It had been so long since Peter had swung around the skyline of New York City. He almost forgot the adrenaline rush he would get from swinging around on his weblines. Before he became Spider-Man, heights bothered him. However, there was something different about web-swinging. He was in control. He was not relying on any railing, or the engines of a plane, or the cables of a ski lift. This control somehow made the situation feel different where he was able to get over his issues with heights. Flying beside Peter was Angelica in her yellow and red costume. Angelica did not need anything to assist her flight: her microwave powers generated enough energy to propel her through the air with ease. This was almost the ultimate form of control. Peter had to rely on being able to hit sides of buildings or other objects to continue swinging. But her? As long as her mutant powers kept working, all she had to do was fly. SNAP! Suddenly, Peter found himself plummeting towards the ground. Peter wondered what he was thinking when he absent-mindedly took several month old cartridges of his artificial web fluid out for a spin. It was only a matter of time before this would happened. Peter stretched out his hand and compressed the trigger to his web-shooter. However, nothing happened! “Great!” Peter thought to himself, “Not only am I using web fluid well beyond its expiration date, but the web-shooters I’m using are in desperate need of repair.” “PETER!” Angelica rushed down toward her friend as he fell toward the streets of New York City that were below them. With an extra burst of speed from her microwave powers, Firestar reached her friend and wrapped her arms around his torso, under his arms. Then, she focused her powers on propelling the two of them away from the ground. “Thanks, Angel” Peter said with a great sigh of relief after his friend had reached the roof of one of the neighboring buildings. “That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?” Angelica gave Peter a smile and a wink. “Maybe you should refrain from swinging around until you got a properly mixed batch of web fluid.” “You think?” Before Angelica could make a response, both the young heroes heard a sonic boom from below them. Peter, crawling down the side of the building, covered the distance between the top of the roof down to the street floor in a blink of an eye. Swiftly behind him, but not at the same speed at which Peter had went, Angelica followed. “Oh, Shocker, I see that you’re still wearing your yellow pajamas in public!” Peter mocked the villain as the latter walked calmly out of the bank door, blasted out with his vibro-shock units. “Looks like destiny has brought us together to break our little tie that we made in our last two encounters.” Shocker answered, seemingly ignoring Spider-Man’s attempt to ridicule him. Then he saw Firestar float down beside Spider-Man. “I see that you needed to bring your girlfriend along to break this tie.” While he was chuckling at calling Firestar Spider-Man’s ‘girlfriend’, Shocker did not realize that Peter had already dashed forward toward him. Before Shocker could even notice Spider-Man’s attack, let alone lifting up his vibro-shock units to face him, Peter had already slammed the Shocker into the bank wall. “SHE’S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND,” Peter yelled at the Shocker, “THE WOMAN I LOVED IS DEAD AND NO ONE WILL EVER REPLACE HER!” Peter released a fury of punches at the Shocker, each blow hitting its mark, no matter what the Shocker tried to do to avoid Peter’s anger. “SPIDEY, STOP!” Angelica yelled at her friend, “You already knocked him out.” Peter, finally snapping out of his rage after he heard his friend’s plead, looked at the unconscious body in his hands. Already hearing the screams that were echoing from the sirens of the approaching police cars, Peter set the unconscious Shocker against the bank wall. Then he darted back up the building’s wall, embarrassed at his burst of rage. “Spidey, wait!” But in spite of Angelica’s pleas, Peter did not head them as he continued up the side of the building. Angelica only had one option: to follow him. And that what she did, zooming up the side of the building to catch up to her friend.

Peter and Angelica landed on the roof of The Shops at Atlas Park, a mall that was just southwest of Forest Hills. On the roof, the two teenagers attempted to change into their ‘normal’ clothes as quickly as possible. How disorderly and rushed they looked as they changed made them look like two teenagers scrambling to throw on their clothes when one of their parents unexpectedly arrived home in the middle of some hanky-panky (as Peter’s Aunt May would call it). However, this is not the case for Peter and Angelica. Their primary concern was to prevent anyone from seeing them while changing from their ‘super hero’ costumes back into their ‘regular’ clothes. Once fully dressed in their street clothes, Peter scaled down the side of the building on a webline with Angelica clinging to his shoulders, using his ‘Spider-Sense’ to make sure that no one would see them coming down from the roof. The two strolled through the shopping complex, hoping to calm Peter down from his little ‘mishap’ earlier that evening. After peering through several stores and side shops, the two friends headed over towards the Chili’s restaurant in that complex for dinner. While 20 dollars for a two person meal was not the cheapest option in the world (dollar menu for the win ), Peter and Angelica do not have many opportunities for hanging out and having a nice meal was worth the price. After they had been seated at a booth and had been served a half order of Texas Cheese Fries, Angelica hesitantly brought what had happened earlier back up. “So, who’s this ‘Shocker’ guy?” Angelica asked Peter, keeping her voice down so that the other costumers could not understand what they were saying. Peter just rolled his eyes. “Some mercenary with a worse sense of humor than me, and that’s saying something! He only beat me once because I was under the weather and I bruised my arm. My arm wasn’t quite broken, but it still impeded my effectiveness. Then after a couple good night sleeps, I was as healthy as a horse and easily showed him who’s boss. The better question is how in the world did he get out of prison?” Angelica just shrugged her shoulders at Peter’s last question, not knowing the answer. The two friends continued making some small talk about their coming Junior year in high school (Midtown High for Peter and Xavier Institute of Higher Learning for Angelica), eating their appetizer as they waited for their meals. On one of the television sets in the bar area of the restaurant, appeared the image of J. Jonah Jameson, the editor-in-chief and publisher of the Daily Bugle. When Peter saw the face of the man who was waging a one-man slander war against Spider-Man, Peter knew what was going to be coming up next. “I believe that Spider-Man’s recent actions have proven that he is a menace to society! Physically assaulting a man in plain sight! What has this world come to?” One of the news anchors asked “triple-J” whether the fact that the man, who was assaulted by Spider-Man, was a criminal changed the opinion of the owner of Daily Bugle. “Of course not!” Jameson retorted, “Today we are lucky that he brutalized a criminal. But what about tomorrow? What will prevent him from attacking some little old lady? He has to be stopped and I plan on spearheading his downfall!” After Peter and Angelica had finished eating their meals and paying the bill, the two headed out from the restaurant, about ready to head their separate ways. “Don’t listen to that hot-head.” Angelica told Peter, mentioning the poison that Jameson had just spewed over the national television. “Don’t worry about me. If I can’t endure some baseless slander, I probably should throw in the towel now.” Peter smiled at his friend. After this, there was a moment of awkward silence, neither knowing what more to say to the other. Finally, Angelica was the one who broke this silence. “Peter, just remember that your friends are all around you. You don’t need to heal from those recent tragedies alone.” Angelica wrapped her arms around Peter, encompassing him in an embrace. “We all still love you, Pete. Never forget that.” There was again another pause, another moment of silence. Angelica seemed to look like she wanted to say something else, something more to her heart-hurt friend. However, she obviously decided against it, as with this silence, they parted ways, heading back to their respective homes.

August 3rd, 2012. Friday, Midday. Doom International HQ. The dull drumming of Victor's fingers lightly dancing across his desk echoed through the quiet office as he anxiously waited the arrival of his guest. A week before he had apparently agreed to meeting a man he could hardly recall but something about this meeting was making Victor on edge. What exactly they needed to speak about was still a mystery to Victor. Reaching to his side and popping open one of the side drawers he pulled out an envelope with the name 'Dr William White' printed across with 'IMPORTANT' scrawled across the front. Lifting the contents out and spreading it across his immaculate desk he meticulously went through each word and broke them down in his mind. 'Dear Dr. von Doom, I am Dr Bill White, we worked together on an unmanned drone prototype a couple years back. Through contacts of my own I have come to learn of your interest in history specifically eastern european history, eastern european history is something I am very good at you see. If you're ever interested in talking about it contact me. My number is enclosed. - Bill White' The words Eastern European hadn't been properly capitalized and was mentioned twice simultaneously. Clearly this was meant to catch Victor's attention, the only thing he could think this had to do with was his funding of the Latverian rebels. Could Dr. White wish to talk about this? Most likely but why was the question that had bugged him. He leaned back in his chair and considered the possibilities as he waited for the man, since he had already cleared his schedule for the entire day over this matter. Victor entertained the idea of Dr. White being some sort of assassin sent by enemies to stop Doom from funding the rebels. Placing his hand under the desk he could feel the cold metal grip of the gun he kept securely hidden directly under the desktop. As if on cue Beth's familiar voice broke the silence "Sir Dr. Bill White is here for you. Shall I send him in?" Doom remained quiet for a moment before tapping the button and mumbling back "Alright send him in." A few seconds later the sound of heavy foot steps could be heard outside his office followed by three distinct taps on the door. "Come in Dr. White." Victor announced remaining slightly leaned back in his chair. As the door opened and the large figure of Dr. White entered Victor motioned to the plump leather chairs situated across from his desk. "Hello, I'm glad we could meet today." Victor said while he watched Dr. White moved across the room Victor had a chance to inspect him, the man was slightly overweight, old and clearly out of shape. His head was balding and a pair of thick rimmed glasses clung to his fat head appearing to actually bend to accommodate it's size. The man sat with a huff and breathed for a few moments before he spoke. "Hello Dr. Doom." the man spoke looking around the room cautiously. "Please call me Victor" he said as he leaned forward and placed his elbows firmly on the desk "Is something the matter doctor? You seem on edge." Dr. White appeared to consider the circumstances for a moment before leaning forward and speaking with a hushed voice "Are we safe? Like.. Is the room secure?" Victor gave only a nod in response and was careful to keep his face stone cold. "Okay. Listen Victor. I know what you're doing in Latveria and I didn't come here to stop you. I just.. I think you need to consider who or what you're up against here. This whole thing goes beyond Latveria. It is bigger than you or I or anything you can imagine." Dr. White paused trying to read Victor who remained silent before he began chewing his lip. Victor was trying to grasp exactly what he was getting at and could see Dr. White was beginning to look even more nervous than he did when he entered. Dr. White began growing frustrated with Victor's apparent lack of interest. "I didn't come here for my own you know, I came here to warn someone so they don't end up like me and others who have come before me. They know Victor, they know who you are, what you're doing, and they're actively trying to stop you. If you continu-" Victor had raised a finger and stopped the doctor in his tracks. "Who. What are you talking about? Who am I supposed to be afraid of now?" Victor expressed as carefree as he could, trying to dispel any sense of fear that was beginning to stew in him. Dr. White leaned back and scratched his head before he started again "Them. They Victor. The ones in control. And they don't like what you're doing. People like me, scientists usually but sometimes soldiers or doctors or anyone who just finds out too much. You're given a choice either shut the hell up or they shut you up. Don't cause problems, that's what this society is all about. If you can just be a cog in the clock and do your part without making waves they'll let you go. But if you do what you're trying to do, they start slowly and before you know it everything around you is gone." Dr. White seemed very stressed at this point and let out a harsh sigh of discontent. Suddenly the doctor rose to his feet as if about to leave before going on again "I really need you to stop, please. I can't stay here I gotta go but I need you to tell me you understand." Victor let go of his facade before he jumped up, placing a hand on Dr. White's chest to prevent him from leaving just yet "I don't understand. Please tell me what is going on." Victor looked the doctor in the eyes and silently pleaded with him for information. The larger man sat down prompting Victor to relax and sit on the corner of his desk listening to every word coming out of Dr. White's mouth "About two or maybe it was three years ago, back when the government caught wind of all this super people crap. I was part of a huge operation to try and create what they called 'defense protocols' against invasion from these super people. I got too curious and I began digging, the stuff I found was just the tip of the iceberg but that was too much as soon as they caught me I was given two basic choices. I didn't want trouble so I backed off and since then I'm constantly harassed and stressed. I'm followed and my calls are monitored. I.." Dr. White stopped for a moment holding back tears. Dr. White suddenly stood and walked quickly to the door before he spoke for the last time "Just tell me you understand what you're getting involved with." "Oh. I understand" Victor replied staring down Dr. White intensely. Bill White gave Victor one last look over before twisting the knob and walking out of his office. Now alone Victor exhaled heavily and began to understand now, why he couldn't get anywhere with the war and why the rebels were always on the losing end and why his father had died because men greedy and believed they had the right to do what they wanted. Placing himself back behind his desk, Victor's visage was iron as he stared at a blank point in the room and let his mind go. There was no way he was going to stand for this, Victor von Doom wasn't a man to be pushed around or back down to anyone especially those who thought they belonged above him. Nobody would stop Victor from getting what he needed done, the information Dr. White told him changes nothing. Latveria is done with oppression, Victor was done being a witness, the world is done with them he decided. If Victor wanted any chance at dealing with this level of authority he needed to carefully set up his pieces before the game begins but first it was time for lunch and he'd wasted his entire day worrying about Dr. White. Tapping the intercom to notify his secretary Victor heard Beth reply almost instantly "Hello sir? What do you need?" "I'm starving how do you feel about Mediterranean food today?" "Sounds fantastic, I'll order your usual." Victor simply released his finger and leaned back smiling.

Doctor Miles Warren frantically paced to and fro in his office. His desk that sat behind him was cluttered with loose-leaf papers, books, and reports. Some of this mess even spilled upon the floor. Warren had just endured a recent loss in his life a few months ago: the death of his intern and lab assistant, Gwen Stacy. She was one of most (if not most) talented intern that Warren had ever had. The depressed scientist truly believed that Ms. Stacy had a bright future in front of her and he would have been credited as the mentor of such a scientific prodigy. But all those dreams and hopes crashed down to earth once Gwen Stacy died on that faithful night. His road to fame died that night. Even if Warren made a scientific breakthrough in his lifetime, he knew deep inside himself that his recently deceased intern would have amounted to even more than him. Everything went to hell on the night when Gwen Stacy died. Then there came a few heavy knocks on Warren’s office door. Once he told whoever was on the other side of the door that the door was unlocked, Warren saw one of his colleagues, Damon Ryder, enter into his office. The two of them had been developing and improving cloning technology. Ryder desired to use their advances in order to reproduce extinct animals for the sake of scientific inquiry and study. However, recently Miles Warren had other plans. “Warren.” Ryder talked down to his colleague, “Did you put human samples in our cloning experiment? You do realize that that is illegal and unethical, right?” “Well,” Warren began as he turned toward Doctor Ryder, “Now that it has been born, we might as well let it grow. It would be just as unethical to kill an embryo, wouldn’t you say? “It’s too late for that. I already destroyed the sample. This institution cannot be caught with performing illegal experiments. Now don’t you every try a stunt like that again, do you hear me Warren?” Warren was filled with rage. Now, within a few months, he has seen Gwen Stacy die twice. Despite what reports that insinuated that the incarcerated criminal, the Jack O’ Lantern, said, due to some reports mentioning that web fluid residue was found on Gwen Stacy at the scene of the crime, Warren blamed the one spider-themed vigilante in New York City: Spider-Man. Warren has never actually seen Spider-Man before; nevertheless, he was adamant that Spider-Man was the cause of Gwen’s death. But now, in Warren’s mind, there were two culprits. First it was Spider-Man. The second was Doctor Ryder. While his colleague had turned to make his exit, Miles snatched the heaviest book he had from his desk and slammed it against the back of Ryder’s head, knocking the doctor out cold. “Yes, Ryder, I heard you.” Miles gloated over Ryder’s unconscious body. Then, Warren hastened to one of his filing cabinets and pulled out several files that were labeled “Project: Wundagore”. From these files, he took a vial that contained a clear liquid. Once he had that container, Warren hurried out of his office and broke into Ryder’s office. Ryder had collected numerous samples of extinct animals and plants with which he planned on using for his experiments once they had fully worked out all the bugs out of the current cloning technology. Once Warren had found the sample that he wanted, he dashed back to Ryder’s unconscious body. After he had combined the DNA sample with the “Project: Wundagore” liquid, Warren injected the concoction directly into the knocked out doctor. After the syringe was drained, Miles bent down and whispered into Ryder’s ear, even though he probably would not hear Miles. “Say hello to your wife and son for me.”

August 5th, 2012. Sunday, Morning. Victor von Doom's Penthouse downtown Boston. Victor found himself in a dimly lit room that appeared so large he couldn't see the walls, a single bright lamp was situated directly above him and stung his eyes when he tried to look up at it. "H-hello?" Victor called out as confusion began growing into panic. "Hello!?" he repeated this time louder, "Is anybody there?" Victor felt his skin crawl as he turned in the small lit space in this ocean of darkness, he felt as if he was being watched. The silence of the room buzzed in his ears and slowly began driving him insane. Growing more and more paranoid as the moments ticked by Victor finally mustered up the strength to begin walking into the darkness, once he passed the threshold of the light the room ignited into a scene of fire and commotion. Victor spun in confusion noticing the light was now gone and the landscape around him was a town being consumed by fire. Victor felt helpless as he watched the buildings around him submit to the inferno that raged on, the building beside him began to sag before the ceiling collapsed in forcing fire and smoke out of any openings. A blast of heat and smoke surrounded Victor for a moment causing him to stumble about coughing with blurred eyes. When he looked up he squinted through the smoke and could make out shapes of humans running in all directions, some dove in alleyways while others exited buildings and ran up the street yet none ever came close to him or even acknowledged they'd seen him. Then the sound of an air raid horn let off in the distance wailing its warning to everyone in the town. Twisting his head around to find a place to go he could make out faint lights in the sky only moments before an explosion shook the ground beneath him, then a second one but this time closer only a few blocks away. Struggling to regain his footing all Victor could do was run away from where he believed the bombs were landing, a third explosion followed closely by a fourth and fifth one now sent pieces of wood and stone into the air raining down on him as he ran around a corner. Suddenly the sixth bomb went off striking a structure adjacent to him and tossing him into the air, the world was a blur of color before he felt himself slam into something solid. Lifting himself up off the ground with his head throbbing Victor looked up to see what he'd hit, it was a flag pole holding a symbol he hadn't seen in years - the Latverian flag. Beep, beep, beep, beep the consistent maddening beeping is what brought Victor back to reality, his eyes were torn open as the events he'd just experienced sunk into his brain. Before pushing himself upright in his bed Victor slapped the top of the alarm clock to silence it. Rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger Victor instantly realized what the dream was trying to say. Latveria was falling and if he didn't interfere soon it would be gone. It was the universe reminding him of his destiny and showing him what would happen if he didn't accomplish it. Today was the day he had to begin doing something besides just funding it. Each day he put off taking action was another day those innocents died and another day those in power won. For months he struggled with issue of how exactly he would be able to have a better impact on the events occurring in Latveria while still maintaining Doom International. It wasn't until the other day after his meeting with Dr. White that Victor had a revelation, he could use the thing that gave him his fortune in the first place, drones. All last night he had spent brainstorming and sketching out ideas, most of which had been based on a suit of high tech armor Doom had designed for himself in case he was ever subjected to battlefield conditions. Victor had dubbed the idea 'Doom Bots' and intended to use them as the bulk of his military campaign against the current Latverian government. After an entire night of work Victor intended to send his plans over to the head of his secret development team located in China but had passed out beforehand. Walking over to his desk Victor plopped down on the computer and opened up his email to begin writing out his request when Victor considered who may be monitoring his email. Closing the window on the computer, Victor leaned back in his chair and looked at the stack of paper he'd been working on from the night before thinking up a way to transfer the information discretely. His eyes wandered over to an older fax machine he kept but hadn't used in forever since the internet became more commonplace. Reaching into his pocket and producing the custom built phone that was synced up to his AI Victor dialed the number that directly connected him to his Chinese development center. After a few moments of faint ringing a voice answered in slightly broken English "Hello. This is Dr. Xuecheng. Who am I speaking to?" "Victor von Doom, nice to hear from you Dr. Xuecheng, how is the team going?" Victor replied trying to sound casual. A slight chuckle could be heard from Xuecheng before he spoke "Not so good, we have not had real work for a few months now Mr. Doom. We've eagerly been waiting to hear from you. Do you have work for us?" Quick to the point, this was one of many reasons Doom enjoyed Dr. Xuecheng as his head developer. "Yes I've actually got a lot of work for you to do, I need it done by this fall. You understand? Do you have a fax machine by the way?" "Yes we do Mr. Doom sir. I'll send a text message of the number for you. What is it you're sending if I may ask?" The doctor appeared interested by Victor's urgency. "Battle drones doctor. I need at least five thousand units. They're highly sophisticated and I need you to put extra overtime into them. It is the utmost importance that they be completed on time, as always I will compensate your team as long as the job is done and done right. Is that clear Dr. Xuecheng?" Victor could hear Chinese being spoken in the background when he'd finished talking. "Understood, as soon as you send the documents we will begin work immediately Mr. Doom." Dr. Xuecheng answered before he began shouting Chinese, already they were getting prepared to work. Victor wasn't going to bother with pleasantries instead he stated coldly "Good," before hanging up the phone and turning the fax machine on. After checking his phone for the number, Victor tapped it into the console and allowed the machine to do the work simply feeding it the documents he'd written up. If he could get these drones by fall he could finally launch his campaign. All I need is the rebels to set themselves up in the position for a counter-attack, I need a place to begin Victor thought to himself as he contemplated his next steps. August 5th, 2012. Sunday, Night. En Route to Doom International HQ. A simply black car could be seen speeding down a vacant rode with a young Victor von Doom behind it's wheel. A yawn escaped before he turned on another rode and Victor began to reflect on how exhausted he was after a day of preparing for war. It still wouldn't be for a couple of months but the ball was in motion by next year Latveria will his. At this very moment a group of Chinese scientists would be mass producing his units that will give the Separatists the force they need to break the Latverian government's stranglehold, Victor had also managed to make contact with the rebels and inform them that in the fall there would be an attack, he ordered them to start stockpiling supplies and demanded they set up a safe point for him to land in. Currently however, he'd forgotten his phone at his office and was going to get it before returning home. Pulling into the parking lot of his towering office building Victor noticed a few too many cars than there should be this time of night. There was a grey pickup truck which was of the security guy and his secretary's Mini Cooper which seemed strange at first but not as strange as the conspicuous tan van parked in the back corner of the lot. As he pulled into a spot and exited his car, he looked up and could see his office's light still on. Something wasn't right with the situation causing Victor to get back into his car and take the handgun he'd kept in his glove box. Checking to make sure it was loaded he stuffed it into his waistband and allowed his jacket to cover it, concealing the weapon before he began crossing the parking lot. He came up to the granite steps that lead up to the doors and fumbled in his pocket for his key card before he reached the door. Placing a hand on the handle Victor went to enter his key card when he felt the door wiggle and pushed on it, revealing it had been unlocked. There is definitely something going on here, Victor thought to himself as he entered cautiously. Peering across the lobby he could see the security desk was empty and the chair appeared to have been knocked over along with a couple papers. Victor now removed the handgun from his waistband and headed over to the stairwell. Victor began his ascent passing each floor and noticing they were all dark until he reached the top, the 109th floor, where his office was located. He inspected the hallway through the small glass window placed in the door and could make out the secretary desk was empty. Entering into the brightly lit hallway he crossed it silently keeping his back to one of the walls as he approached the desk. When he got close enough Victor could see two feet sticking out from behind the large desk Beth.. he thought to himself as he craned his neck over the desk to see. There on the floor laid his secretary Beth and his security guy Doug dead, both with a bullet hole clearly placed through their foreheads still spilling blood across the floor. Victor could feel his anger level rising as he tightened his grip on the pistol and cursed silently before continuing to creep towards his own office where he believed the murder still was. Keeping close to the wall Victor edged closer to the door and placed his hand on the handle mentally preparing himself before he entered there was going to be a gun battle in only a few seconds, aim for the chest and breath when you fire. Victor thought to himself before he twisted the handle and shoved himself through the doorway. Raising his gun up Victor saw a single target standing behind his desk surprised he was there, Victor fired twice and saw both hit the man's chest with a dull thud but the figure lacked any response. "W-who the fuck are you? What are you doing?" Victor stuttered filled with adrenaline and still in shock over the situation. The man was wearing a strange, long grey cloak with entirely grey skin showing off his well built body and except for matching blue boots and gloves the man was simply a figure of grey. The figure looked at him and appeared to pick up something shiny from Victor's desk before he spoke with a very mocking tone "Oh Victor, I was supposed to come when you weren't here. I waited all fuckin' day to come when you weren't here and of all times to show up you decide now? And when you show up you begin shooting at me? Shameful, absolutely shameful. Disgustingly shameful actually." Victor was confused and could feel his hand holding the gun beginning to shake as he listened to the man go on. "That gun isn't gonna help you, you're better off turning around and marching out of that door, pretending you didn't see shit and shutting the fuck up. Or you're gonna force my hand. I was or-" Victor tried once more to put the man down by firing off three more rounds which struck him in the chest again silencing the intruder and causing him to stumble back. "Would you stop that? It isn't gonna work god dammit. Your friend Dr. White tried to shoot me too and I strangled that bastard, is that what you want?" The man let off an exasperated sigh rubbing his chest before continuing "I was given orders to shoot you if I came across you. I wasn't originally supposed to kill you but if you're gonna act like that you're forcing me Victor. I just want to be paid. I wasn't supposed to kill anyone at all, this was supposed to just be an in and out thing but after running into your secretary and the security guy going at it in your office I had no choice and now that you're doing this, I guess I have to go with plan b." "You killed Dr. White?" was all Victor could get out trying to wrap his mind around the situation. The man however didn't bother to respond and instead took the small silvery ball he held in his hand and tapped it causing a bright blue light to appear. Tossing this into the air Victor could hear the faint beeping as the man ran straight towards the large windows and threw himself through them disappearing into the night air. The silver ball landed and began rolling towards Victor, explosive was all Victor could think. Turning to run he felt the world around him slow down as the beeps echoed in his mind, counting down to his death. Victor's feet pounded against the floor trying to carry him to safety, in the few seconds before the explosion Victor looked over and saw the bodies of his former employees. The explosive went off in a series of explosions causing deafening booms to rip through the office, tossing everything off the walls, sending glass into the night air and tossing Victor into a nearby wall. For a moment the world was pure chaos for Victor as his building was blown apart. Chunks of marble and splintering pieces of the desk came flying at Victor and would possibly be fatal had he not been wearing his protective mesh under his clothing. When the turmoil ceased Victor found himself face down on the hard marble floor, a small pool of blood collecting under his face. Pushing himself up he felt his brow and noticed a large gash. Holding up a sleeve to soak up some of the blood Victor stumbled to the stairwell noticing smoke now filling the air. With one last look back he could see fire spreading from his office and into the hallway before he began running down the stairwell. I'm dead, I have to be dead he thought to himself as he went still grasping at what he witnessed. No I'm not dead, I just need them to think I'm dead he thought as he descended. He was still trying to get himself together by the time he got to the bottom floor and began crossing the lobby The board will be able to run the business, the Chinese are still secretly manufacturing the drones and the rebels are still fighting, my armor is still hidden in my penthouse, they didn't impact my plans at all he concluded as he walked out the front doors. Victor went out front of his office building and looked up seeing the top half of his building consumed by fire, he was lucky to be alive. The sound of sirens began filling the air as emergency crews rushed to the scene. If Victor wanted the public to think he was dead, he needed to go, now. At first he thought about getting in his car but that would only get him caught, instead he took off running to the side of the lot and leaping over the stone wall that separated it from a nearby road. Victor began walking up the street quickly, trying to avoid being seen by police while thinking up where to go. It was true he had a safe house in Boston aside from his penthouse but if that guy had looked through his computer or phone he would know to go there. It looked like he would be spending the night on the streets he figured, realizing he was still carrying the gun in his hand. Victor stuffed it into his waistband once more and picked up his pace when he saw the emergency responders rushing into the side road that lead to the building's parking lot. Picking up his pace, Victor began to jog with no clear destination in mind only one goal which was to get through the night. Tomorrow he would pick up his armor from his penthouse and move to a secure place to collect himself and figure out what the hell just happened.

Remy made his way from the subway to the surface quickly, taking long strides, all wrapped in a leather overcoat. He wore sunglasses to hide the glow from his radiant eyes. As he walked down the nearly empty, damp street and turned into an alleyway, Remy thought about the conversation he’d had with Fence only an few hours before. He turned down another alley and stopped at a dumpster. He figured that going in through the front door of his appartment building might be a little too risky. 110th and Lexington was a major thoroughfare and it would be hard to spot a marker in the crowd. Going through the alleys and up the fire-escapes would be a safer bet. The fresh memories still rang in the darkness of Remy's mind, as if they held a valuable lesson. “See these?” Fence held several small metal balls in his hand. Remy stood from the loveseat and put his coffee mug down. He was tall and skinny, but his tight, black sneaking suit also showed his solid muscular build. He pulled a wedgey from his crotch as he walked to the powering station. “What are these? For me?” Fence dropped the balls into Remy’s hand, turned around to open and read from a holographic screen beside him. “Yeah. I was thinking of an alternative to your cards. They work well, I won’t deny you that. But sometimes we might need something with a little more ‘umph’. These babies will make someone think twice about getting into it with you. Even someone as super-powered as you.” Remy juggled the four balls, smiling wide as he did. He tossed one behind his back and it fell right back into his juggling orbit. He tossed one onto his shoulder, caught the other three in one hand, rolled the one on his shoulder to his palm and forced it into the air with his power, caught it in the other hand. He started another round of juggling. “Aw, you been thinking of me, Fence?” His drawl was so strong then, as if to extend it. One ball goes over his shoulder and behind him, another higher than the other two. His foot knocks the one behind him further into the air and he catches the two in normal rotation in his right hand. The highest one falls back into his left hand, and he continues the rotation normally as the final one rejoins the juggle. “Yeah,” Fence puffed, “whatever you say, loverboy.” Fence turned to see Remy begin a feat the Cajun clearly considered to be impressive. He juggled two balls normally while dribbling one with his foot and the other with his knee, like a mad soccer player. “Alright, enough with the circus act. You ever heard of Trask industries?” Remy kicked and kneed all the balls into his hand and then dropped them confidently on the table next to him, he breathed heavily (despite his attempts to continue looking as cool as a cucumber). “Sure. You had me hit them in ’06. Some sort of capacitor?” “It was a solar powered portable generator. And you used it for that mission in Kuwait last year (don’t know why the fuck I gave it to you in the first place).” Fence was salty but Remy could tell that he was being reasonable, he wasn’t angry anymore. “What about Trask?” “Right, well, there’s info in here saying that they’ve approached the government with a prototype Sentinel, these mutant hunters. As far as I’m concerned, the CIA is peripheral to stopping this nonsense. I want you to infiltrate their headquarters. This is a big mission, Remy. Infiltration, subterfuge, sabotage, photographs, evidence. You could be in there for days, who knows? So we need resources, technology, backup even. Do you have any contacts we could use?” Remy looked down at the floor, his crimson eyes scanned his memory for potential allies. He came up short; as far as he knew, Fence was the only friend he had in the world. “Everyone I knew in the CIA is dead. I don’t think…wait, maybe.” Remy looked in the direction of Fence, yet was doing anything but acknowledging him. He was looking through the metal man, and toward the recesses of his memory, that place which he’d shrouded in the eternal darkness of his mind. “Down south, I could know some people down south.” Remy finally said. “But Fence, I can’t go back there. I—I can’t.” Fence put his hands on his waist and pondered the situation for a moment. “Alright, you stay up here and gather all the resources and tech that I mark for you. When I get back we can finalize all of our plans and hit Trask.” “Wait, wait, Fence, where are you going?” Remy had extended his hand, he was touching Fences metal arm. Yet, despite the lack of flesh contact, they were connected, friends again. “The Bayou,” Fence said with a smile, “gonna’ round up some sewer rats.” “Fence, you don’t have to do that on my behalf.” The Cajun was touched, he felt a kinship with this metal man. “Everything we’re doing is on your behalf, Remy. The fact of the matter is that you’re my only friend in the world and I don’t know what I’d do without you. Okay? So don’t start questioning my plans simply because they are about you. You start doing that, you might as well kill yourself now.” Fence ended his conversation by pulling the powering cord from his chest and stepping from the station. Remy stood at the dais a little embarrassed, but mostly proud. The Cajun climbed the narrow, steep steps of a fire-escape all the way to the 12th floor. The reputable Manhattan skyline hung before him in the humid air like a painting. It was just as beautiful as it had always been, a stunning spectacle. He turned to look into his window, noticed the light was on. Either there was someone in there currently, or there had been someone there before. Fence had warned him about that, about going back to his apartment, but Remy wouldn’t listen. Just as he didn’t listen to his instincts which screamed at him to run away now. Instead he opened the window slowly and carefully. There were simply things he couldn't run away without. He wore his armored suit now, the one Fence designed for him. It was light and allowed agility but had dark purple plating all about it for enhanced protection. Most of that was hidden underneath his coat. “Why do you have to go back? If you’re going to fucking kill yourself I might as well know why!” Fence was furious at this point, a little drunk as well. After they made up and planned the hit on Trask, they drank plenty of rum and vodka. “My cards, asshole! I need my cards, and my staff. Pictures, too, damnit. Leave me alone.” Remy calmly stumbled to the door, Fence stayed at the table rubbing his belly. “Turn your locator on!” he yelled behind the Cajun, just in case. That was a few hours before Remy crouched on the precipice of his window suffocated by the hot, dense New York air. He was a little more sober now, a little calmer. Remy had turned his locator on, he figured it was the least he could do. Fence was currently watching the Cajun’s vital signs and Seinfeld concurrently. Remy stepped from the sill onto the hardwood floor. He was careful not to make it squeak. He superhumanly shifted his weight so he wouldn’t be putting excess pressure onto the foot on the floor. Once he was comfortably inside he heard a small clattering, it came from the kitchen. Remy quickly pressed the small device Fence had worked out to deliver the small metal balls he’d gifted the Cajun earlier. One smooth orb fell into Remy’s waiting palm, he rubbed it lovingly. The thief walked from the living-room, where he’d entered, and slipped into the hallway heading into the kitchen. Remy heard a ruffling behind him, his bedroom, and quickly spun in time to see an MIB, utterly unprepared. Remy acted quickly, sending the uncharged ball into the man’s chest. It knocked the air from his lungs and sent him back a little. Remy completed the attack by kicking the man in the chest, and following him further into the room. The spook crashed into the closet behind him and tried to draw his pistol. Remy kicked the man in the face, breaking his nose and knocking him unconscious in one hit. The Cajun turned toward the door of the bedroom, saw another spook in the kitchen. He dropped a ball into his hand just as the MIB drew his pistol. Remy tossed the charged orb into the kitchen and jumped to his side just as the agent fired. Remy bounced over his bed and dropped to the other side, he looked under the bed to find his bo staff case. The Orb exploded and a scream came from the kitchen. Remy stepped out into the hallway, broken glass crunching under his feet, bo staff in hand. He entered the soot covered kitchen, noticed the twitching feet poking out from behind the island countertop. The agent had been blown to the other side of the kitchen, shrapnel was stuck into his neck and chest. Remy’s heartbeat increased and his breathing seemed sporadic. Fence looked over from Seinfeld to see the spike in Remy’s vitals. He leaned forward and whispered to himself, “Come on, Remy. Get out of there.” The metal man couldn’t tell what had Remy so worked up, he couldn't know that he was no longer in immediate danger. He was frightened because he’d just been responsible for the death of a government agent. And, if the .22 caliber pistol next to the corpse meant anything, it was probably a CIA agent. Remy was fast after that, he packed some clothes, and his bo staff, and pictures of him and his adopted family, the LeBeau’s. Along with all that came a pistol, and a few extra clips. Remy sauntered up to the reception area of the motel, tapped the bell. It didn’t take him too long to head uptown and find this motel in the North Bronx. He signed a phony name in the registration book, gave the clerk 50 bucks, and made his way upstairs. Remy stripped the bed clean, found no bedbugs, and so laid his head on the naked pillow. He hoped to get enough sleep to be functional for the mid-afternoon meeting he had scheduled with Fence. The Cajun’s stomach growled and he tried his best to ignore it.

June 28th, 1914. Sarajevo Today had been a very bad day for Gavrilo. Sitting outside of a deli on Franz Joseph Street, Gavrilo could barely even look at the sandwich he had ordered, much less consider actually eating it. All that planning, all that preparation... all for Nothing! Gavrilo barely had the energy to look up as someone took a seat at his table. His eyes narrowed into a spiteful glare as he noticed the silver scars around the man's mouth. "You lying son of a-" "Calm down before you draw attention to yourself." Loki answered in a tone so silky and smooth that a mink would happily have taken off its own coat to give it to someone who quite clearly deserved it more. While it was enough to silence Gavrilo, the young man continued to seethe at the being that he had helped summon into the world. "You promised us that the Archduke's head would be ours for the taking." Gavrilo spat at the trickster, keeping his voice low to avoid turning attention to anyone who happened to be nearby. "You told us that you would help us free Bosnia from the Imperial dogs!" "And I delivered what I promised. Your Archduke was in your city, moving very slowly and clearly visible to everyone within the crowd. It is not my fault that neither you or your cohorts was able to capitalize on the situation." Loki responded with a mixture of hurt and amusement. "As I recall, you were the one who made it quite clear that you wanted either yourself or one of your little friends to take the Archduke's life. Something about wanting his death to be a symbol?" He prodded. Gavrilo fumed for a few more seconds before finally taking a deep breath and letting out a loud sigh. "You're right. Can you at least tell me what happened?" Reaching for his sandwich, Gavrilo lifted it up in order to have something to do so he didn't just start screaming in frustration as he listened to why everything had gone to hell. For his part, Loki decided to get to the point. "The first two chickened out. The third seemed to have a change of heart and backed out as well. The fourth lined up the shot but I believe his weapon jammed and I'm sure you heard of Nedeljko's attempt already. Idiot missed and jumped into a four inch river. If I had to guess, he is currently being worked over by the authorities in a cell somewhere as we speak." It was a good thing that Gavilo's mouth was full of a fairly decent sandwich; Otherwise his mother would have been horrified at some of the things he would have said. Chewing slowly in order to try and work through his frustration, Gavilo managed to to come up with a plan of action. "Okay. Today was a bad day and beyond salvaging at this point. I'm going to have to go into hiding for a while along with everyone else before Nedljko breaks and tells them anything. I'm sure that you'll be able to create another opportunity soon enough." Loki couldn't help but show off an all knowing grin as he rose a hand up and snapped his fingers. A car started to stall from what sounded like the road in front of the deli. "It's interesting that you say that Gavilo..." was all Loki said as he turned to look towards the road. Gavilo followed Loki's gaze and he dropped his sandwich in shock at what he saw. Right there, barely three strides away, was the Archduke in his stalled car. He was talking to his bitch of a wife, laughing about something that he had missed due to his own conversation. Glancing back towards where Loki had been seated, Gavilo saw nothing but an empty seat and thin air where his supernatural 'ally' had once been seated. Standing up, Gavilo reached for his pistol... With two shots, the world changed.

May 15th, 1945. Somewhere between Friedrichskoog and Neuhaus, Germany The fog that surrounded Heinrich was as thick as pea soup, blocking out just about every sound that wasn't his own breathing or his heartbeat. He honestly felt as if he was completely alone instead of traveling with a few trusted followers. Such fogs weren't unheard of, but it was weird none the less. For Heinrich Himmler, it seemed to perfectly reflect the state of his mind; For the first time in his life, he couldn't see where he was going, couldn't tell what was happening in the world around him but he knew that if he wanted to survive the fall of the Reich he needed to keep moving for him to have chance to escape the invisible noose of Allied and Soviet solders that was tightening around his neck. After what felt like hours of walking blindly, the fog started to lighten up and the sun started to shine properly. Looking up at the bright blue sky for a moment, Heinrich felt the horrible weight of the world ease if only for a moment. Maybe everything wasn't as bad as it seemed? "It would seem that things are starting to look up for once." Heinrich offered, glad for the opportunity to break the awful silence for a change. "Yes, the world does seem to be getting a little brighter now a days, doesn't it Mr Himmler?" Heinrich stopped as utter horror flooded his mind. That voice didn't belong to any of his followers. Before he had the chance to turn around and try to defend himself he felt something coil around his neck and tighten, cutting off his air ways. Despite his efforts to struggle and breath whoever had jumped him seemed to have the strength of ten men and refused to budge or give any slack. Soon, the struggles grew weaker and Heinrich's body started to go limb. Soon, the world went dark and Heinrich Himmler knew no more. With his self appointed task complete, Loki let out a grunt as he carefully laid the corpse of a man who frankly made Odin's questionable methods of maintaining order look like a joke on the ground. Taking a moment to look around at several other bodies, Loki sighed aloud a little at the work that he still needed to do... Before grinning a little. This was sooo going to be worth it. ........................................................................................ May 20th, 1945. Paris, France The atmosphere in Paris was ablaze with good cheer and excitement as the news spread to more and more people by word of mouth, but in order to get the solid, known facts of the story all one had to do was look at just about any newspaper worth reading. Heinrich Himmler, one of the leaders of the Reich and the mastermind behind the horrors of the death camps that the Reich sent those it deemed unworthy of life, had been confirmed dead. A tip off from an unknown source to a possible safe house the monster was hold up in had ended with them finding Heinrich's body hanging from a tree out the back, all evidence suggesting that he took his own life rather then be caught and put on trail for his crimes against humanity. As welcome as news of the bastard death had been, that wasn't what was so juicy about the whole thing; Found on Heinrich's body was a last will and testament that was written in Himmlers own handwriting confessing that after his last few followers had abandoned him to try and save themselves and reflecting on his life and works, Heinrich found himself horrified at the things he had done in the name of the Nazi ideology and the Reich. Renouncing the Nazi ideology, the Reich and all of the things that had been created in its twisted image, Heinrich's tear soaked farewell begged his loved ones and God to forgive him. At his table at a more or less random coffee shop, Loki (In the guise of an American solder on leave) couldn't help but smile a little as he reread the story in the paper while sipping his cup of coffee. Oh, of course there will be voices that claimed that the will was a planted fake (Which it was) but Loki hadn't been known as the God of Lies for nothing. For all intents and purposes Himmler might as well have written the damn thing himself; Maybe one day humans might come up with a way to figure out that Himmler hadn't written his last will and confession, but by that point the damage would have already been done. All Loki had to do was sit back, drink his coffee and enjoy watching the few remaining pieces of the Nazi Reich burn down.

Remy laid half nude atop the motel bed, his white boxers caught the sunlight like a crystal, refracting and reflecting. He snored loudly for a moment, which turned into a steady moan. He fumbled with the pillow as if it were uncomfortable and turned into a fetal position. A small discolored circle on Remy’s waist was all that was left of his physical wounds from the fateful day when he lost his family; the mental wounds would always be there, like a ghost, they would appear and chill him to the bones. A quiet noise breached the humid summer silence. A humming signaled the presence of a drone, it’s shadow was cast into the motel room from the window. The little white floating robot was no larger than a microwave, no smaller than a toaster. It was a disk with an armored shell. A small prong extended from its centrifugal form and tapped the window, it shattered. Remy awoke violently from his sleep, in a moment he was stood atop the bed. The little drone expertly floated into room and landed on the floor, a hologram appeared above it, Fence’s face. “Glad to see you’re up.” Fence was sitting in a train headed down the eastern seaboard, he’d catch a biplane in Florida. Fence was rather picky about how he traveled, never in a way where he was completely trapped in, what he considered, a death trap. He’d fly the biplane, he could leave the train at any of the many stops. He was sitting in a private booth by himself, speaking into his newly fixed HUD. “I wasn’t till yo’ damn drone came through the window!” Remy sat at the edge of the bed, lazily stared at the virtual representation of Fence. “What dis doing here anyway?” “I’m on my way down to Florida, I won’t be able to meet you. But, HARDy here has some equipment and documents for you. I found a place for you to stay, a friendly place. Make sure you read everything I sent you before you head out…” “HARDy?” “Oh, yeah, I built him last night, while you were out. Cool hu? It stands for Helpful Assistance and Recon Drone.” “Well, dat’s just adorable.” Remy responded as he wiped the tiredness from his eyes. “When will you be back?” “I’d like to be back by Monday, we should be able to hit the target a few days after that.” “Yeah, yeah, don’t say too much over dese channels.” Remy felt a little vulnerable in this motel. He knew the espionage game, he knew the different ways in which people could gather information. Remy was pretty sure no one had followed him to the motel, so physical surveillance was very unlikely. And, of course, Remy trusted Fence’s encryption methods. But if there is one thing the Cajun learned during his escapades with espionage types, it was that you could never be too careful, or too paranoid. “Please, Remy. I built HARDy, and set up his comm channels myself. Do you think I’d leave a hole in the gate? Don’t insult me. This is a secure channel. Anyway, see ya!” Fence replied, smiling. He was proud of Remy, they were going into the breach, two adventurers out on a limb. Remy was always prepared, always thinking; Fence couldn’t think of a better partner. The hologram disappeared and the drone lifted off of the ground, that’s when Remy noticed he wasn’t being controlled, HARDy was intelligent. He hovered right over the bed, the cameras twirled from the plastic band running along it’s center, positioning itself perfectly over the pillow. A PDA fell from a compartment at the bottom of the drone’s body, a GPS came out behind it, and then a paintball case filled with the prototype metal balls. The twitching feet came back into Remy’s mind, his throat ripped to pieces by metal bits and his face burned to a crisp. Seeing the metal orbs again made him feel a twinge of regret, they were killing machines, especially when combined with Remy’s deadly powers. Cards were far less deadly. Sure, there would be scratches, at the worst someone would die days later from impact shock, but nothing so brutal as fragmentation explosions. “Hey, can I speak to Fence again, HARDy?” HARDy bobbed a little in the air, hovered over to the ground and sat again. Fence came up as a hologram moments later. “Fence.” “Yes, Remy.” Fence seemed a little annoyed. The fact was that a very beautiful woman had slipped into his booth, she was a bit of a technophile, it seemed. There was a blossoming of those. Fence had just promised to order a bottle of chardenea. “I don’t know if I want to use these pellets.” “Why?” “I killed an agent last night…” “What?!? Where?” “In my apartment, it was terrible. There was shrapnel, Fence.” “Yeah, I was worried about that. The batch I just gave you have been redesigned. The shrapnel was an accidental consequence of the old design. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” “I think I’ll be alright. It’s not the first time I’ve killed a government official.” There was an eerie quietness over the line, both Remy and Fence were embarrassed by that truth; each for different reasons. “Anything else?” Fence finally asked. Remy thought for a moment, shook his head. “No, I’ll talk to you later.” “Yeah, HARDy will patch us through once you get to your new home.” And with a click the hologram was gone. HARDy zipped up and out of the room as Remy slid into his body suit. The glistening A train started up and then chugged out of the station, almost everyone left on the platform made their way to the stairs. Remy, wrapped in his overcoat, slid into the shadows of the subway tunnel and began running down the darkened highway. A puddle of muck splashed under his feet as he detoured into a small hallway which ended in a manhole. Remy dropped down in and plunged even further into the muck. Remy ended up at a delta of sewage-ways, he stood on a platform on the side, looking down the red-lit corridor. Remy carried a duffle bag over his shoulder, he turned to his right and began walking. It was easy to ignore the smell, Remy had surprisingly been in worse. He smiled when he saw the green light which signaled the location of his safe zone. A vaulted door, outfitted with a security panel, shone in the verdant light. Remy plugged the numbers he’d been given into the keypad, a fingerprint scanner revealed itself directly below the keypad. Remy removed his glove, unlocked the door, and stepped in. It was a moderate space. Nearest the door was a small cot with a dresser at its feet. Opposite the cot was a couch and desk. Set up on a concrete dais was a kitchen area, a bathroom was hidden to the side behind an opened iron-bar gate. Remy placed his bag down and sat on the cot, the vault door closed automatically behind him. “I could get used to this place,” Remy commented as he fell to the pillow, he’d need some rest before a heist Fence had planned for him for later that night.

Location: S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier 2 Position: 15,000ft. Exact Coordinates Classified. Time Index: 0730 hrs March 4th 2012 His eyes snapped open. His breathing became shallow. The panic rose in his chest. What was he doing here? Where was he? Who was he? It took a few moments before the device lodged in his brain kicked in and he remembered. He was Tony Masters, he was in his room on the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier and he always hated when this happened. The organo-drive always took a split second to interact when he came conscious from sleep or being knocked out. It was an unfortunate side effect of the device and a tactical disadvantage in the field but it was unavoidable. The crossover between man and machine was a complex one and the interfacing on such a level was not without its bugs. Masters swung out of his bunk and groaned. The bruises were still fresh on his body from his last mission. It seems jumping onto a moving train from a helicopter was not a very viable option but I had been the only one. Plus the environment suited Master’s talents. He was one of the best CQB combatants that S.H.I.E.L.D. had on staff, with exception of few other super-powered agents of course, and as Captain America was on mission trailing the Red Skull, he was next in line for the job. He sat up in bed and looked along the wall the cot was attached to. Pictures covered almost every free area of it. There were pictures of places. Pictures of people. Pictures of faces. Faces that Masters couldn’t remember. He was in some of them. He reached out and grabbed one at random. He vaguely recognised the place. A city, the lights illuminated behind her. He didn’t recognise the person in the photograph though. Tony ran his thumb over the face. It was a girl. Short, dressed in a black jumpsuit. Looked like the S.H.I.E.L.D. ops uniform. The pitch black pixie cut had a single hand running through it. The movement hid a vague smile. Masters turned over the photograph. On the back, he saw handwriting. “Jubilee. One of the most immature students I’ve had. One of the finest agents I’ve had as well. Hong Kong. August 2011.” Jubilee. Masters wasn’t surprised if he’d forget the name by the end of the day. He’d just have to trust his own judgement. He stuck the picture back in place. He did know that it was a thing his doctor had recommended to help his memory and try to combat the new condition he’d identified. What was it he called it? Cognitive patching? His brain had begun “sewing” unrelated events that had been fragmented to form new memories. The condition had been discovered when, going through his post-mission memory recall exercise with the Doc, when asked who was the current President, he’d answered with “Benjamin Asher”. Upon further probing, Masters recalled an attack on the White House and wondered why S.H.I.E.L.D. had not intervened. They learned that Masters’ brain had taken a memory of a film that he’d forgotten he’d watched but not forgotten the events of and cobbled it together with real life to make sense of the rogue fragment. In short, to cope with the info, Masters’ brain had integrated it as part of reality. He still couldn’t get over that. A fictional President. Masters swung out of his cot and strode over to the sink in his room. He gripped the edges of the sink bowl as the water ran from the tap. Masters, as one of the top meta-human agents in SHIELD, had been leading the task force in dealing with the public reaction to meta-humans and mutants. Already there were extremist anti-mutant groups popping up in the public eye, the most media focused being the so-called “Purifiers”. They’d already been linked to the deaths of several people who’d been suspected of being mutants. SHIELD also had its eye on an millionaire mogul named Bloom. Fury, however, had taken Masters from his normal set-up in the Triskelion to the Helicarrier. He’d gone to Fury and asked why he’d been moved, Fury had simply said that “information on a new threat had surfaced.” Masters looked up into the mirror in front of him. He didn’t know what Fury wanted the Taskmaster for or what this new threat was, but if it was enough to stop Masters dealing with this worsening national panic, it was definitely going to be bad.

Matthew stepped from the dusty cab seat into the humid, buzzing atmosphere of 35th street. His walking stick collapsed from his hand and clacked against the sidewalk. Matthew drew a bill from his back pocket, a bill which he knew was a twenty, and offered it through the open passenger window. “Thanks” he said softly, stepping back from the curb and against a mailbox. He could tell it was a mailbox because of it’s bulkiness, the hard rusted metal which he’d seen all his life. Matt reached up to his chest to make sure his tie was straight, then lined up his lapels. He’d dressed himself this morning, sent a nearly unusable selfie to Karen in order to make sure he matched. The magic of smart phones was something that made being blind a little easier. Matthew lifted his head into the smoggy air and basked in the beaming sunlight. He removed his red tinted glasses, used to protect his still sensitive eyes, and felt the warmth cover him completely. He felt a sense of oneness then, a transcendental, numinous experience; one which could not be described or recommissioned. Just then he felt a tug on his slender wrist. The delicate fingers traced the pit above his thumb and ran over his veins, finally grabbing at the palm. He clasped back when he realized who it was. The delicate and deliberate movements of Karen could never be forgotten to him, no matter how many senses he lost. Her lips met his and he struggled to anticipate the kiss. Almost a quarter of a year after the accident and he was still playing catch-up. “Come on.” She said quietly, leading him through the jumbled crowd. He realized that people were parting for him and Karen. He pulled his hand away to relieve himself of the spectacle. Karen glanced back with worry, but settled into embarrassment when she realized what she’d been doing. He was like a child trailing behind her. Matt collapsed his walking stick and continued behind her, making sure to keep her arm sleeve within arms reach for confirmation. He made it all the way through the block and up the stairs without bumping into anyone or tripping on anything. Something he thought he should take pride in, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to. Quietly in and up the elevator for a long while until Matt could hear the door slide open and Karen’s heels click against the floor. Once again, vague, undefined outlines blur somewhere in Matt’s mind and he could see a faint approximation of the room. There was no color or definition, but he could “see” it. And then it was gone. Matt stood in the elevator for just a moment, trying to take it all in. “This is the floor.” Karen said, stopping the door from closing. “You don’t have to be nervous. I told you, Mr. Nelson knows exactly who you are. He wants you.” Matt feigned consolation, smirked before crossing the threshold into the air-conditioned corridor. “Of course.” The Nelson & Son law firm was a small group of liberal lawyers from Chicago, some of which were related. Karen had just begun work as a paralegal there only a few months ago. It provided the perfect entre for Matt. He sat carefully in the comfortable chair, 5 paces from the door. He crossed his legs in front of him, opened his portfolio case, and let his walking stick lean against his chair. The door opened behind him and a man walked in, his half inch heels slightly scuffing against the tile. He smelled like a New Yorker despite being the eldest member of the firm, Ronald Nelson (the father), and raised primarily in Illinois. He grunted as he sat but the chair didn’t, he scooted forward silently; he was a thin man, roughly 6’2. Matthew could tell this from only his most mild observations. “A pleasure to meet you, Matthew” Ronald said pleasantly. “Quite a pleasure to be here, Mr. Nelson. I couldn’t turn down meeting a former state attorney, with at least the chance of working for him.” Matt said clearly, confidently, whilst rubbing the hard leather of his binder. Ronald Nelson scoffed, probably waved his hands. “That’s all in the past, young man. You’ll find that I’m not as sharp as that man was.” He chuckled. Matt could hear the click of glasses unfolding. “So, I have your resume here. I’d be liable if I just said ‘impressive’.” Matt smiled at that. “Bronx Science, Leehman honor student. We have one of those here working for us.” Ronald noted off-handedly. “I know,” Matt said shyly with a smile. The rest of the interview continued along informal, affable lines. They ended with a warm hug, and Matt receiving a set of keys in his breast pocket. “See you Wednesday. Do you need a layout of the building?” Matt shook his head, collapsed his walking stick. “I have an excellent scout.” He said with a smile. He walked the 5 paces back to the door, stopped to carefully open it, and traveled the remaining 20 paces to the elevator, missing the button narrowly by an inch on his first try. “Almost got it” he whispered to himself as he made his descent.

Like every other first saturday of each month, the newly renovated fight gym became an open house arena. Sanctioned fight cards were filled to the brim with local talent, putting butts in seats for 40 a piece, and tonight was a full house. This was Shang's money maker, the place he went to punch in his timecard. What better way for the Master of Kung Fu to earn his keep than through Mixed Martial Arts prizefighting! Matthew "Tha Wreckah" O'Donnell was beating the living daylights out of Shang-Chi. Thirty seconds into the first round, Tha Wreckah made his professional debut sing with a flying knee to the face. The execution of the move was satisfactory, Shang-Chi thought, disregarding how exposed O'Donnell's guard was, how imbalanced and squared up the shot left him afterwards. It didn't matter. Shang followed the script as intended. He measured the distance of Matthew's trajectory and course corrected his own position by milimeters, back stepping just enough to make it look like the hit had landed. Shang let his acting skills do the rest. The crowd erupted. "OH! FLYING KNEE KYLE!! HE LANDED A FLYING KNEE!" One commentator croaked. "Did you see how Shang's head flew back from the hit, John? Man! THAT. HAS. GOT. TO. HURT!" It did hurt, Kyle, but my pride will manage. The rent needs to get paid after all. Shang-Chi let out an outward sigh, careful not to look so visibly disappointed. O'Donnell pressed forward, pinning Shang against the caged wall of the octagonal ring. He didn't need to see the moves telegraphed, he could feel them coming. It was like watching your favorite movie for the 1,000th time, only now you're viewing it with an entirely new audience that's never seen it before. You know which scene is coming next, but you stifle your excitement and act just as surprised as everyone else. "Left hook overhead from O'Donnell lands!" Shouldn't have caught that looping hook with my guard so easily. Now I have to jerk my head around and pretend like the impact rattled me. Should I make a grimacing face? I feel like I should make a grimacing face. No, don't overdo it. "Wow! Nice follow up left hook to the body!" It was decent. I mean, he could've stepped into it more to torque the shot. Had to let him land that one on me anyways - no other way to really make it more convincing. Just hope I didn't break his hand. Oh I see the right coming! I should make it look like he split my guard. I'll weave my head off to the side right when he fully extends...now! "Straight right hand lands for O'Donnell! Shang's head flies back again! Man, Tha Wrecka just can't miss tonight! He is landing everything!" "That's right, John! That right hand split through Shang's guard like butter! Shang's going to have to pivot off of the cage and fight from the ce-" Good idea. Simple sidestep - mid stride...nothing too fast, got to make it look like I'm still recovering from that right hand... Matthew bounces off of the cage, turning to face his opponent with a confident grin. Shang reads Matthew's body shift and nods approvingly to himself with the next set of moves he plans on dishing out. The crowd is standing on their feet now. They're gonna love this one. "Holy Wakanda on Ice Skates! O'Donnell just knocked out Shang-Chi with a spinning back fist and superman punch!" "Matthew "Tha Wrecka" O'Donnell welcome to the fight game!" "MAMA MIA!!!!!" Shang-Chi lays on the sweaty foam mat of the ring and closes his eyes for what felt like the first time in days. The roaring cheers of the crowd are dulled by the intense heavy metal soundtrack blaring through the portable amps. The ring doctors will come in any second now and flash their bright pen lights into my eyes... "Wake up, Mr. Shang. Wake up!" Just let me sleep... "How many fingers do you see, Mr. Shang?" You are about to see my favorite one if you don't back off! "I'm f-fine..I'm fine." Shang uttered, rolling onto his stomach and curling up into a ball. "Just let me rest for a moment." Get up you coward! You can take this fool! Use my chi and end this! That's not how this works. Do enlighten me! I stay down so the greasy man in the far corner of the room pays me double my original contract. The local prospect gains marketability by knocking me out with style, and I don't have to light candles in my apartment for the next three months. You...wanted to lose? What I want has nothing to do with it. If it did, you and I wouldn't even be having this discussion. Or ANY discussion or that matter. To call one such as you pathetic is an understatement. You are a failure beyond belief! Then what does that make you, exactly? A complete and utter disgrace of the gods. To be forced to endure such cowardice is a twisted hell onto itself, even for me! Perhaps this is divine punishment finally catching up to me after all these millennia... After what you did to Danny, to hear that you are suffering is... euphoric. Again, with this? Bah! Haven't you lear- Shut up. Shang slowly got up to his feet. The crowd applauds to his good health. Matthew "Tha Wrecka" O'Donnell rushes over and hugs him respectfully. The two are seperated by the referee as the ring announcer makes the call. "THE WINNER BY WAY OF KO, MATTHEW "THA WRECKA" OOOO'DOOONNEEELLLL!!!" Shang puts on his best sad face for the crowd. The referee raises Matthew's left hand. He grimaces in pain and nurses his wrist soon after. Shang grins. The two fighters look at each other. "Man, you're built like stone bro! Think I broke my hand." Matthew frowned, forcing a smile from the jolts of pain. What a stupid mortal! Shang-Chi is not the stone fist! He is the immortal IR- "Shut up!" Shang yelled abruptly. For a moment the air was tense, and awkward, but the reaction was taken as a sign of poor sportsmanship, so Matthew just shrugged it off. The heavy metal music intensified, cueing the announcer to set up the next fight card. Shang-Chi was escorted off the ring and greeted with boos from the crowd. Look! They adore you! The Legendary Iron Fist is loved by all! Shou-Lao the Undying chortles. Shang said nothing. He trudged over to the far corner of the room where the greasy man said he'd be. He wasn't there. Uh oh... Shang-Chi looked around but the man was nowhere in sight. He surveyed the environment for the man's lackadaisical chi signature until he found remnants of it seeping away through the front entrance. "Uh-oh indeed." He clenched his teeth and bolted out the double-doors. Shang followed the energy trail down a couple of blocks until he arrived in front of a nightclub. "Flint, you stupid, stupid man." Shang stepped forward, but a large bouncer stopped him in his tracks. "No shirt, no love." The bouncer said sternly. In the midst of his sudden fury, Shang forgot that he was still in his black fight trunks and nothing more. The crowd lining up to get inside the club began cheering, and whistling, and yelling things, instigating for an altercation to happen. Cell phones were out and recording the scene. SLAY THEM ALL! UNLEASH THE FURY OF SHOU-LAO THE UNDYING! WHIRLWIND KICK THEM INTO THE UNDERWORLD SO THAT I MAY FEAST ON THEIR SOULS! GI- "Shut the hell up you annoying son of a bitch!" Shang thought he was thinking those words, but he wasn't. The bouncer glared. Whoops. Two more equally huge men stood behind him, all three now charging forward to grab Shang. "Great.."

Peter, entirely decked out in his Spider-Man costume, sat on the edge of the local library’s roof. Whenever Peter needed to be alone, this was where he would go. It also made for a very good alibi too. “Yes, Aunt May.” Peter would say, “I’m just at the library.” It was not a total lie. Just a short exaggeration. He was in fact at the library, although he was not there to study. Back when he first started his crime-fighting career, Peter had built a small device that allowed him to listen to the police scanners, carefully listening to see if anything was happening that night. Peter decided to hang out at the library that night because he had gotten in a little argument with his aunt. Well, it was not really an argument. His aunt was just trying to set him up with their neighbor’s niece. Let alone Gwen Stacy’s death was still fresh in Peter’s mind, his aunt’s attempts to ‘hook him up’ with Anna Watson’s niece was a little insulting. Peter was able to start a relationship with Gwen alright without anyone setting them up. Why would it be any different now? Plus, he just was not ready to move on. Suddenly a voice erupted over the police scanner. Apparently a domestic crime was in progress. While Peter usually allowed the Men in Blue handle these types of crimes, since once he got a frying pan to the face when he stuck his nose into affairs that were not his business, this case seemed different. There were reports of possible super-human involvement. Although he did not doubt the NYPD’s ability to handle such crimes, Peter decided that he might as well take a look. What else was he going to be doing that night? Sleeping? After he used a combination of leaping between buildings and using his web shooters to cross gaps that were a little out of his leaping range, Peter finally arrived at the house where the domestic violence had been reported. As quietly as he possibly could, Peter slid open one of the windows and entered into the house. Peter had obviously entering into the owner’s study, as boards covered with equations and diagrams filled the room. As Peter took a little closer look at what was written on these boards, he saw that the general theme had to do with dinosaurs and other extinct animals, particularly dealing with resurrecting them through cloning. “Hasn’t the owner of this house seen Jurassic Park?” Peter thought to himself as he examined the boards in the office study. “Anyone who has seen it would know that this is a terrible idea! Chaos Theory, man! Chaos Theory!” Peter than heard a noise emanate from somewhere else in the house. He knew that something was not right, not only from his Spider-Sense, but also from his own gut feeling. As Peter approached the study’s exit, he noticed that there was large gashes the on wall. “What could have done that?” Peter thought while he was turning the handle of the door. Once outside in the hallway, Peter followed the strange noise, walking as quietly and as gracefully as he possible could so that whatever was making that noise was not alerted to his presence. The closer that Peter got to the origin of the sound, the clearer the sound that he heard. It almost sounded like someone (or something) was chewing on something (hopefully not on someone). When Peter had arrived at one of the other doors in the house, he knew that the source of the sound was coming from that room. Peter lightly pushed open the door open, although after the door was opened Peter probably wished that he had not opened it. On the floor there was a man kneeling. Well, not exactly a man, since he looked more like a cross between a human and velociraptors from the Jurassic Park films. Blood was dripping from the man’s mouth. When Peter looked down at the man’s knees, he saw whose blood it was. There on the ground was woman, although you could barely tell her gender from the corpse because lacerated by this human monster. Peter slammed the door shut in an attempt to put a barrier up between him and whatever that thing was in that room. While Peter has seen some pretty crazy things since he took up the mantel of Spider-Man, this was the cherry on top. “What the hell was that thing?” Peter thought to himself, being both sick to his stomach and freaked out by what he saw inside that room. Then the door handle began to turn and a violent thrust forced the door to open up. However, utilizing his Spider-Sense, Peter had already instinctively anticipated this, allowing him to react and draw the door back. “Crap.” Peter said to himself as he pulled on the door handle to prevent the thing on the other side of the door from exiting the room, “I forgot those raptors from Jurassic Park could open doors.”

Remy sped down the i 95 at blistering speeds. The dirt kicked up from the supped up Harley Davidson tittered the chrome muffler and trailed behind him like a comet’s tail. A matte black helmet covered Remy’s face as he sat hunched over on the speeding bike. The dossier for this assignment, Fence was really big on dossiers, informed Remy of a trade happening between Trask industries, and, who some may consider, henchmen for the infamous Kingpin. All in all, it was bad guys giving gifts to other bad guys. The data-logs for caches like this always read out as military equipment, so says one of Fence’s stooges. In particular, Remy was tasked with finding prototype all-in-one night-vision goggles. Trask industries recently boasted about this new invention and how it would change the lives of hundreds of thousands of military personnel. Some units may actually make it to the US military, most would find it's way to paramilitary organizations, those without a congress to reign it in. This is exactly the sort of thing Remy would need for his infiltration into Trask HQ. So, rather than letting Trask bolster his friends and allies on the streets, Fence suggested that the cache be liberated. A nearly microscopic tracker was placed in the truck before it left the HQ by Fence’s inside man. Remy got lost in thought for a moment as he recapped all this information in his head. He was caught on that last thought, who was this inside man? Could he be trusted? Would he come through when Remy really needed him, on the inside? Unfortunately, these were the unknowable questions, the kinds which espionage types had to let rot in their brains until truth was eventually revealed, and only as a matter of course. Remy was suddenly pelted with different questions, however. Questions which could be answered. Like, for example: Was that the delivery truck ahead, it’s bulbous form silhouetted by the crimson glow of it’s break lights? Was the road clear? Was this the ideal opportunity for the ambush? All the questions received a resounding yes from Remy’s instincts, and he kicked into overdrive. The motorcycle came right up beside the front wheel of the armored truck. The man in the passenger seat was reaching for his coffee cup in the holster when he noticed the pink glow from his peripheral vision. His reaction, to unholster his pistol, was too late. The glow had disappeared underneath the truck and the motorcycle next to him sped off in front. There was always a delay after Remy threw his corrupted items. It mostly depended on the size of the object, and Remy’s focus on said object before and after release. Since his cards were balanced, and he’d been playing with the things all of his life, he had a pretty good handle on how to control them, and so would always use them for situations like this. Just as Remy was sufficiently in front of the truck the card exploded, taking with it a section of the wheel, and parts of the radiator. The driver clearly lost control and the vehicle slid to it’s left before skitting to it’s side and toppling over, sliding only a few more feet until stopping. The wreck sent all sorts of shattered debris into the air. The truck seemed in rather good condition as Gambit strode up to it, however; in that, it was not on fire. Startled coughs came from the cab as smoke plumed from the crashed passenger side window. Remy held in one hand a pry bar, a lock-pick set in the other. The motorcycle was haphazardly parked in the middle of the highway, it’s lights illuminating the far off woods. Intercepting the truck half way through New York and Rhode Island wasn’t the hard part, getting out unseen and unknown was the difficulty. Within moments Remy had the storage compartment lock picked. He pried it open, ending with a satisfying click which sent the rest of the door sliding open. Boxes and crates laid along the slanted truck in disarray. Remy noticed the small black crate, perfect for goggles, laying atop another, longer crate. Remy could tell that the smaller box contained exactly what he’d come here for, so he put it aside and opened the one underneath. A modified Scar-H laid in the cushioned crate, it’s ACOG scope glintning in the moonlight. Remy quickly tucked the things onto the cargo compartment of the sturdy bike and covered them with a black blanket. Remy heard noise behind him, feet crunching on glass after a fall. He whirled around with only one thought, his CZ SP-01 held dangerously in his grasp. The goon had an uzi in his hand, didn’t seem to have noticed Remy. The Cajun took his chance, laid one into the man’s arm, another in the knee. The goon drooped the gun and fell to his back in pain, yelling and holding his knee. The driver climbed up from the cab as well, a shotgun held carelessly before him. He immediately saw the Cajun and took aim. Remy had no choice, he capped the guy, spraying blood on the inside of the truck cab. Remy dropped the pistol to his side and leaned against the motorcycle in relief. The man on the floor could hardly get a grip on where he was, much less where his gun was. Remy hostered the pistol in his leg holster and straddled the bike, chuckling with a violent anxiety. As the goon screamed in the coastal air Remy placed the helmet on his head and revved the engine. He sped down the way he came, the FUBAR scene behind him. “Damn it!” he whispered to himself, “damn it!” Remy was exhausted as he made his way back to his little closet among the muck. After dropping the equipment and bike back at Fence’s, Remy had to take the train back home. He wasn’t even able to sleep because of the crowded rush-hour traffic. As Remy turned the corner to his alley he noticed some huddled figures under the green light. He pulled his pistol and slid along the wall, being as quiet as he could manage. The figures seemed less and less imposing as Gambit neared, their small and cracking voices becoming clearer and clearer. “No, you’re gonna break it!” “Am not, I’m the one…” Remy cocked back the hammer of his pistol, “Don’t move” he said, “and don’t run, I’m faster than you.” The figures immediately stopped moving, immediately shut up. After a few moments of dread coursed through them, Remy put his gun down. “Turn around.” When they did, Remy felt like he ought to reel, but he couldn’t. One had the snout of a pig, the other the beak of a bird, with feathers to match. Both of them, undoubtedly, were children. The feathered one carried a bent bobby pin and a screw driver, the other seemed to have a game boy attached to some computing system. It didn’t take Remy long to see what was happening here. These little urchins were trying to break into his room, and they were locals. These were the legendary Morlocks, those "freaks" written about in the tabloid journals and confidential files alike. Remy was starting to have those lines blurred for him. “Back away.” The children parted with his words, like the Red Sea. He input his password and opened the door with his thumbprint. “You boys are lucky I found you. If you'd managed to open that circuit breaker and rewire it, you probably would'a received a neural shock. Don’t try it again, and I promise to teach you a thing or two.” Gambit Sauntered into the room, dropping his coat on the cot, leaving the door open behind him. He checked the mini-fridge and retrieved a couple of items. He placed the palm-sized plastic cups on his dining table, to be viewed freely. “You boys like pudding?” The deformed boys eyed each other incredulously, smiled with salivating mouths. They passed through the threshold to receive their unforeseen reward.

Tonight was a slow night for Loki. Once upon a time he would have filled in his time with his plots and attempts to undermine the people Asgard, doing his official duties for Asgard to give his schemes some cover or even just sleeping around with whatever had caught his eye at the time. Life had seemed so simple then... Shaking his head in order to focus back on the here and now, Loki looked up from reading the latest book to catch his attention (The collective works of H.P Lovecraft) and over towards the police radio on his bedside table that he had 'borrowed' as a report of a possible domestic disturbance taking place. Normally such a thing wouldn't have caught his attention, but it had been a rather slow night and he felt like taking the chance to stretch his legs a little; Besides it would be a good chance to pick up a light night snack of some kind afterwards. With care, Loki marked his place in the book before putting it down and getting off of his hotel bed. Walking towards the balcony, his clothing shifted from a fluffy blue bathrobe to something a little more... fitting for a being of his statue. A regal looking coat of green and gold adorned his body and a golden horned helm appeared on his head. Pushing open the balcony door of the top floor of the hotal and dressed for the part, Loki stepped up onto the railing before using it to push off, launching himself into the air before shooting upwards. Once he was high enough to get a good signal, he pulled a phone out of his pocket and activated one of its mapping programs, quickly typing in the address of the target building. Waiting a few seconds for it to find his destination, Loki didn't say a word as he shot off to follow his new found bearings. When you didn't have to worry about traffic or buildings, it didn't take all that long to arrive. Touching down in front of the reported building, Loki had considered changing outfits to that of a police uniform but before he got the chance he heard something happening inside... Like something ramming into a wooden door. Forgoing the change in outfit, Loki moved quickly towards the front door and found it unlocked. Opening it and stepping inside, he was about to call out when a stray sniff of the air alerted him to a very familiar scent. Blood. Hearing the sound of some kind of struggle Loki started towards it at a speed most mortals couldn't believe. Going around a few corners, he stopped as he saw what appeared to be a man wearing some kind of strange spider themed outfit pressed up against a door that something on the other side quite clearly wanted out from; The noises it was making weren't human at any rate. The scent of blood was stronger here. Deciding that the strangely clothed man was going to be his best bet for getting a take on the situation, Loki moved to join him in trying to keep the door closed. "So... what exactly are we keeping at bay at the moment?"

A man, middle-aged, of average height and build, yet with an unnatural shaped head, stood silently. He faced before him streets and cities of crisp parchment wrapped in leather - descriptive tomes written aeons ago by authors only few can recall, both human and Inhuman. The man stood in the forbidden area to all but the royal family and noble or councilmen of Attilan. However of these only a handful visited the forbidden library, those whom were inquisitive perhaps, or those who sought valuable knowledge to be used in their own favour, or those who had secrets to hide.
Karnak closed the tome at the end of the first extract, shuddering internally at the truths and felonies the book held. He rounded the corner swiftly and placed the tome carefully nine bundles in on the second shelf of the third case in the second quadrant of the forbidden sector.
Many speculative, though illegal, assertions to be found. But still, an area of dangerous facts locked away for good reason.
Some were tales of ancient evils, and how to awaken them. Others listed instructions for the building of all-destroying weaponry. Finally a select few accounted times and events where the rulers of Attilan had committed crimes, or performed dubious actions, or participated in usurpation, simony and even murder.
Locked away, Karnak sighed while turning and striding away, for good reason.

The gigantic guard, Pholtest, straightened sharply as soon as Karnak's footsteps began to be audible through the narrow hallway. In doing so, Pholtest rammed his head into the ceiling. He softly cursed with irritation as a thin layer of dust rained down from the stone roof on and around him.
Karnak passed by the guard without a word, though he had indeed noted the humorous event. The royal Inhuman entered the larger corridor and in doing so was obscured from sight by Pholtest.
A few seconds after, Pholtest slumped into his usual state, shooting a glare at the hard stone above his head.

Karnak pushed the heavy oak door open with ease - though it was heavily padded and robust. Any man without the enhanced strength of Karnak might have had trouble in the operation of the door. Mander, Karnak's father, had on many occasions consulted the regular members of the Order of Wisdom about this issue, nagging at them to leave the door slightly ajar for the conservation of time that might be spent opening and closing the 'damned' door. Clearly, in many of the Order member's old age, the needs and wants of Mander oft slipped out of their mind, ready for the next consultation.
The ground area was clear of any activity.
The prominent Inhuman strolled gracefully through the expansive room, noting the cleanliness of the antiques littering the room, and also the exact point of how to break them. The Tower of Wisdom was home to many of these antiques, partly as a front of quality and long-standing for anyone outside of the Order, but mostly because the ruling Inhumans needed a viable place to put them. Mander was not wholly appreciative of the expensive gifts, alas, as it simply dealt him more things to worry about. On one visit from a group of prospective Inhumans originating from the studious schooling society of Attilan, Mander had flitted about like an irritating gnat - swatting the children's hands away from the ornaments and on multiple occasions gathering all the students he could find and drilling the large list of rules into their heads.
Karnak shook his head in a rare form of humour and proceeded towards the whitewashed steps leading to the council room.

"...A wise man is considerate, empathic, and always aware of another's troubles. Which leads me to suggesting that," The droning voice of Mander the priest, and Karnak's father, drained away as the soft footsteps of Karnak approached the council congregation, "My speculatively arrogant son is not indeed truly wise."
This constant state of friction and mutual disappointment was ubiquitous in the lives of Karnak and his father. Thus, Karnak only attended a small percentage of the regular council sessions - to avoid the exhausting conversation and to retain his calming hours of personal time.
Karnak did not reply to the obvious opening line or argument until he had sat in a chair ostensibly grown from queer roots that sprouted at the wooden tables exterior. His chair was four away from Mander's position at the far right end of the table.
"I would always choose intelligence over wisdom, father, and a smart man would know that they are anything but the same thing." He challenged calmly.
Karnak made a habit of ignoring the others in the room, whom did not speak but on Mander's approval. They were mere pawns of the old priest to Karnak.
"Arrogance, fellow Order members. The speculations can end here." Mander shifted his attention away from his son and onto the prime topic of concern now that the full Order was present.

"It has been brought to my attention that two monumental problems loom before us on this day. I shall waste no time with telling you what the current rulers of Attilan have informed me. A short few days ago, Terrigenesis yet again graced our proud society with it's gift. The subjects of this process were five highly recommended young boys and girls, on the verge of exiting their childhood. Each was an honour student with no follies or felonies recorded, and they were all at the forefront of their respective progression groups. Three boys and two girls. What came out of the Mists, however, were not the same people.
"One of the fundamental concepts of the Terrigen process is enlightenment, an aligning with one's own true self and the distancing away from petty emotions like jealousy, hate and selfishness. We do not know of yet if something went wrong with the process, or if the selections for Terrigenesis were ill-founded, but we do know that this has never happened before, and it would certainly not happen to an entire group of subjects consecutively. It is common knowledge that the Mists may lower a persons intelligence and mentality, yet changing a persons morality and personality into something completely unheard of prior? It is frankly unthinkable. Another piece of knowledge is that the Great Refuge is a safeguard from the disheartening state of the world outside us. Inhumans do not leave Attilan. Even the most treacherous of us have not entertained the thought."
"What are you trying to say, Master Mander?" Blurted a middle-aged woman, a well-respected doctor. Her voice was fraught with fear, and that fear has even surpassed the rule of silence while the leader of the Order was speaking.
"I'm saying that," Mander murmured, his voice wavering ever so slightly, "There are five less inhabitants of the Great Refuge."

Matthew could feel a sharp wind cross his bare back as he crossed the length of his apartment roof. He’d paced it out throughout the evening, noting where all obstroctions laid. He spoke to his supper and was able to work out a deal for the use of the hard bottomed space for practice and training. Generally this meant installing a few balance beams and punching bags, which would be easy enough with a little help from friends. He would have to use a good chuck of what little he had of his inheritance in order to fund the set-up, but this new job with the Nelson firm should allow him to bounce back easily enough. A small flight of pigeons cooed near a pile of seeds to Matthew’s right, he could hear their pecking and the sounds of their sharp claws etching on the concrete. His attention was drawn to them in such a way as he had not experienced before, something deep and attentive was pulled from somewhere within. And he could smell the seeds they kicked up, mixed with their feathers and the smell of cloth and detergent drifting up from the nearby laundromat. He could nearly see the birds, nearly understand them. And then, with the singular clicking from one of the birds, Matt received a clear image of the gathering of pigeons. All lined up along the side of the stone rooftop overlooking the stark skyline painted dark by the brilliant, invisible sunset behind it. The image he received was almost entirely contrasting shades with unusual dark green and blue outlines in some places, but it was entirely marvelous to him. His hand came to his mouth and he murmered something even he couldn’t understand, and his eyes watered to saturation, though a tear could not fall. This was the third time something like this had happened, and he knew it wasn’t normal. Perhaps it had something to do with toxic materials in the truck. Matt had be told by his doctors that the fluid seemed to have no effect, aside from the obvious, that they could tell, but had destroyed the criminal Matthew was chasing down who’d been covered in the stuff. An investigation is still ongoing as to where the truck was coming from and how it ended up where it was. Almost no progress has been made in the investigation of why these men were doing what they were doing, and why Matthew’s Aunt was a part of it. This temporary sight, and the clearly enhanced auditory and olfactory senses could provide Matthew with a new path of opportunity. The image of his aunt’s crushed face flashed somewhere in Matthew’s consciousness and he grimaced. The heat of anger rose up his neck and he felt the same way he had in the lamplight of the docks; powerful, confident. Matthew clenched one of his fists as he watched the image of the skyline fade from him, and return to nothing. Matthew would have his revenge, he’d decided that in the dying light of his vision. Suddenly the scuffing of sneakers against tile reached Matt’s ears and he was surprised that Karen had been able to get this far without him noticing. The morbid fascinations still hung to him like smoke to a fireman and he considered praying to make it go away; he needn’t spoil Karen with thoughts like that. She approached carefully and grabbed at his wrist first like she always did. He faked a smile through the fog of anger and the anxiety of redemption and he wondered how he’d look after all of it was done. Would he be bathed in blood, as indeed his enemies would be? Would he be the same-- could he be the same? She smelled like lialac for some reason and the residue of envelope glue still stuck to her fingertips. He felt her sweet breath cross his chest and drift to his neck and up his nostrils. Her soft, fluffy lips met his chapped sweaty ones and lingered, her hands circling across his abdomen. “How’d you find me?” Matt asked. “Tom (the supper) told me” Karen responded. “Can’t have secrets these days, can you?” “Not from me.” She retorted, as if hearing his true thoughts. “I brought home something from Red Dragon." “That sound’s good. I’ll meet you downstairs.” He said easily. “You’re sweating bullets, were you just working out up here?” she asked, addressing his shirtlessness among other things. “Yeah, right before you came up.” He responded. It’d been an hour since he’d worked out at all, he was just steaming with anger, with regret, and sorrow, and desperation. If he wanted to be a lawyer he would have to get used to lying, at least a little. Living with Karen would be good practice.

***

After a few more moments on the roof alone, Matt made his way downstairs. He ate with his now live-in girlfriend, “watched” some tv, and waited for her to slink off to the bedroom. After Matt was sure Karen was taking a shower he retrieved a case from behind his entertainment console and withdrew the katana therein. He focused on the smell of carbon lifting from the cold steel and rubbed the tip of his finger along the chiseled crevice, letting off a solid chime. An image of the shining sword, with it’s finely crafted handle, struck Matt with an undefinable awe. He saw his future and his past all at once and he simply couldn’t stand the anxiety, and the fear, and the anger which was welling up within him.

"So... what exactly are we keeping at bay at the moment?" Peter had not expected anyone else showing up here, or at least no one except for the police. The man in the green and gold attire spooked Peter because his full attention was placed on whatever that raptor-human thing was behind the door. When he heard that man, Peter accidentally released his grip from the door handle, redirecting his attention to the newcomer. In the process of releasing the handle, Peter stumbled backwards, falling to the ground of the hallway, just like someone playing ‘Tug of War’ when the other side releases their grip, causing the first person to fall down due to his momentum. Now that Peter was no longer forcing the door shut, the raptor-creature swung up the door. However, even in its current state of mind, it was obvious that this thing was startled when it saw that there were two intruders, not just one, standing in the hallway. Trading glances with both of the men standing in the hallway, the human-raptor decided to pounce on Peter, since he was the most vulnerable in his position. When the creature had launched itself into the air, intending to drive its foot sickle into Peter, his chosen target, even in spite of the creature’s swiftness and speed, Peter’s spider-sense gave him a fighting chance, allowing him to roll to the side, which caused the creature to miss its mark. “This is why nobody wanted a Jurassic Park movie that included human-dinosaur hybrids!” Peter thought to himself as he pulled himself back onto his feet. “Whose bright idea was it to take that idea from the silver screen and make it a reality?” Peter aimed his wrist toward the raptor-creature and compressed the trigger to his web shooter. However, once the trigger was pushed down, nothing happened. “What? They were working just a few minutes ago! I thought I worked out all the kinks and bugs in them before I left?” Peter ponded to himself, seeing his target flinch for a moment when it saw him gesturing toward it. “To answer your question, mister.” Peter took a step back when he saw the creature slowly creep forward, its eyes set on him. His heart started racing within him. This thing was nothing like anything that he had faced before. Why the heck did he have to confront it on his first day back on the job? “I have no clue what the hell it is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not friendly.”

Location Helicarrier 2 Postion 15,000ft, Exact Coordinates Classified Time Index 1010 hrs March 4th 2012 Masters took the soft, red apple in his hand and bit a large chunk from the side of the oversized fruit. All around him, other agents and personnel scurried about the mess hall, meeting friends and work colleagues for their quick lunch breaks. Tony sat alone as usual. He figured most of his fellow agents had gotten sick of having to introduce themselves for the 1st time every time they met. Tony didn’t blame them. He knew how frustrating it was to have to basically relearn most of his work schedule, the layout of the hellicarrier and even the Heads of the Departments. His wrist buzzed. The tiny screen clamped to his arm lit up and displayed a small message. (Please make your way to Director Fury’s office ASAP. Please follow the map and audio instructions through the earpiece.) A small bud appeared at the top of the wrist screen. Tony gripped it between his middle and forefinger and slipped it into his ear. “Agent Masters, please make your way to Director Fury’ office. Follow the audio directions as given.” The feminine, monotone voice began relaying instructions to him, directing him to exit the mess hall and proceed along the path she laid out. Finishing off his hasty lunch, Masters rose from his seat and made his way out of the mess. As Tony made his way down the halls of the floating sky fortress, he found himself idly toying with his organo-drive’s wrist display. The little device wrapped around his arm (and the one jammed in his brain) had become his lifeline. It stored all his own personal information, information about the hierarchy of SHIELD, all his fighting techniques and empty space for mission details. Problem was that the drives memory was extremely limited so Tony was forced to forgo certain memories. Names and places he’d visited on missions, large chunks of his own past and even the names of fellow agents and partners. That’s when the photo and the name popped back into his head. Jubilee. He’d have to look her up after the briefing. Masters followed the audio directions to Fury’s office, stepping toward the steel doors as they pulled apart automatically and Masters stepping inside the room. The Directors office on Helicarrier 2 was small, dark and bare except for the desk, the contents upon it and 2 chairs. Behind said desk stood the Director himself, his back to the door, a black leather trench coat reaching the floor, the collar turned up, brushing the underside of his rough blackened hair, tinges of grey filtering through. “Sit down, Agent Masters.” Fury’s gravelly voice rasped from the shadows, bringing a disconnected image of another dark room, shadows and…restraints. Masters shook the image from his head and settled into his seat. As he did, three 6 inch holograms of costumed individuals appeared on Fury’s desk, each costume more extravagant than the last. “Do you know these men, Tony?” Masters stared at the slowly rotating images, taking in the details. One was dressed in a black jumpsuit with a mangled US flag on the chest and a single star on the mask covering his face. In his right hand was a large shield, with red, white and black stripes circling to the centre. The second was a smaller man, black skin, clothed in white pants, a blue tactical jacket and a red mask covering his eyes and part of his face. He also had a shield in his hand, this one, however, was triangular in shape, looking almost like a badge. The final looked very different to the others. He was covered entirely in a black tactical jumpsuit, a ski mask style covering his face. On the chest was a large, red X and cross reaching both shoulders. Around his waist was an old style belt holster, with 2 weapons on either side, each holding an classic 6 shooter revolver. “I don’t recognise them Sir. Although I expect you knew that?” He heard Fury chuckle and turn to face him. The large scar on the left side of his face was slightly obstructed by the patch covering that eye. The scar reached the corner of his mouth which was curled in a permanent “smirk”. Nothing on his face indicated that he was actually impressed with Masters dry humour. He raised his hand and held it over each hologram. “John Walker. Codename: USAgent.” The man with mangled flag enlarged slightly. “Eli Bradley. Codename: Patriot.” The smallest image grew to match USAgent. “Joseph Chapman. Codename: Union Jack.” The red cross image grew and tipped under Fury’s hand. Masters raised his brow, “Codenames? You mean they’re SHIELD assets?” Fury nodded, “They’re all assets like you, Masters. Meta-humans borne from experiments in our Science Division. These three were created after your incident with the SHIELD iteration of the Super Soldier Serum. A newer, less powerful formula was developed and administered to these 3 volunteers, Patriot and USAgent are both American agents and Union Jack is a part of the British contingent S.T.R.I.K.E. They’ve been on active duty for the last year as a team to help deal with the surge of meta-human and mutant activity. The team has been codenamed the Invaders.” Fury paused his briefing, waving his hand, making the holograms vanish. He pulled his chair back and sat heavily into it, rubbing his temple in slow, concentric circles, his one visible eye closed as he continued the brief. “Last week, the team was debriefed in the Triskelion after a classified incident, after which they were relieved for refreshment. It was discovered some time later that they had fled the facility and taken with them several pieces of sensitive SHIELD tech and…” Fury paused once more, opening his vivid blue eye, fixing it straight at Masters. “…and a copy of the newest iteration of the Serum formula.” “Wait, the newest? What’s new about this one?” “This version is similar to the one that you were dosed with Masters, only with none of the harmful side effects and produces augmented strength as well. It’s administered through a patch and is temporary without constant replacement, lasting approximately 1 week. The project was designated ‘AVX’ and had Level 7 clearance only. It’s unclear as how the Invaders knew of the project or why they took it. That, however, is not your concern.” Masters’ wrist screen beeped and a small loading bar appeared. Masters could almost feel his head filling with the information about the three targets. Logistics, mission background history, preferred fighting styles. One bit of the dossier drew Masters attention. “I trained Walker in his hand-to-hand? You don’t think that personal history might compromise the mission? ” Fury waved his hand dismissively. “Do you remember him? Recollect your time together? Personal history is irrelevant when one party doesn’t remember any of said history. In fact, it may give you a psychological edge.” The screen indicated the finalisation of the upload, the drive synchronising the new information with his regular brain functions, allowing him to access and sort through it with ease. “Your mission, Taskmaster?” “Locate Patriot, Union Jack and/or USAgent, ascertain the location of the AVX patches and, if necessary, eliminate rogue agents and accomplices.” Fury nodded solemnly, standing back up and turning his back once more on the asset known as Taskmaster. “That’ll be all.” Fury and the desk disappeared, just another hologram, leaving Masters in the darkened room, alone. Just another hologram. Just another ruse. Just another illusion. Masters began to wonder what in SHIELD was even real anymore. He got up and began to leave. What did it matter, he’d probably forget by the end of the day.