_{NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK}

A light shines into the apartment. A gloved hand rips down the police tape blocking the doorway, revealing a disheveled living room. In the center of the room just below a ceiling fan is a noose laying next to a tipped over chair in a pool of dried blood. The body is gone but the air still has hints of death that assault the nostrils. The Question steps through the door.

'Was supposed to meet an informant once I got into the city. Got the call yesterday that he had died. Cut his wrists and hung himself. Load of shit. Someone got to him before I could."

He walks past the pool of blood and into a small office where a computer is running. Stepping up to it, he taps on the keyboard and watches the screen light up to reveal the setup page for LexOS. "Wiped the computer... Clever." His eyes pivot to the desktop tower and he reaches over to open it up. Inside he finds the hard drive, disconnecting it from the computer and pocketing it.

'Don't have the gear to try to recover the files on the drive. But I know someone who does, even if he doesn't know me. I'm sure he'll help me considering the information I can hang over his head...'

He leaves the apartment as swiftly and silently as he entered it.



David walked along the sidewalk on his way home, hands in his pockets and eyes darting around every few seconds. He lived in a less than desirable neighborhood, the kind where you wanted to keep your head on a swivel in case you didn't want to get shanked. It was stressful and every time he left the house he was worried it would be the last time. But lo and behold, once again he made his way home safely.

Then he noticed that the door had been kicked open.

David slowly opened it up and stepped into the shadowy hallway. He saw the light was on in the kitchen, approaching it cautiously. The door was cracked open and he peeked inside, seeing a man in a trench coat and fedora sitting at the dining table, a spoon and can of baked beans in hand.

"You're home," the man said.

"W-who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?" David asked, his voice shaky.

The man stood from the chair and rolled down his mask to cover his mouth and chin. He reached down to his belt buckle and pressed a button, a yellow cloud slowly seeping out of the belt buckle and up to his face. He stepped forward and David instinctively backed away until he felt his back against the wall.

"Not going to hurt you. Got something I need your help with," the man said, before pulling a hard drive out of his pocket. "Need to recover the data that was on this." He tossed the hard drive over to David who fumbled to catch it.

"Why the hell should I do that? I should call the cops!"

"Because if you don't, I'll tell those cops that David Lieberman, alias Microchip, was affiliated with the Punisher during his war on crime."

David froze. How the hell did he know that? He supposed that the best idea was to just play along. "... Okay. Fine, I'll help you. Just... Who the hell are you anyway?"

"That's the question, isn't it?"

Then it clicked. "Oh God, you're that deep web nutjob?"

"Something along those lines. Now come on, let's get this hard drive checked out."

The pair ascended up a set of stairs to Lieberman's office. Inside was nothing but computers and other electronics from wall to wall, any technology enthusiast's wet dream. David sat down in his chair and set to work on hooking the hard drive up to his computer.

"Impressive setup," the Question said.

"Yep. Can you tell I don't get out much?" David chuckled bitterly to himself.

After a few minutes of work, David had recovered the files on the hard drive and was going through them. The screen was filled with documents and blueprints pertaining to a Project Daedalus. The more that they read, the clearer the picture became.

"Jesus Christ... They're gonna be making fucking concentration camps."

"So it seems." The Question slowly clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Alright, let me put these on a flash drive for you." David plucked a flash drive from a desk drawer and slotted it into the computer, copying the files onto it.

Then a series of notifications went off on the side of the monitor, emails being sent. David began to panic a little, checking the notifications only to find that the emails contained an attachment of all his personal information being sent to the Agency's anti-vigilante tip line and various news outlets. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck! No no no no no, no!"

"... I'm sorry. I didn't realize they could have bugged the hard drive."

"Fuck, man! I'm fucking ruined!"

The Question stepped up and unplugged the flash drive, pocketing it. "I'd suggest leaving. Immediately." With those words he made his way to the door. David was too busy holding his head in his hands to do anything about it.



Vic Sage removed his mask and threw it onto his bed before sitting down at his desk. This hotel room was well furnished, he'd have to remember to give them a positive rating once he left. He pulled the flash drive out of his pocket and slotted it into his laptop. All the files on Project Daedalus were about to be uploaded onto his deep web leak database on top of being sent out to every major news station in the country.

He prepared a summary of the contents:

These files are some of the most damning I've found. The Agency and the US government are plotting to herd any and all metahumans into concentration camps where they will be held and more than likely murdered. President Lord's new regime is one of fear and hatred, and now he is planning to cement himself as a leader of the same stature as Hitler or Stalin. This is unacceptable. Now is the time to rise against these tyrannical bastards and show that we will not go down without a fight.

He pressed submit and the post was live.

Location: Washington, D.C. — DARPA Headquarters, 7:42 AM
Before The Reach

---

The lobby smelled of ozone and freshly brewed coffee. Reed Richards adjusted his tie for the fourth time in two minutes. His suit fit like a badly made halloween costume. He wasn't used to clothes like these, to him they served very little purpose. It had taken a fair bit of debate from Sue, Ben, and Johnny to convince him that the DARPA review panel wouldn't take a man in a lab coat seriously, no matter how many PhD's he had stitched into it.

Beside him, Sue Storm stood perfectly upright, her powder-blue blazer tailored to perfection, hair pulled back, voice calm as a pond beneath the stress.
"You ready?" she asked quietly, sensing the unusual feeling of anxiety within her boyfriend.

"Two years. Three prototype failures. One half-built teleporter module we had to scrap. We're pitching everything, Sue."

She reached for his hand. "And we'll do great. Come on, how many lectures on quantum physics or localized wormhole generation have you aced with zero prep and a chalkboard that was falling apart?"

Reed managed the ghost of a smile. "This time the chalkboard can veto our entire budget."

They walked together down the long corridor, the echo of their footsteps swallowed by the thick carpet. Past the secured doors and the steely-eyed security personnel, past the framed photos of men and women shaking hands beside aircraft prototypes and black satellites never officially built.

They were nearing the briefing room at the heart of the Advanced Aerospace Threat and Response Command, a subdivision of DARPA most civilians didn't know existed. Reed had once called them "The Pentagon's science fiction book club with a billion-dollar allowance." and he'd meant it as a compliment.

"I still think we should've brought the module itself." he muttered, scanning the names listed outside the room: Director Mahoney (DARPA), Col. Esther Vang (USAF), Dr. Shankar (NSA), and others he didn't recognize. Probably black-budget gatekeepers.

Sue smirked. "And what? Rolled it in on a dolly like a science fair project?"

"It works better when you can show them. Equations...they don't always speak to people. Can you imagine explaining all of this to Johnny and expecting him to give us funding?"

"If Johnny managed to get a position on this board our country is in more trouble than we could imagine." She grinned. "Equations dont talk, but I do." Sue said with that unwavering confidence that made Reed fall for her the first day they met. "You just hit them with the future. I'll translate."

Reed let out a breath. "Okay. Let's go make history."

"That's more like it."

They stepped inside, the room was cold and impersonal. Bleached white walls, recessed lighting, a long, sterile conference table surrounded by seats occupied by individuals who, as far as Reed could tell, had perfected the art of looking unimpressed.

"Dr. Richards. Dr. Storm." came the clipped greeting from Director Mahoney at the head of the table, barely looking up at them from a tablet he was tapping away on. "Proceed."

No preamble. No pleasantries. The floor was theirs. Sue connected the presentation remote to the monitor while Reed unfolded his notes, just in case the projector decided to glitch. He cleared his throat and started.

"Our proposal is simple in theory. In practice, it's unprecedented." he began, pacing slowly. "We believe we can create a stable Einstein-Rosen bridge, what some might call a 'wormhole' between two fixed points in space using artificial quantum lattice structures and a layered photonic field generator."

"That's not possible." Interrupted one of the physicists said flatly. "Not without destabilizing the target zone."

Sue stepped in. "That's where the photonic lattice comes in. It's self-correcting and reactive. It folds spacetime across multiple Planck-width layers, like stitching fabric instead of punching through it."

Reed continued. "What we're proposing isn't just theoretical. We've constructed and tested miniature versions. They've held for microseconds. Enough to transmit basic particles. And we believe, given the proper shielding and energy output, we can scale this up to a manned mission."

Another voice chimed in, Dr. Shankar. "You're talking about faster-than-light travel."

"No." Reed said. "We're talking about cheating the distance. The ship never exceeds light speed. It simply skips the space in between."

"Through uncharted, potentially volatile space-time." Mahoney added.

"Yes." Reed said, "But it's not blind. The sensors we've developed map gravitational anomalies and quantum inconsistencies. We'd be piloting the bridge like threading a needle with sonar."

"You don't just want to test this." Vang said, arms crossed. "You want to launch."

Reed hesitated. Sue answered for them.

"We believe in showing, not telling." she said. "The mission would launch from the edge of Earth's magnetosphere and target a stable region near Proxima Centauri. The ship would deploy with a four-person crew, remain tethered via quantum relay, and return with data from outside our solar system."

"And the test crew?"

Sue met the colonel’s eyes. "Us." She folded her arms. "Johnny Storm's completed every simulator run twice. Ben Grimm is a decorated pilot. I've mastered every technical subsystem. And as for Reed, he built the damn thing."

A silence fell. Reed continued. "We're not asking for blind faith. We're asking for partnership. Funding. Access to launch facilities. We'll bring everything else. The mission is ready. All it needs is clearance."

Mahoney tapped a pen against her tablet. "We'll deliberate." She looked finally looked up at them, catching their eyes. "If we agree to this, there is one thing we want though." Reed gulped quietly. "We understand that there is a Latverian at that Think-Tank of yours, Von Doom was it?" The two of them wanted to scream out. Of all the things they could ask for this was the worst. "I'm sure you've heard of the situation in the Latverian region. We think it would be great for our international relations to have a Latverian on your crew. Please wait in the lobby, we'll let you know when we've made our decision."

And just like that, it was over. No applause. No objections. Just the quiet hum of uncertainty. Back in the lobby, Reed sat down harder than he meant to. His suit jacket wrinkled like wet paper.

"That could've gone better." He muttered.

Sue stood in front of him, arms folded. "It could've gone worse."

"You think they'll say yes?"

"I think," she said, offering him a coffee from the machine, "you just told a room full of people who don't believe in miracles that you plan to build one. And I think some of them wanted to believe you."

He took the coffee, blinking behind his glasses. "You were amazing in there."

"Obviously."

He chuckled. "Once we're back...when it's all done...we should finally do it."

"Do what?" she teased.

"You know. The thing. The vows. Marriage."

She smiled but didn’t immediately answer. Instead, she stepped close, and took his free hand in hers. "Let's wait until we come back. That way we’ll have stories to tell our guests."

He nodded. "Okay. After the mission."

They never got the chance.

---

Present day
The Baxter Annex
Manhattan

---

The ring still fit. Funny how some things didn't change, even after the universe ended and tried to put itself back together. Sue Storm stared at the little velvet box sitting open in front of her on the desk, the ring glinting faintly in the low afternoon light filtering through the small, dust-smeared windows of the Baxter Annex.

It was Reed's. The one he'd offered her before they left. The one she said she'd wear when they got back. But in a world like this the right time never came. They got engaged before the Fantastic Four split, but without Johnny and Ben it just didn't feel right to have the wedding.

She reached out slowly, almost absentmindedly, and closed the box with a soft snap. Footsteps echoed down the metal walkway outside the lab. She recognized the gait before he even reached the door.

"Coffee!" Reed announced, pushing it open with a shoulder, balancing two mugs and a crumpled paper bag with his free hand. "Still lukewarm. Barely. But I tried to sweet-talk the barista into throwing in a muffin after I told her it was for a colleague saving the world."

Sue arched an eyebrow as she took the cup. "Did it work?"

He sank into the chair across from her, setting the bag between them. "I can't say it did. She said if you were really saving the world, you'd deserve two muffins."

Sue smiled despite herself, wrapping both hands around the cup. "Probably for the best."

Reed moved over to the workbench, grabbing his goggles and pulling them over his eyes. "HERBIE Junior's motors were drifting again." he muttered, already elbow-deep in a tangle of circuit boards and spare servos. "He tried to sweep the floor last night and vacuumed up half of my notes." He gestured to a squat little robot parked in the corner with one eye-light blinking apologetically. "I think he's developing guilt."

Sue yawned. "Don't scare me. The last thing we need is to build a sentient robot and then give it daddy issues."

Reed smiled for a moment, but then turned to her. "You didn't sleep, did you?" he asked.

"I did."

"Not long."

"Reed..."

"I'm not judging. Just concerned."

She sipped the coffee, eyes flicking back to her tablet, then the connected console. A quiet warning ping had triggered in the background several minutes ago, low-priority, probably nothing. She brought it forward anyway. The diagnostics were running on one of the residual scans from their last attempt to stabilize the failed Reach-drive prototype. Most of the data was corrupted, and what wasn't corrupted was inconclusive. Even for Reed deciphering Reach tech was proving complicated. But something was nagging her. A pattern that shouldn't have been there. She opened the waveform analysis module, keyed in a few adjustments, and watched the output realign.

"Reed."

He looked up, eyes narrowing behind his smudged goggles.

"Look at this." She spun the tablet around.

He set down the screwdriver he was toying with and leaned in. The image was a distorted readout, a pulse-shaped fluctuation captured inside a quantum compression field. At first glance it was noise. But then, it repeated. Once, then again. Like some sort of signal, almost like a distress call.

"That shouldn't be there." he murmured.

"It doesn't look like any readouts we've had from Reach tech." Sue turned toward Reed, her eyes still fixed on the looping signal. "It's repeating every 42 seconds."

Reed nodded, scrubbing the data again. "It's showing the same data every time too. It's closer to an SOS than a power fluctuation. Our systems are tuned to pick up Reach tech, how could something like this get through?"

"It shouldn't even be possible." Sue muttered. "These systems are shielded. Tuned to a completely different wavelength"

He glanced up at her. "Unless something, or someone found our frequency." A quiet fell between them, the whirr of HERBIE Junior's idle fans the only sound. "Location?" Reed asked.

Sue hesitated, then pulled up the map overlay again. "You're not going to like it."

Reed leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as the topography data began to cascade across the screen, line by line, the coordinates aligning to a single fixed point on a map of New York.

"Is that...under the old Baxter Building?"

Sue nodded grimly. "About two miles down. Beneath what used to be the sub-basement labs. Below even the geothermal barrier you installed back in Phase One."

"That's not possible. There's nothing down there but sealed foundation, bedrock and reinforced concrete. We scanned it a dozen times before Lord's people moved in."

She tapped a key and the monitor flicked, layering thermal, seismic, and energy signatures atop one another. Reed's brow furrowed deeper with every pass.

"Except now," Sue said "there is something."

A faint spike, barely noticeable, began pulsing in sync with the 42-second loop. Deep in the earth. He whispered, almost involuntarily: "What the hell is that?"

Sue crossed her arms. "Whatever it is, it's not natural." HERBIE Junior let out a soft boop from the corner, almost sounding concerned.

Reed stood up, pacing now. "We sealed every lower chamber before we turned the site over. None of our old gear is even compatible with this kind of signal. This isn't just random tech interference, this thing is piggybacking on our old data. It has to be."

Sue pulled the signal through a decryption filter. The waveform subtly changed, but the pattern was clearer now. Still not readable, not in any language they recognized. There was a silence that followed, and shortly after Reed took his goggles off and tossed them on the workbench.

"well, Sue, I think its time to do some field work, don't you think?"

She smiled back at him, rising from her chair and moving over towards the locker that held her nanoweave suit. "I thought you'd never ask."

Broad shoulders. A long, tan coat over a disheveled suit and tie. A hardened face, rough with the shadow of a beard, hidden under the brim of a simple fedora hat and lit up only by the glowing embers of the cigar held between clenched teeth. The Detective didn't fit in on these suburban streets- never had- not since the war. So many good men. Lost. In the war. The sun beats down on him like an accusing eye, demanding he return to the shadows. The temperature? 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Which is...a normal temperature. That's right, a normal temperature. Are there many clouds? ...No. The sky is blue. Like it usually is. Except at night. Then it's black.

...The war.

He rapped his hard knuckles against the wooden door, then shoved them into his pocket. When the older gentlemen inside opened up, he had to look up far more than he anticipated to look into the darkened eyes of this giant of a man. He was almost seven feet tall!

"Um- hello?"

"Detective John. PI. I'm here to ask you a few questions. I heard your nephew went missing recently, see?" The Detective said.

"Detective John who?" The man asked with a squint, hiding behind the chains keeping his door locked even when ajar.

"Detective John- J- John." The Detective replied, unsure.

"...Your name is Detective John John?" The man said.

"Uh. No. That would be a stupid name for an Earth male to have. Obviously. M- my name is Detective John, uh-, it's, uh- you know. I fought in the war. See?" The detective said.

Unsettled, the man's eyes widened and he went to slam the door shut. But not before the Detective's hand flew through the door and extended out like wriggling worms, clinging onto his face. The man shook for a moment before relaxing. The Detective's hand retracted and he shut the door. He slapped himself a few times in the face.

"Get it together!" He complained to himself, before knocking on the door again.

"Um- hello?" The man asked again, opening his door.

"Good morning. My name is Detective John John- shit!" The Detective grit his teeth and sent his hand flying through the gap in the door again.

Knock knock knock.

"Um- hello?" The man asked for a third time, peaking out from behind the chain in the ajar door frame.

"My name is Detective John Jones." The Detective said, leaning forward with certainty this time. "Private Investigator, see?" He flashed the older gentlemen a badge. Badges are very important to have. "I'd like to ask you a few questions about your nephew."

"Who sent you?" He asked.

"A concerned citizen. It's not just about your nephew. But if I can find him, he might be the lead I need to track down your...unfriendly neighbors. I'm sure I don't need to say anymore, not without being inside." Detective John Jones said.

"I see." The man considered the Detective, but then thought of his nephew. "Come in." He closed the door and unlocked the door handle and the chain latch lock. Durning that moment, the Detective pumped his fist in a self-congratulatory manner. When the door opened again, the Detective was back to looking stern and serious.

"Your nephew. Jose Cabello. I want you to know I have no interest in getting him in trouble with the authorities." The Detective said as they both sat down in the living room. "I may sometimes work with the police, but I'm a Private Investigator. I get the sense your nephew is a good boy, caught up in things he doesn't understand fully. Once I find him and get the information I need, I'll bring him back to you, safe and sound."

The man, Rodriguez Cabello, nodded slowly. "Yes. I- I appreciate that. Truth be told, this entire situation has gotten out of hand. I had been preferring not to contact the police, but..."

"You still won't have to. I don't think it's that serious for your nephew. Not yet." Detective Jones said. "I just need to ask you if you know any favorite places of his. Places he might hang out. Friends he might contact."

The kindly uncle sat in silence, before responding. "You have a pencil?"

The Detective grinned almost giddily and nodded quickly before reaching inside his jacket pocket to get out a really cool and badass notepad and pencil. "Yes I do. It even has a sticker on it. Look, see? A little kitty cat face. Isn't it cool?"

"...R-right." Rodriguez scoffed out a little laugh. "That is very nice, Detective."

---

"Hello, youths." Detective John Jones said, approaching the basketball court. "I'm looking for Jose Cabello."

"Oh, yeah?" One of the young men said. "Never heard of him."

"I can see you don't trust me. Fear not. I'm not with the police, but rather a Private Investigator. Nobody's going to get in trouble. I just want to help." Detective Jones said.

"That's great. Too bad I still never heard of him."

"Perhaps I could endear myself to you by engaging in your local practices." The Detective said.

"...Uh?" The young man smiled, amused and bemused.

"Pass me the Basket Ball, and behold my skill, youths." The Detective opened up his hands.

"...Okay." He passed the ball to the strange detective. He bounced it a few times and went to the half court. Taking an almost correct stance, he shot the ball gently through the air. It landed on the rim and rolled around. Everyone stared. Before it could roll off to the side, the Detective shot a look at the orange ball and tilted his head in the other direction. It fell in, swooshing inwards through the net. That got a small cheer.

That got the Detective a name and a place that led him to a shady looking fellow on the street corner, which led him to a warehouse.

Is it always a warehouse? Maybe the Detective should just start searching all the warehouses.

No that won't work. There's a lot of warehouses. Also, it might not be a warehouse.

The Detective did a bit of scouting, peeking in through the second story window, sneaking past a lookout. He saw the boy, Jose, inside, looking nervous, sitting in a chair. There were tables with nefarious things on them. The bad kind. Boxes and weapons. Not to mention the eight other tough looking guys going about their business.

There was no time to waste! He would go in, ask for them to give over Jose, and see if they would point him in the direction of their distributor.

Detective John Jones lay curled up in a ball as the gathered toughs kicked him while he was down.

"I have a very cute friend whose going to be SUPER pissed at you guys!" He cried out. "It's not too late to be nice to me!"

"Shut up, man!" A guy in a hoodie said. "I'll break your damn legs. Don't ever come around here again!"

Beaten and battered, they left the Detective alone. He got up in a huff after they left, dusting off his coat. "That's right. You better leave!" He shouted after them. When the toughs turned and started sprinting back over to him, he turned tail and ran as fast as he could before they could catch him.

They were going to regret that! That, he knew for sure.

For later that night... the heroine appeared! Fists at her hips, she floated in the air above the tables in the warehouse, a dashing smirk on her face. A girl, looking like she in her late teens or early twenties, with short red hair and striking blue eyes. She was wearing a black suit, with red gloves and boots, and a big red X over her upper body. Golden clasps around her neck supporting a long blue cape that was flowing in the wind despite being indoors. Grinning, she made her dramatic entrance.

...

...

...

She cleared her throat so that they finally noticed her.

"Oh, shit!" Everyone reacted quickly, alarmed. There was one thing about the girl that was left out, which was her most noticeable feature. That being her skin color, as green as peas, and clearly alien.

"Never fear, Earthlings! I, Miss Martian, am- ow!!!" Shots rang out, bullets striking her. She fell out of the sky and landed on a stacked pile of crates, kicking up a cloud dust, her boots sticking upwards as the only thing visible.

"Fuck yeah! We wasted it!" The hoodie guy cheered with his fellows. Jose was hiding behind his chair.

"It?!" She repeated, offended, standing to her feet. "I'm a girl! Can't you tell?! I look like a girl, don't I?" She asked, losing some confidence on that last sentence.

The guy in the hoodie raised his handgun in alarm. Before anyone could pull the trigger, she thrust her palm forward, fingers spread. Suddenly, nobody's guns were working. She lifted her hand up, and all the guns in the room flew up out of their hands and into a big ball. She clenched her fist, and the guns disassembled themselves, falling to pieces in a metal rain. Everyone looked at her, dumb struck.

"That's right. I have wicked cool superpowers. So don't mess with me!" Miss Martian said. Gathering her composure, she dusted herself off and took back to floating in the center of the room.

"Jose Cabello! I've come for you!" She pointed at the young man who yelped.

"Don't eat me!" He cried out.

"What?! No! I mean- I've come to rescue you!" Miss Martian clarified. "I'm a superhero! You know? Like Superman?" She said.

"See? I've got a cape and everything." She held it between her fingers to demonstrate. "My detective friend told me all about you. He was looking for you. Your uncle, Rodriguez Cabello, is worried sick about you!" She explained.

"Uncle Roddy? He's worried about me?" Jose said.

"Yes of course! I get the feeling he loves you, you know. I think you should leave these guys behind and go back to him." Miss Martian siad.

"...You're letting me go?" He said. Miss Martian nodded. Looking around at the others, he nodded, and ran out the door. Miss Martian could tell he was going home.

"As for the rest of you! I'll let you off with a warning. If! You tell me where you're getting all these bad drugs from." She said.

The guy in the hoodie scoffed. "You don't know who you're messing with, you green freak." He said. "You think you're tough because you, what, disarmed us? You're gonna get eaten alive. No way we're telling you anything." Miss Martian narrowed her eyes at him.

"VULTURE, eh?" Miss Martian said, rubbing her chin. "Interesting. Thanks for all your help."

The guy blanched. Everyone looked at him angrily. "Dude!!!"

"I didn't fucking say anything!" He protested.

"Be quiet, everyone! I'm letting you all off with a warning. I don't ever wanna see you guys getting up to no good ever again, okay? Don't cause any more trouble. Don't 'deal' any more 'cokes' or 'weeds' or 'meths'." She lectured, pointing at them.

“Uh. Okay.” The hoodie guy said.

"And don’t beat people up! Or else I’ll come beat you up. I have powers, you know. I can make it happen. Don’t test me." She warned. To demonstrate, she flattened a few tables without even touching them. Also, she scooped up some evidence with a tarp using her mind, wrapped it up like a picnic lunch, and wrapped it around the ceiling. It was very obvious, but out of reach. This way, the police could grab it later if they called the fire department or something.

At this point, they were mostly intimidated despite her efforts, not because of them. "The police will be here soon. If you get in trouble because of them, that’s your own fault.” Miss Martian said.

"Miss Martian! Away!” She said, and then phased through the ceiling, fist extended outward. Once in the night air, she grimaced to herself. No. She wasn’t going to start saying that. That was not good. Hopefully they didn’t start thinking she was silly because of that.

A little while later, Miss Martian checked in on the Cabello family. They had a reunion, but the nephew was still rattled and confused by what he had seen. He had been scared to leave. Would they still come after him, they wondered aloud?

"Not on my watch!" Miss Martian answered, suddenly in their living room, startling them both.

“That’s her! The alien!” Jose pointed at her. This time he put on a brave face, standing to protect his more elderly uncle.

"My detective friend told me about your nephew. Listen, you don’t have to worry about anything. I’ve got it all under control."

“...Your detective friend, huh?” The uncle asked, raising an eyebrow. Miss Martian’s smile became a little more nervous. She could tell he was onto her. He didn’t need to know much about aliens to have his suspicions. Unfortunately, it was probably too late to uproot that memory. And with his nephew right there it would probably look kind of traumatizing, so she’d have to erase his memory too. It’d be a whole thing!

"Uh. Yep. My detective friend, John Jones. Basically, I’m gonna kick the bad guys out of your town, and then the town they run off to next. Trust me, they’re gonna be so busy with me they won’t even have a chance to worry about you.” Miss Martian said. "I mean- I’m green! And super cute. And I can fly. I’ll be all they can think about. But if you ever need, just give me a call." She said.

“You have a cell phone number?” Rodriguez asked.

"Huh? No. Should I? I just meant go outside and start yelling my name. I’ve got your signatures now so I’ll be able to find you." Miss Martian said.

”Maybe I should have a cell phone. Can I borrow your cell phone, Jose?" She asked.

“Um…n-no..? Sorry? I kinda need it.” He said.

"Oh, okay! Well, see you around!" She waved, and then phased through the ceiling. The two men blinked. What a day.

“I think we should probably get out of town for a while, kid.” Roddy said. “Just to be safe.”

—

Miss Martian took to the skies, thinking about the knowledge she gleaned from the criminals in the warehouse. She would need to track down a better source. If she needed to, she could find those guys again and pick their brains for info. But it looked like the groups she had been tracking were all connected in some way. There was definitely something big and weird going on with the bad guys. Were they trying to team up or something?

Between her and her ‘friend’ John Jones, Miss Martian was having more trouble than she thought getting to the root of the problem. She didn’t realize being a superhero involved so much detective work. At least when it came to the crime fighting side of things.

Her head twitched, and she heard, or rather, felt, a ping of anxiety and fear. Up here, only the strongest and most immediate thoughts could reach her. It didn’t take long for her to spot this one, though. A fire! Miss Martian zoomed, her cape acting like gliding wings. With her density lowered, she lacked power, but could easily ride the wind like a bird, and use her telekinesis for easy control. Technically, she didn’t have the power of super flight, but it was close enough.

Miss Martian zoomed down to the burning apartment building and came to a stop. She closed her eyes and sensed for minds and souls. Most of them were already heading to safety down the fire escape, but she sensed some people trapped in a room near the upper floor.

Of course, she also sensed the fire itself. Miss Martian grit her teeth and focused. As long as she didn’t let it burn her too much, she’d be fine. It was just an element, like any other. And yet…

Miss Martian had to think fast. Black smoke billowed out of a window. She floated over to a nearby fire hydrant, and combined her feet into one long tube that latched around it, much to the alarm of nearby bystanders. Alien, they said. Monster. They were afraid of her. Miss Martian smiled confidently. She’d show them! She’d show them all!

The Martian stretched her body like a long hose. She turned the pressure valve and felt the water rush into her. In a somewhat grotesque display, the bottom of her swelled up and travelled upwards. Squashing her vital organs to the side, she puffed up her cheeks and formed her lips into an ‘o’ before blasting the water out of her mouth! Like a living water house she spat water directly into the apartment, soaking the inside and dousing the flames enough to clear a route. Turning off the fire hydrant, she detached from it and wiped her lips. "Blech."

"Don’t worry everyone! Miss Martian is here! " She called out before floating inside. Her water trick had put out most of the flames in this hallway. Travelling over to the door, she knocked on it.

"Hello? I put out the fire! Quick, before it comes back!" She said.

A woman opened up the door and yelped in fright in Miss Martian’s appearance, closing the door. Miss Martian crossed her arms. "What is it with Earthlings and slamming doors in my face? I put out the fire! I can you get you to safety!"

“Go away!” She called out. “The- the fire department is coming! We’ll just wait for them, okay?!”

Earthlings were so suspicious of aliens. Miss Martian could understand why.

"C’mon!" She said. "I can get you out of here right now!"

“She said go away!” A man’s voice called out.

“Daddy, I’m scared!” A little girl’s voice could be heard. Though, Miss Martian was mostly just sensing their thoughts and intentions from the other side of the door.

“You’re scaring my daughter!” He shouted. Miss Martian was pretty sure it was the fire scaring her, not the green lady.

Still, this was a conundrum. Miss Martian shot an accusatory glare towards the water sprinklers in the hallway as they lay dormant. Useless things. This building was surely not up to code. The fire was encroaching again, and if Miss Martian could sweat, she would be. Not even because of the heat. Something deeper. A frustrating reminder of what had happened to her. No time to focus on the past though, these people were trapped and the fire brigade wasn’t here yet. Chances are they’d be in time, especially now that she doused so much of the flames.

Chances, chances. Hmm.

A firefighter appeared at the window of the family’s room, in a mechanical moving platform. “Come here!” She said, waving them over. The family rushed over and carefully moved out the window, standing in the platform. Letting out a collective sigh of relief, they were all lowered to the ground.

“Where’s the firetruck?” The little girl asked. This platform… was floating in mid air! Before panic could set it, the platform lowered to the ground and the firefighter floated above them, dispelling the illusion she projected into their minds! It was Miss Martian.

"Don’t worry, I gotcha!" She said with a big smile.

The parents were offended at being tricked, but the children clapped their hands, amused. “How dare you!” The mother said.

“Yeah, how dare you!” Some of the bystanders said. “Get outta here, alien! Nobody asked for your help!” The crowd turned against her. “We don’t need you!”

Miss Martian set her hands on her hips, floating above the ground. "You’ll all come around! You’ll see! And when you do, you won’t even have to say sorry." Miss Martian said. As the real firefighters arrived, she took off into the night sky.

It was getting late. The humans would be going to sleep soon. Usually she helped people in the day and fought crime in the night, but of course if there’s overlap, there’s overlap! Especially if she went across the ocean. Flying above the clouds, she kept going and going until the air got chilly and she could see her breath. Leftover heat from her internal processes, expelled through water vapor.

The stars reflected in her eyes and she counted them all. Her place in the universe. They spoke to her. The people of Mars…she couldn’t hear them anymore. She was all alone. It was going to be difficult, the task ahead. It would be easy to just survive. Find some scattered fringe and live on the outskirts. Just like, be a bear or something.

But that would be way boring. And she couldn’t turn her back on Earth. They were the only people left in the Solar System. They may have beaten back the Reach once, but if they kept on this path, they wouldn’t be able to do it again. She had to help. Had to show them that cooperation, even amongst the most disparate peoples, was the key to everything. The Martian people may have learned that lesson too late.

…She really needed to get a house, she thought to herself. The sky was not a house. And neither was an ice fortress in the Arctic. Clearly, she needed to acclimate more to the culture of Earth if she was going to make real progress. Mind tricks were only going to get her so far. If she was keeping score, minute memory wiping and inducing hallucinations in innocent bystanders was definitely points off. Using the human score system, she would probably get a 'B' at the highest.

Miss Martian opened her mind once again, and let the song of Earth wash over her. Break time was over. With a twist of her upper body, she disappeared into the clouds with a puff of mist, a pale rainbow trailing in her wake.

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

As much as I loathe the new unifier of this country. We share the same sentiment regarding taking action and doing what needs to be done. That hesitation leads to defeat. That there are dangerous people in this world that need to be taken out of the equation for a brighter tomorrow. 

The only difference is that I don't discriminate against a certain group, my blade will fall to those who are unlawful.

This new world order is imperfect, unbalanced, and unjust. And I am here to change that.

I am not here to stage a coup. I am here to prune out these rotten branches that this administration has brought out.

And tonight.. tonight I hunt!

Katana dons her gear and gets ready to infiltrate a secret drug deal between the Yakuza and American mafia members somewhere in Los Angeles.

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

It's Friday night, and an exclusive nightclub is the place to be for those who have money to burn and are looking for a fun night.

Those already in the club are having the time of their lives, dancing and enjoying themselves while intoxicated. The crowd of people keeps rocking to the booming party music that fills the air.

It was ecstatic; it was pure ecstasy, a wild night. People danced the latest techno music while colorful lights flickered across the dimly lit dance floor, unaware of the bloodbath waiting to happen later that evening.

Inside this fine establishment lies an underground VIP lounge hidden from the masses. A meeting between a group of mobsters and the Yakuza clan member of the Los Angeles branch takes place inside this luxurious room. It's muffled from the outside noise of the club and its entrance is heavily guarded by two burly men covered with colorful tattoos and gold jewelry.

Multiple henchmen stand watch as the two heads representing each organization conduct business together.

An old man who lost his pinky finger keeps tapping the side of his seat, unamused by the mobster droning and yapping across him.

"And then.. and then I said to them that's not a picture of killer croc, that's my wife!" The mobster chortled at his joke. He thought it was a real knee-slapper, only to realize that no one was laughing with him. The other clan maintained their serious, stony expressions and clearly found no amusement in his joke. Mr. Ishagoro glared at him, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

"Sheeesh, tough crowd." Feeling embarrassed, The mafia boss heavily takes another sip of his glass of bourbon whiskey.

"As much as I would've loved to hear more about your stories of being on Lord's private parties, The Ishagoro clan would like to proceed with the meeting and tell us why you are here, Mr. John" The old oyabun lights a tabacco while leaning forward towards the well-suited man across him.

"Right, Straight to business." With a snap of his fingers, one of his henchmen presented a briefcase, it contained a singular small tube with a green substance in it.

"This baby right here is called the Snake Oil, One of the left remnants of the Reach's technology. It will revolutionize and change the weapon warfare amongst the gang of America as we know it." He proudly said.

"Even a small dose of this substance can knock out a baby elephant, and at higher doses, it can be used as a lethal nerve gas that affects even the strongest metahumans." John demonstrates its potency by pulling out his phone and playing a video of a metahuman locked up in a cell as a cloud of deadly vapor fills the room. The video concludes with the subject lying flat on their back, unconscious and barely breathing.

"Impressive, When can we get a fresh batch?"

"Slow your roll Mr. Ishagoro, This stuff right here ain't cheap ya know, My sources have doubled the price since it is manufactured and reverse-engineered by the boys back at the Kobra cult"

"I'm sorry, Who now?" The old yakuza asked, clearly dumbfounded about the affirmation name the mobster mentioned.

"The Kobra cult. Only the most notorious biochemical terrorist group in all over the world. They have super-powered villains there dressed as various snakes. It's kinda their motif and their trademark."

"Grown men dress as snakes? Sounds like a nuisance."

"They have over one thousand followers all over the planet! They are pretty much a big deal in the world domination game! Ring any bells?"

The members of the Yakuza clan exchanged confused glances, clearly unsure of what the mobster was talking about.

"Eh, forget it." The mobster sighed in defeat.

"So, do we have a deal?"

The Japanese mobster responded with a nod and whispered something to his accountant. With a few presses on his tablet, he bows down to his boss as an audible 'ding' rings on the mobster's phone.

"You will get the half once you deliver the supplies" The accountant sternly instructed.

"Ha! I may not know Japanese, but I do understand this language. A pleasure doing business with you Mr. Ishagoro" John the mobster can't help but have a shit-eating grin at the sight of the ridiculous amount of money transferred to his bank account.

Feeling elated, The mobster bolted out of his chair and raised a glass to the people around him.

"Here's to a new era of the Yakuza and the mafia working together as one, may our enemies fall to their knees, and our business prosper to new heights"

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}} 

The Bladerunner has heard enough. It's time to crash this party.

Before the two crimelords ever get the chance to shake each other's hand. Katana makes her dramatic entrance after waiting patiently in the air vents.

She falls through the ceiling, diving blade first, and cuts the hand of the mobster clean of its bones.

The severed hand comically flies off and hits the floor as both gang members brandish their guns and point at the mysterious vigilante.

"Who are you You crazy bitch!?" John shouted while wrying in pain as blood continued to flow from his wrist.

Katana stood tall and pointed out the Yakuza on the other side of the room, implying she was with them.

"That's the cursed blade! You're supposed to be dead!" The yakuza lord's eyes widened as cold sweats formed around his face.

"You know her!? Light 'em' up! This deal is over! Kill every non-american squinty eyes motherfucker in this area! we're going home!" John commanded his goons while limping away.

"Wait, wait wait!" The yakuza pleaded out but it was too late. Bodies start dropping as the American mobsters unload a full auto on them.

The sound of gunfire and desperate screams fills the room as the yakuza retaliate, providing cover fire for their leader to escape.

A violent shootout takes place. Katana takes cover as bullets start flying everywhere from both sides. She picks up her kunai between her fingers and starts throwing it at their throats. She makes her move by slashing and eliminating the nearest goons she can find. As far as she is concerned, everyone in this room is her enemy.

The VIP room quickly turns into a mass grave as the sound of the shooting dies down.

Katana has her eyes set on her target: a cowardly weasel limping for his own life. She sprints towards the exit and chases after the mob boss who fled in the hallway.

"What's with you cutting other people's limbs, Ya freaking psycho!? I'll let you know I have connections with dangerous people! if you kill me now they'll come after you and make your life a living hell!" The man kept running as the relentless ninja lady was hot on his tail.

Katana pounces at her prey as the deadly samurai catches up to him and drives a sword on his back, nailing him to the wall.

"You will serve me as my intel to this new deadly chemical you've develop, I welcome you to your new home" Katana withdrew the soultaker from the mobster's lifeless body and wiped the blood off with her shinguard.

Upon its reflection, you can see the mobster's face wailing for help inside the limbo.

Katana left the crime scene without a trace, leaving a trail of dead bodies behind. As far as incident report goes. This was a violent shootout between both rival gangs.

---

The intel was solid—a small makeshift camp deep within the Yellowstone National Park. Satellite imagery was good; it showed an exposed centre around their makeshift structures. A large campfire surrounded by a variety of tents, and a couple of small wooden structures on the outskirts, no doubt, acted as rudimentary guard towers. Switching to thermal vision, he could see about half a dozen people in one tent in the middle of the site, and another half a dozen were spread out. With a further three in the guard posts. There was a cold spot, which was likely the refrigeration for the mess. Pulling back on the lens, he could see the SFs holding position on the outskirts of the camp.

Shock and awe tactics. Jim was leading the charge, and hopefully, the sight of the suit would convince them to come quietly. It never went down that way, but one could hope. Leaning forward, he sent himself carreering towards the ground, pulling back at the last second, he fired his boosters, slowing his descent, creating a large 'woomf' in the middle of the camp as air followed him down. The gears and servos whirred as he stood up straight, raising his arms, a small hatch open,d revealing the barrel of a gun. His back-mounted launchers turned to face those behind him.

"Nobody move."

His voice amplified, everyone was already standing frozen, looking at him. Clad in red, white and blue, the cold, unfeeling face. He wasn't moving at all. The suit kept him deathly still, yet thanks to the variety of sensors, he knew everything that was going on in the area. The guards were slowly walking towards him, weapons raised. His HUD went from calm yellow to an angry orange. The armour systems auto-targetting the 'perceived' threats.

"What is the meaning of this?" A woman came storming out of the tent he assumed was a mess. She spoke with a soft Scottish accent. A long trailing coat, tactical vest and trousers. Jim's scanner picked up the handgun at her hip, her dossier appeared on the right of his HUD. Moira MacTaggert, former MI6 agent. The moment she saw him, he saw her tense up and reassess the situation. While everyone knew the exploits of the War Machines during the war against the Reach, anyone within government circles would be acutely aware of just how much they achieved and what their capabilities were, and this wasn't a War Machine suit. It was the Iron Patriot, new and improved.

He used his tongue to flick on the microphone ono communicate externally. "You're all going to have to come with me-"

Moira crossed her arms. "And just why is that, Colonel Rhodes?" He could practically hear the venom in her voice.

"You're all suspected to be in breach of EO-141448. Under Presidential Authority, I'm bringing you in for questioning and testing." He twitched his thumb slightly, a small status light on his HUD flicked green, and the green lights on his tracker started to tighten in on the camp. The soldiers are closing in.

"You can't do that." Jim's suit suppressed his sigh, not in the face of her defiance. In the face of his own.

"I can, and will, fulfil my orders-" Before he could finish his next thought, a large shard of ice came flying out of the tent. Tearing a hole in the fabric, colliding with his suit and sending him tumbling. The status on his HUD turned red, highlighting the impacted area. Using his hand repulsors, he boosted himself back onto his feet, entering a fighting stance. His weapons immediately retracted as he looked into the face of the young man - no. He was more a boy, a boy, and he had just managed to knock the most advanced suit of armour onto the ground. Jim could see the rage on the boy's face as the ice began to crack and spread, covering his whole body. He cursed himself, the cold spot hadn't been refrigeration, it had been a single mutant. Who knew how many more there were in that ten?.

"Bobby, no!" Moira shouted, but it was too late as the boy charged at him. With a flick of his fingers, his lethal weapons retracted to their holding position., Reaching behind him, he pulled a stun baton out of the suit. Swinging for 'Bobby' as the two neared contact. The boy dodged under it harmlessly, alarms blaring in the helmet as Jim's back was pelted with shards of ice, twisting on one foot, he brought the baton down. Narrowly missing the young mutant. By this point, chaos had erupted. He could hear the ZAT-Rounds popping off. Weapons specially designed by Tony as a non-lethal takedown. A single shot stunned a normal human on the first strike. The bodies were falling as the special forces pushed onwards.

This 'Bobby' kicked at Jim's knee; he could practically feel the cold through the suit. The temperature in the area was rapidly dropping. People were running, falling, and fleeing. Some had just fallen on the ground, sobbing. Swinging the baton as the boy stood up, he went flying as electricity arced throughout his body. Falling to the ground with a soft 'thump'. Looking up after affixing the cuffs to the boy's wrists, he looked up to see a soldier with his helmet off. Blood spilling from his temple, he raised his gun towards a figure lying on the ground.

Flicking over to the team comms, Jim identified the soldier. "Taggert, what are you doing?" Jack Taggert ignored him, pulling the trigger. The body before him convulsed as it was hit again and again, turning into as best a sprint he could manage in the suit. Jim raised his right arm, a repulsor shot lanced out and knocked the gun out of Jack's hands. Pushing him away, Jim turned to see the convulsing form of a child. Lightning arced and raced over his body, as it slowly turned to ash.

---

"This isn't going to go down well, Tony." Jim slid the tablet back across the table to arguably one of the most famous tech billionaires on the face of the planet. Certainly one of the most famous and liked. Even though the Stark family for three generations had made its money from the spilling of blood, when that blood was spent at the protection of Truth, Justice and the American way, there could be little argument on whether or not it was worth the cost. Tony had argued publicly that while Superman had been pivotal in changing the tide of the war, he believed that the War Machine project, now known as the Iron Patriot Program, would have had the same results. Each iteration of the armour, he said, improved upon the last.

"I don't have a choice Rhodey, we can't keep going on like this."

"Just think about what it's going to do to the company Tony-" Tony slammed his fist on the table, causing his drink to jump and fall over. The golden-yellow spread lazily across the table. Tony groaned as he stood up in a quest to find a towel.

"It's not about the company, it's about the world." Jim, who had walked in the opposite direction of the workshop, picked up some paper towels, whistled and then tossed them over to Tony. "You know full well why I even started this project-"

"Yeah, Fury practically begged you too." Tony raised an eyebrow, and let loose a small chuckle.

"True, that was almost better than the paycheque." He continued to mop up the spilt drink, handing some of the paper towels to Jim as he got closer. "I honestly thought it could help make the world a better place." Tony sighed, and Jim took the time to look at him. Even after he had found him falling out of the sky in that first-ever suit, he hadn't seemed as tired as he did now. The bags under his eyes were deep and heavy, the unmistakable stench of guilt in the air. He had seen Tony broken many times before, but never as badly as this.

"They did-they do." Jim looked over to the Iron Patriot suit stood in the middle of the workshop. Several panels and weapons had been removed, exposing its guts. In a world of aliens and monsters, people who could throw cars like they were pennies. The Patriot program was really their only hope, and trying to maintain some sense of order.

Tony chuckled as he picked up his glass and walked over to the fridge. The glass clinked slightly as he placed it upon the counter, pouring out of a carton of apple juice before returning it to the fridge and taking a sip. "Not according to the current President. He's pushing for more-" He nodded towards the tablet. "-He's wanting me to consult on Trasks super secret project. I told him where he can shove that. Bad enough they're making his anti-mutant software a requirement in the Patriot armour."

Jim wiped the liquid off the back of the tablet as he picked it up, flicking through the screens to technical specs that he probably shouldn't have been privy to. Granted, it was entirely possible that even Tony wasn't supposed to have them, but that had never stopped him before. "I've got a feeling Trask has been snooping in on the Patriots' systems, but I can't prove anything yet." Tony sighed as he came and sat back down at the table. He sighed. "Rhodey. I'm discontinuing the Patriot."

Having taken his sip of juice in solidarity with his brother, Jim choked slightly when he attempted a gasp. "You realise that the President isn't going to like that very much?"

"What do I care, the Program was founded under Elis. A good man, who was dropped into an impossible situation-" Tonys arms flapped wildly. "-I've known Lord for a long time, and if he's pressuring me for more control over the armour, it's not for anything good."

"You know he's put through my transfer papers to Groom Lake, signed them personally. Next Sunday."

"Well I wouldn't pack my bags just yet if I were you-"

"Tony, if you do this-"

"I know, but it's something I have to do."

Jim just sighed. "I know you do, I know you do."

---

Reed zipped his parka up tight. Sue had pointed out that trying to walk in the front door of a Maxwell Lord owned research hub, guarded by armed men while wearing a bright blue nanoweave suit with the logo of a former short-lived superhero team maybe wasn't the best way to sneak beneath the Baxter Building. He turned to face the full-length mirror leaning against the wall of their makeshift bedroom and inspected his reflection. The beard wasn't an intentional addition to his aesthethic, more like something that he had let grow out of control and had now committed to styling and trimming in the vain effort to prove to his fiancée that it had been intentionally grown. He raised a hand to scratch it. Did it make him look older?

Sue stepped into the room behind him, her own coat half-zipped and a duffel slung over one shoulder. Her expression softened as she caught him scrutinizing himself in the mirror.

"You look fine." she said, brushing past to grab a small device from the nightstand. "Very grizzled genius chic." She turned back to face him fully, and then stopped, eyes scanning his outfit.

"Is that...is that the parka from when my dad took the Think Tank to the North Pole?"

Reed glanced down at himself. "It's warm. And durable."

"It's also six pounds of reinforced thermal mesh with a radiation liner. We're going under Midtown Manhattan, Reed, not trekking across the Ross Ice Shelf."

He looked momentarily defensive. "It rained yesterday. Water seeps down through the old foundation layers. If the ambient temperature dropped enough overnight, that moisture could create frost slicks underground, especially near sealed metal or unmaintained tunnels. Hypothermic microclimates form more easily than you'd think that deep down."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're wearing combat boots. In Manhattan."

He opened his mouth. Closed it, then looked down at his boots.

"I thought they'd be practical."

"They squeak." She walked over and started unzipping his jacket without asking, peeling him out of the oversized gear like she was field-dressing a particularly stubborn sleeping bag. "We're trying to blend in. If someone stops us, you want to look like a guy going to fix a power main, not auditioning for The Day After Tomorrow." She moved over to the wardrobe. "Plus, and don't take this the wrong way honey, but you don't exactly come across like one of the punks down in the East Village. I think you'd be getting a few funny looks trapsing about in these."

Reed watched her as she moved with efficient precision, grabbing a charcoal-grey utility jacket. It was faded, slightly scuffed, something that looked issued rather than bought, and something that had been used through all weathers. She tossed it to him along with a pair of dark cargo pants and a plain black beanie.

"These have RFID tags spoofed from an old ConEd database. Jacket passes for contractor wear. Pants have reinforced knees and deep pockets for tools. The beanie's just for style."

"You've really thought about this."

"I've had to sneak into a lot of places since we came back." Her tone softened a little. "And I know you. If you get stopped, you'll start explaining the quantum weave in your parka's insulation, and we'll both be arrested before you finish the sentence."

Reed gave a sheepish shrug as she handed him the new jacket. "That only happened twice."

"Three times." She smiled faintly and adjusted the collar on his shirt. "There. Now you look like someone whose backpack probably has tools in it instead of illegal interdimensional prototypes."

"I do have tools in it." Reed muttered.

"Good. Then we're halfway there."

She stepped back to admire her handiwork, then shouldered her own gear. Sue's disguise was just as inconspicuous, dark navy work pants with reinforced seams and tool loops, a fitted gray fleece jacket zipped over a collared shirt, and a high-vis vest stuffed into the top of her duffel in case they needed to play official. A faded ID lanyard with a barcode tag hung from her belt, just worn enough to look real, and her hair was pulled into a low, ponytail tucked under a generic navy ballcap bearing the logo of a long-defunct city utilities company. Just obscure enough to pass as real to any inattentive guard or camera.

"So I'm guessing we're not taking the Argo this time?"

Sue grinned. "It would sort of defeat the point of the disguise, don't you think?" She lead the way out of the bedroom and towards the door. Herbie perked up, beeping enthusiastically as he hovered over to the two of them. "Sorry, Herbie, not this time."

Herbie's light dimmed slightly, a warbling chirp escaping his speaker like a disappointed sigh. Reed gave the little drone a sympathetic pat as it lowered itself back onto its recharging pad. "Don't take it personally, buddy." He said. "You'd only make the machines at Lord's place jealous."

---

Sue stared at the buildings passing by as Reed fiddled about on his phone. It felt like years since they'd been on the overground together. She glanced at her partner.
"This takes me back to those days at the think tank." She spoke.

Reed smiled, glancing up from his phone. "Back when we were splitting instant noodles three ways and arguing over whose turn it was to clean the communal microwave?"

Sue gave a soft laugh, tucking her chin into her collar. "You mean back when Johnny set popcorn on fire and tried to convince your prototype smoke detector it was a controlled experiment?"

"He said he was 'testing the heat thresholds of common snack foods.' I still have the incident report. We were nearly evicted."

"You framed it," she shot back, grinning. "Hung it above your workstation like it was a degree."

"It was my first documented proof of field failure under unexpected variables." Reed said mock-seriously. Then, after a beat. "Also, I thought it was funny."

Sue shook her head fondly, leaning back against the rattling seat. "We were broke. Brilliant, stubborn, and barely surviving on scholarship stipends and vending machine coffee. God, remember that one winter when the building's heating gave out?"

"You wore two coats to bed for a week!" Reed laughed. "I tried to recalibrate the lab's kinetic battery array to power a space heater and nearly fused the entire subgrid."

"Nearly? You blew every breaker in the east wing, Reed."

He gave her a sheepish look. "It was a small explosion. Contained."

Sue chuckled, "You remember that one time Ben came to visit during finals week? Showed up unannounced, lugging that awful duffel bag he'd had since high school."

Reed laughed. "Oh God. The one with the broken zipper and half a Knicks logo stitched on with dental floss?"

"That's the one." She grinned at the memory. "He barged into the lounge like he owned the place. Scared half the bioengineering cohort. Brought you that awful diner coffee and a full bag of those off-brand energy bars."

"I think he said, and I quote 'Figured you eggheads might forget to eat something that didn't come out of a petri dish.'"

Sue snorted. "Then he took over our couch for three days and snored so loud the building manager filed a noise complaint."

Reed smiled faintly, but this time it didn't quite reach his eyes. He went quiet. Sue noticed immediately. Her smile faded. "Sorry." She said gently. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay." He shook his head. "It's a good memory." He smiled, staring out the window.

They sat in silence for a moment, the clatter of the train their only soundtrack.

"He always knew when I needed him." Reed said eventually. "Even when I didn't. Especially then."

Sue nodded. "He'd play dumb about it, but he was never clueless. He was a good friend."

Reed looked down at the screen of his phone, not reading it. "I still write messages sometimes. Almost hit send last week."

Sue didn't speak right away. She reached out instead, resting her hand briefly over his. He turned his palm slightly, letting their fingers interlock.

"He'd give us hell if he knew we were getting sentimental." Sue said softly.

Reed gave a quiet laugh. "Yeah. He'd tell us to stop moping and get back to work."

"'The world's not gonna fix itself, Stretch.'" Sue replied, doing her best attempt to mimick Ben's voice.

Reed's face bore a look of resolve. "No. It's not."

The train hissed as it pulled into the station. The overhead lights buzzed. Both of them stood, their hands separating as they stepped out of the train. They made their way in almost silence to the old Baxter Building. Neither of them were sure if it was the pressure of the mission, or the weight of the memories this place held for them that kept the two of them quiet.

They had seen the Baxter Building a few times since they were ousted from it all those years ago. At first it looked the same as it always did, but slowly overtime it became more and more militarized. Reinforced fencing had been erected around the perimeter, not the kind that screamed "construction site," but the kind that buzzed faintly with a low-grade current and had motion sensors built into the posts. The front plaza, once a public square where school kids would gawk at science exhibits and tourists posed for photos, was now a checkpoint zone. Armored drones patrolled overhead on lazy figure-eights. Reed could see the joints of their undercarriages glinting in the morning light, housing stun turrets and micro-surveillance arrays.

Sue nudged Reed as they approached the entrance. "Let me do the talking."

Reed gave a small nod, eyes flicking nervously to the security camera above the door. He cleared his throat. "I just - if they ask about our clearance, we can say we’re here for a maintenance subgrid ping. That's technically true. We're checking residual-"

The guard at the door raised a hand to stop them. He was in his mid-40s with a buzzcut and a moustache. Wearing sunglasses despite the cloud cover. Sue wondered if he knew he was a pastiche. "Badges?"

Sue was already reaching into her jacket. She flashed their forged ConEd credentials casually, like she had done this a million times before. Reed tried to do the same, but fumbled slightly, his badge catching on the inside of his coat. The guard's eyebrow arched.

"You two new?"

Reed blinked. "Uh, we - yes. I mean, not exactly new, just on reassignment, we were rerouted from - uh, Substation Delta to follow up on-" He trailed off, eyes darting briefly to Sue like a man praying for a lifeline.

She sighed, exaggerated, and slapped a hand on Reed's shoulder. "Listen," she said, voice suddenly hard-edged with a thick Brooklyn accent, "my guy here's not much for chitchat, but he's the one who knows what kind of voltage spike you're gonna get if someone don't re-run the grounding check down in Sector G."

The guard blinked. Sue leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to sound conspiratorial. "Now, you wanna be the guy who has to tell one o' those lab rats upstairs their cryo array just blew a ten thousand dollar lens because nobody checked the subgrid after last night's rain? Be my guest. But I'm tellin' ya - you'll be the one mopping the coolant off the ceiling. I betcha a hundred bucks our unions way better than yours."

There was a pause. The guard glanced at the other, who gave a minute shrug, then he stepped aside. "Maintenance's through the east access lift. Stay in your lane. Badge out when you leave."

Sue gave him a two-fingered salute. "Appreciate ya, boss."

Reed followed a half-step behind as they entered through the glass doors, he was almost whispering. "That accent is terrifying."

Sue smirked. "Worked, didn’t it?"

The interior had changed even more than the outside. The old Baxter reception desk was gone, replaced with a minimalist console staffed by a bored-looking clerk in a slate-grey uniform. Screens lined the walls, cycling through building schematics, power usage charts, and departmental access logs.

Sue tilted her head subtly, taking in the layout. "They gutted the core labs."

Reed's voice was tight. "Rebuilt it to their specs. Probably reconfigured the floorplans. But if the subbasement's still structurally intact, our route to the signal should be just past the east stairwell."

A soft chime echoed through the lobby, some kind of access confirmation as they swiped into the service corridor. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead.

"I really liked that old receptionist," Reed muttered, mostly to himself. "What was her name again? She used to bring banana bread on Fridays."

Sue shot him a look. "Focus, honey."

They pressed deeper into the belly of the building.

---

♫ Ding—dong—ding ♫
"This is 2nd Avenue. Transfer is available to the M train. Exit here for the Lower East Side. Please watch the gap between the train and the platform."

"Excuse me. Excuse me." Cindy Moon muttered as she deftly weaved through the rush hour crowd to escape from the mobile prison of the New York City subway system. It took effort but it was something she was use to by now.

"Doors are closing."

She lurched just in time to pass the last obstacle, a rather large rotund man who decided to jam as much stuff in his backpack as possible. A tourist, Cindy had pegged him as, just from the general vibe. He was on there before she got on and yet he still camped the door as if he'd miss his stop. Though that was just her being a typical New Yorker and lamenting about the tourists. They were scarce these days what with Mayor Osborn catering to government overreach. Turns out having security checkpoints all throughout the city turned off a lot of potential visitors. Go figure.

Following the few who also got off at this stop, Cindy navigated to the escalator and jammed on with everybody else. Her stomach gave a disapproving rumble with how slow she was to return home. It wasn't her fault, though. Robotics was just far more interesting today that she lost track of time. Like three hours worth, but that's fine. She'd still make it in time. Another rumble, this time from her pocket as her phone silently went off. She pulled it out, screen lighting up, greeting her with a New York Rangers icon for her background, ignored for the message that popped up on her notifications.


Even Mister Li was starting to notice she had been missing more than a few dinners New Way, it seemed. Once again, not her fault. There were things she had to do that would come up. It was a little exhausting being this busy but it wasn't like he'd understand. Maybe if they extended dinner servings past seven, she might be able to make a few. Then again, she'd also probably reason that she could stay out later aaand... probably still miss out on dinner. That would really draw attention that Cindy just didn't want to deal with right now.

She swiped on her phone and swiftly offered a reply.



It was nice of Mister Li to care, at least. That made one person that cared enough about to make sure she was eating. Cindy frowned sulking as she beat down the emotions that were crawling their way up as stepped off of the escalator and headed towards the exit. She hated feeling sorry for herself. That was how she got into this whole mess by sulking and moping about it. It wasn't going to undo what had been done.

Even still, Cindy stopped herself from grabbing the handrail as she started up the stairs to the street. The instinct overridden as she clenched her fists tightly, something that probably would have squeezed the life out of that poor handrail that did nothing but support old people as they made their climb up and down. That wouldn't be fair to them. Plus the whole secret identity thing would be tough to manage if a teenaged girl crushed metal bars like they were nothing.

Cresting above the sidewalk, the sounds of the city began reach Cindy's ears again. Cars honking, people walking or talking, the ever present construction noises, and oh yeah, the sirens.

Wait. Sirens?

Cindy's ears perked up in the direction she thought she could hear them, but that was only her human reflex making her turn. Her head tingled with a very specific feeling that only really she could describe and not well to others. She hurried up the rest of the way to the sidewalk and turned to face a bisecting street from the one she emerged on. She could feel in her head the speeds of the police cars, the blare of the sirens all three of them racing down E Houston towards her because. Because.

FWOOOOOOOSH!

A set of rockets sounded as they flared down 2nd Ave, turning onto East Houston. People everywhere looked up, including Cindy to catch a figure in a green jumpsuit in a partial mechanical suit. It had massive metallic wings that caught the dusking sun to shimmer as the man banked the turn to start heading East.

SKRAAAANG−KLKT!

The wings moved and adjusted mid-flight in some of the most advanced mechanical engineering Cindy had ever seen, and she had seen some impressive stuff as a robotics student. The police cars were drawing in, the man taking a moment to spare a glance at them. Cindy's vision focused, drawing details far better than anyone else watching. He looked intense, angry, as if something had gone wrong. The police being onto him, no doubt, but honestly, a set of jet powered wings. Not exactly scoring points for subtly.

The man turned back east and the jets flared back to life just as Cindy had began to sprint to an alleyway just adjacent to her subway exit. In the cover of the darkened space between two buildings, she flipped her backpack around drawing out her suit. She flashed a glance at her watch. 6:49. She was probably just about to make it to dinner, too.

But like all the other times she had missed this month.

Duty called.

---

They made their way through the winding corridors of the Baxter Building, taking each turn like they had never left the place at all. It felt like walking through a nightmare. Every room felt like a new liminal space, somewhere they recognised, but had been changed just enough to put them on edge. Where before there was the laughter and nerdy banter of the young geeks that swarmed the building, now there was just sterile silence and the hum of fluorescent lighting. Surveillance cameras tracked them like predators in every room they passed through. The air smelled of ozone and cleaning chemicals instead of burnt coffee and microwave burritos. The heart of the Baxter Building hadn't stopped beating, but it definitely had some poison pumping through its veins now.

Sue led the way, holding a palm-sized tracking device she'd cobbled together a few weeks ago from salvaged lab scrap and a stripped-down Agency scanner. It looked like a half-gutted remote control, copper wiring exposed along the sides, the screen flickering every so often from a soldering fault she hadn't had time to fix. She'd tuned it specifically to pick up the exotic radiation signature beneath the Baxter Building. A steady pulse echoed on the small display, a glowing dot blinking in rhythmic intervals that was bringing them closer to whatever was beneath the building.

"Getting closer." she muttered, more to herself than to Reed. Metallic doors slid open, letting them into a room with various scientists in lab coats working at their desks on computers or gazing through microscopes. A few of them glanced up at the pair, but the majority were too engrossed in their work to notice the would-be handymen enter. Sue nudged reed with her elbow and nodded her head towards the back wall. "Reed, the old service lift is behind that wall, I'm sure of it. We've got to clear this room if we're going to get to the sub-basement."

Reed gave a short nod, eyes scanning the room with quiet calculation. "Alright. let me handle this." Without waiting for a reply, he stepped forward spoke with authority. "Excuse me," he said loudly, addressing the room. Heads turned. "We've got a priority-level systems maintenance request from LordTech, tied to one of the bio-refrigerant lines in this room. Might be a pressure fault. Not sure what they've done to your coolant system, but if that thing blows it'll take half your sequencing array with it."

That got their attention. One of the younger researchers stood up. "I didn't get anything flagged on my work queue."

"Because it's not in your queue." Reed shot back, with a look that could kill. "It's in the emergency failsafe log. Go ask whoever's running ops upstairs if you want to double-check. I'll be here, trying to fix your mistake and make sure you don't all end up doing gene therapy in a puddle of melted alloy."

There was an awkward pause. Another scientist looked uncertain, but the threat of bureaucratic disaster and blown equipment was enough to stir motion. Several people got up, a few murmuring to one another, and within a minute the room had mostly emptied, either in search of confirmation or unwilling to be nearby if the 'pressure fault' went bad.

Sue sidled up next to Reed as he watched the last of the researchers leave the room. "That was actually quite impressive! Much better than talking to the security at the gate."

Reed smirked. "I spent most of my young life writing protocols like that, no one wants to be the one at fault when the boss comes down, that I know for sure."

"Preach." Sue replied, turning to face the back wall. "Looks like they walled over the service lift, this might be trickier than we thought." She moved closer, running her hand along the wall trying to find any groove or marking that might make this easier. With a deep breath she focused her energy and the wall disappeared, turning completely invisible under her touch, revealing the lift just behind. "Bingo." She started using her other hand to knock on the wall, trying to find any soft spot they could use to break through.

Eventually, she did and a smile grew on her face. She had to admit, this was all very exciting. It felt like they were Mr. and Mrs. Smith, on a secret mission to infiltrate the evil scientists lair. She took a step back, putting her hands on her hips, taking one last look at the wall.

"Alright, Reed I think it's time for your talen-" She stopped mid sentence as she turned to see her fiancé sitting at one of the desks typing away on one of the computers. "Reed, what exactly do you think you're doing?"

Reed's hands moved across the keyboard like he was playing a familiar piano piece. "Their system's running duplicate diagnostics loops." He murmured. "That's why everything's lagging."

Sue moved closer and leaned over the desk, staring at the computer screen. "Reed we're breaking in to Lord's research hub and your take away is that you want to help him speed up his system?"

There was a beat of silence as Reed stopped typing. "Fair point." pushing down on the backspace key and deleting several lines of code as he spoke. "It's just weird how inefficent this all is. They're running the same analysis script through two different subroutines, wasting half their memory allocation every cycle. It's like trying to proofread your own email by CC'ing yourself twelve times." He pushed himself away from the desk and rose to his feet, happier now knowing he'd just given whatever IT team oversaw this building the biggest headache they'd ever had. "I can't believe they replaced us with these amateurs!"

Sue smiled back at him, laughing slightly. "Alright, genius, Lift's behind door number one." She pointed towards the wall with her thumb.

Reed didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took a step back and drew a long, deliberate breath. His arm began to stretch, the fibers of his body elongating as if his skeleton were made of taffy and his muscles reknitted themselves on the fly. His hand swelled, fingers widening, palm expanding until it was nearly the size of a manhole cover.

"Going with the oversized fist approach?" Sue asked, amused. "Classic."

"Newton's Second Law," Reed muttered. "Force equals mass times acceleration. I just happen to have a very variable approach to mass."

Then, with surprising speed, he brought the enormous fist back and slammed it forward into the wall like a whip. There was a deafening CRACK-THOOM, like a wrecking ball hitting the side of a bunker. Dust exploded outward in a gray cloud as a spiderweb of fractures raced through the panel. On the second blow, the whole section buckled inward and collapsed in a shower of fractured cement and shredded insulation, revealing the old service lift shaft behind it.

Sue shielded her eyes from the dust, coughing once and waving her hand. "Subtle, as always."

Reed flexed his now-normal hand, shaking off bits of concrete. "It's a lost art."

The air beyond the breach was stale and cold, whispering out from the dark shaft like breath from a tomb. The old lift was still intact, just barely. Rust gnawed at the walls, and old warning signs peeled from metal long since stripped of polish. It didn't look like the most steady thing in the world, but it was this or nothing. They stepped inside and glanced at the controls. Reed tried the switch a few times, frowning as only small shudders of power rippled through the frame. The lift groaned but refused to budge more than an inch with each attempt.

"Motor's still got juice." he muttered, flipping open a scorched panel to reroute the auxiliary relay. "But something's jamming the—"

As they struggled with the controls the galloping sounds of boots filled the room. Within seconds, armed security poured into the lab. A dozen men and women in full tactical gear swept into formation, rifles raised and pointing at the couple. They fanned out in a crescent, surrounding the lift like wolves circling a cornered deer.

"Freeze!" barked the commanding officer, his voice amplified through a helmet speaker. "You are trespassing on restricted U.S. government property! Comply immediately and submit to a detention centre under Order 619-B or we will open fire!"

The two glanced sheepishly at each other. Sue quietly wished their disguise had included masks when she'd planned their infiltration. Becoming an enemy of the state wasn't exactly on her to do list for the day. They both slowly raised their hands as the security forces edged closer. Suddenly, a barely visible bubble shield appeared.

Sue's shield shimmered as the first volley of bullets slammed into it, flattening harmlessly against the invisible surface. She gritted her teeth, hand outstretched, maintaining the barrier's curvature while focusing her other palm outward. With a twitch of her fingers, a razor-thin force construct lanced through the air, slamming into a guard's chestplate and knocking him off his feet.

"Never a dull moment." she muttered, launching another sharp-edged disc that clipped a rifle clean from a second guard's hands.

Reed stayed just behind her, crouched low inside the lift as his arms snapped outward through narrow gaps in the shield. One fist stretched and coiled like a whip, socking a soldier square in the visor with enough force to drop him. Another limb snaked around a desk, sweeping it forward to scatter two others.

Sue's shield flickered for a heartbeat as she redirected a chunk of its mass into a sudden spike that jutted out and swept a pair of boots out from under a third guard. She pulled it back just in time to block another burst of gunfire.

"We need to move." Reed said, glancing up at the emergency hatch and breaking it open with a punch. Reed hoisted himself halfway through the emergency hatch, eyes scanning the rusted guts of the shaft. "Winch motor's dead." he shouted. "We're not getting anywhere with controls."

"So we're stuck?" Sue called back, still holding the flickering shield as another round of gunfire rattled against it.

"No," Reed said, reaching upward, his arm stretching like a rope of muscle and sinew. "We're going manual!"

Before she could ask what that meant, he shot his other arm out the hatch, snaking it around a thick support beam ten feet above. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he snapped the main elevator cable. The platform lurched violently, Sue stumbled, catching herself just before the shield dropped.

"Reed!"

"Got it!" he shouted, teeth clenched. His body elongated upward, anchoring them as he braced his feet against the inner corners of the lift, stretching like a living suspension line. The whole carriage jerked, then began to descend, guided only by the elasticity of his limbs resisting gravity. Sue held the shield in place against the torrent of gunfire, protecting Reed's ever stretching limbs as the shouts of horror echoed down the elevator shaft from the terrified security team.

"Next time we're taking the stairs!"

"Where's the drama in that?" Reed grunted, inching them down floor by floor, the darkness below rushing up to meet them.

"Whatever's down there better be worth it!" Sue shouted, her shield still deflecting the last desperate shots from above.

Reed winced as his limbs strained under the weight. "Knowing our luck?" he called down. "It's not."

The moment Reed let go, the lift groaned one final time and settled with a juddering thud. A hiss of dust rose around their boots as the two stepped out into darkness. It wasn't what either of them had expected.

Instead of concrete, the corridor before them opened out into a yawning cavern, so vast it seemed to swallow the remnants of the Baxter Building's foundation. Jagged rock walls curved outward like the ribs of a fossilized beast, and far above, the ceiling disappeared into shadows. Glowing strands of bioluminescent fungi clung to the stone, casting a ghostly teal light across the floor in uneven, pulsing waves. Pools of water glimmered at random intervals, reflecting pale light like broken mirrors.

Sue lowered her scanner, forgetting for a moment what they had come here to find. She expected they'd already found it. "How deep does this go?" she whispered, stepping forward. The walls were cracked, eroded by time and what felt like something else entirely. This hadn't been a collapse, it was a tunnel.

"It's a world under a world." Reed replied, trailing behind her, glancing at every wall in awe. His silhouette flickered in the eerie fungal light, stretching toward the unseen distance ahead. "No wonder the signals were scrambled. I've never seen anything like this before."

A faint sound echoed from deeper in the cavern, as though something moved just outside the range of their vision. Then silence again. Reed and Sue both turned instinctively, but saw nothing. Just the cavern, neither of them spoke for fear of the worst.

---

Commander Elbridge dropped the last few feet of rope with a grunt, landing beside the ruined elevator. The rest of his unit fanned out around him s they finished rappelling down behind him, visors scanning the shadows, rifles at the ready.

"Target signatures stopped transmitting thirty seconds ago." one of the techs said over comms. Elbridge continued tapping at a wrist-mounted screen. "Dropped below our grid. You're too low for us to give support." The voice on the radio was already fizzing and cracking due to the bad reception.

"Figures." Elbridge muttered, flicking on his shoulder-mounted floodlight. "Typical nerd shit. It's not like we needed em anyways, right boys?"

A few of the soldiers chuckled or called back in affirmation, their footsteps echoing in the vast space as they fanned out behind him. The sound was swallowed quickly by the cavern's damp vastness.

Elbridge moved like a man who'd kicked in more doors than he'd opened, sweeping his rifle across the darkness with the practice of someone who'd done this a million times. He stepped over a strange root, glowing faintly beneath his boot. He didn't seem to notice. Taking a moment to stand and survey the area ahead before addressing his team.

"These meta scum bleed like the rest of us." he boomed "Stretchy arms and invisible shields or not, bullets'll still do the trick. Sweep formation, stay tight. I want eyes on them before they start pulling that sci-fi crap. Shoot on sight."

---

There are over eight million people in New York City, mashed in together and desperate for their own little slice of foxhole. Tonight there might as well be two: me and it. I thought once I got back out into the city I’d have a second to breathe and be home again. I’d take a couple big gulps of that shitty, polluted, delicious New York air and my head would be set straight. The fog would disappear and so would I into the streets I knew better than my own face.

Instead all I could think about was the thing clinging to my skin and the sweat running off every part of my body. It was finally asleep, or something like it. In the lab, in that cell, it latched onto me with its sick darkness and spread until it covered me, molded to me. It was everywhere, forcing its tendrils through my body, evaluating, tasting. I’ve done terrible things to my body -- been slashed, shot, filled with shrapnel. I’ve pulled bullets out of my chest without anesthetic, feeling the long metal tweezer deep in my flesh every inch of the way. I could handle this, the burrowing feeling around my heart and liver, the waves of tension and pain radiating across my skull, even the way my sinuses filled with ooze and threatened to burst. Then the voice.

It sounded like someone was whispering to me from the space between my ears. Its speech barely held together, made up of sickening moist slaps and grinding, guttural consonants. It sounded like a still-bleeding pile of offal had found a way to speak. It called itself Venom, and it needed to get out. I was the only one it had found that seemed strong enough. It said the others broke before they could try. How long would it take me to break, it wondered?

I didn’t answer it with my words. I couldn’t, suffocating on darkness. I remembered a time from out on deployment, when the rain was coming down harder than the bullets and the wind screamed and begged like a dying man. A bolt of lightning darted over camp and detonated the biggest, oldest cypress around and covered the whole platoon in wood chips and embers. The core of the tree became an inferno, blazing and roiling inside like a portal to Hell itself while its outsides hissed and spat at the oncoming rain. The next morning, all that was left of the tree was a glassy, obsidian-black stump that radiated heat like a furnace. You could feel that heat, standing by that stump, for weeks and months. I think it still burns today. It still does, inside me.

It took the lead. It fought like an unchained bull, rushing through and goring everything in its path with unbelievable strength. It took the form of a massive man, all tooth and muscle, sealed around me like a coffin as it did its work. It smashed out of our cell and killed everything left in the lab within an hour. Then it ate. It took us to their bodies like a keen vulture, picked out the morsels it found most interesting and slurped them into its bizarre gullet. Then, as quickly as it formed, it faded away. The coffin opened and receded beneath my skin. The voice went quiet.

I had hope it spent itself in the killing. Maybe after all was said and done I could piss the fucker out like I’ve done a hundred other poisons I’ve put in me. I found the way to open the door to the lab after an hour of searching and got out into the sewers. The rot and garbage smelled like home. Then the shakes started. Figured I might die like the others -- they went pretty quick. ‘Venom’ must have had his use of me. It would devour me and attach itself to the next chump who didn’t expire on contact. Maybe it had eaten enough to stand on its own. It felt like a thousand beetles swarmed through my insides, devouring my muscles and my organs, and every step I took made them angrier.

I managed to trudge my way out to the streets and into the ruins of some smashed up homeless camp. Not unusual in this city. I was used to the law overstepping their bounds. But this one looked bad. The burn marks on the trodden-on tent vinyl did not tell a happy story. Neither did the dried, anonymous blood that I found myself hoping was very old. That part hoping was the same part that still raged against the madness that plagued this city. It was the part that knew all the drug dealers and the dirty cops, the human traffickers, the suits, the scum were all still out there, rampant, begging for punishment. It was the part I learned to quiet in the cell. I had enough of raging and breaking my knuckles on the walls. I already doled out plenty of punishment. I remembered David Lieberman, my oldest friend. He was with me from the beginning, my eyes and ears on the web. After that first year of being the Punisher, he would always ask why we had to keep going. We had long since killed the men from that day in the park. I always had some justification for him. Something about drugs or guns proliferating, gangs, cops, The Reach, or about anything else within reach. Could I look him in the eye and tell him the same now? I still felt the alien eating away at me, but maybe I had enough time left to find out.

I fished a set of holey jeans and a shredded coat from the camp and made my way to Lieberman’s. It looked the same on the outside, a ramshackle converted tenement held together mostly by hope and Dave’s shitty DIY jobs. As I got closer, I realized it wasn’t the usual spit-and-span look. His door was hanging half off its hinges. Like someone had broken it down. I saw a chair in the doorway, propped up feebly as if it would give the door any of its stability back. Dave was still living there, alright. I pushed my way inside and found him in his living room.

“Frank!?” Lieberman was on his knees, stuffing a hurricane of clothes and what had to be every electronic he owned into a too-small suitcase. What hair he had left was as much of a mess as his house. Lieberman dropped an L-pad on the hardwood as soon as he saw me. He put his head in his hands. “This is the craziest fucking night of my life…”

“Finally moving to Florida?” I asked. Half a joke. He always talked about the problems in his neighborhood, how it was no place to start a family. But his eyes were bloodshot, his whole pudgy frame shaking. Even on the worst nights of the Punisher, when the gangs and the cops were all out for blood, he was sat in here behind his desk without worry, chaining his nicotine patches and staying in touch all night. Now I saw there was a packet of the cigarettes he tried so hard to quit wedged into his shirt pocket.

“What did you get into? I thought you were all about laying low.” I asked. Lieberman was always the careful one. While I ran around on my crusade with no mask and no concern for myself, he erased digital trails and security footage. He would sabotage security measures and detections, and had even wiped himself from multiple government databases.

“A man broke in here tonight and managed to spill everything I was stupid enough to keep over the years…” Dave shook his head. “They’re going to come down on me like the hammer of God.”

“We’ve gotten around the cops before.” I said. The NYPD was almost as slow as it was greedy. They could have reformed since I was away, but if I knew anything about the Police union in the city, I doubted it.

“It’s not the cops I’m worried about. It’s The Agency.” Lieberman said. He bit his thumbnail that was already bitten down. He looked ready to tear it off.

“Agency?” I grunted out the question. I could feel the creature around what I was sure was my heart, plucking it like some crude instrument. But still I stood.

“You don’t know?” Dave struggled for a moment, saw the faraway look on my face. “They’re… They’re ‘the Punisher’ for guys like us.” I could almost laugh. Spend five years in a cell, and get out only to find they’re coming harder than ever. It figured. But if anyone was asking for it, it was me.

“Don’t we deserve it, Lieberman? The things we’ve done?” I rasped. I’ve killed too many men for either of us to remember. Every street corner around held the memory of that bloodshed. Did they all deserve it? I thought so. But the more I thought about it, the more it became ‘hope so’.

“We’re not the only ones who will eat shit for this, Frank. I’ve got -- I’ve got --” Lieberman stammered. As he spoke, the door to his basement swung wide and a pair of little feet padded in.

“Dad? What’s going on?” There was a little boy at the top of Dave’s stairs, wearing a Knicks t-shirt a size too big. He looked a lot like Frank Jr. used to, the dark hair and the big, mysterious eyes. Except for the scales in neon colors that ran all over his body, peeking out at his neck and all over the backs of his hands.

“David Jr! Back downstairs. Finish packing, now,” Lieberman said. The boy yelped and fled back into the dark of the basement. Guilt sat in my throat. Dave managed to make a life for himself, and I already ruined it. Now I was exposing them to the thing soon to eat me inside out. I had to go.

“He’s a mutant, Frank,” Dave said, like I couldn’t tell, “they’ll kill him.” Mutant bigotry was nothing new, especially on the force. I’d seen a lot of young officers drummed out on trumped up violations for trying to fight against it. There was no telling how rampant it was in this ‘Agency’, but Dave’s look gave me a pretty good impression.

Before I could say anything, move to go, I heard a scratch and crackle outside. The telltale sound of a bullhorn turning on. Dave had run out of time. In my earlier days I would have heard the approach, the wheels crunching on the gravel or the hum of an overtuned cruiser engine. Instead, our new arrivals got the first word:

“David Lieberman! We have you surrounded! Come out with your hands up!” It was some overeager trooper, excited to make his first big bust. They showed fast. It didn’t sound like they were expecting me. I had to stay to give Lieberman a chance, as much of one as I could give him dying on his living room floor.

“You still keep the pump in the same spot, Dave?” I forced myself over to his mantle, ignoring the feeling of alien fibers worming through my muscles.

Dave’s jaw dropped. “You’re not armed?”

“Get downstairs. You two need to get out in the confusion. Go to the old spot. I’ll hold them as long as I can.” I hoped it would be long enough. I only had so many shells, and there was no telling how long I could resist the alien once the shots started coming. As long as Dave could get out, everything would be alright.

Lieberman nodded too many times and scurried to the basement door. I reached up inside the fireplace and closed my hands around a wooden stock. It was the same sawn off pump-action shotgun I’d stashed with him since I became the Punisher. So he could better protect himself, I told him. I just hope he maintained the damn thing.

“Frank? When did you change?” It was Lieberman, looking back at me from the top of the stairs.

“We’ll catch up later, Lieberman,” I said. We wouldn’t. This would be the Punisher’s last dance.

“Your clothes, Frank,” Dave said.

“What?” I looked down at myself and beheld the skull I had worn for five years, the one that now lived in my dreams and the nightmares of countless others.

Jim sat at the workbench, before him was one of the Patriots disassembled gauntlet. In his last deployment the delay between the triggers and the first shot was 0.5 seconds more than it should have been. On his head he wore some of Tonys 'special' sunglasses. Increasing the magnification as he reached the tip of the screwdriver deep within the structure of the gauntlet. During his career he had maintianed weapons and vehicles, but in comparison this felt more like open heart surgery. The smallest error, the smallest wobble as he tightened the screw and he could ruin the entire gauntlet. Then that required getting Tony to take a look at it, which would result in a bruised ego and a headache after his friend reminded him how much smarter he was.

Pulling the screwdriver out of the inner workings, very carefully. He lifted the glasses off his face, resting them on the top of his head as he looked over to Tony who was sat in the corner of the room in what looked like a high-tech dentist chair. He wore a metal cap, fitted with blue lights and wires that ran to a nearby computer. His eyes were closed, though Jim could see them twisting and turning beneath his eyelids. It was almost as if Tony was dreaming, a terrible dream.

Jim hadn't asked what he was doing, merely grunted in acceptance when Tony had told him not to disturb him. So he just sat away quietely working, occasionally looking over at his friend with a look of concern. Jim had his own issues with the current administration, and had noticed an increase in his being deployed domestically especially in the last couple of months. The truth of the matter was that people were elected to make the right decisions, and whether he liked it or not he was an officer in the military sworn to uphold the values of the United States of America and follow the orders of his Commander in Chief. What he found himself wondering more these days, not that he'd ever admit it, was where he was supposed to draw the line?

_{"You can't go in there, he asked not to be disturbed-"}

The sound of a door opening at the top of the stairs leading down to the workshop. The thud of heavy steps ahead of the soft clack of high heels. Jim turned his attention to the bottom of the stairs as the unmistakable gait of Obadiah Stane came storming down the stairs, followed quickly by a very flustered Pepper Potts. Tony Starks long term assistant, and possibly the closest thing he had ever had to a committed life partner. Obadiah placed his palm on the scanner, and Jim heard the angry buzzer of denial. Before poor Pepper could get a word in edgeways Obadiah slammed his fist on the glass door.

The lights surrounding Tony flashed red and orange as he shot up with a sudden start. The look of anger visible on his face, before he ripped the technological crown off his head and tossed it atop a nearby workbench. Managing to get his facial expressions back under control, entering what he had told Jim he liked to call businessman mode. The man even processed thoughts as if he was just another piece of technology in the workshop. "Let him in Jarvis." A light ping in acknolwedgement from the houses VI, and the door clicked open.

"Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?" Barked Obadiah, as he cast one of his fat accusing fingers directly in Tonys direction. Not forgetting to throw a disdainful look Jims way. As if whatever crime Tony had committed, at been at his friends behest.

"Well I was having a little assisted nap before you came storming in-" Tony walked over to what had used to be the bar, before he managed to curb old habits. Pouring himself some kind of orange/red juice. "-drink?"

"No I damn well don't want a drink-" He pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocked the screen and then threw it down infront of Tony. Jim couldn't see what was on the screen from where he was, though he could only guess it was Tonys statement about the shutting down of the Patriot Program, as well as all other arms manufacturing at Stark Industries. As quietly as possible, he picked up the gauntlet and began shuffling back over to his suit. Hoping he could re-assemble it and get out of the room before he was somehow dragged into this. "-I want you to explain this!"

"Ah. That." Tony turned to Jim and made a gesture offering him a glass.

Damn That meant Jim was involved in this now. He shook his head politely, Pepper stood at the door looking like she wasn't entirely sure what to do now. She had failed to keep Obadiah from breaching the peace, so did that mean she was supposed to stay and try and remove him, or did she move on with her life. She caught Jims eyes and he just nodded. He'd try and keep what possible peace there could be kept between the two mountains of ego and ambition. Being caught in the middle likely wasn't going to end very well, it never did. There was no point both of them suffering. She mouthed a thankyou, and made her hasty retreat.

"Yes. That.-" Obadiah picked up the phone, reading directly from the document. "From the 1st of the Month the Iron Patriot Program will be discontinued, all existing prototypes will be retired and decomissioned. By the thirtieth all active weapon programs and development will end with future roll backs and decomissioning to be expected. - What the hell is that all about? We're a Weapons manufacturer Tony." He turned his accusing glare towards Jim as he accidentally made a large clank noise reattaching the gauntlet. Turning back to Tony he cast an accusing thumb over his shoulder in Jims general direction. "Did he know about this?"

Tony took a sip of his juice, as he sat back down. "He had about a ten minute headstart on you, so there's no point you trying the make the world a better place arguement, we've already done that one-"

"Oh good." Obadiah retorted, lacking any sense of glee.

Jim saw the time to strike, speak up now. Make his position known, back away out of the conversation quietely and let the two goliaths duke it out. No point poor David getting stuck in the middle. "I pointed out with the shift towards threat detection, and neutralisation rather than extermination that the Patriot and all other technologies are the best balance of serving the people, without leaving them open to risk."

Obadiah laughed. "You're both missing the point. The greater good and serving the people doesn't matter. What matters is that we keep ourselves wealthy, and help the shareholders along the way-" He raised a silencing finger to Jim. "-it's up to people like you in the military, and your superiors to decide what the greater good is and how to use these systems. He turned himself back to Tony. Almost looking sad. Had Jim not known the man, he would have even believed it. If you looked up the definition of War Monger, Power Hungry and Business Monster in the dictionary, right beside Maxwell Lord and Norman Osborne you would see a picture of Obadiah Stane. He had fought Tony at every juncture as he had tried to make the company more peaceful, more world friendly.

It looked like he wasn't about to stop now.

"I won't have another Gulmira on my hands." Obadiah went to walk forward, shaking his head. Tony cut him off however before he could respond. "It doesn't matter how many times you tell me that their blood is not on my hands. Weapons and systems I designed were used to kill innocent people-" He pointed over to the patriot armour. "-that is the most sophisticated weapons system on the face of this planet. I will not have it, or systems like it falling into the hands who would harm innocent people. Not again."

"You're going to destroy everything me and your father built together-"

"Please. You needed Dad more than he needed you."

"Now Son-" Ire creeping into his voice. "-we both know that's not true. Just think of what you're doing. Reed Richards wanted to go off and do his own thing, ignore the word of the government, heard from him lately?"

Tony flinched. "Maybe if I had half the spine Reed had, we could have done something together to repair the world, rather than making bigger weapons to tear it apart."

"You think someone else isn't going to fill in the gap you leave behind? Kord, Hammer, Trask. They're all looking to be the next big thing, if you open the door they're just going to-"

Sighing, Tony raised a hand. "What other people do, is not my problem. Though I'll have a team of lawyers ready to pour over anything they make that resembles my work."

"So that's it then, you've made up your mind? Just going to let the muties and aliens walk all over us?

Jim walked over, joining the conversation properly rather than just hanging back awkwardly. "If they do, we'll be ready for them-" Tony threw a scowl in his direction, behind Obadiahs back and Jim winced. He had just revealed more than he was supposed to. "-afterall we know the technology works, Tony can always build a new suit if he needs too." With any luck Obadiah wouldn't think too much into it.

"The end of the matter is, more and more people are attempting to recreate my technology and we can't let it get into the wrong hands. I'm sure by now you've heard about the security breach at Stark Tower. Someone managed to hack into one of my old subdirectories, download old War Machine specs and smuggle it out of the building." Now it was Jims turn to be surprised. He hadn't been told about a breach, but then this was the kind of information that could destroy a company and as much as he was Tonys friend and confidant he wasn't technically on the payroll, and had to answer to his own superiors.

"So this is about cleaning house?"

"Sure."

"It's not a complete end to everything?"

"Nope."

Obadiah gave a somewhat satisifed hm in the back of his throat. "So no statement yet?"

"I don't see why we would, I'm meant to have a meeting in the White House later in the week. I'll let them know I'm taking the Patriot offline for maintenance, service and upgrades. We've already recalled some ZAT weapons under the pretense of a faulty batch. We'll get our house in order, then we'll see where we lie."

"Okay then, but you lie low. Let me take the lead on this, everyones going to come for us." He reached over and put a hand on Tonys shoulder. "I'm just trying to look out for you, we need to stick together." He turned and looked at Jim with a smile that didn't reach entirely all the way to his eyes. "The three of us are all in this together."

---

It didn't sit right in his stomach. 'Just refuse to do it, refuse to go. We can say the suit is down for maintenance' Jim had pointed out that part of the agreement with the Government was that they had access to tracking and diagnostic data on the suit, they had to be able to assess how it was doing in a combat situation afterall. Thus without making something wrong with it that wasn't going to work. Even if he had claimed to be ill, the raid would still have gone ahead as scheduled. He couldn't turn it down, not since learning that somehow Taggert was still on active duty. He had claimed that the unconcious mutant was actually about to kill him, that he had acted in self defence. All charges dropped, accusations cleared.

Jim was told to just deal with it, he might have been the ranking officer however it wasn't his team. Infact he wasn't entirely sure what branch of the military they were from. He recieved his orders, was sent in and then the SpecOps team was sent in to clean up and contain. For all he knew they were CIA. No, until Tony had spoken to the President and withdrew his support for the Patriot and the various other weapons programs the best place for himw as on the frontlines. Tony had smiled at that. I don't deserve a friend like you Rhodey. That's for damn sure. The two had laughed before the faceplate closed over his face, sealing him in and he had taken to the skies.

Before Lord took office, Ellis had sent Jim all over the globe. Quite often he was attached to foreign militaries, did anti-piracy operations, helped bring peace to destablised regions after the Reach War. Occasionally, though very rarely, he would be deployed to deal with a meta-human threat within the confines of the US. Since Lord had taken office he was deployed to a variety of camps, some would call them refugee camps. Initially they had been in other countries, then they started finding others within the United States such as the one within Yellowstone. More recently he had found himself deployed to homeless camps and derelict buildings on the outskirts of various cities. At what point, he asked himself, did this protection infringe on their freedoms? Had they already gone over that line.

“I James Rupert Rhodes,
having been appointed
a 2nd Lieutenant in the United States
Air Force, do solemnly swear
that I will support
and defend the Constitution of
the United States against all
enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith
and allegiance to the same;
that I take this obligation
freely, without any mental
reservation or purpose of
evasion; and that I will well
and faithfully discharge the
duties of the office upon
which I am about to enter. So
help me God.

He saw the building ahead, didn't even wait for the all clear from the ground team. All he saw was that they weren't in position yet. He saw the heat signatures in the abandoned warehouse, and he dropped in through the roof. People screamed and shouted, some instantly ran. He raised his hands, with moving his eyes over the hud the helmet tracked his movements. A twitch of his pinky brought the combat systems online, changing the ammo from lethal rounds to non-lethal. A status appeared at the top of the HUD, the mutant/meta gene tracking system coming online. Not that Jim trusted it, he wasn't sure if it was paraoia or just his complete and utter faith in Tony and his expertise. Flicking over to the external comms, he raised his voice as it echoed throughout the warehouse. "Nobody move!" The status bar in the upper right hand side of his screen continued to load up.

Jim ignored it looking around the room, as once again everybody froze. Kids. They were all a bunch of kids, there couldn't have been anyone here older than nineteen. Some had visible mutations, others didn't. "I don't want to hurt anyone, the military is coming. I need you all to stand down now-"

A blonde man stepped forward, freckles addorning his face. "You are Colonel Rhodes." He spoke with a thick Irish accent. His suit scanned his face, but struggled to identify him. Whoever he was, he was either here illegaly or had his identity removed from the system.

"That's correct. Look I don't mean to rush thing, but the military is on their way, I need you to stand down now, and I promise you you won't be harmed."

"Why should we believe you? The last camp you raided, everyone disappeared?"

The status bar continued to load. "What do you mean, everybody disappeared?"

The boy shook his head. "Perhaps you and Stark ain't as clever as you think yous are. They're all gone, no trace of them anywhere-"

"That can't be, perhaps you just haven't-"

"You aren't listening are ya? We have connections. They're gone. They're not in a hospital, they're not being tested, they're not in a holding facility. Gone. Probably dead."

That cold sinking feeling was creeping back into his stomach, stretching up into his chest. Filling him up from the inside. Jim had heard the conspiracies, seen the data but he hadn't known. Perhaps he hadn't wanted to know.

do solemnly swear
that I will support
and defend the Constitution of
the United States against all
enemies, foreign and domestic;

The status bar at the top of his HUD finished loading, and his screen went red. Circles highlighted dozens of the kids, the minigun on his back popped up into the firing position. The Irish boy backed up slightly, fists clenched. "What the hell ya doing man?"

"It's not me." The gun began to spool up as the words [MUTANTS DETECTED] appeared on the screen.

"Stop it man-"

"-Get out of here!" A bunch of the kids screamed, and started to run. As the gun fired.