Avatar of Morden Man
  • Last Seen: 2 hrs ago
  • Joined: 9 yrs ago
  • Posts: 1318 (0.41 / day)
  • VMs: 0
  • Username history
    1. Morden Man 9 yrs ago
  • Latest 10 profile visitors:

Status

User has no status, yet

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts


The Triskelion, Washington

The sound of beer bottle opening woke Guy Gardner from his sleep. His tired eyes opened slowly to the familiar sight of Ben Grimm. By Ben’s side was the man that had supported Gardner’s career at every turn: Timothy Aloysius Cadwallader Dugan – or as his friends knew him, Dum Dum. He’d sworn off his trademark hat and traded in his SHIELD uniform for a set of military fatigues, but otherwise he looked the same.

Two years after retiring from SHIELD, the attempt on Nick Fury’s life had brought Dugan in from the cold. Gardner’s heroics against Hammond had earned enough him good-will with Maria Hill to allow Dugan to prize his protege back from babysitting duty – especially now that there was no Fantastic Four left to babysit. Grimm agreeing to come work for Dugan alongside Gardner had been the cherry on the top.

“I’m not going to lie to you, kid, you look like week-old shit. But thanks to you Zhang Chin is sat in a holding cell in The Hague awaiting trial.”

Gardner took the beer gratefully and knocked back a swig with a moan. It might not help him get out of the infirmary any quicker and his doctors definitely wouldn’t thank him for it, but it sure as hell tasted good. And after taking two bullets in Juba, he figured it was well-deserved.

The injured SHIELD agent set the bottle down on the table beside his infirmary bed. “Well, I guess that’s something.”

“You should have been there to see his face when I dropped in on him,” Ben chuckled. “I’ve never seen someone look so relieved in my life.”

“I was relieved you didn’t land on me, you big lug,” Gardner smiled.

A look of faux-outraged crossed the superhero-turned-SHIELD agent's face. “I’ll have you know that my aim is second to none, Carrot Top.”

Dum Dum Dugan let out the kind of hearty laughter a father might laugh watching his children squabbling. Guy and Ben joined him in it until the former had to reach for the side of the bed to steady himself a little. SHIELD had pumped him full of painkillers but there was still some pain in the through-and-through to the side of his stomach. It was nothing another mouthful of beer wouldn’t get him through, Guy thought to himself, as he gestured to Ben to pass him it.

“No blowback on us then?” Guy asked Dugan as he knocked back another mouthful. “The South Sudanese couldn’t have been too happy with us for that little firefight in their backyard. We racked up a bit of a body count.”

Dugan let out a little laugh. “Are you kidding? South Sudan is one long firefight after another – has been for years. It’ll be a long time before they figure out we were there. Even longer before they figure out why we were there. So no, no international incidents this time around either.”

The first extraction mission in Juarez had gone off without a hitch. Some gun-runner that had fallen foul of the cartels that was willing to turn in his suppliers in exchange for safe passage out of Mexico and a fresh start. They had got in and out without dropping a single body, although Ben had been forced to break some poor kid’s arm. The information the gun-runner had given SHIELD put them onto a company known as Advanced Ideas Mechanics.

Ben's smile announced that the two-man team’s success hadn’t gone completely unnoticed. “So what you’re saying is we’re two-for-two?”

“Don’t go getting cocky on me, Grimm. This isn’t the Air Force and you sure as hell aren’t a fighter pilot – or a superhero – anymore. There’s no room for self-aggrandisement in our line of work. Heck, if you'd arrived a few seconds later, poor Gardner would probably be a dead man.”

“Or worse,” Guy grinned as he pretended to claw at the side of his face with his nails. “I could have ended up with an ugly scar like yours.”

Though the comment had been made in good humour it seemed to rattle Ben. A lot had changed in the months since Hector Hammond’s attack on the Baxter Building. The Fantastic Four had lost their only means of returning home, the Surfer had been revealed to be serving Darkseid, and, perhaps most difficult of all for Ben, his face had been badly scarred. Guy at times sought to make light of it in the hope that it might convince Grimm to talk about it, but the tactic had proved unsuccessful to date – as it did on this occasion.

He offered a curt exhale by way of acknowledgement of his partner's misjudged joke. “Yeah, yeah, make fun of the ogre again, very funny.”

An orderly in a SHIELD medical uniform entered Guy’s room and the three men fell silent. As if sensing that it was the wrong time, the orderly smiled awkwardly, stopped on a dime, and left the room without saying a word. Dugan took a few short paces to stand by the window and inspect the Washington skyline – his eyes resting on the newly-rebuilt Washington Monument.

Gardner pushed through the pain to stack his pillows in a way that allowed him to sit up more comfortably. “Any word on the old warhorse?”

“The doctors still have him in a medically-induced coma,” Dugan said as he removed a cigar from the pocket of his fatigues and slipped it between his lips. “They say if he wasn’t so damn strong he’d have given up the ghost months ago. Nick always was as tough as old boots.”

To say that Nick Fury’s toughness was the thing of legend was an understatement. The old man had been running SHIELD since the beginning of time – or least it felt like it. Up until recently he’d showed no signs of slowing down. Then one of his own had turned on him. The director had been gunned down by a SHIELD agent gone rogue at one of the organisation’s own black-sites.


“I never should have left. Twenty years I’d been promising Mary I’d hang up my badge but there was always another mission, always another threat. By the end, when Nick told me about his little theory, I’d thought maybe all the fighting had finally started going to his head. Heck, I thought maybe it had gone to mine. Turns out the stubborn son of a bitch was right – and I wasn’t there to watch his six when he needed it.”

There was regret in Dugan’s eyes. The kind of deep and unabiding regret that strikes people when they make a mistake they don’t think there’s any coming back from. Perhaps some part of the old deputy director had already accepted that his old friend was not long for this world – or maybe he was just worried that Nick would never be the same when he came back. Either way, there was only one thing that needed to be said, and Ben was quicker off the mark than Guy in saying it.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dugan.”

“I hate to say it but Ben’s right,” Guy nodded as he preempted his mentor’s attempt to disagree. “What could you have done? What could anyone have done in that situation? Nick’s the best in the business. If they got the drop on him, they would have got the drop on you too.”

Dugan let out a grunt that made clear he didn’t concur with Guy and Ben and turned back to the Washington Monument. Guy could tell by the way Dugan’s fingers were twitching that he was itching to light the cigar up but he couldn’t – another promise he’d made his wife. Instead it rested between his lips unlit as a comfort blanket more than anything else.

“Just make sure you look after one another, alright?" Dugan sighed. "This game we're in is brutal. One minute you’re here, the next you’re gone just like that. You find someone you trust with your life, you stick with that person until the bitter end. No matter what. You hear me?”

“I hear ya,” Ben murmured as he and Guy shared a solemn look.

Dugan glanced down at his wrist. “Alright, I’d better get going. I’m meeting Director Hill on the hour and that woman is a stickler for time.”

He shoved the unlit cigar back into the top pocket of his fatigues and walked back towards Guy’s bed. With their long, shared history, a supportive hand on the wounded agent’s shoulder was all the goodbye that was needed between them. Dugan offered Grimm a nod as he passed by SHIELD's newest super-agent on his way towards the exit.

“Hey Dugan,” Gardner called out across the infirmary to his mentor with beer bottle in hand. “Make sure you send the Führer my regards.”

Dugan shook his head wordlessly as he disappeared through the exit. He’d always hated that nickname, Guy remembered. He was worried for Dugan – perhaps more than ought to be given he was the one who’d been shot twice – but his sympathy was soon interrupted by Ben’s rocky fingers unexpectedly jabbing him in his stitches. Gardner let out a howl of pain that echoed through the halls of the Triskelion's medical unit.

Ben shot Guy a mischevious smirk. “So, you wanna get some pizza or something? Because I could really murder a pizza or twelve about now.”

New Atlantis, Atlantis

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me more about the Glorious Reclamation.”

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

“Do as she says.”

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

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

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

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

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

The Franklin Storm Institute, New York

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

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

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

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

“Ivy Town? Like, poison ivy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Miss Khan.”

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

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

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

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

Reed looked out at the inaugural class of the Future Foundation with a broad smile. “So what say we get started?”
It's highly unlikely that we would ever accept a sheet for a character like Krypto.

Not only is Krypto heavily reliant on Superman given that he has next to no supporting characters of his own, but it would also create a precedent that I think I'd rather we didn't set. I've seen people write characters that can't speak before (Black Bolt, more often than not) with limited success, but I don't think it's really viable long-term in conjunction with the aforementioned lack of an independent supporting cast.

There's a reason Wittengstein said that if a lion could speak, we wouldn't understand him – and I think in Krypto's case, it probably applies.

The Savage Land, Antarctica

Images flicked across a screen. Scenes from Metropolis flashed past, followed by footage of Captain America, Clint Barton, and Diana Prince fighting side-by side, still images of Gotham’s caped crusader at work, and Marville’s protector Thor at battle with the Silver Surfer at The Raft. A red and yellow blur tore through Central City leaving a wave of ne'er do wells in its wake. The inventor Tony Stark, encased in his iron suit, patrolled the skies above New York. The images came to a halt as the Fantastic Four appeared on screen. First Jonathan Storm in conversation with Spider-Woman, then with a click, Reed Richards, Sue Storm, and Ben Grimm nursing over him following the scenes at The Raft. With another click the screen turned black and the face of Kal-El appears on the dark screen. He inspects himself for a few moments. With his stubble shorn clean, he cut a more impressive figure than on first arrival on this Earth.

For the past two months, the Savage Land has been the Kryptonian’s home. He had stumbled upon the scientific marvel hidden away by a wall of impenetrable volcanoes – at least, impenetrable for those that lack the strength he possessed in abundance. There existed within the Savage Land’s domain all manner of life, from subspecies of humans long since extinct in the outer world, to prehistoric life forms that defied explanation, and, of course, dinosaurs. All existed in a concert of savagery that lent the kingdom its name. It was, as Kal-El understood, a kingdom in need of a king. And there was no one better equipped to lead it than himself.

There had been some resistance from its inhabitants. The savage Ka-Zar and the so-called “She-Devil” Shanna’s insurrection had proved stubbornly difficult to break. They knew their land better than Kal-El ever would. But the Kryptonian had not concerned himself with that. There were more pressing matters at hand – namely, finding and killing the Fantastic Four and returning to his own world. Every waking moment since he had established his fortress in the Savage Land had been dedicated to studying this world and its champions. To learning how best to bring them to heel should they stand against him. And now Kal-El was so close to launching his opening salvo that he could taste it.

“<My lord,>” Pierre Jardin’s voice called across the Fortress to the Kryptonian. “<It is as you expected. Ka-Zar and Shanna, they are here.>”

A wry smile appeared on Kal-El’s face. “They will pay for their hubris with their lives – as befalls all that stand against Darkseid’s will.”

The Frenchman nodded feebly in response to the comment. He had heard his master use the name Darkseid on a handful of occasions over the past three months. Each time with more reverence than the last. Pierre had learned quickly not to ask questions of his new master or to interrupt him – most of all, to never refer to him as Superman. Why Kal-El had kept him alive, he had no idea, but on some level he thought wherever the metahuman had been, he had deprived of company for a lifetime. A thousand lifetime’s perhaps. Now Jardin waited on Kal-El hand and foot. He acted his master’s emissary to those in the Savage Land with the sense to bend the knee to Kal-El of their own volition.

Ka-Zar and Shanna were not in their ranks. Try as Jardin might to reach them, it was clear that they were determined to fight for the Savage Land until the bitter end. Outside the black crystalline fortress that Kal-El had erected at the centre of the wild lands, Ka-Zar and his forces had assembled for what would almost certainly be their final stand. Kal-El walked towards one of the fortresses’ many windows and stared out at the Savage Land’s amassed forces. Dinosaurs taller than buildings waded through the trees with sabretooth tigers and mammoths striding at their side. Kal’s eyes narrowed as he spotted Ka-Zar beside his beloved tiger Sabu. He could have incinerated him there and then – but that would only have emboldened his followers. He needed to be along them, to break them with his bear hands.

“<I made contact with Sauron and his forces earlier this morning,>” Pierre said diligently. “<They are standing by if you need reinforcement.>”

“Reinforcement? Have I given you reason to think so little of my abilities, Pierre? I could end this charade just as easily as I could break your neck,” Kal grinned as his fingers wrapped tightly around Jardin's throat. ”I have allowed that fool Ka-Zar to continue because it suited my aims, but now that the preparations for what come next have been made, it no longer serves a purpose. And so it will end.”

Pierre’s face turned from red to blue to a dark purple. Only at the last moment did Kal let his servant free. The Frenchman fell gasping for air on the ground. He watched as the Kryptonian strode through the dark, shiny halls of the fortress, servants bowing as he went, to face down the army awaiting him. As Kal reached the double doors, they flew open and a gust of warm air came flooding in. He stood, alone, and glanced up at the hundreds, if not thousands, of flying dinosaurs and birds congregated above them. The ground shook with each pace the army stepped towards him. Yet the Kryptonian remained with arms folded and allowed the hostile force to draw nearer still.

A familiar horn blew from the army’s ranks and suddenly the black, winged clouds above the fortress came alive. They dove in unison towards the Kryptonian. Still Kal did not move. His feet were planted to the ground, eyes unblinking as the winged beasts dove towards him, completely unafraid of their approach. A pterodactyl was mere inches from his face when the Kryptonians limbs came to life. His hand clamped around its beak, breaching it into a thousand splinters, and with the other its head came clean off from its neck. A smile appeared on his blood-splattered face as he wound his arms back.

By the time the second horn had sounded, it was too late. Kal’s hands crashed together and the sheer force of the clap seemed to all but liquidate the flying beasts nearest to him. Others were sent careening out of the sky with burst eardrums. A ruthless, incisive blast of heatwave tore through their numbers as Ka-Zar and his ground troops raced to support their winged allies. The tigers arrived first, pouring into Kal-El one after another without an ounce of hesitation. He swatted them away with blows that sent jaws flying clean from their faces and caved in skulls.


Zabu stayed loyally by his master’s side as the Kryptonian tore his way through the other tigers. Ka-Zar placed a supportive hand on its back, Shanna by his side, as he prepared to address the outsider that had turned the Savage Land into a plaything. He too had once been an outsider to the Savage Land once, but where Ka-Zar had sought only to learn its way and become one with it, this outsider had brought death and destruction in his wake – and he meant to put an end to it whatever the cost. He cleared his throat, shouting in Kal’s direction as the dinosaurs began to reach him.

“You will learn, outsider, as all that have sought to conquer this land have been forced to learn, that the Savage Land answers to no king. It cannot be conquered or tamed. Man and beast will give their lives to protect it – and if we fail, long after we are gone others will come in our place to finish what we have begun.”

The words seemed to have next to no effect on the Kryptonian. He wrestled with a nearby Tyrannosaurus Rex, prying loose a tooth and sending it jutting through its eyeball, before knocking it clean off its feet with a punch. It went flying in the direction of Ka-Zar and Shanna. They leapt out of its path. Ka-Zar knelt and placed a gentle hand against the dinosaur’s head. Its breathing was weak and laboured, but it was still breathing. Zabu roared and stepped to approach Kal-El, but Ka-Zar quieted the beast with his other hand. He watched as the life slipped out of the dinosaur’s eyes and then patted it gently before rising to his feet.

“Come then,” Shanna nodded as she produced her spear. “If death is the only language you speak, the Savage Land will gladly meet you in it.”

Ka-Zar and Shanna shared a tender look and then raced towards the Kryptonian. The wildman thought he could feel his heart pounding in his chest but smiled as he realised it was Zabu’s footsteps sounding from beside him. A wave of roaring beasts from all manner of species clashed into Kal-El with a noise so loud it could have have levelled mountains. Shocks of heat wave and punches so fast they were nearly invisible passed through the horde. Blood turned the outsider’s black spires a stained brown. Yet Ka-Zar remained. His knife in hand and tiger at his side, he made his way towards the would-be conquerer undeterred.

The Kryptonian let the wildman stalk towards him. He saw the blade coming but kept his back to it. At the last second, Kal broke towards Shanna, placing her in Ka-Zar’s path. The wildman’s knife sunk into Shanna’s throat forcibly and Kal watched as his foe’s eyes widened with shock. He tried to tug his arm free, but the Kryptonian’s fingers were prised around his wrist. Shanna’s glugged desperately as she tried to reach for the bloody wound at her neck. She fell to the ground with a thud and Kal tossed Ka-Zar aside with a smirk.

A howl of grief left his mouth as he fought to his feet and charged towards the Kryptonian with his bloody knife. Ka-Zar’s howl was met by Zabu, who appeared from the crowd, and the tiger clamped his jaws around Kal’s forearm. Ka-Zar arrived in support half a second afterwards. His knife scraped helplessly against the Kryptonian’s chest and yet he plunged it downwards into him at every turn.

Kal-El's bloody hand clamped around Kazar's face tightly as his lips parted. “Do you understand now? You could never have beaten me. I am more than you, savage, so much more. You fight for survival, for love, for your land. I fight for Darkseid – the one true Darkseid.”

With a tug, the Kryptonian tugged his arm free from Zabu’s mouth. The tiger’s teeth shattered with the force of the move and Kal forced his hand down its throat. With another tug its innards were wrenched outwards. It fell lifeless at his feet and Ka-Zar roared again in pain as he stared down at his now lifeless companion. He struggled helplessly in the Kryptonian’s grasp, knife flailing wildly, as the tears fell from his eyes onto his cheeks. Kal’s smirk disappeared as two of the tears fell onto his face.

“Command them to stand down,” Kal-El said with a glance to what remained of the army. “Make them stand down and I will spare them.”

Through bitter tears, the bloodied Ka-Zar let out a defeated laugh. “You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you? I could no longer command them to stand down than I could command the wind to stop blowing or the rain to stop falling to Earth. The Savage Land accepts no masters.”

“So be it,” the Kryptonian murmured as he let his grip around Ka-Zar’s face loosen until the wildman slipped free from his grasp to the ground.

Kal’s eyes glowed a familiar blood red. Ka-Zar considered launching for a moment one last desperate volley of slashes, but instead tossed the blade aside. He stepped towards Zabu’s lifeless corpse and knelt beside it. One of his bloody hands brushed the beast's eyes closed and he pressed his forehead against the tiger’s with a solemn sigh. When he turned to face the Kryptonian, there was a look of acceptance in his eyes.


No scream left Ka-Zar’s mouth as the heat vision tore through him. He met his end with a determined silence. His skin turned black and ashen within a tenth of a second and the black dust that billowed to the ground was all that remained of the wildman. The Kryptonian stepped through it, preparing to face down another wave of Ka-Zar’s forces, but found that the beasts had stopped in their tracks. Perhaps from grief, perhaps from fear, they stood unmoving, each eyeing the space where once Ka-Zar had stood. Kal-El’s fists unballed and he lifted a closed fist high above his head. The beasts watched, confused, until the first of the tribesman took a knee. One by one the others followed. The dinosaurs bowed their heads in reverence and beasts rolled onto their back in submission.

Kal-El lowered his fist, wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand, and observed his new subjects with a smile. “Hail Darkseid.”
That's exactly what inspired me to put up the Iron Fist CS (Totally not that all my actual favorite street level heroes were taken... not at all... nervous laughter). Don't want to spoil anything, but if I make it to next season with Iron Fist still going strong, maybe you'll see a little more of his inspiration and story coming into play.


Oh, really? That's interesting. I presumed because of the references to the Hatchets and the Tigers that you were inspired by the Netflix series more than anything else.
My favourite character growing up was far and away Wolverine, but I can't remember the last time I picked up a Wolverine comic. I'm not really sure that I'd say I had a favourite character anymore. I'd hate to say that I "grew out" of it, because that's not strictly true, I think I just stopped zeroing in on any particular corner of the Marvel universe.

As for what run I enjoyed the most. I'd have to say that Ed Brubaker's run(s) on Captain America, Iron Fist, or Daredevil are a real standout for me. If I had to choose between the three, I'd say his work on Iron Fist. What he did for that character doesn't get anywhere near enough credit. His Captain America run (especially what he did with Bucky) is fantastic also, though.

Basically, it's a tough one.

Seymour, Indiana

Rachna Koul mopped her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand. The SHIELD scientist had spent all morning traipsing around Seymour in search of Horton’s Auto-Parts. In a town as small as Seymour, you would have thought it would be easy to find – instead Rachna had been forced to search for it the old-fashioned way after being stonewalled by the town’s citizens at every turn. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to offend them, but by the way they looked at her she’d clearly done something.

It was late in the afternoon by the time she managed to track down the mechanics. It wasn’t so much a mechanics as a spacious, if untidy garage connected to one of the larger houses in Seymour. A long-since faded sign with “Horton & Sons” was propped up against one of the garage’s walls. A man who looked no younger than eighty was sat beside it.

Rachna smiled at the elderly man warmly as she made her way up the drive towards him. “Excuse me, sir, I’m looking for Jim Hammond.”

As soon as the name left her mouth, the old man’s leathery features hardened. Whatever warmth Rachna might have expected as a potential customer disappeared. Instead his beady eyes studied the scientist with a suspicious look that felt incisive enough to see through solid lead.

The elderly man's mouth opened to reveal a set of teeth that had been stained a deep brown by a lifetime of chewing tobacco. “Jim who?”

“Jim Hammond,” Rachna responded with a cordial smile that the old man was completely undeserving of. “I was told that he worked here.”

This time the brown teeth stayed firmly behind his whisker-covered lips. The man’s hostility towards Koul revealed more than his cooperation ever would have done. Jim Hammond was in Seymour, Indiana and better yet now she knew that people there – or at least the old man at Horton’s – knew that there was more to Hammond than met the eye. Now all Rachna had to do was find him. Something told her that the old man was going to be less than helpful in that regard.

“Well, whoever told you that must have been mistaken," he said with a shrug so half-hearted that his contempt for Koul was obvious. "There’s no-one by that name working around these parts and frankly I’d appreciate it if you l-”

“It’s alright, Phineas, I’ve got this.”

From within the garage, a much younger man appeared. He was in his mid-to-late twenties, with eyes so piercingly blue that even though he’d traded in his perfectly sculpted blonde mane for a buzzcut, Johnny Storm was instantly recognisable. He was wearing a t-shirt that appeared to once have been white. Now it, as well as pretty much every part of Johnny’s exposed skin, was covered in oil marks.

Horton clutched at his walking stick as he shot Johnny a paternal look. “You sure, Jim?”

Johnny nodded. He helped Phineas to his feet and lead him to a lawn chair on the sidewalk by the side of the road. Though the doctors had made Horton promise to stop drinking, the old man took the opportunity to pluck a hip flask from his inside pocket and take a healthy mouthful. Johnny patted Horton on the back and returned to the garage where Koul was waiting.

“So, what brings the biggest egghead on SHIELD's books all the way out to Seymour? I didn't realise they let you people out of the Triskelion.”

Rachna was shocked by Johnny's sudden directness. "What? I don’t know what you mea-"

“Oh, come on, Rachna," Storm groaned as he rolled his eyes hard at Koul's unconvincing acting. "Are you really going to try to convince me that you came all this way just to get your oil changed? Why don’t you save us both some time and tell me what the hell it is you really want?”

Koul’s tanned cheeks reddened with embarrassment. She had many skills but clearly acting wasn’t one of them. Even Rachna would admit that she would make a lousy spy – and the speed with which Johnny had seen through her flimsy attempt at lying spoke to that. Yet she had read Storm's file more times than she could count. There was nothing in it to suggest that Johnny possessed an aptitude for spy-catching.

"How did you know?"

“Look, I might not be as smart as Reed but I’m not a complete idiot. You know how many people live in this town? When I showed up here, they damn near threw me a parade. The second you showed up here and started throwing my name around, I knew about it. Heck, everyone and their mothers knew it. Honestly, I’m surprised it took you so long to come and talk to me.”

"I wanted to get the lay of the land a little first," Rachna shrugged. "I figured there must have been a reason that you chose to settle here – some kind of connection to your past, maybe. Either that or Seymour is a front for some kind of terrorist cell? It wouldn’t be the first time."

The laugh that left Johnny’s lips was so dismissive it almost hurt Koul to hear it. Gone was the angry young man that Rachna had examined on his arrival in her world. This Johnny seemed more at ease and, perhaps even in a way, more relaxed. It was why his dismissive laughter stung Rachna a little more than they would have this time three months ago.

“Maybe I just liked the town? Did that ever occur to you?”

Koul scanned the dusty garage for something that made her feel remotely positive and drew a blank. “I mean, what exactly is there to like?”

“You know, I used to think like you once. I grew up in a pretty little suburb in Long Island. All I ever wanted was to make it to the big city – and fast. Gave poor Sue more sleepless nights than anyone deserves. And then, after our little accident, I got there and guess what? It was everything I wanted and more. The fame, the adulation, the attention from the opposite sex. I was living the dream.”

“Well, what happened?”

“The dream ended,” Johnny said with a sigh. “That’s what no-one tells you, Rachna. Eventually, if you live the high life for long enough, the bill comes due – and God knows mine did. After the craft was destroyed, I tried my best to keep up appearances, to keep going on, but I just couldn’t do it. Living a dead man’s life? Looking his friends, his loved ones, in the face and pretending that I was him? I couldn’t do it.”

There had been murmurs around the Triskelion about the Fantastic Four disbanding. Though Reed still occasionally visited Hill from time to time, no one had laid eyes on Ben, Johnny, or Sue in months. It had taken Koul every bit of resourcefulness she had to track Johnny down. Though from the look on his face, he didn’t seem grateful to her for interrupting the quiet that he had found in his new life.

“And when it came time for SHIELD to resettle you, you chose Seymour? I’m sorry, “Jim”, but something about this doesn’t quite add up.”

Outside of Horton’s an elderly couple passed by and exchanged a few words with Phineas. They shouted a hello to Jim and Johnny waved one of his oil-covered hands at them with a relaxed smile. Rachna wasn’t sure how Storm had done it, but he seemed to have managed to make the small town his home within a matter of months.

“No, I guess for someone like you that wouldn't make sense.”

With a wistful smile, Johnny turned his back on Rachna and approached a toolbox. After a few seconds of rooting around he unearthed a wrench, which he tossed between his dirty hands a few times as he approached the old Mercury Montego sitting in the garage. As if Koul wasn’t there, he popped the hood and started tinkering around with the engine. Rachna watched him work for a few seconds, confused, before approaching the car awkwardly.


“You know, I was close with Franklin. I studied at the Baxter Building alongside Reed, Sue and I were even almost friends at one point, and I saw enough of Johnny and Ben to know that they wouldn’t have begrudged the four of you taking their places. They would have understood.”

Johnny shrugged his shoulders without looking up from the engine. “As touching as that is, Rachna, that wouldn't have made it any easier for me to look myself in the face every morning.”

“So that’s it then?” Racha sighed. “You’re going to spend the rest of your adult life as "Jim Hammond" hiding out in Nowheresville, Indiana?”

“That’s the plan.”

The scientist wore her disappointment on her face. Not that Johnny seemed remotely concerned. He was still fiddling around beneath the bonnet without a care in the world. The cloying heat didn't seem to affect him, but it was starting to affect Koul. Her patience was wearing through with every turn of his wrench. Finally she wrestled it from his hands in an attempt to get him to pay attention to their conversation.

“What if I told you that I knew something that would change your mind about staying in this place?” Rachna said. “Would you want to hear it?”

Johnny sighed deeply and ran one of his dirty hands through his freshly-shaven hair. “It sounds like you’re going to tell me no matter what I say to this question, so go ahead, Rachna, let’s see whether what you think you know was worth driving all the way out here to get off your chest.”

The scientist tried to speak but suddenly found herself unable to. A knot had appeared in her throat. The secret suspicions she had harboured for so long had all but been confirmed to her over the past three months and now that it was time to give voice to them she was hesitating. Perhaps she knew it was because once she spoke the awful truth out loud there would be no going back – for either of them.

“You asked me earlier why I hadn’t sought out Reed? Well, the truth is that I don’t know whether I can trust Reed anymore, Johnny. I don’t know if I can trust anyone anymore. I have reason to believe that Franklin's death wasn't an accident. In fact, it was the complete opposite.”

Koul commanded Johnny's complete attention for the first time. “I think SHIELD murdered Franklin Storm, and I need your help proving it.”

There was no shock on Johnny's face. He let the accusation linger in the air for a few moments without response. Rachna could see the gears grinding in his face as he tried to work out what that meant for himself and the people he loved. His weary blue eyes rested on Koul eventually and he nodded in acceptance. Without saying a word he shut the car bonnet, threw on a leather jacket, and made for the exit with Rachna.
I think we settled on Robert Kelly as president and Hamilton Hill as his vice-president.

Juba, South Sudan

A hail of bullets peppered the small shack that Guy Gardner was taking shelter in. The SHIELD agent was bleeding from a bullet hole in his side and breathing heavy. He reached down and checked his handgun’s clip and let out a groan. Only four bullets left. He’d spent the others on the militiamen that rumbled him on his way out of the Arrow Boys compound. They couldn’t have been much older than eighteen or nineteen, but they were in Gardner’s way – and despite the years he’d spent on the shelf after Atlantis, Guy still understood that the mission came first.

Today’s mission was sat beside him. Professor Zhang Chin was one of the world’s foremost biochemists – he was also a wanted criminal. Chin had spent decades supplying every tinpot dictator in the Middle East and Asia with the kind of chemical weapons that ought to belong in science fiction. SHIELD acquired information that indicated Chin was about to break with routine in order to expand into the African market. South Sudan’s civil war was to provide the testing ground of Chin’s newest concoction.

Dum Dum Dugan had other ideas.

With Fury out of action and Maria Hill assuming the directorship of SHIELD on a temporary basis, the old hand had been brought in to help steady the ship a little. His first action had been to set up a two-man task group designed to stamp out threats before they happened. Guy Gardner’s name was the first on the list. After a lot of arguing, Hill had relented and allowed Gardner back into the field and so far he’d proved about as effective a crime-fighting tool as SHIELD had – although that was subject to change if he failed to extract Chin in one piece.

“Sneak your way into South Sudan in the middle of a never-ending civil war and smuggle a war criminal out without being seen, they said.”

Another hail of bullets rained down on the shack. This time a few of the bullets passed through the basic metal that was serving as protection for both the SHIELD agent and the chemist. Chin whimpered, bearing his wrinkled bald head in his hands, as another barrage of bullets came flying towards them. Guy looked at him, disgusted by his cowardice, and shook his head.

“It’ll be fun, they said.”

Guy rose and his eyes scanned the horizon. There were six men and only four bullets in his gun. He had to think fast. He took the two on high ground down before they’d even noticed he’d sprung out from behind cover and opened fire on the fire as the white of his eyes turned towards him. Another volley of bullets came towards the shack and Gardner ducked back into cover with a grunt.

“Anytime you feel like telling your friends to stop shooting at us, that would be great. I hate to break it to you, Chin, but if I’m not making it out of here alive, then neither are you, so it would really be in your interest to contribute here. Just a little bit.”

“What do you want me to do?” Chin asked with a slavishness that irritated the SHIELD agent. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I don’t want to die.”

Guy pulled the chemist close and whispered some instructions to him. Chin nodded his head in agreement and Guy dragged him to his feet.

“<Stop!>” Chin shouted in perfect Juba Arabic over the sound of the shooting. “<Stop firing, you idiots! If you hit me you’re going to be in a lot of trouble, do you hear me? Not just you, but your families too.>”

The shooting stopped and Guy appeared, brandishing his gun at the chemist’s forehead, tucked closely behind him. The three remaining Arrow Boy militia eyed the pair of them suspiciously as Guy’s finger tightened around the trigger in nervousness. One miscalculated move and both he and Chin were dead men. As much as Chin probably deserved it, Gardner quite liked being alive – not to mention he didn’t fancy giving Maria Hill the satisfaction. So instead of shooting his way out, Guy was going to try to talk his way out through Chin.

“If you know who Chin is, you know how valuable he is,” Guy began. “But he’s only valuable alive. If you shoot him – or if I shoot him – then we all lose. Do you understand? We all go home empty-handed. If you let me leave here alive, I will make you all very rich men. You hear that? Very rich. Richer than you can possibly imagine. So rich that neither you or your children will ever have to worry about money ever again.”

“<The American says that he’ll make you rich,>” Chin translated upon feeling Guy’s gun being pressed harder against his forehead. “<He said that if you let him leave here, you’ll never have to worry about money ever again. That your chi->”

Suddenly Chin stopped speaking. He made no effort to escape from Guy’s grasp or to offer any explanation, but the SHIELD agent felt uncomfortable about the chemist’s silence. It wasn’t the play that Gardner had drawn up. He jabbed the pistol into Chin’s forehead again to get him to speak but he remained silent.

“You had better start talking,” Guy growled at him. “Because there’s no version of this where you make it out of here alive if you double-cross me. You think you’ve got reinforcements coming? Unless they’re faster than a speeding bullet, they’re not going to save you from me.”


To Guy’s the relief the chemist started translating again. “<He only has one bullet left in his gun and is losing blood quick. Hold your nerve. You want money? Whoever gets me out of here alive will be made a rich man. But I want this pig taken alive. I want him to suffer at my hand.>”

Once the shooting started, Gardner realised his mistake. A bullet nicked Chin’s bicep as it whizzed past the SHIELD agent’s head and the chemist scampered out of his arms. Guy shouted a profanity, swung his gun around, and managed to put down one of the three remaining militiamen with a shot through the cheek.

With the rocket arm that had helped him set state passing records in Maryland, Gardner launched his empty pistol into the second-to-last Arrow Boy still standing. It broke his nose on impact and once in close Guy slipped a blade from his belt into the militiaman’s thorax. A bullet cracked Gardner in the shoulder and he staggered backwards, but he still had the presence of mind to use the Arrow Boy’s body as a shield.

Guy wrestled the AK-47 from the dead Arrow Boy’s hand and sent a spray of bullets firing in his direction. He dropped dead to the ground and Guy let out a relieved sigh. He let his carcass shield fall to the ground and then searched the shanty town for Chin. Even with a headstart, he’d only made it fifty metres ahead on account of his old age.

“Oh no, you don’t."

With a crack, Guy sent a bullet hurtling towards Chin. It tore through his calf and the chemist fell to the ground with a thud. Gardner limped after his wounded prey with a satisfied smile on his face. Chin was writhing in pain on the ground when Guy reached him. He took a great deal of gratification from dragging the old man to his feet and was about to make a joke when the sound of heavy machinery caught his attention.

A large tank daubed in graffiti smashed through several rusty shacks and came to a stop in front of them. Sat atop it were five more Arrow Boys who were brandishing AK-47s in the Gardner’s direction. To top it off, the turret on the front of the tank pointed at the SHIELD agent.

“Fuck.”

The chemist slipped free from Guy’s hands and staggered towards the tank with a laugh. The sense of dread in Gardner’s stomach grew as Chin turned to face him. The elderly man’s saggy features twisted into a wicked smile as he gestured to the Arrow Boys to restrain his would-be kidnapper. One was in the process of leaping down from the tank when a shadow appeared over him. He had made it to Guy and wrapped his arms around his shoulders by the time Gardner could make sight of what was casting it.

With an almighty bang, Ben Grimm came crashing down against the tank. It squashed on impact and the Arrow Boys on top of it were sent sprawling by the impact. Ben tore the tank in two as if it were made of cardboard, bullets ricocheted from his rocky hide as he made his way towards the last few remaining militiamen, and despatched them with a heavy clap that burst their eardrums.

Feigning a point towards an imaginary watch on his wrist, Guy shouted to his colleague. “What kind of time do you call this?”

“You know what they say, Carrot Top,” Ben chuckled as he threw the unconscious Professor Chin over his shoulder. “Better late than never.”
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet