AndyC

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

“Is this really where you meet up to do covert black-ops stuff?” Kitty asks as we reach our contact’s location. “I was hoping for, like, a high-end casino or the balcony of some skyscraper or something.”

“Well, those aren’t exactly covert, are they?” I say as we slow the truck to a stop outside a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire. “Besides, there’s more to this place than you’d expect.”

“I guess,” Kitty says, careful to avoid a rusty piece of jagged sheet metal as we step out of the truck. “I just wasn’t expecting it to be so…junky.”

CC & JR's Scrap Yard is a several-acre landfill on the outskirts of Winnipeg. It's a cemetery of old machinery, as piled-up husks of dead cars and trucks, old kitchen appliances, retired school buses, and outdated construction equipment make a winding maze among the junk heaps. The piles of machinery stack up nearly twenty feet high in places, and the peaks of the makeshift hills are crisscrossed with wires and netting. In some places in that maze, it’s hard to see the sun through all the junk overhead, and the path is filled with switchbacks and dead ends.

For your average scrapper, the layout is inconvenient, sloppy. For someone wanting to stage a raid on an old Mutant Rights fugitive, it’s a death trap.

“So, like, what is this guy, the Jigsaw killer or something?” she asks, stepping over the faded white door of an ice cream truck.

“Forge used to provide my old team with gear for our missions,” I tell Kitty. “Guy wasn’t just a genius; he had the ability to see mechanical energy in action. He could instinctively understand what kind of work might need to be done, and put together exactly the right tool for it. He was the first of our team to remember he had a conscience and walk away, and he wanted to make sure no one from the bad old days ever tried to drag him back in. So he made himself a place where he could be left alone, filled with some pretty nasty surprises for anyone who comes calling without his permission. Stay with me, don’t wander off, and don’t touch anything.”

“That part so won’t be a problem,” she says with a giggle, then casually waves her hand right through the husk of an old sedan.

Slowly, we make our way down the path, and I guide Kitty through the maze little by little. Where the path forks, I take a moment to recall the right route, and take whichever the less obvious way is. When there’s an apparent straightaway, I veer off onto a passage that’s all but invisible unless you’re looking at the right angle. I don’t go out of my way to make noise, but I don’t hide the fact that we’re here. I want Forge to know we’re coming, and that we don’t mean any trouble.

“Oh hey, before we meet him,” Kitty asks, “What should my code-name be?”

“This again?” I sigh.

“Well, come on! You’re ‘Wolverine,’ he’s ‘Forge,’ and I’m not about to dox myself for some stranger.”

“Suit yourself,” I say with a shrug, as I carefully step over a tripline and point it out to her. “Let’s see, what’s a good call sign for a rookie…”

“Ooh, I’ve got one!” she says. “How about ’Shadow Cat?’”

I raise an eyebrow.

“It’s totally cool, right?” she says, clearly proud of herself.

I chuckle. “Yeah, it’s not half bad, actually. Just one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re a rookie,” I say, grunting as I sidle through a tight squeeze between a rusted-out Cadillac and a pile of old Maytags. “Rookies don’t get cool code names. Once we complete the mission, get you safely to Xavier, then you can be Shadow Cat. Until then…”

I sniff the air, and amid the dust and dirt and old motor oil residue, I still smell that fake-coconut lotion that I told her to stop wearing.

”Until then, you’re Coconut,” I decide, and grin as I see that the name annoys her.

Eventually, we reach what appears to be a dead end. There’s a small clearing with a pile of TVs,surrounded by garbage heaps reaching up a good ten to fifteen feet in all directions. For a second, I think I’ve taken a wrong turn, when I see one of the screens flicker to life.

It’s just snow and static, but after a few seconds of hiss, I hear a voice.

”You really shouldn’t have come here, Wolverine,” says the thin, raspy voice of an old man.

”Wouldn’t have, if I had a choice,” I say back. “Got pulled into a job, need passage into the States, and you’re the best bet on getting us there.”

There’s a pause, then Forge speaks again.

”Who’s the girl?”

Kitty crosses her arms. “Just call me Coconut,” she says, giving me a hard glare.

Another long pause.

“Were you followed?” Forge asks.

I shake my head. “There’s heat on us, but we don’t have an immediate tail. The quicker we get this done, the less time we spend here, the easier it’ll be to say you never saw us.”

There’s another long pause, then the pile of TVs begins to rumble and slide to one side. Underneath, there’s a hatch about the size of a manhole, which slides open and reveals a ladder.

“Come on in,” he says, “Let’s not waste time.”

---

”Okay, really, why a bow and arrow?” Floyd Lawton asked Clint Barton over the roar of the C-130’s propellers. “You do realize that guns exist, right?”

“Versatility,” Barton answered with a shrug, “I can do stuff with a bow that you can’t do with a gun.”

“Yeah?” Lawton sneered, “Like what?”

“Arc a shot over obstacles, bounce it off walls, load it up with speciality ammunition,” Barton answered, “Oh, and I can shoot my bow without needing ear protection and alerting everyone within a half-mile radius that I’m there.”

“Pfft,” Lawton scoffed, “Give me a high-powered rifle, and I’ll shoot through your walls and obstacles, and drop anyone who hears the first shot so they can’t get off a warning.”

“And if we want to take someone alive?” Barton asked, “You know, the whole point of this mission?”

It was Lawton’s turn to shrug. “Bean bag rounds.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s going to help you take down the Wolverine and grab the intangible girl?”

“Got better odds than using a weapon from the damn Stone Age.”

“Oh, I’ve got some surprises,” Barton grinned.

“Last I checked, arrows and bullets don’t travel at the speed of light,” said Buchinski.

“Technically, electricity only travels around 80% of the speed of light,” said Jenkins, “and that’s through a good conductor. Lasers, on the other hand…”

”KING SHARK IS A SHARK.”

“Enough measuring dicks,” Colonel Flag cut in. “Intel has just given us a location. Beetle, you’ll do a flyby and provide recon when we’ve reached the site, backed up by Fixer’s drones. Once we have the target sited, Team A will engage with Wolverine. Incapacitate if possible, otherwise just stay alive long enough for Team B to advance on the primary objective. Team C will stay in reserve and go where the mission deems necessary.”

Everyone’s stomachs shifted as the plane banked towards its new destination.

“ETA thirty minutes,” Flag said as he walked towards the large crates in the plane’s cargo bay. “Time to gear up.”

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by AndyC>

I enjoy your superman but by law you have to retain both Wolverine and the Ghost Cowboy.

@Sep

I'm absolutely sticking with Wolvie. Jonah I'm struggling with; I had a concept I liked, but I kind of shot myself in the foot by setting him up in a way that keeps him from interacting with other characters, and I feel like I went way too edgy-for-the-sake-of-edgy with my first couple of posts, so now I just feel kinda gross trying to write him.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

I went ahead and removed myself as Hulk, too, if anyone wants him. Superman I'm still going to attempt a return with, but I won't contest any applications for him either.

@Master Bruce

Not contesting competing applications, you say....

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Huh, didn't realize that was an option. I may weigh my options and see if it's worth throwing some elbows, at least to keep some folk on their toes.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

NPDRE Forward Operating Base
North Nui Awa
0130 Hours
30 March, 3030

"Get a load of this shit," Jester 2 said with a derisive chuckle, beckoning the timid AsTech over to her. In the couple of days she'd had since she and her Mech had avoided the shootout in the mountain pass, she'd taken to tormenting the skinny blonde tech as a way to relieve stress, make herself feel more powerful as events in the war seemed to be totally out of her hands. Whatever the Crimson King had in mind, whatever the Duchess's grand plans were for sending them to this backwater planet in the first place, it wasn't her call to make. All she was here for was to shoot who the King told her to shoot.

"What's wrong, sir?" the AsTech came rushing over, her eyes heavy with sleeplessness after yet another double-shift, her voice filled with trepidation. "We've run diagnostics on every system on the Warhammer and triple-checked, she should be combat-ready once the machine gun ammunition is--"

"Quit yapping!" Jester 2 barked from behind the laughing-skull paint job of her helmet. She raised a backhand, and was satisfied to see the AsTech flinch. "I told you to come watch, not talk. Check it out; the Crimson King just forced the Green Knights' hand."

Pulling up the live feed on her noteputer, the Crimson Fist Mechwarrior displayed a broadcast from a stone-faced man the news identified as Colonel Gaius Wayne.

"--reject your accusations outright, and demand the right to defend our honor. Since arriving on Espia, the actions of the Crimson Fists have not been of Mechwarriors worthy of the title, but of bloodthirsty thugs and cowards. Whoever you are, 'Crimson King,' I know that under your mask, you aren't the fearsome mercenary you pretend to be. You're likely a vain, spineless little man, maybe an idle noble too far from succession to have a title, maybe a corporate trust-fund layabout. A spoiled brat of a child, playing at war. And when we started breaking your toys, you decided to throw a tantrum."

"Oh, King's not gonna like that," Jester 2 said with a tssk.

"Still, even though I know I'm talking to a puffed-up parody of a Mechwarrior," the Colonel continued, "I can tell that you also can't resist the chance to put on a show. By the tenets of the Lorix Creed, by the honors of war, and by my own merits as a warrior and as a man, I challenge you to single combat. You have my Battlemech, a BLR-1G Battlemaster identical to the one you pilot, in your possession. Bring that Mech to the coordinates I'm attaching to this message, and the two of us will be on equal grounds to settle this. If you have any shred of integrity, the slightest whiff of a warrior's spirit-- to put it quite bluntly, if you have the balls for it-- you will fight me at dawn, and maybe, just maybe....whatever parent or authority figure you're currently failing to impress will think better of you when it's done."

The instant the message cut off, Jester 2's comm-link went active.

"Attention, all Crimson Fists!" came the voice of the Crimson King. "Mount up, and prepare to move out!"

Jester 2 laughed. "Oh wow, that really got under his skin," she chuckled, heading towards her tent. "Help me get the links for my Neurohelmet attached, and I'll get the Warhammer spun up and ready to roll. Promise not to step on ya on my way out."

"Right behind you..." Wrathchild said, her knuckles white as she gripped a heavy actuator wrench in one hand, and stepped into the tent after the enemy Mechwarrior...

---

M I S S I O N S T A R T

Outside Fort Tie Shan
Before Dawn
30 March, 3030

"Ah, okay, everyone," Lieutenant Lyons called out from the command console of the Mobile HQ, seated back a few kilometers from the Fort. "We're in position, keeping overwatch. Average response time for aerial defense assets is ten minutes, five if the Espian Guard is on high alert. So we'll need to move quickly once the shooting starts. We'll be scanning the area for enemy contacts and calling them out to you!"

Lyons clearly wasn't comfortable with the Colonel gone, but they had a job to do, and an awful lot of people counting on them. Higgins and Windham were actually behaving themselves for a change, as even they could appreciate the seriousness of what was at stake.

"Comms chatter is looking light so far," Cadet Higgins said, "Sounds like the Colonel pissed off the fists enough that the Mech force is all a good ways west of us. A fair amount of regular chat among the personnel. I don't think they know we're coming."

"Seismic sensors show two fifty-ton contacts, and two twenty-fivers," Cadet Windham said. "Given their movement profiles, we're likely looking at a garrison force of armor, probably a couple of Scorpion light tanks and a couple of medium hovertanks. On top of the turrets, those might be a problem."

"APCs and evac fleet are in position," Sgt. Dalton called in. "Give the word, and me and the Boys will start making some noise."

"We're all counting on you, Green Knights," said Lyons, "Good hunting!"

AZUL Islands - Drama, Romance, Mystery, Slice of Life

“I know you,” She said, feigning amazement for his ego. “You’re the one with the helicopter.”

@Pilatus

"Well, you've gotta get around on these islands somehow, right?" he said, giving an 'aww shucks' shrug like it wasn't any big deal. Behind him, he could feel Machiko rolling her eyes from behind her shades, which only made him grin even wider- if he could make a worthwhile acquaintance and annoy Chiko at the same time, this evening would be a spectacular win.

"It's a work thing, though, really," he continued, a completely disingenuous humble-brag, "Makes land surveying easier, and my clients expect a certain amount of showmanship."

Ah, but I can tell you aren't so easily swayed by such superficial trappings, was the unspoken but implied next part of that line. You're unimpressed by my flashy playboy charms, and are looking for someone deeper and more mature.

It was all bullshit, and everyone involved in this dance knew it. Bobby knew it, Machiko knew it, even the local bumpkin Ronaldo had seen him play this game enough times to know what was up.

And he was positive the woman he was chatting up knew the score as well. She had been a second or so from telling him to fuck off, then changed gears the moment she recognized him. It was a quick and subtle change, but Bobby had a Knack for reading people; you don't make billion-dollar deals with movers and shakers by being easily taken for a ride. There was an intelligence in her change of tone and demeanor that suggested she was after something, and it likely wasn't just a ride in the chopper and a roll in the hay.

So not an easy mark, then, but a fellow player. That only interested Bobby more.

"I'm Bobby," he finally introduced himself. "Forgive me for presuming, but you don't strike me as someone who's just here on vacation. Would you happen to know anywhere around here where a wayward gringo can get a good drink and some interesting conversation? And please, don't point me to that bar with all the goddamn boomers who think they're Jimmy Buffet."

Ronaldo was giving him a concerned look, suggesting he recognized the woman and wanted him to be careful. Machiko was frowning about the amount of money he was about to blow on overpriced booze. He flashed them both a toothy smile, as if to say relax, I've got this.

Whatever it was the brunette wanted out of him, she was likely to play along with the routine at least for the evening, so unless he just completely made an ass of himself, the opening gestures were all but automatic. If there was a deeper game to be played here, Bobby wanted in. And if it only went as far as a few rounds of hooch and a chat with a pretty woman, he was fine with that too.

And to be perfectly honest, he really did want that drink.

@Pilatus

AZUL Islands - Drama, Romance, Mystery, Slice of Life

Bobby T

Ronaldo had led Bobby out of the hotel, into the main strip of the Ave Pure Vida, and was rattling on about some local watering hole. Bobby was only half-interested in his description of the place, imagining what it might look like once his firm had either bought it out or gained enough leverage over the owner to make it more of a destination than a dive. The street pulsed with foot traffic, and Bobby wondered- not for the first time- if it would be worth the money and time to widen the street for cars. As always, he decided against it; half the charm of little island chains like this was pretending to live like a local, even if all it meant was hoofing it to whatever place you planned on getting smashed that night instead of driving. On top of that, cutting down on the risk of drunk-driving accidents meant more opportunities for booze sales. He made a note of that for when he had the Casa Del Sol Nasciento torn down and rebuilt; find a good bartender the locals liked, charge the maximum amount the locals were willing to pay, and the new Casa would be a hit with more than just the turistas.

He passed a street vendor, and something at the kiosk caught his eye. Not something that the busker was trying to peddle, but something about five-foot-four, with long black hair and wearing sunglasses.

"Something always struck me as funny," he said to the woman, approaching her as if they were already in the middle of a conversation, "about being an American abroad. As soon as we get a little money and a little clout, the first thing we all wanna do is head out into the big wide world and start seeing what there is to see. We meet new people, we explore new places, we try to expand our horizons and get cultured. And yet, what's the thing Americans are always the most excited to see in a foreign land?"

He gave a wide grin. "Other Americans."

@Pilatus

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

@AndyC Another good post. Though I have to ask...

<Snipped quote>

Was that intended to make me think that this is this universe's version of Hawkeye, or is that a happy accident?

@Master Bruce

I can neither confirm nor deny. But I especially can't deny.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

The drive to Winnipeg is long and dull, but even taking back roads to stay off of the more heavily patrolled Trans-Canada Highway, we’re making good time. Veering north to go around Calgary added more time than I’d like, but we made up for it once we crossed into Saskatchewan. The pace of our little road trip is gonna be a difficult one to manage. Try to go too fast, and we draw too much attention to ourselves. But we’ve only got four days now to get to Westchester. If we’re still out here on day five, and he catches up with us…

"So those guys on the radio,” Kitty begins yet another attempt at getting a conversation going, "talking about what’s been going on with the super-heroes? That got me thinking.”

"’Super-heroes?’” I ask, scoffing a little at the corny-sounding term.

"Yeah, you know,” she continues, "after Superman, that guy in Metropolis? There’s a few more of them running around now– the Flash in Central City, the Spider-Man in New York, that fire guy they’re calling The Human Torch. Haven’t you been paying attention to the news?”

"Kid, I live alone in the middle of a forest,” I tell her. "I go out of my way not to pay attention to the news.”

"Right, yeah, sorry,” she nods. "But it got me thinking. These super-hero people, maybe they’re Mutants like us. Or even if they’re not, they do a lot of the same things we can do. And people aren’t nearly as scared of them as they are of us. So….why don’t we just, y’know, be super-heroes?”

"You mean Mutants in general, or you an’ me in particular?”

"Either, both, I don’t know,” Kitty says, "but think about it! There are so many of us who feel like we have to hide who we are, act like we’re ‘normal,’ because everyone will freak out if they see us use our abilities. But then here comes a guy in a big red cape lifting an overpass over his head, and half the world wants to throw him a parade! So what if, like, we just change the presentation? People aren’t afraid of Superman because he’s out in the open, where everyone can see him, he’s not hiding who and what he is. So why don’t we do that?”

I sigh. "It’s a nice thought,” I tell her, "and I know there’s more than a few Mutants who’d agree with ya. Big flashy costumes, masks, code-names, give the public something friendly to cheer for and maybe they’ll trust you. But I’ll guarantee ya, that Superman guy, that Flash, that Spider-Man? They’re out in the open right now because they don’t know what kinda people are gonna notice them. The people after you, I’ll bet you good money they’re already workin’ on ways to bring in every one of them and make them into…well, someone like me. And for every super-type who puts on a mask so they can pull cats outta trees, there’s ten more who’ll put on a mask to do things they’d never show their face doing. I oughta know.”

"What do you mean by….ohmygod, do you have your own costume?!” Kitty’s eyes light up. "That’s so cool! Why didn’t you tell me you were already a super-hero?”

"Because I’m not,” I grunt. "I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly built for helpin’ old ladies across the street. I was a soldier, not a boy scout.”

There’s a long pause while Kitty thinks, then finally counters "You can be both. Ever read the old comics about Captain America?”

"Hate you break it to ya, kid, but comic books are just comic books,” I tell her. "Captain America’s just a story, Steve wasn’t….” I trail off, wondering where the hell I pulled that name from.

”’Steve?’” Kitty raises an eyebrow. ”Who’s Steve?”

”...I don’t know,” I say.

The air smells like spent gunpowder, churned earth, and fresh blood….

Between the angry snarls of the machine guns, there are voices shouting…some in English, some in German…

My blood is pumping as we charge up the ridge line, only stumbling as I take a stray round that catches me in the chest. I stagger to my knees…and a hand grabs me by the shoulder, pulling me to my feet.

The man in blue gives me a reassuring nod, then he takes his place at the front of the line.

Every one of us, we’d gladly die for that man. Even those of us who can’t…

As we charge towards the enemy, I hear joyous laughter at my side. The man in blue, I’d follow to the gates of Hell. But the man running side-by-side with me, he’d be the first in line, and the last to leave, and then he’d convince me to go back with him…

"Logan? You…you all right there?” Kitty nervously nudges my shoulder. "You, uh, you kinda spaced out.”

I blink a few times, shake my head, and I realize my claws are out. "Yeah, I’m…I’m all right,” I say as I retract them.

"Gotcha,” she says, looking at me skeptically. "I’ve, erm, I’ve been driving for a while. Think we should pull over for the night?”

"Yeah, think so,” I nod. "Find us somewhere with a land-line phone. I’ll get in touch with Forge and let him know we’ll meet him in the morning.”

"Forge? That’s your contact?”

"Yeah, he’s the one that’ll get us what we need to get you back into the States,” I answer. "He’s another Mutant, has a knack for making things. A couple of fake IDs and a new set of wheels should be a walk in the park for him.”

"And he’s got a cool code-name,” Kitty says. "It tells you everything you need to know about the guy in just a word. See what I mean about how useful that is?”

I grunt.

"Sooo, you said you’ve got a costume,” she keeps prodding me. "and you said you’ve got a mask. So what’s your code-name?”

---

"Wolverine,” said Colonel Rick Flag, displaying the face of a hard-faced man with wild hair and thick stubble, "I’m sure many of you have already heard the name in your particular line of work, and any stories you’ve heard about him are very likely true.”

Floyd Lawton felt a lump in his throat, taking his first look at the face of a man he’d only heard about in legend. Anyone who’d spent any amount of time doing wet-work had heard of the Wolverine, and even though most of the campfire stories surrounding him were decades old, most still considered him the standard by which professional killers measured themselves.

"Birth name unknown, age unknown,” Flag read off the target’s statistics, "Five foot three, approximately 300 pounds. S.H.I.E.L.D. classifies him as an Alpha-level Mutant. His primary offensive capabilities are with a set of retractable claws, making him extremely dangerous in hand-to-hand combat. Highly enhanced senses means he can see, hear, even smell most targets just as well as state-of-the-art detection equipment, if not better. He can also regenerate damaged tissue near instantaneously. It’s believed this regeneration has extended his lifespan significantly, giving him decades–if not centuries– of combat experience. Field reports also suggest surgical enhancements, including lacing his skeletal system with an advanced meta-material armor resistant to any known weapons.”

"Five foot three? Really?” scoffed the red-haired man Flag had identified as Clint Barton, alias ‘Hawkeye.’ "You’re telling me the scariest Mutie alive is a half-pint?”

"That’s what you’re focused on?” asked Abner Jenkins, the scrawny, nerdy-looking man that Flag ID’ed as the techno-criminal ‘Beetle.’ "They’re sending us against a bloodthirsty wildman who’s impossible to kill, and you’re cracking short jokes?”

Barton shrugged. "If we can’t kill the guy, I’ll settle for hurting his feelings.”

"No one’s ‘impossible to kill,’” growled Benjamin Turner, the assassin known as ‘Bronze Tiger,’ "especially not an unskilled beast. He must have a weakness that we can exploit.”

"He’s got armor, enhanced senses, and retractable claws,” listed Eric Needham, the contract killer who went by ‘Black Spider.’ "My combat suit has all that shit and more.”

"Any weapon your suit doesn’t have,” added Paul Norbert Ebersol, aka ‘Fixer,’ a skinhead whose face was criss-crossed with surgical lines from cybernetic implants, "I’ve got covered.”

"I didn’t hear him say anything about not needing to breathe,” sneered Christopher Weiss, aka Slipknot. "All the regenerating meat and unbreakable bones in the world won’t mean a damn thing if I choke him out.”

"Not if I fry the bastard first,” said Lester Buchinski, aka ‘Electrocutioner,’ his voice filled with bravado he very clearly wasn’t actually feeling.

"You won’t have the chanssssse,” hissed the short-haired tattooed woman identified as ‘Copperhead.’ "My toxinsss can kill even the ssstrongesst prey…”

"Is that hissing a speech impediment thing, or do you just do it for effect?” Hawkeye smirked.

"Enhanced senses,” mused Melissa Gold, the pink-haired metahuman killer who went by ‘Songbird,’ "Probably means he’s vulnerable to sonic attacks. I can have some fun with that.”

"An I ‘ave yet to meet ze man who can come back from being blown into ze smizzereens,” grinned Bette Sans Souci, the French-Canadian terrorist who simply went by Plastique.

"That’s all well and good,” Deadshot spoke up, "but I don’t think we’re addressing the elephant in the room here.”

"Forget the elephant,” scoffed Hawkeye, "How about we address the giant goddamn shark-man in the room first?”

"KING SHARK,” said the enormous, hulking form with the head of a great white, "IS A SHARK.”

"Yes, great, thank you,” Lawton nodded, "but the question is: if the Wolverine has been running around unaccounted for all this time, why are we going after him now?”

"Good question,” Flag responded, "and the answer is you’re not. The Wolverine isn’t the target; he’s just the obstacle. There’s a significant chance you’ll have to engage him, but ultimately all you have to do is keep him busy long enough to apprehend the real target.”

The screen showing Wolverine’s face switched to a different image: the face of a skinny brunette girl with a bright smile and her fingers making a peace sign.

"Katherine Anne Pryde,” Flag introduced the target, "Age eighteen, freshman student at the Massachusetts Academy. Began displaying signs of Mutation at age thirteen, and has dabbled with Mutant Rights activism, including possible contact with radical elements. She’s displayed the ability to make her body physically intangible, occupying the same space as solid matter. This also appears to include objects on her person. S.H.I.E.L.D. currently classifies her as a Beta Level Mutant, but it’s suspected that with further development, she would classify much higher.”

"I don’t get it,” Slipknot said, "Why send us after some schoolgirl who can walk through walls?”

"The combat applications for someone like that are tremendous,” Bronze Tiger mused. "There would be no fortification in the world she couldn’t infiltrate, and no prison she couldn’t escape. If she can extend that ability to a weapon, she could penetrate any armor in the world….or any metahuman. They say the Superman in Metropolis is impenetrable to bullets. With the right training and psychological conditioning, that girl could reach through his invincible skin and pull out his heart.”

"Okay, so to recap,” Deadshot said, "We’re all being pulled out of our holes in the wall to go fight an unkillable assassin, hoping we can distract him long enough to capture an untouchable girl, so the shadow-government can use her to kill demigods. And if we try to run, you blow our heads off.”

"A bit reductive,” Colonel Flag nodded, "But more or less, yeah, that’s right. You’ll be granted access to all of the equipment and weaponry you were captured with, and authorization to use whatever means necessary to bring Pryde in alive and in one piece. Any questions?”

The enormous shark-man raised a meaty finned hand.

"Yes, King Shark?”

"KING SHARK IS A SHARK!”

"Very good. The chopper takes off in sixty. Til then, make whatever preparations you need.”

As the members of Colonel Flag’s suicide squad stood and were shuffled to the prison yard where their gear awaited them, Hawkeye nudged Deadshot.

"So,” he said, "how dead do you think we are?”

"Scale of one to ten?” Deadshot did a quick head-count. "I’d say twelve.”

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

I can definitely see Jonah/Zarathos mixing it up with Jason/Etrigan. Sounds like either a fun team-up or show-down.