Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Simple Unicycle
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Simple Unicycle ?

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8:04 PM; December 24th, 2018
David Lieberman's House; New York City

ISSUE #18
NOT FAR FROM THE END


Dave takes a sip from his beer after I finish recounting the events at the tea house, contemplating his words. "... Well, that's sure to keep Russo away from crime," he says flatly, his voice giving away how unnerved he is by the story. He's been... Distant lately, as if disturbed by my growing violent tendencies. It almost makes me want to cut back. Almost.

"And if it doesn't, I'll be sure to put one right between his eyes," I reply, leaning back into the couch and putting my hands behind my head. I couldn't care less about what I did to that bastard... But wasn't there a reason I had spared him when we first met? His... Daughter... My God. I can't imagine what she'd go through once she sees him like that. I blink once, twice, clearing my head of those thoughts. I can't think about that. It's too late now.

There's an awkward silence after that. Then, the satphone that Greg gave me rings. Dave answers it. He occasionally says "yeah" or "uh huh", and finally ends the call with a "Right, I'll tell him." He hangs up, and turns to me with a grin. "A friend of your cowboy pal just called. Said that Vigilante and his buddies are ready to hit Solomano's building, but the guy's got his guard up already. He's expecting it."

I give a quick grin. "That'll just make it more fun. When are we going after him?"

"Tomorrow night."

"I better go make sure my weapons are ready then... I'll see you after we raid the building, Dave."

"Be careful, Frank." With that, I stand, grabbing my coat and heading out the door. I look over my shoulder to see Dave nodding at me. I give him a thumbs up, before I walk out the door and into the cold night. My van's parked not far away. Solomano has a lot of Metas and Mutants on his payroll, not to mention any demons that are helping him out. I'll have Vig and his buddies on my side, but still, there's the chance that I'll die tomorrow night.

I climb into the front seat of my van so I can drive to my warehouse, but before I do that, I grab a picture from the dash. A photo taken not too long after the twins were born. Maria, Frank Jr., Lisa, and I. One happy family. If I do die, I can't comfort myself and say that I'll see them again. I know I'll burn in Hell for my sins when I bite the dust. But at least I know they're somewhere better.

I stick the picture back onto the dash and start the van, driving back to my warehouse. Tomorrow night, we wage war on Solomano in his own building. The only thing that I can think about is the striking similarities between our plan and Die Hard. I chuckle. "Well yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker."

I drive off into the night.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Sep
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Sep Migs Mayfield - Core

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PART ONE: ROGUE TAKEOVER

FAMILIAL MATTERS






Iris raised an eyebrow at her father who gave her the smallest shake of her head, obviously hoping that Wally wouldn’t notice the gesture. Iris turned back to him and flashed him a smile, offering to hug him. It was awkward, but family greeted like family. “Hey, Wally. Nice to meet you I guess.” Iris stood to the side to let him in, he crunched up the big belly burger bag into a ball.

“Nice digs cus.”

Wally whistled as he looked around. She shifted awkwardly as he nodded at her dad. “This is actually my Dads, I live in an apartment out in the city.” Throwing another look at William who cleared his throat.

“We’re just getting ready to eat Wally. If you’ll excuse us, we need to finish it up.” William signalled to the couch sitting on front of the television. It was currently running some rerun of some old science fiction television show. “Make yourself at home.” Wally shrugged as he walked around and then plopped himself down on the sofa, there was a thud and Iris winced slightly as eh did so. The Sofa wasn’t exactly young so a teenager just plopping himself down on it was a sure fire way to break it.

Iris excused herself as she moved into the kitchen behind her father, pulling the door closed as she did so. Speaking in a hushed voice so that her voice wouldn’t travel outside of the kitchen. She knew from experience with having friends, and boyfriends over, that words spoken in this household tended to travel better than expected. “Dad, what the hell is going on? Who’s he?” He recoiled slightly with the harshness of her tone, she regretted speaking to him in such a way but something wasn’t sitting quite right with her. This didn’t make any sense.

“Keep your voice down Iris.” William put on an oven mitt as he pulled a tray out of the oven, examining it before pushing it back in. He moved over to the sink, picking up a pitcher and filling it full of water. “He’s not your cousin.”

“I figured out that much, but that isn’t answering my question.” Iris grabbed his shoulder as he moved to walk past her, busying himself. The only way she was going to get any answers out of him would be to get him standing still. “Dad.”

William sighed. “He’s your nephew.”

Iris felt the colour drain from her face. “My… What?”

“Your nephew. Daniel had a son before he was sent off to prison. To some hooker.” William practically spat the words, the way he always did when it came to Daniel. “So that makes him your nephew.”

Iris leaned against the counter, not trusting her legs to keep her standing. She had always known that Daniel had a life beyond these four walls, when he ran away at seventeen she had lost contact with him. Part of her had always sought to reconnect with him, bring their family back together. Life just got in the way, he had tried to get in touch with her two years ago but it was in the middle of her trying to get Henry released from prison. The thought of that sent a pang of guilt reeling through her, if she hadn’t done that. If her and Barry had only realised sooner, perhaps the events of the last year could have been avoided. “I can’t believe you knew about this, and didn’t say anything.”

William shrugged. “I didn’t think it would ever be important I didn’t expect him to turn up on my doorstep looking for somewhere to stay.” He walked back to the oven and withdrew their dinner. A lasagne that before Iris had been looking forward to. Now, she wasn’t even hungry. “He can’t stay Iris. Not here, he’s the son of a criminal and a hooker. I’m a cop and I’m not having him here.”

“He’s family Dad.”

“I don’t care. He can visit, but he can’t stay. Not here.”

Iris crossed her arms over her chest. “I guess he’ll stay with me then.”

“Iris-” A concerned look crossed Williams face.

No Dad. He’s family, and Wests look after their own-” Iris pointed an accusatory finger at her father. “-You taught me that.”

Before William could argue with her, Iris stormed out of the door, grabbing Wally by the cuff of his shirt and dragged him out of the couch and towards the door.

“Come on Wally. We’re leaving, you can stay at my place.”




Jay offered his hand to the agent. “Agent Coulson, is it?”[color=#ffe599] [/color]Despite the fact that the agent was shorter than he was, there was an air of confidence that he exhumed. Superiority that despite the fact that Jay had years of experience dealing in the extraordinary, made him doubt who was really in control in this room. He had arranged this meeting between them, even then there was something about how Coulson had walked into his small house in the suburbs of Keystone that made it seem as if the agent had been waiting for the call.

“Yes Sir, and can I just stop to say it’s an honour to meet you. While I am a fan of how you took down the Rival back in fifty-two I must say I am more impressed with how you helped arm and mobilise the French resistance against the Nazi occupation. I’ve kept every issue of the Invaders since I was old enough to read.”

Jay shifted awkwardly on his feet, this wasn’t what he was expecting. The professional, school-teacher demeanour was lost the second he had shaken the man’s hand. Instead it was replaced by what could only be referred to as a fanboy. “Uh, thanks I guess.” Coulsons eyes scanned up and down, noticing the walking stick. The agent signalled to one of the seats on the porch.

“Would it be better if we sat for this discussion?” Jay had to withhold a grimace. Being offered a seat in his own home, that was the agent part of Coulson taking over, taking command of the situation. Controlling the lay of the land. In defiance, as much as retaliation, Jay waved his hand dismissively.

“No, I just have one quick question. A favour, really. One civil servant to another.” A curious looked crossed the agents face.

“What is it you need?”

Jay sighed.

“I need to know what S.H.I.E.L.D did with Johnny Quick.”

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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Eddie Brock
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Eddie Brock

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TANGIER
MOROCCO


Captain Rogers sat in the back of a SHIELD rapid response vehicle, receiving treatment for his wounds. All around him, SHIELD personnel set to the task of trying to put the streets of Tangier back together again. The chaotic scene matched Rogers’ dark mood. He had failed to secure the stolen weapons, and now they could be anywhere. In the wrong hands, those weapons could reap untold destruction -- the kind that made the damage in Morocco look pedestrian. He had to set it right… He just didn’t know how. So, when his earpiece buzzed to life, he found himself sitting up straight.

“How would you like another crack at Rumlow?” Director Hill asked.

Rogers immediately stood. What have you got?

“I’ve been reading through files all morning,” Hill explained. “Turns out the Diamondback was recently acquired by a company called the Apex Group.”

Rogers raised an eyebrow. Should that sound familiar?

“Not likely; it’s a shell corporation. But looking at the incorporation paperwork gave me a name: Edmund Galloway,” Hill continued. “Galloway is a suspected fence with ties to Robinson Sinclair, a South African philanthropist who moonlights as an international arms dealer. As it so happens, British intelligence has been building a case against Sinclair. They recently intercepted a message from Galloway to Sinclair, promising delivery of ‘the Italian merchandise.’”

Meaning our weapons, Rogers nodded.

“Well, they’re not talking about heels and handbags,” the Director agreed. “Sinclair is holding a fundraising event tomorrow night in Dubai. You’ll meet up with our contact in the Secret Intelligence Service there. I’ve already sent the flight information to your phone.”

DUBAI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
DUBAI
UNITED ARAB EMIRATES


Steve stood before the customs agent, a balding man with a bushy, gray mustache. The agent surveyed the passport before handing it back across the counter, saying, “Thank you, Mr. Nasland. Enjoy your stay.” Steve accepted the phony passport with a polite smile and went on his way. Sometimes, it paid dividends to have multiple documented identities; it afforded Captain Rogers with the ability to travel discreetly, to mask his whereabouts and be able to insert himself wherever he was needed. As of yet, the world had not discovered that Steven Grant Rogers was the same man in the footage of Captain America's fight with the Colonel, but he aimed to remain cautious all the same.

Stepping outside, Rogers scanned the arrivals at passenger pickup. As promised, SHIELD’s contact arrived in a powder blue Mercedes. The car cruised to a stop along the curb, and the tinted passenger side window rolled down. Inside sat a young woman with long, blonde hair and a pair of reflective sunglasses. Steve wasn’t sure what he had been expecting… but it wasn’t that. As if sensing his hesitation, the woman said, “William Nasland? I’m your ride.” She beckoned him with a nod. “Hop in.” As soon as Steve got inside, she rolled the window back up and zipped into the flow of traffic. Eyes on the road, she spoke, “Captain Rogers, welcome to Dubai. I’m Agent 13 with MI6.” Her lightly-accented voice was all business.

Steve relaxed a little. Sinking into the plush leather seat, Rogers put his hands on his knees and surveyed the car’s interior. After a moment, he scratched his beard and said, I thought you guys always drove Astons.

Even behind her Ray-Bans, Agent 13’s raised eyebrow could be seen. “Come now. You can’t believe everything you see in the movies,” she replied. The corner of her lip curled into a smile.

Leaving the airport behind, they began their journey downtown. Dubai was a sight to behold, the shining jewel of the Arab world. Rogers felt himself feeling less a secret agent and more a tourist as he stared up at the twinkling skyscrapers that each seemed to rival the others for supremacy among the clouds -- with all bowing to the undisputed king, the Burj Khalifa. The extravagance on display was almost mind-boggling; even the local authorities drove luxury cars. Even the mission was an exercise in glitz and glamour. Sinclair’s fundraiser dinner commanded a hefty price at twenty-five thousand a plate. Which reminded Steve of something. I, uh… I didn’t bring a suit, he explained. When Agent 13 looked at him, he added, Well, not that kind of suit, anyway.

Again, she smiled. It was a good look on her. “Director Hill sent me your measurements. There’s a suit waiting at the hotel,” she assured him.

He nodded. There was a bullet dodged… Although, it did raise the question of why, exactly, Director Hill knew Steve’s measurements. He supposed recent events had shown that to be the least of what she might know. At the same time, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Agent 13 had been sizing him up, too. Not that he was entirely innocent in all this; even now, he found himself wondering what sort of dress Agent 13 had lined up for the evening. His impropriety nearly made him blush. Looking away, Steve began, You know, this isn’t entirely fair. He met Agent 13’s gaze. You get a name, and I get ‘Agent 13.’

She considered that a moment. “Sharon,” she responded, “You can call me Sharon.”

Sharon. It was a nice name.

* * *


Before they had time to talk any further, they arrived at the hotel. As Sharon turned over her keys to the valet, Steve collected his bags and followed her inside. The hotel lobby was beyond ornate. The ceiling stretched at least three stories, accommodating the largest crystal chandelier that Rogers had ever seen. The massive, curved reception desk was flanked by a shimmering wall; upon closer inspection, Steve realized that it was an enormous man-made waterfall. And if the decor left any doubt as to the hotel's preferred clientele, the fashionable -- and expensive -- outfits worn by the bustling guests affirmed that they were in the presence of great wealth. Steve felt dangerously underdressed.

“Shall we?” Sharon asked upon returning with the keycards. It took Steve a moment to shake himself from his awestruck stupor and follow her to the elevators. Their room was on the twenty-third floor, just two below the Grand Ballroom where the fundraiser was being held. The elevator dinged their arrival, and they stepped out into a hallway with almost uncomfortably white walls. Marching down the curved hall, they reached their door at last. Sharon swiped the keycard across the lock before throwing it open. Upon seeing their room, she remarked, “I've certainly stayed in worse.”

True to form, the room was the height of luxury. Steve was almost certain he could fit the entirety of his Georgetown apartment in the bedroom alone. At the far end, floor-to-ceiling windows granted a breathtaking view of the Dubai skyline. Steve stepped inside and shrugged off his bag. Behind him, Sharon wheeled in her own luggage. She crossed in front of him towards the bed, throwing down her suitcase and beginning to unfasten the latches. “Do you need the bathroom for anything? I'm going to start getting ready,” she said, looking up briefly to consider him.

Steve shook his head. All yours. He walked to an untouched corner of the bed and had a seat. The fundraiser wasn't for another hour yet, so he had a moment to relax. He offered Sharon a little smile as she collected a makeup kit and hairbrush from her suitcase. As she disappeared around the corner to the bathroom, Steve stretched out and let his head hit the pillow. He hardly had a chance to close his eyes before there was a knock at the door, however. Rising with his hands on his knees, Steve crossed the valley to the front door; he opened it to find a bellhop holding a black garment bag.

“Mister… Nasland?” the young man said, reading aloud from the card attached to the bag. Steve nodded and accepted it. Out of reflex, he reached for his wallet until he realized that he hadn't exchanged any of his cash. He passed the bellhop an American five, for which he seemed plenty grateful. “Have a good night, sir.”

Lugging the suit back inside, Steve was surprised to hear the sound of running water. Sharon was using the shower? The thought made him somewhat bashful. Trying not to focus on it, Steve brought the garment bag to the bed and opened it. If Director Hill had picked out the suit herself, then she had surprisingly good taste. It was a classic ensemble: charcoal black single-breasted jacket, starched white button-down, and a royal blue tie. The bag even included a pair of black wingtip shoes, already polished to a mirror shine. Rogers laid out the entire outfit and began to undress.

By the time Sharon emerged from the bathroom, adorned in an embroidered bathrobe courtesy of the hotel, Steve was in the middle of tying his tie. He turned to look at her, her hair still damp from the shower. She smiled at him, saying, “Well, don't you clean up nicely?” She crossed the room and rifled through her luggage, eventually producing a garment bag of her own. “Although, you'd look much younger without the beard,” Sharon added playfully. She then retreated to the bathroom once more.

Sometime later, Sharon stepped out in a black cocktail dress with a diamond necklace and her hair up. If the goal of surveilling Sinclair was to avoid attention, then Rogers had to imagine they were off to a bad start. Without seeing the other ladies in attendance, Steve felt confident in saying that she would be the night's breakout star. He contemplated telling her as much until he thought better of it; they were working tonight, after all. Putting on the finishing touches by adjusting his cufflinks, Rogers consulted the clock next to the bed. The fundraiser was beginning soon.

Let's go get our guy, he suggested.

* * *


The Grand Ballroom was every bit as advertised. Stretching as far as the eye could see, the cavernous room was a sight to behold. Rows of tables, all adorned with white tablecloths and carnation centerpieces, faced a stage near the windows. A string band filled the air with pleasant music. As Sharon and Steve entered, they found themselves having to yield to passing caterers with trays of drinks and unidentifiable hors d'oeuvres; Steve swiped a pair of champagne flutes from one and passed the additional glass to Sharon. He quickly downed his drink, knowing full well that his heightened metabolism would burn off the alcohol to no effect.

Any sign of Sinclair? Steve asked, realizing he was unfamiliar with the target.

Sharon peered over the edge of her glass. Taking a moment to survey the room, she blinked and, bringing the flute to her lips, answered, “Not yet.” For her part, she sipped the champagne more carefully, needing to keep a clear head. Dabbing a finger against her lip, she linked arms with Steve and led him deeper into the ballroom. As they walked, she kept her eyes up, saying, “You know, before I forget, I wanted to say how sorry I was to hear about Colonel Fury. I do hope he makes a full recovery soon.”

Steve shot her a curious look. You knew Fury?

Sharon shrugged. “Not personally, though certainly by reputation. I don't think there's an intelligence agent alive who hasn't heard of Sergeant Fury and his Howling Commandos,” she replied. She paused, offering Steve a fleeting glance before whispering conspiratorially, “I've always wondered, though… how did he lose his eye?”

Steve had to laugh. In the thirty-or-so years that he had known Nick, he had heard no less than a dozen stories about “the day Nick Fury lost an eye" -- usually propagated by rookies and recruits buying into the mythology of the enigmatic Director. Fury, of course, never spoke on the issue. For one, the circumstances were highly personal, but truthfully? Fury didn't want to shatter the illusion. As long as the true story remained untold, they were all true. It's gonna take more than one drink to get that out of me, Steve teased.

“Duly noted,” Sharon smirked. As she turned her attention back to the fundraiser, she suddenly stiffened. “There he is.”

Steve followed her sightline to the stage, where a rugged-looking gentleman was stepping up to the microphone. Robinson Sinclair had shoulder-length brown hair -- though more gray near the temples -- which he tied behind his head. His square features were accented by a meticulously groomed five-o-clock shadow. He wore a blue suit with no tie, opting instead to leave his collar unbuttoned. Sinclair smiled brightly at his guests, many of whom were now offering light applause. He tapped the microphone once and stood with his hands folded behind his back.

“Good evening, everyone,” Sinclair began, “So very happy that you all could join me here. I know this time of year is particularly demanding, so it means a lot to see so many generous faces before me.” Sinclair paused to clear his throat before continuing, “You know, ten years ago, if you had asked me how I wanted to spend my life…” At that point, Steve tuned him out. He had no doubt that Sinclair's charitable organizations had done a lot of good for the world, but good acts did not cancel out the bad; how many lives had been endangered, even lost, because Sinclair put weapons in the hands of dangerous men? No more. It ended tonight.

Sinclair's speech drew to a close, and both Steve and Sharon joined the applause this time. As Sinclair exited the stage, shaking the hands of eager benefactors, he was approached by a large man. It took Steve a moment to place him, but the peculiarity of seeing Brock Rumlow in a suit did little to hide that distinctive scowl. That's Crossbones, Steve announced for Sharon's benefit. Rumlow and Sinclair talked a moment longer. When their conversation had ended, Sinclair patted Rumlow on the arm and surreptitiously passed him something out of Rogers’ sight.

Sharon saw it, too. She asked, “What did Sinclair just give him?”

Steve was already hedging in the direction that Rumlow turned. I don't know, but I'm going to find out. Stay here, and keep an eye on Sinclair, Steve instructed. The crowd had dispersed following Sinclair's speech, putting dozens of minglers in Rogers’ path. Luckily, Rumlow's unusual frame made him an easy mark to follow. As Steve squeezed past socialites and caterers, he watched Rumlow beelining for the kitchen entrance. Steve increased his pace, drawing a few offended snorts as he nearly bowled people over while racing for that door. He reached it mere moments after Rumlow marched through.

The kitchen was a mess. Overcrowded with caterers and cook staff, every counter was covered in some combination of ingredients, food, or waste. So distracted were the workers that they paid neither Rumlow nor Rogers much mind. Rumlow trudged through the cramped space, heading in the direction of a neon “EXIT” sign. Steve wasn’t going to let him slip away -- not again. Spotting a nearly empty catering tray, Rogers picked up the silver dish and hurled it like a discus. It collided with the back of Rumlow’s bald head, knocking him forward a step. As it clattered to the tiled floor, the assembled staff finally took notice of the intruders in their midst. Rumlow turned and locked eyes with Rogers.

“You shoulda stayed in Morocco,” Rumlow snarled. Advancing on Rogers, he snatched a large knife from a butcher’s block. Closing with impressive speed, Rumlow cut through the air with a swing that Rogers easily ducked. The staff began to panic, ducking behind countertops or running for the exit outright. Rumlow flipped the knife and came around on the backswing; Rogers blocked with a forearm and drove the other fist into the mercenary’s solar plexus. The man stumbled back, slashing wildly. A lucky hit caught Rogers across the upper arm -- tearing through jacket, shirt, and finally skin. Emboldened, Rumlow redoubled his efforts with a series of rapid swipes that Rogers narrowly avoided.

Ducking under another high swing, Rogers shrugged out of his suit jacket and quickly twirled it into a makeshift rope. He caught the next slash against the knotted fabric and turned it away. With Rumlow momentarily vulnerable, Rogers threw a shoulder into his chest and followed with a sharp kick to the outside of his knee. Rumlow buckled but refused to fall; he came up swinging, nearly removing Steve’s nose from his face. Rogers caught a jab to the ribcage and a headbutt to the chin. He fell back, losing the advantage to Rumlow. The mercenary slashed him across the abdomen. With all his adrenaline pumping, Steve hardly felt the cut.

Rogers was quick to recover. When Rumlow came in for a stab to the gut, Rogers entangled his knife hand in his rolled-up jacket. Yanking Rumlow forward off-balance, Rogers kept his wrist restrained and delivered three successive blows to the head with an elbow. Blood trickled down Rumlow’s face as he sneered at his opponent. Rumlow kneed Steve below the belt but lost his knife for the effort. He grabbed the doubled-over Rogers by the head and slammed him into the nearest counter; Rogers left an indent in the thin, metal surface.

Rumlow spat blood. “If you wanted to die, all you hadta do was ask.” He bent low to pick Rogers up off the floor.

Rogers surprised him with a chop to the throat. Choking for air, Rumlow was defenseless. Steve sprang up and charged him back into a freezer; the appliance threatened to topple from the force of the slam. Rogers went to work on Rumlow, delivering a combination of body blows with impunity before the mercenary finally managed to swerve out of a punch. Rogers’ fist slammed into hard metal, and Rumlow cracked him over the head with his elbow. Stumbling towards a counter, Rogers spotted a saucepan -- and opportunity. He braced against the countertop and waited for Rumlow to close on him. Taking the pan by the handle, Rogers spun.

WHAM!

Rumlow fell like a sack of bricks. Sweating and bloodied, Steve stood over his fallen opponent and caught his breath. Dropping the saucepan unceremoniously, Steve knelt over Rumlow’s body and began patting down his pockets. He reached into one and produced a hotel keycard. Stopping to check Rumlow’s pulse before he stood, Rogers pocketed the keycard and assessed his injuries. Nothing too serious, though he certainly couldn’t go back out into the fundraiser like this. Retrieving his discarded suit jacket, Rogers hastily threw it back on. The fabric was torn in multiple spots, but it would have to do. He straightened himself best as he could and returned to the party.

The look of concern on Sharon’s face told Steve everything he needed to know about his appearance. Waiting for him by the kitchen door, she looked him over before reporting, “Sinclair left. I tried to follow him, but he got into an elevator.” Noticing curious glances from those nearby, Sharon positioned herself between Steve and the onlookers.

Well, I think I know where he's going, Steve answered, producing the keycard he obtained from Rumlow. He nodded towards the exit. Come on. I think it’s time we changed.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by IceHeart
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IceHeart

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Carol Danvers Is



S.W.O.R.D Nevada Base/Corridor heading to Interrogation

Two fairly fresh looking SWORD agents were strolling down corridor, which had been made to look like it was constructed out of old brickwork. The corridor of course was state of the art just like everything else in the facility but that didn't mean it had to look like the agency had no taste. It added a nice bit of a rustic look that seemed a bit more homely than many of the other more stark and spartan, no frills metallic looking facilities.

A larger looking agent with black hair and quite a bit of muscle on him and a younger and slimmer blond walked as they talked about various things of interest. When two low level agents were together with no superiors around they usually had quite a bit to say.

The slimmer blonde started first.

"I've heard we're getting a Christmas present this year, heard anything about that?" The larger agent scratched his chin as he tried to remember.

"Heard it was some kind of update to our uniforms to distinguish us easier from the normal SHIELD agents. At the moment all that really separates us from them is location and our little SWORD emblems." He palmed the emblem on his chest and traced the outline for a moment. The emblem had a circle, with some that looked kind of like a dagger starting near the bottom them pointing up through the top of the ring; it did kind of look like a sword with the outline of perhaps a planet behind it.

"An update? So like some new equipment woven into it?"

"Heh I wish, we don't get that many new toys since most of our budget is going into that space base while the rest of the toys still go to SHIELD first. I think it was just a color change, from black to dark green."

"Dark green? Well guess I know who came up with that idea." The blond chuckled as his green haired superior flashed through his mind for a moment.

"Heh, I guess that's true, heard that she might be up for a promotion soon, could even be the next head of SWORD! Ya know, what I wouldn't give for some one-on-one time with that lady, if ya know what I mean." The larger agent winked and nudged his comrade with an elbow, who couldn't help but cringe a bit.

"She's your type Bartholomew? Eh, can't see what's so good about her, she seems way to cold and pure business for me. Plus all that green is just...like she's a plant or something, kind of weirds me out!"

"Bah, you just have no taste in women, she's got a heart of fire that one! I bet your type is those girly girls who love baking and dressing up and stuff. You're a bloody agent! Have a sense of adventure. Meh looks like we're here." They stopped their conversation as they stepped into a side room with a glass window where one of the agents was interrogating a man that was caught on the premises. There were two other agents standing outside of the windowed room on guard. They nodded as the two went in and left their posts to the two new arrivals.

The blonde agent tried to get a good look at the man inside, he was fairly average looking, with brown hair, a white blazer, shirt, light brown trousers, brown belt and shoes. It was certainly odd how such a man could have found the facility. "Wish I could hear what they were saying, this is the most action I've seen in a while."

"Believe me, its better when there is no action. This alien tech can be downright terrifying!"


S.W.O.R.D Nevada Base/Interrogation Room

Walter Larson had been caught sneaking onto the premises and taken into custody. He had tracked the trace negative particles from the Sentry's power core to this location but even his tracker could not effectively pinpoint a location inside the facility. This lead to a problem, either he had to sneak his way through the entire base and hope he could find the Sentry and get it away in time, or he could try to get the humans to lead him there so he could fix things. He knew even if he managed to find it on his own he would have had no choice but to reveal his true identity in the process and probably become SWORD's most wanted criminal, so a gamble on humanity was his choice.

Walter Larson had given himself up and was currently being interrogated. A hardened looking agent stared down at Larson from across the desk where he was currently handcuffed.

"So tell me again Mr. Larson, how did you find this facility?"

"I told you, I've been following the path of negative particles. I was present during the Kree attack a short time ago and I've been researching them ever since. Following that explosion I was able to isolate an unknown particle and noticed there was another source on earth but by the time I found it SWORD had already taken it away." This was of course completely bogus, another at the explosion site was completely different from the very special reactor Sentry 459 had but as humanity had very little information on them and they could verify that he had in fact been on staff at the location, there was a sense of validity to his story.

"I tracked it to here and I believe the device to be very dangerous, please you need to let me help you take care of it before something happens!" The agent glared, obviously not buying his baloney for a second.

"Sure, because a giant hunk of metal is so dangerous, and how would you know that Mr. Larson? Do you have evidence this particle is dangerous? How did you managed to get here undetected? Where is your ride? You sir, are one of the most suspicious people I have eve seen! I'm going to call my superiors to see what we should do with you." The agent reach for a phone hanging on the side of the desk and brought it up to his ear, all while keeping an eye on his captive.

Larson groaned, he knew it wasn't going to be easy but there had to be a way to get to the Sentry. "Look I know I'm sketchy but I'm sure you need every available resource to figure this thing out, as one of the few people who had directly interacted with this technology I have experience you severely lack."

The agent ignored him and made the call.


S.W.O.R.D Nevada Base/Underground Hangar

I looked at the large object, this Sentry 459. It was huge to be sure but there was nothing really too it other than the designation number. Even after reading the text I still had no clue what it actually was.

"So anything you can tell me other than its name?" Agent Brand asked as she stopped over beside me, her heels clicking on the floor causing a bit of an echo in the mostly empty hangar.

I shook my head. "Afraid not, maybe if I examine it a bit more but its not like I can just pick out the information in my head, it just kind of flows into me at random when I interact with anything Kree."

Brand raised a green eyebrow in irritation. "I've had agents crawling all over this thing, even tried to crack it open with diamond tipped-drills but the diamonds lost their edge before making a dent. I'm hoping that you get a sudden bout of inspiration or else we might just have to blow our way through it's shell just to get an idea what we're dealing with." As soon as she finished beep sounded and Abigail put a hand up to her ear where I guess was a hidden earpiece. I couldn't hear what was being said on the other end but I could see Brand was interested in whatever it was.

"So Ms. Marvel, I've gotten word that a Walter Larson has been found trying to locate our little package here."

My stomach dropped, I had a very uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Walter was here? What was he doing here and how was he connected to the Sentry? I hadn't seen him in months and how he just suddenly pops back up, once again involved in something I had been roped into.

"If I remember correctly he was present during your abduction though he disappeared off the radar for quite a while. Now he shows up here? Obviously he knows quite a bit more about what's going on and I have a feeling you do too. I heard that you two were fairly close." I could feel Agent Brand's cold gaze dig right into my soul, it was a good thing I had military experience or I might have wilted under her mere presence. Still, it was impossible to get rid of the weird feelings swirling around in my stomach. The thought of perhaps meeting him again after so long was both enticing, and terrifying? What was I going to say? How was I going to react to the man who had been such a close part of my life but who was actually an enemy agent? Would I yell? Punch him? Cry? I really had no idea but I did know he would once again be the key to this recent dilemma.

"Listen, Agent Brand, I know you can't trust him, heck even I don't really trust him these days, but I think we may need to take a chance on him."

"So you're saying we should bring him down to have a look?" Brand sounded like she disapproved but I continued on anyway.

"Look, keep him under tight security, but he did help save my life back then, so let's give him a chance." Frankly I couldn't believe what was coming out of my mouth! Give him a chance after everything that happened? I desperately didn't want to give him another chance, I even wanted to hate him, but I just couldn't. My gut was telling me, despite my wishes, that he could be trusted to help out.

Brand stared at me hard, but seeing my mind was made up decided to relent and called for the boys upstairs to send Larson down under guard. The die had been cast while the knots in my stomach grew ever tighter as I turned back to the Sentry and put a hand on the smooth surface. Without warning a blue light appeared around my hand and a part of the object transformed in front of my eyes to reveal what appeared to be computer panel and green symbols appeared on the screen.

"Well that's new, it never reacted to any of us, must be that Kree DNA of yours coming through again." Brand quickly started to study the panel and asked me the obvious question, "What does it say."

As soon as the symbols made sense to me the blood started to drain out of my face as I realized I had really screwed up. "Well...it says Unknown Kree access attempted, provide security code or defensive measures will be engaged."

Brand cursed and activated her earpiece again. "Control, activate emergency measures SWORD Delta, things are about to get hot down here." She clicked it off then asked me a question I could tell she already knew the answer too. "I don't suppose you have a clue what that security code is?"

I just shook my head and watched as a countdown timer appeared on the panel while alarms sounded in the facility and the area was soon flooding with activity as agents scrambled to their posts and readied their weapons.

"Get the heavy equipment down here, we're going to need some serious firepower if this thing turns hostile!"

I stared down the Sentry's control panel but other than knowing what was on the screen as well as the buttons, no other useful information was coming, probably the only chance we had to prevent a disaster was Larson, but from the countdown timer of 2 minutes 38 seconds, I doubted he could make it in time. I was probably going to see first hand just what this Sentry 459 could do and I doubted it was going to be fun.

"My day certainly just took a turn for the worse, and I'm not even home!"
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Witryso
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Witryso

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The fight that Tony was expecting, surprisingly, never really came to fruition.

After the press conference where he vehemently defended Iron Man's actions, there wasn't a peep from Oscorp. He was initially worried, thinking that Osborn was planning something behind closed doors to retaliate. As time went on, however, he relaxed a little, focusing more on work and other such things.

And a lot of work he did.

"I'm uploaded and ready, sir."

Tony slipped off the hoodie he was wearing before carrying his newest project to an open space in the lab. He'd been working on it since before the whole Goblin fiasco, but now it was finally ready to test. It took a lot of sleepless nights and Starbucks delivery, but nothing Tony wasn't already used to.

The object itself looked like a normal, if avant garde, briefcase. The coloring and markings were reminiscent of Iron Man's usual look, albeit silver rather than gold; a new look for a new project.

Tony placed the case at his feet, then promptly stepped on the edge of it.

With a click and a whir, the mechanism inside started up. The handle of the case separated into two, leading to gauntlets that Tony easily slipped on. The rest of the case he hoisted up to his chest, where it clicked into place. From there, it was all automatic. Just like his previous models, everything clicked into place, except now, he didn't need the assistance of his usual assembly set up. This model was portable, making it easier for Tony to "call on" Iron Man when out and about.

Finally, the faceplate closed down, and Tony was face to face with J.A.R.V.I.S.'s UI.

"All systems are functioning properly, sir. It's certainly not my place to do so, but I'd call this a success."

Tony smirked. "Couldn't agree more, J.A.R.V.I.S. I say we celebrate. Call up Pepper Potts. Let's see if she's on for dinner tonight."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Morden Man
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Morden Man

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The Franklin Storm Institute, New York

Three months ago the Baxter Building’s auditorium had been the scene of Ben Grimm’s brutal assault on Guy Gardner whilst under Hector Hammond’s control. Since then, the Baxter Building had been demolished and a new one had been erected in its place. The Franklin Storm Institute had been opened by Reed Richards shortly after SHIELD announced his successful return from space. It had sat relatively unused since then, but today it was a hive of activity – and its auditorium, built in the exact same spot as the old one, was the most alive of all.

Five teenagers sat in spacious seats that were designed to optimise their learning. There were no desks, nor were the seats pointed towards a board, instead the auditorium was built like an interactive lecture hall. The initial awkwardness of being seated in a room full of other teenagers had abated after a few minutes once it had become clear that whoever it was that they were waiting on was running late.

“My name is Jean Loring. You probably know of my family – if you’ve been to Ivy Town, you’ll have stayed at a property owned by my father Gil Loring. Our property portfolio is one of the largest in the northeast.”

Loring was seventeen and stood a touch under five foot eleven. Her father Gil was more than just a property magnate – he was one of the richest men in America. When Loring heard that Reed Richards was starting a new school he had made sure his daughter Jean’s credentials found their way onto the super scientist's desk. If Jean wasn’t such a brilliant physicist, Richards would have been minded to turn her down due to her father’s interference alone – but he couldn’t hold Jean’s upbringing against her anymore than he could hold Holt’s past against him.

“Ivy Town? Like, poison ivy?”

Jean rolled her eyes at the ignorance of the fifteen-year-old sat in the seat next to hers. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Kamala,” she responded eagerly with a smile so broad that it would have hurt a normal person's cheeks to maintain. “Kamala Khan.”

“Khan? No, no, I don’t think I’ve heard of the Khans.”

If Kamala was hurt by the comment, she did a good job of pretending otherwise. “Yeah, well, my family don’t have a ‘property portfolio’ or anything like that and I’m not super smart like the rest of you, so I’m not really sure why I’m here … but I do have some pretty awesome pow-”

When Khan turned back to Loring she noticed that the older girl had long since stopped listening. For a fraction of a second her cheerful demeanour took a knock but one glance at the ‘Franklin Storm Institute’ sign on the wall put a smile back on her face. Opposite her a boy no older than fourteen was trying clumsily to initiate conversation with what appeared to be a holographic projection of code – with a silver head.

“Hey man,” Amadeus Cho said as he offered the hologram his hand. He suddenly realised his mistake and awkwardly retracted it. “You're going for that whole binary aesthetic, I see. Yeah, that's a pretty brave choice. Let me guess, your Instagram page must be popping off, right?”

The hologram turned its head to observe the young man. Its eyes were like empty white pits carved into its metallic head. Cho couldn’t tell whether the hologram had heard him or whether he was even really in the room, but that didn’t alleviate his sense of awkwardness at all. And yet there was something clearly young about it. The silver piping along the back of its head almost looked like braids if you squinted.

>>>#QUERY: WHAT IS ... INSTAGRAM#<<<

The voice which came out of the hologram’s facsimile of a mouth sounded like a dialling code – or several dozen dialling codes all playing at once. Cho didn’t seem at all taken aback by it. Instead the expression on the child prodigy’s face twisted into faux-shock.

“Oh, come on. You’re seriously trying to tell me that you don’t know what Instagram is? But what do you do when you’re pooping? Or when you need to have your self-esteem crushed?”

The hologram stared unblinkingly in Cho’s direction as he considered the question. The dark green ones and zeroes that ran along his body seemed to hastened as if the hologram were running a thousand searches at once. Finally, having discovered an answer that the hologram deemed Cho would consider acceptable, its mouth opened to release the dialling code voice for a second time.

>>>#STATEMENT: THINKER DOES NOT POOP#<<<

Cho’s face dropped as he realised he was uniquely unqualified to respond to the revelation. Perhaps it was the weight of the Thinker’s lifeless gaze that forced a titter from Cho’s lips. Within seconds the titter turned into a giggle, which turned into a laugh, until eventually Amadeus was wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

“Well, that explains how you stay so svelte. You know, it was really hard to eat healthily while Kirby and I were on the road. You win one soap box competition and the next thing you know you’re being chased across America by the gun-toting employees of a billion dollar corporation.”

Upon hearing its name, a furry head burst through the neck of Cho’s jacket. It stared up at its owner, who smiled down at it proudly, and then let out a whimper upon laying eyes on the Thinker in the seat next to Amadeus. Cho whispered softly to the puppy, lifted it out of his coat, and held it towards the Thinker a little. The hologram and the puppy exchanged puzzled looks as if trying to work each other out. A lick from the puppy’s mouth passed through the Thinker’s head which caused Cho to laugh again.

“Is that thing a dog?” Jean called out in shock from across the room as she eyed the puppy with disgust. “You brought a dog in here?!”

“Firstly, that thing is a coyote, not a dog,” Cho said as he raised a scholarly finger into the air. “And secondly, his name is Kirby. Well, it’s actually ‘Kerberos’ if you want to be exact but that’s a little wordy so Kirby’s fine by the both of us.”

Loring’s pretty features became somewhat less than pretty as her brow furrowed into an entitled frown.

“I don’t care what it’s name is. I’m allergic to dogs, you idiot. You need to get that mangy thing out of here before I go into anaphylactic shock.”

Cho waited a few moments for Loring to deliver the punchline. It took several seconds for him to realise that she was being serious and he looked to Khan for support. The young girl shrugged her shoulders. Cho looked up at the athletically built black guy sat at the back of the room but he didn’t return his gaze. Finally, the Thinker broke the deadlock by standing up from his seat as if to make an announcement.

>>>#STATEMENT: THINKER IS WELL-VERSED IN FIRST AID#<<<

This time Cho didn’t laugh but he couldn’t help but smile when the Thinker turned its head too look to him for approval. “See? You’ll be fine. The second your eyes start swelling shut, my old buddy Think here will magic up some epinephrine for you and you’ll be as good as new.”

“Are you hard of hearing or something, runt?" Loring growled angrily at Cho. "So long as I am in close proximity to that horrible mutt you have tucked into your ratty little jacket, I am at risk of imminent death. You need to get that thing out of here and you need to get it out of here fast.”

Kirby returned Jean’s growl in kind and eyed her distrustfully from across the room. Shaken by the raised voices, Kamala made her way across the auditorium. She gestured towards Cho to let her hold Kirby and he hesitated for a moment. Kirby’s tail wagging excitedly convinced him to trust the cheerful girl and so he handed the puppy to Khan. Kamala pressed Kirby against her face and let out a laugh.

“Awh, come on, Jennie, Kirby's only a puppy! And he’s so cute. What’s Cho meant to do? Leave him out on the sidewalk?”

Loring and Cho both started speaking. Neither gave way to the other and the volume of their voices increased with every word. Soon they were shouting and Kamala was caught between them, half cupping Kirby’s ear from the noise and half trying to get them to stop. The Thinker stood in silence watching the hubbub. His empty white eyes gave no sign of judgement. There was no way of knowing what he was thinking.

From behind Kamala, Cho, and Loring came a whistle that was so piercing that it brought an immediate end to the arguing. The older boy that had been sat at the back of the auditorium in silence had risen to his feet and it was clear from the look on his face that he was unimpressed by what he had seen from the others.

“Could all of you just shut the fuck up? Just be quiet for like five minutes, man. None of you have stopped talking since we got here. Well, except for the green dude but I’m not even sure that he’s a real person.”

Kamala stared down at Kirby between her hands and passed him back to Cho. Both of them took their seats, cowed by Michael Holt’s intervention. Loring remained standing. She glared at Holt and the two were caught in what felt like a silent battle of wills. Both of them refused to blink, choosing instead to glare at the other until the other sat back down or blinked. After several agonising seconds, Jean blinked and returned to her seat.

“Whole room of geniuses and not one of you motherfuckers know when to shut your mouths,” Holt muttered under his breath as he sat down.

Reed Richards sensed the pregnant silence when he walked into the auditorium. He looked across the room at the faces of his soon-to-be students. The Thinker was as unemotive as ever, Loring was simmering, Khan downtrodden, Cho was cooing into his jacket, and Holt looked like he was still only there to stay out of prison.

Leaning in every last bit to his new role, Reed played dumb to the tension. “Well, it looks like I won’t be needing to do any introductions.”

“It’s … it’s really you! You’re Reed Richards," Kamala squealed with child-like excitement. "Like, the Reed Richards. You were on the front cover of TIME magazine when you were twelve years old. You lead Franklin Storm’s expedition into deep space. You're basically my hero!”

Loring let out a loud sigh from beside her but Kamala didn’t seem at all embarrassed by having made such a public proclamation of admiration. For his part, Reed offered the young girl an encouraging smile.

“Thank you, Miss Khan.”

The super scientist had written a speech to deliver to his students on their first meeting. It was several pages long, full of references he hoped would entertain and amuse them, and though he was slightly ashamed to admit it, he’d rehearsed it several times earlier that morning. This morning was the culmination of months of work. He had wanted every detailed to be right – even down to the introductory speech. But stood there in front of the five teenagers, Reed couldn’t bring himself to trot out a prepared speech. Instead he chose to speak from the heart.

“I trust you all know one another – but you don’t know why you’re here. Not too long ago, this site used to be the home of the Baxter Building. It was the name of not only a building, but a special school that Franklin Storm created to help teach the next generation of scientists, thinkers, and leaders how to make the best use of their incredible talents. Well, Franklin is no longer with us and the Baxter Building is no more. In its place stands the Franklin Storm Institute and ... as we have taken to calling this little project: the Future Foundation.”

The five of them represented a new start. Not only for Reed but for this world. ‘Teach them’ – Reed could hear the words of this world’s Reed Richards in his head still. Without the Baxter Building, without the timecraft, and without a route home, the Future Foundation had given Reed something to feel passionate about these last few months. It had kept his mind off what he had lost – who he had lost – and kept it squared on what mattered: the future. And the five teenagers in the auditorium were the future.

“You are all here because you have incredible potential. The five of you have been hand-picked because you possess attributes that mark you out as generational talents – but talent isn’t everything. That’s where the Future Foundation comes in. We are here to help the leaders of tomorrow help answer tomorrow’s questions today. Your learning will be tailored to each of your unique abilities and, as I’m sure you’ll all be very relieved to hear, will not be confined to the classroom.”

Reed looked out at the inaugural class of the Future Foundation with a broad smile. “So what say we get started?”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Torack
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Torack The Golden Apple

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The world seemed to bend in, a subtle shift towards the singular entity. The ground trembled and groaned from the pressure, dust shifting down from the shattered dome as the rent that tore reality closed behind the massive figure of Negal. As if from a far away place Fate could hear the clashes of distant battles, the cries of the dead and dying. And an even more subtle noise that grew in the back of his head, threatening to overwhelm him to the point of nearly driving him to his knees: the sound of a marching army. He felt sweat drip down his face behind the mask, and within, he felt Nabu shudder.

Fate could feel the eyes of the god regarding him, and for a moment he wondered how he came to this. Only a couple hours prior he was spending time with his fiancee, enjoying her company in their fancy condo. Now, he might never see her again. Funny how that worked. He always imagined himself dying with her by his side, or at the very least on earth. Who could've seen that he would face his end on a different planet light years from his own. It certainly wasn't lost on him either that his name was Fate.

Could he change it however? Could he possibly face a god and come out of it alive? It was mad to think so, but he certainly wasn't going to keel over and let it happen.

"I don't enjoy being used as a weapon, Wotan," Negal said in a quiet, deep voice. "It happened once, it will not happen again."

Fate noticed Wotan's smile falter. "Well, this earthling here will pose a threat to me and to you. He won't let you conquer his planet."

"There are others besides him. What will his death change?"

"One less to worry about?" He could see the nervousness beginning to set into the face the other sorcerer, her eyes widening slightly and sweat beading on her forehead.

Negal seemed to consider it for a time and shrugged his massive shoulders. "I'm here anyway. But this is the last time, Wotan. There will not be a third."

A look of relief overcame Wotan before she settled into an easy smile. "Of course not," then she turned to him. "You have fun with our mutual friend, Fate. I'm sure you'll find the experience quite exhilarating. Not often you get to die at the hands of a god." A bloom of power enveloped her and the construct then disintegrated into a puddle that slowly pooled in front of the throne.

"A shame," Negal said as he held out a hand. Within moments a massive and jagged black scythe appeared in his grip. "You could have been a great ally, Fate."

"You're having regrets about this?" Fate asked incredulously.

"Please understand that I mean no malice when I say your death is meaningless. It is the power I feel from you that I respect and regret that I could not have by my side. Alas," a knowing smirk crossed his features, "things don't always go the way we want, do they?"

His words only served to chill Fate's blood and as he absorbed the full extent of Negal's lament, the more afraid he became. "Whatever you think is going to happen, the power fate is mine."

The smirk turned into smile. "We shall see."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Lord Wraith
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Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat

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Location Marville - Oklahoma
Issue #2.04: Weirdness on the Edge of Town

| The Present

The welcoming aroma of freshly brewed coffee washed over Barbara like a warm summer’s breeze as she entered the kitchen. Blake was already seated at the island, sipping from his own mug as he looked up from the tablet in front of him, greeting his fiancé with a smile before rising to flip the bacon cooking on the stovetop.

“Eggs?” He asked as he began to pour her a cup of coffee, stirring in her preferred portions of cream and sugar before passing her the mug. Sitting down on one of the barstools arranged at the kitchen’s island, Barbara cupped the warm drink between her hands, fending off the chill of the winter air.

“Eggs sound perfect,” Barbara replied with a smile as the freshly cracked eggs fell into the pan with a satisfying sizzle. “Over easy though, please.” She added in her sweetest tone as Blake put two pieces of toast down.

“So…” Blake mused aloud as he gingerly flipped the eggs in the pan. “The Mayor wants you to take ‘Thor’ down.” He chuckled as Barbara crossed her arms defensively.

“You don’t think I could?” She asked as Blake turned to look at her, his eyebrow raised in an exaggerated arch. “Fine, but look, the Valkyrie isn’t supposed to ‘take down’ Thor.” Barbara explained as Blake slid her plate of food in front of her, resting an elbow on the opposite side of the island as he chewed on a piece of bacon.

“The Mayor’s idea, at least to my understanding,” Barbara continued, picking up a piece of her own bacon. “Is for Valkyrie to tackle the threats before Thor can. The Mayor doesn’t so much want to take you down,” She paused, a small laugh escaping her, “‘Cause I’m pretty sure most of the world doesn’t think that’s possible after the fight at the Raft,” Barbara scoffed as she continued. “But, I do think he does want to make it clear that Marville doesn’t need or want Thor here.”

“So Mayor Thomas wants to drive ‘Thor’ out of town?” Blake laughed as he dragged a piece of toast through the yolk of his egg, shoving it into his mouth as he swallowed before continuing. “Does he think Thor will just pack up and leave out of boredom?”

“I can’t say for certain,” Barbara retorted, her tone playful, “But I do think that’s the end goal of his ‘devious’ plans.”

“It’s a solid plan.” Blake scoffed as he finished the mug in his hand. “So does the Mayor then expect you to do something about the Dire Wolves?”

“Undetermined at this point, will I need to?” She asked with an amused tone.

“No,” Blake replied with a chuckle, “Heimdall and I are going to track down the rest of the pack later. He said they come from Vanaheim, so if we can lure them into a trap, we should be able to send them home through the Bifrost.”

The phones atop the island suddenly came to life almost in unison as Blake reached towards the vibrating device while Barbara held up her ringing phone with a forced smile.

“Roy,”

“Lamb,” Blake replied with a forced smile of his own as the pair leaned over the island, touching lips before nodding their goodbyes as both answered their phones.

“I can be there in ten,” Blake replied as he placed his phone to his ear, Sheriff Lamb’s voice detailing the situation in his ear on the other end of the line as he nodded along.

“Yeah, I’m ready whenever you are,” Barbara responded to her own conversation as she caught the leather jacket tossed her way by Blake, watching as he slid into his own suede jacket before holding the door for her. Walking out ahead of Blake, Barbara dialed Agent Perry, putting the phone up to her ear as she waited for the line to pick up before speaking.

“I’m on my way.”

“I’ll be there.” Came the Agent’s reply as Barbara ended the call and slipped the phone into her pocket. Nodding to Blake, the pair climbed into their respective vehicles before quickly pulling out of their driveway.

Location Morton Estate - Marville


A black sport utility vehicle sat parked on the side of the road as Barbara pulled her truck over, coming to a stop just behind the other vehicle. Climbing out of her vehicle, Barbara quickly zipped her jacket up as a cold Northerly wind blew over the flat plains on either side of the road, whipping around the long tails of Agent Perry’s peacoat as she climbed out of her own vehicle and walked towards Barbara, her hands buried deep into the pockets on the exterior of the coat.

Withdrawing a hand, Agent Perry held a small package out towards Barbara as the deputy reached out to accept it. Turning the black metallic case over in her hand, Barbara ran a finger along the seam before slowly lifting the lid to reveal a small subtle earpiece and contact lens inside. With a nod from Agent Perry, Barbara fitted the earpiece to her ear before placing the lens in her left eye, blinking a few times before looking back at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent.

“I’ll be on contact with you the whole time you’re in Lady Elaine’s home,” Perry stated matter of factly as Barbara heard the earpiece come online, “The minute you’re near the signal, I’ll let you know. Work it into your conversation, see if you can find out how much she knows but make sure you get a good look at the asset. At a minimum, if we get visual confirmation, my agents can move in for extraction.”

“Understood,” Barbara nodded as she turned to walk back to her truck before Agent Perry spoke again.

“Deputy,” She called as Barbara paused, turning to look back at her, “Good luck.”

“Appreciate that,” Barbara replied as she climbed back into the truck, pulling away as Agent Perry watched her tail lights disappear. Returning to her own vehicle, she activated the satellite uplink watching the ominous, blinking, red dot staring back at her from the screen as it hovered over the Morton Estate.

Continuing on her own way, Barbara approached Lady Elaine’s home, the automated gates opening for the large pickup truck as she slowly drove up the cobblestone driveway towards the pristine Colonial-style home. The cobblestone path led up a small hill into a roundabout that circled around a large fountain decorated with the smiling stone forms of several cherubs. Four white pillars suspended a balcony above the large double doors as numerous windows stared out of the white siding-clad walls towards her. The black shingled roof was adorned with two dormers on either half of the front facing slope as Barbara marveled at the sheer size of the building.

Marville proper was filled with a few small apartment buildings, nothing beyond three stories. Several townhouses dotted the town and the suburbs were filled with split-level bungalows. Outside of the town, two-story farmhouses made up the majority of the buildings with barns being far and wide the largest structures in the small mid-western community.

But the Morton Estate easily dwarfed all of the aforementioned as Barbara put her truck into park, climbing out of the vehicle and standing in front of the mansion. In front of her truck sat the Mayor’s BMW as Barbara quickly looked around for the Mayor, the sound of the door opening caught her attention as she turned her head to notice Roy as he exited the house through one of the large adorned double doors. Walking out onto the porch, the Mayor lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag and exhaling as he, in turn, looked around before glancing at his watch, obviously waiting for her.

“Mr. Mayor,” Barbara greeted Roy tipping her head forward before lifting her sunglasses up from her face, placing them atop her head. The Mayor in turn nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned to face her. Roy had obviously been here a while and looking at the Mayor, it was becoming clearer to Barbara by the second why Lady Elaine was putting up for the funds for Valkyrie.

The Mayor’s hair was ruffled and lipstick had stained the collar of his otherwise cleanly pressed shirt that was peeking out from beneath his blazer. The black tie around his neck had been hastily tied as he quickly took another drag of the lit cigarette before returning Barbara’s greeting, extinguishing the butt as he moved towards her.

“Mornin’ Miss Norris.” The Mayor replied as he extended a hand, grasping Barbara’s as he gave it a shake while reaching into his jacket for a second cigarette. “Glad you decided to accept my offer.”

“I have two conditions though,” Barbara stated as she pulled her hand back, holding up two fingers. “One, this will be my squad, I will call the shots, not Lamb, not you and definitely not our ‘generous’ sponsor.” She smiled as Roy’s face flushed slightly at the mention of Lady Elaine, his hand moved to his belt as he shifted his pants.

“Second condition,” Barbara continued, holding her finger up to Roy as he opened his mouth. “I’m choosing my team and it’s not going to be an all-female team. I don’t care how clever you and Lamb think naming the unit, Valkyrie, is.”

“So you aren’t using the name?” Roy asked, pausing as his hand wrapped around the doorknob.

“I am going to use the name.” Barbara smiled, “But only because it’s kickass.”

“Hell yeah it is.” Roy scoffed opening the door as the pair entered into Lady Elaine’s home.

Location Golden Age Trailer Park - Marville


”Sheriff Lamb,” Blake said with a forced smile as he climbed to the top of hill, wading through the waist-high yellowed grass as the crisp snow crunched beneath his boots. “Is this going to become a regular occurrence?” He asked lifting the aviator style sunglasses from his face as he pulled the sherpa covered collar of his suede leather jacket tighter around his bar neck.

“Only when fuckin’ weird animals keep causing trouble in my jurisdiction, son.” Lamb responded as he motioned for Blake to follow him.

“Couple of the residents reported hearing howls the last couple of nights.” Lamb started as he nodded his head back down the hill towards the trailer park. “Last night we down at the station got a call from one concerned resident who felt the howls were getting a little too close for comfort. Nonetheless, we didn’t respond. Had hoped the last wolf was something of a freak incident, but I did some digging on the internet there and found that er, giantism-”

“Gigantism,” Blake corrected as the Sheriff chuckled.

“Yeah that, gargantuism, I read it’s a possible mutation. Figured the wolf was a freak of nature and why not? Y’all got mutants runnin’ around New York, why not here?” Lamb shrugged as Blake motioned for him to get to the point. Waving a hand dismissively, the Sheriff continued.

“Couple of kids were up here playing, told their parents what they found and well,” Lamb paused lifting the broad-brimmed hat off his head and placing it against his chest before nodding forward with his head. “Probably just better if I just show you.” The Sheriff said as he placed his hat back atop his head as Blake followed behind him. Walking through the snow, a foul scent washed over Blake’s nose as the pair walked several yards, the snow turning from white to a glistening red in the morning sunlight.

Laid out on the ground in front of Blake was the remains of the rest of the Dire Wolf pack. Their bodies maimed and dismembered as they were laid out dead across the cold ground. Each carcass nearly as big as the first, easily rivaling the size of the bison they had originally attacked.

“There’s always a bigger fish,” Blake muttered nearly beside the nearest carcass as the Sheriff scoffed behind him.

“I don’t know if y’all do much fishin’” Lamb retorted, “But ain’t no fish did this.”

“Figure of speech, Sheriff.” Blake replied in a flat tone as he hovered a hand above the wound. Deep lacerations covered the creature, fur and flesh cleaved apart but the bones still held despite showing signs of repeated damage. Standing, Blake walked to the next carcass finding the wounds consistent with the first as he knelt down to examine it. Each subsequent wolf carcass showed the same injuries as Blake shook his head, over the course of his schooling and his career he had never seen injuries consistent with these.

But Thor had.
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I definitely don't have the passion for the show tonight. My drumming is fine, I'm too good at it for it to be otherwise. Sorry, I know that comes off as conceited, but I'm a damn good drummer. Before the whole superpower thing came along, this is what I was best at. This is what defined me. Sure I'm smart. Sure I'm probably better-than average in the looks department. But here behind a snare I am truly at home.

Not so much at home when I'm wearing this damn Elf costume though. I look like Buddy the Elf's emo younger sister. I can't take it, even if MJ swears this is the last time she'll make us wear costumes.

It probably says something about me that I willingly dress up as a spider and jump around the city, but when my friend asks me to do it for our band I rebel against it. Maybe Dad is right. Maybe I really do have too much of an issue with authority.

Playing at a consistent venue has been nice, though. The place pays us decently enough, and the acoustics aren't terrible for an old Queens bar. A soft yellow light illuminates the inside, creating a homey feel when mixed with the Christmas sweaters that adorn the patrons.

So far no one's cat-called me here, which is a plus, especially considering the costumes. I feel like if we had gone with some of the
other places we were looking at, I would have broken a few hands by now. Bars willing to throw some cash at a girl, punk-slanted band
normally aren't going to be the most reputable places, so we really lucked out.

The set ends, we get a healthy amount of applause, MJ grabs the tips out of our bowl, and we head to the back to change.

"Good set, everyone," Glory smiles as she rips the elf hat off her head. She waves it at MJ, "Can I burn mine. Please let me burn mine."

Mary Jane merely crosses her arms and glares at her bandmate.

"Jeez," she puts her hands up, "it's just a joke. Relax, girl."

"Yea, MJ," Betty adds in. "Let's all remember the Christmas spirit."

"She's a mean one, Mrs. Grinch," I mumble under my breath and the other two laugh in a squeal.

"Do you have something to say?" our lead vocalist and my best friend shoots my way. "Because now would be the time to say it."

I look into her eyes, and realize she's felt as much tension the last few weeks that I have. Wearing my heart on my sleeve is a habitual problem. Maybe karate guy from tonight is right, I do need to do a better job of controlling my emotions. Or maybe I've just waited way too long to tell MJ how much of a witch she's been since Harry's Dad became the de facto mayor. Either way, this is coming to a head now, and I'm not going to be the one to back down.

"Maybe I do, yea," I rub my right arm with my left hand, showing how uncomfortable this is making me already. I don't want to like...friend breakup with Mary Jane. But I do need to tell her how shes making me feel like shit. "For the past few weeks you've been acting like this is your band. Like we're all here for you, and not to have fun and play our music. And outside of the band, ever since Harry's Dad got the big-"

She throws her hands up in the air, "I knew it! I knew you were jealous of how much Harry's been spoiling me since the Goblin line came out. Well I'm sorry, Gwen, but my boyfriend is rich and that's how he likes to treat me."

I recoil like I've been slapped, and Glory and Betty merely cover their mouths in shock.

"You think I'm jealous? Of money? Do you even know me?" I ask with my eyes narrowing at her. "I don't give two shits about how much money Harry spends on you. The MJ I know wouldn't either. That's why I'm pissed. Because my best friend is turning into a shallow trophy wife. You expect me to be okay with that? Well, newsflash, I'm not. So either cut this Kardashian bullshit or find another drummer."

She looks down at her feet and up to the ceiling, never making contact with my eyes. I don't know if she's pissed or embarrassed, but either way it's probably not good for me. I can feel the tension radiating off the other two girls standing next to me. There is no way this is going to end well.

"Well maybe we should find another drummer then," she says after an interminable pause.

I turn and leave, "Good."

**********


The Next Day

I flip the card the man gave me around in my hand, watching as it changes from the dragon emblem to the address and back again. I haven't decided if I'm going to track him down or not. Sure, he's offering to train me to fight better, something so many people have told me I definitely need. But he's also a rando guy who showed up on a rooftop and challenged me to a fight after mocking my inability to take down the Cat the other night.

So let's just say I'm conflicted. Having the night I did last night with Mary Jane doesn't help things either.

"You say he offered you training?" Dad asks, the trepidation showing in his voice. He's been the one pushing me to get some training. He said it right after our run in with the Black Tarantula, and he's been on my case about it ever since. But even he probably can't see this as a good idea. Stranger danger and all that. "What was your read on him?"

All I can do is shrug, "Hard to get a read on him. He was calm. Didn't seem like he meant me any harm. And what he showed on that roof, he could have taken me down, more likely than not. But I'm not discounting that this could be a trap."

Dad slides the knot of his tie up to his throat, making sure it looks okay for the dinner we're headed to, "You want me to check the address out first? Do some scouting for you?"

I shake me head as I make sure my dress is laying okay, "No. I don't want someone spotting you and putting two and two together. I don't want anyone else to know who I really am under the mask."

"Good point," he admits. "You ready?"

"Yea, let's go."

**********


"Hello! Welcome! I'm so glad you could come tonight," Aunt May welcomes us into the house, and Dad hands her a bottle of wine. I give her a big hug.

"We wouldn't miss it for the world, May," I smile and meet her gaze, full of vibrancy even at her age. Even after what happened with Ben, she's still the same, happy, loving woman she's always been. It's a miracle. It keeps me going. It also keeps me terrified of the day she finds out the truth. About how Ben is dead because of me.

"Yea, May, we wouldn't want to be anywhere else," Dad smiles broadly. "Something smells delicious."

"Typical," I roll my eyes.

"Can I take your coats?" Peter asks after he gives me a peck on the cheek. "And we're having turkey, Captain Stacy. Will all the trimmings."

Dad's eyes raise, "Just for the four of us? I can put away the food, May, but that's an awful lot."

"Well, it's not just the four of us," Pete says sheepishly. "MJ and her mom are coming too."

My eyes go wide as I glare at Pete, "Let me help you with the jackets, Peter."

He winces when I use his full name, knowing that it means I am definitely not happy with him right now. I'm sure May invited the Watsons, but I could have at least gotten some warning.

"I know, you think I should have given you some warning," he says as we drop the coats off in his bedroom. "But then you wouldn't have come. You need to be cool with her."

"I'll be cool with her when she stops acting like a-"

"None of that," he stops me. "Not tonight. Now come on. We'll have some cookies before dinner."

"Yea. That'll help me feel better."

**********


"And I come around the corner, and there Ben is, balancing on the ladder like something out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon," Dad says between a forkfull of mashed potatoes. "And he looks down at me and says 'George...I seem to be in a bit of a pickle'. I swear I've never laughed so hard and was so scared at the same time."

Everyone around the table laughs, but it's the sad kind of laugh that people have when remembering someone who's passed. It's like a spasm of joy tinged with pain at the end, so you don't really know how to feel afterwards. Ben stories are the best. At least they were the best. Before he was taken from us that is. Now I just wish he was here to make more of them.

MJ and I catch each others' glance fleetingly before looking away. We haven't really said a word to one another outside of our hellos. I don't think Pete's reconciliation is going to happen tonight. But at least we're not screaming at one another.

"Well, Ben always insisted on putting up the Christmas lights himself," May chuckles and takes a sip of wine. "Even Peter couldn't convince him to help."

"Nope, always told me that the lights were for me to enjoy, not to work on," Pete smiles sweetly at his plate. "I always did enjoy them."

"Always the best on the block," MJ adds. "Now if we put them up against Gwen's mom's designs? Then that would be a competition."

I look up and half-smile at Mary Jane, and she returns the gesture. Mom loved Christmas more than most. She always drew up some crazy display for Dad to put on the house every year.

"Yea, the two of them had quite the friendly rivalry," May nods. "Poor George always got the worst of it."

"I had to basically do two houses. One actually putting up the lights, and two making sure Ban didn't fall off a ladder,' Dad looks down and wipes away a tear, I'm not sure from sadness or the laughter. He picks up his glass, "To the people we lost too soon. Hopefully they're somewhere celebrating together."

"Here, here," May raises her glass as well.

**********


As we get ready to leave after a wonderful Christmas Eve dinner, Mary Jane manages to corner me as I go to get the coats, "So are we going to talk about last night?"

"No," I respond, putting on my coat. "I"m sorry if I came off as harsh, but I mean it, MJ. You've changed."

"And you haven't?" she shoots back. "You've been aloof? You haven't been showing up for practice? Maybe I'm not the only one to be at fault."

"Yea, well, sometimes people have shit to deal with," I hiss. "And at least I haven't become a raging gold digger. Merry Christmas, MJ. I hope Harry got you something shiny. I'm sure that's what you're hoping for."

I regret the words immediately, but don't wait around to see their outcome. It is a low blow. It's something I would never consider saying to her. Not in a million years. But maybe I'm not in control of my emotions. Maybe it is time to talk to rooftop karate guy.

Dad and I say our goodbyes to May, Peter, and Mrs. Watson, and step back into the cold. I can tell Dad wants to ask about what's wrong, but instead he puts his arm around me and we walk home in silence.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Byrd Man
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Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

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Tonight’s Episode
“Pros & Cons”


Midtown
Heroes for Hire Offices


“Do you like art? Either of you?”

Murray Sandoval looked between Misty and Chase after he asked his question. Sandoval, dressed in a navy blue tartan suit with matching bowtie and pocket square, was ever bit the dandy Chase had heard he was. The famous Manhattan art gallery owner seemed out of place among the more… humble architecture of Chase and Misty’s office. File boxes from the Campisi case were still stacked around the room. Sandoval had placed his blue homburg on the stack of boxes beside his chair before he sat down.

“When it comes to art I know what I like,” said Misty. “There used to be a Jacob Lawrence mural down the street from where I grew up in Harlem. It showed black people on the move, whole families with suitcases and somewhere else to be. That's always stuck with me for some reason.”

The Great Migration,” said Sandoval. “A representation of the African-American flight from the deep south in the early twentieth century. I know very well where that mural was. It’s a shame they took it down, but such is the way of urban renewal. And what about you, Mr. Chase? What sort of art stirs your soul?”

“The one where the dogs are playing poker,” said Chase.

Sandoval looked as if he’d smelled something especially foul. His upper lip curled and his left eyelid twitched.

“Ah, I see. It seems as if that old adage is true: money can hardly ever buy taste.”

“Look who’s talking about taste, Gainsborough,” Misty said with a smirk and nod towards Sandoval’s attire.

“Well, Ms. Knight, you do seem to know your art,” he said tightly.

“What can we help you with, Mr. Sandoval?” asked Chase. “If it’s to keep insulting me, then you are free to do so as long as you can pay our fees.”

“I need help recovering a painting,” said Sandoval. “Something from my private collection was taken two nights ago. And it’s a very delicate situation, very delicate.”

“All due respect, Mr. Sandoval,” said Chase. “That sounds a bit out of our scope. I know that you know that the NYPD has an excellent art theft division that can assist you--”

“He can’t go to the cops,” said Misty. “Because the painting he needs back was either already stolen or he bought it illegally. Or maybe both.”

“Your partner speaks the truth, I’m afraid,” said Sandoval. “It’s a lovely Junior Hallinan that I acquired some years ago. Said painting went… uhh… missing during a transfer from an art gallery in San Francisco to one in Minneapolis. If I were to report it to the authorities, questions would arise as to how I acquired it. Questions I would rather avoid answering.”

“Very well,” said Chase. He reached for a pen and scratch piece of paper. He jotted a number down and showed it to Misty. She nodded and Chase passed it to Sandoval.

“Seems a tad high,” Sandoval said sourly.

“I’m sure the NYPD would love to do this job for free,” said Misty. “In fact, I can call one of my old friends from 1PP and see if they got time--”

“No,” shouted Sandoval. “No, that’s - that’s fine. This price will work.”

Chase shared an amused look with Misty before turning back to Sandoval. “Thefts like this don’t just happen out of the blue, Mr. Sandoval. Do you have anyone you suspect would want the painting? Someone with means.”

Sandoval leaned forward in his seat and nodded vigorously. “Oh, I’m almost certain is was Branford Wilmont.”

“Branford Wilmont,” said Misty. “How do I know that name?”

The Branford Wilmont,” asked Chase. “The Reclusive billionaire who lives on Wilmont Island? A man-made fortress island in the middle of the East River. That Branford Wilmont?”

“The one and the same,” said Sandoval. "He's always lusted after that painting, he has since I outbid him at auction for it!"

Misty and Chase exchanged glances.

“Yeah,” said Misty. “We’re going to need more money if that’s the case."

"Why?"

"We're going to need to bring in a specialist. Luckily, I know a guy… well, actually, I know a guy who knows a guy.”

---

“So there’s this rich guy named Chase and he was all like ‘Yeah, my dad owns this law firm I can do whatever,’ but is dad was like ‘Guess again, fool, you want a job you gotta work for it.’ So Chase was like ‘Damn, that’s cold, but you know what? I’ll become a prosecutor investigating dirty cops!

“That’s when my girl Misty came into the picture. She was this badass sister who had like a Pam Grier thing going on and you know that’s my thing, right? Coffy, Foxy Brown me and my cousin used to watch those movies back when I was a like twelve or thirteen and it made me feel a funny way, you know? Like a tingling--”

“Focus.”

“Right, well Misty was this badass cop out on the streets. She was busting drug dealers left and right and was like ‘Knock knock! Who’s there? Justice!’ But then this other cop named Scarfe got into Chase’s ear and was like ‘You know what? Misty Knight, she’s dirty.’ And Chase was like ‘That’s messed up. But you know what? If I bust her my dad will offer me a job!’ So he did and Misty was like ‘I’m innocent!’ and Chase was like ‘crookedcopsayswhat’ and Misty was all “What?” And Chase was like ‘Got you, dummy! You’re done!’

“So Misty was kicked off the NYPD, right? Only she proved her innocence and showed up to Chase’s house and was all like ‘See, fool? It was your boy Scarfe that did me dirty.’ And Scarfe was like ‘Yeah, I did it, but you won’t find out why because I’m about to be mad murdered. Smell you later!’ So Chase was all like ‘I’ve learned a valuable lesson about how messed up our criminal justice system is. I’m gonna quit the DA’s office and start working to change things from the outside. Yo, Misty, you wanna work together?’ And Misty was like ‘Cool.’ So that’s how Heroes’ for Hire started.”

“Okay,” Scott Lang said after a long silence. “But, Luis… what’s that got to do with me?”

“They need our help on a job.”
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Hound55 Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!

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“Any sign, Frenchie?” I speak through the three-way comm link.

“No. Nothing on the South side. Do you need me to pick you up?” DuChamp’s reply from the chopper.

“No. No sign of him here either, but there is enough to keep me busy...”

“Busy? You take care, Marc.” Marlene comes in through the ‘Home’ terminal.

I hurl myself off the Franklin Center with a laugh.

“I don’t know, Marlene. ‘Take care’? Might throw me off my rhythm.”

I cast my glider cape wide and catch a huge gust, riding the early evening wind as my eyes narrow inside of my mask. The target? The stickup boys who have a pair of tourists cornered down a back alley from the Loop. I circle around the building so I don’t drop in too hot, which also deprives them much of an opportunity to see me coming.

I plow through the main threat; a kid with a butterfly knife, as I sweep through boots first to make my landing. Silver flashes as a crescent dart pins a second to a brick wall by his jacket and I hurl my truncheon into a third’s chest, before pulling it back on its cord. The final one runs.
I grab the one pinned against the wall forcibly.

“Aww man… Why me? Why don’t you go-- I mean-- what about him, man?!”

With my off hand I grab another crescent dart, and quickly launch it using only a quick snap of my forearm.

“Him? He’s the cautionary tale. And why you’re glad you didn’t run from me...” I growl.

A bloodcurdling scream fills the back alley as the dart finds a home, sinking deep into the runaway’s calf, all the way to the bone.

My eyes narrow, and the stick-up punk thinks for a second that he saw them flash and glow a luminescent blue.

“He--he--heeere.” He says, meekly reaching inside his coat and producing wallets, and a second closed concealed flick-blade.



There’s not a dollar out of place.

Suddenly Samuels broke over the home line. “Sir, if I might interject, it is getting close to time. And by the time you’ve showered…”

“Yup. I hear you.”

“...and put on fresh clothes…”

“You’ve made your point.”

“...and gotten changed...”

There it was, the not-so-subtle dig.

“You heard the man, Frenchie. Pickup from the Loop.”



The day shift floor of the Chicago Central Detectives room gave way to the night shift. Flint stood in the corner and waited. Both for his partner to get back from the can and for the briefing to commence.

“Gwenn in?”

Flint nodded stoically. It was a reasonable question. Whilst a lot of detectives would fight tooth and nail for overtime hours, Gwenn had clocked easily the most absentee days of anyone in either shift at Central. His age and experience seeming to be the only reason this was not a greater issue. Captains would drag a younger detective over the coals, put the fear of god into them to bend them and make them change their ways early.

When they got to Gwenn’s age however, an age was senior even to that of Flint, such measures were generally no longer attempted. Whether it was because such men had been seen to earn their stripes already, or because grown men didn’t take kindly to swinging dicks, the general gist of the matter was the same:

You can’t teach old dogs new tricks.

Most of the others in the unit weren’t terribly concerned anyway. Gwenn was “one of the old boys”, his numbers suited Captain Miles Brennan-Kasser just fine as he’d closed off a number of murders earlier in the year - as they’d met their end crossing the path of notorious gangbangers, and half of the unit padded their paychecks with overtime hours scored off the back of Gwenn’s absences.

Except the guy who frequently got the shit-shifts because Captain Two-Dads wouldn’t give prime assignments to the one man car.

“Passed packets yet?” Gwenn asked, having just returned from the bathroom and referring to whether assignments had been doled out by the Captain yet.

“Nah." Flint replied. "Shake it off?”

“You know it.” Gwenn gave a lewd, wide grin. “Just like Taylor Swift.”

Detective Tammy Hall turned from the seat in front and gave a disgusted look.

“Let’s not act like we all haven’t seen or heard worse, Hall.”

Flint shrugged. “Hey, Tammy, least you know he has two layers of clean dry fabric between him and you...”

“Two? You’re not my Irish mother. Flint. If she couldn’t get me to wear underpants, God rest her soul, what chance you think you got?”

Flint bent down and gestured at his partner. “So however rough the next crime scene you go to Hall. Just remember I have to share a car with that guy. I’m terrified of letting the techs get too close to our car with the blacklight. At this point… I just don’t want to know anymore.”

“Alright knuckleheads, listen up!” Captain Brennan-Kasser broke up the smatter of chatter, and sought to press his weight on the briefing room… and the braces which held his pants up.

Flint zoned out throughout the Captain’s speech, only switching back on once he heard the distribution of assignments.

“…Hall and Stills, to the viaduct on this Slumcity Slasher beat. Flint and Gwenn, 610 and B & E out at North Center. Residents returned home and reported theft.”

“A burglary? C’mon, Hall. You want to swap? You really want to be interviewing bums all night?”

The Slumcity Slasher as he’d been dubbed last week, had the basic MO of attacking the native Chicago homeless community. Nobody really had a good look at him, and the fact he’d been targeting the city’s most underprivileged also played a role in why few real developments had come up.

“No swapping! Flint, don’t you have enough of a caseload as is?” the Captain called across the room.

Flint grumbled. He was loathe to see homicides go to less experienced detectives, whilst he and his partner got stuck with a two-bit burglary and break and enter on the rich side of town.

Gwenn had the address, and the pair went to the car.

*****

GENA’S DINER

“Crawley! Leave them boys alone to do their homework!” came the shrill order from the owner and operator of Gena’s Diner.

“If you would believe it, I was actually aiding them in their studies. A question pertaining to calculating compound interest, which was a matter that I was quite familiar with from…”

“I don’t care! Let them boys figure it out amongst themselves. They got the book there I can see it!”

Ricky and Ray Landers were sitting in a booth with scribbled on napkins bunched on the table and floor as they had tried to find the answers which matched what was listed as the solution in the teacher’s key in the back of the text book.

“Sorry Crawley, Momma gets a bit strict on our maths stuff at the moment.”

“Yeah, since you got a D last month!”

“I studied for geometry and teacher hit us with algebra. All them letters meaning numbers booshit...”

“Ray!”

“Sorry Momma. Thought we were going to be bisecting circles and putting equilateral triangles in ‘em.”

“Well, if I can’t be of any utility here, I might as well make my way to the domicile…”

“You’re leaving? You be careful, Crawley. I don’t like your skinny ass walking on out of here by yourself, you old coot. Been hearing all of this violence in the newspapers…”

“It’s quite alright, Gena, my good lady. Our mutual friend Jake Lockley has been good enough to provide a room and board for the time being, whilst this nonsense is taking place.”

“Let me get my coat. I’m driving you there. Boys, I’m locking up here in the meanwhile. Don’t you go letting anybody in, and just you make sure you do your homework while I’m out. I’ll be checking it when I get back.”

“Yes, Momma.”

“And just you watch out for your younger brother too, hear?”

“Yes, Momma.
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Dad and I lounge on the couch, some meaningless college football bowl game on the screen, and the sun begins to slowly sink down below the horizon. Neither of us have changed out of our pajamas all day, which I would consider a perfect Christmas day. Well, Mom being here too would be a perfect day. But this is about as good as one can get from here on in. And I'm not going to complain about that one bit.

"So are we going to talk about it?" Dad asks after stuffing a cookie into his face.

"Talk about what?" I ask, not looking up from spinning the new drumsticks Dad got me. "The training thing again? I think I'm at least gonna go check it out, yea. Worse comes to worst I'll just run away or something."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he looks at me sideways. "I was talking about the Stacy and Watson Cold War at dinner last night. We almost didn't need to refrigerate the leftovers."

Looking up, I meet his gaze. He's worried. Of course he's worried. Why wouldn't he be?

"It's complicated, Dad," I shake my head.

"Is it? My experience as a teenager says nothing that happens at your age is all that complicated," he deadpans.

"Really? Not even being bitten by a genetically chaotic spider, getting superpowers, and having to save the city time after time? You had a much more interesting childhood than you'e ever let on, Dad," my eyebrows raise at him.

He tilts his head at me, "You know what I mean, Gwen."

"Dad...she's just become ridiculous. Her and Harry both. Acting like the own everything around them, and they're better than everyone else," I explain. "And we got in a fight about it. She threw back that I haven' t been...well present recently. She's not wrong on that front. But still, she won't even admit that she's been totally different ever since Oscorp got the Goblin line into production."

"Sometimes that happens, sweetheart," he tries to explain. "But you want to be there for her when she realizes the mistakes she's made. We all do things we're not proud of when we're young. But you don't want to lose a friend like MJ over something like that. Okay?"

"Yea." I know he's right, but it doesn't make me feel any less mad at her.

Before either of us can say another word, a breaking news bulletin comes across the TV, interrupting the game.

"Sorry to interrupt your Christmas day, ladies and gentlemen, but we have breaking news coming across our desk. Several Manhattan banks have been robbed in the last hour, all reporting what could be massive explosions ripping off the vault doors, with masked men awaiting the money from outside. Police assume more robberies will be committed before the night is over, and are urging all citizens to stay at home and stay off the streets to ensure their safety. We'll update you with any additional information as it comes in. Now, back to the game."

Saved by the crime, I guess.

"Looks like superheroes don't get the night off," I say to dad as I head to my room to change into my suit. "I'll keep you updated."

"I might go into work as well," he said, heading to check his phone. "They may actually use me on this one."

"Sounds good," I nod to him. "Be careful."

"Yea...you too."

**********


It doesn't take me long to follow the trail of blown out banks littering Manhattan this snowy Christmas night. The flakes started to fall as I began swinging into the heart of the city. On a normal Christmas, it would be the perfect cap to the perfect day. Now it just means things are going to be even more of a mess.

So far I haven't seen any flames in the destroyed banks, but it definitely looks like some kind of bomb went off in them. A few cop cars are at each site, but so far I haven't seen a huge response from them. The perils of calling people in on a Holiday, I assume. No one expects a crime spree on Christmas night.

Man, my life is starting to sound like a Monty Python sketch.

Not only are the streets devoid of cop cars, but there's not anyone milling about. Not all that surprising, Christmas is a kind of night where New York is quiet. But the utter lack of anyone is a bit creepy, if I'm being honest. The warning must have gotten out pretty well. Either that or people are celebrating a lot harder than they usually do on this night.

"So where are you going next?"

I don't need to search for long, though. Two blocks down, the first floor of a building blows out like a can of Coke stomped on from above, showering the street with glass and debris. A black van speeds towards the front of the bank, and men in yellow, old-timey hockey masks jump out and begin shuttling money from inside.

One of the men tosses a bag towards the van, and I snatch it out of the air with a webline, "Well someone is going on the naughty list for next year!"

"It's Spider-Woman!" he yells as I toss the bag of money back at him, knocking him off his feet.

"I'm gonna be honest," I land on the van, "I really don't understand why you guys are always so surprised to see me. Who the hell else is going to show up when you're robbing banks?"

"Waste her!"

With that, the gunfire starts. They always have to try and shoot me, don't they. Guns. So uncivilized.

The bullets fly around me as I corkscrew through the air, using my Spider Sense to stay perfectly safe. As I do, I fire weblines, clogging their barrels and causing them all to misfire. I land in the middle of them, and shake my head, "You guys never learn. I think I know what your New Years resolution should be."

"Down!" a voice yells from inside the bank, and all the guys in the yellow masks drop to the ground. Before my reflexes can save me, a pressurized vibration of air slams into me, sending me flying back. My hip hits the top of the van, sending a sharp pain radiating down my leg and causing me to windmill through the air until I land hard on the pavement.

Groggily I look up to see the men finish loading the van. They all get inside, and I see the one who just blasted me. He's wearing some weird, red and yellow padded suit, and on his arms are chrome, metallic devices that hum with a potent energy. He waves at me mockingly before saluting me.

The van speeds off and I try and shake the cobwebs out of my brain so I can give chase.

"I swear to god, next Christmas all I want is no super villains."

The Spectacular Spider-Woman
in

Jingle Bell Shock!

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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Morden Man
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Morden Man

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New Atlantis, Atlantis

Four days had passed since Orm had passed by Sue outside of Namor’s study but she thought of little since. Hours spent studying had revealed precious little about Namor’s ‘mad’ general and even less of his bloodline. Though even the king had spoken of Orm’s exploits at Xebel, the literature seemed to suggest that he barely existed. In fact, much of the literature around the Glorious Reclamation was pointedly short of detail – which was especially conspicuous given the many, many detailed volumes of almost every other period in Atlantean history.

Even today on a national festival set aside to celebrate the Reclamation, Sue found herself unable to answer even the simplest of questions about it. Though usually governed by strict, martial sensibilities, the festival was one of few joyful, expressive gatherings that took place in the nation’s capital – and for whatever reason, the king had insisted that Sue Storm be given pride of place at his side for it.

“Is this completely necessary, Namor?” Sue murmured as she tugged on the traditional Atlantean dress she was wearing. “I feel absurd in this get-up and it’s pretty clear that your subjects don’t appreciate my presence here.”

She looked anything but absurd. In fact, it had not gone unnoticed by some Atlantean subjects that sat beside their unmarried king on the podium, Susan Storm looked every bit the queen. Looking the part and wanting it were two very different propositions – and being wanted was an altogether different one. Though Namor seemed to enjoy Sue’s company, his subjects did not seem to share his regard. From the way they looked at her the very opposite seemed true.

“Nonsense, Susan. My subjects do as their king commands. They would gladly lay down their lives for me if I commanded them to. Enduring the presence of a surface-dweller is not beyond the capabilities of the average Atlantean, I assure you, no matter how pungent the smell.”

The insult was thrown out in such a passing manner that it took several seconds for Sue to process it. “Excuse me?”

“Oh,” Namor said with as near to a sheepish smile as Sue had seen the king conjure up. “I thought you were aware of it. You surface-dwellers give off an odour that is very off-putting to the Atlantean nose. I believe it’s all the pus you ingest from those ugly bovines creatures. Dairy?”

She simply shook her head at the inquiry and turned back to the festivities. From the pedestal that Namor and Sue were sat on, they could see the entire procession of revellers passing through the streets of New Atlantis. The princess Namora had insisted upon sitting a level lower than Sue, whose presence there she considered an affront as ever, but her mood had brightened once the festivities had begun.

The significant military presence did not seem to quell the celebrations. Atlantis had a long, almost Spartan history that made its inhabitants accustomed to the presence of trident-wielding soldiers on almost every street. With tensions high since the Drowned’s attack on Tlapallan, the soldiers seemed more on edge than usual. Sue stared down at them for a few seconds before directing an inquisitive look at the king.

“Tell me more about the Glorious Reclamation.”

A servant scuttered towards Namor and offered him a golden platter covered in food. The king looked through it, his hands dancing above the pieces of fruit and dried fish, before finally he reached for a heart-shaped plant Sue did not recognise. It was purple with thick vein-shaped lines running along it. As he bit into the plant it burst open and sent green liquid squirting down the king’s chin.

The king wiped the juce away from his chin with the back of his hand and looked proudly at Sue. “What is it that you would like to know?”

“Well, your highness, all I have read so far are glowing accounts of your glory in battle," Sue said with a diplomatic smile designed to ensure she did not incur the wrath of the Atlantean monarch's famously changeable mood. "And as enthralling as those accounts are, they are very light on actual facts. The more I know, the better I can advise you. So with that in mind: what was the great treason that the line of Atlan com-”

The proud smile on Namor’s face disappearing stopped Sue mid-sentence. The king stood up from his seat and threw the half-eaten plant down to the crowd of revellers in the crowd beneath them. The Atlantean’s fought amongst themselves for possession of it. Namor watched on whilst Namora and the other minor royals laughed at the commoners. He turned back to Sue and pointed down to the adoring crowd.


“All you need to know, Susan Storm, is that through battle I restored honour to Atlantis after generations of degeneracy – and so grateful are my loyal subjects that every year they celebrate the defeat of Atlan at my hand. What more is there to know? You need only look down at their adoring faces to understand the love my people hold in their hearts for their king.”

There was something there in the king’s gaze. Something that Sue couldn’t quite discern. Was it guilt? Shame even? Namor turned away from her before she could work it out but there was clearly something not quite right there. She considered asking another question when a fracas among the crowd beneath them caught her attention. A young girl no older than twelve or thirteen had managed to push her way to the front and was being set upon by armed guards.

“What are they doing? She’s a child,” Sue said as she leapt from her seat and shouted down at the guards. “You’re hurting her! Let her go.”

The guards looked towards their king for instruction. Namor felt the weight of the crowd’s gaze upon him – but the weight of Sue’s expectant stare seemed to wear on him more heavily than all the Atlantean faces staring back at him. He lifted a finger in the guard’s direction and with a dismissive wave forced them to stand down.

“Do as she says.”

They let the blue-skinned girl go and there was a roar of approval from the crowd. Sue smiled at Namor gratefully and, perhaps buoyed by Storm’s warmth, the king gestured towards the guards to help the little girl onto the pedestal with them. They lifted her up and Sue stretched her hand out and pulled her beside them.

“Are you okay?” Sue asked as she knelt before the little girl with a maternal smile. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

The little girl shook her head. She looked several years younger than her age, badly fed, and the rags that were hanging from her light-blue shoulders looked as if they had seen better days. Poverty was a rarity across Atlantis. The festival had brought beggars from across Atlantis to the capital to take advantage of the good-will created by the festivities. To be brought before the king was an act of kindness so wild that not even the most hopeful Atlantean could have dreamt of it. But Sue Storm had made it a reality for one girl.

Ignoring Namora’s protestations, Namor joined Sue and placed a hand on the child's shoulder. “Have you come to pay tribute to your king?”

A broad smile appeared on the girl’s face and she drew back the portion of the rags covering her arm. Emblazoned on the girl’s forearm was a tattoo of a whirlpool. Its significance was lost on Sue but she noticed the king’s face twist with shock. He opened his mouth to shout a warning to those around him but before the words had left it there was a flash of blinding light. The pedestal and much of the crowd beneath it were hit by an explosion so powerful it sent shockwaves through the entire capital.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by IceHeart
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IceHeart

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Carol Danvers Is



S.W.O.R.D Nevada Base/Underground Hangar

All I could do was stare at the alien timer as it ticked down. One minute thirty seconds left and counting. I wanted to try something, anything to make it stop, but trying to type a completely alien password would probably just instantly set off the sentry's activation and if I tried to blast it I'm sure the same thing would occur. Then I heard a voice I hadn't heard for months, I couldn't help my heart give an irregular thump at his voice.

"Quickly make way! I should be able to stop it before it's defenses activate!" I turned around and almost froze as I saw him, Larson, no, Captain Mar-vell running across the floor straight toward the panel with two SWORD guards having trouble keeping up with him. His green eyes were focused on the panel and I could tell he didn't recognize me in my outfit though the slightest hint of surprise at my outfit registered on his face. Any questions he might have been thinking of were shoved to the side as he focused on his mission.

I stepped out of the way as he reached the panel and quickly started to tape away at the symbols. 30 seconds left and dropping. He quickly finished but then the screen glowed red.

"What!? I'm sure I did it right." Larson cursed and typed in the password again but his efforts were thwarted by the computer. "Impossible, the password was changed!?" Larson slammed his fist on the panel in frustration as his face contorted in frustration, his eyebrows knitting together in anger.

"Larson, what's going to happen next?" I asked, forcing myself into mission mode while suppressing the whirl of emotions stirring in my heart upon seeing him again. Now was not the time for anything personal.

"How do you know my-" He started to say as he turned to look at me, but once he got a good look at my eyes realization dawned on his face, his eyes opened wide in shock. "Carol?" I could see the clear confusion on his face but then the timer reached zero and the panel quickly shut closed. Then the whole massive device started shifting and changing.

We both quickly jumped back as what had been merely a large hunk of metal suddenly started to contort and change, like a giant transformer until it took on the shape of a large, robotic humanoid. Sentry 459 towered above us at a height of around 9 meters or so, what had at first been an only silver metallic object now changed color as a good portion of its body changed to purple as it activated. It shifted it's large head downward to get a good look at the array of people and machinery gathering before it. Then in a clear voice it started talking in Kree, which I and Larson could understand but no one else could.

<THIS UNIT, SENTRY 459 HAS DETECTED UNAUTHORIZED ATTEMPTS AT ACCESS. IN ACCORDANCE WITH KREE PROTOCOL THE OFFENDERS WILL BE TERMINATED>

As soon as it had finished the sentry's eyes started to glow bright blue and I knew instantly the fight had started.

"Open Fire!" Agent Brand commanded the staff and instantly gunfire and small rockets erupted from all corners of the hangar. Explosions washed over the sentry, dousing its entire being in orange and yellow fire, but the sentry just took the beating without budging an inch. Then the the sentry fired.

I jumped out of the way as did Larson while twin beams streamed out of the sentry's eyes. The twin beams started with our previous positions then it raised its head, causing the twin beams to travel in the same direction. I watched in horror as the twin beams ripped through the hangar, obliterating all in its path. Two hangar turrets, a parked quinjet, and an unfortunate SWORD agent were incinerated in the blast in the space of a single second.

I had no time to gap at its destructive power as I quickly had to run out of the way as the giant machine attempted to step on me. The force of it's foot causing cracks to appear in the floor. I quickly took flight, spun around in the air to avoid a gigantic fist and fired my photon blast straight at the robot's face. The yellow energy smashed into it, causing the robot to have to firmly plant its feet to steady itself. My attack appeared to be the first to actually do much of anything against the monstrosity, however the damage appeared minimal at best, the only sign of it being effective was the slightest chip out of the purple plating on the edge of its face. I knew the robot couldn't show emotion but for some reason, my eyes seemed to think the sentry looked a little pissed at my attack.

Brand went into full commander mode as she started barking out orders. "Keep that thing's attention occupied! Don't keep in one place and keep rotating around it. Open the bay doors! If this thing stays in here it'll blow up the entire base! Where's the heavy weaponry!" As she shouted the sentry started to really amp up its attacks as fingers turned into rocket launchers, metallic tendrils sprouted from its back equipped with high energy bolts, probably plasma based, which started to pepper targets around the hangar. Alarms sounded as the giant ceiling bay doors started to force themselves over ever so slowly while men scrambled in all directions, returning fire upon the sentry.

I watched in horror at the unfolding chaos and then a stray bolt exploded right next to Larson, causing his body to fly through the air. Without a second thought I raced behind and caught him before he could hit the ground. His entire body seemed to glitch out of existence only to be replaced with his actual form, a blue-skinned humanoid in an outfit quite similar to my own though showing a lot less skin.

"Not exactly how I wanted to reveal myself to the world." He managed to quip as he tilted his head back to look up at me, a slight smile on his face.

As much as I wanted to give a witty comeback or smack his head, the solider in me knew now was not the time.

"Head in the game Larson, now that you have no excuse to hide anymore how about you help us take down this thing." I let him go but instead of dropping to the ground he floated in the air, I noticed two glowing purple bands on his wrists that must have been giving him the power of flight.

"I'll help but, frankly Carol I don't know if it is possible to stop Sentry 459. Its combat mode is fully engaged and someone has changed the password, locking me out of its systems. My weapons will certainly be more effective than your human weapons but I just don't have the firepower to crack through that armor." I watched as some small green dots on his arms spat out some metallic substance which quickly reformed itself into a large-barreled gun.

"Stop flirting with you alien boyfriend Ms Marvel and start fighting!" Agent Brand yelled as she rushed over to where we were floating so we could hear. "I know you're new to this thing Ms Marvel but I need you to fight like a superhero! You're not just a soldier anymore so get out there and keep that thing from blowing up this base!"

I cringed in embarrassment at her stop flirting comment but I knew she was right, despite adding flying to the mix I was still only fighting like a solider, firing shots and avoiding getting hit in return. It was going to be tough undoing years of experience to change my fighting style but I had to remember I wasn't exactly human anymore.

The sentry's head turned to a rising quinjet and readied its eyebeams again. Instantly I sprang into action and rocketed directly into the attack path of the robot. All my senses screamed at me that I was going to get killed by the blast, disintegrated by the attack just like the SWORD agent during the first salvo, but I ignored my battle trained instincts and flew on.

"Carol!" Larson, no, Captain Mar-vell yelled as he tried to grab me but I was way quicker than him.

Within a moment I was in position and staring straight down into the soulless eyes of the giant machine. I crossed my arms in front of my face as I braced for impact as the brightest lights I had ever seen flashed, dousing my entire being in their overwhelming energies. I yelled out as the felt the massive energies course into my body, heat seared through my entire being and it felt as if my body was going to be ripped apart, yet that feeling only lasted for a moment. Soon my body got used to it and the my body, instead of threatening to burst open started to literally brim with energy from the sentry's beam attack as it finally stopped after what seemed like an eternity but was literally only about a second.

"I don't know why you are here but I can tell you right now, that you're not welcome on Earth!" Putting my hands out in front I let all the excess energy I had just absorbed flow through my hands, causing a massive burst of energy to slam right into the sentry's breastplate. The force smashing into the machine caused the massive robot to topple over and collapsed onto the hangar floor with a resounding crash.

I could hear a few cheers from SWORD members but that was short lived as the massive automaton started to rise back unto its feet. Once again Sentry 459 spoke while everyone, including Captain Mar-vell restarted the assault.

<POTENTIAL THREAT DETECTED, REALLOCATING RESOURCES TO PRIORITIZE ELIMINATION>

"I guess I just became Sentry enemy number one." I groaned as all of its efforts refocused themselves on me. At this point the hangar door was completely open and the remaining quinjets had all scrambled to safety. From the corner of my eye, as I was forced to do some intense flying acrobatics as massively limbs tried to swat me out of the sky, I saw the SWORD team get together what looked to be a massive rail gun from out of a side chamber in the hangar.

"Finally have my heavy artillery." Brand commented as the railgun was affixed to the ground. They pointed the massive gun at the robot's center mass and as I realized it was probably a good idea to move completely out of the way, a massive limb stuck me from the side. My head exploded in pain and my vision turned white as the massive kinetic force from the blow stuck home. Another wave of pain struck me from behind as I smashed into the hangar wall, the force was so strong I had literally sunk partially into the wall. My vision quickly came back and I was amazed at just how, non-dead I was feeling. I could still think, the pain had already subsided somewhat, and my body felt ready to propel itself back into action.

The sentry brought a fist back to try and finish me off but then a massive shot rang out as the rail gun fired onto the sentry. Once again the sentry stumbled and parts of its metal casing had been ripped apart, but it looked like the shot had not managed to get full penetration. Sensing another threat the sentry quickly fired some rockets at the railgun, ending its short but semi-productive career.

"So much for the heavy artillery." I mumbled as I removed myself from the wall and prepared to attack when suddenly, the sentry just stopped moving for seemingly no reason at all. But only for a moment, as the bottom of its feet flared up with a brilliant blue as the giant machine propelled itself through the opened roof and into the sky.

Captain Mar-vell stared at it for a moment puzzled. "That's strange, there should be no reason for it to stop fighting unless." I could see realization dawn on his alien features as he noticed a small hover sled, that kind of looked like a metallic desert skiff from Star Wars, floating next to the hovering sentry. "Colonel Yon-Rogg..."

I could feel my blood boil upon hearing that name as the two of us flew up after the sentry. Soon we were floating face to face with the colonel who had a disgustingly satisfied look on his face. Seeing him again reminded me vividly of my humiliating capture and how my life had been completely changed from that moment. The Kree Colonel took a long hard look at me and laughed.

"Ha ha so is this the reason you've become a traitor to your own race Mar-vell? You've fallen for one of the aliens you were ordered to observe?" It didn't seem like he noticed who I was but no doubt he was commenting on our similar outfits. Ugh, was everyone going to assume we were an item because of how we were dressed? I mean, technically we were almost to that point, before I figured out Larson was an alien spy, but this was seriously starting to annoy me. I collected energy in one of my fists but the colonel quickly positioned himself so the sentry would shield him if I tried attacking.

"Why are you doing this Yon-Rogg! I know you hate me but what do you hope to accomplish by hijacking Sentry 459? Are you doing all this just to kill me?" Captain Mar-vell asked, trying to get information while thinking of a way to turn the situation around.

"Please Mar-vell, yes I can assure that you will die for humiliating me but there is so much more to this than just our personal squabble. You see this planet has become to chaotic and dangerous of a place, in fact I've heard that a deadly warlord already has his sights on this world as we speak. If he manages to conquer this planet his power will surely increase to a point where he could even prove a threat to the Kree Empire! I am sure you know what this means Mar-vell."

As he spoke I tried to find a way to take him out but whenever I tried to discretely fly around, the colonel shifted his own position to compensate, the alien knew how to keep himself safe. Mar-vell's face distorted into understanding, I of course had no idea what that could mean.

"No! You can't do that Yon-Rogg! You'll destroy this entire planet! What about all the effort the Kree Empire has put into this planet!?"

I turned to look at the distraught Mar-vell, my own thoughts now racing with questions. How would Yon-Rogg destroy the planet and more importantly, what did Mar-vell mean when he talked about the Kree putting so much effort into Earth? What was the Kree empire planning all this time?

"I would love to kill you myself Mar-vell but I need to escape before this planet is destroyed. But because I do want you to suffer a bit more and wallow in despair I think I'll just add a little parting bit of sport for you to enjoy. It will take a little while for Sentry 459's reactor to warm up so in the meantime I'll just send it to attack the largest settlement in the area. I know how much we military men hate putting civilians in danger." With a few clicks on his own console, the sentry turned and shot off into the desert at an incredible speed.

"A shame to lose the potential Kree military might but I'm sure the Supreme Intelligence will understand why I had to do this. Good-bye captain."

The colonel quickly sped away in the opposite direction and though I wanted to go after him I knew that there was a much more pressing matter.

"Ok Mar-vell, speak to me here. How is he going to destroy Earth?"

"I'm sorry Carol, for everything." Mar-vell sounded defeated as she started sadly at me. At that look, all of my frustrations boiled over and without a second thought, I slapped him in the face.

"Damn it Mar-vell! This is mostly your fault! Now you're going to tell me how to fix this before my world is destroyed by your empire!" I knew my words weren't completely fair but he had a lot of explaining to do and I was royally pissed after everything that was going on and what I had been reminded of.

"It's impossible, there is no way to stop it in time! Look, Colonel Yon-Rogg has set Sentry 459 to overload, its reactor core will keep creating energy until it overloads its entire system, making the reactor core transform into a giant nega-bomb. Once it reaches critical mass there will be no stopping the explosion which will completely devastate the Earth."

"Maybe it is Mar-vell but I am not going to stop trying until the last moment. Also I think I may need to save Las Vegas from being utterly destroyed in the meantime if my pilot senses are correct. Either come with me and try to stop it or go after Colonel Yon-Rogg, but if you are truly sorry then I expect you to help me save my world."

I pushed him away, glared at where the sentry had disappeared to and started to give chase as quickly as I could. "I can't believe my first mission as Ms Marvel is going to be saving the world. No pressure Carol, no pressure, only all of mankind is counting on you right now. Still, it feels a little easier than facing Larson right now..."


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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by AndyC
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AndyC Guardian of the Universe

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SOLITUDE

PART THREE


The Fortress
Undisclosed Location in the Arctic
Two Months Ago


"Let....*hngh!*...let go of me!" I snarl as I strain against the snake-like tendrils of liquid metal that coil around my arms and legs.

Please do not resist, the voice of Kelex, the Kryptonian servitor robot floating in front of me, resounds in my head. It is against my wishes, my programming, even my very nature to cause you harm.....but you must stop this. If you continue to struggle, I will have to use more forceful measures to restrain you.

I manage to wriggle an arm free, and lunge at the silvery orb, which darts below my fist with no visible effort.

"You say you don't want to harm me," I say, wrenching at a metallic tendril that has wrapped around my torso, "but then you want to make me your prisoner?!"

I wish nothing of the sort, Kal-El, Kelex responds. I intend to keep you safe. This planet is in a state of flux that will, in all likelihood, lead to cataclysm. As more metahumans arise, destructive conflict becomes more and more of an inevitability. And far worse than that, this world has drawn the attention of forces beyond them. The entity known as the Silver Surfer is proof enough, but I also have reason to believe that the Collector of Worlds has found a way to establish itself on this planet as well. Acting in tandem, these 'heroes' may have the power to turn away some of these threats, but eventually one will come to pass. They will all die, Kal-El. And you with them. Unless I take preventative action.

The tendrils pull me down, and above me, I see Kelex begin to change shape again, his spherical form once again opening up like flower petals, then splitting into four parts.

These four segments of itself hover in the air in a square pattern, and between them, I see a shimmering light begin to form. Spinning slowly, the shimmering light takes the form of a flat square, like a sheet of glass, until it starts to crackle with light around its edges. The inside of the square grows darker, like looking down into a cave....or a pit.



You will be kept from harm in the confines of the Phantom Zone, Kelex's voice buzzes in my head. A lower spatial dimension where matter and energy exist, but have no substance. Where the electromagnetic patterns of consciousness persist even in the absence of a physical body. In that space, separate from this material plane, you will be able to wait out the impending crises in safety, until humanity and all of the threats it brings upon itself have passed.

As the translucent square-- some sort of gate or portal to this 'Phantom Zone,' I guess-- grows larger, I feel it pulling me towards it. At first a gentle tug, barely perceptible, but within seconds I feel it rip me away from the tendrils that were holding me in place, pulling me in like a black hole.

I put every ounce of focus I can into rebuilding my gravitational field, to fly away from the Phantom Zone portal. Resisting with all my might, all I can do is slow down its pull.

"I--*ngh!*-- I can't let you do this!" I shout, my body wracked with agony as I strain against the portal's grip. "Lock me away in another dimension, because--*rgh!*-- a disaster might happen? I won't--"

You must, Kelex responds. We were spared the destruction of our home world, Kal. I must do all in my power to spare you the destruction of this world as well.

The pitch black void inside the shimmering square, like a pit that falls forever, seems to reach out to me. Shadows erupt from within, flooding the cavernous chamber with veins of darkness.

I grit my teeth, and shift my thoughts away from my gravitational field, and instead towards the searing heat building in my eyes.

This thing, thinking it knows what's best for me, wants to take me away.

Away from Earth.

Away from all of the people I swore to protect, from all of the work I have to do.

Away from Ma.

Away from Jimmy and Perry and the rest of my friends at the Planet.

Away from Lois.

If it succeeds, I'll never see any of them again.

Kelex thinks the only way to survive his prophecy of doom is to run away and hide.

"Like hell," I say, and let loose with blasts of scarlet light hotter than the core of the sun.

The beams strike into the heart of the Phantom Zone portal, scattering across the crystalline surface. At first, it doesn't seem to have any effect, but the more scorching heat I pour into the darkness, the more I see the black shadows reaching out from the portal turn brown, then red, then orange and yellow, before giving way to a bright white and--



.

.

.

.



...OOF, HOLY MACKEREL, I ACTUALLY FELT THAT ONE!

ISN'T THAT JUST TYPICAL OF OUR BIG BLUE BOY SCOUT? HE LEARNS THAT THE RIDICULOUS SLICE OF TIME/SPACE HE CALLS A UNIVERSE IS JUST A TINY FACET OF THE UNTHINKABLE WHIRL OF REALITIES, AND WHAT'S THE FIRST THING HE DOES WHEN THINGS GET DICEY? SHOOTS SOME LASERS AT IT. ALWAYS WITH THE BRUTE FORCE, LIKE TRYING TO ATTEMPT BRAIN SURGERY WITH A CHAINSAW. FIGURATIVELY, I MEAN. THOUGH I GUESS THERE ARE A FEW INCARNATIONS THAT MIGHT TRY THAT LITERALLY....

ANYWAY, WHILE YOU'RE HERE, I'VE GOT A THOUGHT EXPERIMENT FOR YOU. WELL, IF YOU CAN REALLY CALL THE JUMBLE OF ELECTROCHEMICAL REACTIONS GOING ON IN THOSE SQUISHY GRAY LUMPS IN YOUR HEADS 'THOUGHTS,' BUT I DIGRESS.

YOU LIVE IN A MOSTLY EMPTY VOID WITH THREE MEASLY SPATIAL DIMENSIONS AND TRAVERSING IN ONE DIRECTION ALONG THE TEMPORAL ONE. IN THAT VOID THERE ARE SWIRLING BALLS OF GAS, AND AROUND ONE OF THOSE GAS BALLS IS A WET ROCK THAT STARTED GROWING THINGS ON IT. THAT'S YOUR WORLD, AND IT'S A REAL HORROR SHOW. WAR, POVERTY, STARVATION, DISEASE, AWFUL THINGS HAPPENING TO PEOPLE WHO DON'T DESERVE IT LEFT AND RIGHT. CHILDREN DIE IN AGONY FROM INCURABLE FORMS OF CANCER. KINDLY OLD PEOPLE GET ABUSED AND ROBBED BY PEOPLE WHOSE JOB IS TO TAKE CARE OF THEM. WHOLE TOWNS AND CITIES GET WIPED OUT BY TORNADOES AND EARTHQUAKES AND WILDFIRES, LEAVING THOUSANDS DEAD OR MAIMED OR HOMELESS. ALL YOUR FAVORITE MOVIES KEEP GETTING REBOOTED WITH TERRIBLE CGI AND OBNOXIOUS POLITICAL AGENDAS FORCED INTO THEM.

AND WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN?

THE FIRST SCENARIO IS THAT YOU ARE THE PLAYTHINGS OF DARK FORCES, CAST INTO THE WORLD TO SUFFER AND TOIL AND DIE FOR THE AMUSEMENT OF ENTITIES BEYOND YOUR ABILITY TO UNDERSTAND, WHO DEMAND YOUR WORSHIP AND GET OFF ON YOUR PAIN.

THE SECOND SCENARIO IS THAT THERE'S NOBODY IN CHARGE, THAT THIS WAS ALL JUST ONE BIG COSMIC ACCIDENT AND YOU PLAY YOUR PARTS ON THE STAGE OF THE ABSURD FOR AN AUDIENCE THAT ISN'T THERE, THAT YOU'RE ALL JUST PASSENGERS IN A CAR ON FIRE WITH NO DRIVER AT THE WHEEL.

ASK YOURSELF: WHICH OF THESE SCENARIOS IS MORE TERRIFYING TO YOU?

HONESTLY, THE ANSWER DOESN'T MATTER.

BECAUSE THEY'RE BOTH RIGHT.

SEE YOU SOON, KIDDOS!




......my senses start to return to me. My head is swimming, my body aches, and I feel simultaneously nauseous and incredibly hungry.

Around me, I see smoke starting to dissipate, flashes of white light and black shadows, sparking off of each other like downed power lines.

I sit up, and where the shimmering portal once was, I see two figures in robes.

"....I can hardly believe it," says one of them, a dark-haired man with a short beard. "And yet, here you are."

"Everything we've suffered, it's worth it all for this," says the other, a beautiful woman with bright blue eyes.

Alert, alert, anomalies detected! I hear the voice of Kelex. Kal-El must be detained before these anomalies--

"That's enough, Kelex," says the man.

"You have forgotten the virtue of our House, Servitor," the woman scolds Kelex. "You have let fear overtake your Hope. Yet the child--the man--before you shows that hope can be rewarded, even after the end of all things."

"I....I know you," I say, hardly believing my eyes as I stand to face them. "I've seen you....in my dreams, my visions.....you're...."



"I am Jor-El, last Patron of the House of El," the man says. "I am your father."

"And I am Lara Lor-Van," says the woman. "Your mother."

"Our time in this plane is short," says the man...my father... "but in that time, we have many things to discuss."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Supermaxx
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Supermaxx dumbass

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Silent Night, Holy Night #2


Metropolis, Delaware - Suicide Slum

The angelic cords of Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah flittered through the cold, winter air with a haunting grace. Spotted with sharp, angry static, that muffled tune slipped out through the cracks and dents in a conspicuously-inconspicuous van parked on that lonely, otherwise quiet street. Nothing moved through the snow banks but shadows and the whispers of a snapping breeze.

It was Christmas night and the only creature stirring was Paco Tejas.

His fingers danced across his worn and well-used keyboard like a decuple of musclebound ballerinas, occasionally pausing as their owner lost himself in the music. Paco loved this song; it was his favorite Christmas song, in fact, and he hadn't stopped blasting it since 2007 and wouldn't stop until the day he dropped dead. He cycled through different covers of it occasionally, but he always came back to Buckley in the end. There was just something about the way he sang that made it so beautifully heartbreaking. He was lucky his very Catholic parents had never paid close attention to the very Uncatholic lyrics.

As enthralled in the lyrics as he was, he didn't notice the approaching figures until one of them had already thrown open the van's driver side door. Paco gave a start, nearly leaping a foot from his seat at the loud churning of old metal that came with every attempt to move the door. His terror caught in his throat when his gaze met Brenda's tired eyes, her cheeky half-grin doing little to abate the embarrassment he felt. "You're...back!" He called, his voice cracking as he tried and failed to laugh the incident off.

"Observant as always, Paco." His best friend called from behind him, dragging Paco's head around. Jaime's shoulders were sagging, and there was something oddly subdued about his ton. Paco didn't catch it, however- not that that was in any way out of the ordinary. He hadn't even noticed Reyes open the double-doors that made up the van's rear, much less crawl inside and make himself comfortable among the blankets and pillows they'd called home for the last three months. It hadn't exactly been easy. Most nights they went to bed a little hungrier than the last, and it just kept getting colder and colder and colder...but Paco wouldn't trade it in for the world. Playing sidekick to a superhero and dodging their way around an international organization of spies and assassins had to be the most fun he'd ever had; he was basically living in a movie, and he was going to cherish every pulse-pounding second of it.

"Alright," Brenda let out a slight sigh, brushing the greasy, unwashed hairs from in front of her face. None of them had gotten a chance to shower that week. They stopped by the Kord Outreach Center as often as they could, but Brenda was adamant they avoid frequenting the same places too many times; it only took one person recognizing them, or one picture getting out, to bring SHIELD's hounds running. They could never be too careful. "Where're we holding up for the night? Find anywhere good, Pac?" She asked, her voice ragged and tired from a hard day's work. It wasn't going to be enough cash to get them through to the next care package, she knew, but it was way too late to start another job; not to mention just how exhausted she was.

Paco pursed his lips, glancing at Jaime through the rearview mirror. The two's gazes met, their minds seemingly going to the same place in that instant. "Well, I didn't find any five-star hotels, buuut..." He started, only for Brenda to abruptly cut him off with a laugh.

"No. Nooo, no, no- you can't be serious. Do you see the time?" She waved her hands in front of her chest, an incredulous look on her face as she swiveled her head between Jaime and Paco. Neither of them were laughing with her.

"Come on!" Paco protested. "It's close, and it shouldn't take long at all!" He turned toward his computer, punching in a few keys as he brought up a map of the city. There were colored, digital 'pins' stuck in the map at varying locations throughout Metropolis, and a little cartoonish version of their van pointing out their current location.

Brenda scrunched up her nose, looking back at Jaime in disbelief. "We've been shoveling snow all night, aren't you exhausted?" She asked, hoping to God that he'd agree with her so she could finally get some much-needed sleep. Much to her regret, however, he only shrugged.

"I mean...it's the whole reason we're out here, right?" Jaime reasoned, choking back a yawn. "Plus the sooner we find this guy-"

"-or girl-" Paco interrupted.

"...thing..." Jaime offered him the briefest glare before continuing. "...the sooner we can get everything fixed and head back home."




Metropolis, Delaware - Hob's Bay

Lines of warehouses stretched as far as the eye could see, their shadows cast long across the concrete and asphalt. There was nothing alive down here save for the rats; the sharp odor of old fish hung so heavy that even the most desperate of wanderers would find somewhere else to spend the cold, winter nights. Jaime practically leaped out of the back of the van, throwing the doors wide as he took in the horrific scent like it was cotton candy at a carnival. "Really wakes ya up, doesn't it?" He snickered, calling over his shoulder to the others. He appreciated the change of scenery a great deal more than he'd like to admit, and he was excited to finally be doing something. It felt like an eternity had passed since they had last pursued a lead.

Dr. Caulder's alien had been a ghost of a ghost, alluding them at every turn. Brenda and Paco weren't even sure the thing was real at this point, but Jaime never stopped believing. He'd seen that bastard's face when he told him about the second alien...The alpha, Caulder had called it. It was another of the doctor's obsessions. If they found it, they'd hopefully pick up on his trail again. It was...a long shot, to be sure, but it was the only shot they had.

"Unfortunately." Brenda replied with a heavy sigh, dragging herself up alongside Jaime with her hands stuffed into the pockets of her heavy winter coat. "And here I was thinking I couldn't smell any worse than I already do. Silly me."

Paco stumbled out of the passenger side of the vehicle, his backpack clutched to his chest like it was an old woman's pearls. His fuzzy Trapper Hat was secured rather firmly to his head, the unsecured flaps flittering with every awkward movement from the boy. "Oh, no, you smell- fine!" Paco assured her as he hustled to join the other two, only just realizing how that sounded. "Err, uh, I mean-"

"No she doesn't." Jaime stopped him.

"No, I don't." Brenda was quick to agree, hurrying that conversation away as quickly as she was to start down the rows and rows of warehouses. "Let's get this done nice and quick before I pass out." From lack of sleep or from the scent of dead cod, she didn't know, but Brenda would rather not wait around to find out which one would do her in first.

A look of shame and defeat crossed over Paco's face as he made his way after her, careful to only stay a few steps behind while not getting up into her personal space. "Place kinda gives you the spooks, huh?" He asked, trying and failing to start a conversation to get the last one out of memory; that, and he felt the need to keep the silence away. It was dark, and the looming shadow of all these buildings- and the knowledge of what had happened here- only emphasized his need to keep talking.

Once Brenda was well ahead of him, Jaime cut back, grabbing Paco by the arm to drag his friend back with him. The two kept their pace up enough that she couldn't get too far ahead, but far back enough for them to talk for a moment. Reyes leaned in just to be safe. "Dude, ya gotta take it easy."

"What do you mean?" Paco coughed, his eyes going everywhere but to meet Jaime's.

"You know what I mean, man. You're trying too hard!" Jaime said, slapping him on the arm. "Take it down a notch. Play it cool. All'a that stuff. Girls like it that way."

"Whadda you know about girls? You can't talk to Traci without bumbling like an idiot!" Paco countered defensively, his cheeks puffing up. "You get one suit of alien armor and suddenly you're an expert on everything."

"Like you do any better!" Jaime shot back. "You've known Brenda since you were twelve and you still haven't told her how you fee-"

'Unknown energy detected.' Khaji Da's voice rang in Reyes's mind for the first time in quite awhile. 'I recommend vacating the area immediately or arming yourself in preparation for attack.' The alien had gotten less and less talkative since the first incident with SHIELD, only ever popping in when Jaime asked for his help.

It was...odd, but Jaime hadn't felt the need to ask Khaji about it. 'Guess I can't really tell Paco off for doing the same thing, huh?'

"Eyes up, guys, we're close!" Jaime called, pulling himself back into the present and mentally preparing himself for whatever might lie ahead. It was just then that he noticed Brenda was no longer walking in front of them and had managed to disappear while he and Paco were talking. For a brief moment, he felt the pull of growing panic, but the sound of her voice in the distance calmed him- somewhat.

"No shit! Come check this out!" She yelled from inside one of the nearby warehouses. It looked like it'd suffered quite a bit of wear over the decades, several holes marring its walls, rust covering the metal and the wood chewed up by termites and the slow weathering of time. Jaime and Paco rushed inside to see what she'd found, an unexplainable anxiousness sprouting up in Jaime's chest.

He passed inside the warehouse, his gaze met by a wall of sheer darkness. He could barely see anything more than five feet ahead of him, save for the faint outline of several wooden crates stacked up on top of one another in front of him. Jaime sucked in air between his teeth, his eyes shifting back to Paco who was already picking through his backpack for flashlights. "Here ya go." He handed one off to Reyes, taking one for himself as he struggled to sling the bag back around his shoulder.

Jaime flicked the light on, illuminating the darkness in front of him. Every visible surface was covered in dirt and grime, a layer of dust hanging just above every box and discarded piece of trash in the place. Nothing in here had moved for months at the very least; maybe even longer than that. He started deeper into the warehouse, keeping the beam of light moving as he took in his surroundings. Old shelving covered in rusting tools, rotting plywood and marred pieces of sheet metal. "Brenda?" He called out nervously, shifting between his feet as she shuffled deeper into the cavernous chamber. "You're still alive, right?!"

"D-dude!" If Jaime was nervous, then Paco was about to pass out. He could barely stutter out that single word between his chattering teeth, that feeling of anxiety laying heavy on his shoulders as he advanced just behind Reyes into the mounting darkness. This was the worst part about adventuring, he'd realized: actually adventuring. Anything could be lurking in between the scattered and broken storage containers. His fears were far from irrational; the things he'd read about in the last eight months...all of the bombastic superheroes and excitement came with a healthy dose of demons, monsters and sadistic, superpowered serial killers. "M-maybe I'll go wait outside..." Paco gulped, slowing down significantly.

Reyes sighed, stopping to turn and look at Paco. "Why don't you tell me again about what we're doing here?" He asked, hoping to get Paco's mind off his fear and onto something at least semi-productive.

"W-well, uhh..." Paco nodded, trying to force the words out between his slicked teeth and wavering jaw. He'd read over the article on a 'Local Paranormal Mysteries' website at least three times. There was a lot of nonsense on that site, but this one looked the most legit. "T-the dock workers don't come by this part of the pier anymore. I-it started with them complaining about...a...a feeling that someone was watching them, y'know? But it got worse over time. They started wearing weird- weird noises coming from the warehouses, a-and they were finding d-dead animals a-and, like...one of the workers went missing around here, s-supposedly, b-but the cops never found..."

His eyes went wide, nearly bulging out of his head as he started to rapidly retreat backwards. "Oh God. They never found the body. God, Jaime, we're gonna die-"

"Get a grip!" Reyes hissed. "I can protect you guys, but only if you stick with me. Just stay behind me, watch my back and- and...why hasn't Brenda said anything yet?" He whipped around again, letting his light trace along the wall. The far wall. He hadn't noticed that they'd gotten all the way across the room, yet there hadn't been any sign of Del Vecchio yet. "HEY! BRENDA! This isn't funny, okay?! You're freaking me the fuck out now! Brenda!" And yet again there wasn't a reply but the cold, malignant whisper of the winter breeze.

"Fuck this." He muttered under his breath, dropping the flashlight to the floor. "Khaji-" Before he'd even finished, Jaime could feel the sickening movement of his flesh as it made way for the escaping carapace of his alien armor. That slick, chitinous stuff shoved it's way up through his bones and slithered over his skin until every inch of him was shielded from harm by it's living metal. "Scan for her. And gimme night vision while you're at it."

'As you wish.' Khaji Da gruffly replied.

The Scarab complied, a sonar-like ping being sent out in every direction. It would send back an echo of everything producing body-level heat in the vicinity. Provided Brenda hadn't been flash frozen like that freak in Gotham, Khaji Da would find her. In that same vein of thought, it had already activated the green-and-white specialized vision for Jaime that would let him search with his eyes as well as with the scanner.

Only it wasn't working like it was supposed to. Jaime's vision was popping in and out, filling with static for short, quarter of a second bursts before returning to normal or failing and shunting the world into darkness. The scanner wasn't working properly either- it kept giving multiple short pings, like there were several people right next to him. "What's going on, Scarab?" It didn't make sense; it only should've been pinging Paco once. It must've been broken or...or something.

'NOT' Khaji Da practically screeched, its voice echoing and distant yet blarringly loud in Jaime's mind.

"What the hell?" He breathed, a hand going up to grasp his head. "Scarab, what's wrong?" Something...something was hurting it- him. He didn't know what, or how, or why. But the Scarab was in physical pain, and it was leaking into Jaime's brain and sending bursts of dulled agony through his nervous system.

'NOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOTNOT-'

"J-jaime. Jaime, behind-" Paco screamed too, but it was already too late.

Something drapped in shadow had already wrapped its arm around Jaime's throat, dragging him backwards into the darkness. It wasn't particularly strong, but whatever it was doing to the Scarab made it impossible for Reyes to focus on anything but the pain he felt inside of his head. He let out a howl, flailing his arms like a madman in an attempt to tear the force off of him.

It tripped him, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the floor, his back somehow passing directly through whoever was standing behind him. Paco was screaming, the Scrab was screaming, Jaime was screaming as shadows began to pass over his chest and limbs. Then they swallowed up him, and everything went quiet.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Byrd Man
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Byrd Man El Hombre Pájaro

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Heroes for Hire Offices
Midtown


Scott Lang didn’t look like much to Chase. He appeared to be on the schlubby side and had bad posture. Although Chase had learned in the past not to judge a book by its cover too much, he couldn’t help but be… whemled by the man. But Misty gave him her seal of approval. Well, she gave motormouth Luis her seal of approval and he had given his to Lang. Luis, Lang, and Misty were all in Chase’s office. Chas had Gladys hold all his calls while the four of them got down to something Chase thought he would never do in his life: plan out a heist.

“Branford Wilmont,” he said as he held up a dated magazine photo of a thin, white man with shaggy hair from the late 80’s. He looked uneasily at the camera and underneath his photo were the words SULTAN OF SMELL.

“His family made their fortune when his great grandfather invented the scentstrip.”

“The what?” asked Lang.

“If you ever get a magazine and there’s that annoying little pieces of paper with cologne and perfume samples stuck inside of it, then you have the Wilmont Family to thank for that.”

Misty picked up the thread. “Branford’s family was already old money by the time he was born, so he had all the privilege you expect of a scion.“

“He was a car?” said Luis.

“What?” asked Chase. “No. A scion isn’t just a car. It’s a child of a prominent family.”

“So like Chase,” said Misty. “Silver spoon and all that.”

Chase held out a finger. “Except little Branford’s silver spoon came with a nasty catch. Everyone knew how his family made their money. The Rockefellers and Gettys of the world had oil, the Wilmont’s had perfumes. He grew up with the nickname ‘Stinky.’ With a nickname like that, makes sense what he did as soon as he got the chance.”

Misty held up a photo of a US soldier carrying an assault rifle. Stamped on the side were the words BBW. “Branford sold off all the family’s rights to scentstrips and the company that produced them. With the money he parlayed the family fortune into a new business: BW Weaponworks. It’s one of the big three contractors the US Department of Defense uses for all its needs.”

“This was right around the mid 90’s,” said Chase. “So weapons and defense were going cheap in the post-Cold War harmony of America.”

“And then 9/11,” said Lang. “And two wars later--”

“Branford’s hundreds of millions are now billions,” said Misty. “And he has it all hidden on his island.”

Chase and Misty looked out the window of his office. Lang and Luis followed suit. Even from the modest Midtown walk-up, they had a clear view of the man-made island that sat in the middle of the river.

“Wilmont Island,” Luis said wistfully. “Scotty and I know all about it.”

“It’s like a thief urban legend,” said Lang. “Everyone claims to know someone who once got on the island. Everything from Nazi Gold to Walt Disney’s frozen head is supposed to be stashed there.”

“What we do know is this,” said Chase. “Wilmont is a prolific arts and antiquities collector and Wilmont Island is considered an impregnable fortress. Every inch of it is under some kind of electronic surveillance, patrolled by an ever rotating series of security guards so that no one person can memorize the place and become a potential inside man.”

“What’s worth a crazy suicide attempt?” Lang asked, looking towards Misty and Chase.

“A painting by an artist named Junior Hallinan,” said Misty. “A client of ours recently had it stolen from him and he says that Wilmont stole it.”

“Is it Atlas’ Resolve?” asked Luis. “It’s got like a buff guy flexing his muscles? A classic staple of the American Realist genre?”

“Yeah,” said Chase. “How did you know that?”

“Cause I stole it,” Luis said with a big smile.

“What?” asked Lang.

“Yeah. Kurt, and Dave and I stole it from Murray Sandoval.”

Lang looked hurt. “Why didn’t you cut me in?”

“You were working that job in Gotham, the one you won’t talk about.”

“Oh…" Lang cleared his throat. "Yeah.”

“Wait,” Chase held a hand up. “You were the one who stole the painting?”

“Yeah,” said Luis. “Someone emailed me about doing a job. They knew I had mad connects with Murray Sandoval. and this email was all like..."

Twenty-Five Minutes Later

"So we stole the painting from Sandoval’s house and delivered it to a storage unit up in Brooklyn.”

“Back up,” said Chase. “Back way the hell up. How do you know Murray Sandoval?”

“He buys my recreations,” said Luis. “I paint copies of artwork, he buys them and sells them to other people.”

Chase, Misty, and Lang all exchanged looks.

“Luis,” said Misty. “That’s art fraud.”

“We all got our side hustle,” said Luis. “Scotty, you work at Baskin-Robbins on the side, some people drive Ubers, I got my own thing between jobs.”

“I'm going to pretend like I didn't hear you admit to committing a felony” said Chase. “Instead I'm going to ask how good you are with your forgeries.”

“They’re recreations,” said Luis. “Tributes to the work of the original artist, those old masters whose art I hope to one day surpass... and I’m good enough that I get paid and nobody has come back on Sandoval since I been doing it.”

“Good,” said Chase, a smile appearing on his face. “I think I have an idea.”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by HenryJonesJr
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HenryJonesJr

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My ears are still ringing from being blasted by that sonic weapon as I swing through the snowflakes trying to catch up to the getaway van. Whatever that weapon is, it's potent. While it may not have killed anyone tonight, thank god, it could, if the person wielding it really wanted it to. The question is who that person is, and where he got it from.

"Gwen," Dad's voice comes floating through the comms system in my mask. It sounds faint, however, like it's filtering through a few feet of water. Thanks, super-weapon-wielding robber. I'll probably have a crazy amount of tinnitus after this. "Are you okay? I assume you were in that blast?"

"Yea, I was," I respond, trying to make my ears pop and maybe get back some of my senses. "So you know how you always worried the drums would hurt my hearing? Well, it seems like super-heroics are going to be the thing that finally finishes them off. Hooray."

"Well we can worry about that later," he chuckles softly. "Do you have a beat on the van? We have to get this guy off the streets."

"Uhhh gimme a minute or two and I'll get back to you," I respond sheepishly.

"You let him go?" he asks with a sarcastic tone. "That's so unlike you."

"Hey, I got shot with some weird sonic blast," I grumble as I continue to swing. "Even Godzilla gets knocked down by Rodan now and again."

"That Parker boy has been a bad influence on you."

"I'll let you know when I find him."

Following the last trajectory I saw the van on, I swing as fast as I can. If there's one thing I know I can do well is move through the city with ease. The swinging has become a second nature to me, and the city is my playground. It's helped the few times I've come in contact with the Goblin patrols as well. Those things are strong, but they can't catch me. I'm better than they are, Norman Osborn's genius be damned.

A few blocks from where the guy put me down, I spot the van, speeding through the empty streets of New York. Thanks to the Holiday as well as the warning for citizens to stay inside, the gang has free reign of the roads, aiding their escape attempt. Unlucky for them, they have Spider-Woman on their tail.

I swing in low towards the van, the snow flying by me like I'm jumping into hyperspace. Before I can hop onto the back of the van and take a ride to where ever these guys are hanging out, the guy in the costume and the fancy gloves flings open the van's back doors. Warning bells go off in my head before he fires, allowing me to pull up and get out of the way. He lets loose with the gauntlets, and I feel the wave rippled through the air, even though it doesn't hit me. What it does hit is the building next to me, shattering the windows and showering me with shards of glass.

The blast may not have hit me, but it does send me off course. I flail wildly in the air before finally securing another webline to another building face. Looking up, I see that the van has put some ground between me and it. The other thing that catches my eye is that the guy in the quilt is about to fire at me again. Instead, he turns and fires at a cop car that skids around the corner towards the van. The blast hits the hood of the car, crumpling it like the hand of God slammed down on it.

Before it can land on its hood, I swing underneath it and catch the car. My knees scream under the stress of the weight of the car, but I'm able to put the car down gently on its side. Peering inside, I can see that the officers are okay. They may not be my biggest fan, but I'm still not gonna let anyone get killed on my watch. That's not what Spider-Woman does.

I turn and give chase once again. This guy is not going to be stopping any time soon. If I can get him off the streets tonight, maybe I can at least guarantee that he doesn't strike when the streets are full of people and more likely to lead to a casualty.

As I soar through the air, however, a beep rings through my ear piece, and I know that I'm in trouble.

"Goblin patrol approaching."

My Spider Sense explodes with warning, but too late. Either the snow has interfered with WEB's ability to track the Goblins at a long range, or the showdown with the bank robbers kept me too distracted to hear them coming. But the whir of the glider's engine fills my ears, and I know I don't have the time to escape them this time.

The hard, metal body of the Goblin robot slams into me, its glider going nearly its full speed. I can't manage to break free of the grip, which is like a vice around my waste. The snow and wind rush around us as we make an abrupt turn upwards towards the skyline. We crest over the roof, and I manage to fire a wad of webbing into its viewfinder. In order to clean itself off, it lets me go, and I drop to the rooftop.

I go to try and run, but instead find myself staring down two of the orange ones. The green one that captured me is the leader. The computer nexus for its group. Usually there are two to three orange ones for every green one, and at least this time I got lucky and this is only a group of three.

The sound of their weapons charging up fills the air, so maybe "lucky" isn't the optimal word.

Whatever the situation can be called, one thing is for sure. Norman Osborn has me cornered on Christmas night.

And he's out for my blood.

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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by AndyC
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AndyC Guardian of the Universe

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SOLITUDE

PART FOUR


The Fortress
Undisclosed Location in the Arctic
Two Months Ago


"I....I have so many questions, I don't even know where to begin," I say, standing before the forms of two people who claim to be my birth parents-- Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van. At first glance, they seem as 'real' as me, solid enough that I could reach out and touch them. Then, for just a flicker between fractions of a second, they begin to turn fuzzy, like a camera suddenly losing focus. "If you're who you say you are, then....how is this possible? Kelex said that your w--....our home world was destroyed."

"It was," Jor-El answers, his head turning down in sadness, "And us with it. What you see is the residual electromagnetic patterns generated by our nervous systems. Our 'phantoms,' if you pardon the superstitious term. In life, we had experimented venturing into the lower spatial dimension of the Phantom Zone, and in our time there, our consciousness imprinted upon it, echoing even after the destruction of our bodies."

"When you destroyed Kelex's portal, it created a rift between this material plane and the Phantom Zone," Lara explains. "A small one, thankfully, that will only be open a short time. A few minutes, hours perhaps. Once it closes, our phantoms will fade and we will return to eternal rest."

"....is there a way to keep it open?" I ask. "I've spent my whole life looking for...for this, for you. I don't want to lose you again so soon."

"I wish we had more time," says Jor-El. "I truly do. But the longer the rift stays open, the greater the dangers that will befall this world. There are dark things that lurk in the Phantom Zone, my son, things no living being should ever encounter. Even for the short time this rift is open, it may cause other beings to slip between dimensions, some of which even have a physical form. The true horrors in the dark, however, would require the rift to remain open longer. I would gladly choose oblivion to spare you from the denizens of that nightmare realm."

"It is all right, Kal," Lara consoles me. "Your father's destiny was to look to the stars for a distant hope in the blackness. My own destiny was to explore the reaches of realms beyond the physical. And our shared destiny was to give our lives so that the legacy of Krypton could be born anew. For this, to see you here on the world Jor found, through the means of the dimension I explored.....it is more than either of us could have ever hoped."

She gives me a faint smile, one that's genuine but longing, tainted with the sadness that this will be the only time we speak.

"You said it was your 'destiny,' to do this," I say, years of emotions bubbling up, "Kelex was going on about 'destiny,' too, that everyone on Krypton had one special destiny or another that was determined from birth. Then why am I here? Why didn't you or anyone else come to look after me? What was my 'destiny' in this great plan of yours?"

Lara's smile fades, and her image starts to flicker.

"I wish I could tell you," she says, "that there was some grand design in sending you here. That you had a special purpose that only you could achieve. But the Virtue of the House of Van has always been Truth, and as such I could never lie to you that way."

"The truth is simple," Jor-El says, his hand reaching out to hold his wife's but passing through it like mist. "We sent you here to survive. This planet was the only one in our records where you had the optimal chances to survive. The pod I constructed for you was a prototype, with only enough power to contain you. There was a sister ship, designed by my brother, that was tethered to your own pod's Phantom Drive, containing your cousin Kara. She was to protect you, to oversee the Fortress, and ingratiate with the indigenous people. Sadly, her ship did not escape the blast radius in time, and was lost in the Phantom Zone with the other ghosts of our world."

"So you just.....shot me out into space and hoped for the best?!" I say, barely believing what I'm hearing. "What if my pod didn't make it? What if I hadn't been found by Ma and Pa? If I'd been picked by the government and raised in a laboratory? I could have been abducted, or dissected, or turned into a weapon or--"

"Or several million other horrific fates," Lara answers, her tone suddenly stern. "Or several other wonderful fates beyond your wildest fantasies. If we had not done it, there was only one fate that awaited you: the same fiery death that claimed us and the rest of our people."

"We would have chosen a better option in an instant, if any existed," Jor-El says, his own voice full of regret. "We simply ran out of time, and made the only decision we could with what he had left."

My frustration, my anger, all of the pent-up feelings of abandonment and longing I'd felt my whole life, start to fall away. I'd always assumed whoever sent me here, they must have had some grand design or purpose for me. As it turns out, my mother and father were just scared and desperate, doing whatever they could to keep their child safe.

"...so....what now?" I ask, unsure of myself. "What do I do?"

Jor-El and Lara look into each other's eyes, then back to me.

"That is for you to decide," my mother answers. "You were not born through the Birthing Matrices, no genetic sculpting to shape your destiny. You were Free-born, from an act of our love. Many in our society considered such an act vulgar, even heretical, but we always had Hope that the freedom to choose your own destiny would lead to greater things."

"We have seen the destiny you have chosen for yourself," Jor-El says, his smile returning, "and we could not be more proud. You could have become a tyrant, a ruler, a god-king. Instead, you choose to be a servant of the downtrodden, a protector of the innocent, a champion of justice. I cannot offer you a destiny, but I can at least offer you a gift. Kelex, activate the matter compiler, aligned to my present thought-pattern."

Yes, Master Jor-El, Kelex responds, and a silver pod rises from the floor.

"When I was a child," my father says, "I was enamored with a series of old legends, stories from our people's ancient past. They say our society was founded by a league of heroes, adventurers and explorers who challenged the unknown and fought back the forces of darkness."

"The Sons of Krypton," Lara interjects, her own eyes lighting up with excited reverence.

"Yes," Jor-El says with a slight chuckle, "Born free, and born of love. The Sons of Krypton founded the Eleven Great Houses, established the Virtues that were the bedrock of our society. Together, they fought off the Tyrant Sun, tamed the bizarre creatures of the Underverse, and outwitted the malevolent trickster gods of the Fifth Dimension. The Twelve Great Labors of the Sons of Krypton was a story that was told and retold through countless generations. All impossible nonsense, to be sure, but with perhaps a spark of true history somewhere in them. I would like to believe that at some point, there really were Sons of Krypton, fighting a never-ending battle for truth and justice."

As they speak, their forms begin to fade. The rift to the Phantom Zone must be closing for good. Neither of them seem to mind.

"And on this world, in due time, the things that were impossible to us will be a trifle to you," Lara says, beaming. "If you wish for it, you can give the people of this world an ideal to strive toward, unlike anything they have seen before."

Matter fabrication complete, says Kelex, and the pod before me begins to open.

"This is your inheritance, my son," says Jor-El, "your birthright. The Fortress is yours, and everything in it-- the archives, the family reliquary, the laboratory and everything else you may need. Kelex will obey your every command, without question or hesitation. You are now the master of this place, Kal, and the keeper of our legacy."

Their bodies are now translucent, the details of their faces fading as their forms lose focus. Their voices start to sound muffled, like hearing them underwater.

"We give you all of our love, and all of our Hope," Lara says, reaching out to stroke my cheek, her arm fading into fog before it can touch me. "You may carry it with you for all of your days, and know that even if you truly are the last of us....you will never be alone."

"Born free, and born of love," Jor-El says, his smiling face the last bit of him that remains as the pod opens and reveals what is inside, "this is who you have chosen to be, Kal-El....."



"....the Last Son of Krypton....."
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Carol Danvers Is



Nevada Skies

"Alright Carol, gotta kick it up a notch to catch this death machine." With a little pep talk and a slap to the cheeks I started to rev up my engine into high gear. Really, I had no idea how my flight actually worked but there was one very interesting thing I had noticed, I didn't feel the wind.

Though it was just me that was flying it was like I was in a cockpit, protected from the air around me, which meant it was very easy to reach incredible speeds without the wind threatening to rip my face off. Also since it was just my body and whatever was keeping the wind at bay I was incredibly aerodynamic and able to achieve great speeds without worry. Mach I, Mach II, Mach III, I had already left the sound barrier long behind as I streaked across the sky, already catching up to my target.

The Kree Sentry must have noticed me as energy pulses and missiles screamed through the sky to try and knock me out. Dives, climbs, strafes, loops, all the tricks from my fighter piloting days coursed through my head as I blasted the missiles and tried to remember to let the pulses hit me so I could absorb their power, it was very hard since my reflexes for the most part took over which told me to avoid everything. Dodge, fire, explosion, hit, close call, all of these things and more occurred as I weaved through the air like an F-22 raptor.

I scored some strong direct hits on the sentry but it was only enough to knock it off course for a few seconds. My blasts were just not strong enough to knock it out of the sky. Terror gripped me as I looked beyond and saw the city of Las Vegas quickly becoming larger, if I was unable to stop this machine in time who knows how much of the biggest high-society gambling entertainment industry city would be reduced to rubble. Course, even if I did stop it I also had to find a way to stop its reactor from becoming the bomb that made the human race extinct like the dinosaurs.

My options were getting even slimmer as the Kree Sentry had finally realized it's energy based weaponry was completely ineffective against me so now I was only dealing with physical projectiles so no more power spikes for my blasts. If I had more time to practice and understand my powers maybe I could have figured something out, but there was no time for that I needed a new plan of attack. There was really only one option left that I had yet to try, it went against all common sense, but after my transformation I guess I needed to learn a new type of common sense, that of a superhuman's.

"I can't believe I am going to have to fight a giant hunk of metal with my actual body, I certainly hope this cellular restructuring is all it’s cracked up to me or I am going to make one colorful splat on that bad version of an Iron Giant."

Quickly I ascended into the air to gain altitude then, putting my arms out in front of me, I dive-bombed the Kree sentry. I gritted my teeth as my pilot reflexes told me to pull up at the last second but instead I smashed right into its back. The impact hurt but at last I had actually made a difference as the force of impact caused us both to careen straight into the ground. The screeching of metal, banging and clanging were about all I could hear as the robot scraped and dug into the ground from the force of impact, gouging out a large swath of ground in the process.

My body ached from the impact, especially my arms which took the brunt of blow, as I found myself partially embedded into the body armor of the sentry but I managed to get up and breathed a sigh of relief since we had crashed just shy of the city. Unfortunately Sentry 459 also managed to stand up and despite a lot of dents and scraps it was still very much active and decided to try and walk the rest of the way into the city. I threw my hands up in utter disgust, this automaton had more durability M1A2 SEP tank and felt like it was made out of the hardest of diamonds.

I quickly flew back into action to cut off the sentry as it started to try and bombard the city as it walked. The most intense game of missile commander in my life had quickly begun as I shot missiles out of the sky with the speed of an M-134 minigun. I had to find a way to end this battle fast or a missile was going to slip past me very soon and create a lot of casualties. The longer this went on, the harder it would be to keep up and the closer to reactor meltdown the sentry got, time was not on my side at all.


Las Vegas Stratosphere Casino
Beeps and boops could be heard from the various slot machines as people gambled their life savings away for the chance at making it big. People with already a lot of money just did it for fun with a chance to increase their pocket change. Gone were the days when coins clinked and clanked whenever a jackpot was to be found, everything was now electronic, quiet and frankly not as fun as it used to be.

The lights were there, the money was technically there, but without the clatter of dropping coins gambling really had lost a lot of its flavor. There had been a slight rumbling earlier but nothing major so it had been ignored. The traveling millionaire sighed as he took a sip from his overly fancy cocktail, nearly gouging his eye out with the tiny umbrella. With a grunt he wretched it out of the cup and tossed it toward the nearest trash receptacle but his aim was off and the umbrella fell to the ground.

He was considering if he should pick it up when all the televisions suddenly changed as a reporter appeared on the tube. “We interrupt this programming for an emergency announcement.” The report was reduced to the left side of the television as video emerged on the right. A giant robot appeared on the screen and the subtitles underneath it announced the location, just outside the north-east outskirts of Las Vegas and the LIVE title could be seen. A figure could be seen flying around it, blasting the robots missiles and trying to prevent the robot from advancing on the city.

“Currently an unknown individual is combating what appears to be a giant robot. Residents of Las Vegas are advised to seek shelter immediately until the danger has passed.” The video changed angles to an aerial view from a news chopper trying to get a better look at the action. As the helicopter got closer though suddenly a missile erupted from the shoulder of the sentry, heading straight toward the chopper. You could hear the news crew cursing, urging their pilot to take evasive action but then the missile blew up in flight before it could reach them and suddenly a blond woman in a mostly red outfit was right in front of the camera, urging the helicopter to fly away with her hands, before zipping back into action.

“Please seek your closest emergency shelter immediately! As you can see we almost lost our news chopper and we have no idea when one of those attacks might get past the superwoman currently in combat. We will inform you of the situation as it unfolds before our eyes.”

Well, that was all it took to send a large portion of the casino running and screaming to get out of there. Patrons and staff rushed for the exits and lower portions of the hotel. Drinks were spilled, shoes where lost, hair was undone as the masses descended into absolute terror. The millionaire however, just sat there, unmoving watching as the place was soon deserted.

The millionaire stood up, went over to an area without cameras and then remerged as not the middle-aged millionaire from before but as one of the female staff of the establishment.

“Might as well take advantage of the situation.” The now stunning brunette smiled devilishly as she went to work raiding the casino, it would not take her long to make way with a sizable sum. Sure this wasn’t the reason why she was currently in Las Vegas but it wouldn’t hurt to have some extra cash on hand.


Las Vegas Outskirts
I couldn’t believe the news had already gotten involved in my battle. Guess my existence was no longer going to be a SWORD secret. That stupid helicopter had almost gotten itself blow out of the sky and would have if I hadn’t been there to save it. My frustration was growing as I noticed despite my best efforts, the sentry was making some headway. What was doubly concerning however was the fact the sentry had started to glow all over its body, which could only mean the reactor was running quite hot.

A missile managed to streak past me and blow up what I hoped was an abandoned building, of course I had no way of knowing for sure as I was busy blowing all the other ones out of the sky. How did the sentry keep firing so many missiles? Was it creating them in its body somehow? Considering how many I had shot down, yet they kept coming that was the only option that seemed possible. This meant I could not just make the sentry run out of ammunition and even if that was possible, if the sentry started firing all of its energy blast it would be impossible for me to stop them all, I might be able to absorb and fight back more effectively but by then it would be too late.

“Ok Carol, you need a way to take this thing down once and for all! The problem is that armor is just so thick I can’t seem to get through it.” As I shot another missile down I suddenly remembered a very important piece of information. I had been so distracted trying to slow down the sentry that it had completely slipped by mind what had happened back at the base. I conked myself on the head for missing such an important detail.

“Of course! I should have been going for that section from the start! I need to do this before Las Vegas becomes a complete battlezone.” The SWORD railgun attack from early had managed to blast out a chunk of the sentry’s armor which meant that was my point of entry. I desperately flew around, blasting whatever I could as I tried to find the exact spot. There, I found it, three o’clock, back left side of the sentry, some tearing off of the sentry’s hull out be seen.

I had to be quick, I started gathering energy in my fists as I prepared to attack, increasing my speed I circled around the sentry, making it hard for it to follow my movements as well as to increase my momentum. Concentrating on the task on hand I had to let a few missiles sneak past, their explosions on the ground below gave me pangs of guilt but if I was unable to punch through the alien machine everything would be destroyed anyway.

With one final loop I released all my energy at the same time I stuck my fist into the spot. For the briefest of moments nothing seemed to happen and I feared I had failed, but then, I could feel my fist rip into the metal and with half a second I had already torn open a hole in the body. I slipped in right before a giant fist tried to knock me away.

The inside of the sentry took my breath away, it was positively gorgeous. It was like being inside of a giant computer but with no traditional wiring that I could see, everything just seemed to flow through the gigantic body on waves of blue-green energy and at the center was a round orb, glowing like a small sun in the middle with hundreds of threads of energy flowing from it to all portions of the body. That had to be the reactor core and I could tell it was nearing its limit by the way it glowed and flickered violently.

There was no time to think, I had to get it out of there before the doomsday clock reached midnight. I rushed to the center, blasting and knocking everything in my way while trying to avoid directly hitting the reactor. Ripping my way to the center I grabbed the orb, which was about twice my size, and yanked it with all my might. The connections groaned in protest but thankfully the innards of the machine were a lot less durable than the armored shell and I finished extracting it.

Instantly with the connection having been lost the once glowing body went silent and dark. It also started to topple over which forced me to quickly remove the robot’s heart through hole which I quickly had to blast open a bit more to safely extract the reactor. But now that energy was no longer being supplied to the sentry the reactor’s power had nowhere to go, what had been a mostly pure white glow was quickly turning a sickly bright green as the pulsing accelerated.


“If this thing is as strong as I think it is, then I only have one option!”
I stared up at atmosphere, hauled the reactor core up on top it’s weight pressing down upon me but while dense, thankfully it was a weight I could easily handle. I steeled myself and took a sharp breath as I prepared to enter the stratosphere.

“It’s do or die now!” I shouted as I shot up like a rocket into the sky, the glowing reactor growing ever more unstable. I didn’t even know if I could survive in space but I was going to have to take that chance if the Earth was going to survive. Feeling the air quickly thinning, I took a final deep breath as a precaution and started to hold my breath before the atmosphere could complete disappear.

Schalg! It was getting cold as I started to leave earth behind but it seemed that my energy was keeping myself from freezing to death. Feeling that the reactor had achieved escape velocity I tossed it as hard as I could at the sun. It was breathtaking to see space in person, and while I wanted to see more it was exactly that, breathtaking. I needed to breath and I was not about to stay above the stratosphere longer than I had to, also a giant death bomb was still a little too close for comfort so I quickly divided back down toward earth.

I greedily gulped in some air as I floated in the lower atmosphere and look back at where the reactor had gone. As soon as I did the sky lit up with a brilliant green glow as the reactor reached critical mass and exploded. I had to admit it was pretty to look at but unlike normal explosions there was little aftereffects as it disappeared from existence as if it had never been in the first place.

Seeing that the earth had been saved by adrenaline left me and the full weight of all the energy I had used and the blows I had taken quickly became apparent. I could feel a cold sweat on my brow and my body ached all over, my stamina was certainly amazing these days but when you were forced to fight like an Amazon for half an hour straight with no break even my super stamina couldn’t completely counter all the fatigue that had built up.

I lazily floated down to the ground where the husk of Kree Sentry 459 was. I really did not feel like moving much for a while.
“Congratulations Carol…you somehow did it thanks to SWORD’s rail gun. Oh Lord, I’m going to have to deal with all that press aren’t I?”

I groaned as all sorts of news vans and every other news vehicle in the area rushed to the scene now that the danger was passed. I considered flying away but I just felt too tired to bother, it looked like my fight might not be over quite yet after all.


“I think I’d rather fight that Kree Sentry all over again…I wonder what happened to Captain Mar-vell and Colonel Yon-Rogg? Guess I won’t know for a while if these reporters have anything to say about it. This is going to be oh, so much fun.”
My voice dripped with sarcasm as I touched down near the broken body of the sentry while my next mission approached, the mission of public relations.

Joy.

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