Marvel 2007

1997

Eight feet by six feet, 'cabin' was too nice a term for it. Shed or shack was more apt and the liberal use of adjectives like 'run-down' and 'ramshackle' would not be unjustified. The dilapidated lean-to stood just over the crest of a promontory that was a good half mile off the Burrows trail. The Burrows trail, of course, was the hiking trail which ascended the western face of the Camel's Hump, the tallest uninhabited mountain in the Green Mountain range in Vermont.

A good 50 yards from the shack stood a giant of a man. 7 feet tall if he was a foot, four feet wide at the shoulder and dressed in a leather jacket and jeans he stared at the shack, taking slow breaths, his short reddish brown hair ruffled by the wind. The man exhaled, his hot breath forming a warm cloud for a brief moment before it was blown away by the wind. He stood there as the sun lowered in the sky, perfectly still, staring at the shack.

There was no warning. The giant's chest slipped forward, falling slightly, his foot moving under him to catch himself and propel himself forward a little faster. His other leg swung into place, catching his fall and increasing his velocity. And within a few steps he was moving at a jog, clearing the distance to the house in a matter of moments. His hand closed around the handle and he swung the door open.

The giant was hit by a burst of warm air coming out of the doorway, making him blink. After a moment he looked inside the shack, blinking again, this time in disbelief. Marble graced the floor and despite the wooden outside the inner walls were cement and stone covered with gold etchings and studded with jewels of obscene size. The giant blinked again. Despite the tiny size of the shack, the inside was huge. There was at least 100 yards from the doorway he was standing at to a tower of spun gold and silver spiralling up out of the Earth. Surrounding the tower were dozens of fountains; each depicting an erotic scene with water spouting up from obscene organs of the statues, only to cascade down onto statues of onlookers.

The giant smiled and stepped inside the magical shack, letting the door close behind him, and made his way past the sculpted erotica to the tower. He walked around the tower but there was no visible entrance.

The giant smiled. His right hand curled up into a fist and his entire body shifted forward. There was a bright flash of light followed by a loud boom and now there was an entrance. It wasn't a pretty entrance by any means; though it did have that pleasant, recently-smashed-with-lots-of-tiny-jagged-edges look. The giant laughed, the sound of it echoing through the tower.

A deep, booming voice eminated down from the top of the spiral, echoing a reply back to the giant.

"Who dares disturb the home of Baron Mordo?"

The giant did not cower or falter in the least. He stood his ground and boomed back his own reply. "I am Cain Marko and I seek Baron Mordo. Is your wizard in residence?" It was a very long few moments. The giant, Cain Marko, looked around, waiting for a response. He ducked his head into the metal tower. There was nothing in there that he could see.

"Excuse me."

Cain Marko spun around, facing the direction the voice had come from. Behind him stood a balding man with a black mustache bedecked in gold and forest green robes. He would be imposing to most men, standing just over six feet tall. Compared to Cain Marko he was a little man. "I am Baron Mordo," said the robed man.

Marko grinned. "Good." He stepped closer to Baron Mordo, sizing up the smaller man. "Do you know who I am?"

Baron Mordo rolled his eyes, waving his hand dismissively. "You are the avatar of Cyttorak, colloquially known as the Juggernaut. I can feel the foul stench of Cyttorak's power from here. Shall I assume you're here to find some loophole in your contract with Cyttorak?"

Cain Marko's eyes closed to scant slits as he examined the wizard. "How did you know that?"

Baron Mordo had read the story of Cyttorak while an apprentice. He knew the legend of the ruby of Cyttorak and had spent part of his life searching out that source of limitless power only to discover that some fool had blundered on it by chance.

Baron Mordo had seethed, but there was little he could do. He had found a spell that would allow the powers of Cyttorak to transfer to another, but it required the willing participation of the current avatar of Cyttorak. Mordo knew that once someone tasted the awesome power of the lesser god Cyttorak they would never willingly give up that power.

So he resigned himself to his fate and sought other forms of power. Now, forty years later, his opportunity fell in his lap. Of course, Cain Marko did not need to know that.

"I am a powerful magician, the tale of Cyttorak's downfall and his avatar is not unknown to me." Baron Mordo paused, evaluating the giant before him. "I assume you want the curse of his power lifted because he has attempted to possess you, perhaps repeatedly?"

Cain rubbed his chin. "How did you know that?"

"You are not the first avatar of a lesser deity." Baron Mordo waved a hand, conjuring a tome from thin air. "They usually choose a cleric or priest who would consider it an honor to sacrifice theor freewill to their god. Cyttorak was exiled to his dimension and does not have that choice." Baron Mordo scanned the comjured book with magic; running his finger over the pages. The book opened to a specific page. "Ahh, here we go. Do you, Cain Marko, wish to sever all ties with your god, relinquishing his worship and all powers bestowed upon you by said deity."

"I never worshipped that asshole Cyttorak," Cain Marko growled.

Baron Mordo's eyes flared in anger, subsiding in an instant. "It is part of the spell, you must answer yes or no." He did not end the spell, for could not recast it for days if he stopped, now that he had begun.

"Whatever." Cain Marko sighed. "Yes."

"Do you have the gem of binding?" Baron Mordo asked. He didn't know why he needed to ask that question. It was perfectly clear in the spell text that the gem was not needed for rebinding.

"The ruby? I destroyed it, years ago," Cain was lying, he had thrown it into orbit, but he didn't think Baron Mordo needed to know that.

Mordo grinned. Without the gem the only way to pass on the power of the Juggernaut was through this spell, and he'd never willingly give these powers up. Especially since to sever Cyttorak from his avatar's soul required pulling the soul from the avatar's body. Without its soul a body would decay quickly, and without the limitless power of Cyttorak's crimson bands supplying him with power Cain Marko would die. Of course, there was no reason for Baron Mordo to tell Cain Marko that.

Mordo continued his castings and incantations, gesticulating as need be, each spell stripping away a fraction of the Juggernaut's defenses. Finally, stripping away the last defense Mordo reached his hand out, touching Cain Marko's chest and closed his hand, effectively grabbing Cain Marko's soul. Baron Mordo caught Cain Marko's eye and winked. He pulled back, ripping the soul from Juggernaut's body. A flash of pain seared up the wizard's arm. He glanced down at his appendage that theoretically held Marko's soul. His hand was being consumed as if by acid.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

____________


Fifteen minutes earlier...

"...Our three weapons are fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope. Our four, no, amongst, amongst our weapons..." Jimmy Hodgekins had seen this episode of Monty Python's Flying Circus at least two dozen times and he was probably laughing harder then ever before. Somethings were funny no matter how many times you saw them, especially Monty Python.

Jimmy Hodgekins was a Vermont Forester. No, that wasn't a local sports team, but the technical term for a Vermont forest ranger. Jimmy was assigned to the summit of Camel's Hump, one of the tallest mountains in Vermont. The Foresters took turns at this station, it was a lonely solitary post who's only requirement was to explain the rare vegetation on the summit to the itinerate hikers. Jimmy had brought his portable DVD player and was working his way through his 16 disc Monty Python collection. It was the best way to pass the time. The courtroom scene had just started when the entire cabin shook.

Jimmy groaned, flipping off his DVD player and getting to his feet. Sounded like either an earthquake or some kids had gotten their hands on explosives. Since the last earthquake around here had happened before Jimmy's great grandfather was born, he was betting on the kids. Probably just fireworks, maybe some gunpowder. Still, he had to check it out, and make sure a fire didn't start. Jimmy threw on his hat and jacket, slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed out, grabbing his walking stick off the wall as he went.

Stepping outside Jimmy took in the view from Camel's hump. On a clear day you could see the tallest mountains in four states: Massachusettes, New Hampshire, New York and of course Vermont. Jimmy grinned. It was a beautiful sight, even at dusk. He spotted a plume of smoke on the western face of the mountain and started heading toward it.

It was rough terrain, and Jimmy was very glad he'd brought his walking stick. More then once he wished he'd brought climbing gear and began to realize that he should have taken the Burrows trail. It was while he was walking down that his foot snagged on a rock, and Jimmy tripped, sliding down almost thirty feet of ledge, only to catch onto a bush, arresting his descent for a few precious seconds before the bush uprooted and Jimmy fell from the ledge off a 15 foot drop. He spun in the air, trying to take the fall on his shoulder and roll. He partially succeeded but landed on gravel sliding again for another 30 feet until he collided with a tree.

Jimmy lay there for a long time, getting his wits back before he attempted to stand. He rolled over onto hit belly and pushed himself to his feet. His shoulder was pulled, maybe sprained, but that was the worst of it. Jimmy had been lucky. He had bruises and scrapes all over his body but nothing felt broken.

It was during his self-check that Jimmy heard the other moan. He had to push out into a clearing and the first thing he saw made his heart stop. It was a solid gold fountain, probably 30 feet high, and it depicted a man and a woman having sex, the man standing and the woman bent over backwards, her hands on the ground, doing a hand stand, but the guy's prick was in her cunt. Both statues were stark naked. What made it a fountain was the water gushing out of it, specifically water was gushing out her crotch, over his penis and belly, and then it dripped down, over his balls, and down between his legs. Disgusting.

Jimmy heard the moan again. He tore his eyes away from the fountain long enough to spot a giant of a man with burns all over his body lying a few dozen feet away. Jimmy ran over to the giant and the idiot was smiling, muttering something about being free and repeated the phrase "sitter-rad" or "cider rat" or some such. The guy was in real bad shape. Jimmy grabbed the shortwave radio off his belt and eventually got someone's attention and their promise to send help.

2006

"I can't believe we walked halfway across the city just to get a book. Dude, seriously, have you ever heard of Amazon.com?" The boy speaking was short and thin, dressed in over-sized pants and a too-tight top. His hair was dyed with streaks of neon green and blue and he wore wild sunglasses that were very retro to the 1980's. He was walking next to a tall, fat fellow dressed in a blue polo shirt, thick corrective eye glasses that kept slipping down his pudgy little nose and brown slacks.

"First off Dan," the fat fellow said, running a hand through his mid-length reddish brown hair, "we didn't walk across town, we took the subway."

"Well excu-oo-use meee," the short, thin Dan said in a fairly decent imitation of Steve Martin.

"Secondly," the fat guy continued without seeming to notice Dan's comment, "the book I'm looking for went through one print run in 1932, so Amazon doesn't carry it. It chronicles the effect of finance on the roman empire and since so many of my text books reference it in passing, I'd like to get a copy of it."

Dan laughed, a high-pitched giddy laugh. "Chaz, that has to be the most boring thing I ever heard. The only thing that could possibly have been slightly more boring is if the store actually had the book! Come on Chaz, we're young, eligible-type college students who are in New York city! This is where Brad and Angelina Pitt-Jolie choose to live! This city is one giant party! Lets go find that party Chaz!"

"Please, no need to be so informal, call me Charles," the fat man said, with just a hint of a smile on his face.

"Chachi?" Dan asked, grinning.

"Charles." Charles replied.

"Chuck?"

"Charles."

"Chuthlu?"

"Charles."

Dan slapped Charles on the shoulder. "Ok Chaz, Chaz it is. No more calling you Chaz, Chaz."

Charles sighed. "I should know better. I haven't been able to get you to call me Charles for the last two weeks of being roommates, why should today be any different?"

Dan giggled and gave Charles another backslap. "Nope. Or yup. Or whatever. Now lets find us a party."

The fat guy shook his head. "Its Monday." His voice had a firmness that implied that this fact should end the discussion.

"So we'll find a Monday night party, no big deal. Be warned it may involve wrestling or football." Dan grinned, pointing toward an adult 'bookstore.' When Guiliani was mayor he had gotten most of the 'XXX' and 'Live Nude' neon signs off the street, but the establishments remained. "We can start our search there."

Charles sighed, shaking his head. "First off, I have studying to do. Not all of us came to Empire State University to goof off. They have a world-class business administration program and I am taking full advantage of it. Secondly, if you want porn so badly just go on the internet like everyone else. Its free. www.ampland.com www.al4a.com www.literotica.com www.myfreepaysite.com www.hentaischool.com ..."

Dan cut him off. "Listen virgin..."

Charles shook his head. "I never should have told you that."

"Probably not," Dan agreed cheerfully, "one day you will learn that your hand is a poor substitute for a real live woman. And I just gotta say you are conversationally anal retentive."

Charles arched an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

Dan cleared his throat and stood up straight, bringing his unimpressive 5 foot 5 inch frame to bear, "Firstly, you make lists. Secondly you can't let anything go until you've addressed it. Thirdly, you're boring. Fourthly, you're a virgin and desperately need a woman to fuck you into a coma, fifthly..."

"Watch your language!"

"You're as big as an ox and don't play football," Dan continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "Sixthly, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..."

Charles hand shot out, slapping Dan upside the back of his head, shutting the much smaller roommate up. "I can't take you anywhere."

Dan laughed and continued, "Seventhly, your given name is Charles Charles. I mean come on. Did your parents name you after Bruce Bruce. They do know you're not black, right?"

Charles raised his hand, threatening to backhand Dan. The smaller roommate laughed, but stopped talking. Charles sighed. "I'm thirsty let's hit that 7-11 and grab a Coke."

"But wouldn't that hurt?" Dan asked, needling his large roommate. Charles said nothing, just shook his head as he opened the door to the convenience store. "Hitting the convenience store. That would hurt. We should just go inside."

The matronly, silver-haired woman sitting behind the counter heard Dan and raised an eyebrow as they entered. Charles pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Dan. "Don't mind him, Ma'am, he's just a smart ass. I think it stems from a napoleon complex."

"Was that a short joke?" Dan asked, following Charles to the refridgerators in the back of the store where the cool beverages were kept. "I can spot a short joke. I know Napoleon was short. You'll notice I don't do fat jokes. You don't hear me telling you that a coke is the last thing you need, fat ass."

The door to the convenience store slammed open and the deafening sound of a gunshot slammed into the boy's eardrums. They ducked down reflexively. Charles popped his head up to take a look. A man, a white man, stood a few feet inside the doorway with a mask over his face and a revolver pointed at the cowering old woman behind the counter. Charles started to stand up, Dan pulled him back down.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dan whispered frantically.

"Someone needs to stop this guy!" was Charles' urgent, yet hushed, reply.

"GIVE ME ALL YOUR FUCKING MONEY!" the man with the revolver yelled. The old woman was shaking, trying to shy away from his hand cannon as she tried to open the register.

"You're not Captain America," Dan shot back.

"Damn you and your obsession with superheroes, this woman will die if we don't do something."

The boys flinched as another shot was fired, the slug embedding itself into the wall behind the old lady. She was shaking worse then ever as the man hollared, "HURRY UP!"

Charles got to his feet, taking a deep breath he leaned forward.

"You're a lunatic," Dan whispered.

Everything was moving in slow motion as Charles felt gravity pull at his massive frame. He let his right leg snake out, supporting his bulk, his arms pumping as his other leg swung forward, increasing his momentum and hurtling Charles forward at an incredible speed. The thing about fat men is that they can run pretty fast in a straight line, but turning proved difficult. A growl came out as Charles took in his next monster breath. The man with the gun turned around. He blinked twice as the behometh hurtled toward him. Charles let out a yell that shook the store as he charged forward.

The man raised his gun, firing a blast of fire and a lead slug at the rampaging monster. The slug tore through Charles' rib and puntucred his left lung, coming clean through the back of the ribcage. It didn't slow Charles down an iota. He pumped his legs, crashing into the maniac, the gun squashed between them. It went off again, tearing a hole through Charles' lower intestines. The hit registered in his head but Charles didn't feel it. Not yet.

His hands were wrapped around the shooter's neck, lifting the maniac off the ground and slamming his head back down into the floor. Once. Twice. Thrice. The pain hit and Charles collapsed ontop of the would be robber. In an instant, all was black.

_______


Six hours later

The blackness was pieced by a long thin slit of light. Eyelids fluttered and a blinding light stunned and confused him. Where was he?

"He's awake, I better go get Doctor Duprey."

His eyes had adjusted enough to see pink scrubs and white sneakers go out the door moved by the unidentified human inside them. He tried to move, but he was finding it hard to breathe, hard even to think. Everything was hazy. Glasses. Where were his glasses?

A bald, black man who couldn't be more then 25 walked into the room wearing green scrubs and a white lab coat. He was carrying a metal clip board and forced a big smile on his face.

"Hey there! I'm Doctor Turk, what's the happy-haps?" The doctor came closer and sat on the bed, putting the clipboard on his lap. "You, my friend, are either an absolute hero, or a total idiot. Did you know you died three times on the operating table?"

He tried to speak, it took a minute to find enough breath. "Am I ok?"

"Well that depends," Dr. Turk said, reaching a hand out and tapping the patient's forehead, "can you remember your name?"

It took a minute for it to all come back to him. "Charles. Charles Charles."

"No need to stutter," Turk laughed, "I'm just joking with you. But be serious with me for a minute here. You need to lose weight. Seriously. I had three interns holding back your fat flaps. Dude, that aint cool. Makes it hard to operate with all that shit in the way. I'm not saying you gotta be like a string bean, but dude, trust me. You drop a hundred pounds and the women will be all over you like Snoop dog! You know what I'm sayin'?"

"My chest hurts."

"I hope so! You're lung got punctured by a .44 magnum. If the ambulance driver hadn't been stopping at the same store you were at then you would have died. You, my friend, got lucky."

"Dan?"

"Is outside in the hall. One of the bullets that hit you got him too. We had to pull a slug out of his arm, probably not his happiest day."

"Me either."

"Oh it gets worse," Dr. Turk said, suddenly somber. "You were shot in both the lung and lower intestine. It looks like everything is going to heal properly, but its going to take a long time. It'll probably be a year before you'll walk normally, with hard work at rehabilitation. I'm not gonna say you'll never be an olympic athlete because Lance Armstrong won the tour de france after beating the fashizzle out of five million kinds of cancer, know what I'm saying?"

Charles couldn't help himself, he laughed. It was a very weak laugh, but it was a laugh.

A broad smile came to Dr. Turk. "That's what I'm talking about."

Suddenly a white, skinny man with wild black hair and wearing dark blue scrubs ducked his head in the door way. "Sorry to interupt Turk, but Elliot needs us for a... consultation." The skinny man turned and waved at Charles. "Hello, I'm J.D."

"Hey," Charles managed.

"Cool," Dr. Turk said, picking up his clipboard and hopping up. "We called your parents Chaz, and let them know what happened. Your mother is flying out tonight. They said they were very proud of you. Gotta go!"

And then Charles was alone. He couldn't see too well without his glasses. He sighed, regretting it immediately. Charles inhaled, trying to catch his breath.

A large bald white guy came through the door wearing sunglasses, a t-shirt and jeans and carrying a notepad. "You Charles Charles?"

It took a minute to find the air to speak. "Yes," Charles answered.

"Do you consider yourself a superhero?" the bald man asked immediately.

Another long breath. "No."

"Have you ever displayed superhuman powers?"

Another long breath. "No."

"Good," the bald man said, flipping a page in his notebook. "Now that the federal shit is out of the way we can get to the good stuff." He walked to the bed, his hand in his back pocket, produced a wallet and flipped it open revealing a badge. "I'm detective Mackey. I'm going to need a full description from you of what's happened."

"Heh." Another long breath. "Funny."

"Yeah, I wish," detective Mackey sat on the bed, sighed and took off his sunglasses. "If it was up to me kid we'd just give you a hero medal for killing that bastard and move on, but its not up to me." The detective smiled at Charles.

"I killed him?"

"Hell yes and did a good job of it too. Splattered his brains all over the floor in a clear cut case of self-defense." Detective Mackey leaned closer. "This guy was scum Charlie, real scum. While you were sleeping we ran prints and DNA on this guy. He's knocked over 7 convenience stores, shot the clerk and anyone else in there everytime. He was a bastard and you did the right thing. So even if you killed him because he had halitosis you're gonna tell me it was self-defense, capiche?"

Another long breath. "It was self defense."

"Good job." Detective Mackey grinned and started writing something down.

"It really was," Charles protested.

"I know kid, I was making a point. We got the clerk's account and your roommate's. But now we need yours. Tell me what happened."

So Charles told him, leaving out few details. It took awhile, Charles needed to take breaks just to breathe, but Detective Mackey was surprisingly patient and fatherly with the young man. When it was over and the detective had left visiting hours were long over and Charles went to sleep.

Then came the nightmares.

Captain America

Darkness. Glowing. Blue. Water. Trapped. Wires. People. Clipboards.

He snapped awake.

'Fuck'

Captain Matthew Heslop, formerly of S.H.I.E.L.D. shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, before looking around the dirty, skanky, smelly, has probably had 10 people die in it, motel room.

He shrugged and climbed out of bed, reaching for his rucksack, when he heard a scream from outside.

Sighing, and silently cursing, he turned and leapt to the window and peeked out.

Outside across the road a group of armed and hardened thugs were stealing from a resteraunt, and seemed to be also holding hostages.

Stupid Fools.

Matthew turned and went to his rucksack openeing it to reveal 3 costumes.

His S.H.I.E.L.D. Uniform, his Warfly Costume and one other.

He sighed, going for the third outfit.

It seemed that His alias of Reed Matthews would be checking out of his room sooner than planned.

*************************************

'Dude, what the fuck, I said Kill only as a last resort.' Shouted a tall man toting a pair of Uzi's, as the dead man fell to the floor after attempting to distact one of the thugs.

'I know you did.' The Shotgun holding man grinned, and then levelled the shotgun at the tall man, 'But now i'm charge.'

He pulled the trigger.

Shotgun turned to the others, 'I'm in charge now, lets get the money, grab the hoes and get outta here.'

One of the small Thugs, this one holding a machete and a revolver, spoke, 'What if the supercops come?'

Shotgun grinned, 'We're in the middle of nowhere, it will be ages before any supers arrive, and anyway if they do we'll be ready.' He nodded to small man hidden in the shadows, 'Now lets going.'

Machete smiled and pointed his machete a woman, 'Give me ur necklase bitch...'

He was cut off as a circular shield slammed into his back, sending him flying. The shield appearing simply to be a blur of red, white and blue, slammed into another thug sending the brute flying, and returned to a figure stepping through the broken window from whence the Shield had come.

He caught the shield neatly.

'Sorry if i'm early, but i was in the middle of nowhere.'

Shotgun simply snarled and fired a slug in the figures direction. The slug impacted the figure and made him go flying back out of the window from which he had came.

Shotgun smiled, 'See we're sorted, he wasn't much of a hero now was he.'

'Well, Actually...' The figure flew back through the window, completely uninjured by the blast, and walked towards Shotgun, stopping directly in front of the slightly aweshock thug, his costume and shield finally in full view.

The simply sight of the hero was inspiring.

'I'm Captain America.'

Shotgun never saw the punch coming, and crumpled to the floor.

The five other thugs stood in shock, then a split second later began to drop their weapons and ran out of the restuarant, leaving just Shotgun and the small man.

Cap raised an eyebrow, 'And what are you suppossed to be?'

The small man began to start walking forwards, his body slowly shifting until he stood before Cap, a large golem of pure rock.

Cap grunted as he hit the wall, and slowly rose, 'Gee, you make Ben and Onyxx look human. Could you be any uglier?'

The golem simply roared and charged once more. Cap simply sidestepped the brute, and backhanded him with the shield.

A crunch was heard, followed by a crash and the golem collapsed unconscious.

Captain America shrugged and cracked his neck.

Then he heard the sounds of a motorcycle. Turning he managed to get out of the restaurant in time to see the rest of the thugs laying dead, their bodies scorched to a crisp and a smoking Shotgun laughing and heading away on his Motor Cycle.

Cap ran over to his Bike and slung on his backpack before throwing his leg over the bike.

Sirens in the distance could be heard.

A hand was felt on Caps shoulder and the hero turned to find several of the customers of the restaurant stood behind him.

'Thankyou,' the one with the hand on his shoulder smiled, 'Its good to know that despite everything, you havent given up on us.'

Cap nodded, 'Not while I Still hold breath.' He turned again once more as the sirens drew closer.

The man nodded, 'Go we won't tell them anything.'

Cap nodded his thanks and rode off after Shotgun.

*********************************************

The man collpased to the ground as the agent stood over him.

'What happened?'

The Man cringed, 'nothing, some thugs tried to attack us and then they turned on each other.'

The tall man nodded, 'Fine, if you want to be like that. Prask, scan him.'

A tall bald mutant looking weak and shrivveled stepped forwards. This was Prask, a mutant villian who was now forced to hunt down vigilantes.

Prask Placed a hand on the old mans head. He saw the initial attack, the death, then he saw the fight and the vigilante saving the customers. then he saw the promise the old man had made.

He removed his hands and looked to the Tall man, 'Captain America was here.'

The tall man simply nodded, and placed a fingertip on the mans forehead without applying and pressure at all.

The man cringed and yelled out violently, screaming, and spasming before falling to the ground dead.

The Tall man, turned, and began to leave the restaurant, 'Kill them all. That is the punishment for harbouring dangerous criminals such as Captain America.'

One of the customers stood and yelled out, 'Captain America is no villian, he's a hero.'

He crumpled as he was shot in the back.

The tall man holstered his gun. 'Captain America, is a dangerous criminal, who needs to be stopped. Why his last crime was killing all of you.'

He turned and left the restaurant.

'Why don't you just join us Weapon-26?' He spoke to the wind.

chaos. Yes, it was an odd name. No matter how many times he told people that there were no capital letters in it, they always wrote it down with one. chaos stood there, watching from behind Anthony Stark Junior as the multitrillionaire spoke with investors and others on the phone. Since Tony's father had become involved with the government, namely, with trying, and eventually succeedingm to pass the MetaRegistration Act, which caused all those who had some form of superpowers, such as superhuman strength, flight, energy projection, and yes, even those with mechanical suits, to register themselves or be branded terrorists or criminals. While many still ignored the act, most went along with it. Still, there were those who refused to even acknowledge it, since it went against everything the country stood for. He and Tony Junior, as well as Jim Rhodes, who worked with the elder Tony Stark, fell into that last category. He'd been raised on stories of the freedom of Americans, and wasn't about to allow anything to violate that freedom for anyone.

That was when they heard the explosion outside. Tony made a motion with his hand, and chaos was out of the room immediately. moments later, War Machine flew out of a secret exit underground. He flew up out of the Hudson river, and made his way to where the explosion happened. Sure enough, it was a group of supervillains attacking a Federal transport. Unfortunately, the supervillains weren't so super. It only took him a few moments to deal with them. He was off again, and while most of the Feds applauded, one or two were busy making phone calls to report a 'Meta" that wasn't registered.

Brookside, Vermont.

In the small town of Brookside Vermont, just west of State highway 128 a home was in it's last vestiges of life. An old man fought against the fire fighters as he tried to get back inside the house. "You maniacs, my grand daughter is still in there!"

"Sir, there's no way we can let you go back inside, it's about to come down." one of the fire men said as he held the old man's arm. He was trying to keep his professional detachment, but it wasn't easy. Mister Lawrence was one of the church's deacons and everyone knew his family. The fire man's own daughter went to school with Lindsay Lawrence. He could imagine the pain the old man was going through.

Suddenly the crowd that was at the fringes of activity gasped. One of the windows exploded outwards. A body came flying through the air out of it. The body was hunched over protecting something as it hit the ground on it's feet. The hair was burned short to the head, but as it straightened up the crowd exploded into cheers and other sounds of joy. In the stranger's arms was the little girl.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three hours later the old motorcycle roared down I-89 south of Burlington Victoria still had the smile on her face. The old man had been so grateful to her for saving his daughter. Even the fire department hadn't asked how she'd survived the fire to save the kid. The only out of the ordinary comment made by anyone was when Old man Lawrence had commented that her hair sure seemed to grow back fast. By this time her hair was back to the length it seemed to like being. The black mane fluttered in the wind where it came out from under the old cap style helmet.

She had promised the old timer she'd take care of his precious bike. How could she not, this machine was beautiful. They just didn't make bikes like the old Indian she was now riding.

Victoria wasn't sure why she was in the states. Or why she was so decidedly heading south. It just seemed the direction to go. There were a couple of places she had wanted to see while she was in the states, like Westchester and New York city. She had no real intention of staying in either place, but she wanted to see them. Honoring some of what made her what she was just seemed right.

Alana Bowen-Johnson smiled as she bid her parents good night. She climbed the stairs to her room and quickly finished packing the knapsack and suitcase she'd been working on the past few days. She slipped the knapsack on and picked up the suitcase, then concentrated on what she wanted and opened a small portal. She stepped through and appeared in the shadows of the train station. Waving her free hand, the portal shut.

Alana made her way quietly to the ticket booth and requested a one way ticket to New York. It would take a couple of days for her to get out of Canada, but that was fine with her. She wanted to hide her powers any way and what better way to do that than to travel as a non-mutant. She had stashed her cape in the knapsack before she'd stepped through her portal. A few minutes later, Alana boarded the train headed for New York.
----

A couple of days later, Alana stepped down on the platform of Grand Central Station. Her money had been hidden deep in the shadows of her pocket as she hefted her knapsack on to her shoulder and headed off to her audition at the dance school she had secretly applied to. From what the brochure said, it wasn't that far from the station.

New York City -- Harlem

"If it ain't niggers in this rat hole, it's damn muties." The voice was a woman's, oddly mechanical and distorted as it rasped through the hard suit's speaker. The suit was lean and form fitting, save for the delicate looking vernier fins of the jump packs and the machine gun underslung on the right arm. "Tell me we're sanitizing this place."

Another suit moved up to crouch next to her, "Orders are to draft 'em, Simmons." This voice was male, a deep, rumbling bass. "But...seeing as they're muties, it's too damn bad that they decided to resist, huh?"

"Their numbers are great, and they think themselves strong for the arms they bear." "They are brutal and they are wicked, as are so many that fool themselves about what strength is."

Simmons laughed, as did the other seventeen members of the squad. Each was wearing a similar hard shelled armored carapace in the dark blue and white of S.H.I.E.L.D. They were perched on a water tower atop a tenement building, some on top, most clinging to the metal struts like vultures clad in steel.

The lead sergeant spoke up again, "Infrared's got them on the third floor." "Arm weapons systems, people." "We'll let go with a barrage and then go in to mop up anybody who's bullet proof." Behind the agents, a lithe figure fell soundlessly from another rooftop, long tails trailing behind him from mask and sash.

"They hunt a mother and her three children. Killers clad in steel, sanctioned by weak men given too great power by foolish and fearful people, allowed to let their petty hatreds run rampant." "They come, as such hordes have always come." "There is no defense these people have against them."

"Sir, wait!" Simmons spoke up, wheeling about. "I thought I saw something on radar." "Checking it out..." She leaped from the tower, a burst of light coming from the jump back as she fell to the room heavily. Another suit detached, going with her. Before they could go further, a figure stepped out of the shadows in front of them.

The man was tall, but not very, with a lean, agile build. He was clad in dark green, save for yellow boots, a yellow sash, and a distinctive mask that tied in back and covered the top half of his face, the eyes white with black tracing. His hands and wrists were wrapped tightly in white cotton, and on the chest of his green suit was a black stylized dragon. He said nothing, just gestured for them to come forward.

"-the fuck?" The squad now focused on the stranger, the sergeant landing heavily in front of him. "You're in violation of the Registration Act, fairy." "On your knees, hands on your head." The man in green did not move, not even a twitch. "Fine, take him in!"

The closest agents reached for him, and there was an explosion of movement. Before they even got close, he leaped between them, legs kicking out to strike each in the head. Though they weighed in at around 600 pounds in the hard suits, the agents tumbled away like they were stuffed toys, skidding and crashing across the rooftops. "They're surprised, just like they always are, to find one unafraid to face them." "One who will stand against many, against the mighty, when no one else will." He rolled past two who opened up with their guns, striking each other as they tried to track him. "It is my sacred and most holy duty, even it wasn't my pleasure to do it." "To fight for honor, justice, for those who can't." He came up in a flying handstand kick, smashing one suit heavily into two others, metal and plastic shrieking and snapping from the force. As he came to his feet, he snapped around in a wicked roundhouse kick, shattering the sergeant's helmet with his heel. He ducked under a clumsy swing, a lightning fast barrage of body blows ending in a palm heel uppercut that broke another helmet clean off. "I am the one who does this." "Who stands against the storm and holds it back, when no one else can." The rest of the troops had massed, charging forward in a solid mass, knowing that one even with his skill he couldn't not fight them all at once. He slid into a low stance, one fist back. Yellow-orange energy blazed around that fist as he stood his ground, waiting for the charge to reach him. He lunged forward, swinging in with a wide hook. The punch hit, the energy flaring brightly. Metal and plastic peeled off of the agents as they flew back through the air, all ten of them. Their hard suits shattering as they took an impact that would have easily killed every last man. The shockwave struck the water tower, bursting it, water roaring down over the rooftop. The green and yellow clad martial artist, flipped up onto an air conditioning hood as the water surged around it, standing and surveying the broken and unconscious agents. "I am the Immortal Iron Fist."

He smiled, turned, leaped, and was gone.

Captain America: Public Enemy Number One

America, 2007, yesterday.

As the bike continued to roar down the motorway, Captain America knew that he was being followed.

Not that it mattered. Well not yet anyway.

What mattered at the minute was stopping the viscous unregistered superhuman biker known as shotgun, and to detain him before he used his powers to turn anyone else to a burnt crisp.

Then and only then could the large contingent of SHIELD agents could be dealt with.

He slowly eased off the throttle as he reached a small town, long since abandoned for some strange reason.

Then he saw the towns name and paused.

WELCOME TO CROWESFOOT

Crowesfoot. He knew the name, but it took him a second to place it and then...

'Aww shit.'

The memories came flooding back...

***********************************************************

Crowesfoot, 1984

‘This is warfly, Over.’ Said Matthew Wyld, looking not a day younger than he did in 2007. The major difference though was the outfit. This young hero looked more like a cross between Warmachine and Wasp.

The night seemed to envelop him, as he waited on top of a rooftop surrounding the local bar, of the town. He was there as part of a two man special team sanctioned to take down the remnants of the Lovic/Red Skull sanctioned terrorist organisation.

He was to stop the targets, CrossBones and Abomination, plus 2 un-named villians, who were inside the bar while on the run.

This was to be a level black mission. Covert. Non could know. Very few had being told.

‘Good’ came the reply, ‘Do you have visual?’

‘Yes’ Replied Warfly.

‘Then Move in...’

*******************************************************************
Crowesfoot, Yesterday.

Cap slipped back into the present and shivered.

That had been his first mission as an Agent of SHIELD, and it was one he still hated to think about.

Still on his bike he slowly began to look around, looking for any sign of Shotgun.

Then the premonition Came.

SHIELD.MISSILE.BIKE.BOOM.

Cap shot himself into the air using his flight as a boost top get him further up as a hidden launcher shot a large missile, destroying his bike.

He flipped over in the air and spun, landing easily on his feet.

How had SHIELD got here before him?

Then a window smashed as a figure was hurled through it and rolled at Caps feet.

Shotgun grunted and rose, looking at Captain.

‘Well, it lucks like we’re both fucked’ He said as the SHIELD agents began to pour from every building.

Cap raised his shield as several guns were levelled at him, ‘What makes you think that i’m fucked?’

Shotgun grinned, ‘Cut the crap, i know ur anti-registration.’

Cap was about to reply when the first shot was fired. Instead he dropped to the ground in a spin, and let the Shield fly out of his hands. He felt the temperature rise behind him and knew that Shotgun was also dealing with several agents.

As the Shield returned and flew of once more, Cap dared risk a quick glance behind himslef towards shotgun, and gasped.

The biker was literally on fire. He was the Human Torch, an Anti-registration Hero who infiltrated gangs and broke them up on the inside.

Cap couldn’t stop though, and instead leapt through the air, punching and kicking, sometimes even using his shield as a club.

Soon the agents stopped and began to fall back slightly. Understanding that this was the only possible time to regroup both Cap and Shotgun fell back towards each other back to back.

‘Thanks for letting me know that you were Torch.’ Cap muttered.

‘Oh shut up’ Came the reply, before he was suddenly cut off as large amounts of pain fell through him.

Cap turned quickly, ‘What?’

Then things blurred, Cap saw a man he presumed dead standing over the writhing body of torch who was slowly going nucleur.

‘Hello, Weapon 26.’

Then the torch exploded.

***********************************************************

New York. Today.

Matthew Wyld looked up at the television screen at the Bar where he was currently sat as a normal tourist having a drink.

He had escaped the day before when the torch had exploded, destroying everything within a mile. Except of course, for Cap, who was glad as always for his invulnerablity. He had found no survivors, though he was sure that one agent had somehow survived. The bastard always did.

Meanwhile the Tv began to blare, showing the president of America, announcing one thing, one small sentence of 7 small words. 7 small words that could destroy any hope of freedom and justice left for this society.

‘Captain America is Public Enemy Number One.’

Shit.

chaos watched the news from beside Tony's desk. The president's speech, consisting of seven words neither of them ever wanted to hear, should have outraged the entire world. But the problem was, no one cared anymore. Years prior, it had been Human or Mutant, a rather amusing sentiment considering there were no real differences between the two, even at a genetic level. Now, it was "Wit us, or agin us". He shook his head, and looked out the window behind them, gazing out at the city.

"You know, Tony, things are getting out of hand. The people still remember that these guys are heroes." Tony nodded, and finished the thought for his security officer. "But the government punishes them for speaking out. Kind of reminds you of that comic book hero V. 'People should not fear their government. A government should fear its people.' Or something like that."

Three months ago on a Saturday

“AAH!” Charles bolted upright in bed, the sheet that covered him falling to his lap. He sat there for a few minutes, his jaw dropped open, sweating and trying to catch his breath. Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and penning his eyes. He tossed the sheet off and stood up, wearing only his boxer shorts. Charles turned all the lights on in his room, taking long measured breaths, then went to a chair and sat down. He put his face in his hands, still breathing long measured breaths.

“Not again. I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”

Charles sighed and looked at the clock. 4:45am.

“Good time for a run.”

Charles’ face had lost its jowls, his chest almost toned. He wasn’t skinny or fit by any stretch of the imagination, but he was no longer a rather fat fellow. Charles threw on a pair of loose sweats and a t-shirt. He sat on his bed and slipped some low top socks on. He tried to be quiet walking down the hall then the stairs to get near the front door. His mom and brothers were probably asleep but there was a good chance Dad was still up working on his current case. Charles came around the corner of the stairs and saw the light was still on in Dad’s office. Charles sighed. There was no way he could get past Dad without talking. Oh well, it was better to take the bull by the horns. Charles walked up to the office doorway and took a look inside. Dad was typing furiously with one hand while skimming through a legal reference book with the other. Charles wasn’t surprised when his father greeted him without looking up.

“Mornin’ Charlie. How’d ya sleep?”

From the way he talked you’d never think Mr. Charles was a junior partner at one of the biggest law firms in Seattle. And since he was a trim built man of 65, complete with a silver-grey crew cut, he didn’t look like a junior partner. He was dressed in shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt colloquially known as a ‘wife-beater.’

Charles shrugged, leaning against the doorway. “Usual.”

“Yeah I heard the scream,” Mr. Charles stopped scanning the book, but kept typing as he swiveled in his seat to face Charles. “Stand up straight.”

Charles didn’t falter at his father’s criticism; he just pushed himself erect and stood at parade rest, feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind his back at his waist. “Yeah. Same weird guy in green in covered in shadows, riding a black uniform with a glowing horn. And of course, the gunshot.”

Mr. Charles finished typing and stood, shutting off the lights at his desk and workstation. “And your psych officer still has no idea.”

Charles snorted. “He’s got no idea. Never heard of a case like this before. Says I should have stopped having the dreams months ago. And he’s a Psychiatrist, not a psych officer.”

Mr. Charles walked over to his son, clapping him on the shoulder as he turned out the last light, the computer terminal the only illumination. “Sorry that’s what we called ‘em back in the service. Some things stick with you. Going for a run?”

“Well it was either that or eat a mountain of cheese fries. I do like cheese fries. Especially with bacon.” Charles rubbed his belly, “Mmm, mmm good.”

His Dad laughed, leading Charles out of the office and into the kitchen. “Funny. You know your mom and I are really proud of you. Losing all the weight and keeping it off.”

“Thanks Dad. I’m not where I want to be yet, but, I feel a lot better too. Though,” Charles paused, “I do miss those cheese fries. With Bacon.”

Dad laughed. “Yeah well, grab a couple bottles of water and we’ll turn your run into a hike.

The Charles family lived on the east side of Mt. Rainer, in a good-sized house on almost a square mile of land. They flew the family helicopter into work, leasing a small hanger on the Boeing Field airport. When his father suggested a hike Charles knew he meant through the Cascade Mountains. 45 minutes later they had run in near silence, only speaking to point out tripping hazards, Mr. Charles spoke.

“Let’s take a break. There’s a good rock for sitting up ahead. We’ll stop there.”

Charles grunted an acknowledgement. He’d been killing himself to keep pace with his Dad the whole run. He was nearly a half century younger then his father and not nearly in as good of a shape. Charlie knew the only reason Dad was stopping was because Charlie had been breathing hard for the last 5 minutes.

They got to the rock and sat, drinking water and catching their breath. The sky was beautiful: only a few clouds, no lights from the city and billions of clear, tiny pinpricks of light. Charles picked out the constellations Cepheus, Corona Australis and Coronas Boealis. He’d taken a course in astronomy at the local community college last semester and prided himself on not looking for the more common constellations. Part of him wondered if it had been worth it. Charles had to walk with a cane for most of the semester and had needed a helper dog to carry his books. He was determined to go back to Empire State University in the fall, and he was recovered physically enough to be on his own, if he took it easy. If anything was going to keep him here, it would be the dreams.

Mr. Charles broke the silence after awhile. “You know how to find the North Star?”

“It’s the last star in the handle of the little dipper. I took an astronomy class last semester.”

Dad laughed. “That’s right. I forgot about that.” They sat in silence for a bit, sipping from their water bottles. “You know Charlie; you remind me a lot of me when I was your age.”

“Why do you say that Dad?”

“Well,” Dad paused, sipping some more water, “I was focused pretty hard on my education. I didn’t want to be a millionaire like you, I wanted to get a degree in physics and join NASA. And the fastest way into NASA was through the Air Force, which is where I was headed, and fast. I was focused. I knew what I wanted, I wasn’t ashamed of it, and I went after it. A lot like you.” Mr. Charles paused, taking a sip of water. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of your brother Tim, it’s always nice to have the back-up quarterback for the Chicago Bears in the family, even if we don’t get to see him much. But Tim takes after your mother; she was an Olympic speed skater. Which is ironic, since he was named after me. And I love your brother Kurt, who I’m sure is going to be one heck of an actor when he gets out of college. But I don’t know where he gets it. Maybe the middle child syndrome, cries for attention and all that.”

Charles’ father had never opened up like this before: he never talked about anything from his life during the period after high school or while he was in the military. Before this Charles didn’t even know which branch his father had served in. Charles didn’t really know what to say. “Wow Dad. Thanks.”

“Well, I’m not sure how much of that was a compliment. My focus made me blind to a lot of ugly truths. But there’s something else you and I have in common.”

“What’s that Dad?”

“We both stopped robberies when we were 18.”

Charles just stared at him. It took him a few minutes to find his voice. “What?”

Dad turned and grinned at his son. “I was 18. It was right around 1960. I was a freshman at the University of Texas. I was waiting in line at the bank. I watched two guys came in with shotguns, yelled for everyone to get down. Before they finished yelling I had drawn my .44 magnum and shot them both.”

Charles was stunned. “Did you kill them?”

“Oh yes. The .44 was the biggest handgun in the world back then. And Kevlar certainly hadn’t been invented yet.” Dad sipped his water looking back at the stars.

“What happened after that?”

“Well my banking was shot for the day, I’ll tell you that.” Charles laughed and his father continued. “They’d already hit the silent alarm. The police came, asked some questions. I was a hero; I had 2 dozen people thanking me for saving their lives. I got a citation from the mayor.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, life was simpler back then. I probably would have made national headlines, but that was the day when the Fantastic Four appeared.”

Charles was a little puzzled. “The who Dad?”

Mr. Charles sighed. “Not the Who, that was a rock band. The Fantastic Four, they were superheroes. The first superheroes since World War II. Forget about it. I meant to tell you earlier. I just want you to know your father faced the same problem you have. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the use of lethal force to defend yourself or others from mortal danger. Detective whats-his-name made it perfectly clear that if you hadn’t stopped that robber then you, your friend there and the cashier would have died. You did the right thing. I hope it helps with the dreams.”

“Thanks Dad.” Charles took a long pull from his water bottle, finishing it and putting it in his pocket. Washington state didn’t have a recycling initiative program to give refunds on bottles, but Charles wasn’t about to litter a plastic bottle out in the wilderness.

“Your welcome son. Ready to head home?”

“Yeah, I…” Charles was interrupted by a loud noise from overhead.

Both men looked up to see a red streak, coming ever closer. It looked like a fist-sized meteor and it was about to hit them. Both father and son threw themselves on the ground as the rock impacted, shaking the trees and blasting dirt through the air and making a massive noise.

What Cain Marko had never considered was that orbits decay.

After a minute or so the two guys lifted their heads up and looked at each other. They got up and despite the ringing in their ears they walked over to the crash sight. There was a good sized trench, maybe 2 feet wide and 12 feet long, that the meteor had made while it dug it self into the ground. They walked to the end of it, looking for the meteor.

“Looks like it buried itself pretty well,” Mr. Charles said after a few minutes.

“It’ll make a nice addition to your collection Dad,” Charles said, then bent down and started digging. Under the second handful of dirt there was a red stone. Charles reached out and grabbed it and everything went haywire. A red glow illuminated everything he could see and the stone started to shine catching Charles’ eye. Amidst the shining Charles could see dark letters forming and he heard himself reading them aloud before he realized he was speaking.

"Whosoever touches this gem shall possess the power of the crimson bands of Cyttorak! Henceforth, you who read these words, shall become... Forevermore... a human Juggernaut!!"

Eight and a half hours later

Three stories of omnium steel had been formed into a roughly human shape descending on an airplane runway. It was mobile, moving with the balance and precision of a human; bursts of energy could be seen at its joints and feet as it lowered itself gently onto the tarmac. It stood there silently, all lights on it shutting off in slow succession until it was simply a statue. A few minutes later a small hatch opened on the back of the statue and a man climbed out and down the leg.

He was dressed in a simple leather jumpsuit with a full helmet. The outfit was designed to provide maximum protection from an impact crash. As the pilot finished his descent from the robot a Humvee, or ‘hummer’ in the layman, pulled up to him. The driver of the hummer was dressed in the blue and white of the United States Air Force. The driver saluted the pilot, the pilot returned the salute and got in the passenger’s seat and they drove off the field.

Powered by an unbelievably efficient battery-transistor system developed by Stark Industries and armed with, what was then, experimental weaponry the Sentinel Armor is the most successful tool in America’s ongoing war with its superhuman population. VTOL capable through a combination of ion thrusters, repulsor technology and booster rockets, Sentinel Armor can take off and land in extreme conditions that would ground conventional craft.

The Humvee drove off the airstrip and passed a number of buildings, all vaguely shaped the same and painted the same colors. The place had the drab uniformity of a military base, which it was, specifically McChord Air Force Base in Spokane, Washington. The driver pulled up to a particular drab building and the pilot got out. They exchanged salutes and the pilot entered the building, bypassing several offices until he came to a specific door, which he opened and entered.

In the office there was another man sitting behind the desk. He was probably over 40, with a hint of fat around his neck and belly and a wall of “fruit salad,” cloth bars that represented medals, on his chest above his heart. His uniform was distinctly out of place as being the dress blue and white of the marines. On the lapels of his shirt were maple leaves, indicating his rank as a major. The pilot fired off a salute, which the major returned.

“At ease, take off that idiotic helmet and report.”

The pilot removed the helmet, revealing his shaved head and mocha skin. He placed the helmet on a chair and stood in the at ease position. “Sir, we investigated the site and there was nothing there. There are campsites all over the mountains. Following your orders we rounded up all the campers and brought them to an area where one of our tame mystics could try and find us a lead. Nothing. There’s a house about 3 miles from the crash site of the meteor that’s owned by retired Colonel Timothy Charles, USAF. There’s also a small village and trailer park nearby. We didn’t want to roust the civilians from their homes without your permission sir.”

“Tim settled down here? If I can find time I’ll stop by.” The Major shook his head. “Nothing from our tame sorcerer?”

“Nothing at all sir.” The pilot stood, looking straight ahead.

“Have a seat Lieutenant Jones.” The Major sighed, ran a hand through his close-cropped hair and made a note on a paper in front of him while the lieutenant sat. “How long have you been a Sentinel Pilot Jones?”

“Two years sir.”

“I served as a pilot for 15 years before they finally promoted my stupid ass out of the field. How many mystical cases have you been on?”

“Sir?”

The Major sighed. “Mystical cases. Magic. Sorcery. Bibbity-Boppity-Boo. Whatever you want to call it. Non-science based reality warping abilities is what I believe they’re calling it now. How many cases?”

“Uh, none sir.”

“I’ve been on over 40. Makes me something of an expert. It’s probably why I was flown in from the hover-carrier to ride herd on this case. Do you remember from your training what makes magic a bitch for us Lieutenant?”

“Uh, it doesn’t follow the rules of science?”

“Laws of nature, and yes, but not directly. What kills us for hocus-pocus is that we cannot track it with machinery. We can kill it easily enough, but we can’t find it. There’s no electronics that can pick it up. The only way we can find these guys is with other mages. The really big problem is that any mage with the skill to track these guys has enough skill to avoid us. Which, of course, they do.”

“But that’s illegal sir.”

The Major snorted. “It was illegal for Julius and Ethel Rosenberg to give the secret of atomic weaponry to the Soviets, but when members of their spy ring fled to China we couldn’t touch them because we didn’t have extradition papers.”

Lieutenant Jones nodded. “If we can’t find ‘em we can’t bring them to justice.”

“Exactly. At this point your trail is cold. You and the rest of your squad are off the case. Bring the campers back to their site. Tell them that the problem has been taken care of and apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Sir, my men can find this guy, just give us more time,” Jones protested.

The Major laughed. “Really? Do you even know what you’re looking for?”

“Anything suspicious. The mystic you assigned us will tip us off and then we’ll take them down.”

The Major picked up a piece of paper. “At 3:30 in the morning 7 of our most powerful mystic around the world felt a tremor in the force…”

“Sir?” Jones raised an eyebrow. “The Force?”

“It’s slang. We stole it from Star Wars. What Hollywood doesn’t know won’t hurt ‘em.” The Major looked back at his paper. “Where was I? Oh yes. Blah, blah, blah, tremor in the force. They were able to pinpoint the origin of the tremor to northwest US. Satellite imagery gotten from Google at the time shows a meteor landing followed by a bright red flash 78 seconds later. There was no satellite covering that particular stretch of land at the time so we can’t zoom in. After meditation 3 of our 7 mystics agree, the tremor in the force has all the markings of Cyttorak.” The Major put the paper down and looked at Lieutenant Jones. “Do you know who Cyttorak is Lieutenant?”

“No sir.”

“He’s some kind of god. Created the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak which apparently supply him with limitless power. A few of our mystics know of a spell that calls on Cyttorak, and only one. None of them are at the level to do it. I’ve only heard of Cyttorak in one other instance, do you have any idea where I may have heard of Cyttorak?”

“No sir.”

“Cyttorak is somehow connected to the Juggernaut.”

Jones’ eyes went wide. “The Juggernaut? But no one has heard from him in ten years!”

“That’s right. He has 100 class strength level, is purportedly invulnerable and according to all reports has never been stopped. I should know. I faced down the Juggernaut on three separate occasions.”

“Sir, with all due respect, why were we out searching for him if you knew we couldn’t stop him? And why are we bringing civilians back to the area?”

“I just got this report ten minutes ago. I immediately recalled you. As for the civilians, well, we don’t know what we’re dealing with out here. 3 out of 7 isn’t even a majority. All it really does is give me a rough idea of the power level which we have to deal with. Now, it could be a powerful mage casting a major spell that has nothing to do with Cyttorak, like a trans-dimensional travel spell, or it could be them using the Cyttorak spell, or it could be a fluke. It might be the Juggernaut, but I doubt it. He had a ton of money from his robberies unaccounted for, and probably stashed away. In the 35 years he was active he never killed anyone, he was just after cash to have a good time, and sometimes to break out his partner who’s somewhat dead now. Even when he knocked down the world trade center he didn’t kill anyone. Civilians have nothing to fear from Juggernaut.”

“I understand sir. I’ll collect my men. If you do find him we’d like first crack at him.”

The Major stood and offered his hand to Jones. “Everything in these reports indicate a major sorcerer casting a spell. There’s not enough here to indicate the Juggernaut came back.”

Jones stood, shaking the Major’s hand. “And your gut sir?”

“Oh, it’s the Juggernaut. I’m sure. I just don’t have any evidence. Dismissed.”

They exchanged salutes and Jones left the office.

Two hours later.

A thin light cut through the darkness. Charles closed his eyes against it, blinked a few times until he could see clearly. His father was silhouetted in the doorway atop the basement stairs. Dad’s hand moved to the switch on the wall and Charles closed his eyes reflexively. The basement lights came on and Dad walked down the stairs.

“You can put that sheet down son,” Mr. Charles said as he got to the foot of the stairs. “Passive radar shows no sentinel activity for the last 45 minutes.”

Charles was laying on his back with a sheet of cast iron laying on his belly, hiding him from view. He shifted it aside, revealing himself. He had changed considerably. Charles was now 7 feet tall and clad in a reflective, black suit of seamless armor with red armor around his belly. His arms were mostly bare with arm bands on his biceps and wrists as well as half gloves of black metal. His helmet was a dome attached to his chest with three holes, one for either eye and his mouth. The holes actually moved with him as he turned his head. The body forming metal continued down over Charles’ waist and down his legs to stylized bots that were part of his seamless one piece armor suit. He sat up and looked at his father.

“Ok Dad, that’s ten hours of my life spent lying under an iron plate that should have crushed me. I’ve been transformed into some giant, muscle-bound, armored freak and while you haven’t said much, I’d like some answers.”

Mr. Charles smiled and sat down on the stairs, shaking his head at his son. “This is a long story son. One I’ve never told anyone.”

Charles held up his now giant hands, indicating the obvious changes that have happened to him. “Dad, if it can help, well, I think I need to know.”

Mr. Charles nodded. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Yes you do need to know. You know I was in the military and that I had wanted to join NASA, right?”

“Yes Dad, you just told me that on our run.”

“Well, I never made it to NASA. I ended up double majoring in physics and mathematics. I joined the Air Force planning on designing jet fighters, which is what I did for about a little while. But the Vietnam War was going on. I already had my pilot’s license so when I put in for fighter pilot I got my transfer almost immediately and finished training in time to join the Seventh Air Force and be a part of Operation Menu and both Operation Linebackers. After Vietnam I taught piloting at the Air Force academy in Colorado. As a captain I was recruited to be a part of Project: Wideawake with an immediate promotion to Major. I’m sure you’ve heard of Wideawake.”

Charles shook his head. “Sorry Dad, I haven’t.”

Mr. Charles nodded. “Heh, I can understand why, I never even let you kids watch superhero cartoons. Project: Wideawake was what built the sentinels. The robot sentinels, not the battle suits they use today. At the time it was called Project: Armageddon and it was headed by Stephen Lang, a real lunatic, but we didn’t know it yet. I built the gyroscopes that allow the Sentinels to maintain their balance. It’s a beautiful piece of machinery, what I did was…”

Charles recognized that tone, Dad was going off on a tangent. “Whoa Dad, no technological tangents, please. So you helped build the sentinels, so what?”

“So don’t you see without the Sentinel Squadrons the government could never… but I’m getting ahead of myself. Project: Armageddon was shut down by the pentagon and Stephen Lang kept it going illegally. He kidnapped the X-Men and they decimated his facilities. Shaw Industries took over the project, contracted out by the pentagon. I was the liaison between the two. It wasn’t too many years later that the Superhero Civil War started. The Sentinels were called in but their AI was shoddy. Shaw wanted to fix it with remote control, but I convinced the pentagon we needed pilots flying those machines. I test piloted some of the later prototypes and did a lot of recruitment. It takes a weird set of skills to fly those behemoths. I even ran a few missions.”

Charles was in awe. He never knew his Dad was so cool. “Wow Dad, that’s great! You’re a hero!”

Mr. Charles gave his son a stern look. “No, I’m not. The Civil War was over. There was only clean up left to do. It wasn’t pretty. Rounding up supers who had done worlds of good. We never did catch Spider-man. Or all the X-Men. The law states that we could round up supers actively committing illegal acts. It was specifically worded to let bygones be bygones without granting pardons. So guys like Spider-man who had saved the country a hundred times over could be left alone. The law was abused from the very beginning.”

“That’s not right Dad.”

“No, no it’s not. My last mission made it clear. We were hunting down this super named Juggernaut, ever hear of him?”

“No.”

“Extremely powerful. Probably as strong as the Hulk, maybe stronger. Definitely more durable. Real criminal. Small time stuff for a guy this powerful. Banks mostly, but lots of them. Over a billion dollars in property damage including the time he knocked over one of the twin towers. But that didn’t happen until the ‘90s. But no deaths. So we tracked him down, let me tell you, that was a bitch, and surrounded him. Told him to surrender. He refused, kept screaming for us to leave him alone.” Mr. Charles stopped talking and looked at the wall.

“So, what happened?”

“He ripped us apart. We had a few supers with us and our own armor is nothing to laugh at. We figured we had him. He tore through our omnium armor like it was a tin can. He targeted me, I don’t know why, and actually ripped my Sentinel Armor apart to get to me. He grabbed me by the flight suit and shook me. He could have killed me but he just asked me why they couldn’t just leave him alone. Something about his partner being dead. Turns out the year before a super team had staked out Juggernaut’s usual partner, a mutie named Black Tom. Tom died resisting arrest. They probably killed him and claimed resisting arrest. As you can tell Juggernaut didn’t kill me that night. After that I looked up the law and found out we didn’t have a right to go after Juggernaut, he hadn’t been causing trouble. When my 20 came up later that year, I took my retirement and went to law school on the GI bill. I knew that with a good education I could nail these bastards and maybe turn the whole system around. I wasn’t too scrupled to let them foot the bill. And it was the only way I could conceive to protect this country from a very real domestic threat.”

“Did you nail ‘em?” Charlie asked eagerly.

Mr. Charles shook his head. “No, no I didn’t nail them. I met your mother in law school. We got married and had your brother Tim. Then Kurt. Then you. I was making good money as a retired Colonel but I was too old. There wasn’t a firm out there that would hire me as a trial lawyer, but as a patent lawyer, well, that wasn’t a young man’s game. Your mother and I passed the Washington state bar. I raised you kids while she became a kick ass trial lawyer and a full partner. I worked part time as a patent lawyer for the same company. I work on my case against the government in my spare time, which isn’t enough really. And there’s just not enough time. Not to raise you kids right and save the country. And now, well now you’ve got super powers and I wish I had found the time.”

“What do you mean Dad?”

“Charlie. How do I say this? Supers have a choice in this country. Work for the government as a hunter, or go to prison in another dimension. There’s no in-between. There’s no option to go to school to become a daytrader and from there a real estate mogul.”

Charles shook his head, the three metal holes in his helmet following his face. “But Dad, involuntary service. That’s slavery. That’s illegal under the 13th, 14th and 15th amendments.”

Mr. Charles grinned. “I’m proud of you son, for remembering that. But they have a loophole. Ben Grimm and Reed Richards and Tony Stark and half a dozen old men who fought for the right side in the super civil war, they’re free. Which means that the supers are not slaves and theoretically they have a choice. I need years of precedent to establish slavery and we just don’t have it. I don’t have the evidence. This means you have a choice.”

“Slavery or incarceration?” Charles asked sarcastically.

“No. You can continue with your life or let these powers suck you into the world of supers.”

“What do you mean Dad?”

“Theoretically if you don’t use your powers to commit a crime, they can’t come after you.” Mr. Charles was grinning. “And with two lawyers for parents they’d be crazy to prosecute you.”

Charles sighed. “Yeah, and what if they kill me while resisting arrest?”

Mr. Charles laughed. “That’s just it son, they can’t? Do you remember what you said when you picked up that gem?”

“No, that was ten hours ago, I don’t…” Charles paused, when he spoke his voice was calm, as if reciting from a book, "Whosoever touches this gem shall possess the power of the crimson bands of Cyttorak. Henceforth, you who read these words, shall become, forevermore, a human Juggernaut."

“Exactly. Juggernaut had been a bitch to track because his powers were magical in nature, not physical. Most superheroes get their powers by tripping the x-gene, either as mutants at birth or through some crazy accident or experiment, and that tripped x-gene makes a distinct pattern in brainwaves. Juggernaut never tripped those genes, he was virtually undetectable.” Mr. Charles was grinning ear to ear.

“What does that have to do with me Dad?”

“Don’t you get it son? You’re the new Juggernaut!”

Charlie blinked a few times as he gathered his thoughts. “What?”

“You’re the new Juggernaut! That gem gave you the exact same costume as the old Juggernaut, just different colors. Somehow the old Juggernaut got rid of his powers, probably so we’d leave him alone, and now you’ve got his powers!” Dad was getting quite excited.

“I don’t want them.”

“Well,” Dad smiled, “I can understand that. Hmmm. Maybe if you take the armor off?”

“Ok, how do I do that?”

“Well, I have no idea. Start with the gloves?”

"You have to control yourself. The girl I know would never cause anyone pain, cause anyone fear. She used to have a heart of gold. I want to see that Romy again. I know she's still in there."

"No. No she isn't. Why should I be miss goody-goody when the world is so cruel to me? Trying to be kind to them is pointless. They don't listen to soft-hearted words. They only listen to violence... The only language they speak."

"What about me? Do you hate me as well? I know the world can be cruel... especially to those like you. They've stereotyped you all as evil and heartless. How do you make anything better by living up to that? Do you know how I feel when I see you come home bloodied and bruised after these fights of yours? You have your abilities for a reason, Romy.. and its not this. The whole world isn't against you. Remember.. You always have me."

Always have him.

That arguement still remained in Romy's memory... The last conversation she had with Stefan. She didn't even say she loved him... She had avoided him the whole night. Ten hours later, he was dead.

Why did it take his death to make her realize his words? If only she had listened before, taken his advice before it was too late...

Romy's thoughts were jarred as her powers scanned through the police computers, her fingers entwined with the electrical wiring atop the station. She had found what she was looking for... Another mutant hater's club. Seems the cops had been investigating it for awhile, but based on the file she was prying through, it was dropped about three weeks ago after being transferred to a new detective. "What, mutant deaths not worth your time? Asshole."

She stood up from the crouched position she had held for the last twenty minutes, stretching her back before cracking her fingers. "That's just fine. Blitz'll just deal with it herself." She extended her hand towards the nearby powerlines, drawing enough power to create her electrical field for flight. Rising to the air, she set her sights for downtown, the surge of power that filled her arcing from her hands in a bright blue light as she passed over the city.

Victoria. Westchester and New York City.

Boring boring boring. Westchester was boring. No sign of them, like she had really expected that. But she'd been interested in the mutants that had donated their DNA to her. And she'd found nothing.

So onwards Victoria went. Her battered jeans, old concert T shirt for the Disturbed Ten thousand fists tour, the trenchcoat, the biker boots, and the cap helmet with sunglasses on. The old indian bike was still purring like a kitten as well.

New York City was next. Now this she could believe with the stories of old. Then she saw the signs. A free concert? She saw where it was being held on the next sign she saw and began finding her way to it.

Luke Rand, the Immortal Iron Fist

Luke smiled benignly at the four men that stood in front of his desk. On Luke's right was his attorney, Ms. Murdock. Of those that stood in front of the desk, two wore government issue black suits, the others snug S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms. "No."

"Excuse me, Mr. Rand?" The lead agent, one of the suits with a pronounced widow's peak, adjusted one of his cuffs idly. "Surely you don't expect us to believe that you don't know anything about this." Several pictures were on Luke's desk, of a blurry figure wearing green and yellow. "You haven't been back in the country long, and now this...Iron Fist shows up." "Mr. Stark has made us aware of the family connection."

Luke picked up a few pictures, flipping through them. "Hmmm....nope." "If you do know about my family's history, then you know my father is no longer the Iron Fist." He leaned back with another benign smile that somehow didn't reach his eyes, "And I'm afraid I was not selected to take the trial of Shao-Lao the Undying to become the next one." He indicated the woman in the suit with one hand, "I'm sure your telepathic friend can verify that I'm telling the truth right now."

All four agents looked stunned, though the two in suits quickly recovered. "Yes, I can tell." "Once you've had the right meditative training, it's easy...but you're not strong enough to scan me, are you?" He saw a twitch of an eyebrow that said he was right. "Tragic." "I imagine if you weren't so busy trying to annihilate the mutant population, you'd have better telepaths."

The woman took in a sudden breath, the other agents frowning. They weren't used to this. He wasn't afraid of them at all. Neither did he seem to have any respect for the authority they wielded. He seemed...amused by their visit, and my them. It was not a reaction they were accustomed to. With a warning tone in his voice, the lead agent spoke again, "Mr. Rand..."

"Mr Rand has fully complied with your request for information," Ms. Murdock spoke up, her red hair carefully arranged in a tight bun. "He has answered your questions fully and further pursuit of this matter will be treated as harassment." "You have no proof or even a valid suspicion for these accusations, and unless you come back with a warrant, we're done here."

"...Fine." "For now." The lead agent nodded, "Thank you for your time, Mr. Rand." "We'll be back if we have any other questions."

"Do that." The smile wasn't benign anymore, but a tight lipped smirk. "Be seeing you, agent."

The quartet left, and Ms. Murdock sighed. "Luke...why did you egg them on like that?" "Now we're going to be tapped and God knows what else." The stunning redhead sighed, walking over to the window and staring out of it. "Why couldn't you just let me handle it?"

"Because they need to know." Luke stood up, joining her at the window. "They need to know that I'm not afraid of them, that I'm not going to play their game, and that they can't sweat me." "It's been a long time since anyone stood up to these bullies."

She shook her head, though there was a small smile on her face. "You are your father's son, no doubt about it." She then chuckled, "The looks on their faces were pretty good."

"And I'm just getting started." Luke laid a hand on her shoulder, then turned away heading for the office door. "That's it for me, I'm out." "See you tomorrow!" There was real work to do now. Showing both the criminals and the government that someone who would stand up to them was back was a full time job, even if it was mostly night shift. Time to follow up on some of the rumors he'd heard about a few clubs in town...

5:41 am

“…and Dolores Claiborne is our winner for the Battle of the Sexes trivia game! And now a friendly reminder that tonight, in central park, “Son of the Hulk” is giving a free concert! The stage is being set up as we speak and meet me, John Naholnick, tonight at our booth. So look for me and have a chance to win some great prizes!...”

Charlie raised his head up from his too-small bunk, swatting wildly at his radio alarm clock with his over-large hand. He hit the button but the alarm didn’t stop. Confused he picked up the alarm clock and looked at the glowing digital display. He blinked a few times and put the clock back on the ground. He sighed.

“Justin, shut your alarm off.”

“Gahhrr,” came the reply from under the pile of blankets on the other bunk.

“Justin?”

“Mhhhgrr.”

Charles sighed. He’d throw a pillow at his roommate, but he didn’t trust his relatively new strength when he was tired.

“Justin!”

A corner of the covers pulled back and a hand jumped out, swatting at the alarm clock. Silence reigned in the room.

---------------------------------------

5:50am

“…That was ‘Purple Pants’ by ‘Son of the Hulk’ who’s putting on a free concert tonight in Central Park! I’ll be there at the WROK booth! Don’t miss it!...”

Charlie groaned. He’d had this roommate for less then a day and already he was wishing he had Dan back. Dan was living off campus this year, which was sounding like a good idea now that the radio was going off so damn early in the morning.

“Justin!”

This time a head and arm appeared from under the cover, swatted the alarm and started to retreat.

Charlie cleared his throat. “Why the hell did you set the alarm so early?”

“Wanna take a shower before orientation,” Justin slurred.

“Then get your ass up and take one. You wake me up again before 7 and you won’t like it.”

“Sure fine,” Justin said, pulling the blankets over his head.

Charles put his head on his pillow. As he drifted off to sleep Charles swore he heard a murmur that sounded like ‘fucking giant’ come from under the blankets on the bunk across the room.

--------------------------------------

5:59 am

“…Don’t get me angry, you won’t like me mad. I won’t get big or green, that’s just my Dad…”

Charles was up in an instant and across the room. He grabbed the blankets up, catching his roommate inside, slung the makeshift sack over his back and headed out the door. He took a right and a left into the communal bathroom, walking to the back where the showers were. He opened up a shower stall door and placed the bag of blankets on the ground. Charles grabbed the cold knob and swung it all the way on, stepped out of the stall and held the door shut. A half second later the cold water came flooding out of the showerhead. A second later Charles heard Justin’s yelp followed by a string of obscenities. Then he felt Justin trying to open the shower stall to get out. Charles laughed his deep growl of a laugh. Justin didn’t have a chance against the power of the Juggernaut.

“Dude, what the fuck!” Justin asked, his teeth chattering.

“I think we need a new rule for our room,” Charles said, calm as could be, still holding the door shut. “No alarms before 6:30, except for special circumstances.”

“Fuck that, let me out of here!” Justin started shaking the door.

“Agree to the new rule.” Charles was patient.

“This is fucking kidnapping!”

Charlie sighed and opened the door. Justin jumped out and Charles laughed at him. “You know Justin, if you were smart you’d have shut off the cold water already.”

“Dude! Look what you did to my blankets.” Hoping from foot-to-foot, rubbing his arms and his teeth chattering Justin still managed to sound indignant.

Charles stared at him. “Wake me up again at 5 o’clock in the morning, see what happens.” He held his stare until Justin looked away. “The dryer is downstairs or you can hang them out on the line behind the dorm.”

“No way Charlie, you did this, you take care of the blankets.”

The old Charles would have given in. Almost. Charlie let a smile creep across his face, a wicked leer that spread from ear-to-ear. “If you’re sure.”

Still shivering Justin blinked a few times, obviously scared of Charlie. “You know what, I’ll take care of them. No big deal. You got your point across real good.”

Charlie let his face soften. “You’re freezing Justin, turn the hot water on and warm up.” Justin nodded. Charlie gave him one last glance over and then left the bathroom.

No point in his going back to bed. He’d grab a shower and head over to the cafeteria and grab breakfast. Hopefully he’d calm down enough to take Justin along after helping him with his blankets. Maybe even buy him breakfast, show the roommate he wasn’t always an ogre. It would be a long year otherwise.

6:23 am

One hundred helicopter blades rotated at excessive RPMs, each one powered by its own electrical motor, all pulling from a single fusion generator. The noise from the rotors was incredible, creating decibels that would require triple conventional hearing protection. Tony Stark senior had designed noise-nullifying collars that ‘heard’ the noise around them and produced the exact opposite sound waves, negating the noise in a small bubble just big enough for a human head. That’s not particularly impressive in 2007 when you can buy something similar out of a “As seen on TV” catalogue, but there were invented 40 years earlier in the late 1960’s. They were just one of the many technological wonders that were stored in the facility held aloft by 100 helicopter blades. But a storehouse is just one function this facility fulfilled. The giant holes on the side of the facility launched and landed other aircraft and Sentinel Squadrons. There were research labs permeating the structure, where the most advanced engineering projects on planet Earth were created and tested. Strategies for the retention of world power for the nations that funded the organization were written here. Throughout the entire ship there probably wasn’t a single person with an intelligence quotient under 125. Agents who trained here were quite literally the best in the world, many of whom could go head-to-head with the average super. Of course, there were supers here. Those who trained here in the ESP division were probably the most prominent. None of them were powerful psychics anywhere near the level of Charles Xavier or even Betsy Braddock, but psychic ability was one of the most common mutations amongst humanity. Whether it was astral projection or psychokinesis, or some other minor skill, chances were quite good that these people would find you and offer you employment and a chance to use your gifts to help humanity. Other supers were here as well. This was the usual unofficial headquarters of the United States ‘Sanctioned Supers.’ Norman Osborne had a permanent office here as a super trainer, as did Moonstone who would be retiring in a year or two. All of which was held aloft by 100 twirling helicopter blades. In all the world there was nothing quite like the SHIELD Heli-carrier.

For the first time in SHIELD’s illustrious history the medical facilities were full. Over 100 supers and thrice that many normal humans were being healed of injuries side-by-side, a rare occurrence of equality in this day and age. The supers were all members of the United States “Sanctioned Supers” organization. The humans came from the United States’ Sentinel Squadrons, the United States’ Superhuman Affairs Bureau and of course SHIELD agents. All of them had been hurt on the same mission. Some of their injuries were debilitating, others minor wounds. There had been no fatalities. Both hanger bay 3 and 4 of the Heli-carrier were filled with decimated Sentinel Armor that was being hastily repaired. The mission had taken out a 10th of SHIELD and US super related forces. It had been worth it. They had succeeded.

The Hulk was captured.

A mountain of a man with green skin and hair, weighing in at over half a ton and filled with limitless strength and stamina, the Hulk was enemy number one on the Sanctioned Super and Sentinel Squad wanted list. The Hulk wasn’t around for the Super Civil War, he’d been betrayed by some of his closest superhuman friends and cast off planet. He returned a year after Captain America surrendered, effectively ending the Superhuman Civil War, and the Hulk had brought friends from the world he had been exiled on. Together they almost succeeded in destroying everything the Superhuman Civil War had accomplished. Then came the Sentinels. The US government unleashed all the deactivated robot sentinels that were reprogrammed to go after the Hulk and his allies. The Hulk destroyed them all but they had accomplished their mission and had eliminated the Hulk’s allies. With the Hulk as their only enemy left and their forces depleted the US government did the unthinkable. They released Captain America.

In the past Captain America had fought the Hulk one-on-one on three separate occasions. The Hulk had lost all three times. The Hulk is vulnerable at pressure points and no faster then a normal man. Captain America earned his reputation as the world’s greatest martial artist again when he defeated the Hulk for the fourth time. In the aftermath of the battle Captain America escaped, never to be recaptured by the government.

Eight years later the Hulk escaped from his imprisonment in the negative zone. They had put him in an adamantium cage. Their mistake was in using beta adamantium. The difference between beta adamantium and true adamantium is subtle, but comes down to beta adamantium being weaker then true adamantium. The recipe for true adamantium had been lost long ago in a battle with Ultron. Beta adamantium was a reasonable facsimile and held the Hulk back for almost a decade. It just wasn’t enough. Leaving the negative zone was easy enough. He simply waited for the next shipment of villains to be imprisoned and left when they opened the dimensional gate. Oh, they had tried to stop him, but he was the Hulk. For the past twenty years he had ran rampant on Earth, rarely returning to the United States where he was hunted. He had crushed evil regimes, decimated secret weapon programs and was the same hero he had always been; remaining hated and reviled by the nation that gave him birth. Until yesterday, when he was finally captured.

The Hulk had returned to the United States. No one knew why. As soon as he crossed the border into the country from Mexico the Government’s cerebro superhuman scanners went berserk. Sentinel Squads and Sanctioned Super teams had been thrown in his way, trying to stop or capture the man-beast. He tore through them like they were paper. His path was unerringly straight. The Hulk was headed to New York City, and it was anyone’s guess why. He was finally stopped when the Fantastic Four and a few Avengers stepped out of retirement. The plan was simple. Benjamin Grimm, aka the Thing, went toe-to-toe with the Hulk, the Invisible Woman covered them with a force field and Mr. Fantastic slipped a few containers of knockout gas under the force field. It hadn’t worked out quite that easily, but after six hours of trying the strategy paid off.

Now the Hulk was chained to the wall of a simple lockdown room in the SHIELD Heli-carrier. His chains were made of beta adamantium, as were the walls, which would hold him for now. As an added precaution they had filled the room with a different sort of sedative: cannabis smoke. It was an experimental technique, and it had required a great deal of marijuana, but the Hulk hadn’t moved much in the last few hours and had a very silly smile on his gargantuan face.

Agent West made his way around the corner of the corridor carrying three family sized bags of chips and four 2 liters of soda. Behind him walked Agent Ward carrying a stack of seven pizzas. Both men wore Self-Contained Breathing Apparatuses (SCBA) and the black bodysuits with blue accoutrements bearing the SHIELD sigil, an abstract picture of an eagle. Their side arms were noticeably missing. West stopped at the Hulk’s door, punching in a series of numbers then placing his hand on a scanner which matched his hand’s prints against the authorized user list for this door. After 10 seconds the door beeped and the two agents hurried through. The door shut behind them with a click and two seconds later Agent West’s radio crackled to life. The Hulk looked up at the radio, scowling for a minute then his face breaking into a large, rather unsettling, grin.

“Agent West, we have an alarm on door 322, door not closed on your hand print. Good reset.”

Agent West put down his bags carrying the soda and used that hand to key his radio. “Code Epsilon, Dispatch, agent on patrol.”

“Copy that, Code Epsilon. Good luck in there. Dispatch out.”

Agent West shook his head.

Through the interchange between West and Dispatch Agent Ward had stood there, staring at the green giant chained to the wall. As West finished his conversation Ward spoke. “Holy humungous humanoids, Adam! The Hulk is gigantic!”

Adam grinned behind his transparent face mask. “That may be Burt, but he’s quite peaceful.” West turned toward the Hulk. “Isn’t that right Hulkie-poo, you’re a good little hulk aren’t you?”

The Hulk grinned again and nodded vigorously.

“How do you feel Hulkie?” Agent Ward asked.

“Hulk feel… wow,” the Hulk said slowly, closing his eyes and shaking the room with his giggling. Agent Ward moved closer to the Hulk with his stack of pizzas. West’s hand reached out and grabbed Ward’s upper arm.

“Careful Burt, he’s as strong as ever.” West let go of Burt’s arm. “Tell me Hulkie-poo, are you hungry? Does Hulkie-poo want a pizza pie?”

Hulk nodded. “Hulkie want pizza pie.”

Agent Ward placed the pizzas on the ground near the Hulk and backed away. Agent West placed the chips and sodas a little closer then backed away as well. They stood by the door watching as the Hulk slowly rose, opening the top pizza box and making quite a mess as he attempted to eat it.

“He’s like a giant child, Adam,” Agent Ward observed after a few minutes of watching Hulk eat.

“He is Burt, he is. It’s hard to believe that his son is such a famous musician.”

“Yeah,” Agent Ward said, watching as the Hulk opened one of the bottles of soda. It fizzled up and sprayed all over the giant green man in ragged purple pants. “You know,” Ward continued, “Son of the Hulk is playing in Central Park tonight.”

“I doubt we can get tickets Burt.”

“It’s a free concert Adam, but there’s no way we can get tonight off. Not with the current disabled list.”

“Don’t think of the overtime Burt, think of the check,” Agent West said as he turned and pressed the door release. There was no lock on the inside of the door in case the cannabis somehow failed and the Hulk went on a rampage, they wanted to let people get out quick. A lock wouldn’t stop the Hulk anyway.

The agents exited, leaving the Hulk to gorge himself, which he did for quite awhile, eating most of the chips, all of the pizza and three of the sodas. He left the diet Coke alone. Smacking his lips twice the Hulk yawned long and loud, making his chains rattle. He leaned against the wall, crossed his hands over his lap and closed his eyes. In a few minutes he was snoring gently.

Something began to happen that hadn’t occurred in well over a decade. The green hue of Hulk’s skin began to brighten as his muscles started to recede. In a moment the incredible Hulk, the strongest mortal on Earth, was gone, replaced by a scrawny man of about 25 with brown hair and blue eyes, naked except for a pair of overlarge tattered purple pants. He was Dr. Bruce Banner. His eyes shot open and he stood up, the adamantium shackles falling to the ground. His hand moved reflexively to his pants, holding them up around his waist. One breath was enough to tell him he was in a room filled with pot and he needed to get out. “What has the Hulk gotten me into now?” Dr. Banner muttered to himself. Luckily the door was unlocked.

Dr. Banner wandered the halls for a few minutes, completely lost and wondering which organization had captured the Hulk. Then he began to wonder what planet he was on, hoping desperately it was Earth. As he turned a corner he ran into a woman dressed in a black bodysuit with blue and white accoutrements. Dr. Banner recognized the sigils on the blue accoutrements as being SHIELD’s symbol. He was scared for a half second until he saw the Red Cross on the white accoutrements. Dr. Banner cleared his throat. “Uh, help?”

The SHIELD Red Cross worker blinked a few times and smiled at him. “Oh you must be one of the supers, who helped us bring in the Hulk, are you alright?”

Dr. Banner gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I was definitely a part of bringing in the Hulk. I’m up because, you know, I heal real fast. I was, uh, just looking for something I could wear, these are kind of, well destroyed. Oh, and if you can swing it, a way to get home. I’m assuming I’m on the Heli-carrier.”

The woman looked Dr. Banner up and down then caught his gaze, looking up at him and smiling. “Oh, I think we can work out something. Just put yourself in my hands.”

Dr. Banner choked up a bit, stuttering. “Uh, yeah, ok, that sounds good.”

“You know it babe,” the SHIELD agent took his hand in hers, leading him down the hallway. “So, did you hear about the free concert ‘Son of the Hulk’ is putting on in Central Park? I think it’s great, I love his music. It’s too bad we had to take his father captive. He’s got such a great voice. And to grow up knowing the Hulk was your father, that must eat at you. But Rick Jones adopted him, yeah the Avenger Rick Jones, and the rock star. Oh he used to be a dream, but Rick is way too old for me…”

7:18 am

“Thanks for helping me with the blankets Charlie,” Justin said as the two roommates sat down at a table in the cafeteria, dropping their trays and plunking down their drinks. There’s no class on how to drop a tray on the table without spilling any food, but after a dozen years in school college freshmen had the mastered the technique turning it into an art form. Justin was dressed in torn jeans and a “Son of the Hulk” t-shirt with a picture of the Hulk with a papoose on his back.

“Hey, I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m afraid I’m a bit of an Ogre in the morning.” Charlie was dressed in a black 5XL t-shirt that strained against his broad, muscular chest and a pair of tan slacks. Both boys had plates heaping with eggs, bacon, sausage and English muffins loaded with butter. At Empire State University you were allowed to pile your plate as high as you liked, but only allowed to enter the main food area once per meal. It ended up evening out fairly well. Guys like Charles and Justin overfilled their plate while a lot of girls took hardly anything.

Justin looked over at his roommate and le out a whistle. “Trade metabolisms? I’d love to be your size.”

Charlie shook his head. His father and he had worked on this explanation for his rather unprecedented growth. “The secret is steroids.”

“What?” Justin asked through a mouthful of food.

Charlie chewed his food and took a long drink of orange juice before answering. “I got injured last year, which is why I didn’t finish school. Part of my physical therapy was a mild steroid to accelerate muscle regrowth. Well, the doctor wrote down the wrong drug. So I got a major steroid dose. Which sucks.”

“Dude,” Justin started, swallowing a sausage link almost whole, “you’re a mountain, you’re huge, how can that be bad?”

Charlie finished his mouthful of eggs. “Well, I’m ineligible for all sports. I can still play in the intramural league but the collegiate leagues are off-limits.”

“Oh yeah, no sports career. But aren’t you a business major?”

“Business administration and Accounting double with minors in History and Economics.” Charles stabbed two sausages and ate them. “But the steroids may have other effects, including sterility.” Which, of course, was a blatant lie, but it was part of Dad’s plan. Misinformation and misdirection.

Justin had been taking a drink of OJ, he slammed his cup down on the table and coughed, trying not to choke. “Did you just say you might be sterile?” Charlie nodded. Justin laughed, “Dude, that’s awesome!”

Charlie dropped his fork. “Awesome? I may never have children!”

“Yeah, but think about it. You can bang a million girls and never get pregnant!” Justin was grinning like a jackal.

“I also can’t have kids. Fooling around in college is one thing, but when I get married I’m gonna want to make some kids.”

Justin brushed him off. “Just adopt. With over population running the way it is you’ll be doing the world a favor.”

Charlie shook his head. “You are one cold dude…”

“Oooh look it’s Justin. I bet he’ll let us join him and his friend.” The roommate’s discussion was interrupted by two co-eds. The speaker was a tall, leggy, blue-eyed blonde wearing a tight halter top that must have had a bit of support in it because it pressed her proportionate breasts together and lifted them, making them appear disproportionately large. The other girl was much shorter, barely five foot, with a curvy figure she managed to show off and hide at the same time by wearing a t-shirt that was tight at her proportionately overgenerous chest and then hung down, untucked, concealing her belly and covering her waist. Her taut jeans revealed her thin calves and amazing thighs, but the t-shirt restricted view of all but the bottom of her bum. Charlie stared for a long moment as Justin looked the girls over and gave the tall blond a wolf whistle.

“I love you, Peggy Sue,” Justin said somewhat monotone, quoting the Buddy Holly song, “Charlie this is Peggy Sue, one of the girls from my orientation group. Peggy Sue, this is my roommate, Charlie.”

Charlie nodded his acknowledgement; afraid he’d blush if he dared to speak. Peggy Sue looked him over, taking a nice long minute to do it, making Charles blush anyway. “You sure are, aren’t you?” Peggy Sue winked at Charles and then turned slightly at the waist to indicate the black-haired, shorter girl. “And this is my roommate, Josie?”

“Josie and the Pussycats?” Justin quipped, raising his eyebrows.

Peggy Sue giggled. “I knew he’d say that, I told you he’d say that. You’re such a tease Justin.”

“You know you love it,” Justin shot back.

Josie sighed, sat down across from Charlie and began to eat. Peggy Sue giggled and sat across from Justin. In less then a second she was talking again. “So did you guys hear about the free concert in Central Park tonight? Son of the Hulk is playing and Disturbed Ten Thousand Fists is opening for him! Doesn’t that just sound so wonderful? I mean, we’ll have to blow off part of orientation, I think we’re playing more getting to know you games in the gym or something silly like that, but we’ll get to see Son of the Hulk for free! I love his songs, especially that one song that goes, ‘Saved the world a thousand times. Hated. Hated. Saves the world a thousand more. Hated. Hated.’ Like, his Dad’s a hero, but a monster too. That just touches me right here,” Peggy Sue indicated her heart, making her breasts jiggle quite a bit in that halter, “you know what I mean? So are you coming Justin?”

For his part Justin had been staring at Peggy Sue’s breasts more then listening to her. “Oh hell yeah, I love Son of the Hulk too. I mean, hey, I’m wearing the t-shirt.” He leaned back to show it off and Peggy Sue giggled again.

“Oh yea! That’s awesome! And you’re coming right Josie?”

Josie had been eating quietly staying out of the conversation. She looked like a deer in the headlights when Peggy Sue singled her out. “Uh, I don’t know. I mean I hear that people get mugged in central park all the time.”

Peggy Sue dismissed her with her hand. “Oh pish-tosh. We’ll have Justin to protect us and Charlie. You are coming Charlie aren’t you? Oh you have to come Charlie!”

Peggy Sue’s hand had slipped over Charlie’s overlarge mitt when she started to beg him. He had been paying attention to Peggy Sue the whole time, part of him captivated by this bundle of energy and raw sexuality while another part of him was put off by how much she talked and how ditzy she seemed. But it was more then the poor boy could take when her soft warm hand closed over his giant fingers. Her hand was too small to get all the way around his, but her touch was electric, sending jolts of sexual stimulation up and down his spine.

“Uh, sure, I guess so,” Charlie said, wondering why he was agreeing to go to a rock concert. He preferred classical composers like Beethoven and Mozart, and a little bit of old country. Dan used to accuse him of being musically boring. Hey, maybe it was time to branch out a bit. He grinned. There were a lot of things he’d like to branch into with Peggy Sue.

Peggy Sue threw her hands up in the air and gave off a loud shriek. The cafeteria had a good number of students in it now and all of them turned to look at the noise. Charlie blushed and ducked down to eat more of his breakfast while Justin seemed to revel in the attention. Josie rolled her eyes. She’d been roommates with Peggy Sue for less then a day and she was still getting used to her.

“Then it’s settled! We four are going to the concert tonight! Yeah!” Peggy Sue was exultant.

7:43 am

Hanger bay 1 on the Heli-carrier was filled with a variety of craft that could get an agent anywhere in the world with a variety of payloads specific for different mission profiles. There were PAC RATS which served as mobile command bases for SHIELD tactical defense forces, VTOL jets for rapid deployment around the world when you needed a facility destroyed or immediate combat support, Sentinel Armor for surgical strikes especially against Supers, and smaller craft. One of those smaller craft was the hover bike. Designed by Mr. Fantastic the hover bike has four antigravity pods extending out from the bottom of the body of a Harley-Davidson style motorcycle. Dr. Banner and the female Red Cross agent were standing next to a hover bike. Dr. Banner was dressed in a black SHIELD bodysuit with standard blue accoutrements including a side arm. She smiled up at him.

“This is perfect,” Dr. Banner said, mounting the Hover Bike, “Thank you.”

The female agent rubbed his back gently. “You’re very welcome. Thank you for helping us to capture the Hulk.”

Dr. Banner flipped a few switched on the bike and it whirred to life, lifting him off the deck. He smiled at the girl and turned the handle, easing the bike forward. “Take care.” And then he was past the lip of the flight deck, dropping fast as the anti-gravity devices in the hover bike came up to power, slowly ending his descent. Dr. Banner didn’t look at a map or even break cloud cover to check the topography of the Earth to locate himself. He knew where his son was. He didn’t know how, but he could sense him. He knew the Hulk had been able to find Rick Jones this way hundreds of times. So Bruce Banner didn’t question it. He aimed his bike and headed onward.

On the deck the girl watched the unnamed super leave. She considered calling him and realized she hadn’t asked his name and hadn’t given her own. She sighed and turned, leaving Hanger bay 1, walking through the corridors back to her room. Once inside with the door secured she stripped out of her uniform, heading into her shower and letting the lukewarm water of her shower unit play over her body. Where the stream hit her little rivulets flowed over her body leaving behind a yellow trail where there was once pink skin. Her hands moved to her belly, rubbing small circles, leaving large yellow splotches of what appeared to be skin. Once her stomach was yellow her hands moved to her breasts, rubbing over them, the pink smearing as it came off, making a brown liquid that traveled down her body the way make-up runs. After her breasts and legs were mostly yellow she picked up a bar of soap and scrubbed herself down. When she was finished she was yellow from head to toe, not a jaundiced yellow but a healthy, robust yellow the same yellow as a giraffe or cheetah, with the same bright blonde hair she had before the shower. She shut the shower off, humming some unidentifiable song as she toweled off. Carrying the towel she walked to the sink and wiped it clean. She tapped a specific sequence on the bottom of the mirror and suddenly it wasn’t a mirror anymore, but a video screen showing another yellow face, this one decidedly male and overweight with orange hair. His mouth moved and a full second later indecipherable sound came from the mirror. She replied in her own series of quiet shrieks and mumbles which would translate as follows:

“I await your report,” the fat yellow male face drawled apathetically.

The female drew herself up to stand at attention, and spoke with perfect diction and enthusiasm. “Ba-Bani Expeditionary Agent 237 reporting that the super human known as the Incredible Hulk has been captured. While we have no agents in place for direct contact we are in place to recover SHIELD’s files on the Hulk. I can report from my observations during the battle that the Hulk’s strength is effectively limitless. He was able to rip through a metal alloy the humans call omnium steel like it was tissue paper. I remind high command that we have not yet been able to duplicate the strength of omnium steel in our own alloys. This Hulk also survived numerous missile, beam and projectile attacks from the humans, more then enough firepower to destroy even our own high command ships. With the Hulk safely stored way in the Negative Zone dimension the humans use as a prison we are considerably closer to our eventual military conquest of Earth. Additionally, in my guise as a human nurse I have compiled a list of the abilities of the super humans who were injured in their battle with the Hulk.”

The fat man smiled. “Very good Agent 237. Your report is recorded. Is there anymore?”

“No high command.”

“Very well, transmission terminated.” The mirror turned completely black for a long moment and then reverted to being a normal mirror.

The yellow beauty smiled. She opened a cabinet and pulled out a bag marked Revlon. Opening the bag she pulled out ordinary make-up containers. She opened one, dipped an applicator sponge in it, sighed, and began rubbing her body with the sponge. “It was nice to be beautiful for a little while. It is time to become dull and pink and live among the humans.”

8:32 AM

“Okay! We’ve got some time before the next big event in the cafeteria and I thought it would be fun to play a getting-to-know-you game!” It was hard to believe the girl speaking was a junior in college. She wore a white “Orientation 2007” shirt and short red shorts, was very skinny and perky. Very perky. Obnoxiously Perky. Especially at 8:30 in the morning. She was also in charge of the transfer student orientation group which Charlie found himself in. He’d officially transferred to his community college in Washington and officially transferred back, it was the only way to get his credits to transfer. He’d already been through orientation last year and thought it was pretty stupid. His academic advisor had told him to go into it the second time with an open mind. Now he was positive it was stupid. None of the kids in his orientation group were in his majors. He would probably never see any of them again. Additionally, he knew what little they were teaching about how to utilize their library of congress library system and how to hook his computer up to the campus intranet. Besides that he was just given a chance to get to know a bunch of people he had nothing in common with. Charlie heaved a sigh. The perky junior didn’t even notice as she continued on. “I know, we can play two truths and a lie!”

“What is that?” asked an exchange student from India. Charlie made a mental note to learn someone’s name at some point.

“It’s where we sit in a circle and each of us says three sentences. Two sentences have two be true and one sentence must be a lie. And then the rest of us vote on which is which, it’s oh so much fun!” The perky girl was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet as she spoke as if she were so excited at the prospect of this that she couldn’t sit still. She sat on the ground and patted the area near her, her overused signal for everyone to sit down. The rest of the group started to sit on the grass, so Charlie gently lowered himself to the ground, careful not to get a grass stain on his khaki slacks.

“Tell me something,” the fat kid who was sitting next to Charlie asked the orientation staff girl, “What’s your major again?”

Somehow the girl lit up to become more excited then before. “Oh, I’m so glad you asked! I’m an Early Childhood Education major with a focus in Children’s literature! I love my major!” She sat there and beamed for a minute. Charlie stifled a groan. He’d never seen someone beam before.

“I figured as much. No one else could be this excited to be playing kids games at 8 o’clock in the morning.” The fat guy shook his head and rolled his eyes. Charlie and half the rest of the group cracked up.

Perky girl wasn’t fazed in the least. “Ok Christopher, or should I call you Mr. Grumpy-pants, you can go first.”

Christopher laughed. “You’re kidding me. Ok, let’s try this. One: I came to Empire State University to get a world class education. Two: I came to Empire State University to meet women who have a bigger IQ then their bra size. Three: I came to Empire State University to wake up three hours before my first class and play kids games. Figure it out.”

The jock in the group, some football scholarship case who was sitting across the circle from Christopher, laughed and said, “Dude, the lie is you came here to meet a smart girl cause dude, you’re gay!”

That got a few laughs and the Perky Girl said, “That’s not nice talk Greg.” But all the chatter was silenced when Christopher deadpanned, “Why, you need a sperm enima?”

“Fuck you,” Greg shot back, laughing.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Christopher said then stood up and started to undo his belt. That’s when Charlie started to laugh, his deep, rich voice rumbling across the yard they were sitting on. The whole incoming class turned to look at them.

Perky Girl had gasped, then stood and pointed her finger at Christopher. “That is not funny! Put your belt back on mister!”

Greg was rolling on his back cracking up. “Dude, that was awesome.”

Christopher buckled his belt back up and was completely nonplussed. “Hey, I was just trying to help a buddy out.” That line got Charlie laughing harder. A moment later the orientation lead staff had the bullhorn out and were asking people to line up for some fun and games in the gymnasium. They actually said gymnasium instead of gym.

“Hey Chris,” Charlie said, “that was hilarious.”

“Thanks Fezzik,” Christopher said, standing, “I try my best.”

“Fezzik?”

“You know, the giant from the Princess Bride.” Chris made a face and dropped his voice a register, doing an impression, “It’s not my fault I’m the biggest and the strongest, I don’t even work out.”

“The name’s Charles, or Charlie. But what the hell Fezzik works. It’s a hell of a lot better then Mongo.” Christopher laughed at that and Charlie continued. “Hey, my roommate and I are ditching tonight’s orientation to go see Son of the Hulk at his free concert in Cental Park. You want to come?”

“Well, ok,” Christopher said with a wicked grin, “But I get to decide who I get to come in.”

It took Charlie a half second to pick up on that one but then he gave a short laugh. “Hey, as long as it’s not in me, I don’t care. You know, you’re really funny Chris, what’s your major?”

“What?” Christopher said, feigning disgust, “You’ve forgotten already?” He laughed, “Yeah, like I remembered your major, or your name for that matter Fezzik. I’m a theatre set builder and an actor/entertainer. I don’t know what they’ll call that here, but it’s what I do.”

“Really? Build the set and then act on it?” Charlie asked.

“No, I want to be a stand up comedian, like Sam Kinison. But that pays dick, so I might as well make some money in the field, aka building sets, and network a bit while I’m paying the bills.”

Charlie rubbed his chin. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“Remember what Andrew Dice Clay said, ‘Little Boy Blue, HEY! He needed the money!’”

9:23 am

Agents West and Ward were walking down the same corridor, wearing SCBA, both laden with food as before, though this time it was just bags of cooked meat and bottles of soda.

“How did we get stuck with Hulk duty again Adam?” Agent Ward asked as they came to a stop at the door.

“I volunteered us my young friend. I am oddly fascinated by our jolly green giant captive,” Agent West said as he punched in the code and gave his hand print. They both rushed through the door, hoping not to cause an alarm this time. Agent Ward rushed in first and stopped suddenly, dropping his food. Agent West stopped short behind him, careful not to drop his food.

“Burt, I demand to know the meaning of…” Agent West finally saw past Agent Ward. The room was filled with empty chains.

“Holy missing mammoths, Adam!” Agent Ward finally said.

“Burt, where’s the Hulk?”

“I think he’s broken out Adam. We should call dispatch.”

“Very good Burt.” Agent West keyed his mic. “Dispatch, This is Agent West. Agent Ward and I are in room 322 and the Hulk is not here.”

There was a very long pause before the radio crackled and the dispatcher replied, “Repeat your message Agent West.”

“The Hulk is not in room 322.”

There was a much longer pause. Then Dispatch replied. Klaxons echoed through the halls of the ship followed by this repeating message: “Code Red. The Hulk has escaped. This is not a drill. The Hulk has escaped.”

9:45 am

There was nothing particularly descript about this particular meeting room. Like all the other meeting rooms in the Pentagon there was a table with enough chairs to encircle it, a projector and a white board. What made this room special was its three occupants.

The first was an older black man, probably in his late thirties, with a shaved head and a white goatee. He wore SHIELD’s renown black body suit but his accoutrements were white, signifying him as a top officer in SHIELD. Specifically he was G.W. Bridge; the man who became leader of SHIELD after Nicolas Fury resigned over super human registration almost thirty years ago and then disappeared. His knuckles resting on the edge of the table Bridge was leaning toward the man sitting on the other side of the table, chomping on a cigar and blowing smoke in the other guy’s face. “Come on Dugan, this is a special case.”

‘Dum Dum’ Dugan was an ex-circus strongman who joined the army in World War II to defeat the Nazis. He’d happen to be an integral part of Nicolas Fury’s Howling Commandos and when Fury was made the first commander of SHIELD back in the late 60’s he’d tapped Dugan as his second-in-command. Dugan had remained the number two at SHIELD until Fury had retired in ’79. The two had stayed young through SHIELD’s experimental youth elixir which was the same thing that had kept Bridge young. Dugan was wearing a vintage bowler cap and a large red handlebar mustache and was dressed in a black business suit. He pointed his finger at Bridge. “Get that cigar out of my face George. I put up with that from Fury, I don’t have to put up with it from you.”

The last man in the room was the only one who looked close to his age. Salt and pepper black hair with white sideburns, a clean shaved face and wearing what appeared to be a blue and black spandex suit with a stylized ‘4’ on his chest. His name was Reed Richards, known to the world as Mister Fantastic. He was one of the Fantastic Four, the first four humans to go into outer space in an earth made craft, which was designed by Reed Richards. Before that fateful rocket ride that had given the Fantastic Four their powers and sparked off the latest superhero age, Reed Richards had graduated college and immediately joined the secret service, working as a spy to help defeat the Nazis. He had met Fury and Dugan back during the war and had helped them out on a mission or two. He had supported registration in the late 70’s and had created the dimensional gate that accessed the Negative Zone where Reed had built the super criminal prison. Then he sold the patent and control of the gate to a corporation Dugan created. Reed sold the prison to the US government, who he thought was reliable so they could be stuck with the onerous duty of running it. “Your relationship with Mr. Bridge aside Dum Dum,” Reed said, his voice grating a bit from age, “taking down the Hulk put the rest of the Fantastic Four in the hospital. Ben almost died. Sue may never get her strength back. Johnny, well, he’s broken a few bones. Hopefully they’ll heal, but at his age it’s hard to say.”

Dugan shook his head. “I appreciate your sacrifice Reed, I do. The Fantastic Four are the greatest heroes alive today. I should know, Me and Fury buried more heroes then you’ll ever know.” Bridge growled, turned and began pacing. Dugan couldn’t stop his smile. “The responsibility eats at you, doesn’t it Bridge? You used to complain about Fury’s attitude and now you’re smoking like you’re on fire and drinking like you’re trying to put it out, ain’tcha?”

Bridge turned and took the cigar out of his mouth. “You’re mighty smug for a man who won’t help us put away the nastiest super there ever was.”

“Bruce Banner was a great man. Reed hasn’t made the sacrifices Bruce has,” Dugan turned to Reed, “No offense Richards, but it’s the facts, which I can cite, chapter and verse.”

Reed nodded. “No offense taken. Bruce was a colleague. As dangerous as the Hulk could be I’ll be the first to list the times he saved my life. He saved all of our superhero forces on Battle World when the Molecule Man dropped that mountain range on us. However, he is also one of the most destructive forces on Earth, and I’m sure you can cite that chapter and verse too Dum Dum.”

Dugan nodded. He paused then shook his head. “The cost of opening the dimensional gate is prohibitive. It’s scheduled to be opened in three days. Unless SHIELD wants to foot that bill it stays closed.”

Bridge put the cigar back in his mouth and puffed for a minute. “Let’s say that’s on the table. SHIELD offers to pay for the energy needed. Does that get it open.”

Dugan looked at him and after a bit cracked a smile. “You’re starting to think like Fury, Bridge. No. We don’t have a prison that can hold the Hulk.”

“Bullshit!” Bridge roared, “Your people rebuilt the adamantium cage twenty years ago when he escaped!”

“It’s beta adamantium!” Dugan protested.

“It’s the same damn thing,” Bridge shot back.

Richard’s old crackling voice cut through the argument. “That doesn’t mean much to the Hulk does it Dum Dum?”

Dugan closed his eyes and shook his head. “No.”

Bridge glowered. “What haven’t you told me Dugan?”

Dugan sighed. “Sit down.” Richards sat immediately. Bridge took a little more time to cool down enough to sit. “When we had the Hulk in prison he spent over half his time as Banner.”

“What?” Bridge demanded.

“”Sit down and listen boy,” Dugan waited until Bridge did and continued, “Bruce wanted to be in that cage. He knew how dangerous the Hulk could be. However, your jailers deny all inmates filial visits, or even news. Bruce never knew his wife was pregnant, let alone that she died giving birth to his son. He learned about her death in a magazine 7 years later. Two days later his cage was destroyed and he escaped.”

“Bruce Banner hasn’t been seen in over a decade!” roared Bridge.

Dugan sighed. “This was twenty years ago George. And with Betty gone what reason did Banner have to live?”

“How come I wasn’t informed?” Bridge demanded.

“It isn’t Dum Dum’s job Bridge. Those are Bureau of Superhuman Affairs agents running that jail,” Reed wheezed, “You want to see how the cannabis prison works don’t you? Before you commit to opening the gate.”

“No,” Dugan said, “I want you to let Bruce Banner see his son. We owe Banner far more then that and you know it. And I want family visiting rights for the supers in that gulag of yours Richards.”

“I know the US law code Dugan,” Bridge growled, “and I have no pity for people who abuse power.”

“If you’re so damn set on US law code then remember I am only required to open the gate as contracted or by congressional order. So fuck you Bridge, and fuck this mockery you’ve made of SHIELD. That symbol used to stand for protection for people who couldn’t protect themselves.”

Bridge smiled. “That’s sedition Dugan.”

“SHIELD isn’t part of the US government asshole. Go run back to your heli-carrier whorehouse Bridge.”

Reed was about to intervene when Bridge’s communicator went off. Decades of service and training silenced the argument. As much as Dugan and Bridge argued over the super issue and everything else, both of them knew that they could trust the other with their lives in a serious threat to the US or the Earth, and only something serious could set off the head of SHIELD’s communicator when he had it set to do not disturb.

“Bridge, go.”

“General Bridge, the Hulk is gone,” said the voice from the communicator.

“Damn it Dugan, if you had just let us into the Negative Zone…” Bridge started.

Reed interrupted. “How much damage did he cause?”

Bridge keyed his communicator. “How much damage Dispatch?”

“None sir,” came Dispatch’s reply, “It’s like he just disappeared.”

“Bruce,” Reed wheezed.

“Dispatch,” Bridge called over his communicator, “I’ll rendezvous with you in thirty minutes. Get our most recent pictures of Bruce Banner and pass them around the crew.”

“George,” Dugan said, his voice pleading, “Let Bruce see his son.”

Bridge grinned. “Thanks Dugan.” He keyed his communicator. “Dispatch, call Stark, call the President. We’re setting a trap for the Hulk in Central Park tonight at his kid’s concert. High civilian presence so we’ll need to retrofit with knockout gas by the ton. See if they can detail us any capes.” Bridge turned and stopped at the door, grinning like a hyena. “We’ve got him.”

Tony Stark Junior was worried. He wasn't worried about finances, or the business, or the government. Well, not directly, anyways. In spite of the fact that War Machine wasn't registered, Junior was more worried about the report sitting on his desk, delivered by an operative of SHIELD. The report told Tony some very disturbing things, and as such, he was glad that the original War Machine armor and the original Iron Man armor were the only things that were registered. And since they were registered to James Rhodes and Tony Stark, Junior and his new Head of Security were free to use the second War Machine armor, that chaos had built and christened Neo War Machine, as well as some of the more unrecognizable Iron Man armors designed by Tony Stark Senior, to keep people safe from every threat, including the one that it now looked as if the government posed.

That was why the report given to him by a former friend of his father's at SHIELD worried him so much. The Hulk was on the loose. That wasn't so bad. Granted, it took an army of cosmic proportions to take him down every time he got out, but the more disturbing part was that it wasn't technically the Hulk who was out. After the guards had left him alone (there'd be heads rolling on that one, he knew), Bruce Banner had simply walked out of the cage and been taken off the Carrier by one of their own agents, unaware of who Banner was. On top of that, he'd just been informed of a trap being set up for The Hulk at the concert of his son. That was bad. Not just bad, but BAD. The kind of bad that the Xmen, Avengers, Fantastic Four, and other nongovernment groups had been dealing with for decades. Frankly, he was glad for the information, and for its source. It meant there were some people working for SHIELD and the government that still realized that the government wasn't up to the task of dealing with Metahuman threats. It was closing on Noon, and he knew they'd have to act fast.

He called chaos into the room, and had him read the report. The young man's reaction was immediately apparent. "Absolute idiocy. Can they really be that stupid? According to reports, they tried the same tactic in the seventies. Massive casualties. What are they thinking?" Tony simply nodded, and looked out the window. "I'm going to use Suit 82. So suit up in your Neo War Machine armor. We're both going this time. Be ready. There's no telling what we'll be dealing with."

Clair at a Show for Fashion Week...

The bright stage lights bite at Clair's skin and she couldnt even begin to comprehend why women would want to be models, she got all the stares she could handle when she was younger. She resisted the temptation to blow her 200 dollar bangs out of her eyes and kept her pretty but vacant smile plastered on her face. As Victor Harris the Designer du jour praised her hefty contribution to his artistic vision. She wanted to laugh 'His Artistic Vision.' They are sticks in scraps of colored fabric. She fought back nostalgia for her long widening past. No one asked Socialites their opinions on art, and Clair preferred it that way. She had worked hard to perfect her shallow, vapid, self involved persona. No one knew Clair Bonivere-Winston's true opinion on anything and thats the way the toned, tanned blond knock out liked it. "No of eze would be at 'll pozzible wit out ze 'elp of my Brillant Muse, So vit out further ado, Mizz Clair Bonivere-Winston." Clair step out on to the stage her long legs criss crossing down the cat walk, her soft blond hair billowing out behind her shoulders, her body tiny, lean and perfect of you don't count the two holes hidden my her tragically hip tube top. Taking the Microphone from Victor she waved and tossed her head back in a perfectly choreographed laugh. She heard the bulbs pop before she saw the flashes. Then Dancing the dance she knew so well she pouted the pout that made her New York royalty and addressed the crowd. "Darlings! Let see some tall skinny Bitches we all want to hate in some seriously sexy dress we are totally going to love!" Someone Kill Me PLEASE! The crowd laughed and applauded and Clair, was escorted to a front row chair next to her fellow heiress and this weeks best friend Zoey Bergdorff, and Clair's beautiful boyfriend night time soap star Jonathon Walters. Who Clair personally knew was gay, and having a torrid affair with Zoey Bergdorffs butler. This worked out well for the woman who wanted nothing to do with men, in a world were you are who you date. Jonathon took her hand in his and smiled at the cameras, occasionally leaning down to whisper something in her ear. Clair sighed, no relationships, but sex, sex would be nice. BUT, Sex required nudity, and its not easy to get naked. Even when you have a perfect perky 20 year olds body, the fun seems to get ruined when you have to explain to huge gapping holes in your back. Clair sighed and kissed Jonathon on the cheek, nothing about the world has changed in 50 years...unless you count dresses.

Alana's Audition and a special guest

Alana made her way slowly through the street to her audition. Up ahead, she saw a sign that stated that the place she was looking for was just a little bit up the rode. She sighed and readjusted her bag, then continued on. She decided to stop over at the coffee shop to get some water. It was a little further to her destination and she'd already been walking for twenty minutes. As she entered the shop Alana accidentally pumped into a gorgeous blond, who must have been a super model. "Oh my, I'm so sorry Miss..." She was at a loss since she didn't know the woman's name. "Hardy. Please call me Felicia. It was partly my fault as well. Can I buy you something? I'd like to get to know you a bit." Alana looked a little startled but nodded. "Umm...a bottle of water please."
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The two women sat and chatted for a while. It turned out that Felicia was heading to Empire State University as well. She insisted that Alana ride with her. Alana agreed quickly and soon they were on their way.

A few minutes later Felicia pulled up to the arts building where Alana would have to perform. "Thanks so much Felicia. Would you like to come and watch me dance?" The other woman shook her head sadly. "I wish I could, but I've got some business to take care of. Maybe I'll see you around some other time Alana." The young woman nodded and smiled, adjusted her bag, then got out of the car. "I hope so, see you around Felicia." She waved good-bye before running in to the building where the dance studio was. She didn't see Felicia's smile or that she drove around the corner to hide her car.
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Alana changed quickly into her dance outfit, then pulled her hair up, and stepped out into the room. She gave the pianist the first piece she would perform to and got into her ready position for that piece. As the music started, she let out a deep breath and began to dance. Her eyes closed as she let the music flow over her, so she never saw the figure dangling head down at the window watching her. After ten minutes, she stopped her ballet performance, then walked over to the boombox that had been provided, then put in a CD. She pushed play and danced to Prima J's 'Rockstar'. The figure in the window had disappeared by that time. She danced the entire song, then came to a stop as the judges applauded. She bowed and left, going down the stairs to shower and change back into her street clothes.

When she came back they told her that she would find out in a couple of days what their answer would be. Alana thanked them and headed outside again. She sighed softly as she realized she had no idea which way her hotel was. "Crap, now which way do I go to get to the Best Western..." She sighed again, then headed back to the coffee shop so she could get directions.