to figure out how to do it targetted. Think of it like playing a Piano. If you press the keys randomly, you just create an awful noise, but if you press the right keys in the right order, then you make something beautiful."

"So, we need to press the piano keys in our bodies in the right order?" May-Day asked.

"It's more like we need to figure out what the keys are as well." He pressed a few buttons. "Radiation can be a little unpredictable. One wrong move and you're growing laser shooting spikes." He sighed. He typed a few buttons and the cell was blasted with something. It started to slowly shrink, slowly stabilizing towards something human... Except the shrinking didn't stop, until the cell burst and Smythe grunted. "My job is to figure out what instrument i'm playing, where it's keys are, what the keys do and how to make them do what i need them to do in order to play music." May-Day looked blank. Smythe had the feeling that none of this had set in.

"Can't you use Vita-rays to try and stabilize them? I've read a few papers, it's suspected that they had something to do with Captain America's transformation."

"Vita-Rays add energy to cells, i'm trying to take energy away from my cells." Smythe replied

"But they are somewhere to start. Neuton's third law, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. We know that Anti-matter is real and cancels out matter. Surely there is some kind of Anti-Vita-Ray out there?" He asked. Smythe looked a little surprised at the 10 year old seemingly being able to debate him in the ways of science.

"Precisely what i was thinking..." Smythe answered slowly, trying to re-rail his train of thought. "But it's finding it that's the problem. In the entire of recorded human history, we have yet to document any and then it'll be the problem of finding a way to generate them safely. Until then, i'm working with what i can." He shook his head "Elementary School Science didn't teach you about Neuton's Third Law."

"My father home-schooled me. Elementary school wasn't teaching fast enough for me." Smythe nodded, looking impressed.

"Reading level?" Smythe asked.

"12th grade" Normie responded

"Favourite book?" Asked in quick succession.

"Great Expectations." Normie said just as quickly.

"I found it a little disappointing." Smythe responded equally quickly. Normie then actually cracked an amused smile, before the pair of them legitimately laughed. May-Day shuffled nervously.

"I just finished reading Gemima Puddle-Duck with Mommy." She stated as a matter of fact. Normie turned to her and smiled condescendingly. Smythe however knelt down to her.

"I LOVE the works of Beatrix Potter." As Smythe began talking with May-Day about Mr Todd, Normie quickly pulled out a pen-drive and stuck it into Smythe's computer, before silently pressing a few things and downloading a number of files, before quickly retrieving the dive before Smythe could turn around. "I shall give your mother a few of the other books i have when i come into work tomorrow." He then turned around, seeing Normie stood looking unimpressed. "I will talk with your Uncle and see if he wouldn't mind me tutoring you. You seem rather interested in Neogenics and i think you have a bright future in the field." Smythe smiled at him. Normie was a little taken aback, he could have swore Smythe was humouring him before, but this offer seemed genuine.

"I... Would like that..." Normie said.

[ErsatzEmpress]

---

T H E X - M E N
T H E X - M E N

^{"Protecting a world that hates and fears us since 2014."}

---

Genocide is a process that develops in ten stages that are predictable but not inexorable. At each stage, preventive measures can stop it. The process is not linear. Stages may occur simultaneously. Logically, later stages must be preceded by earlier stages. But all stages continue to operate throughout the process.

The Ten Stages of Genocide (Dr. Gregory H. Stanton)

---

_{Location: Larroca and Milligan's Deli and Grocery - Brooklyn, NY}

---

"Mutants go home! Mutants go home!"

Roxy Washington stepped into the bodega with urgency, her hood pulled down over her head, her hands deep in her pockets. The bigots were out in full force today, she noted; these days you couldn't go even a few days without seeing some form of anti-mutant demonstration, but this used to be a safe neighbourhood for people like her, or so she had thought. Either that or she'd just been well sheltered.

"Mutants go home! Mutants go home!"

Roxy was a mutant. She was born with hard, diamond-like crystalline skin. She was used to the stares and the snide comments behind her back, but this was different. The anti-mutant element of the city had been whipped up into a frenzy. In real terms, it was getting harder for everyone, but especially for the unlucky ones like her. The ones who couldn't turn their "gifts" off if things got a bit too heated.

"Mutants go home! Mutants go home!"

"In and out, then back home." she thought to herself. "Just the essentials."

Roxy navigated the narrow aisles, carefully running through the items on her shopping list. As she bent down to reach for a can of soup, she felt that familiar stare. Coming from behind. She checked her hood was down and took a quick glance. At the rear end of the shop was a man, not much older than herself. His blonde hair and beard were unkempt, his clothes ill-fitting and he had an expression that made her feel uneasy. She carried on, trying to ignore him as she went about her business, but the unease lingered like a cloud, consuming all her thoughts.

"Mutants go home! Mutants go home!"

"I'm trying..." she sighed to herself.

Attempting to quell her growing unease, Roxy focused on completing her grocery list. However, she couldn't ignore the knot forming in her stomach. As she approached the counter, she couldn't help but steal a final glance at the man behind her. She held her breath as he started to move, her heart punching bullet holes in her chest. It felt like minutes, but within a few seconds the man was at the door. The familiar ding of the bell rang sharply as the door slid open. A flicker of calm.

"Cash or credit?"

Roxy looked back towards the counter, brought back to reality and grabbed her purse.

---

Dammit.

"I thought you freaks had worked out you weren't welcome here!"

Sure enough, Roxy's instincts had been right. The man was waiting outside as soon as she left, with a gang of his friends. She couldn't manage one trip out this week without there being something?, she thought. She carried on moving with speed in her step.

"I'm not looking for trouble. I'm just going home."

"They not have food at mutant school?", one of the gang chimed in. "You've got to come down here an' take ours?"

"I bet it didn't pay for it either..."

"That true Mutie? Come on, I'm talking to you!"

Roxy quickened her pace, her groceries clutched to her chest. She turned a corner, heading down another street.

"I think it's ignoring you", a fourth voice remarked.

"They not teach manners in those sewers of yours, freak?" The man picked up a loose cobble from the floor and took aim. It glanced her leg. She ran. They met her speed in kind.

"He's talking to you, freak!"

"Leave me alone!", Roxy panted, crystal tears filled her eyes. She turned down another street. The thugs closed in. Cornered. Her groceries slipped from her grasp as two of the group pinned her to the wall.

"I'm going home. What more do you people want?" Roxy cried out in desperation.

"You people? The hell is that supposed to mean, mutie?" The one replied.

"Show her what we do to freaks in this neighbourhood, Tom!" Another retorts.

The blonde, Tom cracked his knuckles and dropped his backpack to the floor. He unzipped it, and removed a long club, chain wrapped around the hilt. He brandished it threateningly before walking towards her. However, he is interrupted by a voice from behind, and a tap on his shoulder.

"Is there really nothing better you could be doing with your time, mein Freund?"

The thug slowly moved his gaze to his shoulder, where to his shock he saw a dark blue tail, ending in a point. He goes to scream but nothing comes out.

BAMF!

In a moment the man is gone, replaced by a dark cloud of smoke.

"You might want to run, ja?..."

(TO BE CONTINUED)

[mattmanganon]

---

S P I D E R - M A N
S P I D E R - M A N

_{Location: Parker Industries HQ}

Post #4: "Where are they now?"

---

"Peter, dear boy, with all due respect, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND?!" Otto shouted at him. In the room was Peter, MJ, Michael and Otto, only the ones who were in on the secret of Spider-Man's identity.

"I just wanted to get a feel for where everyone stands." Peter replied.

"Peter, I could have told you that." He sighed, a robotic tentacle reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. "Now you've put Max and Adrien on the defensive not to mention how i am now going to have to pretend i'm still bitter about it so i can keep my credit with the other bad guys."

"I don't think your street cred is the most important thing right now." Michael sighed.

"Ok, well, i'm hearing complains, let's hear solutions?" MJ replied. "Scorpion gave us an unequivacle NO, but that's probably because of his deal with the state tying him to Oscorp rather than any actual loyalty to Norman. So, who else we got contact info for?"

"I know a guy who knows a guy who could get us in contact with Chameleon, but-."

"Max hates him almost as much as Peter and I trust that guy as far as i could throw you." MJ smiled sarcastically. "Hard veto on Chameleon." Peter put his hands up as a show of submission.

"Ok, Chameleon's off the table. Anyone else?" He asked. Otto was the one to respond this time.

"I... I'm in contact with Rhino..." He replied.

"Would have been great to know before." Peter stated.

"Look, he's in no position to work with us at the moment. He's in constant pain, he's agitated, that suit is starting to cause even more feverous discomfort. If we bring him in, he's not fighting for us, he's getting out of that suit and then paying his debt to society. I never swore a hypocratic oath, i'm not that kind of doctor, but i still believe in a doctor doing no harm to their patients. And anyway, he won't come in, because he knows we'll turn him over to the cops afterwards, but i still feel it's my duty to try and help him out." Otto sighed, sitting down, his tentacles forming into a supportive chair for him. "My whole reason for doing this is to help mankind and that includes Aleksei." Peter got up and walked over to Otto, before patting him on the shoulder.

"Hey, never apologize for trying to help people. It's the reason you were the first one i came to with this whole crazy scheme." He then looked over at Michael "No offense." Michael smiled a little.

"Oh really? I assumed you didn't come to me first because you were still mad about the Fisk Foundation Science Fair." The three men laughed for a second, but MJ rolled her eyes, before snapping her fingers in the air

"Boys, back to the task at hand. So far we have a no on Rhino and Chameleon. Come on, who else?"

"Well, to be perfectly honest, during my time on the streets, i specifically tried to hunt down a few... Priority targets for my feeding. Yes, i know we don't kill here, but i need to feed and i thought it would be better to feed off of those that could do the most harm until i could get my blood substitute serums working properly." He pulled out his Spyder phone and spent about a minute whisking through his own files. "Here we go." He brought up the files on the holo projector in the middle of the table. "Quick run-down on the list." As he started listing off names, their portraits became front and center in the holograms. "Herman Schultz, AKA Shocker - Unknown, rumours range everywhere from operating as a mercenary in Madripoor to working for anti-mutant groups right here in NY. Quentin Beck, AKA Mysterio - Unknown, that man has faked his death more times than i care to count, i gave up on him quickly. He'll make himself known exactly when he wants to be. Mister Negative, AKA Martin Li - Operating with the Maggia, Had a few run ins with him, but none ended very well for me. Carnage AKA Cletus Cassedy -"

"PASS" The other three all groaned in unison.

"I hate to say "Beyond redemption" But that guy blew up a bus full of kids and laughed about it on TV. Nope, no, hell-no." Peter responded. Michael nodded with agreement.

"Hey, i'm just telling you the info, up to you what you do with it. Anyway. Sergei Dimitri Symostivych Kravinoff, AKA Kraven the Hunter - Currently in Africa working with the Congolese government to hunt down warlords."

"Good for him." MJ Smiled.

"Damn, i was kinda hoping for Kraven, good morals, even if he is a sociopath." Peter sighed.

"Norman Osborn- we all know about that." He quickly went to the next slide "Curtis Connors, AKA The Lizard - Cur" But Peter butted in before he could continue

"Veto, that guy is only interested in getting close to me and stealing my blood to improve himself." Peter said with a frown.

"But he is a doctor of Neogenics, he could help me and Alistair considerably in our- Michael began, but Peter butted in again.

"VETOED! Next slide!"

"He gave Pete some pretty big trust issues." MJ replied.

"Curt was never the same after he lost his arm." Otto sighed. "Before, i'd have recommended him for our program, but i think The Lizard has gotten too far into his brain.."

"Can we continue?" Michael asked. "Stop butting in, it annoyed me back at University, it annoys me even more now. Aaron Davis, AKA The Prowler - 2 years into a 12 year stint in Rikers for 7 count of Burglary, 3 counts of Assault with a deadly weapon and 2 counts of resisting arrest."

"Yeah, that guy does not like me, but to be fair to him, i've never seen him go after anyone with lethal intent. Guy just likes to crack safes and knock over rich fat-cats." Peter said.

"Yeah, but now WE'RE the rich fat-cats." MJ reminded him.

"Point is, the guy has potential." Peter concluded.

"Yeah, but what would he even do here, the man is a career burglar. He's not a scientist, he stole all of his super-equipment and bungled it together into a super-villain persona by me and a few others." Otto asked.

"True-" MJ retorted, looking at her phone "But he seems to have a head for computers. Hacked his way through most of those fat-cats security systems. Could always hire him to help develop software for the Spyder line, or maybe put him in charge of our Cyber Security."

"I'm with MJ on this one, even if he's not going to be in our Six, i want to give him a chance at Parker Industries nonetheless. I see a guy who can be better than he currently is. Anyone else?" He asked.

"I..." Michael shuffled nervously. "I also have a contact number for Screwball..." The picture in the hologram showed Screwball's profile on her social media and the others quickly took note of the page having activated hyperlinks only available to her premium subscribers. The 3 stared at Michael for an uncomfortable minute, before they all responded in unison again.

"PASS"

[thatguy]

VOL 1: PARA

ISSUE 1: THIS NEW WORLD

FRANK CASTLE

FROM THE WAR JOURNAL OF FRANK CASTLE, MONDAY

To those find my journals, this is not an admission of guilt of criminal wrongdoing or the manifesto of someone who is politically charged, I, Frank Castle solemnly swear that my actions are made with a sound mind and a clear conscious.

Frank paused his writing to take a drink of his stale, bitter black coffee as he tried to get comfortable in his booth at Joan’s Diner, he looked around to make sure nobody paid the baseball cap wearing, sunglasses indoors, leather jacket wear man who was built like an Ox any mind, but there was nary anybody inside save for a couple of patrons in the corner keeping to themselves. “Back at it,” he whispered, halfheartedly whispering to the sounds of the light rain drizzle against the window pane.

This Journal holds the following accounts of my actions as I see them, unapologetically so. This is my war, I'm behind enemy lines with no possible ex-fil, no allies, and little to no tools of the trade save for my Dan Wesson DWX, it’s time to stock up and get to work. Entry from War Journal #1, page 1.

Frank took his wallet out of his pocket and noted that thanks to his hospital bills that he was running on a thousand dollars, which apparently today meant very little. He laid a ten dollar bill on the table before getting up and walking out the door. The rain did very little to wash the carbon dioxide from his nostrils as he started to walk down the sidewalk, noting how on this side of Bronx that graffiti was rampant and there was seldom a lonesome woman out in public. He thought about hailing a cab to get to his family home, but something nagged at him to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

In the distance he couldn’t tell the direction, but a police siren could be heard and it was moving away. Frank scowled to nobody in particular, but there was all this stimuli just begging him to react, and for a few blocks he was adrift in his own thoughts until the feeling that kept him going had a reason to be. A man ran out of a store holding a big bag and ran down an alley across the street, Frank looked back at the door he came from and a clerk peered out, exclaiming that he was a thief, and what did Frank do? He smiled, he jogged across the street, passing people who knew better than to get involved and slipped his hand into his left shoulder holster under his big black leather jacket and stepped into the alleyway, where he saw the crook dumping his bag of cash into the back of his getaway car.

“Step away from the vehicle!” Frank announced loudly, making the already excited thief jump in place, he pulled out his gun and pointed it head level at the man.

“Who the- who are you bro?” the guy dropped the bag and pulled out his own gun, aiming it sideways like he thought he was in the movies.

Frank raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t flinch. “You’ve never fired that thing, have you?”

“Man, shut the- shut up!” the thief exclaimed nervously, Frank watched his hand holding the gun was getting shakey, “who even are you?”

“Me?” Frank asked, and pulled his jacket to the side, revealing a bulletproof vest that he spray painted white in a way to look like a giant skull on his chest. “I’m the Punisher.”

The thief started to say the word, “who?” but as his mouth opened, Frank fired a round and watched unfazed as the lifeless body fell to the ground, blood and cash pooling on the asphalt.

AMY BENDIX



THE LEXINGTON HOTEL, NEW YORK CITY

The kitchen was moving like a well oiled machine, nobody made a peep as the head chef barked about orders to everyone, including the young nineteen year old Amy Bendix who was hired out as a server from her friend’s catering company, tonight was all about the mayoral race for a new up coming politician, but Amy being a little air headed knew not his name. She just really needed the money after being let go from the mailroom of The Daily Bugle, and now she was couch surfing with her friend and serving hors d'oeuvres to some of the most powerful people in New York, so with her large gold plated tray of small finger food she walked out into the large gathering and began making her rounds. She managed a coy smile every once in awhile, but not a single person said thank you, nor made eye contact with the servant woman, as she finished with her unknown number of platters and gathered drinks, she joined several other waiters and waitresses who aligned the ivory walls and looked up upon the banners displaying the man of the hour: Wilson Fisk.

The boss of the catering event came over to the group of waiters and watresses, and rather rudely told them that their jobs were far from over, so Amy got right back into the monotony, hearing whispers about the things that Fisk plans to do for the city via the elegantly dressed butt kissers and brown nosers. One couple discussed how Fist had invested into a new community outreach program called FEAST, but that was putting it politely instead of the snobby rich person talk like they were beneath those who struggled. The man of the hour himself had yet to arrive to his own campaign party, instead one of his organizers, a man in a dark blue suit with smoothed back raven black hair and a disarming smile was in his stead, shaking hands and doing photo ops with WHIH reporters amongst others.

“Would you like another?” Another Amy asked a patron who would quickly guzzled down a glass of wine, but was shooed away so she decided to make her way over to Fisk’s organizer, “Hello sir, I saw you haven’t had anything to drink for awhile, can I interest you in a beverage?”

“Oh, thank you,” The organizer spoke in a dismissive manner before returning to his boss’s patrons, “As I was saying, Mr. Fisk has been in a very giving mood as of late, he just donated an incredible amount of money towards the F.E.A.S.T Foundation, and has also partnered up with several other prominent men and women of the city to help usher in new era after that horrific time we all had with M-Day.” He paused and looked about the room where many of them shook their heads.

Amy head murmurs of “Damn mutants” and “Good on Mr. Fisk” amongst the crowd as she continued to do her job, halfheartedly listening to the Organizer’s crowd work.

“In fact,” Continued the Organizer, “Not many of you here know that Mr. Fisk’s father once ran for a seat in our fair city council, so you could say that good will is in Mr. Fisk’s DNA.”

Amy stole a glance over at the press pool where the likes of Allsworth Tonight, WHIH World News, and CNCB News were eating away at his every word.

“Just in case you all are tiring of me talking, Mr. Fisk should be arriving within the hour, and you can hear about his multi-layered plan to bring about great, prosperous change for each and every one of you here tonight.”

It was then, in a quick moment between words that Amy started to hear the sounds of protesters coming from outside. Were they always there? She wondered to herself, or was she too getting swept up in the moment?

ANDY LORIMER



Andy watched the rain fall down his father’s tombstone, and bent down to place the bouquet of flowers he had bought on the way here, it was the second anniversary of his father’s murder and Andy was pissed that the man responsible was walking free on a series of technicalities. Andy himself was a police officer and he knew from firsthand experience that a lot of the criminals today were slipping through the justice system in favor of catching the big fish, the so called super villains. As he quietly paid his father his respects, his police walkie crackled to life, “Any units in the area? I got a call about a 10-54 out near Joan’s Diner in kzzt district, any available cars, please respond.”

Andy picked up his radio and began heading back to his cruiser, “this is Cruiser number 1610, headed to location now.” He looked down at the cold cup of coffee that sat in his cup holder and shrugged before taking a swig. “Are there any 10-66's I should be aware of?” He asked as he pulled out of the cemetery and out onto the road.

“Civilian who called reported seeing a man walking the sidewalk in a bulky black trench coat, and sporting a buzzcut. Otherwise you’re as in the dark as the rest of us, Cruiser 1610.”

“Understood,” Andy reported in as he drove through the city, he could tell as he passed the homeless encampments and the gated-up businesses that this area was in desperate need of some help, but from who and from where he had no idea. It was a twenty-minute car ride he arrived at the alleyway and got out of his car with his investigative notepad, and approached a nervous looking man who seemed like he was the one to call it in.

“Sir, did you call the police?” Andy asked calmly,

“Yea-yeah,” the man nervously bobbed his head and looked behind him and gulped before returning his attention to Andy, “the gunshot came over here I-I think.”

“Okay, and when did you hear it before reporting?” Andy asked, ready to write down on his pad, he took a look around and noticed not many people had been fazed by a gunshot.

“On-Only a few minutes,” the man nodded once again.

“Okay, I need you say here while I go check it out.” Andy pocketed his notepad and began to approach the possible crime scene...

BIG JESUS



Robert “Big Jesus” Jessup knew who he was and the world he lived in he knew his place, he was a hired gun, small potatoes who worked at the kiddie table of the criminal underworld of New York and he preferred it that way. He never knew more than what his job was, and that way he figured if he even thought of snitching then he couldn’t, one of the officers interrogating him one time told him that was called plausible deniability, but it wasn’t just the name of the for him. Big Jesus’ brother found himself in the hot seat over at Ryker’s so now here he was acting as muscle in a parking garage that had poor as hell lightning for some big wig businessman who was making a deal with a new up and comer.

Unfortunately this up and comer was late, despite his boys guarding the meeting spot, but as his boss was getting antsy a Cadillac Escalade that was shiny as Hell pulled up just long enough for a middle aged man with a shiny balding head and a frightened, nervous look about him. Handcuffed to his hand was a black briefcase, “Hello,” the man nodded at Big Jesus’s boss,

His boss, Alberto Bernedetti who was of siciliano descent didn’t speak, instead he grabbed his walking cane and managed a couple steps towards this man and looked him in the eye. “I thought I was dealing with Fisk?” he grumpled, who the Hell are you?”

“Me?” The nervous man motioned at himself, “My name, it doesn’t matter. Mr. Fisk sent me to make arrangements with you for a profitable business venture. His words, I attest.”

“What do you mean, arrangements? What kind of venture would I be interested in that Mr. Future Mayor is too busy to come to me directly?” Bernedetti spoke with an angry tone.

The man making the arrangements fished in his pocket for a key to unlock his handcuff to the briefcase, “Mr. Fisk regretted being unable to attend this meeting, but with the contents of this case, with a partnership between Fisk Industries and Bernedetti Construction he has plans to make this city a benefit for people,” he paused and added the last bit with a wink, “such as yourself.”

“What are you-” Alberto stopped talking as once the man got the briefcase open, he was staring directly at plates of gold...

CHARLIE SCHITTI



Charlie was a nervous man in everything he did in life, but as he rode the Elevator up to his boss’s penthouse suit at Four Seasons in Tribeca he was sweating more than normal, and that was not a good look to be paired with his boss’s temper when he was interrupted at home. The elevator dinged and he was met once the doors opened by a two man team, one patted him down, but didn’t find any weapons. “Like I'd be stupid to bring them here.” Charlie said offhandeded, but the man ignored him, and the other made him sign a visitor log before motioning to make him look at the cameras positioned above the door in the hallway. After they finished, Charlie gulped, never ready for his boss’s wrath and knocked raptly several times, he looked back at the security team who were stoic as ever then he heard a beep noise two times, which meant the door electronically unlocked.

Charlie walked inside and was met by a very homely scent of vanilla, which momentarily disarmed him as he walked into the open floor plan and was met by a beautiful Italian woman dressed in tight formal wear, her dark brown hair down to her neck and she looked at him dismissively. “He’s not going to be happy.”

Charlie straightened up and looked abashedly down at his feet, “Apologizes Ma’am, I meant no disrespect to you or your husband I was just-” he started to try and explain himself but she interrupted him like an upset mother would to a child.

“First off, never call me Ma’m, it’s Mrs. Fisk. Secondly,” she paused and walked towards Charlie until she was an arm’s length away, “My husband’s men know the rules and never to come here, especially during the day! Thirdly, who even are you?”

“I’m-” Charlie could barely get a word out before she walked away ignoring him,

“Wilson,” Mrs. Fisk called out, “you have a visitor”

[Stern Algorithm]

---

M R S. F A N T A S T I C
M R S. F A N T A S T I C

_{Location: The Baxter Building, Top Floor, Future Foundation Headquarters}

Post #2: Innovation and Intervention

---

Sue sat at her desk, having returned from her little 'meeting' with the dictator of Latveria to remember her late husband, Reed Richards, on the anniversary of his death and to renew their conviction to bring about a better world. Victor would be secretly returning to the Latverian embassy to take a magical portal back to his country, where he would probably continue to work on his pet projects. Sue often joked that Victor must be the descendant of vampires, since she's rarely ever seen that man sleep. On that note, Sue looked in the small mirror she had on her desk. She wasn't getting much sleep either and she could feel the years catching up with her. As Reed Richard's widow, Sue had inherited his wealth, generated from the royalties and patents of technologies he had invented in his all-too-short, but highly-productive, life. On retrospect, he seemed far too young to have had such a detailed will, almost as if he had expected to die on that space mission. Of course, Sue knew that wasn't the case, Reed was just such an intelligent and forward-thinking man, always planning for every possible eventuality and outcome. Yet if that were true, shouldn't he have been able to prevent his own death? Sue shook herself out of that reverie. They had only been married for a few short years, but she cherished those years greatly. The fact that he had so quickly and so readily left everything he had to hear spoke to the love and trust that he had for her. At first, the wealth was something of a comfort, but Sue came from a poor background and had few extravagant wants. Her drive to honor the future her husband wanted pushed her to use his wealth to found the Fantastic Four, building the infrastructure upon which their superhero team would rely on. A portion of that wealth had initially been budgeted to Victor, the only man who would be able to continue anything even remotely close to the kind of research Reed was pushing forward. But with Victor's departure from the team, it had become difficult, if not impossible to continue with scientific research, and the Future Foundation, as their organization was now called, eventually moved to supporting social programs, local experiments to uplift the poorer population of New York City. Victor railed against capitalism, and quite frankly, some of it went over Sue's head, but she was definitely willing to test how different charitable projects could change peoples' lives for the better.

But Reed was a man of science, and it didn't feel right for the Future Foundation to not have a science department. Looking out over the city, Sue knew that the Baxter Building, and the Fantastic Four, stood as a beacon in a sea of despair. But crime lords and corrupt business magnates truly ruled this city, while superheroes provided a false sense of hope and could be publicly recognized and supported, so long as they 'stayed in their lane' and did not disrupt the status quo. Of course, fighting foreign or extra-terrestrial threats was easier than dealing with the quagmire of business and politics; she had seen firsthand the price Victor had to pay for changing lanes. But Victor was terrible at playing nice with others, he was 'too honest'. The trick was to change things within the system without painting a target on your back. Of course, that may just be Victor's ploy, to draw attention to himself to make Sue's work easier to conceal. She was the 'Invisible Woman' after all. Turning back to her computer, Sue closed the article she had been reading about Parker Industries; her mind had been made. She wanted to budget some of the Foundation towards science, but needed someone who's work she believed in, a company that wasn't just about maximizing profits, one that gave back to the people and offered opportunities for social mobility. She began typing.

Dear Dr. Parker,

I am going to cut out the formalities. You seem like an honest man, and I'm sure you recognize how rare that is, especially in business. The Fantastic Four has always sought to protect people, at first it was from external threats, like Atlantis and Attilan, then from extraterrestrial ones. But there came a time when we had to ask if protection is enough? In the absence of such threats, people still suffer and struggle, whether that be from societal factors or resource scarcity depends on who you ask. But my late husband, Reed Richards, who is the inspiration for The Future Foundation, wasn't a fighter, he was an innovator. He sought to improve the human condition, and he believed that the answer lay in science. The Future Foundation's research has been non-existent for quite a while since our falling out with our chief scientist, but it has always been my dream to revive The Foundation's science department. But as I'm sure you are aware, greed has run rampart in our society, and technology is, more often than not, turned against people; advancements always find military applications first, automation is dangled over people's heads as a threat to take away their livelihoods, communication becomes surveillance. To fall into bed with this type of scientist, with this type of businessman, would be to dishonor the name of Richards. I am looking for a scientific partner, a research collaborator with high ethical standards and unshakeable morals, someone willing to turn away corruption and serve humanity. I find that you, Dr. Parker, fit the bill. And as such, I am offering several floors of the Baxter Building for Parker Industries to open a satellite lab, as well as investment from The Future Foundation, so that our two organizations can work more closely together for the betterment of mankind.

Susan Richards, Director of The Future Foundation

---

T H E T H I N G
T H E T H I N G

_{Location: Larroca and Milligan's Deli and Grocery - Brooklyn, NY}

---

Ben was out on the streets of New York getting a bagel, or at least, that was his excuse. He had a massive trench coat and hat on, but anyone who gave him even a cursory glance would immediately see past the poor disguise. He was keeping an eye on the demonstration. Unfortunately, the First Amendment protected even such hateful people's right to peaceably assemble. But 'peaceably' was the operative word. He would intervene if things got violent. Despite looking the way he did, The Thing was a celebrity, an honored superhero, unlike the mutants who the crowd hated so much. And why? For no other reason than the fact that Ben was not 'born' with his powers, but 'acquired' them in an accident. The double-standard boggled his mind, but then again, hate has never been rational. As he leaned lightly against a light post, chewing on his thoughts and his bagel, he heard some running and yelling in the alley behind him.

Running over, Ben catches a glimpse of a threatening young man being 'disappeared' by a blue-furred mutant. While the display was unsettling, Ben didn't particularly care for the whereabouts of the bat-wielding thug. He assumed (hoped) that this mutant was one of the X-men, and that whatever he had done to the blonde was a safe and non-violent procedure. Then he saw the girl, skin covered in sparkling diamond. "She's prettier than I am, but I'm treated like a hero, and she's treated like garbage?" Ben thought to himself, shaking his head.

"Alright you creeps, break it up. You can protest all you like, but the moment you threaten this poor girl, you're committing assault," Ben roared, advancing slowly on the group, trying to get between them and the girl. He knew that he could shrug off anything they threw at him, so he just needed to be a shield. He looked at Nightcrawler and asked, "I hope that guy you 'poofed' is safe?" Ben hated this. The mutants had every reason to fight back, but their cause was only hampered if they showed themselves to be dangerous, thus 'proving' their enemies' case. He didn't want to have to lecture them on how they should treat their open aggressors, but hurting people was counterproductive. Optics. PR. He hated those words. It was the reason Victor had to leave.

[Supermaxx]

_{MARVEL REIMAGINED: Iron Man}

ISSUE #1: Fragile Heart

---

_{New York City ♦ New York}

"Run it again, JARVIS." Tony Stark splayed across the couch like a lion on its rock. He was the king of a concrete jungle: a billionaire, a genius engineer, and a world-class superhero. Untouchable. Unassailable. He tore a chunk from his latest successful hunt- a greasy cheeseburger from the joint down the street. He'd lost count of how many Kwikkee Meal Deals he'd eaten ever since moving into Rhodey's apartment.

Tony was unbelievably broke.

A series of simulations flashed across the television, the laptop plugged into whirring angrily as it tried to process the experiment's thousands of unique variables. A full-sized arc reactor popped open on the screen to reveal its internals: hundreds of individual plates placed so close together the human eye couldn't discern the gap between them. The plates rotated around the core at murderously high speeds, driven only by the Casimir effect. The vacuum in the chamber allowed the reactor to maintain its current energy production indefinitely...theoretically.

One of the plates in the simulator began to flash red. "Error in plate one hundred and four," JARVIS warned in a cheery English accent. "Sheering along the joint will cause it to break off after thirty-seven years, six months and twelve days of use." As JARVIS spoke all the surrounding plates began to flash as well. "Catastrophic failure follows shortly after."

Tony ran a hand through his hair in irritation. It was long, wild, and about as greasy as the burger. His beard wasn't much better. He stood from the couch to get a better view and began to pace. Increasing the size of the arc reactor had only made the design's flaws more apparent. No modern metal alloy could hold together under that much pressure for long. Even the gold-titanium his suit used proved insufficient. A carbon fiber mesh would be tougher, of course, but making a mesh that large was difficult and expensive. And making a hundred and twenty-eight meshes? Not viable.

"How much energy do we lose if we add thrust in the opposite direction to maintain a sustainable speed?" Tony asked, stopping to spin the television remote on the coffee table.

"Those calculations may take some time, sir."

"Do it." Tony nodded, despite talking to a computer program that couldn’t see it. "And give me my messages while you’re at it. Filter for job offers and anything from the lawyers."

This time Tony’s cellphone buzzed in response as JARVIS left the laptop to its diagnosis and scrolled through Stark’s email. "You have thirty seven job related messages."

Stark’s expression lit up. "Any takers?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. All thirty seven are rejection letters."

His expression fell like a pile of bricks. Well, at least they’d been polite enough to actually respond, Stark mused. In his previous batch of applications half the agencies saw his last name on the resume and blocked his number. Obadiah Stane- Tony's former friend, mentor, and current enemy for life- had done his damnedest to ensure Stark would never work in any relevant industry again. Maybe Kwikkee needed a new burger flipper.

Tony dropped back into his couch and pulled the phone out himself to check his bank account. There was a distinct lack of zeroes behind the prime numbers. Not unexpected, but still concerning. His reserves were running dangerously low. If he couldn’t find work soon…

He flipped to James Rhodes’ main account. Not something he was supposed to have access to, technically, but curiosity and a guilty conscience didn’t mix well. Rhodey was Tony’s oldest friend and one of the best men he’d ever known- he was also prone to taking on more than he could handle. It wouldn’t be long before Stark’s problems caught up with Rhodey.

Tony paused. He closed his eyes and took a series of deep breaths. He couldn’t drag Rhodey down with him. Wasn’t happening.

“JARVIS, do I have anything from that Pentagon rep?”

There was a moment’s pause as the machine ran through Tony’s emails once again. “Yes sir. I moved all of Major Talbot’s messages to spam as you requested. You have sixteen unopened emails from his address.”

“Alright, let’s set up a meeting. I’m grabbing a scotch.”

[mattmanganon]

---

S P I D E R - M A N
S P I D E R - M A N

_{Location: Parker Residence}

Post #5: Goblin on the Wing

---

Normie sat in his room loudly tapping away at his computer. He heard the sound of his window opening slowly and frowned, but continued tapping. His ears had pricked up and he was following the telltale sounds of May's pattern of sneaking up on him. She was powerful and stealthy, but she was still too young to appreciate that people learned from her mistakes. The notorious *Fwip* As she attached her web to the ceiling and slowly lowered behind him.

"Hi May" He said, not breaking his stride.

"NO FAIR!!!" She cried "YOU ALWAYS KNOW I'M HERE!!!"

"You've got your Spider-Senses, i have my own super senses" He smiled a little, continuing to tap away at the computer.

"Whatcha doin'? Lookin' up weird video's of Daddy and Elsa?" She asked, cocking her head to the side. She didn't particularly understand what the absolute monolithic line of code. "Or are you watching The Matrix?"

"You wouldn't understand even if i told you" Normie sighed.

"I'm not dumb!" She punched him in the shoulder. Probably a little harder than she was supposed to, since she knocked him off the chair, but quickly shot a web with her other arm to grab him before he hit the floor and pulled them back onto his feet. "I'm REALLY sorry, don't tell Mommy!" She begged. Normie stared her in the eyes for a long minute. "DON'T!!!" She yelled. He then shook his head before starting to tap away at the keys again.

"I'm writing a combination Keylogger algorithm and trojan program to sneak into the backdoor of a company." He sighed. May spent a few minutes going over what he just said in her head.

"So, you're making a Ninja Horse?" She asked. Normie doubled over laughing at this response.

"Yeah, i'm writing a ninja horse." He laughed. She sat staring at it

"Computers are WAY cooler than i thought..." She said, her mind clearly blown away by this information. The lines of code that he was writing suddenly started going nuts as the algorithm started its work on cracking into the system he was looking at. "So, which company are you hacking into? I heard that Burger King has this gold card that gives you UNLIMITED burgers." She giggled. "But that's illegal and then daddy'll have to beat you up" She said.

"I'm not going for Burgers... I've got something a little better in mind." He replied. It was at that point that Oscorps logo popped up onscreen. "And i... am... in..." As he finished typing. He then saw a mass of files pop up in front of him and he smiled. "Now, time to get what i need..." He started to search the files, but quickly found a problem. "No..." He said with a worried look on his face. "No this can't be right... I'm in... I'm on the server, this is where the documents should be." He rubbed his face.

"Out of the way dummy" May said, dropping down and "I've got an idea" She grabbed the mouse from him and clicked the search bar before typing 'files that normie wants' getting no responses "Wow, this security has to be like... at least 7 times better than daddys." Normie shoved her out of the way before starting to check his coding.

"It's... It's correct, not a single number of asterisk out of place..." At that point, the window closed and a new one opened. It was a video call prompt with an accept or reject button. It rang once, then twice. Normie looked at May-Day. "Stay down, let me do the talking. Do NOT say ANYTHING under any circumstances." She quickly webbed up to the ceiling and lay flat on it. Normie cautiously pressed the accept button. At that point, the unmistakable face popped up.

"Greetings Normie... My god you look just like your father." Norman Osborn sat on his sofa in his house, sipping whiskey, he was wearing his white shirt without a tie and the top button undone, his black trousers and solid gold wrist watch being the only other visible clothing. "I'm very glad you decided to try and do this. I had a feeling. As for how i knew what your trojan would look like? Oh, i tracked a few of these some time ago, turns out it was your father trying to keep tabs on me. I knew he would teach you his hacking skills." Norman smiled. "In all seriousness, i am very glad to meet you. Your father sent me a few baby pictures, but he kept you well hidden."

"You killed my father. Don't try to get all jolly old grandpa with me." Normie replied. Norman continued to smile, but shifted, Normie could tell he had hit a nerve. Norman took a swig of his whiskey and clearly tried to re-rail his train of thought after Normie's blitz attack on his act.

"He was your father, but he was my son and i knew him FAR longer than you did. It wasn't ME who killed him, it was that Spider-Freak. But you didn't come hacking into Oscorp files to try and find out little things like that, did you?" Norman replied. "Tell Grampy what you're looking for and i'm sure i can get it for you. I'm an open book."

"Pity i can't tear out the pages." Normie replied. Norman laughed.

"Ah, dad taught you the Osborn wit very well. Yes, i have seen that defiant look FAR too many times in his youth. When he stole cookies from the jar, when he set fire to the rug, when he told me he was running away." Norman pointed at him with the hand he was using to hold the glass of whiskey. "My son, your father, lives in you." He smiled.

"Spare me the Lion King speech, tell me what you want?" Normie demanded. Norman laughed again.

"Amazing, you ignore my ask for what you want and try to turn it back on me, but let's be fair, you were the one that came to MY files. And whatever it is that you want, i'm more than happy to give it to you, but i need to know what that something is." He leaned back on his sofa, his thumb hooking comfortably into his trouser pocket to give a reserved, relaxed posture.

"No, you're the one who lured me in, you wanted this, so you tell me what you want? If it was just about the files, you would have left them for me to find." Normie pointed out.

"Frankly, i wanted a conversation with my favourite grandson." He smiled. "Is it so unbelievable that i actually want to talk to you and get to know you?" Normie simply stared at him without moving. Norman finally relented. "Alright, you got me. I wanted you to know that i'm here for you. And i wanted you to know that it specifically was me that was giving you the info. No strings attached, i just want you to know you always have family at Oscorp." Normie could tell that Norman was still hiding his main objective, but he did believe that part of this was some kind of trust building exercise. Trying to build some kind of give and take rapport. Well, if he was giving, then it was time for Normie to take.

"I am looking for the files on Oscorps old battle-suit technology... I..." Normie began, at that point he saw the only genuine look of concern on Norman's face he had seen all night.

"Your dad told me about the complications." Norman replied. "I'll have a few blueprints sent over to you immediately, the leg servo's in that wouldn't be too difficult to adapt to help you walk better." He tapped away at his keyboard for a second, before pressing send and a popup appeared, indicatng that he had received an email. This also tipped a bit of Normans hand that he was spying on Normie, knowing his email address without any prompts. "Anything else?" Norman asked with a smile.

"Do... You mind if i add you on Facespace?" He asked.

"By all means. If you need ANYTHING from me, please, message me. I'm not a monster, no matter what... Uncle Peter would have you believe." Norman replied, before closing the chat.

"WHAT WAS THAT!?!?!?" May-Day yelled the moment Norman hung up. "First you're all 'You killed my daddy, granddaddy!'" She said in a gruff voice. "Then you're all 'I love you grampy!'"

"You ever heard the phrase 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?'" He asked.

"No, because it's stupid, why keep people you hate close to you? I'd take you over your stinky grandpa any day." She proudly said. "Wait, we gotta tell Mommy." She said, realizing exactly what happened.

"Tell her and i'll tell her you pushed me." Normie threatened. He saw the gears turn in May's head as she tried to figure out what to do. She clearly wanted to tell MJ about what had happened, but she REALLY didn't want to get punished for punching him.

"Fine, i'll keep your secret, just like Daddy being Spider-Man." She sighed.

"Thanks." Normie replied, before opening up the attached document. There was a few designs for robotic support suits... But then there was another one. Originally, Normie had been going in there to get information about something else, but he didn't want to tip his hand too much to Norman, hopefully getting something small now and opening the way to slice back in for the thing he ACTUALLY wanted later... But looks like Norman was a step ahead of him... "Goblin-Formula-research.zip"

[thatguy]

VOL 1: PARA

ISSUE 1: THIS NEW WORLD



FRANK CASTLE

YESTERDAY- SUNDAY

FROM THE WAR JOURNAL OF FRANK CASTLE

WAR JOURNAL ENTRY #2

If there are those who find sympathy towards me, look elsewhere, do not pity my misfortune. The system did not fail me, it failed all of you, what do I want? I want those who have reason, to fear me, there is no murder in war: there is only getting the job done.

It was a bright morning at the cemetery, and everything there looked well kept and pristine, which contrasted horribly with the visage of Frank Castle standing above the graves of his family in his blood soaked black leather jacket that was riddled with bullet holes, underneath he wore a t-shirt- he bought this one once he left the hospital after finding his original was torn to shreds- emblazoned with a large white imposing skull, ripped combat pants soaked with dirt and blood and steel toed boots. There was such anger and rage burning in his eyes as he looked from his children’s tombstones to his wife’s. He then looked around to find that he was the only living person there in that moment, so he took a knee and solemnly started to study the dirt at the foot of their graves, watching it fall as he picked it up and dropped it.

“I promised you,” he started to say in a quiet voice, “they will pay. They will all be punished for what they took from us. It’s been hard, but I think I know where to start.” Frank stood up, adjusting his sidearm before he walked away without a second look. Instead he looked down at what he drew out of his pocket, a tape recorder (he was old school), and he hit play...

At first there was static as the tape began, and then a horrific scream of pain, something metal clanging on the ground, and metal scraping like a chair being pulled, and then Frank’s voice coming across matter of fact and bone chillingly distant. “That was your patella I just crushed, you’ll never walk normal again. Now you have two options, you tell me what I want to know about the Gnucci Family, or I cut off both of your trigger fingers and we start from scratch...”

The man Frank was torturing was now weeping and nearly hyperventilating, pleading for his life. The tape recorder caught Frank’s heavy sigh, which was just played up for drama’s sake. “Okay, do you want to keep the left finger or- actually I'll just take both.”

“No please!” The man finally relented, “There’s this guy, he’s set to collect protection money from a corner store, but he’s a greedy punk. I couldn’t catch everything, but one night I was drinking over at The Bar With No Name and he mentioned to his buddies that he got a job with the Family. Oh dear God it hurts!”

“Tell me when this collection goes down,” Frank spoke, “and where it happens, or you lose more than one finger.”

AMY BENDIX

TODAY- MONDAY

Amy was on break leaning against a large window pane, away from the prying eyes of the wealthy elite who were to be donors of Wilson Fisk’s mayoral campaign, she was watching the protestors who were against those of the mutant race rage like impotent children against a group of people who could be gods if they so chose. There were also protestors who were protesting against Mr. Fisk wanting to be mayor, apparently his pro stance on a safe and controlled New York wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea. Amy put her long wavy brown hair behind her ears and checked her watch with a groan, her break was nearly up, so she stood up and started to weave herself through the room, noticing a man with silver hair pull Mr. Fisk’s campaign advisor aside and out into the hallway.

Amy thought that to be strange when everything that was said had been out in the open, so she started her way towards the exit, grabbing a half empty platter of food so as to not look so inconspicuous by the security team, who she noted all sported a calligraphic letter G on their necks. She walked through the double doors that led out into the hallway and watched as the organizer and white haired man started speaking and heading towards another of the event rooms, Amy assumed they were looking for some place empty. She set the platter down on a table and took out her phone to silence her upcoming alarm in case the two of them heard it and she inevitably got her and her friend into heaps of trouble.

She realized she was too far behind them to properly hear what they were talking about so she grabbed an empty cart and climbed in enough so that she could push herself. “So Wesley,” The white haired man spoke to the organizer, “Now that we’re out of earshot, let’s get down it-” the man’s voice was raising in tone but Wesley put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Don Cervello,” Gone was the grandiose playing of his part, now Wesley was all business, “you know the rules, you and the Gnucci, and the Gorrini’s and everyone else need to stay out of the public eye. I get it, you are worried about the plan moving forward, am I right?”

There was something chilling in the way Wesley handled himself that put the Don of the Cervello crime family off, “yeah, I mean we’re all worried. It seems overly ambitious to bring together everyone across the eastern seaboard, and don’t get me wrong, me and my boys are enjoying you having the boys in blue turn the other cheek every once in a while-”

“Mr. Cervello,” Wesley interrupted the man and put a finger to his own lips, “surely you aren’t questioning Mr. Fisk and his desires, are you? Do you know the last time someone questioned our employer?”

“What-what exactly happened?” Mr. Cervello asked, both scared and genuinely curious.

“Let me answer a question, with another question,” Wesley said with what looked like a warm smile, it was obvious he held the high ground continuously in the conversation. “How hard must a car door slam against a person’s head for it to pop like a balloon?”

“Jes-jesus,” Don Cervello took several steps back, clearly shaken at learning what kind of man he was now dealing with. Amy had her phone out under the cart, and had it recording the conversation the whole time, but now she was too close and had no way getting away if they were suspicious, she was well and truly stuck...

ANDY LORIMER

Andy crept slowly into the alleyway, and almost immediately put his hand up to his nose to stop the stench of what he now believed to be a dead body, but that didn’t even work completely as he had to hold himself steady against a dumpster as his knees grew weak. After several inhales and some mental words of affirmation, he continued onwards until he spotted a very thick blood trail and noted tire tracks making an impression alongside it, and then he spotted the body, or what remained of it laying against the side, away from view of the public. A few more steps, and Andy noted a bloodstain and large goops of ripped, torn up flesh slowly sliding against the wall facing him, turning to look at the remains he started to gag and very vomited on the crime scene.

The body was headless, save for flaps of skin that would have been part of the neck, Andy made a mental note to go seek his department’s therapist after this, but he crouched down and started to study the body. He took an extra pen he had in his pocket and used that to lift up the flap of neck, and saw a stylized letter G tattoo, he looked around and noted a blood stained duffle bag- opened with crumbled up money bills. He wasn’t part of forensics, nor homicide, he was just a guy who stumbled into this horror show, so he quickly stood up and- making sure not to tamper with blood on the ground- made his way out of the alley so that he could breath a sigh of relief and fresh air before talking to the witness and calling it in.

“Dispatch, Cruiser 1610 reporting on that 10-54,” Andy spoke unsteadily after grabbing for his radio, “It’s a definite 10-4. We need to get the Techs here ASAP, A Few minutes ago Cruiser 1610 10-23'd, Officer is now questioning potential witness, Copy over?”

“That’s a 10-4, Cruiser 1610.” The calmly collected voice of a dispatch officer answered him, “Sending a unit and a 10-52 to your location, will also do a 10-66. Proceed, copy over.”

“Copy.” Andy confirmed before turning his attention to the witness, “Sir, can I see some identification?”

“Oh, oh yeah sure,” the man, who was the clerk the dead man had stolen from handed his wallet over to Andy.

Andy wrote down the man’s information on his notepad before speaking again, “So how did you find the body?”

The clerk rubbed his palms together and took an uneasy glance towards the alleyway, “Well, the guy? He robbed me where I work at so I called for help and saw another guy go after him. I didn’t get a good enough look at him, but he had really short hair.”

“Are there any cameras in the area we can use?” Andy asked him, referring to the Forensic Specialists.

“I’m sure there are, but there’s definitely one at the convenience store where he robbed me, do you maybe want to go check it out?”

“Absolutely,” Andy said as he pocketed his notepad. “Lead the way.”

BIG JESUS

Robert stole a glance from over the shoulder of his current employer, Alberto Benedetti, at the briefcase of gold which- if word on the street was right- just one of those hefty bars priced out at a million. He heard one of the other hired men whistle at the sight, and in a quick series of movements Mr. Benedetti had rounded on the man and held a revolver to his head, backing him into a corner and putting a finger to his lips. Then Benedetti looked back at the man with the briefcase and took a few pauses before nodding his head a couple of times, then he once more checked his watch and made a tsk tsk noise as he started to pace about the area.

Robert didn’t realize he was going to work for some crazy mother effer, but inwardly shrugged to himself as he thought that was what being a lifer high on the food chain did to people, which solidified that he was perfectly happy with the way things were in the here and now. The man who originally had the briefcase moved to lean against the hood of a parked car, watching Mr. Benedetti mull over his options, which were either going one of two ways: option A would be to tell this man- and in effect, Mr. Fisk- that his nationwide business was willing to get in bed the dark corners of America, or option B: decline the offer and essentially put a target on his back.

“I think I'll go with option A,” Mr. Benedetti said, finally stopping his pacing as he put his hand out to be shaken.

“I’m sorry?” The man asked, a little confused, unsure momentarily if he should shake the man’s hand.

“Oh, apologizes,” Mr. Benedetti laughed curtly, “I was just voicing a thought, I meant to say that I stand behind and with Fisk Industries in the betterment of both New York City and America at large. He says jump, I ask how high.”

The man took Mr. Benedetti’s hand in enthusiasm, “Glad we could come to an agreement,” he turned to look at his own guards and snapped his fingers. On cue one of them, who sported a fancy G tattoo on his neck handed the construction conglomerate a phone that Big Jesus recognized as a burner cell, “Mr. Fisk will be calling you within the week to a discuss...” The man paused once more to pull Mr. Benedetti closer to him and whispered something into his ear.

When he was finished, Mr. Benedetti- who was a man who enjoyed money- was smiling ecstatically, “I look forward to the call,” he turned to look at his hired guards, “men, it’s time we leave, I'll pay you back at the warehouse.” He spoke started back to his car, Big Jesus got into the passenger side after closing his employer’s door for him and watched as the van that Mr. Fisk’s men came out of, quickly rode off in the other direction.

Big Jesus heard the click of the briefcase opening again, as he listened to how giddy the money hungry Mr. Benedetti was, though nobody in the car heard the low frequency beeping of the gps bug planted in the briefcase, and if that was miraculously found then nobody would know that Mr. Fisk’s entire operation was being tracked...

CHARARLIE SCHITTI/WILSON FISK



(listen to Stay by Chad Lawson)

PRIOR TO CHARLIE SHOWING UP

Mr. Fisk, as he was known by those beneath him and Wilson by his loving wife Vanessa awoke to an early start to the day in his black satin pajamas that hung loosely over the man’s huge frame, and he did as he usually did. He immediately dropped to the ground and did a couple hundred push ups and a couple hundred squats, then he joined his wife in a bathroom fit for a king for a shower and intimacy before walking brazenly naked to his closet to peruse his clothes. He picked out a very nice three piece suit with a purple tie to give it a little accent before picking out a pair of his favorite ivory cufflinks with a stenciled black K on them.

Then the mountain of a man journeyed downstairs to prepare himself breakfast, Vanessa usually opted to eat out with clients, Wilson himself ate the same thing like clockwork. He prepared a protein and fiber shake to be paired with an omlette made of egg whites and peppers for a little kick, with a side of greens brought in from a little place down the street. Usually after he had left the kitchen appearing just as he had left it pristine he would watch the late morning news cycle, but now that he was running for mayor of the greatest city in America- that activity was replaced by a scheduling of appointments with politicians and tv appearances.

Today though, despite having a scheduled appointment with the city elites, the soon to be king was in his media room, a room that did not appear on the hotel’s blueprints. It was wall to wall with computer equipment and monitors that relayed video from his men on the ground and the internet traffic of the dark web. On one monitor he had a video surveillance of the gala that Wesley- his personal arranger of events, and best friend- was attending in his honor, he even watched as Amy Bendix, to him just some waitress hired by a third party was tailing his friend and a potential business partner.

Wilson pulled his cellphone from his breast pocket and sent a text to his friend and closest ally of the situation before turning to another monitor where he had sent in his stead a certain architect of planning to make a proposition of Albert Benedetti, for with him he could expand his plans and the plans of his other partners beyond New York. Before he knew it though, he had lost track of time watching all his monitors in his safe room when he heard Vanessa call out to him, “Wilson, you have a visitor!”

Wilson actually knew perfectly well that his nobody of a man had come into his apartment, and oh how it upset him, cracking his knuckles he walked up the steps that led out of his panic room that was behind a wall mounted mirror in his walk in closet and slowly made his way to the living room. His Vanessa was gone, which was good as they had agreed upon plausible deniability for her as a last case scenario should something happen, but now here he was staring down a petty thug of a man.

“Who are you” He growled and took a step towards the trembling man.

“Mr-Mr. Fisk sir,” the man stuttered in abject fear for his life, “I mean no disrespect, I just came by to inform you-” he started to say, but Wilson who was half a body taller than him picked him up easily.

“Do not say another word, not in my home. That. Is. The Rule!” his anger reaching a point, he tossed Mr. Schitti like a ragdoll against his dining room table...