Ultimate Spider-Man

Issue 1: [To Die & Be Born Again]

Written by: Mr_Wolf_GangF

Edited by: AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin

=================

New York was different.

It was different to Eddie.

That was a stupid statement, obviously the city he had been away from for years was different than he remembered. Yet there was something beyond the mere passage of time at play here. Something fundamental had been altered in his time away. It was not in the place or the air but the people themselves. The way the average New Yorker acted was different now.

People were much friendlier than before, strangers took long moments of conversation where details normally deeply hidden were given freely. No one seemed to get irritated or angry about the normal inconveniences of life.

It was strange to Eddie.

Of course, maybe that was just because he wasn't there. He wasn't there when the biggest gang war in history broke, ravaging the city and killing hundreds if not thousands in the process. Perhaps he had missed out on acquiring this new social connective tissue. Maybe that is why if you stopped Eddie, right here on the sidewalk where he was walking, and asked him what he thought about all this, he would say it was nothing but a fiction.

This wasn't a true community.

This wasn't true togetherness.

This wasn't true bonding.

This was fear, masquerading in the disguise of positivity. Nobody wanted to know thy neighbor. Everyone just wanted to stop themselves from falling into the void, even if they had to grab on to the unknown right next to them to do it.

Of course maybe Eddie was just being cynical about it all.

Stepping off the sidewalk, Eddie went up the stairs to the entrance of the LIFE Foundation public headquarters, the automated glass doors opening up and allowing Eddie inside.

“Eddie!” Richard, leaning against the lobby receptionist's desk, waved.

“Have you just been standing there waiting for me?” Eddie asked.

“No, I was making conversation while I waited,” Richard said.

“You certainly were,” The receptionist said in a strained voice, a vein threatening to pop out of her forehead.

“You seriously had nothing better to do?” Richard pushed off the desk and started walking, Eddie following after him as he went down a staff only hallway.

“Hey, you know what they say, the work day doesn't start til Eddie gets here.” Eddie gave his coworker a look.

“Who are they?”

“Me, I'm them.”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Plus, it's not like I actually had anything to do, I didn't get a morning patrol and the staff meeting isn't gonna start for another ten minutes.” Eddie chuckled and Richard gave him the side eye.

“What's funny?”

“Well, I might not know what they say but I do know what Treece says, ten minutes early is on time and on time is late.” Richard let out an irritated groan and rolled his eyes.

“Don't remind me of that man,” Richard whined. “Dude acts like this is a military unit, he wasn't ever even in the military, we were!”

Eddie just gave an amused smile and turned into the break room, only to be grabbed and pulled out by Richard.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eddie asked.

“We can't go in there.”

“Why?”

“Because Donna is in there and I still owe her for covering my last sick day.”

“First off,” Eddie peeled Richard's hands off him. “Don't touch me. Second, why are you afraid of giving what you owe?”

“Because! I got a vacation planned and if I give what I owe, I know she's going to pick me to cover a day right in the middle of that vacation time. I know it”

Eddie took a deep breath.

“Richard, I really want a cup of coffee right now so I'm going to go grab a cup of coffee, don't not grab me again please.” Richard backed up.

“Okay man, just… if she asks where I am, don't tell her.”

“I don't have to ask him when I can hear talking.” Donna Diego walked out of the break room, holding two cups of coffee. She handed one off to Eddie, who gladly accepted it.

Richard backed up some more.

“Donna! Hi!” Richard greeted. “How are you doing this beautiful morning?”

“I'm great, just thinking about when I want a day off.” Donna walked past both Eddie and Richard. “I'll tell you after the meeting, come on.”

“We still have time before the meeting, I don't get why both of you are in a rush,” Richard complained as he and Eddie followed Donna.

“Well, you know what Treece says, ten minutes early is on time and on time is late.” Richard looked like he wanted to scream but kept it quiet.

The trio quickly arrived at Treece's office. Stepping in, they found him casually typing away on his computer. He didn't acknowledge their arrival until a good few moments after.

“You're all here, good.” Treece stood from behind his desk. “Now, I'm unsure of how many of you follow the company calendar but I'm sure all of you have heard the buzzing of our annual company gala tonight.”

Eddie had indeed heard the buzzing, coworkers gossiping about it and what not, but the buzzing was pretty useless to him since he did keep up with the company calendar. Every year the LIFE Foundation would hold a gala at its New York building. Publicly it was just a show of good faith, an open door event where even regular members of the public could attend as long as they were in dress code. Pragmatically and internally, it was meant to show off the health of the company's income and make nice with potential investors.

“This gala is important, New York's elite will be in attendance and of course, our CEO as well,” Treece continued. “As such, it is of the utmost importance that our security for this event be air tight, hence why I'm appointing you three as security heads.”

Eddie raised his eyebrow and Richard raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr Rivera?” Treece asked.

“I don't wanna sound unappreciative of this opportunity but I have to ask, why are we being picked?” Richard asked.

“Well simply put, besides myself, you three are the best on staff. You three are the only ones on this building's staff that are pulled from post-military service, everyone else is from our internal company training service,” Treece explained. “And I don't want to sound disparaging of our company's efforts but the internal service is hardly well crafted.”

“Sounds good to me,” Donna said, seemingly excited by the job. “What are we handling?”

“You'll each be assigned your own section.” Treece pulled a selection of files from his desk, handing one out each to Eddie, Richard, and Donna. “Donna, you'll be in charge of coordinating and securing the front entrance as well as screening guests. Richard, you'll be taking charge of the back staff areas like the kitchen and maintenance halls. Eddie, you'll be taking the main floor.”

Although theoretically it was the best section to take, Eddie couldn't help but feel a pit in his stomach. The idea of being smack dab in the middle of the drunken masses gave him a headache and having to deal with whatever petty problems they would have gave him another headache on top of the first one. Before Eddie could speak up, Treece spoke.

“Alright, I have a meeting with Mr Drake to attend. I expect an outline of security measures by this afternoon and for those measures to be implemented by nightfall.” Treece exited his office without another word.

“Son of a bitch,” Eddie muttered.

“You think yours is bad?” Richard asked. “They put the Mexican in the back.”

“Sucks to suck,” Donna said while walking out. “Good luck with those outlines.”

=================

"Ladies and gentlemen, scientists, innovators, visionaries. I thank you all for gathering here today. When I founded the LIFE Foundation, I had a simple but profound belief: humanity is on the brink of a new era, one where diseases are eradicated before they appear, where resources are abundant, where humanity lives not just in survival but in harmony and strength. This isn't just my belief; it’s our mission. Our mission to—” Carlton Drake paused, placing a hand on his chest as he tried to stop a coughing fit. After a moment where nothing seemed to happen, Drake opened his mouth to continue but that was when the coughing started once again.

The CEO grabbed the edge of his desk, trying to stay upright as his lungs acted on their own. As the fit slowed, there was a knock on his office door.

“Mr Drake?” A voice called through the door. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” Drake called back. “Just practicing my speech, come in.”

Drake stood strong as Dr Dora Skirth entered his office.

“Yes, Doctor?” Drake asked.

“I have the results for Project Panacea.” Dora held up a file. “I'm happy to report that—”

“Not now,” Drake interrupted. “Meet me after the gala, we'll talk about results then.”

“But Drake, we're hitting a—”

“I know what we're about to hit Dr Skirth,” Drake interrupted again. “I'm excited as you are about it. However, I have greater things to attend to. After all, you need money for what we do.”

“Yes Mr Drake.” Dora slid the file back under her arm.

Dora walked out of the office, passing Treece just as he was walking in.

“Mr Treece,” Drake greeted. “I assume you have news for me.”

“I spoke with Idaho,” Treece said.

Drake nodded, walking over and closing his office door before locking it. Drake also pulled his phone and pressed something, causing the windows to tint.

“Let's go over it from the top.”

=================

Night had fallen fast over New York and the LIFE Foundation's gala was in full swing.

Eddie was, as he dreaded, smack dab in the middle of it all. Luckily, the fear of being constantly bothered by the wasted rich wasn't as true as Eddie thought it would be. In fact, it seemed the wasted rich didn't realize he existed. They all went about the gala and not a glance or word was sent his way.

It was actually quite nice.

“Howdy partner.”

Son of a bitch.

Turning around, Eddie found himself face to face with a bearded man, dressed in a wrinkled black suit with a red Hawaiian button-up to match his red hair.

“Hello sir.” Eddie tightened his jaw and did his best to hold his composure.

“Angry?” The man asked and Eddie felt thrown off, being read so easily. “Don't worry about that, friend. It's only human to be angry and it's very human to indulge that anger. Trust me on that, there was a time I acted very human.”

The man, smiling just a bit too wide, took a step towards Eddie and Eddie's hand slipped to his gun.

“Lethal force immediately?” The man asked. “You're very human too, huh?”

Eddie went cold, sliding his hand away from the gun to his taser.

“Who are you?” Eddie asked.

The man smiled.

“I'm the flame which the moths find irresistible.” Before Eddie could dwell on that, the lights cut out and the gala went dark.

“Burn them all!” A woman, dressed in a service staff uniform, screamed as she lit a molotov. Before she could toss it, Eddie pulled his pistol and planted a bullet between her eyes. The dead woman fell and the lit bottle fell atop her, lighting her corpse ablaze. The burning body and the gunshot sent the whole room into chaos, guests running while more folks, both staff and party goers, pulled weapons.

“We are under attack on the main floor!” Eddie yelled into his radio after he ripped it off his belt.

“We're under attack in the staff areas too!” Richard's voice buzzed in.

“All security units get into action! Secure the building and protect the guests!” Treece's voice screamed. “Lethal force authorized!”

In the distant darkness, muzzle flashes went off and loud bangs roared over the screaming guests. Revealing more of the attackers as they fired back with their own weapons or lit flaming ones.

Eddie spun around, trying to face the man but mid-spin, a fist struck him in the side of the head and he collapsed to the floor.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” The man asked. “What a perfect metaphor for what is coming.”

The man backed up and vanished into the dark before Eddie could recover. Just as Eddie was getting up, a waiter wielding a flaming machete rushed at him. Eddie quickly picked up his gun and immediately aimed at the waiter. With a quick squeeze of the trigger, a bullet shredded through the waiter's gut yet he didn't stop charging.

Eddie stepped back, narrowly avoiding a sloppy swing of the flaming blade. The waiter swung again but Eddie jumped back, putting in enough distance for Eddie to take a second shot, blowing a hole through the waiter's cheek. This wasn't enough to stop the waiter as he went for another swing but Eddie took a third shot, making the waiter crumble to the floor as a bullet punctured his chest.

“Heretic!”

Eddie turned just in time to see a woman dressed in a sparkling red dress rush at him. Eddie couldn't move his aim in her direction fast enough, letting her jump and use all her body weight to tackle Eddie to the ground, his gun jumping from his hand in the process.

“You'll burn for the Flame!” The woman raised a knife above her head and thrust it down to stab Eddie in the chest. Thinking fast, Eddie caught the blade with his hand, hissing as his palm was sliced open.

The woman pulled the knife back, further damaging Eddie's hand, and licked the blood from the blade.

“A worthy sacrifice!” The woman went for another stab but stopped and started convulsing.

In the moment she took for her theatrics, Eddie had used his good hand to grab his taser and jam it into the side of the woman's leg. It was only when the woman's eyes started rolling back did Eddie pull the taser away from her flesh. Pushing the fried woman off of him, Eddie once again climbed onto his feet. Coinciding with this was the emergency lights finally kicking on, revealing the chaos.

Bodies were everywhere, and security and the intruders were still fighting, now far more precisely since the room was lit up properly instead of scattered flames being the only light source. Eddie was thankfully far enough away from all of it to take a breath and pick up his fallen sidearm.

“This way,” Eddie heard a voice off to the side.

Looking, Eddie found himself looking through an open side door that exited from the gala room. He watched as Donna, gun drawn, walked past the door. Eddie was ready to assume that she was leading a group to safety but he was quickly and horrendously proven wrong. Following Donna were a group of masked men and women, each dressed in red and wielding a weapon. By the time Eddie registered what he just saw, the group was out of sight.

Without wasting another moment, Eddie rushed after them.

=================

“Forward!” Treece ordered after putting down another attacker. Behind him was Drake, who was trying his best to keep his head about him. The two advanced down a long hallway, Drake having to keep his eyes up to avoid looking at the body Treece had just created.

“We're almost there sir, the emergency exit is just another corner turn away,” Treece assured.

“We can't leave yet!” Drake protested. “The research!”

“There's no choice.” Treece continued to lead the way. “We'll have to secure the labs after the building is cleared!”

“What if there's nothing left to secure?” Drake asked.

Treece thought over it.

“We'll just have to start over.”

“We can't! After this, I don't even know if there's going to be a LIFE Foundation tomorrow!”

Treece stopped to consider this but a molotov landed on the floor behind him and Drake. Looking back, Treece found a whole group of attackers flooding into the hall.

“It's out of our hands!” Treece grabbed Drake’s hand and started rushing to the exit, firing behind him at the pursuing attackers.

=================

Dora sat as still as she could, trying her very best to not start crying.

“This is a nice lab.” The man in the red Hawaiian shirt stalked around the place, his followers standing around near him. “The type of place only a billionaire, or at least a supposed billionaire, can get you.”

The man grabbed a rod off a table.

“Now I'm no book-learning type but this looks like a cattle prod.” The man clicked a button and indeed, an electrical current sparked off the edge. “Now, this looks a bit too flimsy for a security baton. So I'm guessing, this is for your subjects.”

The man neared Dora.

“Where are they?” He asked, holding the prod in her direction.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Dora lied.

The man laughed before poking her with the prod and zapping her. Dora screamed and jumped up from her seat, causing one of the followers to grab her by the shoulders and force back into it.

“Don't lie to me! I have developed a stunning level of patience over the past few years, but lying is a good way to burn through it fast,” The man warned. “Where are your specimens?”

“I don't know what you're talking about—AH!” Dora screamed as the man zapped her again.

“I'm playing baseball here, doc,” the man said. “Three strikes and you're out, which is really bad for you since it seems you're down to your last ball.”

The man pressed the prod to the skin of Dora's neck.

“One last chance: where do you keep the specimens?”

Dora sucked in a deep breath.

“There's a vault in this lab, I can't open it on my own. It requires two personnel authorization.”

The man let the prod stoop to his side.

“Who do I need?” He asked.

“Someone who's likely already out of the building,” Dora said with a small smile. “It can't be opened.”

“Don't be so sure.” Donna entered the lab, followed by her masked squad. “I brought you a gift.”

Donna tossed a severed finger to the man.

“A gift from the departed Dr Lloyd Emerson, meant for Cletus Kasady.”

The man, now known as Cletus, lifted up the finger in Dora's face, leaving the doctor to look on in overwhelmed horror over both the mutilated body part and the security woman betraying her.

“Come on,” Cletus urged. “Just give us what we want, what’s the point of being so difficult? You're protecting company assets at the cost of your health, it's pointless.”

“This isn't pointless! We're doing something important here, something that will help people, and I'm not going to give that to you!” Dora snapped. “This is the most important thing I've ever done!”

“More important than your kids?” Donna asked, causing Dora to go wide-eyed in shock and fear.

“Oh, wow,” Cletus said through a laugh. “That's why you don't tell coworkers shit, it means they know it and well, you never quite know who they are.”

Cletus grabbed Dora by the front of her shirt, lifting her out of the seat.

“For your children,” Cletus whispered. “Give me what I want or else I'll orphan them and I'll make sure they get pieces of you on their birthdays for as long as I can rip you apart.”

Dora's breath was caught in her throat and her resolve broke.

“Follow me.” Dora led Cletus over to a nondescript looking wall, where she opened a small panel that hid a fingerprint scanner. An opposite scanner appeared on the wall and Cletus pressed the severed finger to it. Dora pressed her thumb to the scanner and after a moment, the wall opened. Hidden behind it was a vault, which held two containers.

In one container was a strange living red fluid, violently trying to break free. In the second container was a similar white and black living ooze, moving but not trying to free itself like its crimson counterpart.

“At last.” Cletus grabbed the container with the red liquid. “I've heard you calling for so long, it's nice to finally meet you.”

Cletus turned to face his followers.

“The flame burns brightest in the dark and tonight, the darkness has become inevitable. Yet my flame! Our flame! Will not die out, I shall lead you to the future and we'll feast upon the hearts of the past!” Donna and the followers cheered, for a moment before gunshots started ripping through the group.

Dora dove behind a desk while Donna tried to pull her weapon, only to be shot in the upper arm, forcing her to drop her weapon and duck behind cover. The rest of the followers attempted to turn and fight but they were cut down too fast, leaving an unafraid Cletus standing alone.

Eddie moved close, pistol leveled with Cletus’ head.

“Drop it!’ Eddie demanded.

“Why don't you drop me?” Cletus casually approached Eddie. “You're already spilled so much blood, why stop now?”

“Shut up!” Eddie pressed the barrel to Cletus’ forehead. “You're not going to get the easy way out of this.”

Cletus laughed.

“I suppose taking lives is pretty easy for you.”

“You don't know anything about me,” Eddie hissed. “Now drop the thing and get on your knees.”

Cletus smiled.

“Come on Eddie,” Cletus poked. “Be human.”

A single shot rang out and Eddie collapsed, dropping his gun as he clutched his bleeding chest. Donna had crawled from cover and retrieved her weapon before shooting her comrade without hesitation. Cletus stood over Eddie.

“I'm not sure what validation you were searching for, but let it be known: there is nobody who could have ever given it to you.” Cletus looked to Donna. “Let's go.”

The two quickly abandoned the lab, leaving Eddie alone, his world fading and vision going black. As he started to vanish, Eddie could only think about one thing, only one regret.

He should have called them.

Just as Eddie was closing his eyes, a burning feeling surged through his chest and spread. It spread down through his stomach and legs and up through his arms and head. In a moment, Eddie went from the knife’s edge to feeling more sensation than he ever had before. Eddie sat up and screamed, causing Dora to stumble back away from him and drop the empty container she was holding.

“What?!” Eddie grabbed his chest, where he had been shot, and found no wound, just a hole in his shirt. “What did you do?!”

Dora's jaw opened but no answer came out, being interrupted as an alarm blared. The fire alarm, which only went off when a wheel floor was engulfed.

“We have to leave!”

Eddie rose to his feet and with an unnatural ease, picked up Dora and slung her over his shoulder. He started running, faster than a man should be able to, out of the lab and down a long hall and all the way to an emergency exit. Putting down Dora, Eddie pushed on the exit door and was startled when the whole thing came off its hinges. Shocked, Eddie looked to Dora for an explanation.

“I know this is strange but I don't have all the answers for you right now, give me time.” Eddie grabbed Dora's ID card off her coat, pocketing it.

“I'll hold you to that.”

With that, Eddie and Dora ran out the exit, fleeing away from the LIFE Foundation, whose building had several of its floors burning in flames.

=================

To be continued later this month in Ultimate Spider-Man #2

Also make sure to check out Elusive Spider-Man #1 and Sensational Spider-Man #1!

MarvelsNCU presents…

##SENSATIONAL SPIDER-MAN

Issue One: Walking Distance

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by Mr_Wolf_GangF and GemlinTheGremlin

Next Issue > Coming Next Month

The brass band’s music rang out triumphantly, the sound carrying across the whole venue. Except, that wasn’t entirely true. Those at the very front of the crowd were suitably deafened by the booming instruments, but Empire State University had spared no expense in making sure everyone had an equal opportunity at tinnitus. Top of the line microphones collected the sounds of each musician and amplifiers reproduced that sound for all assembled to hear, blasting patriotic classics and marching band-esque arrangements of modern hits alike.

From where Ben Reilly was sitting, he was getting a mixture of live music and the speakers’ mix, which played with just enough of a delay to be rather quite disorientating the more he listened to it. Luckily for him, he had plenty of other things to focus on.

Today was a big day, a day he had looked forward to for as long as he could remember. Growing up, the idea of being a college graduate came with a healthy dose of conflict. On one hand, it felt only natural, with the dreams he had, that college was in his future. On the other hand, Uncle Ben and Aunt May were pretty terrible at hiding just how much of a pipe dream it was for them to afford the fees, even with them putting aside all they could.

But all of that seemed so far away now, especially as Ben’s row was called up to the stage to collect their diplomas.

As he stood, Ben discretely adjusted his flowing red gown. As he shuffled along with the rest of his row, he pushed a finger under his cap and scratched at his scalp. Was it the cap or the brown hair dye that was driving him crazy?

One by one, names were called, and ESU students marched across the stage to raucous applause, shaking hands with the dean, taking their diplomas, and thus leaving their student life behind. Nervous, Ben looked from the wings of the stage, over his shoulder and down to the very back of his row which was yet to make it up onto the stage. There, he saw Gwen Stacy, clad in the same red cap and gown, who gave him a wide smile of encouragement. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and then heard the name he had been dreading.

“Peter Parker!”

He heard the name twice, once from the announcer’s mouth, and then a half second later from the booming speakers. Both times, it cut him like a knife.

But he couldn’t let it show. Instead, he plastered on the biggest smile he could and marched across the stage for the diploma - for Peter Parker’s diploma.

🔹🕸️🕷️🕸️🔹

“Oh, just look at you, Peter!” cooed Aunt May, who could barely contain her joy as she moved to straighten every wrinkle in the red graduation gown. Ben smiled, content to let her fuss over him all she wanted. After all, this was all for her.

It had been two months since the biggest gang war to ever hit New York City. Two months since Spider-Man had gone missing, Peter Parker along with him. For a whole month, May was left to worry and wonder what had happened to the nephew she had raised as a son, whether the only family she had left was still alive. Then, two women arrived at Ben Reilly’s doorstep with a proposition.

Mary Jane Watson and Gwen Stacy knew that Peter Parker was Spider-Man, and both of them cared for Aunt May deeply. This led them to ask Ben a simple request: that he stand in for Peter in his absence, that he step into his shoes and pretend to be the young man who had gone missing during the gang war, and give Aunt May some peace of mind until Peter came back, which they were certain he would. Parts of that were easier, namely pulling off the deceit. After all, Ben was - by all accounts - identical to the missing Peter Parker. Whether he was a genetic duplicate, mirror world doppelganger, or something more sinister, Ben didn’t know. What he did know was that he had most of Peter’s childhood memories. In fact, he remembered almost everything up to becoming Spider-Man, after which things started to get more spotty, more hazy.

Not content to simply fuss over him, Aunt May pulled her nephew into a tight embrace. Over her shoulder, he saw hundreds of other families in similar situations across the field, celebrating their kids’ graduations. In the corner of his eye was Gwen, with what looked to be her father.

“Oh, I’m sure your Uncle Ben is smiling down on you now!” May smiled, tears welling up.

Years ago, after discovering there was another Peter Parker living the life he remembered leading, the young man’s choice for a new name was simple. ‘Ben’ for his uncle, who had been murdered years before, and ‘Reilly’ for his Aunt May’s maiden name. As he thought of his Uncle Ben looking down on him now, Ben quietly frowned. What would he think of deceiving May like this? How could he possibly understand this Twilight Zone world they now lived in?

But Ben could hardly tear himself up about it too much. After all, here he was, in his Aunt May’s arms. And swaddled in that warmth he had missed for so many years, it was easy to push that guilt so far away.

“I wish he were here,” said Ben as he slowly pulled away from May’s hug.

“Honey, he is,” May smiled, moving a hand to the cross around her neck. “And he is so, so proud of you, as am I.”

Ben then noticed a flicker of familiarity in May’s eyes as she spotted someone she recognised approaching from behind Ben’s back. Then, before Ben could think to turn and look, his Spider-Sense sent ripples through his flesh. As he darted around, Ben saw the all-too-familiar visage of Norman Osborn only a few feet away.

“Mr Parker!” Osborn exclaimed with a wide grin.

Ben’s memories of being Spider-Man were an unreliable blur, but since his encounter with Norman at the vigil a month ago, his memories of Spidey’s dealings with Oscorp were crystal clear. Oscorp had created the radioactive spider that bit Peter, Osborn had captured and experimented on Peter to understand how his powers work, and then he had used that same technology to try and enhance himself, instead turning himself into the hulking and rampaging Green Goblin. Since SHIELD had carted Norman away years ago, he had been assumed dead. And then all of a sudden he was back, attending a vigil for everyone that had gone missing during the gang war, including his son and Peter’s friend, Harry. And now, here he was again.

“Mr Osborn, it’s good to see you,” Ben lied, moving forward to shake his hand. Norman’s handshake was firm, but not intimidating. No, his mere presence did that by itself.

“And you too,” Norman replied. “I was so touched to see the university set out chairs for the students among those missing and… Well, I’m sure it means a lot to the other families.”

“Of course,” said May, bowing her head. “Our best wishes, Norman. Harry continues to be in all of my nightly prayers.”

“Thank you, Mrs Parker. You know, we will have to see about getting dinner some time. The three of us. Emily too.”

At the vigil, Ben couldn’t understand Norman’s actions. Having experimented on Peter more than once, by any logic he should have known that Peter Parker was Spider-Man, and yet he seemed to be showing no signs of knowing. But in the month since, as Ben walked more and more in Peter’s shoes, more memories came flooding back. Ben remembered saving Harry from the Green Goblin and compromising his identity, only for SHIELD to step in and ‘relieve’ Harry of those memories with technology like something out of Men In Black. Ben remembered them using the same technology on one of Norman’s associates, Alyosha Kravinoff, after he confronted Peter at school. Now, Ben didn’t know how long Norman had been in SHIELD custody, or for how long he had been free of them, but it was very possible - likely even - that Director Fury had altered Norman’s memories too, causing him to forget the true identity of Spider-Man.

And now, with Norman standing in front of him once again, Ben wanted nothing more than to probe him for information. Where had he been? What else had SHIELD done to him? What was he planning now? But he knew better than to scratch at any walls in Norman’s memory that could be keeping Spider-Man’s secrets locked tightly away. For now, small talk would have to do.

🔹🕸️🕷️🕸️🔹

The next day, as the wind whipped past him, Ben couldn’t help but think this was the easiest part about stepping into Peter’s shoes. Hot off of stopping a purse snatcher, Spider-Man raced across Manhattan at breakneck pace, hurtling downwards and then rocketing upwards carried by his webs. It had taken no time to tap into the muscle memory of slinging and swinging, pulling off impressive acrobatic manoeuvres with ease. In the years past, Ben was limited in how much he could get out and just swing, having to be careful to not end up on Spider-Man’s radar. But with Peter missing, and Ben officially moonlighting as the friendly neighbourhood wall crawler, he could swing as freely as he pleased. That also meant he was back to fighting crime wherever he saw it, which was hardly easy but nothing compared to being thrown into the deep end behind the scenes of the Maggia-Goblin gang war, labouring breathlessly to minimise civilian casualties.

Of course, he had to get himself a new suit. The improvised red jumpsuit and blue hoodie combo he had rocked when he came out of hiding was fine for then, but now he needed something more traditional if he was stepping in for the real deal. As Ben swung down 53rd Street and past the MoMA, tethering around the corner to speed down 6th Avenue, he felt proud and secure inside the suit he had built with a bit of help from Gwen Stacy, Peter’s girlfriend. It had all the familiar shapes, but with an overwhelming amount of navy blue down Ben’s arms and legs. Still, bright and big was the web-patterned red across his chest and mask, with a much larger black spider insignia emblazoned across his torso. Something to loudly proclaim that Spider-Man was back.

Mid-swing, Ben ejected a spent web-fluid cartridge and pressed another into place, smiling. Around his wrists wrapped silver web shooters, a bulkier model than Spider-Man had recently used, but they held sentimental value. Ben had fished them out from under Peter’s bed at Aunt May’s house, the last remains of the hi-tech suit he remembered inheriting from his father’s Oscorp days, the Mark Ones.

As he swung, he had to fight against the rest of the world slipping away, helped by the sudden buzzing in his ear. A text message. He didn’t need to check who it was, it was obvious. Obvious he was late.

🔹🕸️🕷️🕸️🔹

Ben pulled his green turtleneck up as he turned the corner out of one of the many alleys he had stashed a change of clothes in and rushed down the street. The café was a whole block away, but he reminded himself he was already late. What was a few minutes more? He would have suggested the home field comforts of the Daily Grind, but there were too many people there who knew the face of Ben Reilly. No, this was firmly a Peter Parker sort of social function.

He pushed into the café and was immediately hit with the smells of sizzling bacon and the world’s strongest coffee. The place wasn’t his suggestion, but his needs were simple enough that he immediately knew it would do. Ben then looked to his left and immediately saw who he was looking for.

Ned Leeds rose from his seat with a smile on his face. He looked so different to how Ben remembered him, and not just for the smooth silver suit he was dressed in. He had lost weight, gotten into grooming, and most importantly found a confidence that suited him splendidly. “Pete!” he beamed.

Ben moved over to him and threw his arms around Ned.

While he had a lot of Peter’s memories, there was also a lot Ben was missing, presumably from and around when there started to be two Peters in New York instead of one, parts from after their lives diverged. Peter had graduated high school, Eddie had gone off to the army, Mary had left and returned to New York, Flash had apologised to Peter and Peter had forgiven him. It left Ben in a difficult situation where he desperately wanted to reconnect with all of the people who he remembered as being so important to him, but couldn’t get too close in case they realised he had forgotten so many recent events. But Ned was different. Ned was someone who - as Ben quickly learned - had hardly spoken to Peter since high school, who rushed off to Los Angeles to start a life in entertainment journalism and spent a lot of time trying and failing to keep in touch with his childhood friends. So now, as he came back to NYC to look after his family following the gang war, Ned was in the perfect place to reconnect with his childhood friend, and Ben knew just as much about him as Peter would.

“Hey, before I forget: congratulations on graduating!” Ned added, patting Ben on the back before sinking back into his seat.

“Congrats on the new job!” Ben replied as he moved to the chair opposite Ned’s. “Couldn’t have come at a better time.”

“Yeah, well, I slipped the Bugle a couple of celebrity exclusives back when Jameson was in charge, and I guess Robbie wanted to return the favour,” Ned replied. “Makes me the new entertainment consultant.”

“You’ve come a long way from movie reviews in the school newspaper!” Ben chuckled.

“Don’t knock it, Mom still has some of those framed on the refrigerator,” Ned teased back.

“How are your folks?” asked Ben, remembering what they had gone through recently.

“Okay,” Ned replied. “Dad hurt his back coming out of retirement to help the fire department during the gang stuff, so they’re both really grateful having me and Winn back from out west to help out around the house.”

“That’s great,” Ben smiled. “Hey, do you remember when Eddie blew chunks on the school trip to the zoo?”

Ned’s face lit up as he almost spilt his coffee. “Oh, because he saw that giraffe giving birth!”

“Yeah!” Ben chuckled. “You think about it, they really shouldn’t have left a pregnant giraffe in the open enclosure…”

“I think I remember Eddie saying something like that - pretty emphatically - on the bus ride home!” Ned replied

“They teach you big words like ‘emphatically’ in Hollywood?” Ben teased.

Ned smirked. “I’m sure they taught you lots of big words studying Chemistry, eh, Pete? Like, uh, ‘hydrochloric’.”

Ben shook his head and smiled. “We both learned about hydrochloric acid in 7th grade, remember?”

“Yeah, well I trust you’ve learned a lot more since!” Ned continued. “Speaking of: What are you gonna do with that degree, huh? What are your next steps?”

“Uh, well—”

Ben had no idea. He had no sort of long term plan, especially not as Peter. The real Peter Parker could show back up any day now, especially with Mary and Gwen out looking for him. And that was to say nothing about the fact that Ben hadn’t studied a day at ESU. Hell, he didn’t even remember graduating high school. He had spent the last few years revising for his GED in between as many shifts as he could put in at the Daily Grind to support himself. Any future employment plans for him would certainly have nothing to do with science, with his dream, for at least the foreseeable future.

But Peter was different. Peter was a college graduate.

“I’m not sure,” Ben replied. “Honestly, I went straight from high school to college, and haven’t stopped. Maybe everything that’s happened lately is a good sign to… slow down, take some time figuring things out.”

Ned furrowed his brow, considering his response.

“Fair enough,” said Ned. “Hey, did you hear Eddie’s back in town?”

No. Ben very much had not heard that. “He is?” he replied. “From the army?”

“Yeah, from the army. Got a security job somewhere.”

“You’ve spoken to him?” Ben asked. By all accounts, Peter hadn’t seen Eddie for years either.

“No,” said Ned. “Just, you know, word on the street.”

Ben nodded. “Right…”

“Anyway—” Ned rose to his feet. “It’s been real, but the Bugle calls. It’s been great to see you, Pete. We’ll have to do this again sometime soon.”

“Yeah,” Ben smiled. “For sure.”

🔹🕸️🕷️🕸️🔹

So, with Ned on his way back to the Daily Bugle offices, Ben similarly got back to work, taking back to the skies as Spider-Man just in time for a nightly patrol. He made his usual rounds, continuing the habits he had fallen into over the last month, checking in with various firehouses, keeping an eye on the city’s darkest alleys, and otherwise staying alert for anything odd. It was a careful balance for the web-slinger, to keep his eye on the street below while able to climb so high.

It was a quiet night in Manhattan - which was hard to come by - so when Ben spotted a familiar face down on the ground, he felt justified to slow down on peoplewatch for a bit.

Flash Thompson was walking down Broadway, his hand intertwined with another young man Ben recognised by Mary’s briefings as Hobie Brown, his boyfriend. As Ben clung to the billboard atop the Stephen Sondheim Theatre, he watched the pair walking down West 43rd Street, exchanging inaudible words. The last Ben remembered talking to Flash, he was something of a blunt instrument, a bully however you sliced it. Now, he seemed more himself than Ben had ever seen. But something was wrong. Flash and Hobie seemed to have had a good night - perhaps they had seen a show - but Flash was very clearly on edge.

Ben knew that Flash was only two months off of being attacked by the Hobgoblin and held captive, only rescued by a chase encounter with Daredevil. Hobgoblin was still in the wind, unaccounted for. It was only natural that Flash would be tense.

Ben thought back to all the times he remembered being shoved into lockers, or publicly humiliated by the apparent ‘alpha-jock’ all those years ago. Like all of those days, they felt so far away. It was difficult for Ben to gauge how much he himself had changed from that pubescent teenager he had remembered being, the kid who had to learn responsibility the hard way. He had a whole new name now, new friends - albeit only a few, and was trying in earnest to forge new dreams. But all of that had been put on hold for this whole operation of Mary and Gwen’s. But Flash, it was clear as day how much he had grown; how far he had come from where he started.

So, figuring that this was such a quiet night in Manhattan, the Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man elected to follow Flash and Hobie from a distance - at least for a few blocks - to make sure they got home okay.

Then, half an hour and a subway train later, Ben watched as Flash planted a kiss on Hobie’s cheek before Hobie vanished into his apartment building. It looked as though Flash was going in as well, but had elected for a moment to himself outside. Then, something unexpected happened.

Flash looked up, and across the street, directly to the spot on the parallel wall to which Spider-Man clung, limbs sprawled out. He didn’t need to call out; he knew Spidey knew.

So, with a quick web zip, Ben flung himself across the street and landed with bowed legs to absorb the shock, just feet away from Flash.

“Hey Spider-Man,” said Flash. He seemed more tired, perhaps confused, than angry. “I dig the new suit.”

“Oh, this?” Spidey replied with a chirp. “This is just a seasonal thing; don’t get too attached.”

“Were you following us home?” Flash asked. He moved back slowly. It was astounding, he was thoroughly unafraid of the masked hero. There were few civilians like that. “I saw you a few times on our way back. Thought I’d lost you when we took the subway.”

Ben looked around. The street seemed mostly empty, well out of the way of the nightly hubbub. Here he was, dressed in full Spidey regalia, having a conversation on the street with Flash Thompson. Absurd.

He began, “Look, I know you’ve been having a hard time and—”

“Wait, you know me?”

Oh, God.

“Spider-Man knows me!” Flash’s face lit up with warmth. Not the same warmth Ben saw when he was with Hobie, with a simple joy. Almost childlike. “Look, Spider-Man, I’ve always been a huge fan, but… aren’t there thousands of people in New York that could have done with a walk home? I’m sure we would have been fine.”

The old Flash would have gotten violent at even the implication he could have needed help with something, nevermind something as immensely masculine as keeping himself safe. But this Flash? Ben could see why Peter had forgiven him for everything.

“I’ll be honest, Flash,” Spidey replied. Flash couldn’t hide his reaction - only minimise it - to being addressed by name by the hero. “What happened to you was enough to really mess anyone up… and I guess I’m sorry I wasn’t there to rescue you.”

Flash had been coming in pretty quick with his replies, but this time he took a moment, considering his words carefully. This time, it was a lot harder for Ben to read his mind looking at his face. Then he spoke.

“Thank you, Spider-Man,” he managed a small, earnest smile. “I… haven’t been doing all that well, and… Well, maybe I’ll sleep better knowing you’ve got my back. But, it’s not your job to rescue everyone in New York. Not all at once. I’m sure you saved a lot of people that night, and I’m grateful that they’re safe because of you.”

Ben nodded. And he kept nodding, perhaps a tad too much. Then he took a deep breath. “You got it.” He shot a web up to the building above. “Take care of yourself, Flash.”

Flash smiled.

And Spider-Man pulled on the web, lifting himself up and away.

🔹🕸️🕷️🕸️🔹

There were many parts of stepping into Peter Parker’s shoes that were as easy as pie. Looking like the guy, remembering enough of his life to keep up appearances - that was no issue. Getting to reunite with all these people he had missed for so long, that was like a gift from above. Bearing the guilt of his deception was harder, but justifiable given the circumstances. Bluffing his way through conversations with people Peter had met in the years since Ben’s memories ended, that was hard. But then, getting to be New York’s hero was its own reward.

But that was nothing compared to Ben’s favourite thing about being Peter Parker, or getting to be him this past month. It was his ability to be continually surprised by New York, by its people, by its resilience and its capacity for change. He looked forward to being a part of that as Ben Reilly.

With the night coming to a close, Ben swung off towards the edge of the city, out towards Queens, where Aunt May was waiting. But he didn’t get far before his Spider-Sense activated once again, his whole body lurching in shock. At the midline of his swing, Ben let go of his web, continuing on with his forward momentum. He then flung himself to the left, sending himself into a rapid spin lengthways, narrowly dodging a rapidfire volley of arrows before catching the very last one just inches before it reached his chest.

Ben cast a web, slowing himself down and pulling himself onto the side of a nearby building, and searched the skyline in the direction the arrows had come from. It took him no time at all to find the shooter, for it seemed he wasn’t even trying to hide. There he was, standing on a lower balcony, slowly nocking another arrow onto his bow. Hawkeye.

To be continued next month in Sensational Spider-Man #2

Also make sure to check out Elusive Spider-Man #1 and Ultimate Spider-Man #1

MarvelsNCU presents…

##ELUSIVE SPIDER-MAN

Issue One: Move Away

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Edited by Mr_Wolf_GangF

Next Issue > Coming Next Month

BZZZZT. BZZZZT.

Click.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Am I speaking to Felicia Hardy?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Hello, Miss Hardy. I’m Officer Pollard calling from the New York Police Department. This is a call regarding your father.”

“My father? How… how is he?”

“... Ahem. Miss Hardy, I’m afraid it’s not good news. Are you sitting down?”

“...Yes.”

“Miss Hardy, I regret to inform you that your father passed away last night in his sleep. I’m very sorry.”

“...”

“You should know we’re launching an investigation into his death, but at this time we suspect no foul play was involved.”

“...”

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

“Dad…”

“I’m very sorry, I know this must be—”

“No. No, no, this can’t be… This isn’t real…”

“Miss Hardy, I appreciate that this is a very difficult time, so if you need, we can refer you to some support—”

Click.

  🔴⚪️🕷⚪️🔴  

Gwen Stacy tutted to herself as she repeated the same riff for what felt like the hundredth time. Her pinky slipped from the string and her bass let out the disappointed groan of an incorrect note yet again. There was a well-known saying about repetition and madness, but Gwen tried not to think about it.

There was a sense of calm - of peace - that came over her when she picked up her bass, the kind of stillness and relief that one feels when returning home from a long day at work. It didn’t matter to her if she spent three hours on one riff, or if she just couldn’t get her head around that one strumming pattern - playing music was her haven. The thought crossed her mind, as it often did, that this could be something she pursued professionally; whether it be going into music production or forming a band, the idea greatly excited her.

Knock knock knock.

“Hey, kid,” George Stacy’s muffled voice announced from the other side of the door. “I thought you said you were gonna do some more job hunting tonight.”

Gwen looked over at her desk, towards her closed laptop, then down at her watch. The time gleamed back at her from the electronic display - 8:39pm. “I, uh… I’ve done some already.”

There was a pause, then a hushed hiss. Was he sighing? “You’ve been playing that bass for almost two hours straight.”

“I know—”

“And before that, we were eating dinner, so I don’t know when—”

“It was… earlier, Dad.”

“I just don’t want that internship you did to go to waste—”

“I’ll sort it, Dad! Jeez!” Her voice was louder than she intended, and she winced at the harsh tone of her words. There was another pause, this time painfully long, before she heard her father’s footsteps moving further and further from the door - across the hall, then down the stairs. Guilt bubbled inside of her, but behind it was something more - something more ichorous and angry. A deep seated frustration at her father, at his insinuation that she was ‘wasting’ her time.

He had never accepted her love of music, that much was clear. He saw it at its most basic level - a nice hobby, or an extra thing to put on job application forms; a stepping stone to bigger and better things. But he didn’t see, and refused to see, what drew Gwen into it - the comfort, the joy, the fun it brought her.

And as she finally managed to play through that darned riff, keeping her pinky strong this time, her phone started to ring.

  🔴⚪️🕷⚪️🔴  

Twenty minutes had passed since Felicia Hardy had hung the phone up, tossed it onto her bed, and promptly slumped into a ball onto the floor of her room. She had anticipated tears, planned to stifle her sobs with the sleeves of her shirt so that Mary wouldn’t hear her, but nothing came out. Instead she sat staring at the soft white faux-fur rug beneath her, her face vacant but her mind racing.

Communications with her father had been scarce. For starters, he had refused all visits shortly after his incarceration. He had never given Felicia a reason why, and despite her insistence on seeing him, his stance on the matter never wavered. Aside from a letter on her birthday and a handful of phone calls, Walter Hardy had been incredibly hard to contact.

Then suddenly, Felicia noticed that a month had passed since she had seen him. Then another. And then, as the third month dawned, she received a call from an unknown number - an event she had learned to associate with excitement and joy, expecting to hear her father’s voice on the other end.

Felicia blinked and suddenly she was staring at the rug on the floor once again, instead of swimming through thought after thought in her head. With weakened arms, she pulled herself up off of the floor and sighed a shaky breath. There was no sadness inside of her, and the realisation of this fact alarmed her. Shouldn’t she be mourning? Shouldn’t she be beside herself in tears? No, instead there was an ache inside of her, a black hole in the bottom of her stomach that made her feel heavy and fragile all at once.

He had died, alone in a prison cell, and she couldn’t be there for him in her last moments. And it’s all because of George Stacy.

In her first few visits to her father, Felicia had been so full of rage at the injustice her father was facing. She swore to his face that she would make the man who did this to him pay, but was met with her father’s reluctance. ‘You’re a good kid’, he would say. ‘Don’t get yourself in trouble just because you think I deserve better.’ But as she thought about all he had been through - all they had been through as father and daughter - getting into trouble seemed like a small price to pay for him. As time passed and her conversations with him waned, she felt her anger simmer down, not in the least exacerbated by her friendship with his daughter, Gwen.

But as she dusted the residue white fluff off of her legs, she felt the familiar sting of rage within her once again, and the vague flickers of an idea began to form. And though she had to wait, looking out for the moment to arise, she allowed an old familiar grudge to resurface in the back of her mind.

  🔴⚪️🕷⚪️🔴  

Mary-Jane Watson wrung her hands as she waited patiently for Gwen to come into the lounge. She shuffled with the hem of her shirt for a moment, pulling it down slightly; her new height and muscle mass still took some getting used to, as did her almost entirely new wardrobe. Nevertheless, as she heard her friend entering the room, she straightened her back and smiled.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Gwen said sheepishly. “Sorry, hope I didn’t take too long.”

“No, it’s fine,” Mary waved her hands dismissively. “Shall we… get started?”

Gwen lowered herself into a seat, the glass of water raised to her mouth, and as she took a large gulp from it, she threw out a thumbs up to Mary.

Mary cleared her throat. “Right. Well, I suppose you remember the conversation we had that night at the vigil.”

Gwen nodded slowly. “The night you and Ben apprehended that bank robber? Yeah, pretty hard to forget.”

Mary let out a breathy laugh, then continued. “Well, after that, I decided to see how much info I could gather about Peter’s whereabouts. Or, failing that, anything to do with Spider-Man sightings in between Peter leaving and Ben stepping in.”

“And?”

Mary frowned. “I mean, I don’t know what I expected, really. Ben’s doing such a good job that it’s like Peter Parker never left. And as for Spider-Man…” Mary shook her head.

“In a way, I guess that’s good,” Gwen said. “Means that Ben’s doing his job, right?”

“He’s doing Peter’s job, at least.”

There was a pause. Gwen took another sip from her glass.

“Well,” Gwen started, before pausing again. Mary finding nothing in a month wasn’t exactly good news; the longer they went without any sign of Peter, the harder it would be to find him later down the line. As she opened her mouth to speak again, Mary turned her head around to face the door to the corridor. Light footsteps, which grew closer for a moment before fading away once more.

“Oh,” Mary mumbled. “That’ll be Felicia.”

“I think we need to act fast,” Gwen continued, her voice more hushed. “It’s been, what, almost two months now?”

“Is there anyone else I can talk to? Anywhere else I can check?”

“What if he’s gone out of state?” Gwen bit her nails. “We could turn all of New York upside down when all along he was in - God, I don’t know - Pennsylvania.”

Suddenly, the door to the corridor opened, and Felicia stepped out. Gwen felt that there was something different about her - maybe it was her more casual clothes or the way she was holding herself, but there seemed to be an almost eerie difference about her that Gwen couldn’t place. The pale-haired woman eyed the other two for a brief moment, before taking a deep breath in. “If you’re talking about who I think you’re talking about, I’m in.”

Gwen blinked. After a moment’s silence, Mary was the first to speak. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“I’m not deaf, Mary,” Felicia smiled. “‘Almost two months’. ‘Turning New York upside down’. These walls are thin, y’know.”

Gwen rose to her feet. Her heart quickened. “Listen, I don’t—”

“Calm down, Gwen, I already know all about it.”

“All about what?”

“About Peter.” Felicia thought for a moment, and then added, “And about Mary.”

The three women stood staring at each other for a moment, with Mary and Gwen electing to remain quiet lest they give away more to Felicia than they should. And so, as the silence bordered on unbearable, Felicia rolled her eyes.

“My roommate gets sent to the hospital after an incident at Horizon Labs. She goes in - what - 140 pounds? 5 foot 6?” She folds her arms. “She comes out almost 6 feet tall and looks like she’s been doing bench presses the whole time. Then maybe a week after she gets out, the news start talking about a new Spider-Woman.”

“Felicia—”

“From there, it’s not hard to reverse-engineer how she might’ve gotten these powers, or who’s a common denominator when these sorts of things happen.” She held out one hand. “Peter Parker.” She held out the other. “Spider-Man.” Then, she gently overlapped her two hands. “They’re the same.”

Gwen and Mary shared a concerned look, but before they could react, Felicia huffed. “Okay, look. I really commend this determination to keeping these secrets, but I know how concerned you both must be for Peter. I mean, God, I’m pretty concerned for the guy and I barely knew him like you two did. And from the sounds of it, you’re kinda floundering. So are you gonna let me help or not?”

Sucking in a breath, Mary slowly nodded. “We’d appreciate your help.”

“Thank you,” Felicia grinned.

“Alright, if we’re all on the same page, then what do we do now?” Gwen asked, fidgeting with a loose strand of blonde hair. “I mean, I do have one idea, but…”

“Oh?” Mary leaned forwards. “What’s your idea?”

“Well, it’d involve the NYPD.” Gwen clasped her hands together in front of her, her face betraying her curiosity and excitement. “We can always see if the NYPD database has any information we can use. I know they have security footage, police reports - all kinds of things that might help us.”

“Your dad doesn’t know about Peter being Spider-Man, though,” Mary frowned.

But Gwen only smiled. “Who says I’m asking my dad? Honestly, you’d expect the NYPD to have much tougher security - it seems weirdly easy to hack.”

“Is that so?” Felicia quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect you to be the hacking type. Especially if it’s to spite your dad”

“Then you’re gonna learn a lot about me, Hardy.”

  🔴⚪️🕷⚪️🔴  

It was on days like these that Gwen was grateful that her father was such a heavy sleeper.

His office being located so close to his bedroom was, for the most part, a convenience for both himself and his daughter; on most days rolling out of bed and immediately into work without having to wake Gwen up was a breeze. But on some days it was far less than ideal, such as when George decided he wanted a bowl of cereal before going to work that morning, or when Gwen chose to sneak into his office to hack into the state police department.

She had subconsciously memorised which floorboards were more prone to squeaking than others through years of navigating the house and, after tactically planning out her path, she made her break for it. One step, two step, three, four, and with a fifth she was at the threshold of the office. She took a soft breath in, holding it as she opened the door. To her delight and surprise, the door made no noise; she was free to enter.

The office felt oddly eerie at night; the framed photos and various commemorative medals cast harsh shadows against the pale grey of the wall, lit only by the sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains. The computer sat proudly atop the newly dusted desk as if it were perched on a pedestal. Gwen pressed the button on the computer tower and finally released the breath she had been holding. A soft hum sounded as the computer whirred to life.

“Okay,” Gwen whispered to herself, making almost no sound. “Let’s do this.”

Navigating to the NYPD database itself was the easy part, but passing the login page was easily the hardest. A part of her hoped that her father had saved his password on the website, but alas she was not so lucky. So instead she enacted Plan B; she searched through every document, every note, every word he had written on his computer in the hopes that one of them would reveal even a hint towards his login address. With every minute that went by, Gwen got more and more paranoid, more and more worried that her father would appear around the corner and ask her what she was doing.

That’s when she saw it - a document titled ‘Passwords’. She hurriedly clicked it and sure enough, there it was. ‘NYPD database login’. She stared at it for a few seconds, somewhat convinced it would disappear if she looked away, before copying and pasting the information into the login page. With a press of the Enter key, the page opened out onto a landing page, greeting her with “Welcome George Stacy” emblazoned across the top of the screen.

She had done it.

Fumbling for her phone, she made a note of the username and password she had used before closing every window, every document, and every file explorer she had opened in her search. Her heart began to race. She pressed the ‘POWER OFF’ command with haste, turning to leave the moment the screen went dark. And in her hurry, still basking in the disbelief at her success, she misstepped onto a creaky floorboard before disappearing into her room.

To be continued next month in Elusive Spider-Man #2

Be sure to check out Sensational Spider-Man #1 and Ultimate Spider-Man #1

Warning: The files you are trying to access are classified. Unauthorized access will lead to detainment and neutralization. Access is only available to Alpha Clearance and above.

All personnel with access must first go through a psych test before accessing the files. Be aware that these files can mess with one’s sense of self, one’s sense of reality, or simply possess the individual reading

Username: u/DarkLordJurasus

Password: Crimson Blood

Thumbprint: [Approved]

Welcome to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Archives

—-----------------

Report Title: Son of Victor

Report #196857

Written by agent u/Predaplant

The Vision felt unsettled.

He had been doing all he could to keep Latveria in a decent enough state in preparation for Lord Doom’s eventual return. He even felt like he had been doing a good job at it. The economy was in a decent state, and the people were happy. And yet, that didn’t stop him from being constantly plagued with fears.

The world was too unstable to not fear, especially with Latveria’s place as a relatively tiny piece within it all. But the outside world was not what the Vision feared most; he knew that Doom had supplied the country with enough weapons and technology to easily defend against any of Latveria’s neighbours.

What frightened the Vision most were the threats from within the country. The idea of the population learning of Doom’s departure, of the fact that there were no heirs to the throne.

Latveria could easily descend into chaos, infighting, and civil war. Doom was the undisputed ruler, but without him? Vision knew that he was unlikely to ever be accepted as heir, mechanical as he was, and Doom was so self-reliant that there were few generals or advisors with any sort of political power.

Vision had to do something to plug the vacuum, and he had to do it sooner rather than later.

But what was there for him to do? It wouldn’t make sense for him to fake an heir; he’d have to create one of his own.

Luckily, Doom had left behind a number of ways for Vision to accomplish precisely that.

Progress was slow, at first. Vision had to piece together a number of sciences in order to accomplish his goal. Biology, mechanics, magic... it wasn’t intuitive to make them all work together. But with enough time, the plan slowly started to come together.

Once he was ready, Vision took a whole day to himself to actually do the work. He found a hair of Doom’s, still resting delicately on the throne where he had left it, and reverently used it in order to supply the DNA necessary for his creation.

He worked all day and all night, but that was no issue for him, untiring as he was in his pursuits. Finally, he had accomplished his goal: the heir that he sought had been created.

Not a baby, for a baby could not rule if called upon. Vision decided an adolescent was the right age. Old enough to potentially take care of a country, young enough to be conceivable as a more natural child of Doom, if called upon.

As the child stirred for the first time, Vision felt a deep emotion within him. His heart grew heavy, and he suddenly felt a great depth of responsibility. He had taken charge of a country before, but this... this felt different.

The child opened his eyes and turned to face Vision. “What am I doing here? Who are you?”“It’s good to see you, Victor,” Vision told the child. “I just needed to run some tests on you; I’m sorry. I’ll take you to your mother now, if that’s alright.”The child... Victor... nodded and climbed up off the operating table. Vision guided him over to the side room nearby, where a Latverian woman had been waiting all this time. She had accepted raising an orphan child, but she did not know the true extent of this boy’s importance. Vision hoped that she would take good care of him.

She smiled and hugged the boy. Vision turned away, the tightness in his chest compounding.

He walked away. He was behind on his work, anyways.

Running a country was a full-time job, and not one that allowed him terribly many breaks.

He had created life. Just another miracle out of the many he had pulled off during his time in Latveria.

—--------------

Report Title: Transient Lycanthrope Abductions

Report # 332846

Written by agent u/FPSGamer48

This report concerns the post-Wundagore increase of supernatural activity across the globe, specifically in the Balkans region. Over the past few months, hundreds of supposed “werewolf” sightings have been made across the small Kingdom of Transia. At the same time, an equally large number of abductions have been conducted. We believe these two events to be linked, and have set Agent Marcus as our leading investigator. All accounts point to a small organization centered in Germany, but details remain scarce. We also have reason to believe the United Kingdom’s task force to deal with the supernatural is equally aware of these instances.

Record Update: The organization, otherwise known as the Committee of Lycanthrope Hunters, behind these abductions is believed to have now been eliminated by the Moon Knight and an unknown Werewolf companion. Increased surveying of Transian Emigrant populations suggested. Further files on Moon Knight to be evaluated by WAND Task Force MS-1. Clearance from Director Sheffield into introduction pending - Agent Marcus

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Report Name: A Good Dream

Report #41954

Written by agent u/voidkiller826

When Wanda Maximoff opened her eyes, the sun was shining brightly above, its warm rays bathing her in light. Sitting up, she found herself surrounded by a field of soft grass, where beautiful white roses swayed gently in the breeze.

“Sister!”

She turned at the sound of the familiar voice to see her brother, Pietro, jogging toward her. He wore a casual white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black trousers, as if ready for a simple evening out. Wanda glanced down at herself—she was dressed in a stunning red and pink gown, her shoulders bare. Two black bracelets adorned her wrists, along with black rings on her fingers.

“Brother—”

CAW!

Her words were abruptly cut off by the sharp cry of a black crow flying overhead.

“What are you doing here, lazing around?” Pietro asked, his hands resting on his hips. “They’re waiting for you!”

Wanda frowned, confused by what he meant, but she followed behind him nonetheless. Pietro was already walking ahead, his pace quick, while she tried to catch up. Soon, they stood on top of a hill, gazing out at a vast forest stretching endlessly below them, the trees thick and foreboding.

“Why are we—”

CAW!

The black crow interrupted her again, its piercing call making Wanda grit her teeth in annoyance.

“Hey! Why are you standing around?” Pietro teased impatiently, now at the forest's entrance. “Don’t be slow, sister.”

Wanda pouted at his teasing but followed him into the woods. Unlike the serene field, the forest was dark, oppressive, and uninviting. Eventually, they emerged into a clearing. At the center stood a long dining table, with four chairs along each side and one at the head.

“What is this—”

CAW!

Her glare shifted to the black crow perched nearby, frustration mounting at the constant interruptions.

“And where have you been, sleepyhead?”

“You’re late, daughter.”

Wanda turned in surprise to see her sister, Lorna, seated at the table. Her green hair was tied back with a ribbon, and she wore a dress that mirrored Wanda's, but it was a deep green mixed with black. At the head of the table sat her father, Magneto, dressed sharply in a dark suit, a red cape draped over his shoulders. His helmet, black and white, rested atop his head like a crown.

Pietro guided Wanda to a seat on the left, near their father, with an empty chair beside her. He took his place beside Lorna on the right.

“Your mother has been looking for you,” Magneto said, his voice carrying an edge of disapproval.

“What—”

“There you are, Wanda.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Approaching the table was a woman carrying a tray of food. Magda, her mother, her dead mother. She wore a dark pink, flowing skirt with floral patterns that swayed with her every step. Her white blouse had loose sleeves, and a black vest completed the look. Resting on her head was a crimson crown, angular with sharp, pointed edges.

Wanda was speechless as Magda set the table, then sat beside her daughter with a warm smile.

“The food looks amazing!” Lorna praised, and Pietro nodded in agreement.

“Well done, my love,” Magneto added.

“Thank you, my love,” Magda replied, her gaze softening as she turned to Wanda. “Is something wrong, Wanda?”

Wanda struggled to find the right words, her mind clouded by confusion and disbelief. The sound of crows cawing echoed around them, growing louder. At last, she managed to speak.

“How… are you alive, Mom?”

“Because…” Magda’s gentle smile remained in place, through her eyes locked onto Wanda's. Slowly, they turned pitch black. “I wanted to remind you that you killed me.”

CAW!

The world around Wanda shifted violently. The blue sky turned blood red, and the vibrant trees withered into skeletal, dead things. What was once a peaceful meadow became a barren wasteland, full of decaying plants and scorched earth.

CAW!

Wanda turned back to the table and gasped. Her father, her sister, and Pietro—all of them—were now nothing more than skeletons. Yet they continued eating, moving as though nothing had changed, as if oblivious to their rotting forms.

CAW!

A cold shiver crept down Wanda’s spine as she felt her mother’s hand gently caress her cheek.

“Little witch… little witch,” Magda sang softly, her voice stripped of the warmth Wanda once knew, replaced with cruel malice. “You could have had all of this… if you had only accepted your destiny…”

“No…” Wanda whispered, her voice trembling.

Magda’s grip tightened, forcing Wanda to meet her inky black eyes. “There is no escaping it!” Her voice deepened into something monstrous as the world around them decayed even further. “You. Are. A monster!”

“NO!”

CAW! … … Wanda jolted awake, gasping for air. She was no longer in the forest—she was back in her room at Excalibur Headquarters. Her heart raced, her body trembling uncontrollably as the lingering echoes of the nightmare reverberated in her mind.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Her mother’s words—the accusation—kept repeating in her head, suffocating her thoughts. She buried her face in her knees, alone and haunted by the darkness she couldn’t escape. All she could feel was the weight of regret and guilt pressing down on her, the nightmare still clinging to her soul.

—---------------------

Report Title: The Darkhold Chronicles

Report #1666721

Written by agent u/DarkLordJurasus

[16:00:00] Agent William Flanks walked into an isolated, cameraless, experiment room while flanked by two sorcerers on loan from the Sanctum Santorum. On the table was the page of the Darkhold left to WAND.

[16:01:00] Agent William was warned once again of the potential dangers of reading from the Darkhold along with the potential benefits that the magic of the tomb can lead to. He affirmed his desire to read the page out loud.

[16:01:30] Agent William began to read from the page. Upon a check after the experiment, it was confirmed by a S.H.I.E.L.D. historian that the words were in a form of bastardized Cuneiform.

[16:02:50} The lights and cameras in the experiment room along with 4 adjacent rooms went out. It is unclear if this was an effect of the Darkhold or just a simple electrical outage.

[16:03:00] It was decided that it would be best to wait for the light to turn back on.

[16:05:00] Agent William was asked by the sorcerers how he was able to read the document despite not knowing Cuneiform. Agent William acted confused and claimed that the words were in english.

[16:05:20] The lights went back on. Hesitantly, head sorcerer of the group, Franklin Borne, agreed to the continuation of the experiment.

[16:05:40] Agent William began to read from the page again.

[16:05:50] Agent William seemed to increase the speed he read the page. From this point forward, Agent Williams increased the speed of their reading at a rate of 1 word per minute every 5 seconds.

[16:06:25} Agent William’s eyes began to glow white. Upon being given verbal instructions by Franklin Borne to stop the process, Agent William went quiet. He began to breathe heavily as his eyes turned back to normal.

[16:06:45] The Darkhold page was taken away from Agent William.The experiment was determined to be over.

[16:07:00] Agent William began to chant the words of the Darkhold page. His eyes turned back to the glowing white color.

[16:07:30] Head Sorcerer Franklin Borne attempts twice to verbally get Agent William to stop. Upon both failures, Borne gave permission for Agent William to be stopped through force.

[16:08:00] One of the two sorcerers under the command of Franklin Borne touched Agent William on the shoulder to try getting him to stop. The sorcerer let go and dropped to the ground, convulsing. The sorcerer was later declared dead. The cause of death was deemed a brain aneurysm.

[16:09:20] Two magical means were used to attempt to stop Agent William. A silencing spell was placed on the agent, which seemed to have only made the chanting louder. When a bolt of lightning struck Agent William, it seemingly evaporated without affecting the chanting agent. Head Sorcerer Franklin Borne decided both he and his subordinate must remain in the room to try dealing with whatever the page summoned.

[16:17:00] Agent William stopped chanting and his eyes returned to normal. The agent spoke to the two sorcerers in the room, claiming to have seen the Nameless One and the true faeries that serve him. He then began to cry and he dropped to his knees, begging not to be brought to R’leyh.

[16:17:30] A popping sound was heard from Agent William, followed by a sudden, ear-piercing scream. Borne went over to investigate, careful not to touch Agent William, and discovered that William’s leg was broken.

[16:17:50] More popping sounds were heard from Agent William as fingers, legs, and arms bent and shifted. Upon further examination, it was discovered that Agent William had 137 different breaks in his bones, his right femur alone shattered in twelve different spots. Both sorcerers in the room attempted to stabilize Agent William through the usage of healing and stasis magic. It seemed to work.

[16:19:03] Agent William’s state seemed to not grow any better. He continued to cry, his screams of agony only broken up by breathless pleas of mercy. Despite the work of both sorcerers, their magic seemed to not be able to heal the injuries to Agent William.

[16:22:20] Agent William’s pleas of mercy died down, replaced with pleas of death and relief. The subordinate sorcerer in the room asked Head Sorcerer Franklin Borne what to do. Borne noted that neither sorcerer can leave for help as if one of them stopped casting their spells, Agent William will surely die. Borne suggested that both sorcerers yell for help.

[20:23:00] After four minutes of the sorcerers yelling along with the cries for death coming from Agent William, Head Sorcerer Franklin Borne determined that their current strategy was unsuccessful and only prolonging the suffering of Agent William. Borne told the subordinate sorcerer to release the spell.

[20:26:00] Agent William was declared dead. Cause of death was a broken rib puncturing the heart leading to internal bleeding.

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Report Title: The Spookiest Dimension

Report #19686

Written by agent u/PresidentWerewolf

“Uncle Johnny, come on!”

Valeria pulled with both hands, her heels digging into the floor, while Johnny Storm checked his phone.

“Hold on,” Johnny mumbled as Franklin wrapped both arms around his leg and leaned back. “Oh man… Sheila's a nurse…” He let out a long sigh and as he put his phone away.

“Your friend has to work at the hospital tonight?” Franklin asked. “That sucks!”

“What? Oh, uh yeah. You know, you guys, I’m kind of missing a big Halloween party to be here. Your mom owes me big.”

“It’s not our fault Ben’s baseball camp is in LA,” Valeria whined.

“Yeah, yeah, “Johnny said. “So, where are we going?”

“Are you serious? Dad said he was setting up a spookhouse!” Franklin said. “Let’s go!”

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” the children cried.

“Okay!” Johnny gave in just enough to let them pull him along from the rec room. “Do we even know where your dad is?”

“Hey guys!” The lanky, slightly elongated form of Reed Richards called to them from the end of the hall, near the stairwell.

“Geez, Reed!” Johnny exclaimed. “You look like Slenderman like that.”

“Creepy!” Franklin laughed.

Reed’s neck stretched towards them until his face came into the light, revealing a long, jagged scar that warped the shape of his cheek and jaw. The children shied away, but Johnny nudged them forward with a laugh.

“And you guys want to go through a haunted house? Let’s go, uh, EVIL Reed!”

Reed cackled like a madman and whipped his body back into the shadows. A few seconds later, the door to the stairwell opened and slammed shut. Val and Franklin sprinted after him, giggling as they pushed at each other to get ahead.

“He’s kind of good at this,” Johnny muttered.

Floating, glowing arrows led them up until they were at the entrance to Reed’s lab on the top floor. The huge bay doors were open just enough for one person to step through. Inside was darkness, flickering gently with some hidden light.

The kids hesitated again, and again Johnny pushed them along. Still, they made him go in first. Inside the lab, all the lights were off. The equipment was dark, and Reed’s various machines and robots were still. The only thing active was the huge ring of Reed’s portal, the aperture glowing with swirling greens, pinks, and blues.

Valeria gasped. “It doesn’t usually look like that!”

“That’s because…” Johnny said.

“Spookhouse dimension!” everyone shouted, and they ran for the portal, bolting straight through.

On the other side was a black forest full of decaying, skeletal trees. Above, sparse, yellow stars squinted down through an indigo sky. Johnny and the kids stopped as cool, dank air hit them in the face.

“Whoa…this almost feels real,” Johnny said.

“Dad’s amazing!” Franklin yelled.

From the dark line of trees came Reed’s voice, pitched high and shrill. “Over here!”

As they stepped towards him, the foliage all around began to rustle, and then shake furiously. Slowly, shadowy forms emerged into the clearing, hulking, shaking beings that moaned in the night.

“Uncle Ben?” Valeria said warily.

The huge shadow of Ben Grimm came into the moonlight, his disfigured features grinning at them with hungry glee.

“Hey, that one looks like Willy Lumpkin!” Franklin yelled. “And there’s old lady Agatha!” They identified their familiar friends and neighbors one by one, each face pale and marked with hideous wounds. They all hobbled on wobbly legs, closing in on the trio from all sides.

“Um…” Franklin said. “Uncle Johnny?”

“Okay, maybe you guys are a bit young for this. Just remember, Reed kind of gets carried away with this stuff.”

“O-okay,” Valeria said, looking up at him. “If you say so.”

“It’s all fake, guys. Watch this. Flame on!” Johnny’s arm instantly exploded in orange flame, driving the deep shadows back into the woods. He pointed at the undead Ben Grimm, and a jet of fire shot out and hit him in the center of his chest.

At once, Ben screamed a horrible screech that sounded like voices layered on top of voices. The flame plunged into the center of his chest, and then it seemed to escape from his eyes and mouth as burning beams of light. The smoking body fell to the ground and began to fall apart.

Franklin’s eyes went wide. “Awesome! Val, it’s like zombie attacks!”

“Seriously?” Val tapped at a small pad on her wrist, and futuristic laser rifles appeared in each of her hands. She tossed one to Franklin.

“Best spookhouse ever!” they yelled as they began blasting.

The zombified versions of their friends came at them, shambling as fast as they could on decaying legs, as Johnny, Valeria, and Franklin cut them down with fire and lasers. From outside the circle, on black, pitted wings, Lyja shot up into the sky and dove down at them.

“I will eat your SOUL!” she shrieked.

“Oh man, this gets better every second,” Johnny laughed as he burned her to a crisp.

It was over in only a minute or two. The kids were left laughing and panting, and Johnny kept shooting balls of flame into the sky, seeing if any more ghouls would come out. When they were all done, they walked back into the dark lab through the portal, which winked out behind them.

“Oh my gosh! That was so much fun,” Val gushed

“Ben’s gonna be so mad,” Franklin said gleefully.

“It is a good thing Sue wasn’t around to see that,” Johnny said, laughing nervously. “Franklin just incinerated the mailman.”

Val tapped the wall and checked the panel there. “Dad’s down in the conference hall. Let’s go see him.”

The trio ran down the stairs, down the hall, and they burst through the doors of the conference hall. The lights were dimmed, and the front half of the room was decorated with black and orange streamers and rolling fog. The back half was sectioned off with a facade of a traditional haunted house. As they stopped, confused, Reed Richards stepped out from the front door. He was wearing a cheap-looking vampire mask, and he wiggled his long fingers.

“All right everyone! Are you ready to be SPOOKED?” After a few seconds of silence, he took off the mask and looked at Johnny, Franklin, and Valeria with concern.

“Are you guys okay? Why are you looking at me like that?”

—---------------------------------------------

Report Name: The Escapee’s Tale

Report #1954

Written by agent u/FPSGamer48

September, 1845

Location: Florida

The sounds of rattling chains echoed through the swamps of Dixie as four emaciated figures trudged through its muddy depths. These men and women, who risked their lives to escape their proclaimed eternity in bondage, now came face to face with the hardest part of their journey. The days of starvation as they rationed their food for the trip? The learning of guard patterns? Those final moments, as they wished friends and family the best before heading off into the unknown? Child’s play compared to this. The stories they’d heard, those passed down for generations from the first slaves on the peninsula, warned them of that.

“Still your emotions,” the largest, Jacob, reminded the others. The smallest, a woman named Eve, looked behind her, and could vaguely see the wavering lanterns coming near. Her heart jumped a beat, and so too did the swamp. The woman next to her grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her against a tree.

“Calm yourself!” she ordered, slapping Eve upside the head. Jacob looked out across the swamplands. From the gloom, two glowing red orbs began to rise out of the waters.

“Eve, Mary, quiet up now,” he let out with a hiss. The two women fell silent as they too saw the red spheres break through the tree line. The beast towered over them, its green mass easily reaching the height of the shack they’d spent their lives in. Its trunk swayed back and forth like a pendulum in the wind. As it walked, the waters seemed to part like the Red Sea, beckoning it to advance into them. Eve took a deep breath, as did the other three. They had to remember what they had been taught.

So the Man-Thing cometh, but I be not scared

For when the Man-Thing cometh, I know it not see ‘ere

For long as I stay calm

For long as I stay strong

The Man-Thing will pass

But for those who fear it

My God watch your ass

Behind the slaves, their former master and his entourage had only just begun to get off their horses. Rifles on their backs and lanterns in hand, they were ready to reclaim their property.

“Spread out!” their master growled at his sidekicks, “find them ‘fore the swamp swallows ‘em up!” Rage swelled in his head: he provided them food, a steady schedule, and shelter, everything one of their kind needed! And they had the gall to run off?! The slave master pulled at his mustache angrily as his boots sunk into the muck. Trudging along, he could see the two lanterns in front of him split ways as they went opposite directions. Each bobbed up and down with the steps of their holder, like Will-o-wisps in the dark. Looking up, only the stars were left to illuminate what the lanterns couldn’t. It was a new moon. Those damned slaves had certainly thought of everything, he groaned.

“Ahhhhhhh!” came a coarse yelp. The slave master brought his head back down to the horizon, but now there was only a single lantern bobbing in the distance. His heart turned to ice: had those savages really slaughtered one of his men?! Pulling out his rifle, he fired a shot in the general direction of where the lantern had been.

“Goddammit, when we’ve found you, there won’t be a bit o’ skin left on your backs for what you’ve put us through!” he shouted.

The other lantern continued to bob in the distance, but now also seemed to shake side to side. The other henchmen was nervous, his body shaking in freight. He’d also heard the scream from his partner, but he was the only one who saw the glow of the lantern get swallowed up into the air. Whatever had gotten him was big. At that moment, there came a gurgle and hiss from the waters beneath him. Jumping back, the man saw a gator slide by him. His heart jumping in his chest, he reached for his rifle to scare it off. Then came the vines.

The slave master watched as the second lantern collapsed into the water with only a loud splashing. His two compatriots were gone. He’d have to reclaim his property himself. With a growl, he trudged through the water to where the lantern disappeared. A gator watched at the edge of the lantern light. The slave master found nothing left.

“Couldn’ta been you,” he reckoned, “so what…” before he could wonder any longer, vines raised up from the waters, grasping his arms and wrapping around his chest. Up from the waters emerged the beast, its emerald green bulk pushing waves out across the Everglades as it rose. Those glowing, crimson eyes looked right into those of the slave master for only a second before its body came crashing down on him. There was but a single scream, and then: it was done. The light of the lantern disappeared.

Some days later, the four slaves, even more emaciated than when they started, but alive nonetheless, emerged from the swamps and began an even longer trek to the free north. When they arrived, they spoke first of their protector, who had swallowed up their assailants and allowed them to pass. They told their fellow freeman to spread the word down the underground channels to their fellow slaves: the Man-Thing was real, and it could be your saving grace.

—-----------------

Report Name: The Final Page

Report #10890284

Written by Agent ???

The Final Page is a magical artifact that takes the appearance of a classified report by a government agency. It seems to move at will and can take on multiple forms, including that of a digital file, webpage, physical report, or Reddit post.

The reader will not immediately think much of it upon reading the report. For government agents, they will think it merely a normal report. Those who come across it on the web, many see it as an internet tall-tale, like a creepy pasta, or from something like the fictional SCP foundation website.

Within 24 hours of reading the report, the reader will die by unnatural means. The cause of death is not always similar, sometimes being from weapons, other times by magic, and often by means of an animal.

As the artifact seemingly takes the form of a report about itself, S.H.I.E.L.D. has determined not to make an official report, keeping the knowledge of the artifact entirely passed down through verbal means.

Uncanny X-Men #20: Lead Poisoning

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Author: Predaplant

Editor: deadislandman1

Book: Uncanny X-Men

The Morlock tunnels were often difficult for Ororo. She liked the open air, and to be hidden away for so long irked her, especially when boxed in within the tiny subtunnels used as storage and, occasionally, as residences. She stayed in the central hall most of the time with Kitty, but even that had really started to grate on her.

She really just wanted to get out of this hole in the ground, but the Morlocks weren’t supposed to go outside in case it revealed where they were hiding, for the safety of the entire group.

Whenever she saw Callisto, Ororo could feel her entire body tense up, waiting for her to tell Ororo what her first outside assignment was going to be.

She had already been working to ensure that the Morlocks got enough fresh water. Before her arrival, they struggled to find ways to supply water that wouldn’t get immediately closed off by whoever they stole it from. But Ororo could help with that, by constantly supplying a specific drain on the surface with rain. It wasn’t anything flashy, and it really didn’t require anything from her beyond a little bit of focus, but it made Ororo feel like she was pulling her weight as she waited for another assignment.

One day, finally, Callisto approached Ororo and Kitty early in the morning, peeking her head into their tent.

“Might have something that the two of you could be useful for.”

The other two women immediately turned to face Callisto, alert.

“There’s a motion that’s being introduced in the city council to give cops the power to search the sewers and subway tunnels for suspicious activity. After the gang war wrapped up, they’re concerned about criminal activity based down there. Obviously, this won’t do for us. There’s a hearing tomorrow for the bill, head over there and tell them they’re making a mistake.”

“We can handle that,” Ororo said with a nod.

“Consider it done!” Kitty beamed.

Callisto gave the duo a nod before leaving them alone once again.

“It’s that gang war again...” Kitty muttered once she was gone. “Guess it’s too much to expect that we could’ve just let it go by without ending up with an even stronger police force.”

“This city will take any excuse to hire more police,” Ororo sighed. “It’s going to be a hard fight. What could we even say to convince a city councilor to back down?”

“We can’t tell them the truth,” Kitty sighed. “A whole bunch of homeless mutants living down here? They’d chase everyone out for sure.”

“We could just argue it from a budgetary perspective,” Ororo noted. “Say that it would be a waste of police time and energy.”

“They pay cops to just stand around here all the time!” Kitty rolled her eyes. “At least here they’d be paying them to actually do something.”

“That’s true.” The two women thought it over for a few moments.

“You know, we could say that…” Kitty cleared her throat before putting on a silly voice. “It wouldn’t be fair to the kind and hard-working police officers to have to crawl through the muck of the sewers! Spare them the indignity!”

They both laughed in harmony.

“We do actually have to come up with a plan, though,” Ororo sighed. “Shall we head to the library and do research on the sewers?”

“Let’s get some clearance,” Kitty nodded. “That sounds like a good plan.”

XXXXX

Kitty and Ororo walked through the crisp fall air, taking a long path towards the library to hopefully throw off anybody tracking them.

“I guess school’s been running for a while,” Kitty said.

“It feels strange to not be teaching this year,” Ororo replied. “I hope all of our students are excelling at their studies.”

“They’re really going to miss you, you know.”

Smiling, Ororo lightly shook her head. “Not any more than they’ll miss you, or Logan, or Wade.”

“I don’t think you get it,” Kitty told her. “The way the kids all fuss around you, how they hang on your every word? I’ve seen it when I’ve visited your classroom, and I don’t see it with anybody else. You have this magnetism to you, this power but also this approachability. You’re really cool.”

“I just want them to learn, be safe, and be happy,” Ororo replied. “I think that’s fairly simple. I don’t see what would set me apart from anybody else in that respect.”

“I think it’s just that you’ve been through so much. You’re such an interesting and unique person… well, I guess Logan has that too, but he’s so gruff and intimidating.”

“I’ve always wanted to see more of the world, to meet more people, and to make an impact. It’s nice that other people feel drawn to that, because I hope they get to do the same, as well.” Ororo pointed up at the library as they approached Bryant Park. “Looks like we’re almost here.”

“We’re going to find an angle,” Kitty said. “We have to.”

XXXXX

“So, what have you been working on?” Bobby asked Apocalypse. They were sitting across from each other eating a meal, a fairly basic meat-and-potatoes dish. Their food deliveries were fairly rare and didn’t contain the variety that Bobby was used to from working with the X-Men, or even the Brotherhood. Nevertheless, they made do: Bobby thought sometimes that he enjoyed the food more here than he ever did at home with his family.

Apocalypse stopped eating, putting his fork down to look up at Bobby. “What do you mean?”

“It just feels like we’ve been here a while without accomplishing anything, and I was wondering if you have any idea about what our next steps could be. Because I feel like I would be more useful working for the Brotherhood than I would be just sitting here. All this training has to go somewhere eventually.”

Apocalypse slowly smiled. “Well. I suppose you should know that I think it’s about time we look for more allies, and I’m going to need your assistance for that process. Within the next week or two, I’d like to make our first advances.”

“That’s encouraging to hear,” Bobby said. “Are we sending someone a letter, or…?”

“I’ve heard tell of a school that trains some of the most powerful mutants in the world. We’re going to go there and speak with its headmaster about adding some of their students to our forces.”

“What!?” Bobby asked, shocked. “I used to work there, and I didn’t leave on the best of terms. I’m not sure if they’ll accept me.”

“Regardless, this is where I think our next ally will be found,” Apocalypse mused. “I did not know that you had worked at the Massachusetts Academy. I thought you worked with the X-Men prior to your stint on Krakoa.”

Iceman narrowed his eyes. “Wait… the Massachusetts Academy?”

The name rang a bell. He thought back to what he had heard from the Brotherhood; the school had some sort of connection to the Hellfire Club, and counted both mutants and non-mutants among its students, unlike the Xavier School which focused solely on mutants.

“Did you think I was referring to Charles Xavier’s academy?” Apocalypse asked, raising an eyebrow. “No. Xavier may be a better public speaker, but his school is not quite the environment necessary to promote the strength that I require in my aides. I need people who are competitive, who aren’t afraid to push their powers to their limits if need be.”

Bobby considered going into a school and doing what Apocalypse had done to the Brotherhood… he shuddered. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Are you sure we’ll just be talking to the headmaster?”

“It’s very possible!” Apocalypse replied. “If she is open and understanding, then all we should need to do is talk.”

Bobby sighed. He took a deep breath. “Can we please keep the violence to a minimum?”

Apocalypse grumbled. It sounded like a far-off avalanche on the mountainside. “I thought you would know better by now, Iceman. A lack of violence will only ever serve the status quo. To achieve something as difficult, as world-breaking as saving my people, we cannot let the unwillingness of those in power stand in our way.”

“I understand that,” Bobby said, watching Apocalypse’s reaction carefully. “However, hurting people is a net negative, and if it doesn’t serve our cause at all, I think it’s something that we can avoid. All it does is make the world worse.”

Apocalypse exhaled loudly. “I suppose you’re right. That being said, if we must show them our strength in order for our mission to be a success, then you will not stop me.”

Bobby gave a small nod as he returned to his food. It was nice to have a clear goal in mind now… but now he couldn’t stop thinking about everything that could potentially go wrong. He had to do what he could to keep the students safe from Apocalypse, if he could manage it.

XXXXX

“Thank you for arriving so promptly,” Charles Xavier said without turning around.

Jean laughed nervously. Xavier had telepathically called her to his office less than a minute prior. “Just happened to be walking by. Plus, well, you know me… I don’t like to keep people waiting.”

Xavier did turn to face her now, wearing a smile on his face that Jean hadn’t seen often in her many years working with him. She struggled to tell what emotion was on his face. Was he content? Was he nervous?

“Yes, I do know you quite well,” he told her. “But I don’t know all of you. And that’s why I asked you here today.”

“What do you mean?” Jean asked, although she had a pretty good idea already.

“The Phoenix,” Xavier confirmed. “I’d like to talk to it, if I may.”

Jean took a step towards Xavier. “If you want, feel free. But it’s really only around when it wants to be.”

Xavier laughed. “I think it’ll want to be around for me.”

Jean closed her eyes and initiated a telepathic connection with Xavier.

She had done it probably hundreds of times before. It felt safe, familiar. Xavier was like a tree with deep roots, steady and immovable.

“Now, we wait,” Xavier told Jean.

Jean wondered how she felt to Xavier over the psychic connection. Was she strong? Powerful? Careful? Accommodating?

She didn’t really know.

“You’re a bit of everything,” Xavier replied. “You can hold fast when you need to, but you’re also open. You feel… adaptable, is perhaps the word I’d use.”

Right, he could read her thoughts over the psychic link. Did she feel any different since the Phoenix had arrived?

“You feel a bit different, I suppose, but it’s hard to say whether that’s the Phoenix or if that’s just you growing. I try not to make causal links unless there are no confounding factors.”

“Is that what I am?” the Phoenix asked. “A confounding factor?”

It felt like it had always been there, but at the same time its arrival had distinctly cast a shadow over the conversation.

“No,” Xavier said. “I meant other confounding factors acting upon you. Hello. I hope you’re well.”

“What is your goal in this conversation?” the Phoenix asked. Jean shuddered. It felt almost menacing how it completely skipped over any sort of greeting.

“I just wanted to check in with you,” Xavier replied. “We’ve heard a lot of very concerning things about you, and we wanted to ensure that you are going to work to ensure that you don’t hurt anyone.”

“Do you make sure that you don’t hurt anyone, Professor? The X-Men are often quite violent, you know.” The Phoenix seemed almost bored, like it was toying with Xavier.

“We only fight to prevent worse violence,” Xavier protested.

“And so will I, I can promise you that,” the Phoenix replied. “Of course, you and I may disagree on what constitutes violence, but I can promise you that there is intention behind my actions and my suggestions. I value life. I value love, and I value growth. As long as our values align, I don’t believe that we will have any issues.”

“And do you think that our values are likely to align, based upon what you know of me?” Xavier asked curiously.

The Phoenix paused before responding.

“They are likely to align some of the time. Perhaps even most of the time. And yet I cannot say that they are likely to align all of the time.”

Xavier nodded. “Thank you for your time.”

Cutting off the psychic connection, he looked at Jean with an intensity that shocked her. “You need to keep the Phoenix under control. Do you understand me?”

Jean took a step away from him, taken aback. “I… I’m doing my best. But it doesn’t seem dangerous.”

“You need to trust me. Regardless of how it seems to you, it is very dangerous. It could threaten all of us. Do you understand me?”

Jean nodded meekly. “I just don’t want anybody to get hurt.”

“That’s good,” Xavier nodded. “We need to protect everything we’ve worked for with the X-Men. All those years, and the Phoenix could wipe it out in a day if we let it. I trust you, Jean. I know you can do this. I’m here if you need anything, alright?”

Jean nodded. “I think I’m going to go now.”

“You’re dismissed,” Xavier said with a smile.

As Jean left, she mulled over what Xavier had told her. There was this clear fear within him, a fear of the Phoenix, but also a fear of her, in a way, or of the Phoenix embodied within her. She was the head of the X-Men, only behind him, and yet he still had these feelings towards her? It didn’t make sense.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe his ire was directed solely towards the Phoenix, and not her. But it was hard for her to separate those feelings based upon how he had talked to her.

She needed to figure out how to prove herself to him, to show him that she could handle the Phoenix and that they weren’t a threat. Because if she couldn’t, she felt like it wouldn’t be long before he made a move against them both. And that wasn’t something that she was just going to let happen.

Scarlet Spiders

Issue #5 - A Debt To Yourself

Written By: Deadislandman1

Edited By: u/Predaplant

“Seventeen-thousand, eighteen-thousand, nineteen-thousand… Here you are, mysterious stranger! Twenty-thousand in cash!”

Kaine grabbed the duffel bag from Delilah and zipped it back open, rifling through the different stacks of cash. The two were back in her office with El Muerto, dragged out of the ring in a hazy stupor. He sat in the corner on the floor, his head hanging in silence. If it weren’t for the occasional broken groan, Kaine would’ve wondered if he’d killed the poor man.

A wave of guilt rushed over him at the mere thought of taking this man’s life, which confused Kaine. He had killed Dr. Fritz Von Meyer; he was no stranger to murder. What made El Muerto different? Was it because the wrestler had not personally wronged him, or was it because deep down, Kaine had no desire to kill on any level?

“You gonna count it all again, after all my hard work?” Delilah grinned. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not in the slightest,” Kaine remarked. “Besides, it never hurts to check.”

“Hah! A man after my own heart!” Delilah sauntered over to Kaine, moving behind him and placing her hands on his shoulders. Kaine narrowed his eyes as he zipped up the bag. Delilah leaned on him from the back, pressing herself against him. “You know, what’s in that bag is scraps compared to what you could be making. I could arrange another fight, and you’d be earning twice that every other week.”

She leaned closer, whispering into his ear, “How does that sound?”

Kaine glanced back at El Muerto, who had found the strength to look up at him. The two stared at one another, but El Muerto seemed to lack the strength to speak.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Kaine asked.

Delilah shifted her gaze to El Muerto. “Him? Me and him have something of an exclusivity deal, and he has a debt to pay to me now. He’ll be in my rings for years to come.” She returned her attention to Kaine, “But enough about him. What say you to a beautiful business deal?”

Kaine stared at El Muerto, who returned his gaze with a profoundly shattered look. There was a sense of anger in his eyes, but also desperation, and agony. The weight of some kind of burden had been replenished, made heavier even, and El Muerto was all the more sullen because of it.These feelings combined to send Kaine one message, which he got loud and clear.

You did this to me.

Kaine brushed Delilah off of his back. “Sorry, my business is elsewhere.”

Delilah grimaced, then trudged back to her desk and sat down. “Your loss, hot stuff.”

Kaine turned his back on Delilah and walked out the door, not bothering to give her a final goodbye. As he made his way out of the bowling alley and into the cold air, he clutched the duffel bag tightly, knowing that it now contained everything he had. He was so close to freedom.

He just had to leave Boston, and he’d be free.

“You’re not free, sonny, not if you run from who you want to be-”

“Don’t listen to that petulant fool, he just wants to get you killed.”

“Shut it,” growled Kaine. The voices grew silent, and Kaine’s eyes widened. He looked around, making sure that he was completely alone.

He had to stay the course, despite the angel and devil on both of his shoulders.

Cindy stared incredulously at Dr. Von Meyer, a man who, only a few hours ago, appeared to be some feeble old man, unable to walk without a cane. Now he was a giant swarm of bees, and he still sounded aggressively German. Cindy took stock of the gunmen, who seemed entirely unsurprised at Meyer’s form. She then looked to Sheldon, whose jaw was practically on the floor.

Cindy gulped, “Not to make light of things… but he can’t normally do that, can he?”

Sheldon didn’t say anything, but he did shake his head. Cindy knew that this wasn’t anything he’d seen before. Hell, it wasn’t anything she’d seen before. Von Meyer’s swarm of bees reformed into a smile. “Enforcers, be good dogs and keep Mr. Sheldon and Miss Moon from leaving this alley. I haven’t quite gotten the chance to utilize this new form. Besides… ” Von Meyer’s bees formed a tongue to lick a fake set of lips. “It would not be satisfying if I did not take their lives myself!”

Von Meyer’s buzzing intensified as the humanoid shape dissolved into a swarm, which flew straight for Sheldon. Cindy felt the tingling in the back of her head, and the clicking of guns sounded off once again, telling her that the enforcers were locked and loaded. She glanced towards Sheldon, who could only stare at the mob of bees coming for him. He was old; he’d be stung to death for sure.

Cindy had to move.

Without thinking, she leapt at Von Meyer, fist raised. She’d never been in a fight before, and here she was barreling straight for a big blob of bees. She swung as she met the swarm in midair, only for her fist to hit nothing but air as the bees parted to avoid direct contact with her fist, like the head of a boat through water. Even without a humanoid form, Von Meyer taunted her, “Tut tut, Miss Moon, you should know better than to strike at something so small.”

Cindy hit the wall of one of the alley buildings, only to stick to it without meaning to. Von Meyer reformed in midair, observing her. “What? How did you… ”

“None of your beeswax, strudel boy!” Cindy tugged the wall, desperately attempting to unstick herself, but it wasn’t working. She was simply too worked up. Von Meyer glanced down at the enforcers. “Change of plans. Take the girl alive, kill Sheldon!”

The enforcers took aim at Sheldon, and Cindy felt her heart skip a beat. They were maybe a second away from gunning him down, and he could do nothing about it. She shook, panicking as her fingers dug themselves into the brick wall. The enforcer closer to Sheldon, sporting a fedora, put his finger on the trigger of his pistol, and Cindy could hear the metal squeaking as the trigger was drawn back, inching closer and closer to its limits. Sheldon exhaled, breathing his last breath.

Cindy could almost see his death as a premonition, and at the mere thought of his demise, she screamed one word.

“No!”

Pulling against the wall, Cindy tore off a massive chunk of brick from the wall, and hurled it at the man in the fedora, unsticking from the material at the last minute. The mass crashed against the enforcer’s hand, causing him to yowl in pain as the pistol was knocked from his grasp. He doubled over, clutching the now deeply purple hand. Seeing an opportunity, Sheldon lunged for the man, grabbing him from the back and wrapping his arms around the enforcer’s neck before turning him towards the inside of the alley. The other enforcer, sporting sunglasses and a tommy gun, took aim, only to stop, realizing he might hit his ally.

Von Meyer growled in anger, then flew straight for Cindy. “You insolent little fool!”

“Uh oh!” Cindy tugged with her other hand, only to realize it was still stuck. She really had to figure out how to stop sticking to things. As she continued to tug, Von Meyer’s bee army began to envelop her as she panicked, now bracing all her weight away from the wall. “Crap crap crap crap cra-AAAAGH!”

What felt like a hundred bee stings hit her at once, and the jolt of pain was enough for her to rip herself from the wall. She plummeted through the swarm, landing on her back. She gasped for air, the shock of the impact combining with the shock of being stung so many times. Still, the tingling in her head surged as Von Meyer flew downward to attack again, though it felt like less of a tingle and more of a resounding message.

Get the hell out of there.

Cindy did a flip, narrowly avoiding Von Meyer’s swarm before landing on her feet in front of Sheldon. She gave him a quick look. “Run!”

Sheldon shoved the enforcer he was grappling with to the ground, then took off, with Cindy right behind him. The two raced down the road, all while hearing the frustrated screeching of Von Meyer behind them. They turned a corner, just as gunshots rattled off behind them, hitting the sidewalk and street light next to them. Cindy turned to Sheldon, who was struggling to keep up with her. “Do you think we can make it to the station?”

“They’ve got guns, and they know what direction we’re running. I wouldn’t count on it,” Sheldon gasped, trying to get enough air with each stride. “And even then, what are they going to do against a man made of bees? Shoot him?”

Cindy frowned. Sheldon was right. It wasn’t looking good for them. The two made another turn, reaching the riverside of the Fort Point Channel. The two then made a beeline for the underside of a bridge over the Channel, hoping to find a place to hide. Screeching metal from a tunnel connected to the bridge told Cindy that the Green Line train was about to pass over the channel.

A gunshot rang out, and Sheldon roared in pain, clutching his leg as he fell forwards. Cindy whirled around and caught him, hoisting him up so that the two of them could keep heading towards the bridge. A small but steady stream of blood was beginning to stain Sheldon’s pant leg. Cindy glanced back, spotting the two enforcers racing after them. At their current pace, the gunmen were bound to catch up.

“Leave me,” Sheldon grumbled, trying not to let his pain shine through. “You can’t let them catch you!”

“No! I’m not doing that! I just… I just have to…”

Cindy’s eyes widened as an idea popped into her head. Spider-Man would always swing around Manhattan, and while she had no clue how to swing, she knew that if she stuck her web to something fast, it’d take her and Sheldon with it.

Something on the Green Line.

The back of her head tingled again, and without even looking back, Cindy angled her arm towards the oncoming train, and snapped her wrist into the right position, causing a stream of webs to fly out. The stream hit the train, forming a rope strong enough to carry Cindy and Sheldon. The enforcers raised their weapons, only for their targets to be ripped into the air, carried off over the waters of the channel by the train.

Cindy grunted as she pulled herself up along the web, managing to land herself and Sheldon on the back of the train. Placing him down, she examined him. “Are you okay?”

“No… but we should get off this train early,” Sheldon remarked, looking up to the sky.

Cindy followed his gaze, spotting Von Meyer far above them. He was pursuing them, but could not match the speed of the train, which finished its tenure above the channel and promptly disappeared into the subway tunnels, blocking Von Meyer’s view. The wind ripped and roared as Cindy turned back to Sheldon. “Where?”

“Right after the next stop!” Sheldon said. “Pick me up, and jump when I say so!”

“Jump where?!” Cindy asked, incredulous. “The Charles River?”

“Yeah…” Sheldon trailed off, clearly not confident in his own plan. Still, it was better than no plan at all to Cindy. Hoisting Sheldon up, Cindy waited until the train passed through its next station, keeping quiet as a few people got on and off the vehicle. Then, as the train pulled out of the station, it went over another bridge, over the river. Cindy took a deep breath, then leapt from the train, falling for a few seconds before landing feet first in the river.

It was cleaner than she thought.

Swimming to the surface with Sheldon, Cindy glanced up and down the river. “Uh… where to now?”

Sheldon’s gaze slowly moved towards a large structure, built on a different bridge over the river. “That’ll do.”

Cindy turned to face the same direction as Sheldon, and immediately understood what building he was talking about.

It was a massive structure, built with its own tower and dockside. A series of city famous swan boats were tied to the dock, sporting wheels under the water that allowed them to go on land if the need arose. A dome sat on the right side of the structure, housing a planetarium that contained all manner of nature documentaries and movies. She’d been here many times; her family loved taking her and her brother. She never expected she’d have to visit in such desperate circumstances.

For now, the Boston Museum of Science would be their safe haven, for as long as that safety would last.

The cold snapped at Kaine’s fingers, nipping at every bit of his exposed skin as he walked across Boston, making his way towards the city limits. The bowling alley where he had fought El Muerto was thankfully in Charlestown, meaning that while he had a few neighboring cities to pass through, he was poised to make it out of Boston in about an hour. The snow still snapped at him, but ultimately it was a small price to pay for safety.

The more distance he put between himself and Boston, the better.

Kaine made a right turn, and stepped onto the Alford Street Bridge. It was more out of the way than the Maurice J. Tobin Bridge, a hulking, two story tall highway road held up over the river by strong, dark green painted metal, but it was also less populated, making it an ideal route for him. Made of simple concrete, and populated only by the occasional streetlight, Kaine shuffled across, hoping to make it over the river quickly. It was eerily quiet, and surprising to see that no cars were currently taking the bridge. In fact, the city seemed damn near silent on this bridge, isolated from the hustle and bustle of places like Central Square or Back Bay.

And then, a voice broke that silence, a voice that Kaine was getting really tired of hearing.

“Son… you’re making a mistake.”

“He’s not your son, he’s my son! You weren’t even Peter Parker’s father, so butt out!”

Kaine clutched his head, nursing his temple. A headache was beginning to rear its ugly head. “Stop…”

“Don’t you understand! Alchemax is only going to keep doing what it does in the wake of this. You have to do what you can to make sure they can’t keep hurting people!”

“And what if he gets himself killed in the process? You keep posturing about doing the right thing, as if he shouldn’t have any regard for his own life!”

“Shut it… Can’t fucking think!” Kaine murmured, grabbing his own head with both hands. He had stopped walking, unable to move forward while only managing to wobble in place.

“I can’t make his choices for him, I know that. I just-”

“Just nothing! What do you know?! You’re a corpse! You’ve been dead for years!”

“Cut. it. OUT!” Kaine shouted, drowning out the voices immediately. His voice echoed out across the river, and into the city. Eyes wide, he glanced behind him, wondering if someone had noticed him.

And someone had, though it looked like they were already in the process of sneaking up on him.

About ten meters away from Kaine stood a tall and well built man dressed in slacks, with a clean shaven face and short blond hair. Upon being noticed, he smirked while cracking his knuckles, which were hidden under leather gloves. “You Kaine Parker?”

Kaine gritted his teeth. Very few people knew his name, and most of them were Alchemax lackeys. “Who’s asking?”

“I’ll take that as a ye.,” The man cracked his neck. “Name’s Ox. I’m here to drag your sorry lab rat ass back to your masters. Don’t like talking much either, so let’s cut to the chase. We gonna do things the easy way, or the hard-”

Before Ox could even finish his sentence, Kaine lunged for him, clearing the distance between them in seconds. Ox’s eyes widened as he raised his arms, unprepared for the attack, but it was too late. Kaine tackled the man to the ground, pinning him to the concrete. Ox yelped in surprise, only to be silenced as Kaine slapped him. Grabbing Ox by his slacks, he hoisted Ox’s head so he could meet the whimpering thug’s gaze. “Who hired you? Are there more of you? Where are they?! What are they doing?! Tell me!”

Trembling, Ox raised his hands in defense. “Alchemax! Alchemax hired me and my two buddies! They’re looking for your friends in South Boston! I swear that’s all I know!”

“It better be.” Kaine grabbed Ox’s face and slammed his head into the ground, knocking him out cold. Rising to his feet, Kaine stared at the man, then slowly looked up, towards Charlestown, where he’d just left. South Boston was south-east of Charlestown, only a few districts apart, meaning that this whole time he had been in a part of the city just a bit north of where Cindy and Sheldon were. They were in danger yet again, all because they got him out of that tube.

“Son… You can’t ignore this. They could die without you.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not worth risking your neck for them. You got them off of that ship, you’ve repaid that debt already.”

Kaine winced, a migraine coming on. These voices had tormented him since he had awoken, trying their best to sway him one way or another. Over the course of mere hours, they had gotten so much more insistent, so much more demanding. Every moment of quiet, they now stole. Every moment of peace… they took from him.

He had had enough.

“People’s lives aren’t something to be traded, damnit!”

“Right, not unless it’s his life.”

“Both of you, shut up!” Kaine growled. “No more jabbering! No more… talking! What the fuck do I have to do for the two of you to stop! I can’t touch either of you, can’t… throw you out of my fucking head! Please, god! Tell me what I have to do to get rid of you two! Tell me!”

For a moment, all was silent, and Kaine found himself looking around the bridge, which boggled even his mind. They were just voices, they weren’t entities he could see.

Until they were.

One moment, Kaine was alone on the bridge with an unconscious Ox. Then, he blinked, and two more men joined them, standing far apart from one another on the other side of the road. The first was a man dressed in a suit, his face a strange blur of features that Kaine guessed stemmed from the gaping hole in his memory of what his creator looked like. The man straightened his tie, and a pair of eyes emerged from the blur.

This man was his creator… Mr. Warren.

The other man was older than Warren, his age clearly present in the wrinkles on his face and the whiteness of his hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. He was dressed in a plaid black and green shirt and jeans, and his eyes were slightly obscured by a pair of old spectacles. Kaine never knew him, at least not personally, yet his features were far sharper than Warren’s.

This was Peter Parker’s uncle, the man who inspired him to be Spider-Man. This was Ben Parker.

Kaine’s eyes widened, shocked that such a memory had suddenly come back to him. His past was coming back to him in fragments, including the fact that he had tried to steal Peter Parker’s life, but this wasn’t that. Uncle Ben was Peter’s past, not his. He didn’t understand why he was hearing this man’s voice, why he was being influenced by someone he had never actually met.

“Fine, if you want us gone, then make your decision, once and for all,” Jackal remarked. “Are you going to listen to me, or that senile old fool?”

Kaine looked to Ben, who for once didn’t respond to Warren. Instead, he waited, perhaps for Kaine to say his peace. The young man sighed, “Then make your damn cases.”

Warren stepped forward. “You’re almost out of Boston, almost free! It’s just a few more miles and just like that, you’re gone! You can live whatever life you like then, without Alchemax breathing down your neck, without the sword hanging over your head.” Warren glared at Ben. “What he’s been suggesting, it’s just going to get you caught again. Alchemax will only find you sooner if you stay here and involve yourself. You can live your life according to what you want, or what he wants. I know what I’d choose.”

Kaine looked to Ben, who refused to really even acknowledge Warren. Instead, he looked to Kaine, “Son-”

“Don’t call me son,” said Kaine, his voice cold. “You’re not my father. You weren’t even Peter Parker’s father.”

Ben paused, a frown on his face, then he continued, “Alright, Kaine… here’s my question. Could you really bear to let those people die, or suffer the same fate as you did? Would you really let them be poked and prodded? That’s not even to mention the fact that they saved you!”

“And I saved them,” Kaine remarked. “It’s out of my hands, they’re not my responsibility.”

Ben’s face hardened. “With great power comes great responsi-”

“Oh, fuck off!” Kaine exclaimed. “Those words were for Peter Parker, not for me.”

“It’s not a saying for any one person, Kaine. They’re words people live by. Doesn’t mean you have to, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you haven’t already taken them to heart.”

“How would you know that? What, just because I have Peter Parker’s face, because I have his memories? You think that means me and him are the same?” Kaine’s voice began to choke up. “You’re dead wrong, old man. I’m not Peter Parker.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, “Then who are you?”

Kaine felt his heart skip a beat, the question putting him on the spot. It was an inquiry with such a simple answer, yet rather than voicing that answer immediately, Kaine found his gaze drifting to either end of the bridge, as if the question had gone straight through his skin to strike at his soul, “I… I’m Kaine.”

“Kaine who?” Ben asked.

“Why does it matter?!” Kaine asked, raising his voice.

“Because, Kaine Parker, I want to know what kind of man you are, or rather, what kind of man you want to be? Please, humor an old man, and answer that for me.”

Kaine stared at Ben… no, Uncle Ben, in disbelief. He was asking a question only Kaine could possibly answer, about something only Kaine could define, yet no matter how thoroughly Kaine interrogated himself, searched his own psyche, he couldn’t come up with an answer. He wasn’t some lapdog for Alchemax, he wasn’t some trash for them to dispose of, but he wasn’t Peter Parker either. He wasn’t some brainy nerd, some superhero who threw his life away based on the words of a corpse, or at least he wasn’t supposed to be.

Spider-Man was Peter Parker’s dream, yet a part of Kaine desperately, stubbornly refused to accept that it wasn’t his dream too. He stared at Uncle Ben, suddenly feeling an irrational sense of wild grief, which wrestled his eyes until tears were wrung out of them. He wiped his eyes, the question reducing him to a sputtering mess, “I… I don’t… I don’t-don’t know.”

Warren suddenly spoke up, “You can’t possibly be entertaining this question? It doesn’t matter! What matters is that you live! Why throw your life away for nothing?”

“It’s up to him to decide whether or not it’s nothing.” Ben looked to Kaine, who was now hanging his head in shame. “Him… and him alone.”

A smartphone notification cut through the silence of the bridge, and when Kaine looked up, the two figures were gone. There was a moment where only the wind whistled and whined, with Kaine simply standing still in the midst of it all. Eventually, another notification sounded off, and Kaine looked down at Ox, whose pocket was vibrating. Kneeling down, Kaine dug the phone out of his assailant’s jacket, and read the message.

Targets managed to hitch a ride towards Cambridge. Not sure where, but they hopped off the Green line somewhere. Let us know when you find Kaine.

Kaine stared at the smartphone screen, then stood up and hurled it off the bridge and into the river. He knew exactly what he was doing now.

“Right here’s good.”

“Um… Okay.”

Cindy leaned forward, gingerly placing Sheldon on the floor under the watch of a giant replica Tyrannosaurus Rex. They had managed to break into the building through the waterfront entrance, with Sheldon working his magic by picking the lock. Now, after fumbling around in the dark for what felt like an hour, they finally settled in the prehistoric era exhibit. Sheldon rested his head against the plastic foundation of the replica, which was painted to look like stone, then began to rip up more of his jacket in order to bandage up his leg. The rest of the exhibit was likely other replicas of different creatures behind glass cases, but Cindy couldn’t truly make them out in the dark.

Still, she knelt down next to Sheldon as he worked. “Do you need help?”

“Nah, I’ve got it. Don’t worry about me.” Sheldon smiled, though it was hard to see in the dark. Cindy grimaced, then took a seat on the floor in front of Sheldon as he finished up.

“So… what do we do now?” Cindy asked.

“Well… best idea is we wait till morning, and hope that they don’t find us,” Sheldon said. “And if they do? Just be ready to book it again, and don’t feel like you’ll need to take me with you.”

Cindy pouted, “I’m not leaving you.”

“Ah, don’t feel obligated. I’m an old man, it’s getting to that time anyways,” Sheldon remarked. “Don’t tell my wife I said that though, she’d follow me down to hell and drag me back by the ear.”

Sheldon chuckled at his own joke, coughing a little due to the effort, but Cindy remained silent, watching this legendary journalist contemplate and accept the possibility of his own demise so easily. Taking a deep breath, Cindy looked up at Sheldon, seeing a small glint in his glasses. “When was the first time you… almost died, I guess?”

Sheldon raised an eyebrow. “What brought that question on?”

“Humor me, it’s on my mind,” Cindy said, her voice a little shaky.

Sheldon took off his glasses. “Well… first time I had a close call was… Vietnam. The war was a huge mess, there were all these conflicting reports, and people at home didn’t have a totally clear picture of what was going down at first. I had gotten my Bachelor’s about a year before it all kicked off, so when the opportunity came, I flew in and started interviewing people. GIs, locals, the whole shebang.”

Sheldon began to use what was left of his jacket to clean his glasses. “At one point, I decide I’ve gotten enough material from a place like Saigon, and I venture out with some other journalists to interview people in more remote places. None of us are soldiers, mind you, we didn’t have any weapons on us. Meant that people didn’t see us as a threat. We’re in one town with these tremendously friendly people, and we’re just talking to them. We asked them about the war, but usually topics petered off into other avenues. There was this one kid, he uh… heh… he wanted to tell this girl how he felt about her, tell her how much he cared about her.”

Sheldon put his glasses back on. “It was cute, you know, and it really made me realize something. We lived across the world from them, but… everybody gets lovesick. Everybody feels hungry, feels afraid. We have a habit of looking somewhere far away and distancing ourselves from what goes on over there. ‘That’s Vietnam, where the Vietnamese do their thing. They’re a whole different world.’”

Sheldon shook his head. “But that’s not it. It’s a different country with different customs, but we’re all human beings at the end of the day. They’re not exotic aliens, they’re people.”

Then, Sheldon grimaced. “Morning after all that, GIs attacked the town. Apparently they had reports Viet Cong were hiding out there, but whether it was true or not, it was a messy affair. People died. I almost got my head blown off.” Sheldon paused, apparently surprised by how much this old memory was affecting him.

“Did the boy make it?” Cindy asked.

“I don’t know… I never saw him again,” Sheldon said. “But… I do think about him, even now. Hell, maybe he’s still kicking, maybe he married that girl and he’s living it up on a fishing boat somewhere.”

“Yeah… maybe.” Cindy hung her head, unsure of why she even asked the question in the first place. Maybe it was to fill the silence, to pass the time as they waited. Still, now that the tale had been spun, they were plunged into a quiet darkness once more, and Cindy felt her heart slowly begin to pick up its pace. She thought about her parents and her little brother, who were probably worried sick. She thought about Kaine, wherever he was. She thought about Sheldon’s wife, who had probably seen this song and dance before, but still carried a little anxiety over the outcome of the evening.

But most of all, she thought about Von Meyer and the Enforcers, slowly encroaching on the museum. Soon, they’d break in. Soon, they’d kill Sheldon and take her to be thrown in a tube, pumped full of who knows what for years on end. Soon, it would all be over for her, and she’d never see her family again.

Before Cindy could fall further into anxiety, the sound of glass being broken echoed throughout the exhibit, prompting her to spring up to her feet. She looked down at Sheldon, who shook his head. “Go. Get out of here!”

Cindy wordlessly grabbed Sheldon by the arm and hoisted him over her shoulder before turning and racing towards the exhibit’s exit. She rounded a corner, hoping to leave quickly, only to stop dead in her tracks. The silhouette of a tall figure stood at the end of the hall, and as Cindy and Sheldon came into view for them, they began to walk towards the duo. Cindy stepped back, keeping pace with the figure. “Don’t come any closer, doesn’t matter if you’re goon one or goon two, I’ll still kick your ass!”

“Hmm, good thing I’m neither.”

Cindy’s eyes widened as Kaine stepped forward, the moonlight illuminating his face. Shocked, she set Sheldon down, who similarly looked up at him in wonder.

“You… you came back!” Sheldon said.

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Kaine said, smirking. “Thought I’d find you guys here, lots of nooks and crannies to hide in. Rest of Alchemax’s armed thugs are gonna figure that out soon though.”

“Especially with Von Meyer leading them,” Sheldon added.

“What?!” Kaine exclaimed. “Von Meyer’s not dead?”

“Yeah! He’s this freaky bee man now!” Cindy said. “Guy’s just a bunch of insects, you can’t hit him! We can fight the other guys no problem but… the Swarm’s gonna be an issue.”

Kaine frowned, unsure of how to proceed. Von Meyer being alive rattled him a little, knowing the man that had tortured him for years was still alive even after being confined to a sinking ship. Still, he couldn’t let that lock him down. He had to come up with a way to deal with an entire swarm of bees, which was certainly… a unique issue. All this time, Kaine had solved every problem in his way with his hands, with blunt force. This wasn’t a problem he could just punch.

He had to use his head this time. He had to, with some semblance of mild disappointment in his mind… think like Peter Parker.

Kaine glanced around the moonlit section of the museum, hoping to find something in the environment to his advantage. He spotted signs for a Rube Goldberg machine, which was novel, but not necessarily useful. There was a NASA section about spacefaring, but those were all replicas, nothing he could concretely use. Exhibits surrounding physics and wildlife didn’t seem so useful either, at least not in stopping an angry, stinging swarm of insects.

Then his eyes settled on a sign for an exhibit on the east end of the museum. The photo caught his eye, depicting a presenter in a cage touching what looked to be a lightning bolt. The image was captioned with three phrases.

Lightning!

Feel its awesome power!

Explore lightning and storm safety as the world's largest air-insulated Van de Graaff generator hurls indoor bolts!

Kaine felt something click in his head, then he turned to Cindy and Sheldon, “Alright… Von Meyer thinks he’s invincible? I think I know how to prove him wrong.”

“How?” Cindy asked.

Kaine grinned, “It’s just gonna take a little electricity.”

Next Issue: Insect Extermination!

#Fantomex

Issue Seventeen

Written by u/VoidKiller826

Edited by u/Predaplant

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

[...Earlier today, Mayor Jameson announced a gala in honor of the ‘New, New York’ Initiative, with all contributions to be given to FEAST who has been welcomed into the initiative…]

Sage was clicking away on her keyboard in an oversized hoodie. Despite all the screens around her blaring out different news reports, her mind focused on the command prompt in front of her. Her fingers moved gracefully; every button pressed had a purpose, and every command was executed with an important intent.

[...GET READY LUNA SNOW FANS AS THE ICE AGE WORLD TOUR IS COMING TO AMERICA! BUY YOUR TICKETS NOW AND WITNESS THE FAST RISING SUPERSINGER PERFORM LIVE-]

Sage quickly opened a new tab and bought her tickets before the site was hit with a flood of traffic.

[...With the latest acquisition of Seraph Industries, Roxxon Energy has opened various branches across Asia such as in Japan, South Korea, Madripoor, and the Philippines. Dario Agger, the new President of Roxxon, has stated this is the beginning of a larger plan of expansion for the company, with the recent acquisition of a building in New York-]

Sage scoffed, another corpo takeover. They were becoming more and more common, while the rest of the world was eating crap.

[...Peace talks have begun within the royal palace in Aniana, the capital city of Symkaria, to discuss a solution to the ongoing civil war that has affected the country. The talks are being mediated by the Gallio Foundation which has been instrumental with its support and human rights activities since its intervention-]

Sage gave that news a quick look before going back to her screen. The Symkarian Civil War had been going on for years now, and ending it by talking it out sounded stupid after all the deaths and destruction, but that was how it worked now, with handshakes and apologies.

[...In a press conference yesterday, Deputy Director Maria Hill addressed the criticism of SHIELD’s lack of action during the Maggia-Goblin War, namely from the Mayor of New York’s office and the NYPD. The Deputy Director promised that SHIELD will have a more active hand in the gang activity in the city. With the announcement of putting Hammerhead under SHIELD custody, a manhunt has been ordered for any surviving members of the Maggia-]

“Have you ever thought about cleaning your room? It's bad hygiene, you know.”

Sage brought out a small handgun hidden under her table and aimed it at the intruder.

Grabbing her gun out of her hand and aiming it elsewhere swiftly was Fantomex. “Woah! At ease there, my paranoid hacker, it’s just me.”

“That’s even worse…” Sage muttered, and Fantomex let go of her gun. “What the fuck did I say about sneaking up on me?”

“Forgive me, a force of habit,” Fantomex said with a chuckle, not seeing anything wrong with scaring the hacker. “Walking quietly is like a second nature for me.”

“Well… knock it off.” Sage put her gun on the table. “I still have no clue how you can sneak in anywhere while wearing white…”

“Because I am amazing.” Fantomex chuckled and took a seat by her side. “I take it you have what I requested.”

“Yeah…” Sage got up from her chair. Fantomex noted just how small the hacker was, not helped by her hoodie being so big that it reached down to just above her knees. “It's here somewhere…”

As he waited, Fantomex watched the news. His attention was on the Symkarian news, trying to catch as much as possible about the state of his old home. He never expected peace talks to happen now after all the fighting, but somehow this Gallio Foundation managed to get both sides to at least share a room and talk things out on what will happen for the future of Symkaria.

He caught the sight of a familiar silver-haired woman walking alongside her soldiers as they entered the Royal Palace. The famed Silver Sable, or, as he knew her, Silvija Sablinova, his former Park Leader during his days with Sable International. There she was, taking charge of the loyalist army after her father was injured in a battle, bringing the fight to the rebels led by her uncle and other traitors.

“Here,” Sage’s voice brought his attention away from the TV screens. Pulling out a brown bag from under her table, Sage handed it to him. “But careful, this stuff gives a big kick if you take it.”

Opening the bag, Fantomex pulled out a pill bottle. It was dark green, with a white cap. The label on it was crossed out to just the date of production, which was two years ago. A common method for these black market drugs.

“Is this a new drug on the market?” Fantomex asked. Admittedly he had his fair share of experience in that market, mostly to test it out. “I don’t recognize it.”

“It's called Kick, fresh off from Madripoor,” Sage said, chewing on some old pizza that was lying aside. “SHIELD has been confiscating this stuff when it hit the market because it's stronger than adrenaline, and it can even boost your powers, depending on the doses.”

“When I said I needed to find a way to talk to EVA, a drug to boost my powers wasn’t what I had in mind,” Fantomex noted, staring at the drug like it was poison. The idea of a drug that was strong enough to boost one’s existing gifts sounded terrifying, and he couldn’t blame SHIELD for making sure the market wasn’t flooded with it. He wondered how Sage managed to acquire it without SHIELD knowing. “And they work?”

“They sure do,” Sage said with a mouth full of food. “Tried them out a couple of days ago, it made me feel like a god for five hours straight. My brain just worked overdrive,” Sage said, pointing at her head.

Sage’s mutant powers were that her brain worked like a computer, similar to EVA. Possibly even better than EVA, since Sage could multitask a hundred things without any risk of being overwhelmed. “And you were alright by the end?” Fantomex asked.

“Oh fuck no, I puked after it wore off and felt like shit for days.” Sage explained, drinking a warm soda. “I still feel like shit.”

“Remind me to tell Beak to make some herbal tea, it would help in your recovery more than eating week-old junk food,” he advised, and Sage shrugged. 

Fantomex stared at the black pills, still wondering if his plan would work. He needed to speak to EVA, somehow, and get back together with her as partners in crime. She had been there with him for as long as he was breathing, and he owed so much to EVA, more than anyone else in his life.

For the past few weeks after the gang war, he had tried to find ways to contact EVA. He even thought about going through a near-death experience if it meant getting her to wake up, but Sage quickly suggested otherwise. She reminded him that if EVA was part of him, that meant she was no different from a limb that needed waking up, and this Kick drug seemed to be the answer.

Without any other thought, Fantomex lifted his mask and swallowed the pill. Drinking a bottle of water provided to him by Sage, he felt it go down his throat. Fantomex walked toward the corner and sat down cross-legged, keeping a safe distance away from Sage as she kept an eye on him.

Closing his eyes, Charlie took a deep breath and lowered his head, waiting for the drugs to take effect.

…

Thirteen minutes had passed, and Fantomex didn’t feel any changes.

“I think this drug you got was a bust,” Fantomex opened his eyes. “I hope I don’t get any infection from…” He slowed down his words, and his eyes widened at the sight in front of him. “This…”

He realized he wasn’t in Sage’s basement, or even in New York City. He was in a castle, its dark gray walls old, telling a history that stretched back decades, if not centuries. Around him, he saw various pictures on the walls, each showing different people and periods, the castle’s previous owners, all one family.

“Castle Sable…” he said in shock, recognizing his surroundings. Even years later, he knew the castle by heart. He walked these halls hundreds of times. After every training, he came here. After every mission, he walked with his fellow Pack members. “But… how?”

“Still chasing after me, Charlie.”

Charlie smiled when he heard that silky voice he hadn’t heard since he had found himself in New York. In front of him stood a woman with a robotic body, bare, lacking any hair on the surface of her silver skin. Her eyes were wide, green, and glowing. Her smile was just as wide as his own.

“EVA!” Charlie shouted and ran toward the woman, his partner. The two shared a hug. “You have a body now!”

“This avatar is simply how I need to look.” The two broke off their hug and EVA showed off her physical body. “It is simply my program’s physical form.”

“Even still, you picked an impressive body.” Charlie complimented her newly acquired form with a smile before he realized something. “Wait, program?”

“We are in your subconscious, Charlie. Outside, you are sleeping soundly,” EVA explained, as she waved her arms and the castle around began to shift, turning into Sage’s basement. “We are in your inner world.”

“So Kick worked?”

“That drug managed to heighten your abilities and our connection together,” EVA explained. “We share a body, and what you took managed to enable us to finally speak after so long… at least, for now.”

Charlie was taken aback. “For now? Come now, EVA. If I get more time to heal, you and I will be back like old times, getting in trouble and making a fortune as we dance under the moonlight.”

EVA smiled, but there was a hint of sadness behind it. “As much as I would like that to happen, to go back to us being partners, I am afraid that isn't possible anymore,” EVA said in a sad tone, and the area shifted, now simply a white void. “What I've been trying to do here is stop the inevitable.”

“Which is?”

“Me fully taking over your body.”

Charlie was taken aback at this revelation, confused.

“I’ve been minimizing our connection to focus on healing you after your fight with the Man in Black. I feared if I continued our connection, it might cause me to start to fully control your body with no way to switch back.”

The world shifted again. This time they were in Montreux, in the street where Fantomex had faced down the Man in Black. Inside a flipped-over sports car was Caprice, dead. They watched the Man in Black shoot Fantomex, watched him fall off the ledge and land in the rocks below with a violent thud. Then, after a few seconds, Fantomex opened his eyes, glowing green, and proceeded to stand up and dive into the waters nearby, swimming as far as possible, away from the Man in Black.

“I took control of your body the moment you fell, making sure you didn’t feel the impact,” EVA said. “And I helped you travel to New York, to M-Town, where I knew you would be kept safe by the mutants living there, away from the Serpents. But what I didn’t anticipate was the damage my long period of control would have over your body, your nerves.”

Charlie remembered Nurse Palmer’s diagnosis months ago. “My fried nerves… but how? This wasn't the first time you took control of my body. Remember Madripoor? Where the Jade Dragons nearly had us on the ropes?”

“I remember,” EVA nodded. “But my control was just for an hour; it took us three weeks to reach New York, the longest I’ve ever taken control. I had to avoid anywhere public, where the Serpents might have eyes."

“That explains the fried nerves…” Charlie muttered. Nurse Palmer would be ecstatic to know if he ever got checked up again. “But why my nerves especially?”

“That is because your nerves are where I am housed,” EVA revealed. “Or rather… I am your nerves**.”**

EVA waited for Fantomex’s reaction, expecting him to be shocked. Instead, he hummed.

“Huh… that’s actually a smart place to house someone like you,” he said in an impressed tone. “So… you mean to tell me if I was in danger again, and you took control to save me, there is no chance of us switching back?”

“It will be a permanent switch,” EVA confirmed, much to Charlie’s shock. “It's why I haven’t interacted with you, because I do not want to replace you from this world. I refuse to let it happen.”

“And if you don’t, that means you will simply be here, wandering around my head and keeping me safe, alone.” Charlie walked up to EVA. “I don't accept that.”

“It's not about acceptance, Charlie.” EVA held his hands, and the sadness of her tone was apparent. “It is my fate, my purpose, why I was brought into this world.”

The world shifted, this time to a place Fantomex was not familiar with. It looked like a bedroom, filled with toys and other objects littered on the ground. In the middle of it was a child, black of hair and bright blue eyes, playing around with toy soldiers.

“What is this place?” Fantomex asked, looking at his surroundings. “I don’t remember it.”

“Because it's my memory,” EVA revealed, then nodded at the steel door that was at the end of the room. There was a small window on it, and they saw a group of scientists looking at the child with interest, writing down their notes and speaking among themselves. “It was the first time you and I spoke.”

Fantomex was at a loss for words, staring at the child and realizing that it was him. For the longest time, he never knew when exactly he started talking to EVA; she was just there, always speaking to him, always supporting him. “This place… this is where I am from?”

EVA nodded. “Do you remember what the Man in Black called you?”

“Cluster-7,” Fantomex answered. “I guessed it was my designation.”

EVA nodded. “As you were healing, this gave me the chance to look through your memories. I thought it would help me solve the dilemma I was facing, but instead… I regained memories I never thought I had.”

Charlie and EVA stood by each other’s side as EVA revealed his past. Memories he never knew existed came flooding through his eyes, and in turn, felt an overwhelming force. But he stood his ground. This was the reason why he began this journey, to look at his past, where he was from, before Symkaria, before everything.

“You were part of a project Serpent Society started during the days of the Cold War,” EVA began as they observed the memories. “After Captain America’s appearance, the Serpents tried to create a weapon, one who acts under their orders.”

The view was now from EVA’s perspective, and Fantomex saw a group of scientists examining what looked to be a nervous system inside a giant tube.

“That weapon being… me,” EVA revealed, her voice shaky. “I am not sure how they did it, but they created a living nervous system that can adapt to any environment, counter any opponent, and read any information given to her with a simple touch or scanning by sight. I was to be their greatest weapon, but I needed a host to hold me and use my full potential, outside of machines or computers.”

The world shifted, now showing a blond-haired man strapped in a machine. Multiple tubes were injected into his body with what looked to be a silver liquid. Instantly, the man began to shake violently, vomiting the silver liquid and dying in the chair.

“The first subject was a loyal Serpent enforcer, and died instantly when his body rejected me,” EVA noted, staring at the dead man with sadness. “The project’s name was modified to ‘Cluster’, and he became Cluster-1.”

Then more people came flooding into the memory: Cluster-2 was another Serpent soldier, meeting the same gruesome fate.

Cluster-3, a Vietnamese woman kidnapped from her home, was experimented on to make sure she was resistant to holding EVA. After the procedure, she survived for three days in agonizing pain before her body started melting silver liquid.

Cluster-4, a child taken from Russia. Originally brought in to be trained for the Serpents' next batch of soldiers, but instead moved to the Cluster project. Suffering the same fate as the woman, dying three months later in agonizing pain.

Cluster-5, a mutant child was brought in. The Serpents thought that their mutation might be the answer. They endured the same fate as the child, but lived on for six months before their powers went out of control in rejection of EVA. They were shot down mercilessly.

Something within Fantomex’s stomach turned when he saw all these memories, these people, all suffering a fate worse than death itself, all for the hope of finding a host that can hold EVA. He turned to EVA and saw her clear distress at all these memories, all these deaths in her name.

“After Cluster-5, it was decided that the next subjects would be lab-grown clones. The idea was that the host could be created specifically to hold me, instead of a living subject. So they began their work in cloning, using the egg cells from Cluster-3. Many came out as failures due to defects, except for one.”

Cluster-6, the first successful cloned child, strapped into the same machine used on Cluster-1 but with much better equipment. The process went smoothly, the silver liquid went in without a hitch, and Cluster-6 lived on without any problem for the next five months until EVA was once again rejected. Cluster-6 vomited out the silver liquid and their body was heavily damaged.

“Cluster-6 was the first person I ever spoke to,” EVA said, staring at Cluster-6 in sadness. “But the moment we interacted was when his body rejected me.”

Fantomex held EVA, making sure she knew he was here by her side.

“After that… Cluster-7.” The memory shifted to the creation of Charlie, designated Cluster-7. “Originally, the project was to be discontinued. With these numerous failures, it seemed like a waste of money. That was, until the Serpent King themselves ordered it to be continued. There were still some remaining egg cells from Cluster-3, and a knowledgeable geneticist was brought in to assist with the project.”

The memory showed them a man with chalk-white skin, with a red diamond attached to his forehead. He carried a very sinister air around him, staring at the baby created in the tube with vested interest, speaking to the other scientists like he was their superior despite being invited to the project by the Serpent King themselves.

“The geneticist advised them to use mutant genes to create you,” EVA revealed. “He cited that the longest surviving subject was a mutant, and the second was the cloned human, so he said the answer fell in between those two.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “I am… a mutant?”

EVA nodded. “At least, closer to one,” she said. The two were back in the room they had visited earlier, staring at the young Charlie playing with two soldiers. “The geneticist was proven correct. The mutant genes they implemented during your creation enabled the two of us to become compatible.”

“Thus… Cluster-7.” Fantomex said in awe, staring at the child version of himself.

He never would have guessed being a mutant, but after everything he went through, being a mutant actually filled that hole that had been in his chest, his sense of loneliness. In the end, he was working among his people this entire time.

“Wait, what about Symkaria?”

“We escaped three weeks after we began speaking,” EVA noted. “After I understood my powers, I took control of your body for the first time. We escaped from the facility and started running in whatever direction I could find.” She showed him their escape from the facility, the words ‘WRLD’ etched on the walls. “A nearby Wild Pack unit found us and took us into Castle Sable.”

“That explains why the Man in Black wanted us… or rather, wanted you, to come back to the Serpents,” Fantomex noted, and EVA nodded. “But what did you mean by the reason that they brought you into this world?” Fantomex asked. “Why go through all the trouble in finding a host?”

EVA took a deep breath, uncomfortable answering. “Because… eventually the host's body will be mine fully and permanently. The body's DNA structure would reconfigure to fit my pattern. Not just the nerves, but organs, bones, skin, hair, everything.” She turned to Fantomex. “The host will die, and only I will remain with a fully functional body without any drawbacks.”

Charlie was silent, unsure what to say. EVA waited nervously for his answer. Would he be angry? Would he accuse her for hiding important information? Would he accept the situation and leave EVA alone to save himself? Would their partnership end here and now?

“Caprice,” Charlie finally spoke. “When she came to us, about her knowledge about our past… did you know by then, or was it blocked?”

“It was blocked,” EVA answered. “The only reason why I was able to even look through the memories was because you were-”

“Near death,” Charlie said, and took a deep breath. “I am wondering… if we knew earlier, before Caprice, she would still be alive.”

EVA shook her head. “Caprice had been chasing after the Serpents; she was going down a path that would have ended badly for her. All it would have done was delay the inevitable, and it wouldn't have put you in their crosshairs.”

“Or like you said, it would delay the inevitable.” Charlie took a deep breath. Caprice’s death remained in his mind. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw her dead body in that car, shot in the head by the Man in Black. He wondered how different things would be if he said no to her mission, but it also made him realize he wouldn't be in M-Town if he didn't accept her offer.

He never believed in fate, or any form of higher power, but the events that had happened in his life had brought him here, to this very moment.

If he could do it again, he would without any hesitation.

“So… if you start taking control over me again, there is a high chance it will be permanent. You shall have my body and I will be dancing with death,” Charlie began. “But… if I go back out there, I would leave you in a prison of my memories, alone.”

“But you will be alive.”

“You think that’s what matters to me?”

“It matters to me**, Charlie,”** EVA responded firmly. “I will take your life away, away from the friends you’ve made in M-Town, away from everything.” She stepped closer. “I need you to be happy, living your life to the fullest.”

“And deny yourself from experiencing it with me?” Charlie responded, grabbing her hand again. “I will never leave you like this, never again, not while we can change it.”

“You can’t change my nature, Charlie. It is what they created me for, to be a weapon.”

“I disagree, because you, EVA, are so much more than that. You are more than a weapon because you have a heart greater than anyone I know, and I will be thankful for what you have done for me.” Charlie smiled. “It took them seven tries to find you a perfect host, many dead, and they never expected I would be the one carrying you…. All those years, we lived in harmony as two people in one body, two living their life to the fullest… but what if… we changed that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. For the longest time we’ve treated each other as two different individuals, and it is the reason why we both refuse to let the other go.” He held her hand up, tightening his hold. “What if… the two, become one.”

“You mean… we merge? Is that even possible?”

“You and I are the definition of impossible, my dear,” Charlie said. “Making another impossibility possible won’t hurt.”

EVA was hesitant. She ran through many scenarios in her mind. She might take over fully, as she feared, or Charlie might end up alone, or both of them could die in the attempt.

But yet… in her very being… she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

Hope that the two of them would once again be together, even if the result of their merging might be different.

EVA’s hands grabbed the lower part of his mask and lifted it up. “I am… EVA.”

Charlie smiled, holding her hand as the two shared a gaze. “And I am… Charlie… Cluster-7.” He announced, taking the Cluster-7 designation as his own.

EVA went closer to Charlie, just inches from one another, and the two announced in unison.

“And we… I am Fantomex.”

The two shared a kiss, and the world around them began to engulf in green.

….

….

Back in Sage’s apartment, the paranoid hacker was keeping her eyes on the sleeping mercenary. She was focused on any changes in his body, watching to see if his breathing pattern changed or if he dropped dead from Kick.

Then she saw his finger twitch.

Sage tensed up when Fantomex’s eyes shot wide open. He took a deep breath like he had been holding it in. As he calmed down, Fantomex slowly stood up, looking at his surroundings to see if he was back in the real world.

“Did it… work?” Sage asked, carefully approaching the former mercenary.

“I guess so…” Charlie Cluster-7, Fantomex, said in a relaxed voice, smiling widely before turning to Sage, revealing that his eyes had changed. On the right was his natural blue, while on the left was a glowing green. “I feel… complete.”

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

In a world full of the amazing, the spectacular, the uncanny and the champions, it can be easy to get lost, especially when you are trying to find your place in it all.

You wonder about your purpose, and whether it will fulfill that desire to find yourself in this world.

But the answer to that question is actually simple.

To find your place in the world is to find yourself within your own world, and when you find it, you will find that you do belong in this world, and you shall make it acknowledge your existence. 

Who are you, in this ever-changing world?

Why, you are you, an ever-extraordinary being living life the way you feel like it.

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

Within a dank, dark, and foreboding hallway, a dark figure walked in silence. His footsteps were heavy, and his body language was robotic, stiff like he was nervous to enter the large steel door ahead of him.

Slowly, he opened it wide and found himself in a half-lit room. It was spacious, lacking any kind of furniture. At the end of the room was a large containment chamber, placed there like it was some kind of monument, used only for one person.

In front of the containment chamber, there was a raven-haired woman seated, watching the containment chamber with interest.

The Man in Black bowed, showing respect to the woman.

“Serpent King… we have received confirmation-”

“What did I say about that stupid title, Cluster-6?”

The Man in Black, Cluster-6, bowed his head further. “Forgive me, my lady.”

The Serpent King didn’t stand from her seat, keeping her focus on the chamber in front of her. “I’ve always found the name ‘Serpent King’ to be rather boring. Should have changed it after I killed that fool who woke me up and thought he could control me.”

The Man in Black said nothing, waiting to be allowed to speak.

“Well?” She asked, still not turning.

“Cluster-7 is still alive, and he is the one who took down Hammerhead.”

That caught the King's attention, standing up from her seat. The Man in Black kept his head down in respect, not wanting to offend the King.

“So… Pizer’s pet project is still alive and kicking…” the raven-haired woman muttered as she turned to Cluster-6, revealing her pale skin and red eyes. She smiled, showing her sharp teeth. “Looks like you didn't fuck it up like I thought.”

The Man in Black stayed silent.

“You remember your fuck up? When I told you, explicitly, to bring Cluster-7 here? Alive?” she cited, walking toward the Man in Black, her heels clicking on the black surface like a lioness approaching her prey. “But instead you shot him?”

The Man in Black raised his head. “Let me fix it, Lady Selene, I will make sure to do a better job this time-”

Selene, the Serpent King, glared at the Man in Black and he quickly lowered his head.

“You will be assigned to do something else. I heard our new Serpent Head that took over from Voorhees’s operation has done a splendid job in recovering all of our losses,” said the raven-haired woman. “So I want you, and your new Serpent Squad, to act as his security until he is set up in our new base of operations in America.”

The Man in Black’s fingers twitched, but he said nothing.

“Cluster-7 is no longer a priority,” Selene announced, turning back to the containment chamber. “With our studies in Transia, I feel that we will gather something more powerful… more reliable.”

She walked toward the containment chamber and tapped it with her finger, running her long nail across it.

Inside the containment chamber was the body of a woman, her hair short, crimson red. There was a wound clearly visible on her head resembling a bullet hole.

“What did she call herself again, Cluster-6?”

“Caprice, Lady Selene.”

Selene Gallio smiled, staring at the floating body of Caprice inside the containment chamber.

“Leave it to my daughter to think of a fitting name.”

Selene, the Serpent King, and leader of the Serpent Society, dismissed the Man in Black and went back to her seat to watch Caprice, her daughter, in silence.

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

LA FIN

Wolverine
Issue #6
Weapon, part 2

Written by: u/PresidentWerewolf
Edited by: u/Predaplant

Previous Issue

From the files of Professor Charles Xavier
Audio//Digital//Logan16X11Z3D.WAV

XAVIER: What happens when we die, Logan? What do you think?

LOGAN: Why the flamin’ hell are ya askin’ me? You think, what, since I sent so many off to the great beyond, I know something about the trip?

X: No, no. If it were that simple, there are far more proficient killers, murderers even, that I could ask. If I thought they had any insight, that is. I would think that the more remorseless the killer, the less they consider such matters.

L: And I just sit up at night ponderin’ about it, huh?

X: Yes, Logan. I think you do exactly that.

[long silence]

L: Is there a point you’re trying to make?

X: I am trying to bring you to it willingly, Logan. Notice, if you will, how you usually react when we get close.

L: ‘Scuse me, Chuck. I ain’t the one with the first name “Professor.”

X: What happens, Logan? When you cut down a Yakuza thug with a swipe of those claws, where does he go? Do you send him screaming down to the fiery pits of hell? Does he feast in Valhalla for falling in battle? Does he simply cease to be?

L: How would I know? Why would it matter?

X: What of your worries in this life? Do you fear you will meet them all again, that there will be an accounting? Do you fear judgment from a higher power? Or perhaps you wonder…if there is nothing else? What of that, Logan? Killing the right people is a net positive?

L: You know I don’t.

X: I know you don’t. Logan, you have taken many lives, but I don’t think you have ever thought about it in terms of cause and effect, as a positive or negative. You may think the act is necessary, and you may agonize over it later, yet you can’t see, for all of your bravado and confidence, your growls and your gristle, what sort of man that makes you.

L: Yeah? What kind of man am I, Chuck?

X: Logan…what saddens me the most is that you worry so much about the beast inside you. You doubt that you are a man.

Now - Alberta, Canadian wilderness

It’s midmorning near the crown of the world. The birds are chirping, the sun is beaming down on my back, and the woods are misty, rustling, alive and green and growing around me. I’m within spitting distance of Weapon Plus, the last place in the world I would ever want to be. I’m tracking a twelve-year-old girl named Blaire Hudson. She is completely innocent. I’ll probably have to kill her.

Blaire and her brother Charlie got too close to the facility, and something happened. Exactly what, I don’t know, but it turned Charlie into a ten-foot-tall monster, made him wild enough that his own father put him down. Those poor folk, the Hudsons, are deciding where to bury their boy right now.

Thing is, Charlie caught me by surprise. These things, whatever they became, smell like death and science, but only some of the time. Charlie could shut it on and off, and when he finally came for me, he caught me flat footed. If I get a whiff of Blaire out here, if she smells the same, I’m not sure I have much of a choice. All she probably wants to do right now is go home to her mother, and I can’t let her.

I can smell her, the girl she’s supposed to be. She’s been all over these woods, a bright young thing trailing scents of soap and sunshine. Problem is, those trails are older, two days ago, three. Now, my nose is telling me she ain’t out here, but I know for a fact she didn’t go home.

There’s something in the air out here, something that’s got every living thing on edge. The birds, the bears, and everything in between know something’s wrong. There’s an energy, a nervous feeling that feels like it’s gonna break at any second, and I’m just starting to pick up on it. Probably been feeling it for a while now, but it got mixed up with all my worries about Weapon Plus.

Something comes crashing through the trees, right at me, and for a single second I freeze. I don’t want to hurt this kid, and so even though I know it’s not her, I get the claws out too late. It’s a black bear, female, barely middle size for her kind, but she’s barreling along like she’s protecting her last cub, a whining growl splitting out between her teeth.

She’s no match for me, and even as she skids to a stop and rears on her hind legs, I pull myself together. I can’t act like an animal out here, can’t let my fears, their fears, whatever it is out here to rile me up, too.

“Hey!” I yell at her. “Calm down, lady.”

She roars and swipes, but it’s all show. I back up, and she doesn’t follow. Still, she isn’t moving along. She’s posturing, huffing, pretending to charge. I put out my hands.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Okay?”

She responds to my voice, just like I want, the hairs on her neck smoothing down as she lands on all fours. She almost looks embarrassed as she glances around. I don’t sense any cubs around. She was just running scared. It’s starting to get to me, too.

“Easy, girl. Why don’t you–”

She swipes again, fast, this time catching me on the jaw. My head whips around and my body follows, the desperate strength of that bear tossing me into the side of a tree. As my healing factor gets to work and my head clears from the hit, that electric wrong feeling in the air starts filling me up. The claws are out, and the bear is loping my way, snarling, rearing up again, and I’m gonna kill her. I have to.

I’m hit from the side, twice as hard as before. A stabbing, tearing pain ripping through my guts. I smell the elk as it tosses me aside, hear it whining and snorting fear in a heavy mist. This isn’t right. It’s like they’re teaming up. There’s a low growl of a predator cat, and then another. I struggle to my feet, and I’m facing down two female cougars, backs arched, fangs shining in the high sun. Birds are diverging from above, little things that dart around my face, and something with a set of talons that bites into my neck.

I have to run, have to get some space so I can think. Whatever is driving these creatures on, it obviously isn’t natural. What’s more, it’s trying its best to get to me. I’m panting, seeing red, feeling the urge to kill like a bubble about to pop under my heart. What’s gonna stop this feeling? I’m on fire.

The Hudsons.

That’ll do it. Stomp back to their property, chase down that man and his family. Only their red blood is going to cool this beating sun in my head. Only their screams…

“No,” I growl. I make myself stop. Not one more step. Think of everything Chuck has done for you. Think about your old friend, gentle Haru. Think about the embrace of that woman. Think about Jean, and that fire, and… and the look it…

That elk is charging again, leaves crunching in a line for my back. I whirl around, and I swipe. Blood spatters me in a shower, hot and thick, and some huge part of the beast lands with a thud to my side. The body crumples.

Somewhere nearby, she screams.

I don’t know her voice, but I know it’s Blaire. I smell it again, laboratory muck, so thick I gag and cough. I’m blind, blood in my eyes, in half a rage from the wounds in my body. Have to focus.

There. Footsteps. A scent. Something new, but I won’t lose it now. I follow her back into the woods. She’s heading back to Weapon Plus.

I catch up with her at the walls of the facility. She’s out of breath and staggering, panting in a voice that doesn’t sound much like a little girl’s. Just being this close to the building makes my hair want to stand on end, like a bunch of men in white coats are going to stream out and carry me back down into the dark.

I let her keep going until she tires out. No more animals come out of the bush to attack me; either she overextended herself, or feeling that elk die took the fight out of her. She collapses on the forest floor with a thump, and I wait just out of sight as she sits there, breathing hard, crunching leaves as she shuffles.

“I know you’re there,” she says. Her voice is too low, too rough, with a liquid sound in the back of her throat. I step out into the open and see what they did to her.

She’s green, like her brother, too big for a child, her clothes flapping in tatters like an afterthought. Her hair is still straight and blonde, but it only hangs off one side of her head. The other is bald and swollen like a basketball, stretching out the eye socket below it. The eye itself is faded and rolling blindly. The other settles on me, and she sighs heavily.

“Oh, kid,” I say, and I don’t know what to do. She’s not a mutant. This isn’t natural. Is there any hope that she’ll control…this? Is there any future for her?

“I’m sorry I tried to hurt you,” she says. “Bad Blaire comes and goes. She went to sleep when you…”

“Did that hurt you?”

“Not really,” she says. “Kind of. Who are you?”

“I’m a friend. Name’s Logan.”

“I’m Blaire,” she says politely, like it’s the first day of school and our lockers are next to each other.

“I know. Been lookin’ for you, Blaire.”

She puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh! Does that mean you know my parents? Did you see Charlie?”

“I met ‘em, yeah. Blaire, what happened to you?”

“Happened to me?” she says, like I just asked what color the sky was. “Did something happen? Charlie and I went, um, here.” She points at the walls of Weapon Plus. “I keep coming back here, for some reason, like just now.”

Her voice changed just then. It got lower, that liquid sound gurgling a little. Above, birds start chirping in unison.

“Hey, kid.”

“Hmm?” She looks up at me, and her voice is higher and sweeter. “Mister Logan, something did happen to me. And Charlie. We went inside. There were machines. I told Charlie not to push any buttons. I didn’t want to even go…in there…”

There are animals moving around us, big ones. More elk. I hear a grizzly sniffing the ground. Further out, something bigger. What’s bigger out here? It’s moving so slow, but I can’t get a read on what it is.

She hisses. That pale eye is turning yellow. Blaire struggles to her feet, her legs wobbling, her waist unable to stiffen up. “Where was my mommy?” she whines, and her voice dips an octave, making my blood go cold. “The needles hurt so bad.”

“I sent animals to get my mom. Mister Logan, I sent the biggest animals I could find. What did I do, Mister Logan?”

“Blaire, you have to calm down!”

“They were hungry when they got there!”

“God, kid. Get it under control!”

She’s growing, her fingers lengthening, sharpening. She’s bigger than her brother got, green as the woods in spring, reeking of bad science. She moans, and I can’t move a muscle. She’s coming up to me, reaching for me.

I can’t do it. One flick of the claws, and I can’t do it. She’s a kid.

Elk, bears, and bison all emerge from cover slowly, their eyes fixed on Blaire. Something moves out there, enormous, larger than I can believe. Squirrels circle us, running faster and faster, squeaking, shrieking.

“Why, Mister LOGAN?” she screams in a deep roar of pain.

She stumbles to me, her yellow eye turning red, her teeth grinding, fingers and arms jerking. The bison bow on their forelegs, their horns pointing to the ground. The elk begin to shake and foam at the mouth. The squirrels latch onto each other in a tangle of claws and teeth. Blaire grabs me by the shoulders. She’s a kid. I won’t do it. Even if she…even if her family…

Her good eye locks onto me. Her mouth bends down in a frown. She speaks to me, pleading, and it’s suddenly in her voice, the voice of a real, little girl.

“Please!” she sobs. “Please stop her, Mister Logan!”

The campfire crackles and pops, sending bright, little sparks up into the sky like spirits in the dark. I’m thirty miles away from the facility. That’s as far as I could get on foot. Tomorrow, I have to hike back that way and find my bike. Tomorrow, I have to live with what happened today.

Tonight, I just watch the sparks flying free like innocent spirits in the dark.

Next: Deadpool & Wolverine

Black Panther
Volume IV: Across the Sky
Issue #46: The Source

Written by: u/PresidentWerewolf
Edited by: u/Predaplant

Previous Issue

Everett Ross held up a sheet of composite plating that had been cut to match the hole in the side of the Anvil. The burned, twisted fragments of material around the breach had been clipped away, and the rough edges had been smoothed into an oval. Ross pressed the sheet in place, covering up the endless view of stars out the port side of the ship. The edges fit together almost perfectly, and in the vacuum, there was no air to get in the way of the large piece of the inner hull, no clinks or clanks as it settled.

“Hold it steady,” T’Challa said.

“I held the last eighteen steady,” Ross said irritably.

“Hold this one, too.” T’Challa slowly ran the molecularizer over the boundary. As the wide, green beam passed, the two materials were somehow joined with no visible seam. When he was done, T’Challa tapped his helmet to activate the secondary comm, and he told the ship’s AI to repressurize the vented sections of the Anvil.

Ross heard the hiss, faint at first, and a sense of weight on his body as air flooded the corridor. “Ah, we’re back in business,” he said. He took off his helmet and took a deep breath of the sterile air. It was still quite cold in this part of the ship.

“Now we repair the outer sections,” T’Challa said. “Helmet back on.”

“What? We just worked seventeen hours straight. We haven’t even eaten. Not that I wanted to after dragging all those dead pirates off the bridge, but still.”

“Then go eat. I will be outside.”

“No, you need rest. You can’t just eat mythical Wakandan herbs.”

“The herb isn’t mythical.”

“You know what I meant! I can tell, T’Challa. I’ve spent enough time around you to realize two things. One, you aren’t actually invincible, and two, I can tell when you’re about to snap.”

“I am not tired.”

“You’re exhausted. You want to fall asleep during a spacewalk with a welder in your hand? You’re going—”

“I am going to!--” T’Challa snapped, and then he pulled his anger back. “We are very close to the source, Ross. The ship needs to be in working order, but we are very close. I cannot sleep. Do you understand?”

Ross stepped up close to T’Challa, invading his personal space in a way that no others would dare. “Do you think I don’t understand? Do you think I’m trying to delay you? I’m trying to make sure you get there alive, T’Challa! You need a sandwich and four hours of sleep, or you’re going to crash, and if you don’t take a break, if you only go from one critical thing to another, you’re going to crash during something critical. That’s just how it works.”

Something shifted in T’Challa’s face, and he stepped back, looking away. “I… will not go to my quarters.”

Hot pain wrenched Ross’s chest. Okoye had been staying there with him. Of course. “Right. Well, you can still eat, and then you can sleep in my bed, and I’ll… okay, well, all of the crew quarters are wrecked, mine included. Go sleep in the captain’s chair. I used to do it all the time.”

A hint of a smile at the corner of T’Challa’s mouth, and then a quick nod. “I will rest,” he said in a rough voice.

Twenty-two hours later

“All systems are operative,” Ross said, scanning his screen and control panel.

“And the plasma cannon?” T’Challa asked, referring to the one that had been taken out during the battle.

“Looks good. Didn’t want to risk a test fire so close to who knows what, of course.”

T’Challa nodded.

“Funny thing,” Ross added. “Any idea why the helper drone is calling itself Herbie?”

T’Challa shrugged.

“I know. It’s just, most of the drones are cooked; they got irradiated during the fight. This one, though, it’s not only working fine, but it’s talking constantly, like the whole time it was out there. Did Reed Richards design them to do that?”

“Ross.”

“Oh. Of course.” Ross shut his mouth and turned back to his controls. “One thousand light years to our destination.” He took a big, shaky breath. “The Needle could have done this in about point-two seconds. I know we had to disassemble it. Still–”

“Ross.”

“Okay! This ship can really push it in hyperdrive, so it’ll take… whatever. Here we go.”

The stars in the view screen were replaced with streaks of light, and the familiar prismatic sheen of hyperspace threw the bridge under waves of shifting rainbows. T’Challa watched the counter. Nine hundred… eight hundred… the stubborn thing had refused to move for so much of their journey, and now it spun freely as the distance to their goal drew down to nothing.

“It is too much to believe,” T’Challa said.

“I know what you mean,” Ross replied.

Indicators went off on Ross’s nav screen. “There’s something ahead. It’s big.”

“Can it detect us?”

“It’s… no. I think we should pull out of hyperspace.”

T’Challa nodded, and the ship fell into normal space. They were in a dark system with a dim, red star at its center.

“Red dwarf,” Ross said. “This is an old one. Scanners are working… wow, they’re busy.”

“A battlefield,” T’Challa said. Debris was visible everywhere, huge chunks and clouds of material dust, glowing clouds of old, fissile remnants.

“Estimating this battle took place about seven thousand years ago. Wow.”

T’Challa stood and approached the main view screen. “Are you detecting any Vibranium?”

“No. Oh. So I guess we know who won the fight.”

“Indeed.”

Before long, they were back in hyperspace. Four hundred light years remained.

“Do you think…?” Ross began.

“Hm?”

“I’m trying to phrase the question. This is the Vibranium source. I mean, there’s more here than anywhere else. We know there are little bits of it out there in the rest of the galaxy. And now we find this battlefield, bigger than anything we’ve ever seen. And it’s close, but not that close, to the source. I’m just wondering, why just kind of close?”

T’Challa thought for a moment. “It could depend on who the aggressor was. I know that on Earth, Wakanda was not always so insular, and that it became so partly because of the envious nature of our neighbors. I can’t imagine that any of our ancient kings would have allowed a battle to be fought in Wakanda itself, however.”

“Think they lured their enemies to some dead system and took care of them there?”

“It is not out of the question. There may be a record of the event or some galactic legend. Our crew on the Needle told many tales of Vibranium as a cursed material, after all.”

“Considering what you can do with it, sure. We figured out the Atlas and Foil-travel, and that was just us. Imagine a whole society that can track your little fragment of Vibranium and jump a thousand light years in half a second. Yoink.”

“This raises the possibility, of course, that they are watching us approach right now,” T’Challa said.

“I was trying not to think about that. Thanks.”

“The Anvil is a formidable ship, and we are quite close. I think things have changed, Agent Ross.”

The counter flipped to double digits. Ninety. Eighty. T’Challa’s heart began to thump, and his nerves began to warm. This wasn’t just his personal journey. This was an odyssey for Wakanda itself, the revelation of one of the grand mysteries.

Ten light years remained.

“I’m getting huge power readings,” Ross said. “The hyperspace corridor is – I’m taking us out.” The ship fell back into the black of normal space again. They were in a system with a bright, white star at its center. The Anvil was floating near a dark, rocky world.

“We are one system away, T’Challa.”

“Why did you stop?”

“The hyperspace corridor warped,” Ross said. “Something in this system bent it. I wasn’t sure we’d make it.”

“Very well,” T’Challa said in a strained voice.

“We can just jump from here,” Ross said.

“Prepare the jump drive, then.”

“It’s spinning up already. It’s just, something is here. Third planet. Sensors are trying to get a read.”

“Will it affect the jump?”

“Can we get a look at it, first?”

The Anvil pushed toward the inner system. “There are a few gas giants,” Ross said. “Pretty similar to our system. No signs of life, except for the… huh.” Ross was quiet for a moment as they zoomed ahead.

“Hey, T’Challa?”

“Yes?”

“Just checking.” Ross threw an image up on the main view screen. “I’m not crazy. That’s a guy, right?”

The third planet was a rocky, watery world with several moons, a world that could have been like Earth, if not for some unknown twist of circumstance. Its smallest moon was only one hundred kilometers across, a pale, smooth ball that orbited at a sharp angle compared to its companions. A man was standing on it. He was quite large, several times the size of a human, with an even larger, bulbous head. He was wearing shimmering robes of blue, violet, and green, with pristine, white boots. He stood out on the surface of the moon, unbothered by the full vacuum, his enormous, pale eyes fixed on some distant point in space.

“I see it,” T’Challa breathed.

“What’s he doing?” Ross asked. “What’s he looking at?”

“Not looking,” T’Challa said. “Watching.”

“The moon is artificial,” Ross said, tapping controls as the Anvil closed in on the source of the massive energy signature. “God, it’s sectioned, like a city, all the way to the core.”

“It is his home,” T’Challa said.

“What is he?”

T’Challa ignored the question. “Hail him.”

“What do you mean hail him? It’s a guy.”

“Ross, we now bear witness to one of the great powers of the universe. He will hear us.”

Ross’s hands hovered over the controls. “What do you mean great power? Like, a god? Like Bast?’

T’Chall shook his head. “No.”

MEN OF EARTH, HOW IS IT YOU HAVE COME TO MY HOME?

The Watcher’s voice, deep and wavering, boomed throughout the ship. Ross threw his hands over his ears, almost falling out of his seat.

T’Challa stood in respect. “We have piloted a spacecraft, as you can see. It was invented by an earth-man.”

I SENSE NO DECEPTION.

“You do not believe my words?’

The Watcher took almost a full minute to respond, leaving T’Challa and Ross to sweat out the wait.

YOU SEEK TO ENTER MY PURVIEW.

“We have entered your system, great Watcher. Do you not see us?’

I WATCH FROM AFAR. I WATCH THE GRAND WORLD AKAN. I WATCH THE CELESTIAL ELEMENT MOON. I WATCH THE GREAT WORK FROM HERE.

“What is he talking about?” Ross asked.

“Are you saying that you watch another system? Another world? Are you saying that from here, you observe the Vibranium source?”

IT IS AS YOU SAY.

“We have traveled so far. We have lost so much.” T’Challa gritted his teeth. “Will you allow us to proceed?”

I AM A WATCHER. I WILL NOT INTERFERE, BUT HEED MY WORDS, T’CHALLA OF EARTH. I WATCH FROM AFAR, AND I AM ALONE. FROM AFAR, I STAND ALONE WATCHING.

“I don’t understand,” T’Challa said.

YOU WILL.

“So he just stands there? All the time?”

“He is a Watcher,” T’Challa said. “They are pledged to observe. I am surprised he spoke to us at all.”

“Okay, then. So he won’t blow us up the instant we try to jump.”

“No. Take us there, now.”

Space winked out in a white-yellow flash, and T’Challa’s heart seized. When he told the Watcher they had traveled so far, when he had said they had lost so much, the words seemed meager now. They had traveled across the universe. They had lost everything.

A blue star appeared on the view screen.

“Getting telemetry. Scanners going for broke,” Ross said.

“Report as it comes in.” T’Challa’s entire body felt like an electrified hunk of steel.

“Seven planets. Four rocky, two in the habitable zone, which is pretty big. That star is hot. Looking for Vibranium. It’s here. Where is it?”

T’Challa took the nav controls and piloted the ship into the habitable zone. They passed the first planet, which was a pale, green marble of life. T’Challa glanced at the scanners to see that it was a pure world, bursting with plant and animal life. There were no artificial structures on the surface. The second planet, the one closest to the star, could have been mistaken for Earth.

“Oceans, mountains, continents, the works,” Ross said. “It looks just like home.”

“Where is the Vibranium?” T’Challa asked.

“Now that we’re so close, the Atlas is going kind of nuts. Scanners are – hold on. Oh my God. The moon.”

The planet’s lone moon was just rising from the other side. As it caught the light from the star, it shone like a gemstone, uncountable facets glinting in all directions. The entire moon, a satellite with a diameter of three thousand kilometers, was composed of pure Vibranium.

“I’m reading deposits on the planet as well,” Ross said. His voice was shaking. “This makes the Wakandan mound look like…”

“A pebble,” T’Challa finished. “Any signs of life?”

“No communications activity. I am reading structures on the planet, but no signs of life. I don’t think anyone is down there.”

“And the moon?”

“Can anything live there? No atmosphere. Oh, there are a few structures, but no power readings. No comm chatter.”

T’Challa sighed. “I had expected some answers once we arrived.”

“Planetary scans are in. There is a big city down there, and I was wrong, sort of. We are getting a signal. Just one.”

T’Challa checked his screen. “A beacon.”

“Taking us down.”

As the landing bay opened, warm fresh air blew into the ship. Both men breathed deeply as the sweet scents of earth and flowering plants surrounded them.

“It’s a little eerie, right? This is almost exactly like Earth.”

“It is probably time to stop believing in coincidences, Agent Ross.”

“Uh, sure. The beacon is dead ahead, probably in that building.” They had landed the Anvil in an open square in the city’s center. Everything that had been built was covered in ancient vines and moss, but this place had been built tall and strong. The shape of the city was still apparent.

The path led them up a set of short stairs to a wide, bare courtyard. There, sat some kind of altar, a tall, rough hunk of Vibranium metal that loomed over a smooth, indented dais.

“That’s it,” Ross said.

The two of them walked up to it together. Something in there, settled deep in the bowl and partly covered with intruding vines glowed with a faint, yellow light. T’Challa tore the plants away, and they leaned over to see.

“This is sending the beacon?”

“Not this exactly. It must be built into the altar. But, T’Challa, this is…”

It was a frog, a small, golden statue of a frog.

“A frog? A frog? What is going on?” Ross asked. “Do you have any idea what’s going on, T’Challa?

T’Challa stared at the frog for a moment, and then he looked at Ross, amazement on his face. “I think I do.”

Next: The Celestial Element Moon

Fantastic Four
Volume IV: Frightful
Issue #46: Life, part 1

Written by: u/PresidentWerewolf
Edited by: u/Predaplant

Previous Issue

“Save Mom?” Franklin asked, his eyes glassy with growing terror. “I can’t do that!”

Valeria crossed the room in a sprint and grabbed Franklin by the hand. She squeezed it tightly as she looked into his eyes. Hers had a hard glint, a certainty that most children lacked. “I’ve seen what you can do, Franklin. You can do this.”

Ben Grimm watched in agonized silence as Valeria half-dragged her brother to the comm panel, where he came up to the image of their mother. Sue looked down at Franklin sympathetically. Behind her, sparks showered from the ceiling of her spacecraft.

“It’s okay, Franklin,” Sue said. “You don’t have to do anything.” She glanced at Valeria. “Don’t make him if he’s not ready.”

“He’s ready,” Valeria huffed.

Sue started to say something, but Ben stepped in front of the screen. “Suzie. I dunno if he’s ready, but you gotta let him try.”

“You can’t push him!” Sue snapped back. “If it’s the last thing I do as his mother, I won’t–”

Valeria nodded eagerly and turned to her brother. “Hurry, Franklin.”

Franklin’s cheeks were tracked with tears, but he nodded. “Mom’s in trouble, right?”

“Right!” Valeria said. “You can save her! Use your power!” Ben put a hand on her shoulder and pressed down gently.

“He’s scared enough, kiddo. No need to push him.”

Val nodded, and she suddenly choked back a sob.

For a moment, nothing happened. Franklin concentrated hard, and–

“No.” The young man’s voice broke through the thick quiet in the room. Franklin blinked in surprise, whatever control he had mustered evaporating. Young Ben Richards stepped up between his siblings, putting his hands on their shoulders.

Valeria looked up at her brother, tears now streaming freely down her face. “He has to, Ben! Mom–”

Ben shook his head. “They’re the adults. We’re the kids.”

Sue’s ship shuddered, and she was thrown off screen for a second.

Valeria grabbed Franklin’s sleeve. “Come on!”

Ben pulled her back sharply. “You can’t make it his fault, Val! He’s five years old!” Ben approached the screen as his mother came back into view. “It’s just…” he faced his mother, and the others could see that he was crying, too. “It’s just what happened. It’s not our fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Sue said. “I’m so proud of you. All of you…” she looked back at the control panel as the shuttle shook again. “Let’s be honest, guys.” Val fell to her knees.

“Tell Johnny he’s always been my favorite superhero. Big Ben Grimm? I never felt safer than when you were around. Tell Reed…” Sue paused, her throat working around the words.

The comm clicked. “You can tell me yourself, dear,” Reed said over the channel.

The control panel exploded in arcs and flame, and there was a huge crack! as the engines backfired into their housings. The ceiling broke open, and just as Sue felt the first rush of air blow up towards it, she was taken away. Reed Richards shot through the shuttle like a bullet, his body elongated and sleek. As he passed through, he snatched up his wife, and they exited into black space diving towards the big, blue Earth. Behind them, the shuttle blew apart in a fiery, silent flash.

Reed’s body was shaped like a capsule. On the inside, Sue lay on her back, her face inches from his. She sobbed and laughed as he leaned in, and she grabbed his neck and pulled him down, kissing him over and over.

“You’re my favorite,” she cried.

Reed laughed and kissed her back. “I thought Johnny was your favorite superhero.”

“He is,” Sue said, “but Mr. Fantastic is my hero.”

Lyja flew up to meet them, and she found Sue dangling from a blue and white parachute with Reed’s face on it. When they returned to the Baxter Building, a chaos of hugs and kisses broke out before more serious matters came to the forefront.

“Where’s Johnny?” Sue asked, as her children finally let go.

“What about the lab?” Ben exclaimed.

“Go and check on Johnny,” he said to Sue and the kids. “I’ll handle the ship.”

Sue lingered for a moment, before kissing him fiercely and running for the medical bay.

“Uh, Reed,” Ben said nervously. “Twenty thousand Skrulls are hangin’ out up there. That’s what ya said.”

Reed nodded tiredly. His suit was blackened and torn from his battle and reentry. “The lab is gone, Ben. I sent it on a collision course with the battleship. I don’t think we have the sensors left down here to tell, but it should have impacted by now.”

“So that’s it? Yer lab is big enough to take ‘em out?”

“No, it’ll barely make a dent,” Reed said. “But then, it was only a distraction. Before I abandoned the lab, I sent a few more tachyon pulses, and I left The Maker a little surprise.”

“And yer not even gonna look to make sure it worked?”

Reed shook his head seriously. “No, Ben. I got him.”

The Skrull battleship took only a glancing blow from the orbital lab. It blew out a single shield capacitor, and all of the forward weapons still worked, including the main cannon, which was aimed at the Baxter Building.

“A paltry final effort, Richards,” said The Maker. “Silence the alarms!” Around him, the lights and klaxons that had activated during the collision shut off. “Are we still locked on to Richards’ tower?”

“Yes, Commander,” a Skrull warrior said from his station.

The Maker checked his screens. “The tachyon interference was a brilliant tactic, to be sure, but the charge has worn off. Fire when ready.”

The floor rumbled slightly as power flooded into the main cannon. Within seconds, it was done. The single energy bolt from this weapon would not only obliterate the Baxter Building in an instant, but also create a superheated pressure wave that would level anything within two hundred miles. Fiery winds would blow deep into the continental landmass, and the impact itself would destabilize the tectonic plate below.

“Firing,” the warrior said.

The viewscreen brightened slightly as the weapon began its discharge. Something appeared on the sensors.

“Identify!” The Maker screeched at his crew, but it did not truly matter. If Reed had managed to put something in their way, it could not withstand the blast. Even if it deflected the bolt slightly, the Earth was still facing global devastation. The Maker’s mouth curled up into a satisfied smile as his crew scrambled around him.

“I got him,” he said to himself.

“Identified!” a Skrull shouted, and an image of the object appeared on the main screen.

It was the portal Reed has used to travel to the orbital lab. Instantly, The Maker knew what was about to happen. Even as he ordered the shields up, even as he slammed at the controls to cancel the firing sequence, he was too late, and he knew it.

The weapon fired. The energy bolt shot directly into the center of the portal, where its massive power was captured. The portal came to life, glowing as brightly as a young star.

The Maker activated his emergency teleporter.

The tachyons that had infused the portal’s batteries were burned away, and the portal returned in a flash to where Reed had originally programmed it to go, where it had been sitting and waiting ever since the impact from the orbital lab had hidden its arrival: the reactor core.

The portal’s batteries gave up their charge. Without a destination on the other side, the portal rejected the power from the main cannon, and it was fired in reverse. The reactor was erased. The ship went in a blinding flash of plasma seconds later. There was no solid debris left. For months, the aurora borealis would be enhanced by the energetic plasma to fantastic levels of beauty.

Everyone gathered at the medical bay – Sue, Ben, young Ben, Reed, Valeria, Franklin, John Storm, and Lyja – to wait for word from HERBIE about Johnny’s condition. Once Reed explained about the warship, there wasn’t much left to say, so they sat quietly. Everyone had injuries and wounds, but no one was about to leave this vigil.

“How long has he been in there?” Sue asked.

“Not that long,” Ben said. “I’d bet HERBIE works plenty fast when he wants to.”

“Can someone check on him?” asked Lyja.

“We’d have to break the sterile seal,” Reed answered. “We can’t go in. There are biomonitors, but half the building is out of commission at the moment.”

“Ya know, that robot never liked Johnny. Anyone else a little nervous?”

“Shush, Ben,” Sue said quickly.

As the group chatted quietly, John Storm noticed Franklin standing away, facing the wall. He looked as if he were thinking to himself, but on the other side of that wall was the surgical suite. Johnny was right there on the other side, and John, with his own heightened awareness, was sensing something from the boy.

He approached and put a light hand on Franklin’s shoulder. “How’s it going in there?” Franklin looked up with a guilty face, but John smiled down at him. “It’s fine, kiddo. You don’t have to tell anyone. It’d probably get them too worked up anyway.”

Franklin nodded and went back to concentrating on the wall. After a few seconds, he whispered, “It’s not going so good.”

“Yeah?”

“HERBIE can’t fix him. Uncle Johnny’s heart isn’t…” he trailed off as tears began to leak from his eyes. The whole time, he maintained a calm expression.

“Is he okay?” called Sue from her seat.

John turned back to her. “He’s just worried about his Uncle Johnny. He’s fine.” John leaned in a little toward Franklin and spoke quietly. “You’re sure?”

Franklin nodded and let out a watery sigh.

“Then save him.”

John could feel the boy’s power swell at once and then retreat as he pulled it back in. Franklin shook his head. “I can’t. Ben said I shouldn’t.”

“He was right about your mom, Franklin. That was too much pressure, and hey, when you can count on Reed Richards, I say do it. But this is different.”

“I shouldn’t use my power. I can mess everything up.”

“Franklin… how much time does he have left?”

“A little.”

“Then let me give you a little advice. The worst thing you can do, the most destructive thing you can do to yourself, to the people you love, to the whole world, is to be afraid of your own power.”

“But–”

“But nothing, kiddo,” John said gently. “Take it from me. I lost everyone. I lost my sister, my best friend, my parents, and I lost my nephew. I lost my Franklin. I don’t know if I could have saved them, but I do know I could have done more. It’s the worst feeling in the world. Believe me.”

Franklin sucked in a breath. “I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“I don’t know how.”

“You do, Franklin.” John kneeled. He took Franklin’s hand, and he put the boy’s palm against the center of his chest. “No one is pushing you. No one is telling you to hurry. This is your time, your power. You can do this.”

“Take his heart, and make it like mine.”

A short time later, the medical bay was unsealed and HERBIE came wheeling out. He almost looked nervous as he glanced back and forth at everyone’s expectant faces.

THE DAMAGE TO JONATHAN STORM’S CARDIAC TISSUE WAS EXTENSIVE. THERE WAS SHEARING OF THE LEFT VENTRICLE, AS WELL AS COLL–

“Is he okay?” Sue asked.

HE WILL MAKE A FULL RECOVERY.

Everyone seemed to fall against each other at once. Ben Grimm sobbed into Reed’s shoulder, and Sue scooped up Valeria and Ben into a crushing hug, which they returned with equal force. Lyja looked wistfully towards the window, as Skrulls do not cry like humans.

“I could probably tease him a little less from now on,” she said to herself.

“How’d you pull it off, HERBIE?” John asked.

The robot made a loud click and took a solid ten seconds to answer. I HAVE CLEARLY EXCEEDED MY ORIGINAL PROGRAMMING. THE MATTER IS FAR TOO COMPLEX FOR HUMANS TO COMPREHEND.

John and Franklin both cracked up until they cried, until they were hugging and fistbumping and jumping around together in the hall.

“I guess Johnny’s a little bit of a nutball in any timeline,” Ben said.

“Shush, Ben,” Sue laughed as she wiped her cheeks dry. “Let’s go see Johnny.”

Near the center of the Baxter Building, down in the bottom of the huge pit Franklin had driven into the structure, Joel Hunt hovered over a pile of debris. He waited as some of the material began to shift. Something was digging its way up.

In short order, the insectoid head of the alternate Franklin Richards appeared. It stopped when it saw Joel, and it waited, nervously clicking its jagged jaws.

“Are you here to finish me off?”

“Don’t think for a second that I couldn’t,” Joel said grimly. “I was trained by Annihilus as well. I held the Cosmic Control Rod in my hands. One wrong move, and I’ll knock you the rest of the way down to the street and toss your pieces into the sun.”

“Noted. What do you want from me? Most likely it is the only thing –click– people ever want a Franklin for. My power.”

“If it’s pity you want, you’ve got it,” Joel said. “I just don’t trust you.”

“Kill me, then.”

Joel waved his hand, and Franklin was pulled up from where he was trapped and left to stand on his own. He was still badly injured, and he leaned weakly to one side, but his breathing eased.

“I don’t want to kill you. You are right. I want your power, but I want to make it a fair trade.”

“Wh–”

“Because I’m one of the good guys.”

Franklin peered up at him for a moment. “That you are.”

“This is the deal,” Joel said. “I heal your body, I let you go back to your universe, and I break your mental programming.”

“Nonsense.”

“It won’t seem like it once you’re free. Better than dying, anyway, and if you really want to serve Annihilus afterwards, well, just do it.”

Franklin considered that. “What do you want from me?”

“Fix me. Make it so my powers don’t kill me. Make it so I won’t go back into a coma. Make me free. Do that, and promise that you will never return to this universe again.”

“I will kill you the moment you power down.”

Joel laughed, and then he spoke directly into Franklin’s mind. I know what you are going to do before you do it. Betray me, and the deal is off. I fry your brain, and I go back to sleep. Bad deal for both of us, don’t you think?

That evening, Reed sat alone in a lounge on one of the upper floors of the Baxter Building. The TVs and internet somehow still worked, and he quietly watched as the regular news rotated through the regular problems of the world.

Everyone had been so exhausted after their ordeal. It was worse than that, really. They had been sent flying off to alternate dimensions, flown across the continent, faced down their own nightmares… still, they had struggled back from it all.

“The kids are going to sleep for a week,” Reed said to himself. Sue could only summon up a tiny fraction of her power at the moment, and Reed wasn’t sure what to do if the rest never came back. She was still recovering from brain surgery, for starters. Johnny would be in convalescent care for weeks. Ben…

“I’ll be surprised if Ben comes back at all,” Reed said to himself.

“You would be surprised,” said a voice from behind him.

Reed turned to see Nathaniel trudge into the room. He was covered in burns and bruises from their battle. His broken armor hung from his shoulders.

“Hi, Dad,” Reed said.

“You left me up there.”

“Were you a threat?” Reed asked.

Nathaniel sighed. “No. I suppose not.”

“I guess I’m glad I didn’t kill you,” Reed said. “If anyone else catches you up and around, I might not be able to stop them.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “None of them have the strength left.”

“Joel–”

“Joel Hunt is gone. Didn’t you notice?” Nathaniel said. “He made you all forget about him, and now he’s gone.”

“I…” Reed trailed off. “He said the cosmic battery was lasting longer than we thought it would. I remember the conversation.”

“Of course you do. Oh well. He’ll turn up. Joel always does.”

“You talk like that,” Reed said. “You talk about us like we’re mass produced.”

“You are, in a sense,” Nathaniel said. “I’ve watched hundreds of Reeds. I’ve seen you and your family go through this day so many times.”

“So we’ve had this conversation before. Figures.”

“Actually, no,” Nathaniel said. “This is the first time.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

Nathaniel limped forward and stared at a recliner for a moment, and then he settled for leaning against it. “Think i’ve got a broken rib. Can’t sit down.”

“You want an apology?”

“I just want you to listen. I’m a Nathaniel Richards, Reed, one of the last ones left, and I’m old. I need to tell you about my life.”

Next: Life, part 2

MarvelsNCU presents…

##DARKDEVIL

In Going Devilmode

Issue Four: Scared Straight

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by Voidkiller826 and FPSGamer48

Next Issue > Coming Next Month

Matt Murdock waited just outside the Mayor's office at City Hall, his hands clasped behind his back, his senses alert despite the veneer of calm he projected. The anxiety he felt was palpable, yet tempered by a thread of optimism. He had been working tirelessly, gathering signatures for a petition - a plea for the city to address the issue of masked vigilantes before another mass tragedy struck. The list was long, yet not as long as he would have liked. But, then, who would be more supportive of his cause than Mayor J. Jonah Jameson?

As he waited, Matt's acute hearing, a gift and a curse borne from a childhood accident with radioactive chemicals, allowed him to eavesdrop on the myriad of sounds within the bustling building. He tuned into the rhythmic tapping of a secretary's keyboard, the distant hum of a janitor's vacuum, and then, a lighter note, the unmistakable voice of the mayor.

“No, no, you tell them I won't approve the construction unless they get me pictures. Pictures of exactly what it is they’re looking to develop!” Jameson barked to an aide, who hurriedly scribbled notes.

A soft chuckle escaped Matt's lips despite the tension.

Retreating into his thoughts, Matt thought back to the day his life changed forever - the day he lost his sight but gained so much more. Each sense had become a powerful method with which to take in the vastness of the world around him, overwhelming at first until he met Stick, a stern, blind master who taught him to harness these abilities properly.

Stick had attempted to enlist Matt into fighting some sort of secret war, but the blind child chose a different path. He chose to uphold justice through the law, not outside it. There, as Matt used his enhanced sense to take in the atmosphere of City Hall, he mused about how little people knew of the people with extraordinary abilities like him who didn’t and wouldn’t choose to use their powers to pervert the course of justice.

The door to the Mayor’s office swung open, and Jameson's booming voice welcomed him. “Murdock! An inspiration to us all; come on in, sport!”

Matt entered to find the flat-topped former news editor cosy behind his desk, one of his aides retreating through a side door into another room. He heard the door click shut. “Come on, sit!” Jameson added. “There’s a chair out for you just ahead, mind your step!”

The mayor could have asked the aide to help Matt to his seat, but he didn’t. Either it was thoughtless, or Jameson had correctly pegged Matt for someone who liked to do things for himself.

Matt moved forward quickly, trailing his cane left and right until it struck the wooden chair waiting for him. Of course, he already knew where the seat was, just as he knew exactly how many sheets of paper were stacked on the mayor’s desk, as well as what Jameson had for breakfast, but he had to keep up appearances.

“It’s been a hell of a while, Mr Murdock. Sit down, sit down. How is it slipping back into the legal world?”

“Good enough, Mr Mayor. It keeps me busy,” Matt replied, settling into the chair across from the cluttered desk.

Jameson chuckled, leaning back in his chair with the leather creaking under his weight. “You know, if you ever get tired of defending the indefensible, let me know. I could use a man of your talents on the prosecution side. Ever think about running for district attorney?”

“That’s kind of you, but I’m committed to defence,” Matt said with a smile meant to disarm. “It’s where I’m needed most.”

Jameson nodded, his expression turning serious. “Fair enough. So, what brings you to City Hall today, Murdock? Don’t tell me you’re here to complain about the traffic.”

“Actually, Mr Jameson, I’m here about something more pressing. The city’s safety concerning masked vigilantes,” Matt stated, his tone shifting to match the gravity of his words.

Jameson’s eyebrows shot up, his interest piqued. “Go on. You know you’re speaking my language now. What have you got?”

Matt leaned forward in earnest. “I’ve started a petition. It’s gaining traction, but we need more support. It’s time the city officially addressed the threat these vigilantes pose. We got luck with the recent gang incident, we can’t risk it again.”

“And what does your petition suggest?”

Matt leaned to his side and reached into his bag. From it, he produced a stack of papers completed by typewriter. He held it out for Jameson to take, which he did quickly. “In here, I outline suggestions for a police task force dedicated to first addressing one of the city’s biggest issues. I call it the ‘Anti-Devil Task Force’.

Jameson raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a wry smile. “Sounds a bit evangelical, doesn't it, Murdock? What are you, assembling Jesus freaks? Might need a bit of a PR spin there.”

Matt nodded, understanding the critique. “The name can change, but the mission is crucial. Daredevil started this trend of urban vigilantes thirty years ago. And five years ago, you saw how he went off the rails, his killing spree. Wilson Fisk and his security detail, sure, they didn’t have the most spotless moral reputations, but they weren’t convicted of any crime. We thought we’d seen the last of him until this recent gang incident, and now he’s terrorising suspects, killing priests…”

Jameson sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I remember, Matthew. I remember very well. So, what’s your plan with this task force?”

“It’s about accountability, oversight. We need a dedicated team monitoring these individuals, ready to act before they step out of line. Law enforcement and judicial working together. Starting with Daredevil,” Matt explained, passion edging his voice.

“And you’re sure you’re not looking for a career in prosecution?”

Matt pushed through. “That’s why you started the 'New, New York' initiative, isn't it? To bring back New York from the brink, to take its destiny out of the hands of masked vigilantes?”

Jameson's eyes lit up, a spark of the campaign trail flickering within. “Exactly, Murdock! Stark, Rand, and I, we're going to clean this city up. With technology, order, and a hard line on these masked menaces,” he declared, thumping his fist lightly on the desk, the sound a punctuation to his resolve.

Matt nodded slowly, absorbing Jameson's fervour. “It’s commendable, Mr Jameson, and necessary. But it’s not just about technology and policy, it’s about action. That’s what this task force is about - ensuring these vigilantes can't hide from the consequences of their actions.”

Jameson leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight as he considered Matt's words. Then he said something surprising. “This priest you mentioned. That’s Paul Lantom, isn’t it?” he asked. Matt didn’t realise Jonah kept himself in the loop that closely. “From your parish, right?”

Matt nodded.

“Is that what inspired all of this?” Jameson cut through the noise. “Because someone close to you got hurt?”

Frustration bubbled within Matt. “I thought you of all people would jump at this chance to rein in the masks, especially after what Daredevil's become.”

Jameson leaned back, tapping his fingers on the desk. “I’m sorry, Matthew, but there’s no proof it was Daredevil who killed the Father. Word is, it might be someone new... someone younger. They're calling him - or her - ‘Darkdevil’.’"

Matt's heart sank. "We need this task force. We need to act."

“Look, if it was as simple as bringing in the National Guard and declaring war on costumed freaks, you’d think I would have done that by now!” Jameson replied. “You know my stance on this issue, but unfortunately there’s a lot of people who’ve been let down by the boys in the blue, let down by the courts. To them, these ‘heroes’ are what justice looks like, and we need to meet them where they’re at. There aren’t enough people like us - people who understand what real justice is - for us to throw our weight around like it's nothing.”

Matt said nothing, and Jameson began flipping through his proposal documents thoughtfully. “It's good work, Murdock. I’ll keep it, sit on it, but I can’t promise quick action. If we’re gonna save this city from masks, we’re going to have to do it slowly. Step by step.”

Matt bristled at that, with something playing on his mind that he couldn’t ignore anymore. “You say I know what your stance is, but what about Stark? You’re working with him, and he’s one of them. Don’t you think that makes you look soft on these ‘costumed crime fighters’?”

Jameson waved dismissively, exasperated. “Stark is a respected businessman, a pillar of the community, and a known quantity. That’s different. Plus, he’s helping me rebuild New York!”

“Different? He may not hide behind a mask, but he doesn’t have to,” Matt retorted, his anger rising with each word. “He hides behind his corporate empire and his billions.”

Jameson paused, his features hardening. “I don’t appreciate your tone, Murdock. Tony Stark operates in the open, under public scrutiny. That’s accountability.”

"Accountability?" Matt’s voice rose, incredulous. He was standing now, his chair scraping against the floor. “He’s perverting the course of justice just as much as any masked vigilante, just in plain sight. You rail against vigilantes like Spider-Man but you're all in with Stark? Hell, Stark has even worked with Spider-Man and publicly endorses murderous thugs like the Punisher and the Moon Knight! What are you really standing against?”

Jameson opened his mouth to respond, but Matt was already on a roll. “Consider what you’re really saying to this city. You claim to stand for justice, but it looks like you’re just choosing sides based on who can afford to play the hero without a mask.”

With that, Matt turned on his heel and stormed out of the office, his cane tapping sharply against the polished floor. His words hung heavily in the air, challenging Jameson's principles and leaving the mayor, for once, in silence.

🔺 🔻 🔺

Jack stepped onto the school bus with a familiar flutter of unease that settled heavily in their stomach, like a stone sinking into a deep pool. As they moved down the aisle, the stares felt sharper, the whispers louder, even though no-one here remembered the scarlet letter Jack had been forced to wear as the child of the murderous Daredevil.

Finding a seat at the back, Jack tried to sink into the vinyl, hoping to become invisible. The whispers started almost immediately, not hushed enough to mask their sting. “That's the Murdock kid,” someone snickered from a few rows ahead, their words carrying a mix of disdain and mockery. “Such a fucking weirdo…” spoke another voice, this one plenty quiet but no more avoidable.

From a few seats away, Jack couldn’t help but tune into another hushed conversation with their enhanced hearing, spoken behind cupped hands. “—can’t make up its mind if it's a boy or a girl.” Another voice replied, the tone both curious and dismissive, “Yeah, who does he think he’s fooling with those tights?”

The clarity of each word was like a needle pricking at Jack’s resolve. Before, their father had brought them all shades of fear and ostracism. But it wasn’t just his shadow that marked Jack as an outsider - it was their very identity, their personality, their queerness. They didn’t need to be Daredevil’s wicked spawn to be a freak.

“Still sitting back here, huh, Jack?” A voice cut through their thoughts, pulling them back to the present.

It was Ray, making his way down the aisle with a friendly grin. Ray had always been different from the rest - genuinely kind and unbothered by the rumours or the whispers. How much of that would change with so many of his memories of Jack having been messed with by the devil?

“Yeah, old habits,” Jack replied, managing a small smile as Ray plopped down in the seat beside them.

Ray's presence was comforting, a reminder of normalcy in the chaos of Jack's altered reality. “So, your dad's back in town, huh? Must be weird, after all these years.”

Jack nodded slowly, nervous to say much about their father. “Yeah, it’s... complicated. Mom's still figuring it out too.”

“I bet,” Ray said, shaking his head. “I mean, we were just kids when our dads walked out on us. That sort of thing messes you up. I’d be furious if my old man showed up tomorrow like nothing happened.”

So that was it. An elegant edit at the hands of Lucifer.

Before, Jack became friends with Ray after he told them that he understood how they felt, that his dad was a career criminal who chose a life of crime over his family. Now, Ray remembered it as them bonding over having absent fathers, not criminal ones.

“I am angry,” Jack replied. “I mean, he was gone for five years. But it wasn’t easy for him.”

Ray furrowed his brow. “Sure, but it wasn’t easy for you either,” he reassured them. “But hey, if you guys are cool, then great. But if there’s ever any problems, I’ve got your back, okay?”

“Thanks, Ray,” Jack said quietly, their voice steady despite the storm inside. “For everything.”

Ray just smiled, patting Jack on the shoulder. “What are friends for, right?”

🔺 🔻 🔺

Jack and Ray settled into their seats as their first-period teacher, Mr Henderson, clapped his hands for attention. The classroom buzzed with the subdued chatter typical of early morning, but it quickly faded as Mr Henderson's voice cut through.

“Class, today we have a special guest who’s here to talk about some very serious issues concerning young people,” Mr Henderson announced. “Please, give your full attention to Mr Victor Cadkin.”

A man in his late thirties stepped to the front of the classroom. He was dressed in a white dress shirt that seemed to hang loosely on his frame. Victor cleared his throat, his eyes sweeping over the students.

“Good morning, everyone. My name is Victor Cadkin, and I used to be in a gang,” Victor began, his voice steady. “I’m here today not just to scare you straight, but to share my story - the choices I made, and the consequences of those choices.”

Victor paused, taking a moment to gauge his audience. “I grew up not too far from here, in a neighbourhood where joining a gang felt like the only way to survive. Money was tight, my family was broken, and the streets... Well, the boys there made me feel like I belonged in a way I didn’t know before.”

He delved deeper into his past, recounting tales of petty thefts that escalated into more serious crimes. “By the time I was sixteen, I was carrying a gun. I thought that made me tough, made me strong. Then, by eighteen, I’d seen things - done things - that I can never take back.”

The classroom was silent, the weight of Victor’s words hanging heavy in the air. He shifted the focus to the present, the purpose of his visit. “I spent nearly twenty years behind bars, and let me tell you, every day in there, I wished I’d made different choices. I’m here to urge you to say no to violence, to gangs, to guns and knives. You think they offer power, protection, but they don’t. They only lead to loss. Loss of freedom, loss of life.”

Victor’s speech turned to the legal repercussions of gang involvement, of the legalities of joint enterprise and aiding and abetting, ways a wayward youth could see prison time without committing any illegal acts themselves. The talk was gripping, clearly touching some of the students who nodded in solemn understanding. Jack too felt the power of Victor’s words, the genuine desire to steer others away from his past mistakes. But as Victor spoke of reform and redemption, Jack couldn’t ignore an awful feeling that swept over them. A voice in their ear. But this wasn’t a product of enhanced hearing; this was one of Jack’s more potent new abilities. He’s lying. He’s still involved. He hasn’t left that life behind.

The whisper clawed at Jack’s conscience, stirring a conflict within. They wanted to believe in Victor’s redemption, in second chances. Yet it was hard to ignore the voice, a manifestation of Jack’s ability to detect lies. Glancing at Ray, who was absorbed in the talk, Jack felt a pang of envy for his untroubled engagement.

As Victor concluded his talk with a final, heartfelt plea for the students to choose better paths, Jack clapped along with their classmates, the applause ringing hollow in their ears.

“Thank you, Mr Cadkin, for sharing your story with us,” Mr Henderson said, bringing the room back to routine as Victor nodded and made his way out of the classroom.

Jack leaned over to Ray, whispering, “Do you think people can really change, like completely turn their life around?” Both teens had a stake in the ideas Victor was selling, as Jack had recently reminded themselves.

Ray thought for a moment, then replied, “Maybe not everyone, but I think a lot of people can. And everyone deserves a chance, right?”

Jack nodded, the doubt lingering but the hope in Ray’s words offering a sliver of comfort. Yet, as they gathered their books for the next class, the whispers in their mind echoed on. They couldn’t ignore this.

🔺 🔻 🔺

So, as the final school bell rang, Jack lingered in the shadows of the nearly empty halls, their gaze fixed on Victor Cadkin, who had spent the school day repeating his talk for a handful of other classes.

Victor left the school with a casual stride, blending into the bustling crowd of students dispersing for the day. Jack followed discreetly, matching Victor's pace while keeping a safe distance. As the sunlight waned, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Jack ducked into an alley to ‘go devilmode’. That was what they called it; Jack Murdock was no devil, but occasionally the need would arise to present as one regardless of that truth. To use Lucifer’s curse for good. They focused, feeling the now-familiar rush of transformation—their clothes morphed into the slick, crimson costume of Darkdevil, their senses sharpened, and their mind slipped into a state of heightened focus.

Fully transformed, Darkdevil resumed the pursuit. Victor led them through twisting streets and eventually into a less savoury part of Hell’s Kitchen, stopping outside a nondescript garage. Darkdevil perched atop a nearby rooftop, their eyes narrowing as they observed Victor greeting several burly men dressed in tracksuits - unmistakably members of the Tracksuit Mafia.

Inside, through the grimy windows, Jack could see Victor Cadkin working alongside the others with well-practised efficiency, unloading crates and arranging them in an orderly fashion inside the warehouse. From the markings and the careful way they were handled, it was clear these crates contained something valuable - likely the drugs destined to flood the streets of Hell's Kitchen.

Victor was speaking animatedly, pointing and gesturing as he coordinated the operation. His demeanour was that of someone deeply embedded in the trade, not just some grunt. So it was true, he really wasn’t reformed at all.

As Darkdevil watched, a new shipment arrived, carried by two men who struggled under its weight. Victor checked the contents, nodding in satisfaction, his earlier guise as a repentant criminal completely shed in the privacy of his true environment. Fuelled by the blatant deception and the imminent threat to their community, Jack felt a surge of determination. This couldn’t be allowed to continue.

Swooping down from above, Darkdevil burst into action. They dashed into the garage, catching the first guard off-guard and knocking him out with a swift, precise strike to the head. As the others turned, startled and reaching for their weapons, Darkdevil moved like a shadow among them.

One man swung a baseball bat at Darkdevil's head and Jack threw up his hands in defence. Then, Jack surprised themselves as - from thin air - flames materialised around their closed fists, a long quarterstaff appearing stretched out between them just in time to block the bat’s strike. With a swing of their own, Jack knocked the man back with explosive force.

Gunshots echoed in the confined space as another assailant opened fire. Darkdevil spun around to face the shooter, and while most of the bullets whizzed harmlessly past them, one struck Jack clean in the shoulder.

Beat.

There was no pain. There was nothing. The bullet crumpled against their shoulder and fell ineffectually to the ground.

Jack smiled a wide grin. It seemed Darkdevil was bulletproof.

They closed the distance quickly, disarming the gunman with a fluid motion and using the quarterstaff to knock him unconscious with a non-lethal blow to the temple.

As more men charged, Darkdevil wielded the staff with expert precision, combining martial arts with their supernatural agility. They ducked, weaved, and struck with lethal efficiency, each movement perfectly time to neutralise the half dozen Russians without causing fatal injuries.

Eventually, the room fell silent, the last of the assailants lying subdued on the ground. Jack’s attention then snapped to Victor, who was attempting to flee through a back exit. With a few swift strides, Darkdevil intercepted him, pinning him against the wall with the staff pressed firmly against his chest.

“Why, Victor? You go into schools and you lie to kids, to everyone, about being reformed. Why!?” Darkdevil demanded.

Victor’s eyes were as wide as they could go with fear, his breath ragged. “I… I was clean... I swear. But this life... it pulls you back in. I work with a charity, it… it does important work, but I needed money, and they... they offered me a way out. I was desperate.”

Darkdevil stared into his eyes, using their powers to see the truth. It was there - the desperation, the regret. It was a sympathetic story, but it didn’t change what he had been caught doing.

Police sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. “Tell them the truth, Victor. The police. The charity. Everyone.” Darkdevil insisted, stepping back as the first police cars arrived.

Victor nodded, his resolve firming. “I will. I promise.”

With that, Darkdevil vanished, retreating to the safety of the rooftops, to the cold, wet heights with the wind rushing past them. There, as the police swooped in below, Jack couldn’t believe what they had accomplished. They had taken on a half dozen gangsters, many of them armed, and won. They had exposed a major drug operation. They had taken a bullet and shrugged it off like it was nothing. So, with the job done, Jack exited devilmode, their costume burning away to reveal their regular clothes. But as their demonic visage melted away, an awful feeling washed over Jack aggressively and suddenly. As Darkdevil, Jack was the One Without Fear, but now they returned to a body flooded with adrenaline and cortisol, and their fear had caught up with them.

Alone on the rooftop, Jack trembled as they hugged their knees close, grappling with the aftermath of their first real battle as Darkdevil. This all felt like a horrible nightmare, even if it had yielded such positive results. This wasn’t who they wanted to be, even if it was what they needed to be. And it made them sick.

🔺 🔻 🔺

Jack shuffled up the path to their home, the events of the evening weighing heavily on them. They were later than they had intended, well past the curfew that Grace had set, and the anticipation of a lecture on responsibility churned in their stomach. Yet, as they quietly opened the front door and slipped inside, it wasn't Grace who was waiting, but Matt.

Jack's heart sank further. They tried to head straight for the stairs, mumbling a half-hearted excuse. “Sorry, I just lost track of—”

“Jack,” Matt's voice stopped them mid-step, firm yet not harsh. He was sitting in the dim light of the living room, looking more tired than angry. “We need to talk. You know there's a curfew for a reason. Please don't do it again.”

Jack turned, bracing for more, but Matt's expression softened. “But that’s not what I want to talk about,” he continued quickly, waving off the curfew issue. “I... I need to say sorry. For being gone. For everything.”

Jack felt a lump form in their throat. They had harboured so much anger towards Matt for years - anger for the dangers his double life had brought upon them, for his absence. But now, standing before a man who remembered none of his own misdeeds, Jack felt an overwhelming surge of guilt.

Matt sighed, looking down at his hands before meeting Jack’s eyes again. “After your Uncle Foggy died, I fell apart. But honestly, I think it started even before that.”

“Dad? What do you mean?” Jack knew exactly what Matt was referring to, but did Matt?

“It’s not an excuse, but… I’ve had a hard life, you know, with my eyes, your grandpa Jack’s murder, and the years I spent trying to make Hell’s Kitchen a safer place as a defence attorney. I was burnt out, at the end of my rope... and I failed my family. I'm so sorry.”

Jack's emotions tangled into a knot - anger, guilt, understanding. They struggled to find the right words, to say something that wouldn’t hurt him or disturb the delicate veil that Lucifer’s spell had cast.

“Dad, "Dad, I never blamed you for everything you did," Jack said carefully, veiling their reference to the unremembered past of Daredevil. “I know how tough your job has been, how it can change a person… I just wish we hadn’t lost so much time together.”

Matt’s eyes glistened with a mixture of pain and gratitude. “Thank you, Jack. You’re really smart... and mature, and so brave,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “It's hard to believe you’re the same little boy who was afraid of his own shadow.”

Jack made a face at the slight misstep in words, a reminder of their ongoing journey with identity that Matt was still catching up with. Matt caught the look and quickly added, “You know, back then, you were.”

Though it was a clumsy recovery, it was enough for Jack. They stepped forward, and father and child embraced, a long moment of reconciliation bridging the gap years of absence had created. In that embrace, Jack felt a complex cocktail of love, forgiveness, and an aching sadness for the hidden truths that still lay between them.

🔺 🔻 🔺

Later that same night, Matt found sleep elusive. His mind kept turning over the emotional weight of the whole day. He didn’t understand why Grace and Jack had been so understanding in taking him back into their family, but at the same time struggled to understand the depths of how he had hurt them. As if something was preventing him from seeing it in its entirety.

Gently easing out of the bed, Matt took care not to disturb the sleeping Grace. He grabbed his red-tinted sunglasses and phone from the nightstand, fitting the glasses over his eyes and inserting a wireless earbud into his ear as he made his way to the living room.

The open plan of the space felt expansive and strangely comforting as he navigated it with ease. This place was new to him, bought and renovated after his disappearances, yet it seemed to accommodate him perfectly. Pacing, Matt clicked through news articles on his phone, the robotic voice through his earbud relaying the headlines. One in particular leapt out at him, demanding his attention. Perhaps it was good he couldn’t sleep.

Matt arrived at the site of the Darkdevil attack on the Tracksuit Mafia within the hour. The area was cordoned off, blue and red lights flashing ominously against the night sky, casting long, sinister shadows. Reporters buzzed at the periphery, held at bay by the police. Unlike them, Matt didn't need to venture closer to poke around; his senses allowed him to investigate right from where he stood.

Focusing intently, he listened for the telltale thumps of heartbeats, methodically counting the injured. He inhaled deeply, searching for the sharp, metallic tang of blood, but found none. No iron, no blood - no deaths. Yet, amidst the familiar city smells, a faint trace of sulfur lingered in the air, peculiar and out of place. Faint even for him.

A wave of déjà vu washed over him just then, a feeling as if he had investigated scenes just like this one before. He wrestled with the notion, but quickly remembered that his legal work had brought him to similar scenes, collecting evidence to defend clients who found themselves tangled in the city’s darker dealings. His curiosity was assuaged by this memory, this answer which seemed to appear out from the fog.

But then, a memory from over thirty years ago surfaced with startling clarity. He remembered Stick, his gruff mentor, guiding him to a dock to investigate. They had discovered it was a safe house for Roscoe Sweeney, the notorious gangster and boxing fixer responsible for orchestrating the murder of Matt’s father, Battlin’ Jack Murdock, for refusing to throw a fight.

Memories flooded back uncontrollably: Sweeney evading justice, and the raw, youthful anger that had propelled Matt to confront the man responsible for his father’s death. He recalled the fierce satisfaction of beating Sweeney's men, the heavy thud of their bodies hitting the ground, all culminating in a heart attack which killed Roscoe Sweeney before Matt could even lay a finger on him.

There, among the sounds of camera shutters, humming power lines, and the wailing of sirens near and distant, Matt stood frozen, grappling with the stark realisation of his own hypocrisy. He was only young when he took the law into his own hands, using his enhanced abilities not just for defence but for vengeance, and a man paid the price with his life. But above the throbbing pain of his guilt, he asked himself a much more pressing question: How the hell had he forgotten this?

To be continued next month in Darkdevil #5

Moon Knight #40: Night of the Living Vampire

Written by: u/FPSGamer48

Edited by: u/Predaplant

———

“Doctor, how is she?” Jack asks, taking on his human form as he steps forward. Doctor Morbius gives him a grimace of melancholy in reply.

“Stable, but for how long is… questionable. We’re almost out of her blood type. Without a constant feed of new blood to replace what we’re draini-,” the Doctor remarks.

“You’re draining her blood?” I inquire, confused. “Didn’t the vampires already try that?”

“Yes, but this is standard procedure,” Dr. Morbius insists. “Please, Mr…”

“Moon Knight,” I state plainly, gesturing to the crescent visible on my chest.

“I guess the outfit was a bit of a giveaway,” he jests. “Well, Mr. Knight, please allow me to explain. You see-” Just as he begins to speak, I pull out my pistols and start to reload. The world around me quickly fades into the background as the clicks of my weapons ring out. At the same time, I find myself fixated back towards the door we came in from. That door may be solid, but surely it can only hold out so long against those things. Eventually, they’ll get in here, and I’ll have to take back my vow to Greer. Maybe I should have made some sort of supernatural monster clause in our agreement?

“I’m sure Greer would understand in this situation,” Steven reassures me.

“Besides, it’s not like her opinion matte-,” Jake tries to interrupt.

“It matters to me and him, and that’s what matters,” Steven replies.

“What about Khonsh-,”

“Khonshu’s opinion is irrelevant,” I retort, making sure my voice is loud enough that all the voices can hear. “He’s lucky he still has an avatar and isn’t trapped back in that dusty temple. That’s enough for him. He let me update the deal, so clearly he needs me.” To my surprise, there is no threat from the Ennead in return for my comments.

“Right, Khonshu?” I ask, demanding he speak up.

“Uh-huh, sure,” Khonshu brushes me off. There’s almost something concerning about how little he cares about my views on killing. At this point, though, I notice that Dr. Morbius’s mouth is still moving, and this whole time I’ve been caught up in my own thoughts.

“Thus, so long as the enzyme remains, a steady stream of fresh blood must-,” he rambles.

“Sorry to interrupt, but to be real with you: I didn’t get a word of that,” I tell him. The doctor looks at me with a frustrated expression.

“Do you require me to restate everything I have said up to this point?” he questions, eyebrows furled.

“Can you give me the short version?” I request. Morbius lets out a long sigh.

“Enzymes from a vampire bite transform a person’s blood into what we call ichor. If all of your blood becomes ichor, you become a full vampire. To keep Ms. Price from turning, we must continually flush her bloodstream of ichor and vampiric enzymes with fresh blood,” he explains. “Eventually, after enough flushes, the vampiric enzymes will have been wasted on creating the now drained ichor, and thus, she will be free of the pathogen.”

“And that will cure her? You can actually cure vampirism?” I probe.

“Cure is a bit of a strong word, it may not work entirely, but in essence, yes,” Morbius proudly states. Jack, though, scowls.

“You said you could cure her, what do you mean it’s a bit of a strong word? Can you not actually do it? Have you even tried it before?!” he growls, the hairs on his neck raising.

“Please, Mr. Price!” Morbius shouts, holding his hands up in fear. “I am only tempering expectations! No treatment is 100% effective, but you are in the hands of the best of the best! I am your best shot at ensuring your sister is not turned!” I reach over to Jack’s shoulder and pull him back from the doctor.

“Best of the best, you say? And yet you work in this dingy little building?” I question further.

“I work here for the same reason you wear that mask. My work is not that which the public need know about,” Morbius asserts. “The revelation of actual vampires existing and being so widespread in society would result in mass collapse. Thus, when S.H.I.E.L.D recruited me out of medical school-.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D? You’re telling me you work for S.H.I.E.L.D and you run a place like this? Your story is getting harder and harder to believe, Mike,” I suggest.

“First, include Doctor, I earned that, and secondly, Michael, thank you,” the doctor responds. “And in a broad sense, yes. S.H.I.E.L.D is technically from where my funding comes from, though the average S.H.I.E.L.D agent wouldn’t know that. You see, S.H.I.E.L.D has many tendrils, some more secretive than others. My place of work is within the most concealed of those tentacles: an organization within an organization, if you would. We’re known as the Wizardry, Alchemy, and Necromancy Department, or W.A.N.D for short.”

“Was that the organization my sister was communicating with?” Jack asks.

“Yes, and in fact, your sister and I exchanged several communiqués, all beneath the veneer of a vampire enthusiast group,” Dr. Morbius explains. “In truth, your sister stumbled across a W.A.N.D recruitment site meant to suss out who truly knew of vampires. When we realized she was not only aware, but was also in potential danger, we made the call to give her a list of safe houses she could seek in case of danger. One of which-,”

There’s a violent bang from the other side of the sealed door. The doctor pauses his speech, listening as the bangs on the steel echo.

“Was this one,” he continues, “and as you can see, is secure.”

“Can you be sure it’s secure?”

“In times past, yes. Ever since the Wundagore events however…”

“Wundagore? The mountain?” Jack speaks up.

“Yes, it is a long story you do not need to know, but since those events, the number of vampires has increased exponentially. If the blood on your clothes is any indication…”

“We can take them,” the werewolf interrupts, “right, Moon Knight?” Again, my conscience tugs at my throat. Remember the promise to Greer. At the same time though, this is literally life or death. I can’t imagine Greer would truly be against me killing vampires of all things, right?

“I think so,” I try to assure Jack, “but we already saw that my bullets weren’t effective, remember?”

“That shouldn’t be much of a problem to remedy,” Morbius states, “your weapons, from the looks of it, take 9 millimeter bullets, yes?”

“Correct,” I hesitate.

“Excellent, hold on one moment,” he remarks before disappearing into the darkness of the building. Less than a minute later and the doctor is stumbling back in with a large ammo box in his arms, the sound of jingling bullets bouncing around the room.

“Crucifix-infused and silver-tipped. Though we don’t fully understand it, the mere belief in a religious object can imbue a power capable of enhancing its lethality-,” he tells us before I interrupt.

“I’m Jewish.” There is a momentary pause, but soon enough the doctor is again disappearing into the shadows, and then reappearing with a similar box. This time, a visible Star of David is marked on it.

“Silver-tipped, lubricated with kosher oil, infused with the essence of etrog, lulav, hadass, and aravah,” he says with a smile. I start to take out my pistols to empty their magazines, only to be interrupted as the banging returns.

“We will also need someone at the other entrance, just in case,” the doctor suggests, “Mr. Price, if you could?” Jack looks down at his sister, placing his hand on her arm for a moment, before turning his gaze back to Morbius.

“Don’t stop her treatment. No matter what,” he warns as he follows the doctor to the front. I, meanwhile, move quickly in unloading and reloading my magazines. My mind can’t help but flash back to special forces training, where I had to do the same sometimes as many as fifty times a day. At the same time, as I load, my eyes keep returning to the Star of David on the ammo box. So faith makes these things stronger, huh? I can’t help but feel a bit disconnected from my faith after all these years, and all that blood. I mean, I am also serving as an avatar for an Egyptian god, so maybe that hurts my link a bit too. I’m sure Moses wouldn’t want to hear that. Still, I feel a part of me is forever intertwined with it, so I do my best to uphold what I can. In the silence, with nothing but the sound of blood pumping through Jack’s sister, I recite a verse my father taught my brother and I to say before tests.

“Adonay yishmâr-tsê'thkha ubho'ekha mê`attâhve`adh-`olâm,” I whisper over the sounds of ravenous vampires clawing at the door. Morbius, meanwhile, returns to Nina’s side.

“How do you want to play this?” he asks me, overlooking the pale woman to his left.

“Open the door,” I recommend. “We give them a spot to funnel through, and I can pick them off as they enter.” Morbius looks at me hesitantly, barely willing to trust my judgment. Not that he has much of a choice, though, as the clawing and squealing of the thralls outside grow louder. They’ll be in here, either through that door or through those walls when they’ve ripped away enough mortar to slip the bricks out of place. 

“Alright,” he relents, approaching the door. “Remember: aim for the heart.” I hear a loud hiss, and the door begins to swing open. Morbius returns to his place alongside Nina. The first thrall steps through. Alright, Marc, game face on. I raise a pistol up and take my first shot. The silver bullet wizzes through the air, pierces the vampire’s skin, and blasts out the other end, splattering blood across the doorframe. A surge of adrenaline pulses through me as my finger runs across the trigger. I raise my second pistol and hit the second vampire, bringing it down as easily as the first. 

Shot after shot pops off as the bodies start to pile at the door’s entrance. I can feel a smile breaking out across my face. Just like the old times. With one hand I throw an empty mag out and pull a new one into its pistol while I fire with my other hand. As the door opens wider, I have to start angling my shots, firing them through multiple vampires at once. The stopping power of these bullets is impressive. Even with a small caliber, they can still penetrate through two bodies without a problem. Even with my admittedly amazing performance, the sheer volume of vampires swarming the door feels like it hasn’t taken a hit. The alleyway behind them is completely covered by their bodies writhing and thrashing like an ocean of flesh. My stream of bullets slows, and the horde continues its march forward. Stepping over the bodies of their fellow undead, they reach a new point in the room as I finish my reload and catch back up to speed. As long as the horde stays this numerous, the tide will never turn. They’ll eventually overpower us at this rate.

“Doc, I’m going to need more weapons at this rate, I’m sweating bullets over here,” I call out, gesturing to the empty magazines. The doctor scurries over and grabs the empty holsters, nervously eyeing the horde of vampires the whole time, before returning to the table with the ammunition.

“I’ll try and keep you as supplied as I can,” he remarks, “but we only have so much Jewish ammunition, I’m afraid.”

“Blades of Anhur!” I shout, summoning spectral daggers to surround my hands. With each shot of my pistol, I fire off a dagger in the same direction, taking out two vampires in a single motion. Everything slows to a crawl as my adrenaline spikes. I throw another dagger and look back to Morbius, who throws a magazine to me. Holding out my pinky, I clutch the magazine between it and my ring finger. Another bullet is fired into the crowd, and then another dagger. I drop an empty magazine and load, just as I’ve done a good five times at this point. I can hear and feel my own heartbeat. No other noises can penetrate my focus.

As more vampires fall and the piles begin to fill that half of the room, I can’t help but feel a darkness creep into my veins. The bloodlust: it has returned. All it took was the sight of those corpses and the knowledge that I was responsible to remind me of what I am. Is there really any point in fighting it? Is this not my calling, after all? To use my skills to take revenge on an evil world and make it better.

“Marc…” I hear Greer whisper in my head. No, I chastise myself. You can be better than this! This is just an exception, and if Greer were here, she’d agree. It just can’t go further than monsters.

“Moon Knight, watch out!” Morbius shouts as a vampire emerges from the corpse pile, lunging at me. I manage to fire off a few shots, stopping it just short of me, but the time I spend focused on this one is time not focused on the horde. The corpse pile has been unquestionably stepped over. The creatures are now flooding the room.

“Get Nina as far back as you can! I’ll keep trying to hold them off!” I shout at the doctor. Rushing the unconscious woman and her machine on their stretcher as far back as he can, Michael can no longer provide me ammunition. I’m on my own now.

“Khonsh, I need you to focus all your magic into resisting any bites I’m about to get, got it?” I request. The Egyptian God doesn’t even get time to answer, though, as a vampire quickly jumps too close and I’m forced to draw my crescent daggers. The tips dig into its chest, ripping skin and flesh before scraping against its rib cage. Hands balled in a fist, I push forward, shattering the ribs and punching the heart. A single slice up and the creature falls limp. Now to just do that another fifty or so times, I tell myself. I slash through the body of a second bloodsucker, cracking through its ribs through the sheer force of my swing and cutting into its heart. A third grasps me from the right and tries to bite through my arm’s armor. I manage to shake her to the floor, and from there curbstomp her chest open. Before I can swing a dagger down, though, another vampire gets in the way, taking a crescent to the face. There are just too many.

“Moon Knight! Back up!” I hear an unusually gravelly Morbius call out. Stepping back, I watch as a muscular, pale white figure steps in front of me. His hair and voice are that of Michael Morbius, but his body is far more… feral. His hands are more bony, and have visible claws. As he turns to me, I can see his eyes are now a bright, glowing red. Fangs hang from the top of his mouth and extend past the lips. I notice a ribbon around the top of one of his arms, and an injection mark lower down. What is he?

“Stay back!” he growls before turning back to the vampires and tearing into them with his claws. Just as Jack made quick work with their weak skin and degrading muscles, so too does Morbius rip them into pieces and bite their hearts out. Blood sprays across the floor as he tears into the beasts. I take a few more steps backwards and grab the ammo box before running to find Nina further into the building. I eventually find her, hidden away halfway in a utility closet. I can now hear not just Morbius’s violence, but Jack’s as well. Animalistic growls and howls ring out from my left, while gnashing and hissing comes from my right. Suddenly, I hear a gunshot go off. A handheld radio next to Nina crackles to life.

“Doctor Morbius?” comes a feminine voice. Is that…Greer?

“Gre-Tigra?” I ask, holding the radio up to my head. “It’s Moon Knight.”

“Where is the Doctor?” the voice replies.

“He is handling the vampires. I’m with his patient.”

“That must mean he… I hope he knows what he’s doing,” the voice murmurs before another gunshot rings out.

“Are those gunshots?”

“Of course they are, I’m not going to go down there and have a fist fight with them,” she responds. If this is Greer… she’s changed a lot rather recently.

“How did you know I was here?”

“The doctor called me. WAND has me on speed dial for situations like this. The name’s -,” she almost gets out before static interrupts her.

“Say again?” I ask. Silence follows. Still, though, I hear the gunshots. Someone out there is doing work. A rustling comes from my other side, though, and I’m quick to turn to find Morbius rapidly racing towards me.

“We’ve been overrun! We have to get Ms. Price out of here! Hopefully Bloodstone has shown up and we can leave out back with Mr. Russell,” he remarks as he grabs Nina’s stretcher and begins to move her and the table holding the blood transfuser. His nails dig into the table and without much effort, he picks it up off the ground and pushes past me.

“Bloodstone?” I wonder aloud. “You mean Tigra? Yeah she’s here.”

“Is that the nickname she gave herself? Hm… regardless, we need to get going, follow me!” he relays before continuing down the corridor. I look back and can already see vampires coming through into the hallway. No time to argue semantics, we have to get going.

Amazing Spider-Man

Issue #22 - Where is Peter Parker?

Written By: AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin & Mr_Wolf_GangF

Edited By: Deadislandman1

“Where is Spider-Man? New York Residents ‘At a Loss For Words’ After Vigilante's Disappearance.”

The online article’s headline taunted Gwen as she stared down at her phone. Attached to the article was a photo of Spider-Man mid-swing, snapped from below. The whole city wanted answers about Spider-Man - where he was during the recent gang war, where he had disappeared to since. Gwen did too, but they didn’t know what she did - what she’d been carrying alone for the past month.

The taxi bumped along the street, and Gwen couldn’t stop thinking about the night everything changed. The city-wide gang war, Hobgoblin and Hammerhead tearing New York apart, and Peter - bloodied and barely conscious, showing up at her dorm. She’d discovered his secret that night, his torn red mask of Spider-Man revealing her boyfriend’s face underneath. He had explained next to nothing: only that Hobgoblin had attacked him, that he knew he was Spider-Man and wouldn’t stop until he had destroyed him.

Before she could fully grasp what was happening, Peter had begged her to stay safe, then disappeared out her window - vanished into the chaos of the city. Now, a month later, he was still gone.

Gwen continued scrolling impatiently as the cab continued along through Queens, to find more articles, each worse than the last: theories about Spider-Man’s disappearance, the climbing death toll of the gang war, or reports on people who were still yet to show up safe after everything, seemingly swallowed up by the chaos.

All Gwen knew about Spider-Man’s last recorded moments were from the tabloids. After she last saw him, Spidey had one final confrontation with glider-riding terrorist Hobgoblin, and the two disappeared. No information on the outcome of their fight. The perfect fodder for innumerable conspiracy theories.

Locking her phone, Gwen looked up to see her destination within reach. This last month, she had felt burdened with an incredible grief that she couldn’t share with anyone. Who else even knew the truth about Peter Parker? And even then, Mary was still nowhere to be seen after her trip away after the Electro incident, Harry had gone missing like so many others during the gang war, and Flash…

Flash was traumatised. He was captured by Hobgoblin himself during all the violence. He was found, tied up and with a severe concussion, a day after the Hobgoblin’s disappearance, by Daredevil of all people. Flash said he didn’t remember much, only that it was definitely him that took him. There was no way Gwen could burden him with her pain, not while he was still recovering from something so awful.

That left one person. One person who was present, willing, and able to talk about Peter.

Ding-dong!

There were a few moments of silence, muffled mumbling from behind the door, and finally the creaking of the old wooden door swinging open to reveal the elderly May Parker. She wiped one of her hands on a floral-patterned apron tied around her waist, and as she locked misty eyes with Gwen.

“Oh… Gwen, it’s so lovely to see you,” she cooed, stretching out her hands and enveloping her in a hug. Gwen smiled and squeezed her gently.

“You too, Aunt May. How are you?” Pulling away, May shrugged; that gave Gwen all the answers she needed. As Gwen opened her mouth to ask her another question, she heard shuffling from inside the house.

“Come in, come in,” May beckoned. She retreated further into the house and gestured towards the door to the kitchen. “I’ve just made a pot of coffee. Help yourself. Oh, and I’ve just finished making some brownies.”

Gwen smiled politely, reaching for the door. “Brownies? What’s the occasion?”

Inside the kitchen sat a tall woman with striking red hair sipping from a mug with a faded ‘Best Aunt Ever’ motto written across it. She wore a black leather jacket which clung to her toned biceps, with distressed grey jeans and worn-out sneakers. Gwen blinked. “Mary?”

Mary Jane Watson gulped down her sip of coffee before placing the mug down with a clumsy thud. “Oh my God. Gwen.”

“You girls didn’t plan this?” May asked, smiling. “What a nice surprise.”

Mary folded her arms across her body and slumped into a chair. “It’s good to see you again.”

Gwen only nodded. Instead, she was focused on Mary’s arms. One minute she’s in the hospital, then she’s gone, then she’s more muscular - and taller - than she’s ever been.

“It’s very kind of you ladies to come and pay me a visit,” May said. She took a mug out of the cupboard without looking and turned towards the coffee pot, picking it up. “To tell you the truth… the house has felt… empty. Or, emptier than usual.”

Mary nodded solemnly. “It’s terrible, what happened to the city. What happened to…” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how worried you must be.”

May leaned over and placed the mug of coffee in front of Gwen, who quietly thanked her. “The paper keeps upping the number for how many people have passed.” She sighed. “I keep worrying that one day I’ll get a call.”

Gwen frowned. No, there was no way that would be the case. Peter wouldn’t be… She took a sip. Maybe he ran away. But, no, why on Earth would he do that? Why, after he went to confront the Hobgoblin, would he have suddenly turned and ran?

As Gwen calmed her thoughts for a moment, she heard Aunt May mention the word ‘vigil’. “They’re holding one later today for those who were killed, and those who are still missing,” she continued. There was a pause, and May slowly nodded to herself. “I’d like to go. Peter is missing - and so is his friend, Harry. It would… make me feel better, I think.”

Mary smiled warmly. “That’s a great idea, May. When is it?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Just as the sun is setting. I’m sure it’ll be lovely.”

“I’m sure it will,” Gwen agreed.

A silence hung in the air. May fiddled with the knot at the back of her apron and, after a moment spent untying and removing it, she placed it on the counter with a resolute sigh.

“I think,” she announced, “I’m going to go prepare what I’m gonna wear. I won’t be long.” She smiled at the two young women as she passed them, moving to the staircase. Gwen watched her leave, listening as her footsteps grew quiet as she ascended. Then, when she was firmly out of earshot, Gwen turned to face Mary.

“Okay, why are you so buff?” Gwen probed, her voice lowered even despite May’s distance. She leaned over the table. “Is this a spider thing?”

Mary seemed to flinch at the word ‘spider’, but she wore an incredulous look on her face. “What? No, it’s not—”

“Did he do this to you? Was it, like, a blood transfusion when you were in the hospital?”

“Gwen, no. No, it wasn’t anything like—”

“It’s just that…” Gwen huffed, furrowing her brow. “I mean, you and Peter were close and now you’re all—”

“What does this have to do with Peter?” Mary asked, her tone suddenly low and serious.

Gwen’s heart jumped in her chest. “Oh God. You mean you don’t know?”

“I know. How the hell do you know?”

“He… was hurt,” Gwen began. Hearing the words out loud gave them a new power she wasn’t prepared for. “And he came to find me. His mask was all…” She shook her head.

“And you saw his face,” Mary finished.

“Wait, if he has nothing to do with it, then…” Gwen gestured to Mary. “How did you…?”

There was a look in Mary’s eyes similar to Gwen’s own hesitation just moments ago.

“I was thrown into your neogenic recombinator over at Horizon Labs. It misfired and hit me, back when Electro attacked.”

Gwen pushed back from the table, her mouth agape. She had spent months on that project; she never even realised it was functional. “What!? You… I… That night? When Spider-Man saved us?”

Mary nodded silently.

“Okay, wait, so,” Gwen mumbled, placing her hands over her head in surprise. She wasn’t sure whether all of this information was exciting, confusing, or deeply overwhelming. “It worked! It was set to infuse spider DNA… so you’re like a full-on Spider-Woman!”

Mary shrugged, but nodded. “I guess so.” Then, she winced. “I mean, I got a suit made and everything. I just… I don’t know. When the gang war broke out, I felt like I couldn’t do it. I got scared. It was like I—”

“Girls!” May called down from upstairs. “Could you come and help me reach these shoes? They’re too high up on the shelf.”

Mary looked at Gwen with an almost apologetic smile before rising from her seat. “Coming, May!”

…

The bus came to a stop, its old engine sputtering and aged screws rattling as it did. The bus door opened and soon a stream of people, eager to stretch their legs, poured out. Once the initial wave of people were out, a second more calm wave started. This time it was a small collection of men and women in military uniform. Once off the bus, many of the service members quickly reunited with groups of waiting family members, who broke out into a heartwarming celebration over the safe return of a loved one. This was true for all but one of these soldiers.

Dressed in civilian clothing and with no family to greet him, Eddie Brock silently made his way through the clumps of family and exited the bus depot.

Once in the parking lot, Eddie pulled a card from his pocket and scanned the numbers printed on its face. Looking up, Eddie's eyes worked over the parked cars till he found the one which had a sticker on its windshield, the same numbers written out on it. He tossed the card aside and approached the car.

Then Eddie crouched down and retrieved a set of keys hidden in the wheel well and unlocked the car. Entering, he pulled out a similarly stashed phone from under his seat. Eddie booted up the phone and called the only number saved to its contacts.

“Yo? Who's this?” A voice asked as the call was answered.

“It's me, Richard,” Eddie answered.

“Eddie!” Richard exploded into enthusiasm on the other end of the line. “Man, I thought you weren’t back til the end of the week.”

“I pulled a few favours,” Eddie explained. “Speaking of, what's going on with the job?”

“You got it man! I shot my boss your resumé and he said you were perfect! Well, he did say he wanted to do a phone interview first, just to cover all bases, but it's basically yours.”

Eddie nodded, taking in the good news quietly. “Can you send me his number?”

“Sure thing.” There was a pause and then the phone buzzed in Eddie’s hand.

“Thanks, Richard. I owe you for all this.”

“Don't worry about it man! Anything for a hero!”

And Eddie froze. He caught himself clenching his fist around the steering wheel hard enough to cause the plastic wheel cover to rip in a few places.

“Thanks, I gotta run.” he said hurriedly, pushing through and hanging up before Richard could reply.

Checking the text messages, Eddie found a number alongside a name and position: Roland Treece, Head of Security, LIFE Foundation. He would call him soon. But first, lunch.

Starting up the engine, after years away, Eddie Brock was finally back in town.

…

The house was quieter now that Aunt May had gone to bed, leaving only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft ticking of the wall clock to fill the silence, a gentle reminder of how late it was getting. Gwen and Mary made no move to leave the couches on which they were curled up. Now May was gone, they finally felt free to speak without weighing every word.

“This is a nightmare,” Gwen muttered.

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, feeling the exhaustion creeping in, both emotional and physical. “Peter couldn’t have picked a worse time to disappear. Hell, graduation is next week! May had everything planned. She was talking about getting him a new suit, about taking photos…” Her voice cracked slightly, the weight of it all suddenly hitting her. “He could be anywhere.”

Mary’s gaze shifted from the TV to Gwen, her lips pressed into a thin line. “He wouldn’t have left without a reason,” she said, her voice strained. “Peter doesn’t just... vanish. He’s not that kind of person.”

“It’s been a month, Mary. A whole month.”

They exchanged a glance, the unspoken fear between them palpable. Neither of them wanted to admit it out loud.

Gwen pulled her knees to her chest, her voice quieter now. “I mean, God, we’re lucky we know what we do. That he’s Spider-Man, that he’s probably okay. May doesn’t have a clue. All she knows is that Peter vanished, and it’s killing her.”

Mary was silent for a moment, stirring as if wrestling with something. “Yeah, it’s tough seeing her like that,” she finally said. “She’s holding onto hope, but I can tell she’s starting to prepare herself for the worst. And the worst part is, we can’t give her the reassurance she needs.”

“We can’t?” Gwen replied, a knot in her stomach.

“Imagine if Pete comes back tomorrow and we’ve just blown up his whole life,” Mary forced her to consider.

“His life!?” Gwen threw off her blanket. “Mary, I just found out my boyfriend is a superhero. I find him a bloody mess in my apartment, and he tells me he needs to go back out and fight again. I… I let him, and then he disappears?”

Mary stayed silent.

“Whose life has been blown up here?” Gwen exclaimed. “Just Peter’s?”

“Gwen…” Mary reached over to place a shoulder on the other girl’s shoulder. Gwen shied away. “Look, he’ll be okay. He’s… amazing. I mean, he’s unstoppable. And, on that, him going back out into the streets isn’t on you. If his mind was made up, he didn’t need your permission.”

Gwen swallowed, the knot in her stomach tightening. She hated thinking about it. Mary seemed so chill with the idea of her friend being this amazing, unstoppable force of nature, as if it were so normal. But, in Gwen’s mind, Peter was still just the big-hearted, dorky lab partner she had fallen in love with. The only version of Spidey she had seen him as was at his weakest, his most vulnerable. She envied Mary’s ability to see him as so invincible.

Then, after a long pause, Mary shifted in her seat.

“Actually,” she said slowly, hesitantly, “There might be something we can do. Something to give May some peace of mind.”

Gwen looked at her, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

Mary hesitated, but then she leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s someone, here in the city, who looks exactly like Peter. I mean... exactly.”

Gwen blinked, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Mary said quickly, her eyes flicking toward the staircase, as Aunt May was about to suddenly appear atop it any moment now. “But there’s this guy. He’s been laying low, working at a coffee shop in Brooklyn. Remember the spot I took you to near my campus? You left early and then the place was hit up by Shocker? Well, it’s thanks to him that we all got away okay. He just… leaped into action. Like, Spidey action. He looked just like Peter. And the way he looked at me…”

Gwen stared at her, her mind racing to catch up. “Wait, Hold on. Are you saying there’s... what, a clone of Peter out there?”

“I don’t know exactly what he is,” Mary admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “But he’s out there. He calls himself Ben.”

“Ben?” Gwen interjected quickly, a frog in her throat.

Then it hit Mary. Of course. Of course he would pick that name.

Suddenly, it was real. Gwen couldn’t pretend that Mary was just seeing things.

She furrowed her brow. “You’re talking about having him pretend to be Peter?”

“Just for a while. Until Peter comes back. We know he will, right? He always does. But in the meantime, May could have peace of mind. She wouldn’t have to go through this horrible waiting, not knowing if he’s alive or dead. She wouldn’t have to go to this vigil ready to mourn her son.”

Gwen opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again, unsure of what to say. The idea was... unsettling, to say the least.

“This is... insane,” Gwen said finally, shaking her head.

The idea of a clone or doppelgänger posing as Peter, even temporarily, sounded like something out of a nightmare. But Gwen knew she couldn’t stomach leaving Aunt May to suffer, to slowly break apart with worry.

“Okay,” Gwen surrendered, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Say this actually works. What happens when Peter really comes back? What do we tell May then?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Mary said quietly.

…

The Daily Grind was busy, the coffee shop humming with the low murmur of conversation and the sharp hiss of steam from the espresso machine. The streets of Brooklyn just outside were lively, college students and locals passing by in the warm afternoon light. Inside, Gwen and Mary sat at a corner table by the window, sipping lukewarm coffee, both of them tense as they scanned the shop’s entrance.

Gwen drummed a polyrhythm with her fingers on the table, glancing out onto the sidewalk every few seconds. “Are you sure he’ll be here?” she asked, her voice low, wary.

Mary nodded, her eyes scanning the employees behind the counter. “He lives upstairs. Even if he’s not working, he won’t be far.” She paused, her shoulders sagging slightly. It was hard being back here, at the coffee spot closest to her college campus. Like Peter, she too was close to graduating before her sudden transformation had forced her to take a leave of absence and squirrel herself away.

Gwen didn’t respond, too focused on watching the door. “What if he’s not here?” she asked. “What if he’s already left? Or worse, what if he won’t go along with our crazy scheme?”

“He’ll be here.” Mary was firmer now. “And he’ll help. He has to. He cares about May.”

Just as Mary spoke, Gwen spotted a figure passing from out the back to towards the front door. A man, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, stepped onto the street.

Gwen and Mary slipped out of the coffee shop, trailing behind him as he walked along the crowded street. The man’s bleached blond hair - mostly grown out, revealing dark brown roots - caught the light as he tugged his cap lower over his eyes, clearly trying to avoid attention.

But when he caught a glimpse of them following, his pace quickened.

So Mary sped up in a brisk pursuit, and Gwen followed, pushing through the afternoon foot traffic. Ben tried to duck into a side street, but Mary called after him, her voice cutting through the bustle. “Peter! Wait!”

At the sound of his name, Ben froze mid-step, his shoulders stiffening. He slowly turned around, pulling his baseball cap even lower, but it was too late. Mary was already standing right in front of him, blocking his path.

“Peter,” she said again, her voice softer this time, almost nurturing. “It’s me. We need to talk.”

For a long moment, Ben said nothing, his jaw clenched tightly. Gwen could see the struggle reflected across his entire body - the instinct to flee, to keep running. But something in Mary’s eyes must have tugged at him. He couldn’t just leave. He didn’t - Gwen noticed - have the same recognition of her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his face still partially hidden under the cap. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

Mary stepped closer, undeterred. “Ben. Peter. Whatever you’re calling yourself these days. I know who you are.”

Gwen stayed back a few paces, her eyes darting between them.

“I can’t help you,” Ben said, his voice quieter now, though Gwen could hear the tremor beneath the words. “I don’t know what you think this is, but—”

“It’s about Spider-Man,” Gwen interjected, stepping forward. She was tired of tiptoeing around. “He hasn’t been spotted since all the gang violence.”

That stopped him in his tracks. Ben glanced around them quickly, then pressed his back against a nearby storefront, pulling them both closer to get out of the way of foot traffic. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper.

“Keep your voices down. You know how important this secret is.” He slowly pulled off his sunglasses, revealing a pair of eyes that were unmistakably Peter Parker’s - deep, familiar, and filled with a world of conflict. Gwen felt a lump form in her throat, her heart lurching painfully in her chest.

“I... I don’t understand,” she said, her voice trembling. “How... What…?”

Ben’s expression hardened. “What am I?” he asked bitterly. “I’ve been asking myself that question for a long time.”

He pushed away from the wall, his eyes darting up and down the street before he gestured back toward the coffee shop. “Come on. We can’t talk about this out back there. Upstairs.”

They followed him back into the shop, and then up a narrow staircase behind the counter. Ben’s apartment was small and cluttered, the kind of place where everything had a place, even if that place seemed completely arbitrary. There were stacks of books leaning against a wall, half-folded clothes draped over a chair, and random bits of machinery cluttering the desk in the corner. It was chaotic, but there was an odd sense of order to it. Just like Peter.

Ben sat down on a worn couch, his head resting in his hands for a moment before looking up at Mary, then at Gwen. Gwen stood by the window, too unsettled to sit, her eyes darting around the room. Mary sat across from Ben.

“As far as I remember,” Ben began slowly, “I was Peter Parker. I lived my life, went to school, got bitten by a… uh, radioactive spider… became Spider-Man… lost Uncle Ben... all of it.” He swallowed a gulp of air. “But then, things started to blur. There were gaps, things I couldn’t remember. Some days are super vivid, like fighting the Goblin at high school, teaming up with Nova and the guys, and… watching Harry ask you out to the homecoming dance. But then other days… just a blur.”

Mary remembered the homecoming dance. It was years ago. Peter had asked Betty Brant of all people, right when she really thought he was going to ask her. It was a good night, Harry was a good guy, a good date, but not who she had wanted to be there with. Then a pang of guilt hit her. God, Harry was missing too.

“Then, one day,” Ben continued, fighting to avoid eye contact with Mary, “I just found myself on the street - no idea how I got there. I went home, back to May’s. But then I saw a moving truck outside.”

Gwen stopped pacing, her eyes narrowing.

Ben swallowed. “I saw Eddie and Ned helping me load boxes into this truck. There I was, moving off to college. Except, it wasn’t me. Like a clone, just… just like…”

Ben reached for something so confidently before finding nothing. A lost memory. Perhaps an answer to a mystery just out of reach. He exhaled and hung his head. He was used to this. “But I realised… maybe this guy hadn’t stolen my life. Maybe here I was, ready to steal his. And I knew I couldn’t do that. For all I knew, I was the clone. It would certainly explain all my…” He gestured vaguely to the air around his head, as if conjuring clouds. “So I left. I had to find some new person to be.”

The room fell silent as the weight of Ben’s story sank in. Mary’s heart ached for him. She could relate, at least in some capacity. After Horizon Labs, after her transformation, she had to hide away and leave all of her friends in the lurch. Peter, Felicia, Gwen… everyone. But she knew when she did that it was only temporary. But Ben? She tried to imagine having to turn away from everything she knew and loved, and to leave it all behind. It broke her heart.

“I’m so sorry,” Mary said softly. “Nobody deserves that. It’s awful.”

Ben gave a tight, bitter smile. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’ve made peace with it... mostly.”

Mary glanced at Gwen, who was still pacing. She knew this was a lot to take in, but they had a job to do. She took a deep breath and carefully explained their predicament. “Ben... Peter…”

He interjected firmly. “Ben is fine,” he briefly looked her in the eye. “Please.”

Mary swallowed. “Like Gwen said, Spider-Man’s gone missing. That’s why we’re here. Except…”

Ben’s face shifted, the concern in his eyes deepening. “Spider-Man’s missing,” he muttered, almost to himself. Then, louder, “Is... he...?”

Gwen’s voice was sharp, cutting through the room. “Peter? Yeah, he’s missing too.” There was an edge in her tone, a mix of frustration and disbelief. She didn’t care if it hurt him; this whole situation was too strange, too much to bear. It was like confronting the ghost of the man she loved. The man who had lied to her and then disappeared.

Mary pressed on gently. “We came here because, well, because of May. Peter’s been gone for a month, and she doesn’t know why. She thinks he’s dead, or worse. And we’re going to a vigil for the missing tonight and—”

“You want to see that I’m…” Ben corrected himself, “...that Peter’s safe. So she doesn’t worry. I get it. I’m in.”

Mary blinked. It was that easy? “She needs to believe he’s okay, until he shows up, which he will.”

“He will?” Ben asked. Was that a challenge or was he genuinely unsure?

“Yes.” Gwen spat. “He will.”

But Mary pushed past it. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Ben…”

His gaze dropped to the floor, his thoughts swirling. For a long moment, he was silent. His look wasn’t one of conflict though. No, his mind was firmly made up and he was ruminating on something else. He nodded slowly, a resigned look in his eyes. “I’ve missed her too. And if I can be Peter Parker even just for a few days... maybe it’ll give her some peace. Maybe it’ll give me some peace.”

…

Less than an hour later, Gwen and Mary stood beside Ben as he rang the doorbell to May’s house. Then, when the door opened, and May saw him - or rather, Peter - she let out a choked sob, her hands flying to her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes, and she pulled him into a tight embrace, her voice trembling with relief.

“Peter... oh, Peter, what have you done to your hair? Where have you been? I’ve been so worried!”

Ben melted into her arms, his resolve breaking as tears flooded his own eyes. He tried to form an explanation, anything to justify his absence, but the words caught in his throat. Subject to this overwhelming joy, all he could do was hold her, letting her coddle and mother him as if nothing had changed.

As Mary watched from the side, her heart ached for Ben. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was hurting him, that it was like rubbing salt in an old, unhealed wound. She glanced at Gwen, who stood stiffly beside her, watching the scene unfold with a visage of veiled discomfort. Maybe Gwen had been right all along. Maybe this was too strange, too cruel. But for now, it was giving May the comfort she so desperately needed.

And for that, it had to be enough.

…

Ben had never been to a vigil before, he had memories of something similar but nothing like this. Streets crowded with countless people, all of them strengthened by the presence of so many that carried the same pain. It was awe-inspiring yet heartbreaking, the purest representation of shared mourning. Neighbours could rely on neighbours and strangers could be family, at least for today.

Strangers could be family.

It was a nice thought but Ben couldn't commit to it, not when he was a stranger pretending to be family to the woman next to him.

May’s spirits were high, but Ben’s initial joyfulness over reuniting with her had eroded into guilt. He was lying to her, tricking her into relief and happiness while her actual son was still lost to the city. He was making her believe the burden had been lifted off shoulders when in reality, It had only gotten heavier.

May looked over at him and Ben realised he had been looking at her. She gave him a small smile and he returned it, a horrendous churning happening inside him as he did.

Soon the crowds, having marched in a slow uneven pattern, came to a slow stop. In the distance, Ben spotted a priest standing atop a stack of crates.

“I am Father Ramón,” he announced to the gathered crowd. “Many of you already know me, many of you do not. I run the church on Weller Street, yet I do not stand here as a member of the church, but as a member of this community. I stand here to encourage us all to come together in this time of pain and find the power of healing within each other.”

The father took a candle that was handed to him and Ben looked to the unlit one he held in his hand. Nearly everybody in the crowd held a candle. Ramón pulled a match from his pocket and struck it against the bottom of his shoe before using it to light the candle.

“Tonight we come together, not to suffer the pain of who we lost, but to celebrate their lives.” Father Ramón stepped off the crates and into the crowd and using his candle, lit the candle held in hand of the person closest to him. That person used their candle to light the next candle and this broke into a chain reaction of the crowd lighting each other's candles.

Soon, May had her candle lit and she held it out to Ben, making him freeze dead in his spot. He shouldn't take it, it wasn't his to take, he couldn't take it. Yet his hands took action regardless of his mind's protests, angling his candle to light it off May’s. Once his was lit, Ben turned around and lit Mary’s and she in turn lit Gwen’s.

“Can you light mine?”

Ben’s heart jumped up into his throat as he immediately recognised that voice.

May turned around to oblige the voice, and a beat of confusion was followed by a quiet recognition. Norman Osborn was a big name in New York, even considering the years that had passed without anyone knowing where he was. Clearly, he couldn’t stay away any longer, with his son among those missing.

“Thank you.” Those words from Norman’s mouth nearly knocked Ben off his feet.

He remembered.

He remembered the mad scientist imprisoning him in his lab shortly after his radioactive spider bite. He remembered the goblin, the hulking beast tearing through both Midtown High and the Oscorp building for Spider-Man’s head. Then, another memory suddenly became clear: Osborn restrained and taken by SHIELD. That was a lifetime ago and Ben couldn't understand how Norman was now suddenly a free man.

The small talk he made with Aunt May gave nothing away. But, eventually, Norman turned to Ben, and he feared this was where the other shoe was going to drop. Norman had no context for this whole clone fiasco, right? But if Ben’s memories were right, he absolutely knew that Peter Parker was Spider-Man.

“You were Harry's roommate right?” Norman asked, not giving Ben a chance to answer before going on. “I appreciate that, he was always a lonely boy and I'm glad he had someone he could call a friend in college.”

“Poor Harry,” May spoke up, reaching out with her free hand and taking Norman's. “He will show up, Norman. Just like my Peter did.”

“Wherever he is, I’ll find him,” Norman replied, betraying a grim determination. “But right now I'm just trying to keep my head above water.”

May squeezed Norman's hand, feeling a deep sympathy for the man and even deeper within her, a gratefulness for her Peter being safe with her. At least that's how Ben interpreted it and made him feel even more rot inside.

“Thank you,” Norman said to May before turning to Ben. “Thank you both.”

And just as suddenly as he appeared, Norman vanished back into the crowd.

What was that!? Was that Norman playing nice, keeping his hand hidden? Or did he somehow really not remember? Just as Ben was ready to spiral, Mary tapped on his shoulder.

“Hey, Pete?” she asked awkwardly. “You got a sec?”

“Um, sure.” Ben looked over to May and Gwen. “You'll be good right?”

“We'll be fine,” Gwen said as she took position next to May. “Just make sure you catch up.”

Ben and Mary nodded and started moving through the crowd, coming out on the edge of it and taking refuge from everybody else in the mouth of the alley way.

“Mary, tell me I’m missing something,” said Ben, his face blanched with shock. “Norman knows I’m— that Peter’s Spider-Man. What was—?”

“Look!” Mary shoved her phone into Ben’s face, forcing him to look right at a notification alerting to a local bank robbery only a few blocks away.

“This isn't about Norman?” Ben asked.

“We can talk about him later.” Mary shoved her phone back into her pocket. “You need to go.”

“Me?” Ben hesitated as he looked back towards the vigil, the lights still warm and bright even from further away. “But I…”

There was a fire in Mary’s eyes, and as she looked at the vigil, then at Ben, she felt a deep urge - a drive - burning inside of her. To help. “Dammit. Alright, fine.” She yanked at her shirt, pulling it up over her head.

“Woah! What are you—!?” Ben stopped himself as he noticed that there wasn't skin under Mary’s shirt, instead there was a red and white costume with a spider emblem sitting on the chest. “You have a costume on? Are you serious?!”

Mary grabbed the collar of Ben’s shirt and pulled it down, allowing a flash of red spandex to peek out.

“Don’t pitch stones in glass houses,” Mary said as she continued to take off her civilian coverings.

Ben sighed and looked around.

“Are you really going to help me with this?” Ben asked.

“Yes,” Mary answered. “People need help and we’re going to help them.”

Mary paused and looked Ben in the eyes. There was that fire again. Ben sighed again and took off his shirt.

…

Meanwhile at the Avon Kolins Bank, the robbery was in full swing. A massive muscular blonde woman had busted down the doors and knocked out the guards, which was pretty standard. But her next course of action was not in the usual playbook.

“I have this dream my daughter in-law kills me for the money—” Daisy sang to herself as she typed away on one of the bank’s computers. “—she thinks I left them in the will.”

Suddenly, a line of web attached to the computer screen and the whole thing was yanked off the desk, making Daisy jump back in surprise.

“Y’know, last time I checked, the stuff worth stealing was in the vault over there.”

Daisy looked up to see two figures clinging to the roof. One looked like Spider-Man in a makeshift costume of red spandex and a torn blue hoodie; the other was a lady dressed more like his usual digs, a Spider-Woman.

“Hey, I wasn't stealing nothin'!” Daisy defended. “All I was doing was wiping out a few databases to clear my credit! And wasn't I helping others too? Wiping out their credit records? I'm like a female Robin Hood over here!”

“And was adding that six hundred thousand dollars to your account also helping them?” the Spider-Woman asked.

“Oh, you saw that?” Daisy asked, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck. “Well, Robin Hood’s gotta eat too.”

Daisy grabbed the desk next to her and with one arm, flung it up at the Spider-People. Spider-Man acted first, grabbing Spider-Woman and dropping them both down to the floor a moment before the desk crashed into where they had been.

Ben and Mary landed behind a desk, giving them cover for just a moment.

“You go help the hostages,” Ben ordered, hating how naturally he slipped into this. “I'll handle Big Bertha.”

“Okay,” Mary agreed, suddenly feeling a bit over her head now that she was in the thick of it.

The desk they were behind was suddenly lifted into the air, Daisy having picked it up with a single hand.

“You better have meant ‘big’ in a good way,” Daisy said while looking down at Ben.

“I'm a big believer in Death of the Author,” Ben quipped, silently cursing how easy it still came to him.

Daisy swung the desk down, Ben and Mary both dodging at the same time. Mary dashed off to where she could see the hostages while Ben only avoided the attack, staying within range to take Daisy’s attention.

“Howdy,” Ben said.

Daisy immediately threw a fist his direction and with the grace of a dancer, he dodged it. That action repeated a few more times, Daisy swinging wildly while Ben avoided getting so much as grazed.

“Damn!” Daisy exclaimed as she placed her hands on her knees and took a deep breath. “You're peskier than a real spider.”

“Hence the hyphen.” Ben took the slow in Daisy’s attacks as an opening to go on the offensive, swinging a fist straight towards Daisy's jaw.

However, if it were because she recovered faster than expected or if the whole thing was a feint to begin with, Daisy reacted quickly and caught Ben’s fist, using her grip on it to swing Ben around through the air, sending him flying across the room.

“GAH!” Ben collided back first into a pillar, hard enough to crack it, and fell to the ground in a heap. Mary, who was ripping the duct tape off the hands of the last hostage, turned around just in time to watch Ben try and get up only to crumble back to the ground in pain.

“I wish I had something clever to say but honestly I'm no poet.” Daisy took a stance. “I’ll think of something later and send it on a card to your hospital room.”

Daisy started to run at Ben, thunder with each footfall cracking the tiles under her feet.

On nothing but reflex, Mary jumped into action. With a running start, she leaped into harm’s way and flung her arms around Daisy’s neck as she collided. Both women went tumbling onto the ground, Mary managing to roll into a crouch while Daisy ended up flat on her stomach.

“You’d be an NFL pro with a tackle like that!” Daisy tried to jump up onto her feet but Mary reacted faster, firing her organic webbing at Daisy midair, where her elbows and knees were closest together. The blonde stopped dead and crashed back into the ground, squirming desperately to break the webs glueing her elbows and knees to each other.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Daisy yelled when she realised she couldn’t tear her way out.

“Afraid not, looks like you strung out,” Mary said as she walked past the trapped thief.

“Boo! Bad pun!” Daisy called out after the Spider-Woman.

“You all right?” Mary asked as she got to Ben, who had propped himself up against the cracked pillar for support.

“Yeah,” Ben said in a low voice. “I can take a few surprises and keep kicking.”

“Good.” Mary looked up, finding that one of the hostages had taken out their phone and had been filming the whole affair. “We should get going.”

Ben looked at the still-rolling camera phone.

“Agreed.”

…

“After a month-long disappearance, Spider-Man has made his miraculous return to New York, just in time to stop a bank-robbing Swiftie, of all things. But this time, he wasn’t acting alone. We have received exciting reports and live footage of what appears to be another Spider hero, dressed in tight-fitting red and white. Between the strange circumstances surrounding his disappearance and the sudden appearance of this new femme fat-ally, many New Yorkers have been left with more questions than answers, and no one quite knows when - or if - they’ll be getting any answers.”

Gwen heard footsteps approaching her as she scrolled on her phone - purposeful and confident. As she looked up from her screen, she saw Mary, her hands stuffed into her pockets.

“You did a great job,” Gwen said.

Mary thought for a moment, then smiled. “It was… very strange. But thank you.” She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. After a beat, she asked, “So, what now?”

Gwen tapped her foot against the sidewalk and stuffed her phone into her pocket. “We look for him.” She looked down. “For Peter. He’s out there somewhere, I can feel it.”

“‘We’?”

“Well, Ben’s got his gig covered. Twofold in fact,” Gwen said. “And I can’t exactly look for him alone. What do you say?”

Mary looked at Gwen with a grin. “Yeah. Let’s find our Spider-Man.”

Mary and Gwen set out to search for Peter and bring him home in Elusive Spider-Man - a limited series

Ben searches for answers about his origins while slipping into old shoes in Sensational Spider-Man - a limited series

And Eddie Brock has a LIFE-changing brush with death in Ultimate Spider-Man - a new ongoing series

Coming soon.

Uncanny X-Men #19: Third Rail

< >

Author: Predaplant

Editor: VoidKiller826

Book: Uncanny X-Men

Jean Grey weaved her way through a crowd of people, her hair tied up in a ponytail and wearing a fairly nondescript jacket. She was in stealth mode today, because she had a mission.

She was in a stadium concourse. Around her were people carrying hot dogs, wearing baseball hats and other gear. She didn’t pay attention to most of them; they weren’t what was important in this situation.

Her goal was to find the one suspected mutant separatist terrorist who the X-Men had been sent to stop from killing thousands of people.

She telepathically checked in with her allies as she turned into the tunnel heading out to the field. “Just reaching my position now. How’s everyone else handling things?”

“I’m ready,” came Colossus’s response. He was posted at field level, disguised as a security guard, ready to step in if the terrorist rushed for home plate. Jean could barely make him out as she exited the tunnel. He was only a few steps behind the umpire in the front row of seats, while Jean herself was in a standing room area on the upper deck with a view of the entire field just in case things went sideways.

“I been ready for ages,” Gambit chimed in. He was covering the gate that the suspected terrorist would likely take if he tried to leave the stadium.

“I’m seated,” Rogue relayed to the rest of the group. Her role was the most dangerous; she had a seat close to the suspected terrorist, ready to jump into action at the slightest provocation. “It’s hard to not look at him, but I’m doing my best.”

“Alright,” Jean told them, doing her best to smile and blend in with the crowds. “Let’s be on guard, then. And, if nothing else, let’s enjoy the ballgame.”

None of them were sure quite which powers this mutant had, which made the whole situation a bit testy. Jean felt fairly confident that the team could handle it no matter what, as long as they had a moment to respond... but she knew mutant powers that could do incredible damage in the blink of an eye.

Her own power was one of them.

“You know that you can handle this by yourself, if you wanted to,” the Phoenix told her.

She knew it well. The temptation to do a quick scan of the terrorist’s mind and see his exact plan was a strong one. But it was also one that she refused to do on principle. In her mind, at least, thought crime wasn’t crime.

She suppressed the Phoenix within her mind as she scanned the stands. She picked out the glint of Rogue’s sunglasses first, but they helped her narrow things down to the section in question, and from there to find their guy.

He was lean, with short hair. A buzz cut. No baseball memorabilia, just a plain t-shirt and shorts. He reminded Jean of one of her students, Emilio.

She refused to let herself continue to make that connection. Today, her responsibility was to the thousands of people in attendance. She couldn’t let any feelings of affection get in the way of that.

Down on the field, the first pitch was thrown.

“How’s he looking, Rogue?” Jean asked.

“Just looks like he’s watching to me,” she told him. “Maybe he just came to the game for fun?”

“We need to stay on guard, Rogue,” Colossus reminded her.

“I know,” she shot back, a clear pout in her voice.

Jean turned the situation over in her head once again. If he wasn’t looking to strike at the beginning of the game, then when? Was he just waiting to make sure the maximum possible number of fans had arrived, or was there something more?

“Think I hear a plane,” Gambit chimed in telepathically.

Jean narrowed her eyes as she looked up. There was definitely some sort of sound, but it didn’t quite sound like a standard jet to her...

“Hello, fans. Please remain calm,” came a voice over the PA. Jean’s head snapped back around to the guy they were there to watch. He certainly still looked calm. The announcer continued. “We need to call for an evacuation. Please follow standard evacuation procedures. Remain calm.”

The sound from above was getting louder. Jean recognized it, now.

“Sentinel attack!” she called out telepathically to the rest of the X-Men present. “On your guard!”

“I’ll be out in a moment!” Gambit replied. Jean noted that the evacuation efforts would work against him. No matter, they could handle it.

“What should I do? He’s not leaving!” Rogue asked, panicked. “Do I just grab him?”

“Stay calm. Stay within arm’s reach if you can, but if you think he’ll notice you, do it. Don’t take his powers, just restrain him,” Jean ordered. “I’m going to intercept this Sentinel.”

“I’ll help the players keep safe!” Colossus said, shifting into his metallic form and tearing through the netting to jump onto the field. “Let me know if you’re going to need any help with the Sentinel.”

“Um... he’s getting closer to the field!” Rogue called.

Jean let it all wash over her. She knew the Sentinel was the top priority for her right now to stop the situation from getting worse. She flew up out of the stands towards the approaching form.

It was strange for her to be flying in civilian clothing. It had been drilled into her so many times, both as a teen and an adult, never to let anybody realize that she was a mutant, that Jean Grey and Marvel Girl were one and the same.

But now, mutants were public knowledge. And now, she had to save these people, whether or not she was wearing a green costume with a bird on it.

She engaged the Sentinel high above the crowd. It let out a blast of energy aimed directly at her. Energy was just mass, and she could control mass with her telekinesis. She simply moved it out of her way, and it dissipated around her without harming a single hair.

She then turned her attention to the Sentinel itself. Sure, it was well-made, but it had to get its fuel from somewhere.

She remembered her training, her knowledge of these machines. Their power source was a battery that could sustain itself with solar power, or through a gas generator, if operating in darkness.

But that made it easy for her to disconnect most of the Sentinel from its power source by disconnecting the battery. She reached around in her mind, finding the battery within its body, and unplugging it with a swift jerk.

The Sentinel immediately depowered. Jean caught it with her telekinesis and lowered it slowly to the field.

She had tuned out her teammates for a moment to deal with the Sentinel, but now she noticed Rogue attempting to capture the terrorist.

“Please, we just wanna talk!” she pleaded with him.

“You X-Men don’t get it. You don’t care at all for what mutants actually need, not anymore. I won’t let myself get captured by you, no matter what!”

Glaring at Rogue, he pointed at her and Gambit, who had just managed to approach her side, and snapped his fingers.

An explosion split the stands apart, knocking both Rogue and Gambit back.

The terrorist raced for the field, vaulting over the small wall at the base of the stands to land near the foul pole.

Jean placed the Sentinel down, and turned to face the terrorist. “You’ve assaulted my friends. This is where you stop.”

He tried to snap his fingers at her, but he found himself unable to move his digits to perform the requisite gesture. He looked at her, hurt.

“Phoenix. You’re one of the most privileged X-Men, you know, and that’s really saying something. The fact that you can do this to me, so cleanly deprive me of my autonomy? The humans can see that. They’ll never trust you.”

“That doesn’t give you an excuse to harm my friends,” Jean said. “And I think that’s a wrap.”

The holograms surrounding the X-Men dissipated. The four of them were in the Danger Room, and they had succeeded in their simulation.

“Well done,” Colossus congratulated Jean, running over and clapping her on the shoulder. “Sometimes I think that the reason we haven’t had to deal with all that much lately is simply your strength. Nobody wants to dare face you.”

Jean chuckled as she watched Gambit and Rogue get up and stretch. She thanked Piotr and made her way towards the door.

Behind it was Charles Xavier, waiting for her. He gave her a small nod. “Congratulations.”

She nodded back, and continued on her way. When she was younger, she would’ve given anything to see him so proud of her, but now, that was just an everyday occurrence.

Of course, there was somebody who would never be proud of her.

“You should rework that simulation,” the Phoenix told her. “It’s too simple. Too cliché. It doesn’t understand what terrorists would actually want, or how they would actually accomplish it.”

“It’s fine, actually,” Jean replied. “I handled it easily. I’m sure I could handle a more accurate version of it, too.”

“What’s the point of training, with that attitude?” the Phoenix asked. “Push yourself. Learn how these things truly work. Only then will you be able to make the right decisions to keep people safe. People can be killed in the blink of an eye.”

Jean knew the Phoenix was right. She couldn’t rest. She had to become better. She had to keep fighting.

It was best not to consider the alternative.

XXXXX

Ororo took a punch to the gut. Her guard was too high. She readjusted.

She thought back to how long had it been since she had let somebody get that close, to get off such an easy blow on her. It must have been back before the X-Men, during her original stint with Kitty and the others. Maybe even before that.

She just thanked her lucky stars that she had kept up on her basic combat training while she was with the X-Men, even if she had never really used it, because now it was the sole reason she was holding her own.

Callisto, the Morlock leader, had insisted upon Ororo and Kitty fighting without their powers to prove their worth as a part of the group. Ororo could understand this on a conceptual level; the two of them had grown pretty dependent on them, and it would be useful for Callisto to know their full capabilities.

But getting punched hurt, unfortunately.

Ororo was fighting Marrow, the mutant who had greeted them when they first arrived at the Morlock camp. Well, maybe “greeted” was a strong word. She had despised them both from the start.

She was a hard mutant to fight, as well. All her bones meant that there were a number of points on her body that you had to respect, lest you get impaled.

They were fighting on a raised platform within the sewer system, with Kitty fighting another Morlock on a platform nearby. Winner knocks the loser out into the sewage below. Ororo knew she didn’t want to lose this one.

Ororo stayed back, watching Marrow, trying to find an opening without giving up one of her own. Ororo noticed that Marrow liked to lunge at her, as she ducked out of the way yet again. Maybe there was something there.

Maybe she just needed to close the distance.

Reaching out for one of the bones sticking out of Marrow’s right shoulder with her right hand, Ororo used it as a pivot point, grabbing Marrow’s left shoulder with her left hand.

Now facing Marrow’s back, Ororo used the opportunity to attack with headbutts and kicks as Marrow struggled to free herself from Ororo’s grip. Marrow’s bones started to cut into Ororo’s hands, and with one final gasp Marrow managed to spin around, coming face-to-face with Ororo.

With a bony headbutt of her own, Marrow opened up a gash across Ororo’s forehead, before kicking her stunned opponent with all the force she could muster.

Ororo went flying across the platform. She reached for the edge, attempting to save herself, but it was too late, and she found herself flying into the sewage. She sputtered as she flew out of the sewage, using her powers to dry herself off as she landed on the platform next to Marrow.

Callisto, who had been watching the fight with an unreadable face from a nearby grate, smiled.

Marrow smirked. “That was a good fight.”

Ororo reached out her hand for a handshake. Marrow turned away, but Ororo noticed that she had at least considered it for a second. Maybe there was still a chance of getting on her good side.

“Was that sufficient for you, Ms. Callisto?” Ororo asked as she flew towards her.

Callisto pursed her lips. “You didn’t win.”

“I didn’t,” Ororo admitted. “I’m out of practice. But I think I fought well, despite that. It’s just that Marrow fought better.”

Callisto thought it over. She nodded. “We might have use for you.”

The two turned to look at the other platform, where Kitty had been fighting. It appeared that she was done now, that she had won her match.

Callisto raised an eyebrow.

“Wasn’t expecting that of her?” Ororo asked. “She’s trained in hand-to-hand for years, first with me, then with the best of the X-Men. Her power lacks any active component, so she had to learn combat in order to actually neutralize any threats.”

“You’re formidable,” Callisto admitted. “I’m excited to see what you can do for us.”

Ororo smiled. It seemed like they had been accepted. Now, the hard part was coming. They would have to make sure to not disappoint these people who needed help so dearly.

XXXXX

Bobby Drake felt like that girl from Beauty and the Beast.

He spent most of his days in what was built into the side of a mountain, but felt like a castle. Dozens of rooms, more even than what there was at Xavier’s, each which could have been built hundreds of years ago judging by their design, but which were packed with pieces of technology that went way over Bobby’s head. He was an accountant by trade; the most he knew of computers was how to deal with spreadsheets. But he was sure that they were all useful to Apocalypse, somehow, judging by the fact that they all seemed cutting-edge and that it didn’t look like any of them had collected any dust.

Bobby’s own room was large, but quite sparse. Beautiful yellow wallpaper with an intricate pattern surrounded him, but all that lined the walls was his bed, a single wardrobe, and two doors: one to the rest of the castle, and one to the bathroom.

As far as Bobby could tell, the only people living there right now were himself and Apocalypse. Maybe if Apocalypse’s people came back, this building would be full of mutants living happily. But for now, it felt like a ghost town, with only unknowable machines for company.

On his first full day at Apocalypse’s base, Bobby asked Apocalypse what he was expected to do all day. Apocalypse had two answers for him: train his mind, and train his body. The mind part was a bit of a mystery at first, but Bobby realized what Apocalypse had meant the next day. There was a library five or so stories away from Bobby’s room, as large as any he had ever seen in his life. There wasn’t much fiction, but Bobby didn’t mind. It was fascinating to learn more of sciences and the humanities, topics he hadn’t considered in any depth since he was a teenager, but that he had always had a fascination with. It gave him something to do when he wasn’t just physically training, at the very least.

That part of Apocalypse’s advice was obvious. When Bobby stepped outside of the base, he found himself amidst a freezing, snow-swept landscape. Maybe Antarctica, or the Himalayas; Apocalypse hadn’t told him. But wherever it was, it was the perfect environment to expand the limits of what ice and snow could do, something that the Brotherhood base had never offered him.

He built ice bombs, with a fragile first layer that cracked on impact and launched out spikes of ice to the surrounding area. He made art, entire landscapes composed of ice. He even made himself an ice mecha to satisfy a childhood dream of his.

But when he mentioned those things to Apocalypse, he scoffed at Bobby.

“Iceman, you can do so much more than that. If you wanted, you could make a whole planet of ice.”

And so Bobby did just that. He went up into the sky and designed new worlds. He read up on the sciences of planets, of moons, and how they formed, and used them to his advantage. He supposed technically he was creating comets, but to him they were entire worlds. He thought back to reading The Little Prince as a kid, and made a world with baobabs, volcanoes, and a rose in a case. He made a world where people lived on the inside instead of the outside. He made a world where plant life covered every inch of its surface.

All these were worlds that Bobby Drake imagined, that he created, and that he set free into the stars. He had never felt so free to imagine, to dream that the world could be better.

He hoped that one day, he would be able to create a better world for the people who lived on Earth right now. Maybe with the help of Apocalypse, maybe with the Brotherhood, maybe by himself… he wasn’t quite sure yet. But he knew that he had the power to do it, now that he was stronger than he had ever been before, and that he would work out all the details soon.

A better world had to be possible, for humans and mutants alike.

Welcome back to another incredible month of stories!

What to expect:

• Amazing Spider-Man #23

• Black Panther #46

• Darkdevil #4

• Fantastic Four #46

• Fantomex #17

• Scarlet Spiders #4

• Scarlet Spiders #5

• Scarlet Spiders #6

• Uncanny X-Men #19

• Wolverine #6

Scarlet Spiders

Issue #4 - Beatdown

Written By: Deadislandman1

Edited By: u/Predaplant and u/AdamantAce

Juan-Carlos Estrada Sánchez’s eyes slowly creeped open as the clock struck midnight, prompting him to rise from his place on the bed. Slipping out of his simple covers, he moved through the darkness of his bedroom, having gone through the following series of actions more than a dozen times over. He opened his closet, grabbing and slipping on a pair of tight shorts before covering them up with sweatpants. He then threw a hoodie over his torso, and knelt down to put on a pair of socks and sneakers. Confident, he cracked open his bedroom door, tiptoeing out into the hall.

It was silent in the apartment, which featured only Juancar’s bedroom, a second bedroom, a bathroom, and a living space with a kitchen. A hallway ran through the whole area, and the whole place was fairly cramped. Moving down the hall, Juancar grabbed the keys to the apartment from a dish, producing a small jingle. As he placed the keys into the door, he froze, picking up the sound of a creaking door. Without looking back, he said, “Marcus, se supone que deberías estar dormido. (Marcus, you're supposed to be asleep.”)

Behind Juancar, a young boy peeked his head out of the other bedroom, a guilty look in his eyes. The boy answered back, “Me desperté porque oí las llaves.. (The keys woke me up.)”

Juancar shook his head before turning to the boy, meeting his gaze. “Estuve muy callado. (I was very quiet.) Estabas esperando en la puerta, ¿no? (You were waiting by the door, weren’t you?)”

The boy hung his head in shame, proving his father’s theory right. Rather than acknowledge fault, the boy instead looked back up at his father. “¿Adónde vas? (Where are you going?)”

Juancar managed a smile, though not a strong one. “Voy a luchar, Marcus, por los dos. (I am going out to fight, Marcus, for the both of us.)”

Marcus sniffled. “Pero… la última vez que luchaste… Todo era tan malo… Casi no podías ver- (But… last time you fought… Everything was so bad… You could hardly see-)”

Juancar knelt in front of his son, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Pero recuperé, hijo. (But I got better, son.) No importa lo mal que me lastime, siempre me recuperaré... y siempre ganaré. (No matter how much I get hurt, I’ll always get better… and I’ll always win.)” [break this up with something]

““Mañana, no tendremos que trabajar con gente muy mala.. (After tonight, we won’t have to work with very bad people anymore.)”

Marcus shuddered. “¿Nos dejarán en paz? (They’ll leave us alone?)“

“Por los siglos de los siglos, hijo… Ahora, vuelve a la cama. Te veré por la mañana. (Forever and ever, son… now go back to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.)”

Juancar kissed his son on the forehead before shepherding the young boy off to bed. Then, he left his apartment, locking the door behind him. After walking down the stairs and out into the Boston night, he made his way towards one of the many train stations dotted throughout the city. He knew where his next fight was… and he was ready to win it. Delilah probably thought that he would crumble before getting this far, but instead he had beaten the odds, and surpassed her expectations. One last fight, and he would be free of her and the debt he owed her.

One last fight, and he and his son could live in peace.

Philip Sheldon sat in a wooden chair across from Cindy, astonished at what he was seeing and hearing. She sat on the couch, explaining all of the strange things she was feeling. The crushed metal lever stuck to her palms, glued to the point that she was holding her hand over the floor, and the piece of junk wouldn’t separate from her flesh. She kept talking about sticking to things, and being way stronger than she was supposed to be.

She talked about how it scared her. It scared Sheldon too, but he kept that sentiment hidden deep down in his gut. He didn’t need to make the situation more tense.

“So like… yeah!” Cindy stared at the metal stuck to her hand. “I don’t know what’s going on, and I just want all of this to stop but like… how do I do that?!”

“I err… I think that ship has sailed, kid,” Sheldon shook his head. “So these are all… Spider-Man’s powers?”

“So far, yeah! I know he’s strong and sticks to stuff!” Cindy exclaimed. “Wait… you don’t think I can do some of the other stuff he can do, do you?”

“Well, maybe!” Sheldon said. “No way to be sure though, I don’t know everything Spider-Man can do.”

“I know he has webs…” Cindy looked down at her hand, twisting it around to look at her palms. Trying to recall what gesture Spider-Man always used to shoot webs, she began twisting and flexing her fingers, unaware of the fact that her arm was pointed towards Sheldon.

Sheldon chuckled, raising his hands in defense, “Now, I know you’re trying to experiment right now, Cindy, but maybe we should wait on this kind of thing until—"

Thwip!

“Woah!”

Sheldon leapt out of his chair as a massive stream of webs flew out of Cindy’s wrist, casting a net that stuck to an entire chunk of the apartment wall! Eyes wide, Cindy got off the couch, tugging on the webbing on her end. To her surprise, the webs refused to cut off at her wrist, and they wouldn’t unstick from the wall, “Oh! Sorry Sheldon, I’m just gonna—"

“No, don’t!”

Cindy pulled her wrist back, not realizing how much strength she put into the maneuver until she ripped a massive chunk of plaster off the wall. Dust immediately filled the air, and as Sheldon covered his mouth, coughing to get any excess dust out of his system, he glared at Cindy, who could only sit back down on the couch in defeat. Tears welling in her eyes, she began to sob, “I… I’m sorry… I’m a freak… I’m… I’m not normal…”

Sheldon sighed. “Cindy… It's alright. Maybe… Maybe we can fix this.”

Rubbing his chin, Sheldon looked out the window of the apartment, gazing at the streets below. “Kaine saved you with a blood transfusion, but he also said something like this might happen. Maybe… if we find him, he can help us.”

Cindy looked up at Sheldon. “Would he be willing to?”

Sheldon turned back to Cindy. “I dunno, kid… but he saved our lives then. Maybe he has it in his heart to help us now.”

Cindy opened her mouth to answer, only for a strange sensation to hit her. She winced, an electric tingling overtaking her senses, drowning out all sound. She doubled over, groaning and holding her head as Sheldon rushed over to her, placing his hands on both of her shoulders. He was saying something, trying to calm her, but it wasn’t working. She couldn’t hear a word he said.

Then, as the tingling intensified, she heard something else, clear as day.

Bullets being chambered, safeties being switched off, guns locking and loading in the room across the street from them.

Fingers tapping the trigger.

Cindy’s eyes widened, and she looked up at Sheldon. He looked at her confusion, “Cindy, what is—"

“DUCK!” Cindy screamed!

Lurching forward, Cindy tackled Sheldon to the ground, just as a cacophony of gunfire ripped through the streets, and a hail of bullets tore through the window and walls, destroying the apartment and drowning the room in dust and debris.

Rubber screeched as the car ground to a halt, perfectly occupying the parking spot designated for it outside a seedy back alley. Its two occupants, dressed in polo shirts and khakis, exited the vehicle with phones and cash in hand, talking enthusiastically about something that Kaine didn’t really care about. He couldn’t really hear them anyways, given that he had spent the last thirty minutes sticking to the undercarriage of their car. If Boston was anything like Manhattan, then either traffic was lighter than usual, or they cut through some alleys most Bostonians weren’t aware of.

Probably the former. These guys don’t seem privy to the secrets of the streets.

Slowly, Kaine crawled his way out from under the car, standing up to find himself in a dingy alleyway leading to the back of a condemned bowling alley. It was an odd place for a fighting ring, but then again, they had to host them in closed spaces like those. Walking down the alley, Kaine was assaulted by the sounds of dozens of men and women crowding to get in, all with wads of cash in hand. It looked like there was a buy-in, made in cash only. Kaine didn’t have the cash, and that meant he had to get in the hard way.

Still, as he joined the line, the murmuring intensified, prompting Kaine to look past the crowd to the other end of the alley, which was an easy feat given his height. A woman in a pinkish dress was dressing down a man in tights, and as the conversation reached a fever pitch, the man finally hung his head, signifying his surrender. Nodding in victory, the woman walked with the man and strode to the door, skipping the line entirely. The bouncer backed up, allowing them in without taking any payment.

The woman was a coordinator for the fights, or maybe just a high ranking member. Either way, someone worth talking to. Slowly, Kaine began to push his way through the crowd, prompting more than a dozen people to begin yelling at him.

“Hey, line starts back there!”

“Quit cutting ya goddamn brute!”

“You keep walking and I’m gonna stick you like a pig!”

Kaine ignored the insults, passively making his way through the crowd like a ship through water. Anyone who tried to stop him was shoved aside effortlessly, and when he finally reached the bouncer, the stocky and muscular man stepped forward to stop him, “Listen buddy, you can’t—"

Kaine planted his hand on the man’s face and shoved him through the door, sending him onto his hindquarters. Strolling past him, he rounded a corner, spotting the woman down a bland hallway, “Hey, lady!”

The man in tights whirled around, a confused look on his face, “The fuck?”

The woman turned around too, clearly annoyed by the way Kaine addressed her, “Oh for… I pay Ricky too much to let some bum waltz in here. Listen, I don’t do handouts, so why don’t you fuck off before you leave without your fingers..”

Kaine raised his hands in defense, “Listen lady, I’m not looking for a handout. I’m looking to work for some cash. You run the fights?”

The woman raised her eyebrow at Kaine, “Yes… though I don’t see why you’d be useful to me. Just because you got past Ricky doesn’t mean—"

Kaine punched a hole in the concrete wall, immediately silencing the woman. She stared at the scar in the wall, then looked back at Kaine. An intrigued smirk landed on her face, “Okay… you’ve got me interested.”

“Can you slot me in for a fight?” Kaine asked.

“We’ve only got a prize bout tonight, with the reigning champion.” The woman looked at the man in tights. “So you’re out of luck, unless…”

The man looked back at the woman, flabbergasted. “You’re not suggesting… No, fuck no. El Muerto’s mine! I’m not giving that fight up.”

“You won’t?” Kaine cracked his knuckles. “Fine by me. Just means I have to put two morons out of commission instead of one.”

The man gulped, immediately cracking under Kaine’s threat. Looking back at the woman, he growled before spitting on the ground and storming off. The woman grinned, then approached Kaine, hand outstretched, “Name’s Delilah. You are?”

“The future winner,” Kaine said, not shaking her hand. “How much are you willing to pay?”

Delilah thought for a moment. “If you lose, nothing. If you win…Let’s say twenty thousand.”

There were hundreds of thousands of dollars floating around the building. Twenty thousand was an incredible lowball for the winner of a bout, and Kaine knew that. Still, it was plenty to live off of, and that was all Kaine needed. He nodded. “Deal.”

“Good,” Delilah smiled fiendishly. “Your fight starts in thirty minutes. If you need to see to any preparations, take them. I’d also avoid underestimating your opponent.”

“El Muerto?” Kaine said.

Delilah nodded, “He’s the champion for a reason. I think you’ve got a good shot though. In the scenario that you do win… come see me in my office for your reward.”

Delilah walked off, leaving Kaine to consider his opponent. ‘El Muerto’, Kaine thought. Spanish for ‘The Dead One’. Clearly the guy was no good, but that told Kaine hardly anything else about him. Did he fight with raw strength? Speed? Clever strategies? ‘The Dead One’ only suggested one thing, that his opponent put people in the grave. Whatever the case, Kaine understood one thing, and one thing above all else.

El Muerto was an opponent to be respected.

The bullets continued to pierce the window, shattering it and raining shards of sharp glass all over the apartment. Cindy kept herself pinned on top of Sheldon, using her body to shield him from all the flying debris. Chunks of drywall crashed against her back, bruising her and causing her to yelp, while small pieces of glass rained onto her clothes, not quite big enough to do any real damage.

As much as she was shielding Sheldon, Cindy was also clinging to him for support. She wasn’t used to gunfire, to a barrage of death whizzing by just above her head. Her ears hurt, and she felt like she could go deaf at any moment. The entire sensation caused her to shudder like a beaten dog, paralyzed in place.

Yet, even through all of the noise and the dust kicked up into the air, Sheldon tapped her shoulder with his hand, trying his best to calm her. Even under pressure, he had a clear enough mind to know they needed to move. He needed her to know that, and with a little support, she got the picture. Grabbing onto Sheldon by the coat, Cindy began to bide her time, waiting for a lull in the gunfire.

And sure enough, as soon as their assailants ran out of bullets, Cindy kicked into overdrive, rolling onto her back and using the momentum to get Sheldon right onto his feet. Even at his age, Sheldon was quick, racing over to the apartment door and barreling through it. In the back of her mind, Cindy could hear the clicks of bullets sliding into barrels. She had less than a second to get out. Without thinking, she angled herself head first towards the door, gripped the floor in front of her with her sticky hands, then pulled with all her might, launching herself through the door and to freedom.

Bullets began raining into the apartment again, but she was already out. As Sheldon helped her up, he glanced down the hallway. “We need to go?”

Cindy gulped. “Where?!”

“Anywhere but here!”

Together, the two of them raced down the hall and towards a set of elevators. Cindy moved to press one of the buttons, but Sheldon grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the elevators and instead towards the stairs. After pushing through the door, the two began to race down towards the ground floor. As they moved, CIndy looked at Sheldon, who kept his eyes on the steps in front of him.

“Who the heck are these guys? Why are they shooting at us?!” Cindy asked.

“I don’t know, though I’d hazard they’re on Alchemax’s payroll,” Sheldon remarked. “I wasn’t expecting them to be this brazen about things. I was hoping we could stay off the radar, but I think the police might be our only option.”

Cindy frowned. She didn’t want to explain that she had not only broken into a super secret ship lab, but had also developed weird Spider-Man powers, to the police. Then again, what choice did she have? She had no safe place to go, at least not without getting someone hurt.

Soon, the two would reach the bottom of the staircase, and then? They’d have to figure out which direction they needed to go to get to safety. Hopefully, safety was close… and existed in the first place.

“Here, fighters in my ring wear masks.”

Delilah handed Kaine a mask. Red, with large, white eyes. A Spider-Man mask, bootleg merchandise sold for children and college Halloween parties. If Kaine had more of a sense of humor, he’d probably laugh at the coincidence, at the fact that he had been given something that, at least to his amnesia-straddled brain, he had wanted all his life.

But Kaine did not laugh. He simply grunted, and put the mask on, not even acknowledging that the rest of his attire was just the clothes he stole out of a suburban home. Turning his back on Delilah, he walked towards the entrance to the ring, not even bothering to acknowledge her any further. He was here to do a job, and she knew that.

As Delilah returned to her office, Kaine marched through a set of double doors and into the main area of the bowling alley. What was formerly a series of different lanes had been hastily reconstructed into a fighting ring, whose borders were made out of cheap, chain-link fences that had been bolted to the floor. Surrounding the fence were nearly two hundred chairs, made of comfortable fabric and wood and occupied by crowds of screaming spectators. Some were dressed in polos, others had elected to be more fancy with suits and cocktail dresses. Others still simply came in t-shirts and gym shorts. There was one unifying element between everyone here.

They had boatloads of money to burn.

As Kaine took in the sights and sounds of the makeshift arena, a pair of doors on the other side of the alley burst open, and a man stepped through to the sound of deafening cheers and applause. He was a stocky man, with biceps so big Kaine could fit his head in them. He wore nothing but black boots, a pair of tight shorts with black and white stripes, and a mask with a skull motif. It sported a second, smaller skull on the forehead.

A Lucha Libre Mask.

Delilah stepped onto a podium, raising a microphone to her lips. “Ladies and Gentleman! You know him! You love him! It’s… El Muertooooooo!”

El Muerto didn’t acknowledge Delilah, or the crowd for that matter. He simply puffed out his chest as he walked into the ring. As the doors were closed behind him, he stared off down towards Kaine, his eyes locking onto the man who would be his opponent.

He didn’t care about the crowd, the noise, nothing. Nothing except the man he intended to break over his back. Kaine respected El Muerto’s singular focus, even if he knew it meant this wouldn’t be an easy brawl.

“And in our other corner, a mysterious figure! A man who will be entering our ring without a soul knowing his name, even me! Give it up for… The Strangerrrrrrr!”

Kaine wordlessly walked down the row of chairs, entered the ring to a weak applause and a few cheers. He was new blood, unproven to the crowd, but that didn’t concern him. He was here to beat El Muerto and get his money, and the crowd didn’t factor into that equation at all. As the ring was closed off behind him, he locked eyes with El Muerto, who began to pace back and forth.

“Guess Jenkins was too chicken to face me after all.” El Muerto flexed his muscles, stretching in preparation for the fight that was about to happen. “Where’d Delilah find you? You some poor bastard she pulled off the streets?”

Kaine narrowed his eyes behind the mask. “Delilah didn’t find me… I found her.”

El Muerto squinted. “Should I even ask what possessed you to seek out that vile bitch?”

Delilah cackled from her spot on the podium, “Mouthy tonight, ain’tcha!”

El Muerto spat in her direction and glared at Kaine, who simply assumed a fighting stance. “Don’t bother asking… You won’t get an answer.”

El Muerto sighed, then cracked his neck and assumed his own fighting position. “Fine… then let’s get this over with. I’ll be sure to make it quick.”

Delilah looked between the two of them, then raised a bell, preparing to ring it to signify the beginning of the match. The crowd began to cheer in anticipation, but neither Kaine nor El Muerto paid anybody outside the ring any mind. They kept their eyes on each other, tuning out any other detail irrelevant to their battle. Kaine didn’t know what El Muerto had on the line, but he did know that if he didn’t win, his chances of making it outside of Boston and escaping Alchemax were practically zero.

He couldn’t afford to lose this fight.

The bell rang, and Kaine lunged for El Muerto, swinging for his head. Anticipating an attempt at a quick knockout, the wrestler ducked under the blow, striking Kaine in the chest with a punch of his own. Kaine doubled over, the wind knocked from his lungs. El Muerto was far stronger than he expected, even for someone of his build. As Kaine keeled, El Muerto grabbed him by the arm and tossed him across the ring, causing him to slam into the fence, nearly knocking it off its shoddy foundations.

Kaine scrambled to his feet, woozy from the throw. He had to get his bearings, and El Muerto knew that. The wrestler raced forward, tackling Kaine against the fence and squeezing tight. Kaine let out a pained grunt, feeling his skin bruise from the act. El Muerto grinned before lifting upward, attempting to flip Kaine over, only for Kaine to reflexively anchor himself to the ground with his feet, keeping himself stable. The wood beneath him cracked, but it did not give way, and as El Muerto continued his attempts to lift Kaine off the ground, Kaine raised his elbow before striking downward, cracking El Muerto in the shoulder blade.

The wrestler collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Kaine pulled his leg back before kicking El Muerto with all his might, catching him in the ribs and sending him flying across the ring. The wrestler rolled to a stop, clutching his sides, allowing Kaine a moment to breathe. His opponent was strong, and he went for grabs, the kinds of things you would see in the wrestling ring. Kaine’s sticking trick wasn’t going to work a second time, so he needed to make sure he didn’t get grabbed.

El Muerto forced himself to his feet, gritting his teeth as he turned back towards Kaine. Rather than charging, he simply trudged forward, fists clenched. He swung at Kaine, who played defense, blocking every high punch and low kick as he was forced back. Careful not to get forced into a corner, Kaine kept his back to open space rather than the wall, maneuvering around El Muerto whenever the opportunity revealed itself. He was watching… waiting for an attempt at a grab. El Muerto was just trying to soften him up before going in for another power move.

Eventually, El Muerto kicked at Kaine, and as Kaine lowered his fist to block the attack, the wrestler leaned forward, slamming himself against Kaine with his shoulder. As Kaine stumbled back, swearing, El Muerto grabbed his enemy by the wrist, preparing to put him in an arm lock, only for Kaine to use the momentum of his fall against the wrestler, throwing him up and over before slamming him against the floor, shattering the wood. El Muerto shouted in pain, rolling onto his front in a daze. Kaine arched his back and did a front flip, landing on his feet with his back to El Muerto, who forced himself onto one knee.

Kaine turned around, and looked into El Muerto’s eyes, seeing a range of different emotions. Desperation at the fact that he was about to lose, a sense of confusion regarding the stranger who was beating him down. Still, one emotion reigned supreme.

Rage, for the great El Muerto was not supposed to be bested.

El Muerto dove for Kaine, and Kaine leapt upward, flipping at a precise angle. As the wrestler was met with nothing but open space, Kaine tossed and turned in midair, angling himself perfectly before raising his fist, using the speed gravity gave him to punch downward, cracking El Muerto in the jaw. The wrestler landed face first in the broken remains of the floor, unconscious and with blood pooling from his mouth. Landing perfectly, Kaine straightened his back before looking at Delilah, who grinned before raising her hand, “And the winner is… Theeeeee Strangerrrrrr!”

The crowd erupted into boos and insults, outrage that the favorite had lost. Kaine understood that in truth, they were simply upset that they had bet on the wrong man. Their loss was his gain. Kaine looked down at El Muerto, noticing a tear running down the man’s face. He didn’t know if it was a symptom of the pain, or some other consequence of the loss, but whatever it was, it wasn’t his concern.

“But it is your concern, kiddo. You might’ve done this man a terrible wrong! You should—"

Kaine shook his head, shaking the voice out of his subconscious. It was too late for regrets, too late to take things back.

He won, he had his money. That was all that mattered.

Sheldon kicked the door to the alleyway open, exiting into the night with Cindy right behind him. It was grimy, with a wet brick floor riddled with puddles and a small Cindy could only describe as a marriage between sewage and trash. On either end of the alley sat well lit streets, flanked by flickering street lights. Sheldon looked back at Cindy, taking her hand, “Come on! The station’s about a mile down the road!”

Cindy followed Sheldon down the way, praying that they wouldn’t be presented with any obstacles, only for her hopes to sink immediately. A man in a fedora stepped into the light in front of the alley, holding a pistol. Sheldon stopped in his tracks, turning back in hopes of fleeing the other way, only to see a man in sunglasses on the other end, a classic mobster style machine gun in his hands.

They were cornered.

As Cindy’s eyes darted in every possible direction, left, right, up, down, trying to find some way out, a new sound filled her ears… a buzzing. Looking towards the roof, she spotted a swarm of bees flying in from the sky, illuminated by the moonlight. As they settled onto one of the roof’s edges, they formed a shape… the shape of a man. The eyes of Fritz Von Meyer opened as he stared down at his quarry, fully manifested. He smiled, and pointed at Sheldon. “Guten tag, Philip Sheldon. It appears your luck has finally run out!”

Next Issue: Cornered!!

MarvelsNCU presents…

##DARKDEVIL

In Hell to Pay

Issue Three: Raising Hell

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by Predaplant

Next Issue > Coming Next Month

Jack awoke with a start, the early morning light filtering through their curtains with an eerie calm that contradicted the turmoil swirling within them. They lay still for a moment, their breath catching as they took in the bizarre normalcy of their room. The clothes they had worn the previous night, which should have been ashes after the fiery transformation, were intact and draped over a chair, as if nothing had happened.

Sitting up, Jack's heart pounded furiously. They rubbed their hands over their face, trying to recall anything from the night before, but their memory was a disturbing blank. It was just like the hungover mornings after Jack had seen in movies, only with substantially higher stakes. The deal with Lucifer - the transformation - the burning - everything after felt like it had been wiped clean, leaving only a deep, unsettling void. The devil had taken control, and Jack had no idea what he had made them do.

Downstairs, the murmur of voices pulled Jack from their thoughts. Grace and Matt were in the kitchen, a scene of domestic normalcy that felt painfully out of place. Jack hesitated at the top of the stairs, their stomach knotting. Then, as they attempted to focus more on the scene ahead of them and less on their own rising panic, Jack felt those muffled murmurs morph into something more focused. Soon, they could hear every word their parents were saying as if Jack were in the room with them.

In the kitchen below, Grace was standing by the stove, her back tense as she spoke quietly with Matt, unaware that her child was somehow able to listen in. The man before her - her estranged husband - had been missing for five years, now back as if drawn by some unspoken summoning. Matt Murdock looked older, the lines on his face deeper, and his eyes - once warm despite their chalkish hue - were now more distant than ever.

“Just… please… Help me understand, Matt. Five years without a word? You just up and left; you never even said why.” Grace’s voice was low, strained with a cocktail of relief and resentment. In truth, she knew the exact reason why Matthew Murdock had disappeared, or she had done up until last night. Now, it seemed as though she had been living the last five years completely unaware of the nature of her husband’s disappearance.

Matt’s response was soft, despite his hoarse voice. “I guess I… lost myself, Grace. After Foggy... I couldn’t face anyone, not even myself.” His explanation hung in the air, laden with grief but missing chunks of truth that only Jack knew - truths now apparently erased from even Matt’s memory.

Jack lingered in the doorway, unnoticed, having slinked closer and closer while listening in. How they had been able to hear them was a mystery, but it lined up with the deafening and overwhelming sounds that had assaulted them the night before, leading Jack to escape the hospital in a panic before blacking out. It was as if they had somehow inherited their father’s enhanced hearing. Most people knew that Daredevil had incredible acute senses, that nothing escaped the devil’s sight. Upon learning that Daredevil was their father, Jack assumed it was too much of a coincidence for Matt’s blindness and his enhanced other senses to be unrelated, but Matt had disappeared almost as soon as the world knew the truth about who he was. Thus, Jack had never had the chance to ask Matt about it. And now it seemed their father didn’t remember being Daredevil, so there was still no-one to confide in.

They watched their parents, the gap of years between them marked by silence and unsaid words. It was surreal, seeing their father grappling with gaps in his own story that Jack had helped orchestrate.

Needing an escape, Jack turned away, pulling out their phone and scrolled through TikTok, quickly finding multiple posts in an emerging trend reacting to a meteor shower seen above New York the night before. A chill ran down Jack's spine. Was this another part of Lucifer’s machinations? Had the devil orchestrated this to take control that night? Was this something he could do? If so, what was stopping him from taking control whenever he pleased?

“Jack, honey? Are you alright?” Grace’s voice broke through their thoughts, pulling them back to the kitchen.

Jack forced a smile, tucking away their phone. “Yeah, just tired. It’s a lot, having Dad back and everything.” Their voice was steadier than they felt.

Grace nodded, her eyes flicking back to Matt, who was turned away from them both, lost in his own fragmented reality. “We’ll get through this,” she said, more to herself than to Jack or Matt.

As Jack nodded, agreeing hollowly, the dread within them grew. They had made a deal with a devil, and now the sky itself could very well be under his influence. What had they unleashed upon themselves, upon their family?

The morning wore on, cloaked in the guise of normalcy, but for Jack, every moment was shadowed by the fear of what lay ahead. What had they done already?

🔺 🔻 🔺

Jack stepped off the bus, the mid-morning bustle of Hell's Kitchen swirling around them. The noise was overwhelming - car horns blaring, people shouting, the steady hum of the city - but now, Jack found they could navigate the chaos in a way they never could before. By concentrating, they could tune into the gentle cooing of a pigeon perched on a nearby traffic light, or the soft murmur of a conversation between two lovers walking past, and just as easily, they could drown out the grating noise of construction a block away.

It was fascinating, almost intoxicating, to have such control over their senses. Each sound had layers, textures that Jack could peel back or delve into as they wished. The temptation to lose themselves in exploration was strong, but a sharper, nagging reminder of the source of their newfound abilities kept their wonder in check. Lucifer gave me this, Jack reminded themself, their brow furrowing. It was not a gift. It was a tool, maybe a chain.

As they approached Hell’s Kitchen Metropolitan General Hospital, the site of their blackout just the night before, the weight of their reality settled back in. Their mom thought they were meeting Ray Connor downtown, a lie that Jack had offered up too easily, desperate for some time to sort through the turmoil alone.

Standing at the exact spot where they had blacked out at the front of the hospital, Jack closed their eyes and just listened. The city's heartbeat was a symphony of stories. Over there, the rhythmic tapping of an old man's cane against the sidewalk; up above, the flutter of pigeon wings; around the corner, the sizzle of a hot dog stand. The sounds were vivid, almost visible in their clarity.

Yet, as they opened themselves to the city, no divine or devilish schemes revealed themselves. Jack's own thoughts were eerily silent on what Lucifer could have done with them when control was ripped away.

Frustrated, Jack started walking, choosing back alleys and less-trodden paths, trying to think like someone up to no good. The city shifted around them, less familiar and more foreboding as they moved.

Then, a few blocks later, they came upon a crime scene. Yellow tape cordoned off the front of a building Jack recognized with a sinking heart: Clinton Church. This was where their father used to take them, where they had sat in pews and listened to sermons about good and evil.

A dozen people with cameras and smartphones lingered, snapping photos. Jack’s stomach churned as they caught sight of something written on the church's outer wall - a message scrawled in a dark, viscous substance: “The Devil was Here.” Then, as Jack snatched a breath, the odour hit them, a vile mix of blood and ash. The tang of iron mixed with the stench of sulfur assaulted their suddenly enhanced senses, overpowering and horrific.

Trembling, Jack approached a paparazzo, their voice barely above a whisper. “What happened here? This is my church,” they managed to say.

The paparazzo glanced at Jack, “The priest here - Father Lantom - was murdered last night,” she explained, her camera hanging loosely by her side. “They’re saying Daredevil did it. Wrote that,” she nodded toward the message, “with the priest’s blood.”

Jack's knees felt weak, their breaths shallow. The implication crashed into them with the force of a physical blow. Lucifer had used them to kill Father Lantom, they realised, horror washing over them in cold waves. A man who was practically family. The idea that they could have been manipulated into committing such an atrocity left them feeling nauseous, their newfound powers a curse they could neither escape nor fully comprehend.

How was any of this real?

🔺 🔻 🔺

Back at the Murdock house, the atmosphere was heavy, suffused with a grim tension that seemed to seep into the very walls. Matt sat hunched over in his chair, his body trembling as waves of grief crashed over him, each breath a laboured effort. Grace stood nearby, her hands clasped tightly together, her face a mask of stunned silence. The news of Father Lantom's brutal murder had shaken them to their core.

Suddenly, Matt bolted upright. “Daredevil did this, and he needs to be stopped,” he declared, set ablaze with determination.

Jack, who was drowning in their own tumult of guilt and grief, found a voice despite the pain. “How can you be so sure?” they asked. “Why would Daredevil leave a message, claim the killing like that?”

Matt’s jaw clenched. “‘The Man Without Fear’ hasn’t been afraid to be caught with blood on his hands,” he shot back, his face darkening as he searched back through his memories. “Not since he flew off the handle, after he killed Bullseye, so many of Kingpin’s men, and—” he paused, his voice cracking, “—Foggy.”

Jack recoiled. Matt truly had no idea that he himself was Daredevil. In truth, Foggy had died from a heart attack after a heated argument with Matt in the midst of Daredevil’s rampage, a tragic event that Jack would understand Matt blaming himself for. But now, under Lucifer’s spell, Matt remembered it differently, believing the masked killer, Daredevil, had slain his best friend.

As Matt began to pace the room, his steps erratic with pent-up frustration and grief, Jack reflected on their own role in the tragedy. Father Lantom had been a pillar for their father, guiding him through the darkest times. Now, because of a deal struck in desperation, he was gone - murdered by Jack's own hands, or so it seemed, even if Lucifer had been in control.

That night, overwhelmed by guilt and unable to bear being close to their family, Jack fled to the solitude of a rooftop. The cool air was a minor relief as the sky darkened above them. But then, a familiar burning sensation ignited in their chest. Touching their heart, Jack felt the fire spread, their skin transforming into that of a pale-faced demon, their clothes transforming into a red and black costume that resembled their father’s Daredevil suit. It was airy and unnervingly comfortable, enhancing Jack’s strength in a way that revolted them. A crimson red mask adorned their face, complete with pointed horns. Their very eyes seemed to glow.

Now, all their senses were sharpened, not as overwhelming as before, but enough to feel truly superhuman. Jack tried to fathom why Lucifer would target Father Lantom. Was it some vendetta against the church, against good men, or something more personal against Matthew Murdock?

Caught in these thoughts, Jack's attention snapped to a sudden scuffle below. Their enhanced hearing zeroed in on the distress - a mugging unfolding with desperate urgency. Without a moment's hesitation, Jack's body responded with preternatural agility, propelling them into action.

Descending swiftly from the rooftop, Jack landed with a soft thud behind the mugger, who was brandishing a knife at a terrified pedestrian. The assailant was completely unaware of Jack's silent approach until it was too late. In a fluid motion, Jack grabbed the mugger’s wrist and twisted it sharply. The knife clattered to the ground with a metallic ring.

In one swift motion, Jack grabbed the assailant's wrist, twisting it with enough force to loosen his grip on the knife, which clattered to the pavement.

The mugger, caught off guard, spun around, his face contorted in confusion and fear. Jack didn’t give him a chance to recover. Jack delivered a sharp elbow strike to the man’s solar plexus. His knees buckled, and he doubled over, utterly winded.

But Jack wasn’t done. With a swift, sweeping leg kick, they knocked the mugger off his feet, sending him sprawling to the ground. The entire altercation lasted mere seconds, yet each movement was executed with a grace and precision that felt alien to Jack - imbued with a thrilling power.

But as the skirmish came to end, something happened that Jack wasn’t expecting: both the mugger and the would-be victim cowered, begging for their lives. In that moment, Jack Murdock realised the fearsome reputation of Daredevil was still very much alive. In the eyes of the city, they were not a saviour but a spectre of fear, potentially more dangerous than ever after the murder of Father Lantom. That was what Lucifer had wanted.

The weight of this realisation pressed down on Jack, the transformation not just physical but a profound alteration of how the world saw them - and what they might unwillingly become under the night sky ruled by comets and a devil’s whims.

In that moment, Jack felt a chilling disconnect. They should have been terrified by the horrified reaction they had inspired in the two cowering figures at their feet, but instead, they felt nothing but emptiness. Jack couldn’t help but scoff, realising Lucifer’s sick sense of humour: if Daredevil was the "The Man Without Fear", then Jack - in this form - would be incapable of conjuring even a moment of trepidation.

Jack turned away from the scene, their movements swift and sure as they fled. The city stretched out below as they scaled a nearby building to gain a better vantage point. From up high, the city's lights twinkled benignly, but Jack knew better. Each light represented an opportunity for the devil to put Jack to work on his dark designs. If Lucifer’s words held any truth, they would lose control any night a comet passed, which could truly be any night. They knew now why the devil had granted them these powers: not as a gift, but to extend the damage he could wreath with Jack’s hands.

They could try and take on Lucifer - use these powers against him - but Jack didn’t have the slightest idea where to start. Instead, until they could figure out what Lucifer wanted, all they could do was try to mitigate the damage. “If I can't stop him using me,” Jack murmured to the night, “I'll find a way to use these powers for good on the nights I can.”

Just then, they heard a soft whispering creeping into their head, like a wind carrying the voices of the city itself. Below, a man crossed the street, his head down, lost in thought. An unassuming man by any eye, but the whispers told Jack differently, sharing his deepest and most awful secrets.

Jack knew what they had to do. They couldn’t stop the whispers or ignore the truths they revealed, but they could choose how to respond. Tonight, and any night they remained in control, they would intervene where they could, help where possible, and stand against the darkness that sought to use them as a puppet.

So they got to work.

To be continued next month in Darkdevil #4

Scarlet Spiders

Issue #3 - Changes

Written By: Deadislandman1

Edited By: u/Predaplant

It didn’t take much pressure to break the lock on the suburban shed, allowing Kaine to step inside to the sight of a washer and open dryer amidst a few shelves stocked with dust caked tools. It’d taken five break-ins down the street, but he’d finally found someone whose fresh laundry was about to become his. Closing the door behind him to take shelter from the light snowfall littering the property’s backyard, Kaine trudged over to the dryer and rifled through its contents, hoping that one of the denizens of the household wore a size similar enough to his build.

“This isn’t right, you could just ask them for a set of clothes.”

Kaine ignored the voice in his head, not bothering to entertain the idea. It was an unnecessary risk, and nobody would miss a pair of clothes that much.

A pair of underwear revealed itself first. It fit Kaine quite well. He took it as a sign of better things to come, reaching into the back to find more treasures. A pair of jeans caught his eye, and after squeezing into them, he deemed the pair adequate. They were a bit on the tighter side, but that just meant he wouldn’t need the assistance of a belt to keep them on. Rifling through further, he found a long sleeved novelty Iron Man shirt as well as a reindeer sweater near the bottom, just enough layers to stay warm. Finally, he fished a pair of socks out of the pile and put them on.

All he needed were shoes, and as luck would have it, there were a pair of working boots in the corner of the room. Kaine imagined they were kept there so as not to dirty up the house. Tying the laces, Kaine walked outside in his new outfit. Though it wasn’t quite his style, it would be enough to make him less obvious while out on the road. Taking a deep breath, he snuck over the fence and made his way towards the road, opting to follow it towards the city proper.

They would be looking for him, and he needed to make a lot of distance from the city. Trouble was, he needed money if he wanted to survive outside the city without relying on thievery, and the only place he’d be able to get any money would be further in. A place like Boston, big as it was, was bound to have a few opportunities to get cash quickly.

Kaine began to walk through the neighborhood towards the more populated parts of the city, the other voice rattling off in his head.

“Good…soon, you will be free of this mess. Free to be whoever you want.”

Kaine refused to stop and consider the origins of the voices; any time to contemplate would be time for Alchemax to follow his trail. Still, a part of him was grateful that at least one the voices in his head was with him all the way, was on his side.

Because the moment he left that beach, nobody else had his back. Nobody except him.

“Ugh….”

A collection of cramps made themselves known to Cindy, rudely waking her from a groggy slumber with their intense discomfort. She stretched, hoping to ease the tightness in her chest, only to be met with the resistance of tightly wrapped fabric around her stomach. Opening her eyes, she was met with a harsh light, giving her an instant migraine.

She was lying on a ratty old couch, in what looked like a small studio apartment. The yellow paint was falling off the walls, chipping into little pieces that laid on the worn out wooden floor. An old TV that wouldn’t have been out of place in the eighties sat on a small desk across the room, separated from the couch by a rug that hadn’t been washed in decades. Grimacing, Cindy attempted to get up, only for the room to spin before her eyes, forcing her to lie back down or lose her lunch.

“Woah, woah, take it easy! You’ve been shot, kid!”

Sheldon appeared from the doorway of an old bathroom Cindy hadn’t noticed before, rushing to her side and checking her pulse. Cindy grunted as he did so, looking at him in confusion.

“Yeah… I think I could’ve figured that part out for myself.” Cindy looked around the room once more. “Where… are we?”

“Old safehouse of mine,” Sheldon remarked. “I don’t think anyone followed us after the ship went up in flames but… I didn’t want to risk it. It’s best if we lay low until morning.”

Cindy clutched her side, trying her best to keep her head up and in Sheldon’s direction, “Right, and then what? We both just go back home like nothing happened?”

“Maybe kid, we’ll see how thing’s look in the mor-”

Philip was cut off as a loud ringtone filled the room. Eye wide, he quickly pulled out his phone, answering it. Smiling earnestly at Cindy, he stepped away from her, turning his back on the couch as he began conversing with the person on the other side of the call, “Oh, I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to keep you awake like that… No! I’m not hurt, everything is… Actually, no, things are a bit hectic, but we’re safe… Don’t worry, this isn’t any worse than the bomb back in ‘97… Thank you, I care about you just as much… I love you Doris, get some sleep, I’ll see you soon.”

Philip hung up, then turned back to Cindy, grimacing. Cindy cocked her head. “Who was that?”

“Doris, my wife.” Sheldon scratched the back of his head awkwardly, avoiding Cindy’s gaze. “I love the old bag more than anyone else, but sometimes I think she forgets I’ve been doing this for nearly fifty years.”

Cindy grunted, sitting up. “Maybe… but we did almost get shot.”

Sheldon nodded. “That we did… I don’t blame her for worrying, anyone would.”

Cindy wanted to ask Sheldon more about Doris, how romance worked in a line of work like this, but instead of words coming out of her mouth, a sickly burp crawled its way up her throat, and she planted her fist against her mouth. She exchanged a knowing look with Sheldon, who promptly moved out of the way, leaving a clear path to the bathroom. Summoning the strength to move, Cindy threw herself off the couch, failing to stand on her own two feet. Falling to her hands and knees, she frantically crawled to the bathroom, kicking the door closed before settling over the toilet bowl.

She didn’t have much for dinner, and now what had made it into her stomach was making its way out the way it came in.

Now swathed in the warmth of his sweater, Kaine trudged through the snow at a brisk pace, crossing a street to enter the Central Square area of the city. Four story buildings lined the streets, constructed out of a mix of concrete and brick. Supermarkets, nightclubs, and bookstores all sat next to one another, as well as a variety of Italian and vegan restaurants. Kaine somehow doubted the Italian food was very authentic.

Technically, this was Cambridge, the college area, but the distinction didn’t matter much to Kaine. The city just blended together into one heap, like New York did, and he didn’t feel the need to mark where Cambridge stopped and Boston began. Then again, he was thinking about it now. Maybe this tendency to spiral into one’s own thoughts was inherited from the original Parker?

Shaking off the thoughts, Kaine moseyed into a back alley, taking a moment to take stock of his surroundings and what he had. He wasn’t lucky enough to find any bills in the jean pockets, and he also hadn’t been lucky enough to come across anyone advertising job openings. Wouldn’t do him much good anyways. He needed a lot of cash, and he needed it fast. Something normal wasn’t going to cut it. He could try gambling, but then again he had nothing to bet except the clothes on his back.

Before he could further consider his options, a pair of voices sounded off from deeper into the alley. “You got the scratch for the fights tonight?”

“You bet! El Muerto has this in the bag!”

Raising an eyebrow, Kaine’s eyes drifted down the alley, spotting a duo of gentlemen dressed in long sleeved khakis and polos. They were exiting a bar through the back door, heading towards a limo. Curious, Kaine began to stalk them as they made their way to the car, listening carefully as they opened the doors.

“How much do you plan to bet? I’ve got about… two-thousand that I’m gonna put down.”

“Two-thousand? Those are rookie numbers! I’ve got five-thousand, and I’m ready to double it!”

Settling in their seats, the two closed the doors, unaware of the spider-powered man slipping under their vehicle. As the car rumbled to life and began to get onto the road, Kaine held onto the undercarriage of the car, gluing himself to the base of the machine to avoid scraping off the skin on his back. If people were betting on high stakes fights, then there would be enough money there to last him weeks, maybe even months.

He didn’t know how he was going to get that money yet, but at the very least, he’d be at the right place. Just one fight, one singular brawl, and he’d be out of Boston for good.

Cindy gasped for air, having spent the last thirty seconds gagging over the toilet seat. She imagined that this was what it was like to drink way more than you could handle. Slumping against the wall nearby, she sat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. She felt lightheaded, like her brain was swimming through mud. Her muscles twitched and cramped, tightening to an agonizing degree. A crawling sensation snaked through her body, spreading from her chest.

Was this what it was supposed to feel like when someone got shot? Cindy didn’t think so, but then again, she’d never been shot, and she hasn’t ever had the morbid curiosity to look up what being shot felt like.

Sweating like she had just been popped into an oven, Cindy moved to sit up, only for nausea to hit, sending her back onto her hindquarters. As she took a deep breath, trying her best to compose herself, her phone rumbled in her pocket. Pulling it out, she saw that her brother Albert was calling her. Accepting the call, she held the phone up to her ear, “Al?”

“Cindy! Oh my god, are you okay?!”

“I’m-” Cindy glanced down at the bloody bandages wrapped around her stomach. She could hear a choked worry in her brother’s voice, and realized that telling him she had just been shot might not be the smartest move. “I’m alright. I just… I was just out-”

“For that internship thing?! I didn’t know it went this late-”

“It wasn’t supposed to, but something happened. I’ll be back in the morning, Al, don’t-”

Suddenly, Cindy’s father’s voice boomed from the phone. “Albert Moon Jr., is that your sister on the phone? Give it to me, now!”

Cindy heard her brother grunt as the phone was presumably wrestled out of his grip, before hearing the stern voice of her father, now at full volume. “Cindy Moon, you will come home right this instant! Do you understand how worried I’ve been, how worried your mother and brother have been!”

“Dad, I… I can’t.” Cindy winced, both from the pain ripping her body up, and from the absolute blunder she had just made.

“What do you mean you can’t?! Did you get hurt?! Are you alright?!”

Cindy gulped, “I’m safe, I’m in a safe place. The internship thing just got… scarier than I expected. I’ll see you in the morning, but I promise that I’m not in any trouble right now.”

“The morning? Out of the question. I’ll pick you up, where are you?”

Cindy frowned, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She wanted to come home so badly, to just throw herself under the covers of her bed and forget tonight had ever happened. She knew she could trust her father, and she knew that her family would do their best to look after her, but it wouldn’t be safe for any of them if he came to get her. Not only could they become targets if Alchemax traced her back to her home, her father’s arrival might out Sheldon too, which could endanger his wife as well.

Closing her eyes as tightly as she could, Cindy responded to her father, “I can’t tell you… I have to go. I love you!”

“Cindy! Don’t hang up! Cindy-”

Cindy hit the red button on her phone, terminating the call. She felt a wave of anxiety wash over her, causing her to go entirely limp as she felt herself just shut down. Cutting off her family like that was so brutally hard, but it was also for the best. Feeling herself calm down a little, Cindy found the strength to finally stand up. Deciding that she would just lie back down on the couch, she pushed down on the trip handle before turning away to leave the bathroom.

She stopped dead as her hand refused to leave the metal lever. Turning back in confusion, Cindy pulled again as the toilet flushed, unable to separate her hand from the handle. To her surprise, her fingers were stuck against the handle, refusing to separate themselves from the metal. Puzzled, she pulled again, and while her finger stretched a bit with the effort, the lever refused to let her go. Growing frustrated, Cindy planted her shoe against the toilet bowl before pulling with all her might.

Then, without warning, the toilet bowl shattered with the force of her foot, obliterating the toilet and sending shards of ceramic material everywhere. Cindy fell backwards, landing against the door before sliding down. Water gushed from the now open pipes previously attached to the toilet, creating a creeping current of water that began to snake across the floor. Cindy stared at the spot where the toilet used to be, eyes wide. A fist rapped against the bathroom door, followed by Sheldon’s voice, “Cindy?! Are you alright?! What’s going on in there?!”

Cindy’s fingers tensed up, her hands closing into fists. This was accompanied by the scrunching of metal, causing Cindy to look at the toilet lever that refused to release her. She had, without much effort, crushed it into a crumpled chunk of steel, and its shape now resembled a chunk of raw ore. Hyperventilating, Cindy stared at the gushing water, answering back, “Um… a lot!”

Across the city, in Back Bay, a woman with long, fluffy black hair, clad in jeans and a black coat sat on a park bench, overlooking the Charles River. Despite being a largely urban area, Back Bay still had a nice slice of park that sat alongside the river. It was a nice place, often frequented by runners during the day. At night, it was usually empty, besides the occasional drunk or homeless person who needed a nicer place to sleep. The woman didn’t find the presence of the latter annoying or detrimental. After all, she knew what it was like to be out on the street with no place to call home.

Still, she wasn’t here for them. She was here to meet a group of problem solvers, people whom Alchemax had put her into contact with. As she waited on her bench, she heard the crunching of boots on snow as three men walked up the path, stopping in front of her. The first man sported a pencil mustache, and a pair of sunglasses that hid his eyes. The second man had a bushier mustache, with a wide brimmed fedora sitting atop his head. The third man dwarfed the prior two, and was clean shaven with no additional accessories. They were all clad in coats and vests of the gray variety. The woman looked up at them, unimpressed. “Not very sneaky, are you?”

“Weren’t trying to be,” The man with the fedora remarked. “Oh, and since you forgot to ask, I’m Montana, the dude rocking the shades is Fancy Dan, and the big man behind me is The Ox.”

Fancy Dan simply nodded, while the Ox crossed his arms. “We don’t need to be sneaky. We just kill idiots who cross the wrong people. You have any idiots for us, or did Dan lead us on?”

Fancy Dan glared at the Ox, prompting The Ox to glare back in return. Sighing, the woman pulled out three photos from her coat pocket. “We didn’t manage to save most of the surveillance from the boat. All we have are these images.”

The three men took the photos, examining them carefully. One of the photos depicted a nude Kaine tossing around Alchemax soldiers, while another depicted Philip Sheldon skulking around a set of offices. The third one depicted Cindy being carried by Sheldon, blood soaking her shirt. The Ox scratched his head at Cindy’s photo. “This girl looks like she’s already dead.”

“She very well could be, but I want to be doubly sure. If you can, bring me back her body or some proof that she isn’t alive to tell any tall tales.” The woman looked back at Montana. “This is a time sensitive mission, I need all three of them dead before dawn.”

“Not all of them!”

The woman shot out of her seat, alarmed at the presence of a new voice. The three thugs drew handguns, unsure of where to point them. For a moment, everything was quiet again, as if the four of them had just been the victim of a group hallucination.

Then, the buzzing started.

A single bee buzzed into the park, hovering near the four. Then, more appeared, causing the bees to grow in number from one, to a dozen, to three dozen, to a hundred, then onward to the thousands. The three thugs began to step away from what was rapidly becoming a massive mass of bees the size of a Great Dane dog, but the woman was unperturbed, staring at the insectoid swarm with curiosity. Slowly, the bees began to lower out of the sky, the swarm warping in formation until it resembled a humanoid. As the bees solidified their shape as a swarm, a mouth and eyes formed on the head of the swarm, a mouth that smiled, “Miss Barrison… did you truly believe I would not escape that ship?”

The woman grinned, “Damn, Meyer… I didn’t think you could do it.”

Meyer, now a sentient swarm of bees, then regarded the trio of thugs, “Gentleman, while my form may be a shock to you, I assure you that I am an Alchemax scientist, and I propose a change to your arrangement with Miss Barrison. Kill the old man and the girl, but if you want to double your money, bring me the young man alive. Bring me Kaine Parker.”

Next Issue: Kaine Vs. El Muerto!!

Uncanny X-Men #18: Support System

< >

Author: Predaplant

Editor: VoidKiller826

Book: Uncanny X-Men

There were a lot of people in Bobby Drake’s life who he didn’t trust. He had been let down by his family, far too many times to count. Charles Xavier and his X-Men abandoned him when he needed them the most. And he didn’t really trust Magneto or the Brotherhood either, if he was honest with himself, but at least there Bobby didn’t have to pretend he was working for anything besides his own goals.

With all that being said, Bobby Drake trusted Apocalypse even less than he trusted anybody else in his life.

Unfortunately, Apocalypse might also be the most powerful mutant Bobby had ever met, and he needed to get him away from the rest of the Brotherhood.

So Bobby found himself in a plane, sitting behind Apocalypse, functionally allowing himself to be kidnapped.

He cleared his throat. Time to try and get Apocalypse talking. Maybe he could get him onto the Brotherhood’s side if he played his cards right. “So, uh... why me?”

“Krakoa and I have a special relationship,” Apocalypse started to explain. “Anybody who manages to immobilize it for that long has earned my respect as one of the most powerful mutants alive.”

“A... special relationship?” Bobby asked. He started to feel nervous. Krakoa was best left in the past for him; it was a reminder of the X-Men and everything he had tried to leave behind.

“It was all that remained of my homeland... all left to remind me of the people I’m trying to save.”

“Save? What do you mean?”

Apocalypse took a deep breath. It thrummed throughout the cockpit. “I am old, Iceman. Old enough to have seen civilizations rise and fall. Some have called me the first mutant, and that may very well be true. Thousands of years ago, when I was young, I was the ruler of a nation called Okkara. We were a paradise for mutants, a place where we could explore our gifts and help build each other up. I had a wife and children. I was happy. Things were peaceful.

“Then came the attack. Creatures from a hole in the sky. We didn’t know it back then, but they were from another dimension. They carried away everybody that I loved, everybody that I cared about... even most of the land that we lived on. They brought it all back to their home dimension. We fought them off as best we could, but when we finally managed to get them to close the portal, I was the only one still standing on the small landmass that remained. Everything else was gone.

“That landmass became Krakoa. I became hard. Cruel. I’m not ashamed to admit it, Iceman, for it is the truth, as much as I wish I could have turned out otherwise. I tell you openly, that all I care about is finding the power to bridge the gap between dimensions and bring back those that I love. I will not stand for a genocide, not after all that happened to my people, but barring that, I will stop at nothing to find them and bring them to safety from that foreign dimension where they have been banished for so long.

“I think you have that power within you, Iceman. I think that even what you did to Krakoa is but a fraction of your true ability. This is why I need you to work by my side, to bring back everything I’ve lost. Once we have completed that task, I, and all my people, will be in your debt eternally.”

Bobby cut in almost as soon as Apocalypse finished. “You talk about being immortal, ruling countries, other dimensions… and you expect me to believe all that? What about all the people here? All the mutants that are hurting, that we’ve been fighting for in the Brotherhood?”

“Your Brotherhood is nothing,” Apocalypse intoned sharply. “You squabble over the means to achieve your goals, and yet your actual accomplishments are paltry. I squashed them all like gnats while searching for you, and I did not even break a sweat. What I am offering you is a way to tangibly save the lives of thousands of mutants, mutants who may fight by your side, and you try to brush me off? I believe your X-Men have seen many fantastical things; you know that there is far more out there than human society knows or comprehends. I am an honest man, and I will be honest with you as well. If there’s even a chance that what I’m saying is true, then you know in your heart of hearts that you must fight for me.”

Bobby had to admit that he had a point. The Brotherhood didn’t have numbers on their side, and all of those mutants would definitely be an asset. “If you’re an honest man, will you show me how you mean to return your people to this dimension? I’m not getting pulled in by your sob story and helping you destroy the world.”

“Of course,” Apocalypse replied. “I will explain it all to you in detail, and you may question me on any aspect of it that seems implausible to you.”

Bobby sighed. He couldn’t believe the words that were about to come out of his mouth. “Then I guess you can count me in. Whatever you need.”

Apocalypse chuckled. It sounded like a noise foreign to his throat, the laughs starting and stopping awkwardly, almost as if he were coughing. “Very good, Iceman. Very good.”

XXXXX

“You know, all those years ago when we first brought you here, I always wanted to see inside,” Sara Grey explained to her sister Jean. “Is it a bad thing that it doesn’t live up to my expectations?”

“I feel like there’s no way that it could,” Jean replied. “But do you think you can at least get used to it?”

“Oh, I definitely think I can get used to it.” Sara smiled. “This is the nicest school I’ve ever taught in, and it’s not even close.”

“You still haven’t taught here yet,” Jean noted.

“I signed a contract! It’s going to happen!”

“But it hasn’t yet,” Jean fired back. “Anyways. Should I take your bags?”

“Please.” Sara took a step back and watched as Jean psychically lifted her luggage. The two made their way up the large staircase in front of them.

“So, as you know, most of the other teachers here are mutants,” Jean explained as she swerved the luggage out of the way of a student trying to make her way down the stairs. “So they’re a bit out of the ordinary.”

“I’m cool with that,” Sara nodded. “I’m looking forward to meeting them.”

“Alright, I’ll take you through and introduce them once we’ve got you moved in,” Jean said. The two reached the top of the stairs and turned towards the faculty wing. The hallways narrowed as they started to approach the individual rooms.

They turned a corner, only to run right into a large man with jet-black hair and skin that was... reflective?

“Oh, sorry, Piotr!” Jean exclaimed. “This is my sister, and one of our new teachers.”

Sara extended a hand to shake. “I’m Sara. It’s so nice to meet you, Piotr. What do you teach here?”

Piotr shook. His hands were large, especially compared to Sara’s, and there was a warmth to them. He smiled at her, but it was a sad smile, like there was something missing. “Art.”

“Oh, sorry,” Jean said. “Let me move the luggage for you.” She shifted it to the side of the hallway, creating a path for Piotr to walk by.

“Thank you, Jean. It’s been very nice to make your acquaintance, Sara,” Piotr said, carefully stepping his way around the luggage before continuing down the hallway.

“He seemed sad,” Sara commented. “Is there something wrong?”

“He was very close with one of the teachers who departed this year,” Jean explained. “I think he still misses her. This is your room!”

“Hold on,” Sara said, pulling out her key and fitting it into the lock. She turned it with a click. “There!”

Pushing the door open, she walked into the room. It was surprisingly spacious, with a large bed, a wardrobe, bookshelves lining the walls, and a beautiful mahogany desk.

Jean pulled the luggage into the room, leaving it in the corner for Sara. “I know you’re probably going to want to spend most nights with your family, but this place is still yours, and I’m just across the hall if you need me.”

“Thanks,” Sara smiled. She saw something move out of the corner of her eye, and was startled to see someone covered in blue fur poking his head into the room.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said in a rich voice.

“Not at all!” Jean said. “Sara, this is Hank. He’s the science teacher here and a dear friend of mine.”

“Ah, so you’re Sara!” Hank laughed. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Sara nodded and smiled, the surprise wearing off. “I hope Jean’s been keeping positive.”

“She has. We go all the way back to when she was a student here, and I can’t think of anything bad she’s said about you, beyond momentary frustrations, of course.”

“Momentary frustrations?” Sara asked, turning to Jean.

Jean smiled sheepishly. “You know how it is. You were away doing cool stuff at home and I was stuck at a boring school with barely anything around.”

“I never realized that you felt that way,” Sara said softly, looking carefully at her sister.

Jean shrugged. “You know… I was a kid.”

“Well, I should probably leave you two alone to unpack,” Hank said, slowly moving out of view from within the room.

“No, wait, it’s alright!” Sara called out. “Jean said she was going to introduce me to the rest of the faculty, and I’d love if you could help get everybody together for that.”

“That sounds like a plan! I’ll get started on getting everyone together in the lounge immediately,” Hank said and, with a wide grin, he headed off to find the others, leaving the Grey sisters in silence.

“You know, I was jealous of you, too. Getting to spend so much time with other cool mutants, learning to do such cool things with your powers, all of it just seemed like some sort of fantasy.”

Jean lifted a hand and pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “It was harder than I ever let on to you guys. But luckily, all the people I met here helped it feel like home before too long.”

“That’s sweet,” Sara said, hugging her sister. “Come on, let’s head over to the lounge. I want to meet all these people who’ve been your family for so long.”

The lounge was empty when they arrived, but not for long. With a Bamf! a blue man with yellow eyes and a tail appeared out of thin air right next to where Sara was sitting. She jumped.

“Did I startle you, Ms. Grey? My apologies,” he said sweetly, with a genuine smile. Sara immediately felt at ease. “My name is Kurt, or Nightcrawler, if you want to get fancy.”

“Nice to meet you, Kurt.” Sara shook his hand, watching his tail flick back and forth around his head.

“The others should be coming in shortly,” Kurt explained. “I just get to travel a bit faster than them, when I want to. And I definitely wanted to greet one of our new teachers!”

“Is there someone else new on staff?” Sara asked.

“She just moved in yesterday,” Jean replied, looking out into the hallway from the chair she had chosen. “And here she is now!”

A Black woman with short hair entered into the lounge with a small smile. “Hi, you’re the other new teacher? I’m Stevie.”

Sara got up to shake the other woman’s hand. “Sara.”

“So what’s your power, Sara?” Stevie asked her.

Sara laughed. “Having Jean here as a sister. You?”

Jean rolled her eyes.

“Nope,” Stevie said. “Not a mutant, at least not as far as I know. But I’m a dance teacher and I have a lot of experience teaching students of different body types, so I hope that carries over well to teaching the mutant students here.”

“I’m sure it will,” Sara reassured her.

“Excuse me,” said a man behind Stevie, who moved aside to let him in. This man was almost as large as Piotr. He looked grizzled, with scars across his face and a glowing left eye. His white hair was short and unkempt.

He nodded at Sara as he entered. “Ms. Grey. I’m Cable. I teach PE.”

Sara raised an eyebrow involuntarily. She had heard from Jean about how this school used these “mutant names” for teachers and students, and while she could accept it, she didn’t really understand why. Something about Cable not offering his human name put her off guard. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was best not to rock the boat. She lowered her eyebrow and nodded back. “I’m looking forward to working with you and the rest of the group.”

“Ah, don’t let Cable get to you, he just ain’t very social,” came a very Southern voice from the door as a woman turned the corner, carefully avoiding touching Cable as she did so. She had a bright smile, and her brown hair prominently featured a streak of white. “I’m Rogue, I’m the drama teacher ‘round here, and I’m looking forward to working with you! It’s always great to welcome new teachers to the staff!”

Noting the gloves that Rogue wore which extended all the way up to under her long-sleeved top, Sara shook her hand. Maybe Cable wasn’t unique among the faculty here in keeping his name close to his chest. Maybe she was just imagining the weird way he was looking at her.

But right away, there was another teacher to meet, with a mustache and long black hair. Sara noted his cybernetic right leg.

“I’m Forge,” he said. “I teach some shop, some computers. I’m sorry if I don’t have too much to say to you, I’m not really a talker.”

“Still more of a talker than some people here,” Sara said, pointedly not looking at Cable.

Forge chuckled. “I suppose that’s the truth.”

“Alright!” came a voice that Sara somehow managed to recognize already, even before she turned to see him arrive in the already crowded lounge. It was Hank. “I managed to round up everybody I could find. I didn’t see Colossus or Gambit anywhere, though.”

“Oh, we met Colossus already!” Jean exclaimed. “That’s Piotr, remember?”

“Right,” Sara said. “But who’s Gambit?”

A door that Sara hadn’t previously noticed in the lounge opened up. A man walked out of it carrying a playing card in his hand with tousled brown hair.

“That’d be me!”

Smiling, he gave Sara a small bow.

“And what do you teach?” Sara asked him.

He chuckled. “Gambit class, of course.”

“Gambit class?”

“He won’t even tell any of us what it is, so don’t bother asking,” Jean said, shaking her head. “But the students seem to like it and Professor Xavier says it’s very important, so we keep offering it.”

“Oh, it’s very important,” Gambit said, tossing his card in the air and catching it. “No education’d be complete without it.” He smiled at Sara. “Very nice to meet you, but I’ll be getting back to what I was doing. See you around.”

With that, he stepped back behind the door that he had used to enter and swung it shut.

“What’s back there?” Sara asked.

“A storage closet,” Jean answered.

Sara let out a small laugh. She took a few seconds to gain control of herself, before addressing the group. “Thank you all. I know you’ve all been here for Jean for years, and I’m looking forward to getting to know each of you, as well. Now, I think I’m going to go get unpacked, if that’s alright. Feel free to pop in and say hi!”

As Sara headed back to her room, she thought about each of the teachers she had met. The faculty here was definitely very interesting, and that just made her all the more excited to meet the students and start teaching.

XXXXX

“Through here.” Ororo gestured towards a secluded sewer entrance, surrounded by gunk and murky fluid.

“Eww...” Kitty sniffed. “Are you sure it’s through here?”

“It’s through here precisely because it repels you so much, Kitty,” Ororo reminded her friend. They had arrived in New York the night before, and after a short meeting with Bedlam of M-Town, they decided to head out and meet the Morlocks that they had arrived in this city to work alongside. Cautiously, Ororo made her way into the entrance, her long hair brushing up against the sewage on the walls. “I should cut this...” she muttered.

Kitty followed along behind her, carefully stepping around any suspicious piles of sewage. They made their way carefully into the darkness.

“Bedlam said it’s just long enough that you think you’ve checked the wrong tunnel, right?”

“That’s right, Kitty,” Ororo replied. They were speaking in hushed voices, now. “Just have to remember the instructions he gave us.”

They made several turns through the sewer system in silence, before coming to a wall that looked slightly different than the surrounding stone.

Ororo knocked seven times, in a specific pattern. The wall slid to the side a touch, and then stopped.

A young woman with bone-like protrusions dotted across her skin peered out at Ororo and Kitty. “Who might you be?” she asked, staring at them suspiciously.

“I am Storm, and this is Shadowcat. We are both formerly of the X-Men, and we’d like to assist you, in any way you see fit.”

The woman looked at them suspiciously for a few moments, before growling, “We don’t need any help from either of you,” and closing the door.

Kitty and Ororo looked at each other.

Kitty walked up to the door and knocked again in the same rhythm that Ororo had used.

“Go away,” came the bony woman’s voice from the other side of the door. “Leave.”

“I was just thinking,” Kitty said lightly, leaning against the stone wall. “You happen to have two incredibly powerful mutants standing outside your door, who have volunteered to work for you. Ones with experience in working without many resources. And you’re denying them immediately without even a chance to plead their case to your leaders. Sounds like a really unwise decision, to me, at least. How about this? If I can make my way into the middle of your base and plead my case to everybody else there, then you let us do that.”

The bony woman laughed. “Sure, give it a try.”

“Alright!” Kitty said. Beaming, she walked through the stone wall, laughing as she noticed the bony woman’s jaw drop on the other side.

The first thing that Kitty noticed as she stepped out of the foyer and into the Morlocks’ main base was how little space there was. Mutants were scattered all about in living areas with some basic tent-like structures providing privacy, and communal supplies were laid out in the middle of the room for all the surrounding mutants to access. Everything was cluttered.

Kitty scanned the room. She didn’t see any place that looked particularly leader-like, so she walked over to another mutant with grey skin that drooped off of their body.

“Excuse me?” Kitty asked. “Could you let me know who’s in charge here?”

“Oh, that’d be Callisto,” the mutant told Kitty, just as the bony woman raced over to the two of them. “She’s over there.”

“No! Don’t tell her!” the bony woman called out.

The grey-skinned mutant stared at the bony one, confused. “Why?”

The bony one huffed as she watched Kitty walk off in the direction of Callisto. Kitty stopped outside the indicated tent and cleared her throat. “Hello? Callisto?”

“Who’s asking?” came a voice from inside the tent as the woman inside started to emerge. Kitty took a step back upon seeing Callisto. Her face looked like it had been torn to shreds, and she had a black eye patch over one eye. She looked like the harshest person that Kitty had ever seen.

Kitty regained her composure swiftly as she answered the question. “Hello, yes, I’m Shadowcat! I’m a mutant, formerly of the X-Men, and I’m here with a friend of mine to humbly offer our services to your purposes.”

Callisto pursed her lips. “The X-Men, huh...”

The bony woman arrived next to Kitty, nodding at Callisto. “She managed to walk right through the wall into our base. I don’t trust her.”

“Is this true?” Callisto asked Kitty.

Kitty shrugged. “She said if I made it in here I could talk to you. So I made it in here.”

“Hmm...” Callisto smiled. “Alright. Here’s what I’m thinking. Both you and your friend will be tested if you wish to stay here. You’ll need to prove your worth, your dedication, and your ability to pull your own weight. I’m going to tell you right away that not everybody here will have your trust. That will be something you’ll have to earn. But if you keep at it, working with us, fighting alongside us, helping us get what we need, then you’ll have a place here.”

“But, Callisto...” the bony woman interjected.

Callisto raised a hand, and she went quiet. “I don’t trust them either, Marrow. They’ll have to earn my trust as well, especially after the last time some of the X-Men ended up here. That being said, a bit more power on our side, both physical and political, would certainly serve us well, if we could bend it to our advantage.”

Callisto turned back to Kitty. “Is your friend also of the X-Men? Who have you brought?”

“Storm.”

Callisto nodded. “Ah, that one. Bring her in, and find a place for both of them, if you will, Marrow.”

Marrow glared at Kitty as the two turned to head back towards the cavern’s entrance. “You won’t last a week here. Either of you.”

“Try us,” Kitty said, sweetly but with a hint of irritation in her voice. “You’ll be amazed by what we can do working together.”

Black Panther
Volume IV: Across the Sky
Issue #45: The Pirate and the Panther

Written by: u/PresidentWerewolf
Edited by: u/dwright5252

Previous Issue

The Needle moved from the shipyard, pushing hard with its sub-light drive to get into empty space. The shipyard at Rhu Spiral shrunk quickly, the swarming maintenance vehicles vanishing to nothing as they worked to secure the areas that had, until recently, been held by pirates.

“There was no sense letting them in while we were refitting,” Ross said idly. “If they had seen we were working with Vibranium, it would have been World War…3?”

“There are lots of world wars out here,” said a crewman sitting behind Ross at the sensor array. That was Baryo, an orange-skinned, skinny fellow with seven fingers on each hand. “One of the best places for pirates to–” he saw T’Challa watching him, and he trailed off. “Not the kind of pirate I would work with. I mean, if I worked with pirates anymore.”

“You don’t,” T’Challa said sharply. “And you never will again.”

Baryo nodded. Everyone else on the bridge studied their own screens with great interest.

T’Challa tapped a command, and his viewscreen changed to show the rest of his fleet. “These ships have been programmed to head to space authorities and deliver the pirates on board. I chose you to crew this ship because you were the most trustworthy of the bunch, and the least deserving of such punishment. Before long, I will let you go.

“Mark my words,” the Black Panther said calmly. “If you think that means you can return to a life as a pirate, plundering, murdering innocent spacefarers…I promise that you will not live half as long as any of the men on those ships.”

“Of…of course,” Baryo said. “I told you, I would never–”

“He heard you,” Ross said. “Just make sure you mean it, because he does.”

An hour later, they were clear of the shipyard and all of its celestial neighbors. Ross had held firm against T’Challa that they should have a minimum distance from any large bodies before engaging the new propulsion system.

“So the way this works,” Ross said, as he paced in front of the view screen, “is that we are going to spin up the engines, but we are not going to make a jump.”

“But you have to lay in coordinates for a jump before you activate the engine like that,” Seqen said worriedly.

“Right. Well, at least, the safety protocols are hard coded to say you have to do it like that. The way to get around that is to disable the protocols.”

A couple of the crew members mumbled loudly at that.

“Oh, stop it. We could disengage the safeties, and we would be fine,” Ross said over more grumbles, “but your Captain, who is something of a genius, figured out another way. You just put coordinates in that point nowhere.”

“How do you do that?” Baryo asked.

“Ask the genius,” Ross said. “Better yet, just get ready to, um, not jump. If you don’t want to join in on this completely safe, not experimental at all, brand new way of traveling that bypasses the known laws of space and time–”

T’Challa coughed lightly.

Ross shrugged. “Just buckle up.” He went to tactical and pulled up several other screens to monitor the launch.

“Report,” T’Challa said. “Jump engines.”

“Ready for coordinate input,” Ross said.

“Stand by. Hyperspace Foil integrity.”

Ross checked his screen. “Stil bolted onto the keel. I mean, it’s not going anywhere.”

“Very well. Inputting null coordinates.”

“I’m taking navigation for now,” Ross said. “4-D angular momentum is right on track. Shit, this might actually work.”

Everyone on the bridge turned to look at him.

Ross rolled his eyes. “Right. Like you guys all had better ideas.”

“Maybe prison?” Baryo said.

“Ross,” T’Challa said.

“Right. Angle is still good. We are entering the slipstream, and…oh. We did it.”

T’Challa looked surprised for once. “We did it?”

“We’re in. We are in hyperspace.”

“We are not moving,” T’Challa said.

“I see regular space,” Seqen said, gesturing at the view screen.

“Maybe I didn’t tell you guys this,” Ross said, scratching his head. “The AI figured that we would still see normal space, and we’re still visible in normal space, like as a ghost image. Since we jumped-not-jumped with null–actually, it doesn’t matter. Dangar will see us coming, though.”

“He will be able to see us on his Vibranium Atlas, no?” T’Challa said.

“Absolutely.”

“Good,” T’Challa said. He tapped at his controls. “Full speed towards the source.”

“Wait!” Ross yelped, and he quickly ran to T’Challa’s side. “I forgot to mention, the thrust vector is kind of inverted, and there’s a constant…anyway, here is a list of vector controls.”

“These are all fractions of pi,” T’Challa said.

“I’m trying to translate from an alien AI to the smartest human alive. Don’t ask me to explain any of it.”

“Very well. Thank you, Ross,” T’Challa added. “And what would have happened if I had taken us to full thrust?”

Ross laughed nervously. “Maybe…something about the inertial dampeners…shooting off in opposite directions…straight out of hyperspace it doesn’t matter.”

T’Challa studied the new controls for a moment. “Half power laid in. Brace for thrust…”

Ross looked over from tactical. “Count of thr—”

The Needle shot down the hyperspace corridor like a bullet. Half the bridge crew were thrown out of their seats as the ship shuddered and kicked, and Ross himself had to hop to his feet and catch his balance before diving back to his controls.

“Dampeners are having some trouble!” he shouted. “I can’t…I’m bringing the AI back online.” Within a few seconds, the ship stilled to a slight rumble. In the viewscreen, regular space could be seen, but at their massive velocity there was nothing recognizable about it. Any visible object was stretched and warped into a smear of pastels.

“The Foil is holding,” T’Challa said. He shot Ross a look. “The rest of the ship will probably make it as well.”

Ross laughed nervously again, and then he broke out into real, relieved belly laughs. “Are you kidding me? We’re shooting through space at Mach seven billion, and you’re mad I didn’t double check the math? I didn’t single check it! For me, this has all been science fiction since about five minutes after I met you!”

T’Challa opened his mouth for a retort, and then thought better of it. “Bring up the Atlas,” he said instead. “I want to see how far…”

The Vibranium Atlas appeared on the viewscreen. Dangar’s ship was indeed getting closer, but that wasn’t what held T’Challa’s attention. The range to the Vibranium source, which had sat steady at an unreachable +100,000 light years for the entirety of their journey so far, now said something else.

RECALIBRATING…

“T’Challa, do you see that? We must be getting closer!”

“First things first!” T’Challa barked. The distance to Anvil was shrinking quickly, and he zoomed the screen in to exclude everything else.

“We’re getting close enough to get a read on them,” Ross said. “They are out of hyperspace, but there’s a good chance they will see us coming. Either way–God, we’re going so fast–either way, we engage in one minute.”

T’Challa’s claws scratched the smooth surface of his seat’s armrests as he leaned forward. “Full report,” he growled.

“Sensors locking onto the Anvil’s main systems.”

“Deflector shields are at maximum.”

“Reactor box is primed.”

“Weapons are hot,” Ross said. “Capacitors are charged. T’Challa, they can still box their reactor, like we did, and the Anvil is just a better ship. Those plasma cannons…hell, they’re Reed Richards’s plasma cannons. I’ll be surprised if we take one direct hit and keep going.”

T’Challa nodded. He settled his hands on the navigation controls.

“I’m trusting those herb-enhanced reflexes, buddy,” Ross said.

T’Challa looked over at him. “Ross. Thank you.’

Ross smiled back. “Just give Dangar one for me.”

The Needle appeared in real space at a standstill, and its impulse drive screamed to life immediately. The ship jumped up to speed and drove in an arc towards the waiting Anvil, while plasma beams cut through the empty space behind it. The Anvil’s laser gat came to life and tracked them, peppering their shield with steady fire. The pirates had been waiting, and the enemy ship had already boxed its reactor with Vibranium shielding, meaning that the ordinarily suppressive fire of the laser gat was a hail of lethal spears of energy.

“Get that reactor juiced up!” Ross called out, and he lurched in his seat as T’Challa pulled a sharp turn. On his screen, the inertial dampeners were already heating up.

The Anvil rounded on them, and the laser fire was suddenly head on. T’Challa managed to glide away, but not before two shots punched through the shield. They hit low, luckily, passing right through the lower decks and above the main reactor.

“Shuttle bay is venting,” Seqen said.

“Leave it!” Ross barked back.

The Vibranium shield finally fell into place, and power flooded the Needle’s systems. The shields held steady against the laser fire, and the ride was instantly smoother. Alarms were still blaring from the damage, however, more plasma fire was coming any second.

“Remember, we’re taking the enemy ship intact,” Ross shouted to the bridge. “And nobody fires above forty percent power. We didn’t get all the capacitors changed out in time. Concentrate fire on critical–”

A thick beam of plasma almost tagged them, close enough that it warped the shield bubble. Half the shield buffers exploded at once, dimming its bright orb of protection around the ship and tossing the ship violently.

“T’Challa!” Ross shouted in a panicked voice.

The weapons tracking had been more than T’Challa had anticipated. He needed a moment to recover. He drove the Needle down, spiraling away from another plasma blast to fly under the Anvil. Only a single laser beam could reach them there, and he flew so swiftly that none of the other weapons had managed to recalibrate and track them. They came up the other side in a flash, and he tilted the Needle sharply, facing the enemy with the brunt of their main weapons.

Ross didn’t miss his moment. He fired with everything they had, blasting the Anvil with a wall of energy and projectiles. Three laser cannons, the gamma-phaser array, two Spartax railguns, and the rotating security lasers all fired at once. The enemy laser gat disintegrated as the shield buckled. One railgun bolt was deflected and sent whizzing off into space, but the other punched into the hull just below the bridge. Fire shot out of the port shuttle bay.

The Anvil fired its impulse thrusters, and Ross fired again, this time cutting at their engines with the phasers. “We got them!” he yelled, as the bridge crew cheered around him. “They must not have fixed the shielding since the last fight. I’ve got their engines on the ropes. They’ll be dead in the water.”

The Anvil vanished from the viewscreen as it jumped into hyperspace.

“What?” Ross exclaimed. It was all he had time to do before the ship reappeared on their starboard side, its plasma cannons already lighting up.

T’Challa hit the thrusters, roaring, “Brace for impact!” as Ross threw power to the shields. It was going to hit them dead on, both cannons at once.

The plasma cannons went dark. The Needle shot past the Anvil, and T’Challa brought it around.

“Target their shields!” he ordered. The Anvil’s engines were firing intermittently, gasping out a final burn as they went dark. “Ross, Seqen, man the Needle. Everyone else, we board.”

The bridge crew roared and cheered again, and they scrambled to the exits to find their weapons and armor.

“Dangar is mine!”

T’Challa yanked the hatch open with one hand, demolishing the latch as he wrenched the composite material free. He darted into the corridor, his men following closely.

Ross’s voice crackled into his ear. “I’m only reading about thirty life signs. About half of them are trying to save the shuttle bay, and the rest are on the bridge. Couple of stragglers in the halls.”

T’Challa had already found one such straggler; he cut the man’s throat into three sections with a swipe as he passed, and the pirate slumped to the floor.

“Yep, you found one. Ross out.”

The Captain would be on the bridge. T”Challa knew this ship well, of course. As he passed the astrolabe, the dining hall, the corridor that led to engineering, a row of crew quarters…each familiar sight was a stab in his heart. He had walked with Okoye here, talked and laughed with her into the late hours, lifted her up, taken her with him…

T’Challa growled. The elevator to the bridge would not do, and so he took the access hatch that ran beneath the floor. It was through a small access door, up a ladder, and then, then he took a deep breath. He felt the power in his muscles now. The last time he had faced the massive Dangar Zurn, he had been without the power of the herb. And now…

T’Challa exploded up from the floor of the bridge, throwing the access hatch so hard that it lodged into the ceiling. The room was a mess of lights and blaring klaxons. Smoke poured from several control panels, and several men lay dead, heaped against the wall.

Dangar Zurn rose from the Captain’s chair, grabbing his massive sword and standing to his full height.

“You!” His eyes were suddenly eager. “The coward returns!” Dangar began to lift his weapon.

T’Challa crossed the bridge like a bullet, leaping at the last second and lashing out with a jackhammer cross. Powered by the heart-shaped herb, powered by the rage of the Black Panther, the blow smashed into Dangar, whipping his head to the side as his eyes glazed in shock. He was knocked off his feet, and he fell back into his chair, choking and sputtering, his fingers grasping at his weapon.

His eyes focused as T’Challa was on him, bashing at him again. “Your woman was magnificent! A true warrior!”

Dangar took a shot to the flank and cried out in surprise. He rolled out of his chair and scrambled to his feet, bringing his sword up. T’Challa stalked towards him, his face a mask of naked rage.

Dangar swung, but T’Challa caught the blade, and he wrenched it free and tossed it aside. Dangar saw his moment and punched, but the attack that had leveled T’Challa before now barely fazed him. T’Challa spat blood onto the floor, and he replied with a quick kick that sumo deep into Dangar’s flank.

The pirates’ Captain fought with desperate strength, hammering back as good as he got. He felt it when something in T’Challa’s body cracked, but the fight did not slow. T’Challa’s ferocity grew as he was hit, and his rage grew as the fight went on. Both men were tearing each other to tatters, tossing massive attacks at each other, growling through bloodied teeth at each other.

Dangar had taken the most damage first, however. He blocked a savage blow, and his arm gave out. He went to his knees, and T’Challa swiped hard, punching him across the face. He barely caught himself before he fell over, but he took a kick to the chest, and his breath escaped him.

T’Challa hauled the pirate captain by the neck up against the wall, and he pushed him there, squeezing. The wall pressed behind him, buckling, denting from the power of the assault. Dangar’s air was all gone. He faded, kicking and scratching weakly at T’Challa, his eyes finally lighting up with raw, primal fear. It wasn’t fear of death, however, that followed Dangar to his judgment in the eternity that awaited.

It was the eyes that glared at him as the darkness closed in. It was the horrible eyes of the Black Panther.

The pirates were dead, either killed where they stood or vented into space. The Anvil had been reclaimed. Dangar Zurn was dead. Okoye was avenged.

T’Challa stood on the bridge of his ship. The alarms had been silenced, but some of the damage around him was still smoking or sparking. He checked a few control panels. Navigation was down. The sensors had been damaged. Weapons were functioning, and were still charged.

Ross appeared at the entrance to the bridge, and he stopped as he struggled with his breath. They both felt it, that deluge of memory, the weight of their adventure together, and how it had gone so wrong. He stepped unsteadily forward.

“We have full control,” he said. “Our guys are putting out fires, sealing holes. You know, damage control.”

T’Challa nodded.

“We’ll get a full damage report pretty soon. I just had to…may I?” he asked, gesturing to the tactical station. That had been Okoye’s spot.

Ross tapped the controls, looking through the various charts and readouts. “It’s just…T’Challa, they had us. I mean, they had us. Why didn’t their plasma cannons fire? What…”

A message appeared on the screen. Ross read it a few times, and then he stood up and turned away as he wiped his eyes with one hand.

"What is it?” T’Challa asked.

Ross took a moment to reply. “She was always at her station there, fiddling with the weapons, calibrating, running drills. She and the tactical AI were always talking things out. The weapons…my god, it refused to fire on us. It’s asking where Okoye is.”

T’Challa went to the station and read the message, and his heart clenched in his chest for a moment, stealing away his ability to breathe. He stepped back and sat down heavily in the seat there, and he put his head in his hands.

On the main view screen, the Vibranium Atlas was active. It read: 1,000 light years.

Next: The Source

Salutation True Believers!

We welcome you to another exciting month of stories from our amazing writers! With the book debut of a certain Merch with a Mouth and the finale of Fantomex!

What to expect from this month:

• Black Panther #45 & #46
• Darkdevil #3
• Deadpool #1 - New Series!
• Fantastic Four #46
• Fantomex #17 - Finale!
• Iron Man #10
• Moon Knight #40
• Scarlet Spiders #3 & #4
• Uncanny X-Men #18
• Wolverine #6

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Last Month <> Next Month

Wolverine
Issue #5
Weapon, part 1

Written by: u/PresidentWerewolf
Edited by: u/Predaplant

Previous Issue

From the files of Professor Charles Xavier
Audio//Digital//Logan14X1123F.WAV

Xavier: Logan, I have lived longer than most, and I will live that span again. I am an old man, yet I inhabit this young body. How do you think that makes me feel?

Logan: You ain’t gonna just tell me?

X: I want to know what you think that I think. You are in a similar situation, my friend, are you not? We have seen decades where many have seen months. That sort of history is not simply rare. What sort of insight has it given you?

L: Don’t forget my memory’s all full of holes. Seems to me I’ve forgotten more of them decades than I remember.

X: And what do you remember, Logan?

L: Not sure what you’re gettin’ at, Chuck.

X: You met with Haru Hayashi. You found him after, what, seventy years? More?

L: More.

X: And?

L: [sighing... long pause] This is gonna sound…

X: Cruel?

L: What the... you ain’t readin’ my mind, are ya?

X: No, my friend, but I think we are thinking the same thing.

L: Well... ya see, Chuck... Haru wasn’t my only pal from those days. Kenji, Boris, Chet the Brit, and a few others. Kinda remembered them all once I got goin’ over in Tokyo. Looked em up once I met with Haru.

X: Let me guess.

L: You ain’t gotta guess, Chuck. Dead. Kenji and Chet died in the war, I’m guessin’ on opposite sides. Boris, well, you can’t track down everyone. Doubt he made it as long as Haru, though, and it just got me thinkin’ If any of them had kids, if any of them had grandkids, they’d be old, maybe older than you’re supposed to be.

[long pause]

X: And here we are.

L: It ain’t fair.

X: This is why I devote so much to my dream. So many young lives, so many young mutants who will never get to grow up, feel the freedom of adulthood, find love, have children, explore their world. And what have I been given? It is an embarrassment.

L: Like I said, it ain’t fair.

Now – Alberta, Canadian wilderness

The scent is getting stronger, but I still can’t tell what direction it’s comin’ from. The whole forest reeks of it, of methyl alcohol, latex, oil-grease, and the stink of decay. I have to look for tracking marks, signs of passage; every bent twig and crushed blade of grass catches my eye. Course, the forty foot spruce thrashed in half in front of me is a good sign, too.

Haru and I laughed over old stories for three days in Japan, until he told me that I had to leave. This was his last gasp, he said, the final bit of good health he’d been clutching as he waited for me. Took me so long to wise up and see him, three days was all he had left, I guess. Now, maybe he’s deteriorating, like he said. Maybe he hopped outta bed and he’s gonna live another fifty years. Either way, he closed the door, not me. I got to see him, and that’s all I wanted.

Mariko still swims through my dreams. Sometimes she shoots me in the head again. Sometimes she comes in for a kiss, and when she does, when her mouth opens, and that Phoenix fire comes out, and my mind begins to melt–

I’m gonna get killed out here if I keep daydreaming like that. Not even this ol’ Canucklehead wants to stumble across a mother moose in the dark, not to mention I don’t even know if this big thing is aware I’m on its tail. Too bad I ain’t slept since I got back to the States.

I caught a ride on a C-130 that was held together with duct tape and whispered prayers, the rattlin’ old thing a runner for Yakuza opiates. Nothing like a free ride and a chance to dump four hundred kilos of white powder out over the pacific, and as a bonus, the opportunity to show a couple of gangsters that they weren’t even safe at thirty thousand feet. Slept like a baby then.

Now...now, it’s Weapon Plus business, and that’s something I can’t keep my nose out of. The old facility is abandoned, of course, proper haunted by memories and ghosts of the evil those men did there. I still got eyes on the place, though: a couple of hunters that swing by looking for signs of life now and then. Well, they found some.

One of the main buildings started puffing a new plume of black smoke about a week ago, and there are tracks leading away, the same big tracks I’m following now. And the facility itself? I ain’t stupid. Satellite imagery shows no power, no EM disturbance. I may be on my own these days, but I still got my little black book of people-who-know-useful-stuff.

After seeing what this thing did to the last couple dozen trees that got in the way, I’m wondering if I should get out my little black book of people-who-can-lift-a-school-bus. Probably too late for that, as the smell is getting stronger, pushing its way into the back of my mind, making me remember things I’d rather stay buried. I must’ve smelled something like this, back when I first escaped Weapon Plus. But that’s not the only thing that’s got me worried, because as this one gets stronger, something new’s added to the mix. I’m picking up diesel, manure, fresh grass and straw.

Me and this thing are both headed straight for a farmstead.

The light is getting low, and I’m almost there. I can spot a line of smoke in the sky, thin and black, and I hope they're just burning their trash. I need to get to this thing first, stop it, and God help me, talk it down. Nothing good ever came out of that lab in the deep woods, but maybe I can reach the poor thing that went in there in the first place.

And then the smell is gone, just like that. Spruce and pine leap into the gap, filling my sinuses with the clean scent of the woods and the hints of that farm in the distance, but that decay just…vanished. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, just that it’s weird, and I’ve seen enough weird in these woods to know that it ain’t over. Still gotta get to that farm. Still gotta protect whoever’s there.

Ten minutes later I stumble out of a cut tree line into a fallow oat field, sharp stalks poking my legs as I wheel to a stop. Out there, near the little cluster of houses, a couple of kids are calling for their parents. I hear it, the smart clack, just before their pa comes out, following their pointing fingers. He turns my way with a shotgun in his hands, an ancient, double-barreled affair that he wouldn’t get away with owning anyplace where people outnumber the bears. My hands go up, and I approach slowly. I don’t look too shady, in my jeans and favorite jacket, but I don’t look like no lost hiker, either.

When he’s close enough, he flashes me a grin. Too much teeth. “Ya know, most visitors come by the road.”

“Gonna be honest with ya,” I say, “I ain’t been on a road in some time. Doin’ a little hunting.”

He gestures with the end of his shotgun. “No weapon, friend. Like to know what it is you’re hunting.”

“Listen, like you said, no weapon. Why don’t we sit down and I’ll tell you about it?”

He looks me over, thoughts of his kids making that finger hover a little unsteady outside the trigger guard. He knows that if he invites me in, he’s asking me to stay the night. Easier to send me back down the road. Safer for everyone.

He lowers the weapon. “All right. We got some leftovers the wife was just puttin’ away, and we got a spare cot. No sense sending you back to town in the dark.”

“I would appreciate that.” I put out my hand. “Logan.”

He takes it. “Victor Hudson,” he says, and I almost yank it back. Just a coincidence. That’s all.

Dinner is good and heavy. They pile meat, potatoes, and greens on a plate, and Victor offers me a beer like an old pal. The kids peek in from the living room, scared to make a noise. Their mother and Victor’s wife, Marie, uncovers an apple pie and puts about half of it on a plate for me. I don’t know what to do with such kindness these days. Thank you don’t seem enough. I wonder if they know they’re a ten mile hike from a secret government horror show.

“Sorry about the...” Victor says, nodding his head towards a back room, where he must have that gun stowed.

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” I reply. “Gotta keep those kids safe.”

He shakes his head. “I could tell from the start, you weren’t any kind of threat to us. It’s just, out here, well...”

“I been out here plenty. Believe me, I know.”

Marie brings us steaming mugs of coffee, and we sip for a moment as the outside falls to night. An old pump kicks on outside. I hear cows ambling off to bed.

“You said you were hunting, Mr. Logan,” Victor says. “Now I don’t know why you’re lying. Like I said, I know you aren’t a bad one.”

“It ain’t a lie,” I say, and his face pales a little. “Sorry, but it ain’t. There’s something big out in those woods, and I’m after it. I wandered across your farm because that’s where it was headed. I lost the trail just before I got here.”

“Well...” Victor and Marie share a confused, worried look. “Nothing big came out of those woods, I can assure you.”

“There’s a line of hundred-year-old spruces smashed to bits, and it leads right to your door, Victor. That thing didn’t just vanish.”

“Now, I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Victor stammers. He’s starting to panic.

“Hold on,” I say, trying to placate the two of them. “I don’t know what I’m gettin’ at either. I just know what I saw. I stepped on your land, took your hospitality on purpose, because I intend to protect you.”

“Protect us? With what?” Victor asks.

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that.” I take a long sip of coffee, and I let my senses wander. Nothing remains of that dead laboratory smell. How is that possible? “What about the kids?” I ask. “I don’t wanna scare them but did they see anything? Hear anything?”

Marie leans in to take out plates. “The little ones stay with their momma and poppa. They know not to wander. Charlie and Blair like to roam, but they would’ve come right to us, if I’m hearing you correctly about what you are after, Mr. Logan.”

“How old’s Charlie?” I ask.

“Charlie! Blair!” Marie calls, and the young man appears. He’s not much younger than the students I left behind. Tall, skinny, brown hair flecked with red, and he smells like the woods.

“Where’s your sister?” Marie asks sharply.

Charlie shrugs. “Dunno.”

Marie sighs. “Blair has a friend next farm over, spends half her nights there. She’s supposed to tell us though,” she finishes, giving Charlie a dark look.

“I didn’t tell her to go,” Charlie says defensively.

Marie clicks her tongue, and takes the dishes to the sink. Victor asks him, “You went out today, yes? Did you see anything unusual?”

Charlie shakes his head no.

I sleep on a foldout cot that’s softer than my bed at Xavier’s, the weight of my metal bones creaking the canvas and testing the joints. I dream of Mariko again. This time, she doesn’t shoot me. She just looks at me, sadness on her face. She looks like she wants to apologize. There’s fire in her eyes, blazing flames leaping, and I can feel the heat.

“She wants you,” a voice whispers in my ear. “How dare she.”

The gun goes off. Everything goes black. The voice in my ear? That was Jean.

The next morning, I decide on paying back some of that hospitality. Victor’s got an old truck that’s been kickin in two different directions, and I just happen to be a good hand with old motors. The little ones are running around at full speed, and I catch Charlie out of the corner of my eye, staying near the house, watching me.

Victor looks at the tool in his hand and grimaces. “Ah, I keep forgetting the ratchet has the only fit for this damn old thing. Hold on a minute, Mr. Logan, will ya?”

He stomps back to the tool shed, and I get to work. Some of these corroded bolts aren’t going back on once they’re off. Cutting them loose with a quick flick of adamantium is a time-saver and a half. Snikt, followed by the shear of weaker metal, and I got a hand full of them, ready for the...

Just like it vanished before, the scent is back. Sharp alcohol, dead things and dirty oil, they all hit me like a wall. A shadow falls over me from behind, and before I can whip around I’m hit hard. I plow forward, right into the open hood of the truck, snapping it free as I fly through the windshield. A normal man would’ve been ground beef after a hit like that. Claws out, I cut through the side of the truck, and I tumble out into shadow once again.

It’s right there, waiting to strike, faster than I can believe. I get a claw up just in time, turning its killing strike into a thick spray of blood. Half its arm goes spinning away, and it rears back, screaming a noise no beast ever screamed. Even so, it cuffs me from the side, and I go flying, landing in the dirt, my side gouged open and gushing blood.

Heal. Come on. Heal!

I gotta get back up. Those kids are here. These nice folk don’t deserve this. I push hard, forcing out more blood, my metal ribs glinting in the morning sun. Get up. Fight.

FIGHT

The thing is on me as I rise. It’s shaped like a human, got hair and a face like a human. It’s green all over, gray in patches, arms too long, legs too short, its fingers tipped with long claws. The hair is long and dirty brown. It’s got a heart. I have to–

BLAM! clack BLAM!

A chunk of its shoulder and neck are taken away by the first shotgun blast. The next one leaves a hole in its torso that I can see Victor through. He’s shaking so hard he drops the gun, so hard that he falls to his knees as Marie runs to his side to drag him away.

I’m finally able to stand up, and even though I’m leaking like a faucet, I can finish this if I need to. One look tells me it’s done. Little eyes in that little face are rolled up and white. The fluids draining out of those holes aren’t being pumped any longer. The green color fades away. The body begins to shrink.

Marie sees it first, and her scream of anguish is the worst thing I’ve heard during this entire ordeal. She throws herself over the body, and I almost pull her off, wondering if she’s gone crazy. Then I see it, too.

Those kids wandered, all right, all the way to Weapon Plus, and they found something they shouldn’t have. This was what it did to Charlie Hudson.

I’m thinking that Blair probably wasn’t at a sleepover last night.

Next: Into the woods

Uncanny X-Men #17: Fork In The Road

< >

Author: Predaplant

Editor: AdamantAce

Book: Uncanny X-Men

Bobby Drake was tired.

He chuckled to himself as he tucked himself into bed. He was tired of a lot of things.

He was tired of being a mutant in a world that still for the most part thought mutants beneath them.

He was tired of the efforts of the X-Men, including his former mentor Professor Xavier. The so-called heroes of mutantkind who would sooner save the lives of the government that plotted to kill them than do away with them, or even make any real demands in exchange for their lives.

He was tired of the Brotherhood of Mutants he had joined up with after leaving Xavier behind, as well. Sure, they lined up with him more ideologically, but every time they tried to plan out an actual attack, it felt like nobody could agree what exactly they should prioritize and why. Trying to hash out a solid strategy always made Bobby’s head hurt.

Right now, though, he was just plain tired.

He settled in for a rest, subconsciously cooling his body down as he did so. He liked to feel a tiny bit chilly while he slept, and luckily for him, he was able to facilitate that for himself.

He let all the thoughts weighing him down leave his mind, and he started drifting off to sleep.

THOOM

Bobby clutched his blankets tightly.

He would’ve been embarrassed to admit it to any of the other members of the Brotherhood, but he still had nightmares. Pretty bad ones, too. Xavier had helped him with those a bit while he was still with the X-Men, but they had come back with a vengeance after he was frozen for decades on the island of Krakoa. He supposed that his brain had nothing else to do at the time but come up with creative new scenarios to scare him.

So Bobby wasn’t sure if the loud noise he had just heard outside was an actual problem for the Brotherhood or just a nightmare.

They were all aware that law enforcement could come for them all any day. They were all internationally wanted terrorists, after all. Magneto had done his best to hide himself from the public eye since he was de-aged by Xavier’s son Legion, just in case he could manage to use the fact that he looked unrecognizable to his advantage to escape the arm of the law at some point, but even he would likely be sentenced to life in prison for his crimes if he was caught.

But the fact that it was a fairly likely scenario just made it that more common of a nightmare for Bobby.

He stayed in bed, paralyzed. Probably a nightmare.

BOOM

But he should get out of bed to face it. If it was a nightmare, it would come to him sooner or later, and if not... well. Better to go down fighting.

He slipped out of bed and quickly coated himself with a layer of ice.

KA-THOOM

It certainly sounded like it was getting closer. Bobby could faintly hear yelling.

Hesitantly, he approached his door and opened it a crack.

BA-BOOM

Startled, Bobby jumped back. But it sounded like it was almost next door; there was no time to waste. He rushed out into the hallway.

Bobby’s room was at the end of the hall, which gave him a glimpse of all the other Brotherhood members’ rooms. Each of their doors was thrown off their hinges, and Bobby could see detritus from their rooms flung out into the hallway. Clearly, there had been some sort of fight going on.

Bobby’s mind raced.

If they had all been involved in a fight, and yet he hadn’t been woken up, then whoever this was must’ve been strong enough to take all of them out of the equation without even giving any of them a chance to wake up and sound the alarm.

He would have to strike fast if he had any hope of taking out whoever this was... or he would face the end of the Brotherhood as they knew it.

This felt like a scene out of a nightmare... but as Bobby slowly stepped towards the door of his neighbour, Toad, he knew that it was real. The adrenaline coursing through his veins had him feeling more awake than in years.

Bobby noticed movement from Toad’s room, and a large figure started emerging through the doorway. That definitely wasn’t Toad.

Immediately Bobby blasted the doorway with ice, freezing the doorway. The ice snaked its way across the floors, walls, and ceiling as the hallway’s temperature immediately plummeted, but the main mass of ice was concentrated on the doorway itself. Bobby put all that he had into blocking it, forming a huge chunk of ice, keeping at it until it reached the opposite side of the hall.

It wasn’t particularly hard for Bobby, the man who had once frozen a whole island, but he hoped it would do the trick. He gave himself a bit of room to breathe.

He realized he had trapped himself at his end of the hall, which meant that if any of the other Brotherhood members were still in fighting shape, they wouldn’t be able to get to him.

It was fine. He could move the ice in a moment to go check on them. The first priority was checking on whoever this was that had dealt with all his allies in one fell swoop.

He moved forwards until he could see through the ice into the doorway. It was a hulking blue figure in regal armour with a clear look of superiority on his face.

Didn’t look like the feds at least. Bobby sighed. Sure, this guy was powerful, but at least he wasn’t likely to have told somebody where he was going. He’d make sure Magneto was alright, then together they could figure out what to do with this guy so he’d never tell a soul where the Brotherhood of Mutants lived.

The figure in the ice smiled.

Bobby only had a moment to react. He threw up an ice shield for himself as the ice wall that he had built completely shattered with a single hit from the blue figure.

The blue figure strode towards him, and Bobby started blasting ice at the figure again. But the figure extended their arms out to grab Bobby, far longer than the arms on anybody Bobby knew bar Mister Fantastic, and Bobby was pinned with the strength of a vise.

Bobby struggled, but he couldn’t move a millimetre.

“So you’re the Iceman…” the blue figure intoned. His voice was deep and severe, but there was a surprising hint of kindness to it, such that Bobby could almost forget all that he had done to the rest of the Brotherhood.

“Kill me then, huh? If that’s what you want with us.” Bobby spat in the direction of the blue figure. The saliva formed a shard of ice which hit the figure’s face at high speed.

The shard bounced off him and clattered to the ground. The figure raised an eyebrow.

“Kill you? No, Iceman. I’d like to humbly request your services. You may call me Apocalypse, and together we will save my people.”

XXXXX

Ororo Munroe stared down Charles Xavier. She had asked for a meeting with the man who went by Professor X. He probably already knew why she had called it. If it wasn’t the mental powers, it was his uncanny ability to read people, even without them.

Next to her stood Kitty Pryde, a young mutant and fellow teacher at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Kitty was like Ororo’s kid sister, although admittedly she wasn’t that much of a kid anymore.

Case in point: she took the lead on the conversation with Xavier. The man barely said hello to the two women before Pryde launched into her explanation.

“Headmaster. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. I’m sorry for it to be on such short notice, but Storm and I have discussed our options moving forwards, and we’re thinking of departing the X-Men, in addition to our positions at the school.”

Xavier raised an eyebrow. He definitely already knew. “Is this you informing me that you are considering it, or has the decision been made? A new school year starts in just over a month, you know.”

“We know,” Ororo replied. “Hence why we decided to tell you now.”

“Is this back on the road for you two, then?” Xavier asked.

“Well, no,” Kitty said.

“New York, then,” he replied. It wasn’t a question. “You were on the news, Storm.”

“I could help the city when it was in danger, and I did. Serving as a positive example, as you’ve always suggested for us.” Ororo tried to keep all hints of defensiveness out of her voice.

“And you did it admirably.” Xavier turned away from the two women, letting his mind drift. Ororo knew something from elsewhere in the school had psychically caught his attention. After a moment’s consideration, he turned back to Ororo. “But this isn’t simply you two helping out in a crisis. You could have done that while still staying at the school. We’re not too far away from all the action.”

“While I was in New York, I spoke with some of the mutants there. They have representatives, heroes, even. But there’s an underclass of mutants in the city, the ones that refused to integrate despite the low property prices in M-Town. The Morlocks.”

“And so you’re going to fight for them,” Xavier smiled as he finished Ororo’s sentence. “No?”

Ororo stayed silent.

“We both have experience living on the run, without much in the way of resources.” Kitty jumped in. “We’re adaptable, and we’re willing to fight if we have to. So we figured, why not see if we can do anything to help?”

“I see,” Xavier mused. “You two were both fine additions to my staff. I wish you both best of luck, even if I’m not quite sure how I’m going to replace you.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find somebody,” Kitty said with a sweet smile. “A lot of teachers want a job that pays this well. Besides, you’ve already been looking for new teachers for this school year since Wolverine and Deadpool left.”

“That is true...” Xavier muttered. “I suppose I’ll simply hire another candidate or two. And I’ll tell you both what I once told you, Storm, when you left our faculty previously: you’re always welcome back here with the X-Men.”

“Thank you,” Kitty bowed. “We’d like to leave this weekend, if you want to throw a party for us.”

“It’ll just be a small faculty party, but I think I will.” Xavier nodded. “You’re dismissed, if you wish.”

Kitty and Ororo turned and left Xavier’s office, sticking close to each other as they walked. Ororo was a touch surprised to see Jean Grey sitting outside, waiting to meet with the headmaster. Jean smiled at the two of them as they went by.

“You’re leaving?”

“How do you know that? Were you listening in?” Kitty asked, tilting her head to the side as she stopped and looked at Jean.

“No,” Jean replied. “I just... thought it seemed like the thing for you to do. Especially after the conversations we’ve had recently, Storm.”

Ororo tried to remember exactly what she had told Jean. It wasn’t all that much, really. Just that she missed her days travelling the country, and that she had really enjoyed her time in New York. Ororo smiled. “You’re a smart one, Phoenix.”

Jean smiled softly at Ororo. “Thanks. Good luck to you both. We’ll miss you on the X-Men.”

Turning away from her, Ororo and Kitty continued walking. Jean watched them walk away for a few moments before rising and entering Xavier’s office.

XXXXX

Jean arrived back in her quarters, and immediately collapsed on her bed. She had spent the past hour and change planning out how the X-Men would function lacking two of their members, and it had been exhausting.

Wolverine had never let on just how exhausting it was to help lead the X-Men.

Logan... she still missed him intensely. It made her feel silly. She had never really felt like her relationship with him was what she wanted long-term in her life, but it had lasted so many years. And she couldn’t lie to herself: being with him had made her happy. Months after his departure, she still found herself asking who she was without him.

She didn’t really have an answer.

Her phone rang. Groaning, Jean fished it out of her pocket and picked it up.

“Hello, Jean Grey from the Xavier Institute?”

“It’s good to talk to you, Jean,” came the voice on the other end. Jean sat up. It was definitely a voice she recognized, but she couldn’t place it. A woman, definitely. British?

“To whom am I speaking?”

“It’s Betsy Braddock.” Of course, the woman from Excalibur. “I’m sorry to say this, but I’m not calling for the best of reasons.”

Jean took in a deep breath. Betsy called her personally to deliver bad news. She couldn’t think of any reason why she would’ve done that…

Maybe it was something to do with Logan. Oh no.

Jean’s voice quivered as she answered. “Go ahead.”

“You might be aware that this universe exists within a greater context of other universes. Other worlds, with versions of each of us that differ slightly. Where we’ve gone down different paths. Do you follow me so far?”

“Yes?” Jean asked, puzzled.

“Alright. Well… My team and I have recently uncovered something you… certainly need to know. In every universe on which we have records, Jean Grey is afflicted with something called the Phoenix, an all-consuming force which inevitably leads you to destroy, to kill.”

Jean closed her eyes. She could feel the Phoenix’s hum inside her head, still.

Its great power was the reason Logan had left her. She had made it her identity as the leader of the X-Men, going by Phoenix to the world at large… and yet, she still felt oddly disconnected from the force at its core, the one granting her such great power.

She could feel that it had desires, urges of its own, ones that didn’t necessarily align with hers. She had never considered it a force for destruction, necessarily.

But she could feel it now, and she knew that it accepted the charges. That it took its own power seriously, and recognized its own potential for destruction.

It terrified her.

She realized she was still on the phone with Betsy. She cleared her throat.

“I know about the Phoenix. Betsy… can I be honest with you?”

“Sure,” Betsy said. There was a bit of an edge to her voice. Jean knew that if she or any of the X-Men were a problem, Excalibur wouldn’t hesitate to help bring them down. “Go for it.”

“You know already that Phoenix is my codename, but… I have made contact with this Phoenix force. It’s been inside me for years now.”

Betsy stayed silent. Jean continued. “I… it hasn’t done anything to convince me to destroy. I think… I think it wants to help.”

“We can’t afford you committing a genocide, Jean.” Betsy replied. “We need you honest. If nothing else, think about it as us protecting our interests as mutants. The leader of the X-Men doing something like that would not be… well, I don’t have to explain to you how it would look.”

“I know!” Jean snapped back. “But you can’t hold me responsible for crimes that I haven’t committed. These other Jeans, they’re not me. Don’t tell me that I have to face charges because of something that I have no control over.”

Betsy took a few seconds to formulate a response. “Jean… we’re not going to show up at Xavier’s. That’s not the idea. You’re right, you’ve done nothing wrong yet. Just, please, be as cautious as you can. If anything starts to change with the Phoenix, make sure you have somebody willing to take you down.”

“I won’t let it get to that point,” Jean said with as much authority in her voice as she could muster.

“Alright,” Betsy sighed. “I’m sorry I had to come to you with this. Make sure you talk to Xavier.”

“I will,” Jean assured her. “This isn’t going to get out of hand.”

“Good.” Betsy said. She paused. “Jean… take care.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Jean put her phone down. She shifted her focus to the Phoenix, inside her head.

She poked at it telepathically.

“Destruction is possible, with power,” it responded.

Jean scoffed.

“I am not the Phoenix from any universe but this one. I cannot speak for how the Phoenix may act in those other worlds. But, you, Jean… you have a responsibility that you cannot deny. And I offer you the power to serve that call however you see fit.”

“So you’re turning this on me?” Jean asked.

“I believe your friend did not speak solely on the Phoenix Force, but on its symbiotic bond with you, Jean Grey. So I suppose it will be up to both of us to ensure that you fulfill all of your mounting responsibilities.”

Jean swallowed down a quickly rising panic. She picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Surely, there would be somebody she could call who would make her feel better.

She lingered on her sister’s phone number for a second, before hitting it.

Jean fought to get her breathing under control as the phone rang. Thankfully, Sara picked up.

“Hi, Jean? Is there something wrong?”

“Sara!” Jean said, attempting to sound cheerful. “Hi. I just wanted to check in with you. How are you doing?”

Sara let out a breath, crackly over the phone lines. “Well, I’m kind of nervous. Did you know that I quit my last job? Well, I did. The vice-principal and I didn’t get along. I figured I’d find something before the new school year, but it doesn’t look like I will. But, Jean… I know you. What’s wrong?”

“You should apply here!” Jean told her. “We’ve got a few openings.”

“Are you sure I’d be alright, to teach at a mutant school?” Sara asked nervously.

“You’d be great,” Jean replied. “I actually just talked with the headmaster here, and he was worried about finding new teachers. Send over a resumé!”

“Jean,” Sara sighed. “You’re distracting me again. I’ll send an application, but I can tell when you’re stressed. What’s going on?”

Jean took a deep breath as she debated what to tell her sister. “It’s… it’s mutant stuff.”

“You think I can’t understand mutant stuff, and you want me to teach at a school whose headmaster is Charles Xavier?”

Jean stood up and started pacing around her room as she replied, talking quickly. “Okay, fine. So there’s this weird space bird thing called the Phoenix that I found a few years ago and it made my mutant powers stronger. But also it’s there, in my mind, like another mind that I can reach with my telepathy, you know? And a friend just called me from England telling me that I’m destined to use it to hurt people and I – I just Don’t Want To, Sara! I’m tired, and I just Don’t Want To.”

Jean shuddered and sobbed as Sara took in what her sister had said.

“Alright,” Sara started. “Well, thanks for explaining. Do you have friends at the school you can talk to about this? Maybe some of them have advice for you.”

Laughing, Jean sat back down. “I doubt that! This isn’t a common occurrence, even for mutants.”

“Okay.” Sara’s voice was focused, caring. “I still think you should talk to them. If you’re worried about snapping, then you need people to rely on for support. And I’m always here, too. I love you, and I trust you to do what’s best.”

“Okay,” Jean said. “I love you too. Talk later?”

“Talk later.”

Jean hung up the phone. She felt calmer now. More in control.

She spoke out loud to the empty room. “I don’t have to hurt or destroy. That’s not who I am, and it’s not who I’m ever going to be.”

The Phoenix did not reply.

NEXT TIME

Meet The X-Men!

MarvelsNCU presents…

##DARKDEVIL

In Hell to Pay

Issue Two: Devil in Disguise

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by Predaplant

<< First Issue | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

The wedding was less a celebration than it was a gauntlet for Jack Murdock. Each step through the venue was a practised motion, every forced smile a carefully curated mask. The tight, tailored suit felt like a second skin, insofar as it was not Jack’s own. Their hair, usually a wild cascade of curls, was now restrained in a neat ponytail - another concession to the day’s expectations.

As Jack navigated the throngs of their mother’s family, the air was thick with the scent of lavish perfumes and hushed whispers, the latter not quiet enough to mask the disdain reserved for Grace’s husband, Jack’s father. The news of Matt Murdock being the now murderous Daredevil had fractured any semblance of normalcy for the family, and the wedding was the perfect excuse for the extended clan to gossip and jeer. Grace had told Jack to expect it, and she had tried to steel herself to it, but Jack could tell she was struggling surrounded by so many people she loved and cared about out to judge her for all of her life’s decisions.

That was part of the reason why Jack agreed to play the game. They had enough to gossip about, enough to judge Grace for - with her husband, the murderer - without also finding out about her son, now her genderqueer child.

“Jack, you’ve grown so much!” an elderly aunt exclaimed, grabbing Jack by the shoulders. Her gaze, sharp and assessing, scanned them from head to toe. “A fine young man now, despite everything!”

She hurried past to search for a friend, and Jack grimaced. Would that be the story, if they knew? That Jack had grown up wrong thanks to a toxic paternal influence; that if only they had a better father they would have grown up to be a real man?

“Thank you, Aunt Millie,” Jack murmured, the words scraping through their throat.

“Jack, there you are!” A voice boomed across the ballroom only moments after, belonging to Uncle Leon, a sore thumb in a sea of contempt. Grace’s brother was always a strange man, the black sheep of the family, an ardent supporter of various conspiracy theories about Spider-Man and Captain America. His hands, large and enveloping, clapped Jack on the back with enough force to make them wince. He’d clearly had a good bit to drink. “Your father was a hero, nothin’ less, you know! Don’t let anyone tell you different!”

Jack managed a weak smile, feeling the weight of the words as well as the weight of several pairs of eyes turning towards them, having heard their uncle’s bellows. “Thanks, Uncle Leon…” they murmured, unsure how to feel. It was refreshing to hear something other than anger or grief about their father, but the fact that it came from a basket case like Uncle Leon left a sour taste in Jack’s mouth.

Leo leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “These folks don’t understand what it takes to clean up a city like ours. Your dad did what he had to do.”

Nearby, a cluster of relatives sharpened their glares, now targeting Jack as if they had personally endorsed every action their father had taken. They weren’t just the child of Grace - eldest sister of the bride - they were the offspring of New York City’s oldest and most notorious vigilante. Jack had committed no crime, and was looked at as if they were a thing nonetheless.

Escaping Uncle Leo’s well-meaning but heavy-handed praise, Jack sought refuge near a less populated corner of the hall. Their gaze fell on the dance floor, where distant relatives moved to a song they couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in their ears. Jack frowned, pulling at the silver suit jacket that suffocated them. They had gone through all of this effort to put on a costume to be what their mom’s family would accept; they could bury their own identity, but they couldn’t do a thing about their father’s. The room seemed to spin slightly, the lights too bright, the music a cacophonous jangle.

“Yeah, brave,” Jack echoed Uncle Leon’s words to themself..

A younger cousin - about 11-years-old - once a playmate in childhood days long past, approached with a hesitant smile. “Hey, Jack, wanna join us? We’re about to start a dance-off.”

Jack glanced at the group, a mix of second cousins and unfamiliar faces, their laughter ringing false in Jack’s ears. They were too old to take part in any goofy dance-off they were doing, and too young to join in ironically. But their heart was warmed by the gesture. “Maybe later, Sam. Thanks.”

As Sam shrugged and returned to the group, Jack let out a slow breath they hadn’t realised they’d been holding. They scanned the room, the sea of faces blurring into a single entity of judgement and expectation. Their phone buzzed in their pocket, a message from Ray checking in. The screen lit up with words that felt more like home than this gilded cage ever could.

Hang in there. You got this.

Tapping back a quick thanks, Jack stood, feeling a resolve harden within them. They wouldn’t let this night define them. They couldn’t be the person everyone here expected, but they could endure, for their mom, and for the sliver of hope that things could improve.

Pushing back the chair, Jack decided to take a walk outside, away from the noise and the stifling expectations. The cool night air was a balm, the city sounds a familiar comfort. They walked, letting the rhythm of their footsteps drown out the echoes of the party, the whispers about their father, and the weight of the mask they had to wear.

And for a moment, under the vast, indifferent sky, Jack allowed themselves to imagine a world where they didn’t have to hide, where they could simply be. But as the night drew on, they knew that world was still just out of reach. With a deep, steadying breath, they turned back, ready to face the rest of the evening. Not because they wanted to, but because, for now, they had to.

🔺 🔻 🔺

At the end of the evening, Jack found a momentary reprieve in their hotel room. It was quieter here, certainly, but the bland, impersonal space hardly felt comforting. They shed the tight tuxedo as quickly as they could, deconstructing the disguise’s many parts methodically, and slipped into pyjama leggings and an oversized t-shirt, the soft fabrics a small solace.

Jack stood in front of the mirror and, with deft hands, reinserted their eyebrow piercing and stud earring. Their scalp throbbed as they freed their hair from the restrictive ponytail, and brushed out its tangles. Then they smiled, finally seeing themself again in their reflection.

Then, as they collected the shirt, pants, waistcoat and shoes they had happily shed off of the floor, the door clicked and swung open. Grace’s eyes, though tired, brightened at the sight of Jack looking more at peace.

“Hey, you,” Grace smiled.

“Hi,” Jack replied, their voice still hoarse from forcing it down in pitch all evening.

Grace stepped forward and wrapped Jack in a hug. It was warm and sincere, but Jack felt the weight of what the hug meant to convey. “Thank you, sweetheart. For helping keep things… well, smooth, tonight. I know it isn’t easy…”

Jack hugged her back, the comfort of her embrace clashing with the discomfort of the evening’s pretence. “It's okay, Mom. I get that it’s… it’s complicated for people,” they said, their words brushing the surface of deeper, unspoken frustrations.

Grace pulled back, searching Jack’s face. “I wish things were different, Jack. I really do.”

Jack nodded, the urge to escape the hotel growing. They glanced around the cramped room, its walls too close, its air too stale. “Mom, I need to go home tonight. Can I take the car? I’d rather sleep in my own bed,” Jack asked with an urgency underscored by a deep need for familiarity and solitude.

Grace’s initial instinct was to say no, to keep the family together, especially on such a charged night. But seeing the earnest plea in Jack’s eyes, and recognizing the concessions Jack had made that evening, she reconsidered. “Okay, you can take the car. Be safe, okay?”

“Thank you, Mom,” Jack breathed out, a genuine smile breaking through the residual tension. Jack quickly gathered their few belongings, each movement swift and purposeful. They could already feel the weight lifting off their shoulders with the prospect of returning to a space that was unequivocally theirs. Grace watched as Jack packed, her heart aching a bit at the swift goodbye but knowing it was what Jack needed. “Call me when you get home, alright?”  

🔺 🔻 🔺

The drive home was silent but for the soft hum of the car’s engine. Outside, the city lights streaked by, each one a beacon guiding them home, a refuge where Jack could finally unwind, free from the expectations and judgments of those who didn’t really know them.

And as they pulled into the driveway, the relief was palpable. And Jack stepped into their sanctuary, ready to leave the discomfort of the evening behind.

Unfortunately, there was no comfort to be found. Instead, they found blood smeared along the entrance hall, a stark red against the pale walls. Jack's breath hitched, knowing instantly what this meant. Dad.

With a surge of adrenaline, Jack charged in, anger and fear battling within. Everything had started turning to shit when Matt Murdock killed Bullseye. He had vanished on his family, and now he was back. A reckoning was coming. But then Jack rounded the corner into the living room to see Matt, Daredevil, the city's most controversial figure, sprawled across the shattered remains of the coffee table. His once formidable costume was nothing but tattered fabric clinging to his bruised body, his beard unkempt and streaked with blood.

Jack rushed to his side, their anger giving way to panic. “Dad!” they cried out, dropping to their knees. His breathing was shallow and laboured, and Jack only discovered more wounds the more they searched. Bullet wounds, stab wounds, burns, the works. Jack pressed their hands against the biggest of the wounds, their father’s blood warm and slick between their fingers. Then Matt's milky white eyes flickered open, his gaze of course unfocused.

“J-Ja….ck….” He was hardly conscious, hardly lucid. But even after all of these years apart, he had recognised his child.

Jack fumbled for their phone to call an ambulance, but the realisation hit them like a cold wave - Matt was a wanted man, a murderer. Calling an ambulance meant handing him over to the police as well. They hesitated, the phone heavy in their hand.

But then, at first slowly, black smoke began to descend from the ceiling, swirling and thickening until it coalesced into a figure bathed in a contrasting shimmering light. A kind-faced man emerged from the light, seemingly out of nowhere. His eyes were dark but his short hair was rather fair. Neatly shaped stubble graced his chin, and he wore black, draping robes. “Do not be afraid, for I am an angel of the Lord,” he proclaimed, his voice calm and soothing. “Matthew Murdock has led a devout life, and he shall not die today!”

Jack's face contorted with a mix of disbelief and fear. They believed in angels - a Catholic, even if not as devout as their father had been - but this was still difficult to believe. “An angel? Here?”

“Jack... don't trust him…” Matt's weak warning cut through the confusion.

The so-called angel's demeanour shifted as Jack's suspicion mounted. His light dimmed, revealing a more relaxed countenance. “Alright, let's cut to the chase,” he said, his tone morphing into one of mockery. “I am indeed an angel of the Lord, or was. Perhaps you know me better as Lucifer, the Lightbringer.”

Jack's heart sank, their initial fear validating into a terrifying reality. “What do you want?” they demanded, struggling to keep their voice steady.

The figure, supposedly Lucifer, pulled a face, sticking his bottom lip out in a mocking pout. “I'm here to make a deal. Your father doesn’t look so good, but he can't exactly stroll into a hospital, can he?”

“Can you save him?” Jack’s voice was desperate, eyes darting to Matt’s pale face.

“Healing the sick is a poor man’s miracle. The real magic? That’s where I come in,” Lucifer smirked, “I can ensure he gets there without his… night job getting in the way," he replied smoothly.

Jack glanced down at Matt, seeking any sign of what to do. Finding him slipping away, their decision was rushed by necessity. “How would it work?”

Lucifer leaned closer, his presence overwhelming. “Simple,” he explained with a cruel casualness. “Everyone but you and I will forget that Matt Murdock is Daredevil. They'll remember other reasons for his absences, find other explanations for what they thought they knew. All records linking him to Daredevil will be... adjusted.”

“And what do you want in return?” Jack shook their head. “My soul?”

Lucifer licked his teeth, exposing his forked tongue. “Control over your body.”

“What!?”

“Not all the time, I don’t need to sit in your math class,” Lucifer clarified, his gaze locking onto Jack’s with a predatory intensity. “Only on nights when a comet passes through Earth's atmosphere.”

Jack’s mind raced. Could they really relinquish control over their body? It was a terrifying request, but with Matt's life hanging in the balance, the options were few. What did comets have to do with this? They supposed that at least it wouldn’t be often, there were only so many comets and they came by Earth a few times a decade. And it wasn’t like the devil could do anything with Jack’s body. It wasn’t like they were anyone important.

With that, the right decision was clear.

“Okay,” Jack breathed out, the word tasting like ash in their mouth. “Do it. Quick.”

With a satisfied smirk, Lucifer vanished in a flash of light, much faster than he had appeared. The Daredevil suit was gone, Matt now clothed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, his gym wear. Jack wasted no time in dialling 911, wrestling to keep their voice steady as they reported the emergency.

As they waited for the ambulance, the gravity of the deal they had struck loomed over them. They had saved their father, but at what cost? As they looked down at Matt, now breathing a bit easier, Jack realised they had stepped into a game much larger than they had ever imagined. And they had just made their first, irreversible move.

🔺 🔻 🔺

Grace's heart was a tempest of emotions as she pushed through the hospital doors into the dimly lit corridor of the emergency ward. The sight of Matt Murdock - her husband - lying there on a gurney, bandaged and weary but alive, was a shock that sparked a confusing joy. She rushed to his side. “Matt, baby, oh my God, what happened to you?”

Matt managed a weak smile, his eyes avoiding hers. “It’s not as bad as it… Must have gotten jumped or something," he murmured, “I don’t know, it’s… hazy.”

“Jesus,” Grace replied, shaking her head. Matt winced at her blaspheming. “Matt, it’s been years. I haven’t seen you since Foggy… Where have you been all this time?” Her joy quickly morphed into confusion and fear.

“I… I’ll explain everything when we get home," Matt strained as he replied. Grace nodded, reluctantly satisfied with his promise, and turned to fetch a nurse, leaving Jack alone with Matt.

“Jack?” Matt furrowed his brow, turning his head to listen for his child’s breathing. “You still there?”

Jack wiped their eyes and moved closer. “You're safe, Dad. I'm sorry, but I've sorted things out. Everything's going to be okay.”

Matt frowned. “Sorted what out? Jack, what are you talking about?”

Jack opened their mouth to reply, but the words choked in their throat as they realised the full implications of their pact. Matt had no memory of being Daredevil. No recollection of the double life that had torn their family apart. The decades of battles and burdens, and the devastating last few years, were erased.

A nurse entered, and Jack stepped out into the cool night, their mind spinning with the enormity of what they had done. But as they crossed the threshold of the hospital, the world seemed to shift. Sounds intensified to an unbearable pitch - the distant wail of sirens was like a scream in their ears, the rustle of leaves as loud as thunder. Jack clutched their head, trying to block out the cacophony, but the noise penetrated every defence.

Rushing from the hospital's glaring lights into the shadowy parking lot, Jack's heart pounded in sync with their rapid steps. The air grew inexplicably warmer, and a burning sensation ignited in Jack’s chest, spreading like wildfire through their veins. Glancing down in horror, they saw their clothes beginning to smoulder, the fabric singeing as if touched by invisible flames. Their breath caught as they watched their fingers begin to blacken, the skin crisping and curling like burnt paper, pain searing through them with every heartbeat.

Lifting their eyes to the sky in fear, Jack saw the night sky split by a streak of light - a comet, blazing a trail of chilling beauty across the stars. As its light bathed the world in a ghostly glow, Jack’s vision began to dim, the edges of their sight curling into darkness.

And as the comet's light dimmed in the sky, so too did Jack's connection to the world. Their last conscious thought was a silent plea for forgiveness, for strength, and a desperate hope that they could withstand whatever came next. The hospital faded away, the sounds of the city dissolved into silence, and Jack was left alone in the darkness, waiting for the devil to make his move.

To be continued next month in Darkdevil #3

Fantastic Four
Volume IV: Frightful
Issue #45: Once Again

Written by: u/PresidentWerewolf
Edited by: u/VoidKiller826

Previous Issue

Johnny Storm coughed weakly, misting the front of his shirt with blood spots. When he inhaled again, it sounded like a wet snore. One arm reached out, but he didn’t have the strength to lift it from the floor.

“I don’t even know if I can move him!” Ben said in an agonized voice. “He’s all bent up! Kiddo, can ya–” Ben looked down at Franklin, but he stopped the question when he saw the young boy’s shell-shocked expression.

“I can move him,” Sue said. A flat force field lifted up slowly from the floor beneath him.

“SUSAN STORM, PLEASE PLACE JONATHAN STORM ONTO THE FLOOR IN A SUPINE POSITION.” HERBIE came wheeling into the lab at top speed, not even pausing as he zoomed past the recovering Nathaniel.

“I’m getting him to the med lab,” Sue said.

“YOUR POWERS ARE SEVERELY WEAKENED, SUSAN STORM. THERE IS A GREATER THAN THIRTY PERCENT CHANCE YOU WILL DROP HIM. I CAN PROVIDE TRIAGE CARE TO STABILIZE HIM.”

Sue thought for a second, and then she placed Johnny back on the floor. She was finding it hard to catch her breath, and she kneeled down next to her brother. Tears were running down her cheeks, and she pulled Franklin close to her.

Four new appendages sprouted from HERBIE’s body, each tipped with a different medical implement. He quickly scanned Johnny and began injecting him.

Sue sniffed and said in a husky voice. “Report, HERBIE. Please.”

“PRIORITY ONE: JONATHAN STORM HAS SUFFERED AN AORTIC LACERATION. I AM ATTEMPTING TO LOWER HIS SYSTOLIC BLOOD PRESSURE IN ORDER TO AVOID DISSECTION. PRIORITY TWO: SWELLING IN THE OCCIPITAL LOBE. PRIORITY THREE: COLLAPSED LUNG. PRIORITY FO–”

“Just get ta work,” Ben grumbled.

“He’s going to need surgery,” Sue said. “When he’s stable, we’ll…” she trailed off. “Ben? When he’s stable, can you help HERBIE get him to the med bay?”

Surprised, Ben looked up at her. “Uh, sure, but makes more sense fer you to do it, Suzie.”

“I know, but I just noticed something. The other Susan is gone.”

Ben lay Johnny down on the table in the medical bay, and HERBIE quickly connected to the main computer. The robot took control of the Auto-Doc machine, and the apparatus, complete with a suite of surgical tools, descended from the ceiling. Ben stepped back with a worried expression, but his worry wasn’t just for his friend. No one, aside from Ben, had seemed to notice how easily he had picked up Johnny and carried him.

“THIS WILL TAKE SOME TIME. PLEASE CLEAR THE ROOM.”

“He’s gonna...you’ll be able to…” Ben said, as he ushered Franklin from the room.

“THERE IS A GREATER THAN NINETY-SIX PERCENT CHANCE THAT THIS RECKLESS HUMAN WILL SURVIVE. MY CARE IS EFFECTIVE AND TENDER, BENJAMIN GRIMM.”

“Uh, okay. That ended up sounding creepier than it should…”

The door closed and sealed with a hiss, and the two of them moved to the observation window. With a tarp covering Johnny’s body, there wasn’t much to see other than the Auto-Doc arms moving with blurring speed.

“Franklin! Uncle Ben!”

From behind them came childrens’ voices. Ben and Franklin whipped around to see little Benjamin and Valeria running toward them. They both tackled Ben in a massive hug.

“We were so scared,” Valeria said.

“The evil Mom and Dad–” Benjamin started.

“The alternate versions of them,” Val corrected.

“The what?” Ben exclaimed. “They came after you? When we were...?”

“Joel and Lyja saved us!” Valeria exclaimed.

“WHAT?” Ben pushed them both back to take a good look at them. “You’re saying that Lyja? And Joel?”

She’s telling the truth, buddy. The voice appeared directly inside Ben’s mind. Right after, Joel and Lyja appeared at the end of the corridor.

“Joel, you’re outta bed,” Ben said. “How?”

“A little something Reed rigged up, in case things went bad for you guys,” Joel said. “Temporary, I’m afraid.”

“Still,” Ben said. “You saved the kids.”

“And me,” Lyja said. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

Joel chuckled. “Don’t do that. You distracted them long enough for me to get the kids away. It was a team effort.”

Lyja smiled and shrugged. “Where is everyone? What happened with the…” she glanced over Ben’s shoulder, and her face fell. “Johnny? Is that Johnny?”

Ben reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re workin’ on him. HERBIE says he’s gonna be fine.”

Joel suddenly looked up. “Are you aware that there is a Skrull warship in orbit right now?”

The portal that Reed had used to follow the Maker fizzled out soon after he left, but The other Susan, Gray Susan, must have followed him before it did. There was a ship up there. Reed’s orbital lab was up there. Wherever Reed went, he was going to need help. Sue throttled hard out of the flight bay and angled up. The powerful engines in the shuttle required little time to get her up to speed, and within a few moments, the blue sky was already fading to the black of space.

The shuttle received a hail from the ground. Susan answered it, and her heart surged as Valeria’s face appeared on the screen.

“Mom!” Benjamin and Franklin pushed in from behind her, and the three of them crowded the screen.

“Oh my god!” Sue exclaimed. “Are you three okay?”

They quickly told her the story of how they were saved by Joel and Lyja, talking over and correcting each other the entire time, before big Ben nudged them all out of the way.

“HERBIE’s workin’ on Johnny now, Suzie. Says he’s gonna be all right.”

“Good. Good,” Sue said heavily. The bright light of planet Earth was a bluish glow beaming into the side window of the shuttle. She was pulling free of the atmosphere and picking up speed. The Skrull warship looked enormous out there, and it was still so far away.

“Got a line on Reed yet?” Ben asked.

“No. All I know is that the other Susan went after him, and the other Reed is waiting for him. He’s going to need me.”

“I can follow you, Susan,” Joel said from off-camera.

“Oh, Joel. It’s so good to hear from you. No, please stay there and protect the Baxter Building in case the ship fires.”

A gravelly voice spoke over Susan’s shoulder. “It sounds like you have everything under control!”

Sue shrieked and jumped out of her seat, throwing up a force field to protect herself as Gray Susan appeared next to the controls. Her skin was blackened from the battle before, and her whole body shook with weakness, but her power…Susan could feel it buzzing in her skull.

“I didn’t take the portal, sweetie,” Gray Susan cackled. It was a terrible, ripping sound. It hurt her, and yet she laughed even harder.

Sue didn’t waste time talking. She pushed back, trying to pound her double into the floor. This wasn’t the time to hold back. Unfortunately, pain flashed in her head, and her own power was too weak. Gray Susan deflected it easily.

“Suzie!” Ben yelled from the communication screen. “What’s goin’ on!”

Gray Susan stepped in front of the screen, and Ben and the kids all cried out in shock.

“Joel, get up there and help her!” Ben shouted.

Joel flared up with golden energy, but just as he did, an invisible tendril of force smacked him across the head, and he crumpled to the floor.

“How did you do that?” Sue exclaimed.

“I don’t want to be interrupted,” Gray Susan growled. “I want the children to watch.”

In the Baxter Building, a second comm screen came to life. It was from the orbital lab. Ben answered it to find Reed looking down and working feverishly at a control panel.

“Hey Stretch, that warship is still up there, and we got a big problem!”

“Yes...” Reed said. His fingers were extended and moving at superhuman speed across the controls. “I’m keeping their weapons down with regular tachyon bursts, but I can’t do much else. I don’t have weapons of my own.”

“Suzie is comin’ up in the shuttle, and–”

“She’s what?” Reed sighed with frustration. “Listen, Ben. There isn’t much time. Skrull mechas have teleported to the lab. They’re chewing right through it. Call up SHIELD. Call up the Avengers. Get the X-Men. If I can’t stop this ship, there are twenty thousand Skrull warriors on board. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, but Reed–”

“Do it! If this station goes down, the warship will be able to fire within sixty seconds. Get the kids, get Johnny, and get out of there. He’s targeting the Baxter Building fir–”

The wall behind Reed exploded inward, and the screen started to fuzz. Reed whipped around and pulled up a plasma cannon. He started firing it as silvery, humanoid robots began to leap around the room. There was a blinding flash of white, and then the screen went dark.

Ben stepped back, looking back and forth between the two screens. “We can’t even move Johnny. What do we do?”

Behind him, Valeria started to cry.

__________________________________________________________-

Sue was fighting a losing battle on the shuttle. Gray Susan looked like she was about to fall apart, but her power was stronger than ever. Sue was the opposite. Every use of her abilities sent waves of pain through her skull, and she was barely holding her own.

An invisible hand grabbed her around the waist and flung her against the wall. She barely managed to cushion the impact, but she still fell to the ground, sweating and panting.

“I had days left, but not anymore!” Gray Susan said. “This will have to do. Killing you will have to be enough!”

“Not on your best day,” Sue yelled. She gathered herself up and made a desperate push, hoping to overwhelm the decrepit woman all at once. To her surprise, it almost worked. Gray Susan’s field flexed, almost buckled, and then stiffened.

“Not...yet...” the evil, older Susan gasped. She winced, glared at Susan, and something happened. Something in the air popped.

Sue couldn’t feel her power. It was gone. “What did you do?”

Gray Susan stumbled back and leaned against the controls. “I...” she cackled. Her voice was failing. Her skin was coming off in flakes, revealing desiccated muscle and bone. “I cut you off. I...took...it away...” She slumped against the controls and started to fall, but she surged up with one last bit of strength.

“Don’t!” Sue cried. “Don’t! Just die!”

Gray Susan focused, and she used her power one last time. The shuttle’s controls exploded in a scatter of sparks and metal shards. Laughing in a whisper, she fell against the seat, and life left her body. She fell apart, piece by piece, and within a few seconds, she was little more than a pile of bones.

The communications channel was still open. Sue trudged to the screen and met Ben, who stared back at her with a stricken expression.

“Suzie, I...”

“Ben, please let me see my children.”

“Mom!” Valeria cried. “Listen, did you try the stabilizers? You should be able to access them from panel C.”

Sue smiled. “Val. I’m still trying a few things, but the shuttle is cooked. Feedback fried the stabilizers.”

Benjamin and Franklin huddled next to their sister, neither of them unable to offer any advice or help.

“Val. Franklin. Ben. Listen to me. You need to go with Uncle Ben. The building isn’t safe.”

“C’mon, Sue,” Ben said. “There’s gotta be somethin’.”

Sue shook her head, and she smiled faintly at her friend. “The orbital lab. It’s going to come down right on top of me. I can see it breaking up. Ben, make them pay. Get out there and–”

“No, Mom!” Valeria sobbed. “There has to be something we can do!” Suddenly, she stopped. Valeria sniffed and stood up straight. She turned around to face her brother.

“Franklin,” she said.

“What? Me?” Franklin replied. He sounded scared, unsure.

“You can save her, Franklin. You can do it. Save Mom, Franklin!”

In the old lab, Nathaniel Richards was limping around and gathering various pieces of his equipment. There was no more fight in him; for the first time in a long time, he felt like the old man he was. He knew where Reed had gone. He knew that Susan was in a shuttle. He knew that the family watched from below, powerless to help.

This was the day he had come to witness. This was the day that the other Nathaniel had described to the Garden, the day that in so many other realities had helped create this Council of Reeds.

“I’m sorry, Susan. You never deserve this,” Nathaniel said sadly. Knowing how it ended didn’t make it any easier to bear.

Next: Life, part 1

Invincible Iron Man #9: The Power Man

Written by: u/FPSGamer48

Edited by: u/Predaplant, u/Dwright5252, and u/Voidkiller826

———

The sounds of rattling cell doors rang through Rykers Island as dawn shone on the prison. The inmates were quick to shuffle out of their rooms for breakfast, not wanting to risk a confrontation with a guard for sleeping too long. After all, the guards were to begin their morning contraband checks as soon as the mess hall was opened up. One by one they scanned the cells, picking up the occasional sharpened toothbrush or making note of a growing dent in the walls. Back with the prisoners, the first ones at the mess hall were now picking up their trays, standing in line as they were served the lowest quality “food” possible. Some sort of gravy slopped over an incredibly dry biscuit that tasted like sand in your mouth, alongside what the government could only technically call “scrambled eggs”. If you were one of the first ones in line, maybe you would get a slice of charred bacon or two, but after the first few dozen prisoners, the chances were basically zero.

Luke Cage was one of the unlucky ones in the back, though he had long since stopped caring. His cell was nearer to the back, making it nearly impossible for him to ever arrive at the mess hall early enough. After his time in solitary, though, he found that his current situation was a much better alternative. Taking his helping of mush, the broad-shouldered man took his seat at the back of the room. A few stragglers stayed nearer to him, but nobody of significant status. For the most part, prisoners knew to steer clear of the man with unbreakable skin.

“Thanks for letting us eat here, Luke…” Maurice croaked out following a bite of eggs. He was a recent inmate, freshly convicted of drug possession. Nothing major, of course, not that it mattered to the NYPD. Drugs were drugs to them.

“Of course, and remember, if anyone does anything to you, you send them to me,” Luke replied firmly. In truth, Luke was never one to pick fights. His previous sentences in youth had taught him that picking fights tended to make things worse for yourself. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t stand up for the little guy, though. Besides, after any would-be aggressor failed to make a dent against him, they’d either be tired out or tackled by the guards. They’d learn their lesson one way or another. So would be the legacy of Luke Cage, he told himself: a brick wall for felons to punch their aggression out on.

“Luke Cage!” a guard shouted out from across the mess hall. Luke sighed: it was another one of those days, wasn’t it? Standing up, he prepared himself to be blamed by another prisoner for starting some fight or forcing them to hide some contraband in their cell. They knew he could take the guards’ beatings, and so he was almost always the patsy. He set his food tray down, but took one last bite of the biscuit, letting it dissolve against his tongue as he walked across the room. The various gangs each gave him a foul look as he passed by. None of them had come to appreciate his presence after all these years. No matter how tough they acted, they could never be top dog as long as he was there. When he finally reached the guard, he raised his arms for, sure enough, a pair of cuffs to be placed around them. Obviously, he could break out of them whenever he wanted, but what good did it do him?

“What did I do this time?” Cage asked, his patience slightly thinner than usual. He was almost always able to at least finish his breakfast before this sort of thing.

“Nothing, you have a visitor,” the guard remarked. “Follow me.” A visitor? Cage was confused. He hadn’t seen Jessica Jones in years, nor had his lawyer bothered to follow up with him after the first appeal failed. Another guard appeared from out of nowhere and followed closely behind the two. As Luke walked past the guard break room, he caught sight of the television: the first time he’d seen a screen in years. Maybe other prisoners had a chance to watch TV, but with Cage, the guards made sure to minimize as many luxuries as possible. Whether that was because he was in there for murder or because he had powers, he wasn’t quite sure, but it definitely made sightings like this an event. He tried to read the ticker tape at the bottom, but the firm push of the second guard behind him kept him from being able to get all the words.

“Keep it moving!” they grunted, forcing him along. A steel-barred door mechanically pulled itself aside, revealing a chrome door just behind it. Pulling out his keys, the foremost guard slipped them in and opened the door to the visitor room. Luke had never been on this side of the glass, and to his surprise, the room was nearly empty. Plastic tables and chairs stood silently, while not one inmate hung on the phone behind the plexiglass on the side. One chair, though, was taken, and the person he saw sitting there, the one who presumably was his visitor, was someone he had never expected to meet.

“Luke Cage!” the man called out. “Great to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much about you over the past few months! Thank you, by the way, gentlemen, that will be all for now.”

“We’re required to stay in the room with you at all times, Mr. Stark. For your own safety,” one of the guards replied. Tony Stark visibly pouted.

“Well, can you at least give us some space? You’re practically suffocating this poor man!” Tony demanded before gesturing for Luke to sit down. The guards took a few steps back, placing themselves on each side of the door. Luke, meanwhile, took Tony’s offer and sat down, placing his still-shackled hands onto the table.

“I’m sorry, I’m… I’m very confused. You’re Tony Stark… why are you here?” he asked bluntly.

“Straight and to the point: I like that. Well, I’ve been accumulating documents on most of New York’s super powered individuals, and your name fell into that list. At first, I’ll admit, I assumed the worst: a convicted murderer incarcerated in Rykers doesn’t sound like the person you’d want to recruit,” Tony began to explain.

“Recruit?”

“I’ll get there, don’t worry. See, initially I wasn’t looking at you, but instead your friend. Jessica Jones. You knew her, you’d call her heroic, right?”

“I haven’t heard from her in years, but when I knew her? Yeah, she had her moments,” Luke chuckled lightly.

“Well, as I looked into her, I came across footage of her fighting a man with metal tentacles. Sound familiar?”

“Perhaps.”

“It should, because you were there, and to my surprise, you managed to evacuate a multitude of civilians, all without a single scratch. Now that was something I had to look into. So I found your court case, and almost immediately, it felt… wrong. From the very moment you entered, I sensed something was off. Call it a hunch, but I didn’t think for a second you killed that Kilgrave guy,” Tony continued.

“Well, it seems like you were the only one…” Luke reiterated with a sigh, waving his shackled hands over the table.

“I wouldn’t quite say that,” the billionaire noted, “Ms. Jones was very adamant that you didn’t do it.”

“You spoke with Jessica?”

“After about sixty missed calls, yes. Sure, she was incredibly drunk, but she said she was always that way. I was like that too when I was younger. The moment I mentioned your name, though, she perked up. In her stupor, she mentioned this Kilgrave could twist your mind. I pried further and she went on to describe the powers he had. Now, if she had told me this back when it happened, I would have assumed her drunkenness was responsible. But the world has changed a lot out there, Mr. Cage, and a mind controlling psychopath? Well, that isn’t outside the range of possibilities nowadays.”

“So wait, you actually believe us? That Kilgrave was a monster and that I didn’t kill him?”

“Oh absolutely, I mean, one look at your record in prison shows me your true colors. Despite your powers, you haven’t instigated a single fight here. You even managed to be on such good behavior they removed you from solitary: for a convicted murderer with unbreakable skin, that is amazing. Such restraint is a sign of a man of morals,” Tony proclaimed.

“So what, you want to pay for a retrial or something?” Luke wondered. Tony laughed.

“No, no, I don’t think the justice system has truly caught up to this new age of superpowered peoples walking among us. Even if your claim is more reasonable, I doubt a jury will change their decision all these years later. However, with a bit of networking, some calls to SHIELD, and a fleet of new police vehicles, I was able to pull some strings. Guards! Remove Mr. Cage’s cuffs please!” Tony shouted. The two looked at one another, and then back at Tony, his face unyielding and defiant. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Thus, one of the guards finally came over and unlatched the cuffs. Luke lifted his hands up, rubbing his wrists tenderly.

“Wait… are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Luke pondered, his eyes glowing with the first signs of hope in years.

“There are some conditions, but yes: Luke Cage, you’ve been paroled,” Tony smiled, “I’ll explain more in the limo.” Luke stood there, frozen, almost unable to comprehend what he was hearing. Free? Just like that? Well, not just like that, he reasoned: there was no reason for this rich white man to just free him without wanting anything in return. Still, though, it was freedom. A tear rolled down his cheek as Luke walked with Tony towards the exit. Once they reached the front desk, he was given his old clothes, as well as his wallet and a cellphone.

Stepping into the bathroom to change, he couldn’t help but feel overcome by a wave of anxiety. It had been so long since he had felt this free: it was overwhelming. As calmly as he could, he slipped off the prison jumpsuit and back into his old clothing. The yellow shirt was a bit tight around his biceps, but the jeans clasped around his waist like he had worn them yesterday. Seeing himself in the mirror, his bald head reflecting the lights above, he noticed a twinkle in his eye. This could be his second chance. When he exited the bathroom, Tony gave him a clap of approval. Leading him outside, the billionaire initially gave Luke a moment to look out at Manhattan across the water. More tears welled up in the normally stoic man’s eyes. The skyline had changed so much, and yet, it was still his city.

Tony and Luke entered the limo via the door held open by a portly chauffeur that Stark addressed as Happy. Once inside, he turned to Luke and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Cage, I do want to tell you there are some conditions to your release, and before we leave completely, I want to let you know what you’re signing up for.” Here we go, Luke thought to himself, this was the sales pitch. He knew he had to be shrewd with this, but ultimately, he wondered what wasn’t worth his freedom anyway?

“Alright, shoot,” he nodded in agreement.

“Well, there are some typical parole caveats. You’ll have to regularly check-in with a handler, so me or my team, about once a month for a few years. You’ll also have to avoid breaking any laws, though I assume you weren’t planning on breaking any regardless.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Luke chuckled.

“Oh, you’ll also need a job. Show the world that you can be a productive member of society. Fortunately, I think I have that covered for you,” Tony said, a massive smile now erupting across his face.

“And what would that be?”

“How would you like to be an Avenger?” he suggested. Luke was confused: when he was put away, the Avengers hadn’t even been formed. He’d only learned about them from the guards talking about them outside his cell. That Tony Stark and Captain America led a team against a giant robot or something, and then again against the city of Atlantis, as odd as it sounded to him.

“The Avengers? Aren’t you all some super team working with SHIELD?” he asked. Was he being offered a government job? As a felon?

“We used to be,” Tony corrected him, “Unfortunately, over the years we all went our separate ways, and I decided it would be best if the Avengers went solo. No government or SHIELD oversight, no red lines, just heroes working together for the common good.”

“So that’s the catch? I walk free and I just have to be a superhero?”

“Is that an issue with you?” Tony questioned him.

“Sweet Christmas, no!” Luke announced happily, clapping his hands together, “All I need to do is rough up some bad people, and I get my freedom back? You’re speaking my language, Stark!”

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that…” Tony noted, “You can’t exactly do superheroing yet. I need you to initially lay low as I work out the last few kinks in it all. We’ll also need to set you up with a superhero costume and name.”

“Oh, I don’t need that flashy sort of stuff, I’m just a guy from Harlem.”

“Guy from Harlem doesn’t scream Avenger, though. Although, my records suggest you used to go by Power Man during your first stint in jail. Ever consider using that name again?”

“That wasn’t exactly a good time in my life, Tony…” Luke remarked, hanging his head a bit at the mention of it. It was Harlem, after all: violence and street gangs dominated the culture of his youth. He was just another kid swept up in it.

“Then reclaim that title! Show that some good can come from what you’ve learned! Be a symbol for those who come from those disadvantaged places!” Stark said emphatically. The billionaire was pretty convincing, if Luke was to be honest with himself. Even if it felt silly, it did make Luke almost feel like he could be someone greater than himself. He could be The Power Man.

“Speaking of being a symbol, I also want you to know, this is more than just being a hero: You’ll have a salary of about $100K a year, if that sounds fair to you,” Tony offered. Luke, while amazed, felt his mind pulling him back to earth. His roots were still firmly planted, and god help him, no amount of money would change that. He had just spent over half a decade locked away, and still, he felt the need to keep himself humble.

“60K, donate the rest to Harlem,” Luke countered. Tony was almost taken aback at the sheer gall to ask for less money. At the same time, though, he found it new and refreshing. He knew then, more than ever, that he chose the right person to be his first new Avenger.

“If you say so,” Tony remarked.

“Maybe throw in an apartment, and that’s more than enough. I told you, didn’t I?” Luke chuckled. “I’m just a simple man trying to do good.”

Fantomex

Issue Sixteen

Written by u/VoidKiller826

Edited by u/Predaplant

Arc: Purgatory

Part of Streets Run Red

“Put that fire out!” Bedlam shouted at some nearby mutants while using a fire extinguisher to extinguish some flames in the building. What started with one building being bombed by the Goblins had spread to over half of M-Town.

“Got it, Bedlam!” Guido Carosella, known as Strong Guy, shouted back as he ran toward a nearby fire hydrant. His body mass changed shape, becoming a muscle-bound giant, and he smashed the top of the hydrant open, causing a fountain of water to shoot up into the air. Strong Guy covered the hydrant with his large hands and guided the water toward the burning building.

“Carl!” Bedlam called for one of the younger mutants who was helping some residents. “Need your water powers to help us with the fire!”

Standing frozen in fear was Carl Aalston, a young mutant whose body was made out of water, literally. The 15-year-old was scared out of his wits, understandably terrified at all this chaos.

Carl felt a hand on his shoulder and saw it was Sarah Ryall, Scanner, another of the senior members of M-Town. “It will be alright, Carl. I know you’re scared. Anyone would be, but without your help, a lot of our friends and family will lose their homes or worse.” She turned to the families Carl had helped get to safety. “We need you.”

Carl put on a brave face, fighting off the fear he felt, and raised his arms. From them he fired a stream of pressurized water at the burning building, quickly dissipating it.

“Good job, Rain Boy!” Strong Guy smiled in pride at the young mutant. “We keep at it and we’ll get these flames out in no time!”

Bedlam turned to his surroundings to see M-Town working together to put the flames out and get the residents, mutants and humans alike, out to safety and into the checkpoints the NYPD set up outside of the neighborhood.

“Managed to get the Ortegas out.” Another young mutant approached Bedlam. Darian Elliot was his name, nicknamed Spyke - The Y was his preference - for his ability to generate bone spikes from his body. “The cops didn’t look too happy to see a couple of muties there.”

“That’s better than refusing to help us,” Bedlam said, putting the fire extinguisher aside after emptying it. “But we can’t keep this up without any help from the Fire Department. They either didn’t bother coming here or are so busy with other fires that we had to ask goddamn kids to step up and help out.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Jesse,” Scanner noted, walking closer to him and putting her hands on his shoulders. “You said it yourself, we can’t always trust the cops or city officials to help us, only ourselves, as we always did-”

Scanner was quickly cut off as her eyes glowed white like a beacon. Her powers sensed something close by.

“What’s wrong?” Bedlam asked.

“I am scanning multiple presences in the west, all riding SUVs and heading to M-Town,” Scanner revealed. “And… they are armed… heavily… and one of the cars has… Hammerhead.”

“Maggia…” Bedlam whispered. “And they drove all the way here? Why? Are there any Goblins in the neighborhood?”

Scanner shook her head. “No Goblins present, at least not the ones I can sense. But I can sense there are mutants with him.”

“Dammit…” Bedlam muttered. If Hammerhead was coming here with his goons and mutant enforcers, that meant he was bringing war to their doorsteps.

“Good news, I found Hammerhead.”

Fantomex, Beak, and Noriko all turned to Sage after she announced loudly. Pointing at the TV screens, they saw multiple SUVs driving through the streets of New York heading somewhere.

“Where is he headed?” Fantomex asked, putting on his new jacket, his new suit fitting like a glove. Looking at the screen, Fantomex noticed something about it. “Wait, why does that street look familiar?”

“Because the big head is heading here,” Sage said, rather nonchalantly as if she was talking about the weather. “Brought in everyone for a party too.”

“You need to work on your definition of good news, Sage,” Beak said in disbelief at her attitude. Sage shrugged.

Fantomex could see on the screen multiple SUVs, at least twenty or so, carrying an army of Maggia. If he could take a guess, they contained some of his Mutant Enforcers as well, useful tools for his war.

“He is coming for me,” Fantomex realized, hit with a sudden wave of guilt. “And he aims to burn M-Town if he has to.”

“What should we do?” Beak asked and Fantomex looked at the other TV screens to see Bedlam talking to the mutants, aware of the Maggia and readying his people for a possible fight.

“We fight,” Fantomex proclaimed, raising the zipper of his jacket to emphasize his words. “If Hammerhead wants my head, then he is welcome to try.”

“The fight will burn M-Town to the ground, Charlie,” Beak warned. “You are still wounded, and facing him at your state while he has an army on his back is plain suicide, especially with weapons that can tear through most of us.”

Fantomex grimaced; Beak was right. M-Town wasn’t a place where mutants trained to fight; it was a place where they simply lived in peace. Not all of them were trained for combat like Fantomex and Bedlam. Some were just trying to live a life away from conflict, and expecting them to fight against armed mobsters and trained mutant enforces was far too much to ask.

“There is a way,” Sage spoke up, her eyes on the computer screen. “I checked on their military-grade weapons and noticed they all use the same model,” she turned to Fantomex. “All Symkarian.”

Fantomex’s eyes widened and clicked his fingers. “That’s it!”

Beak and Noriko stared at the two, confused. “Are we missing something?” Beak asked.

“Symkarian weapons are very high-tech,” Fantomex began, his knowledge of the weapons from his homeland coming back to him. “They were built specifically to outmatch any weapons around the world, and to make sure they reached that standard, they had to make them technologically advanced. Some weapons even shoot lasers instead of bullets, and they never jam.”

“That sounds… dangerous,” Beak said, and Noriko nodded in agreement.

“As they should be, Symkarians take pride in their weapons and want to make sure people are buying the best quality available,” Fantomex noted. Symkarian weapons were highly sought after, like the Gucci for gun lovers, and with the civil war raging in the country, Symkarian weapons were even more readily available and profitable for those who wanted to sell them in large volumes. “But it also has a fatal flaw that my dear homeland fails to mention in the pitches: like any other computer, hitting it with an EMP, or overcharging it with enough electricity, will make it shut off or explode depending on the voltage.”

“You know your guns.” Sage brought up a blueprint of a Symakarian rifle through one of the computer screens.

“I should, Symkarian weapons were the first thing I learned under Sable.” Fantomex noted. “Now, we are missing an EMP at hand, so we will turn to the second option, and we just so happen to have the perfect person for it.” He turned to Noriko. “Our little spark in our little war.”

“Nori? You are sending her into battle?” Beak asked, not supportive of the idea. “It's one thing to ask the kids to help put out the fire, but it's another to send them into a fight against an army of mobsters.”

“I can do it,” Noriko said, raising her hand and a small surge of electricity began to sparkle from her fingers. “They took me away… from my brother… from my family… so I want… payback.”

Beak wanted to protest but held his tongue, understanding Noriko’s feelings and hatred for the Maggia. They all went through a lot of suffering when they were taken away from their homes after their mutation came out, and denying her of that would mean he was denying himself from admitting his hatred of the mobsters.

“Hammerhead’s mutants are the ones I am a bit worried about,” Fantomex noted, remembering the Mutant Enforcers. “I just hope they can fight off whatever control Hammerhead has on them, or at least, can control themselves from fighting their fellow mutants.”

“And what of Hammerhead?” Beak asked.

Fantomex grabbed a pair of pistols that were on the table, a gift courtesy of Jumbo Carnation. “I end him, once and for all.”

“And his Maggia?” Beak asked, pointing at the army who were heading towards M-Town. “It's one thing to take out the head of the snake, but I don’t think his men will just surrender because he is dead. In fact, you might martyr Hammerhead because they all think you killed the other Maggia Dons.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Arrest him? Send him to prison?” Fantomex challenged, reloading the pistols before turning to Beak. “Hammerhead could be out the very next day with the amount of power he now has.”

“We remove that power,” Beak answered. “Somehow we expose what he did, and hopefully that would stop him from being seen as a martyr for his men. They’ll see he is a monster who kills even his own people for power.”

“You’re right,” Fantomex nodded, carefully thinking over his options. Killing Hammerhead was a simple solution, but it would also give the unified Maggia all the more reason to burn M-Town if they saw him kill ‘another’ Maggia Boss. “But how are we supposed to expose him now? He might have destroyed any evidence, and the mutant who helped him won’t admit it, even if we had the time to do it.”

“I think I got the answer to that,” Sage spoke up. She had been clicking away on her keyboard while they were talking. “A little bit of hacking on the internet can help us, but it all depends on getting Hammerhead to admit it.”

“You mean get him to confess?” Fantomex asked and Sage nodded.

“Yeah, but he has to be in the right place, at the right time. So you gotta make sure to not die when you do this.”

And so the four planned for the coming battle and came to a solution that would stop Hammerhead and the Maggia, and save M-Town.

Silence came to the burning M-Town. The crackling of fires and police sirens were the only forms of noise that came to the neighborhood.

On one side stood the mutants, all tensed up and worried, while the Maggia were lined up on the other side, aiming their military-grade weapons at the mutants after emerging from the SUVs parked in the middle of the street, fingers twitching at the trigger.

“What’s with all the serious faces?”

Coming out of the Maggia crowd was Hammerhead, wearing a clean blue checkered suit with a black coat over it. He walked out and stood a few feet away from the mutants, staring at them with one eye, the other closed.

“We came here in peace, M-Town,” said the giant mobster before scoffing in amusement when one of the younger mutants, the kid who sprouted out bone spikes, glared at him hatefully. “Of course, that can change depending on how this goes.”

“Sorry about that, but we aren't fans of guns.” Bedlam walked out and faced the mobster. Even with the height difference, M-Town’s leader did not back down from Hammerhead’s gaze. “Or two-bit mobsters.”

Hammerhead smirked. He could see from Bedlam's eyes that he hated the Maggia and he wouldn't bother hiding it. “Then let's fix that.” He took a step back to address everyone. “I am here to make a deal with you muties. You agree to work for me, and I promise you this Mutant Town will thrive. You'll be taken good care of by us.” He waved at the army of mobsters behind him, each wearing different suits and colors that represent the different families, all unified under Hammerhead.

“M-Town will be under my family's protection. We will make sure no cop, no politician, not even the Purifiers will ever touch you guys ever again if you carry my flag,” Hammerhead said, his voice booming for all to hear. “Hell, you agree to this now, and we will help you put out all this fire.” He pointed at the burning buildings.

“In exchange, you'll turn our home into another prison, no different from what you did to us in Rome.” Bedlam cracked his fingers, not believing a single word from Hammerhead's mouth. “And you want us to be weapons, same as those mutants you got in the back.”

Standing far behind the Maggia was Random, with Wild Child seated on his shoulders. They exchanged looks with Bedlam before moving away, ashamed of being forced to be a part of this.

“No,” Hammerhead replied, his smile fading away. “In exchange, you bring me Fantomex out here so that I can smash his head in front of you all. After that, we will see what you will provide for us.”

That announcement turned an already tense situation worse. Bedlam could see the large mobster wasn't here to deal. He was here for revenge and didn't care about Bedlam's answer because the outcome would be the same.

“We don't sell out on our own,” Bedlam announced, and his hands began to spark. “Especially when he did so much for us. We’ll die before we ever do that.”

“Then you die,” Hammerhead sneered and, before Bedlam could use his powers on him, swung a large hand at the mutant. “Kill all of them!” Hammerhead commanded, walking back to his men. “Burn this place to the ground! And bring me Fantomex!”

“Stay behind us!” Bedlam shouted as Strong Guy quickly stepped forward to help form a barrier.

The Maggia all aimed their weapons and readied to fire until the sound of thunder caught everyone's attention.

*CRACK*

Falling from the sky and landing in between the firing squad and the mutants was Noriko Ashida, her body covered in a surge of electricity, so much so that lights began to flicker from her presence. She stared at the Maggia with a blue glowing gaze and fired a lightning blast from her hands.

“Oh shit!” A Maggia grunt shouted in horror before he and the others in the firing squad were quickly electrocuted, their bodies shaking and their weapons fried from Noriko’s lighting.

She continued her attack, firing another arc and electrocuting more Maggia. The mutants all saw the opening. With Bedlam giving them the nod, they all charged forward, taking the fight to the disorganized Maggia, turning the street into a massive battle between the two sides.

As the battle began, Hammerhead stood back and watched in annoyance at the mutants’ defiance, calmly ordering Random and Wild Child to join in and tip the balance in their favor while they waited for reinforcements. He expected a fight, he just never expected their guns would turn useless because of a bit of electricity. But he had more guns, and that little girl couldn’t stop all of them from tearing M-Town apart-

Hammerhead heard a heavy thud landing on top of the SUV behind him. Turning his head, he saw standing above him the very person he came to M-Town to kill.

“I am touched you came all this way just for me, my dear Hammerhead!” Fantomex said with a wide smile behind his mask, wearing his signature black-and-white costume, colors that made Hammerhead enraged to see. “Care for another dance?”

Hammerhead responded by slamming his fists into the car, which dented it, but Fantomex dodged by slipping to the side and landing on the ground.

“You’re dead, you fuck!” Hammerhead snarled.

“We are both dead men, my dear.” Fantomex brought out two handguns and took a stance. “We are just too stubborn to let Death take it!”

Fantomex and Hammerhead charged at each other as the mutants and the Maggia battled it out and M-Town burned around them.

[You set it up?] Sage’s voice came from the earpiece Beak was wearing he flinched when he heard it due to how sensitive his ears were.

“Almost,” Beak noted, setting up a camera in the corner of Jumbo’s shop while standing on a chair. “Are you sure this will work? I thought you would need more tech to hack the city’s internet.”

[I am not hacking the internet, birdman,] Sage said in a dry tone. [Just need the evidence if we gotta expose the biggest mobster in the city.]

“And with that evidence, you can send it through the internet?” Beak asked, connecting the device through an ethernet port that was behind the wall.

[Even better, I’ll make sure everyone in the city sees it, on every TV screen and phone with an internet connection.]

Beak flinched when he heard an explosion behind him. Right outside he could see the fighting getting worse between both sides, mutants and Maggia, an all-out battle.

“Come on Charlie, you can do it…”

His bullets bounced off Hammerhead’s head, doing little damage to his hard skin and even harder skull, especially compared to the bomb Fantomex threw at his face the last time they fought.

“STAND STILL, YA SHIT!” With a savage roar, Hammerhead charged at Fantomex and continued their vicious fight. Around them, the battle of M-Town raged while everything was burning around them.

Fantomex was able to use his speed, agility, and endurance to his advantage to keep Hammerhead from giving him any serious injuries, but he was still injured and he couldn’t take on the mobster’s inhuman strength head-on, even if he was healthy. Hammerhead’s durability, fury, and ability to tank all of Fantomex’s shots made him a terrifying force; his size gave just as much of an advantage even after losing one eye.

Eventually, Hammerhead hit Fantomex with a headbutt, the force sending the former mercenary hurling against the nearby SUV. Fantomex coughed in pain but stood up with all his willpower, his armored jacket protected.

They continued their clash. Now Fantomex was using his gun as a club, focused on Hammerhead’s injured eyes, making them bleed as he hit him with the butt of the handgun. Enraged, Hammerhead grabbed Fantomex and once again hurled him across the street and into another SUV, and the force behind it made the former mercenary fly over the vehicle and land on the other side.

Fantomex felt blood bubble up his throat and spat through his white mask. ‘Shit… wounds are reopened… again…’ Standing up in a daze, he looked for Jumbo’s Goods & Wears, and found it a bit further away.

“Is that it? I heard all these stories about you being this big bad Symkarian assassin back in the day… Sable’s Attack Dog.” Hammerhead stalked Fantomex, smiling with glee at the injured mercenary. “Yeah, I know everything about you, Charlie. A trained killer working for the highest bidder, and these mutant freaks call you a hero? You make me sick!” Hammerhead mocked, grabbing Fantomex by the throat just as they arrived in front of Jumbo’s shop. “After I am done bashing your head in, I am gonna burn this freak show of a town to the ground, and step on everyone’s charred bones!”

“You…” Fantomex coughed, trying to escape from his grasp. “...You should know by now that it’s a bad idea to hold me by the throat.” From his hand, a small circular device slid out from the sleeves as Fantomex planted it on Hammerhead’s face.

The small bomb exploded in a loud boom that launched the two away from one another. Hammerhead landed on the street and Fantomex went through Jumbo’s door.

As the dust cleared, Fantomex coughed and sat up, alive thanks to his now destroyed armored jacket absorbing the explosion. Taking it off, Fantomex looked around the shop and hoped that Beak and Sage had managed to get everything in place.

“YOU’RE DEAD!”

Like a raging bull that saw red, Hammerhead came out of the dust looking much worse than before. His suit was a mess, the top being torn apart from the bomb, exposing his burned chest. His face was in even worse shape: the left side of his forehead was burned off, exposing the plate underneath it.

Fantomex raised his arms as Hammerhead rammed himself at the former mercenary, hurling him at the wall behind him.

“YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!” Hammerhead began, shouting in rage. He grabbed Fantomex’s leg and flung him into another wall, destroying a set of clothes. “All I wanted was to bring the Maggia back on top! To bring back the old days where honor and loyalty were important before Fisk! Before the freaks like Daredevil and Spider-Man! Before you mutants dirtied this city!”

Hammerhead began stomping the downed Fantomex. “And I almost had it all planned out perfectly! All I had to do was whack the Goblin and the other freaks and this city would have been mine! But you!” He planted his foot on Fantomex’s throat. “You had to come back from the dead to ruin everything!”

Out of desperation, Fantomex grabbed his handgun and fired at the exposed plate on Hammerhead’s forehead, forcing the mobster back and letting Fantomex go.

“I’ll take responsibility for a lot of my sins… including you…” Fantomex began, taking a deep breath as he and Hammerhead stared each other down. “But what you did to your own people… that is what you ruined.”

“The fuck you mean?” Hammerhead spat out his question.

“For all the talks about honor and tradition, you are just a power-hungry thug who will kill your own people to win,” Fantomex said, the two circling each other. “You don’t care about the Maggia’s place in the food chain, you only care about yourself. If it was any other group no one would care, but you Maggia? You care about the image of loyalty and honor. But you, Joseph,” Fantomex shot an accusatory finger at the mobster, using his real name much to Hammerhead’s anger. “You stain that image after Purgatory.”

“You think I don’t care?!” Hammerhead shouted, insulted by what Fantomex said. “I am doing all of this for the Maggia! I bled for them! I carried their flag! I took on this empire on my back! Me! Alone! Brick by brick! And like fucking hell I’ll let you, Silvermane, the bug, and the devil, take that away from me!” He spat. “And you think Silvermane and the other fossils can do that? They let Fisk walk all over them instead of fighting back! So I had to take things by my hands!”

“By killing them.”

“You’re goddamn right I killed them! They were weak, and they would have dragged the Maggia back to the bottom if I didn’t get rid of them! This family system was chain dragging us, and I broke that fucking chain!” Hammerhead shouted, no longer caring about keeping it a secret, his hatred for Fantomex eclipsing everything else running through his mind. “And I will do it again without a second thought, even break that old fucker Silvermane with my own hands if I have to!”

Silence came to the shop, Fantomex staring down at Hammerhead after his confession. After a few more seconds, Fantomex smiled from behind his mask, wide enough that Hammerhead could see it.

“The fuck you’re smiling about?”

Fantomex pressed on his earpiece. “You got that?”

[Loud, clear, and on 4K for all to see.] Sage responded. [It's now out on the internet for all to see and hear.]

Around them, the speakers of the shop began reverberating, and the sound of Hammerhead’s voice came out of it. Replaying the same words he just said a few minutes ago: his rant, his desires, and the most important one of them all, his admission to killing the other Maggia Dons.

“Smile, Hammerhead!” Fantomex began, smiling at the mobster. “You’re about to be on the trending page for every news outlet and website all over the world.”

Hammerhead’s expression turned to panic and quickly ran outside the shop, but no matter where he went, he could still hear his voice reverberating everywhere in the street. The speakers the city installed for emergencies in the street after the flooding played his voice. The TV screens and phones that everyone was using were showing him ranting and admitting his actions to Fantomex, and if it was in M-Town, then everyone was seeing it.

“He… he killed the bosses?” A Maggia grunt wearing Fortunata colors muttered in shock. The fighting between the Maggia and the mutants halted the moment Hammerhead’s voice started to come out of the speakers. Elsewhere, various phones that weren’t broken from the battle were used by mutants and mobsters to watch Hammerhead’s admission.

“They’re lying! Probably just did A.I editing to mess with the boss!” A Hammerhead goon spoke, ever loyal to his boss. He received a response of getting hit in the head by a Manfredi enforcer.

“Shut the fuck up!” he snarled, turning his glare at the shocked Hammerhead. “I knew it was you who whacked the Old Man you fucking traitor!”

As more and more Maggia started paying attention, Bedlam ordered the mutants to stand back now that the fighting had stopped; they could take a breather and watch the unified Maggia crumbling in front of their eyes.

Hammerhead seethed. All his hard work in bringing all these families together under one banner, his banner, just went up in flames. Not because he lost the war, but because he got exposed. But that didn’t enrage him as much as the audacity of these criminals being insulted for what he did.

“Fuck it…” Hammerhead muttered. He turned to Leo Stryke and his loyal family, along with the mutants, and ordered in a hateful voice without any regard. “Kill them all! Anyone who stands against me. Maggia, mutant, anyone, will fall!-”

The mob boss’s rant however was cut short as a long arc of lightning came from above, directly hitting Hammerhead and sending him flying across the street and into an SUV. As the smoke cleared, all saw the smokey and unconscious body of Hammerhead, alive and finally down and out.

Fantomex looked around him for where exactly that lightning came from, even turning to Noriko thinking it was her, but it wasn't. He saw that Noriko and everyone were all looking up where the lightning came from. He followed where they were looking, and his eyes widened at what he saw.

Floating in the air was a dark-skinned woman, wearing a black leather suit with a lightning bolt across her chest and a cape that fluttered from the sudden winds that washed over the neighborhood. Her long white hair made her already striking beauty that much more graceful in everyone’s eyes.

“Men of the Maggia!” The woman boomed, and thunder roared in the clouds when she spoke. “I am Storm of the X-Men! And I am here to ask you all to surrender yourselves and end this battle built of lies and vengeance!”

Ororo Munroe, Storm of the X-Men, descended gracefully from the air and landed in the middle of the street, staring down at the Maggia with her pure white eyes.

“But should you wish to continue this battle,” Storm said as her eyes glowed bright, electricity running through her body. The skies above roared in a thunderclap for all to see and hear. “Then you will give me no choice but to rain down the very heavens on you all and share your leader’s fate!”

Silence came. The mutants stood by Storm's side, waiting for the Maggia's response until an older Manfredi Family mobster stepped forward and threw his weapon on the ground.

“Old Man Silvermane wouldn't have wanted us to fight this war, or be working under a man who destroyed everything we represented,” said the mobster, getting on his knees in surrender.

More followed. Either out of fear, accepting of their defeat, or out of spite of Hammerhead and his family, all tossed their weapons, sat down on the ground, and waited for their arrest. The Hammerhead Family didn’t follow, deciding to run away in droves instead of surrendering.

Storm let them escape. Justice would find them and put them behind bars soon. She turned to the mutants standing alongside the Maggia: Random and Wild Child, who simply gave her an appreciative smile and bowed their heads, thankful for their freedom.

“Are you…” Noriko Ashida walked towards Storm, her eyes glittered in wonderment. “a Goddess?”

Ororo Monroe chuckled and got down to meet Noriko’s eyes. “No, sister. I am a mutant, just like you.” She offered her hand, and Noriko accepted. And Storm felt Noriko’s electricity surge, sharing their powers. “Very much, like you.”

With the use of Noriko's electricity, Storm raised her hand and fired a bolt of lightning up to the skies. Then, the weather changed. Clouds began gathering above M-Town and then spread across the city. Soon after, drops of rain began to fall from the skies, growing in intensity, wetting not just the streets, but the burning buildings, slowly dissipating the fires that the mutants were trying to put out.

The mutants shouted in joy at this, dancing in the rain and letting it wash all over them. Some of the younger mutants began to gather around Storm, all thanking her and asking her many questions. Ororo smiled warmly for them, greeting each mutant, but she noticed someone at the corner of her eye.

Standing alone and away from everyone was Fantomex, watching the joy of M-Town with a smile before his and Storm’s eyes met. After a few seconds, Fantomex put a hand on his chest and bowed his head as a thank you.

Turning away, Fantomex walked through the rainy streets of M-Town alone, taking off his mask and looking up to the skies to feel the water drops touching his bare face, finally able to rest after a long battle.

Volume 2

Previous Issue <> Next Issue

Salutation True Believers!

We are welcoming you back for another exciting stories from our amazing writers! With debut of a new book in form of Deadpool and the return of something Uncanny under a new writer and vision!

What to expect this month:

• Darkdevil #2
• Deadpool #1 - New Series!
• Fantomex #16
• Invincible Iron Man #9
• Moon Knight #40
• Mr. E #1 & #2
• Scarlet Spiders #3
• Uncanny X-Men #17

Last Month <> Next Month

MarvelsNCU presents…

##DARKDEVIL

In Hell to Pay

Issue One: Prince of Lies

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by Voidkiller826

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On the west side of Manhattan, nestled between 34th Street and 59th Street and stretching from Eighth Avenue to the Hudson River, lay Hell's Kitchen. In the amber haze of the city's dusk, its tenements loomed like jagged teeth. This New York City neighbourhood’s earliest history was not a proud one; its tenements were built to cram as many newcomers to NYC as close together as possible. It was a realm of poverty and congestion, the perfect petri dish for gangs and violence to grow and fester while despair bubbled and broiled in the Kitchen’s people, simmering against the backdrop of city administration that watched and did nothing.

Out of the chaos, organised syndicates emerged like hydra heads. Gangs struck pacts over cheap whiskey and clandestine handshakes, carving out territories with broken bottles and switchblades. The neighbourhood became their fiefdom, a realm where their word was law. Some called it the first time the Kitchen had a chance to self-govern. Others called it another step into Hell, as the fragile calm achieved grew steadily more volatile.

By the 1950s, organised crime had taken root deeply, promising protection to those who paid their fees. But danger lurked in every corner for those who couldn't afford it. Then came the first wave of gentrification, like a Trojan horse. Big businesses swept in, promising renewal, transforming Hell’s Kitchen into something more welcoming to the mild mannered wealthy and the elite. Some dreamed that this would break the mob's chokehold on Hell’s Kitchen, displacing the poor sods whom they preyed upon to be their footmen, and bringing in new inhabitants with the money and resources to clean up and root out the dirty businesses of the mob. Instead, those very same mob bosses now donned suits and ties, formalising ownership of buildings and land. This wasn’t an intervention - it was a reinforcement.

Through the 60s and 70s, the criminal superpowers hid in plain sight, now spreading across the whole of New York City, seeding roots into its many boroughs and neighbourhoods. Hell’s Kitchen became their fortress, ground zero for trafficking rings and shadowy operations. The neighbourhood lay strangled, caught between neglectful government officials and moneyed mob bosses. Greed gnawed at its soul, and Hell’s Kitchen was dying a slow death.

Then, in the 90s, a hero emerged. First a whisper in the alleys, a phantom in a black blindfold, and then a bold avenger in crimson leather - the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen rose from the depths to wage war on New York's criminal heart. But this was a long war, a brutal dance of light and shadow. For every blow struck by the Devil, Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin, struck back. A towering man with a white-knuckled grip on the city's underworld, Fisk twisted Hell’s Kitchen to his own vision - a labyrinth where the poor remained pawns and the syndicates held the keys to the gates.

The war raged for thirty years, a push and pull of blood and loss. Thirty years of existential threats lurking in shadows, thirty years of Daredevil clinging to his principles and resisting the line he couldn't cross. But also thirty years of missed chances and buried friends.

And then, in one night, the Devil broke. He killed Bullseye - the assassin who had threatened his family. He killed Ikari - Fisk’s prize enforcer - and any other footmen in his way. He fought his way to the inner sanctum of the Kingpin and beat Fisk half to death, with the Kingpin only narrowly escaping.

The news reported three things that night: one, that Wilson Fisk had succumbed to his injuries at the hands of Daredevil; two, that Daredevil was a murderer; and three, that Daredevil was none other than defence attorney Matthew Murdock.

But the war wasn’t over.

In shame, Matthew Murdock became a ghost. But with the Kingpin gone, a power vacuum formed, and criminal forces rushed to fill it. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen tried to stem the tide, abandoning his distraught family and striking down anyone who came too close to that grand seat of power. What he didn't realise was that it was Fisk’s hand guiding him all along. Wilson Fisk was alive, and both men had failed to stop what was coming.

Gangs across New York erupted into a full-scale war, ravaging the city. Daredevil fought fiercely but the city’s only chance came from other heroes who had risen up during his thirty-year career. Iron Fist, Luke Cage, Hawkeye, Spider-Man, and others held the tide, beating back the Maggia and the so-called Goblin Nation.

And as New York returned to a fragile peace, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen vanished into the twilight.

🔺 🔻 🔺

The night was thick with fog, and the alleys of Hell’s Kitchen slithered like veins through the city’s underbelly. Eric Anton Michaels moved swiftly down an alley off West 54th Street, his breath hitching in his chest. He clutched his jacket closer, sweat soaking through the fabric. All he knew was fear, a terror that pulsed through him like electricity. He scurried through the gloom like the rat he was, ducking behind dumpsters and skirting between shadows.

He was no stranger to the night. It had become his hunting ground, a cloak that masked his grim urges. In the papers, he was an innocent man, falsely accused and justly exonerated. They told the lie that he was something other than a terror preying on the women of Hell's Kitchen. But tonight, he was the hunted. His heart pounded like a war drum as he glanced over his shoulder. The darkness stirred, and he caught a glimpse of movement - a flicker of crimson, a hint of horned shadow.

A cold whisper of dread gripped his spine, and he bolted. He reached what he quickly surmised was a power station and started to climb, clawing his way up the rusted rungs of a maintenance ladder. The wind whipped past him, and his fingers slipped on the rungs slick with sweat. He looked down and saw the creature below, leaping with impossible agility, scaling walls like a spider and bounding after him with lethal grace.

Eric clawed his way onto a fragile walkway and scrambled to the other side, slipping down the far wall and landing heavily on the street below. The impact jarred him, but he didn't stop. He dashed across the asphalt and through a vacant basketball court, sneakers slapping against cracked clay.

A blood-red shadow loomed overhead, and Eric looked up just in time to see it leap from the rooftop. He skidded to a halt, eyes wide and frantic, and darted into another alley. But no matter how quickly he ran, he couldn't outrun the devil. As he reached the far end of the alley, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The devil was waiting.

Clothed in flowing crimson, the figure stood at the mouth of the alley, a ghostly silhouette against the fog. The same crimson covered their the creature’s face in a mark bearing red horns, and glowing yellow eyes pierced the darkness like burning embers. For a heartbeat, Eric was frozen, caught in the unwavering gaze of Hell’s Kitchen’s most feared avenger.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had returned.

Then a steady, rhythmic clacking echoed down the alley.

“That’s it,” called a man fearlessly as he approached from behind Eric. “Stay right where you are.”

As the man passed Eric, he took in the details of the red-haired man in the silver suit, who looked to be in his fifties and carrying a cane that he tapped against the pavement as he moved with an unshaken confidence. A blind man. The devil’s gaze snapped to the man, and a tense silence settled between them.

Matthew Murdock interposed himself between Eric and the devil, his scarlet-tinted sunglasses reflecting the dim streetlight.

“You won’t touch this man!” Murdock cried, pointing his cane at the devil.

The devil remained motionless, a silent sentinel looming above them. Eric turned to run, but his legs felt rooted to the ground.

“Your brand of justice isn’t welcome here,” Murdock continued, voice steady. “So, go!”

For a moment, the alley seemed to tighten around them, the air thick with tension. Then, slowly, the devil lowered his head and backed away into the shadows, melting into the night like a wraith.

Eric staggered back, the knot of fear in his chest finally loosening. But as he glanced at Murdock’s unwavering stance, he saw the man had no more comfort for him, only an icy chill creeping down his spine.

The blind man stood tall, head cocked slightly, listening intently. A slow, twisted smile crept across his face, a predator savouring the scent of blood.

“Get out of here, Eric,” he said softly. “You’re safe. For now.”

Without another word, Eric fled into the night, his footsteps echoing through the empty streets. But the memory of those glowing yellow eyes would haunt him, and the taste of fear would cling to him like a bitter poison.

For the Devil knew of his worst sins. And one day, he would face its reckoning again.

🔺 🔻 🔺

Matt Murdock closed the door to his penthouse and let the quiet hum of Hell’s Kitchen drift into the background. The comforting warmth of the entryway wrapped around him, and he took a deep breath. The familiar scent of freshly brewed chamomile tea mingled with the faint aroma of rosemary from the potted plants by the window.

From the living room, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps and knew Grace was approaching before she even spoke.

“Matt?” she called, concern etched in her voice. “Is that finally you?”

He smiled, setting his cane by the door and stepping forward to meet her. "Yeah, it's me."

Grace reached out and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Matt it’s 3am! What happened? You look… tense.”

Matt hesitated, drawing a breath. “I ran into Daredevil tonight.”

Grace’s brow furrowed, and she led him to the couch, where they both sat down. “Daredevil? God, you weren’t hurt were you?”

“He was after someone, Eric Michaels. I stepped in before things got out of hand.”

“Stepped in?” Grace echoed, a hint of disbelief in her tone. “Matt, you stood up to him? He’s dangerous!”

“I couldn't just let him attack this guy,” Matt replied firmly. “Vigilante justice is no way to fix our society’s issues. I had to act.”

“But, Matt,” Grace began, worry lacing her words, “You're a lawyer, not… not a fighter. What if he’d hurt you?"

“It didn’t even come close to that,” Matt reassured her, placing his hand softly against his wife’s cheek. “I told him to leave… and he did.”

Grace sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. “You’re fearless, Matt Murdock. Too much for your own good!”

Matt smiled and wrapped an arm around her. “I know. But it’s okay. Really.”

“Is Jack still awake?” he asked after a moment, glancing toward the hallway that led to their child’s room.

“I don't think so,” Grace replied softly. “They went to bed about an hour ago.”

There it was, a hitch in his breath, almost imperceptible. “They”. Something that still gave Matt pause, something he still wasn’t used to. But right now, as the sixteen-year-old Jack Murdock lay on their bed, eyes closed but every word reached them with perfect clarity, they had a much bigger problem at hand.

Jack’s heartbeat slowed as they listened to their parents' conversation, the confidence that had guided them earlier now turning to a guilt that tightened around them like a vice. Jack could hear the worry in their mother's voice, the unwavering concern she held for Matt’s safety. Jack could also hear the beating of their father’s heart, characteristic of the fury he hid so well from Grace after facing off against the devil.

The face of Eric Michaels, pale and drenched in sweat, flashed in Jack’s mind, and they replayed the way Matt had stood up to them, blind and fearless, unwavering in the alley. It was a cruel twist of fate that Matt Murdock would find that alley, one that Jack should have anticipated after recent happenings. Jack had had no intention of killing the rapist Michaels, but knew they would have left him in a horrible way had it not been for Matt’s intervention. But Jack wasn’t relieved to have been stopped, only frightened at having come face to face with their father while clothed in the night, and frustrated at having let that keep them from their mission.

Grace spoke again, her voice softer now. “Promise me you'll be careful, Matt. I can’t bear to think of you getting hurt.”

"I promise," Matt replied, his tone steady. If, like Jack, Grace would hear his heartbeat, she would have thought it anything but steady.

Content, Jack let their voices fade into the quiet murmur of the city outside. They could still feel the echo of their father's words in the alley, the resolute defiance. If only Matt knew the truth about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

No, it was best he didn’t.

Jack pulled their blanket tighter, letting the city's heartbeat pulse through the walls, and fought to find restful sleep, mind torn between the importance of what they had to do and what it would mean now their father was certainly also on the case.

🔺 🔻 🔺

The afternoon sunlight pierced through the classroom windows, casting long shadows across the floor while simultaneously perfectly finding Jack’s eyeline, partially blinding them. Luckily, Jack's long, dark auburn hair draped over half their face, saving them at least some vision. They sat at their desk in the back, trying to focus on Mr. Higgins' lecture on the Industrial Revolution. Trying and failing.

“... the introduction of steam power fundamentally changed the landscape of manufacturing,” Mr Higgins droned on, pointing to a diagram of a steam engine projected onto the whiteboard.

Mr Higgins was a nice guy, Jack always tried to do their best in his lessons, but today was an impossible case. Still adjusting to this new life, to these new challenges, it was clear they had bitten off more than they could chew. With these new powers, Jack knew they had a responsibility to put some good into the world, to follow the example of Daredevil’s golden years, but did they have to start with chasing down a violent sex offender?

Oh God. Oh God. This was all real. This was life now.

How was anyone meant to balance all of this with being a teenager?

Shoving that bubbling anxiety back into its bottle, Jack doodled absentmindedly in their notebook. But thoughts of the night still lingered. Their father's unwavering stance in the alley, his defiant words, and the terror on Eric Michaels’ face replayed over and over again in their head. How could they focus on the rise of steam power when they had so much unfinished business?

“And don’t forget,” Mr. Higgins continued, “Your essays on technological advancements are due next Monday.”

The bell rang, cutting off the rest of the announcement, and the classroom erupted into a flurry of movement. Mr Higgins wrestled with the class to attempt to assert some kind of order, and dismiss them in an orderly manner, but it was no use. Jack snapped their notebook shut, threw it into their backpack, and made a beeline for the door along with the rest of their peers.

Out in the crowded hallway, Jack weaved through clusters of students, heading toward their locker. They moved swiftly and purposefully, accustomed to avoiding the judgment their hair and clothing often earned them among peers. Ignorant comments flew around the hall, loud and frequent, but Jack worked hard to remember they were just kids. Kids who didn’t understand.

Still, today Jack had other reasons for needing to get out, away from all these people. They stuffed their books into their bag and slammed the locker shut.

“Hey, Jack!” a familiar voice called.

They turned to see Ray Connor hurrying toward them, his lanky frame bobbing through the throng of students. He adjusted his large-framed glasses as he caught up, slightly out of breath.

“Hey, Ray,” Jack replied, quickly painting on an admittedly tired smile.

“Do you think your folks’ll let you stay out tonight?” Ray asked. “I was thinking we could catch a movie or something.”

Ray had been one of their closest friends since elementary school, the first they ever came out to. Well, more accurately, Jack had unloaded everything they were feeling in a messy stream of thoughts, and Ray had suggested looking into ‘genderqueer’ after happening upon it on a video online. In a way - Jack liked to joke - it was a team effort.

The idea of disappearing somewhere with Ray was tempting. Even after last night, after their father's brush with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Jack reckoned they could talk their mom into letting them head out. But there was still the matter of Eric Michaels. There were hundreds of dangerous people out on the streets, but only one that Jack had had the chance to deal with and hadn’t.

Jack glanced at Ray, who was looking at them expectantly. “I don't know. My mom’s been pretty on edge lately. I’m sorry.”

Ray frowned. “Oh, man. She okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Jack replied quickly. “But you know how my mom is.”

Ray nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I get it. Maybe next time?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Jack said, already backing away. “I gotta run. See you tomorrow.”

"See ya!" Ray called as Jack disappeared into the crowd.

The journey home was a blur as Jack marched home with tunnel vision to both check in and dump their things before heading back out. It would have been easier to blow off everything and go see a movie with Ray, to slip into that comforting escape for a few hours. But they couldn't ignore the responsibility they felt gnawing at them, the weight of the mask they had to wear.

When Jack arrived home, the aroma of rosemary and thyme wafted through the penthouse. Grace was in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup on the stove, her brow furrowed in concentration as she added a pinch of salt.

“Hey, kiddo,” she greeted with a warm smile. “How was school?”

Jack dropped their backpack by the door and walked over to the counter, resting their elbows on the cool granite as they slung off their violet hoodie. “It was okay. Where’s Dad?”

“He's out on a case,” Grace replied, turning off the stove and setting her ladle aside. She wiped her hands on her apron and leaned back against the counter, meeting Jack’s curious gaze.

“A case?” Jack frowned. “He hasn’t practised law in years.”

Grace pursed her lips. “He hasn’t, but he felt strongly about this one. A man recently acquitted of rape confessed to the crimes after Daredevil attacked him. Your father seems to think someone needs to step in to make sure the prosecution aren’t running with a ‘coerced confession’,” Grace explained. “The defence could argue he could just be an innocent man scared into admitting to crimes he didn’t do to avoid a beating. Or worse.”

Jack’s stomach twisted. “That guy from the news?”

Grace nodded, her expression softening with concern. She knew how it looked, her husband and Jack’s father heading off to counter a violent criminal’s confession.

“And he’s gonna represent him?” Jack asked, frustration growing. “A monster like that?”

“Well, no,” Grace was quick to interject. “Your father’s a defence attorney, and he believes everyone deserves proper representation, even people like Eric Michaels, but he also has his own principles. He’d let his own views get in the way of a proper defence if he took a case like that, which he’d say isn’t fair to anyone.”

New thoughts swirled in Jack. New regrets. How could they be so stupid? Their dad was absolutely right; any confession Michaels could give now could be chalked up to fear of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen - not of genuine guilt. But what was the plan, anyway? Beat him up and throw him on the steps of the NYPD, hoping for the best?

“Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Grace added, breaking the silence of Jack’s prolonging introspection. “I got off the phone with your dad just before you came in. The guy’s refusing any counsel. He wants to go down for this.”

“Right,” Jack spoke vacantly. ‘Did that make things better?’ they wondered. ‘No,’ they resolved. They knew enough from TV about double jeopardy laws to fear the consequences of a jury failing to convict this monster a second time thanks to a shaky confession.

“Jack, is everything alright?” Grace asked gently. “Do we need to have a proper sit-down about this? We can.”

Jack forced another smile and nodded. “No, it’s fine. I get it. I'm gonna go upstairs for a bit.”

“Okay, dinner will be ready in about an hour,” Grace said, but Jack was already halfway up the stairs.

In their room, Jack sat on the bed and stared at the wall, thoughts churning. Their father's unwavering belief in justice had driven him to jump to the aid of a man like Michaels, while Jack themselves had - in their impulsiveness - only made everything worse.

But in that moment, an urge stirred deep within Jack. An urge that grumbled that the devil shouldn’t care for trials or verdicts - only punishment. As quickly as that impulse had emerged, Jack fought to cage it once more.

No.

That wasn’t who they were.

Then, as guilt set in for even entertaining such a sick thought, a clarity washed over them. These powers they had gained were confusing, slowly developing more and more, gradually revealing themselves, the depths of them unclear. Jack turned and looked themselves up and down in the mirror before staring into their own wide green eyes with an intensity that was, up until recently, reserved for such introspective glares in the mirror.

It was last night that Jack had discovered that by staring closely enough, they could peer into a person’s soul, and their worst lies would reveal themselves. That was how they had gotten on Michaels’ trail. But now, the thought crossed their mind to delve deeper, this time through the windows to the soul to discover darker truths.

They searched their reflected eyes as they often did, reacting to each flicker of light they absorbed, but discovered something new within their depths. Something so horrifying they had to look away.

Jack clenched their fists and took a deep breath. They had work to do.

🔺 🔻 🔺

All the lights went out in the local jail that night.

The faint hum of electricity died away, leaving only a dense silence that settled like fog in the cell block. The thin strip of moonlight filtering through the tiny window of Eric Michaels’ cell door cast sharp shadows on the cold, concrete walls. He sat on the edge of his cot, his heart pounding in his chest as darkness engulfed him. He tried to steady his breath, reminding himself that it was just a blackout, nothing more.

But then he heard it - a faint, almost imperceptible rustling in the shadows.

A chill ran down his spine as he peered into the darkness, his eyes straining to find the source of the sound. He could see nothing beyond the moonlit sliver of the corridor, where a faint mist swirled at the edges of the cold concrete floor.

The rustling grew louder, closer, like the fluttering of wings in the gloom.

Slowly, a shape emerged from the shadows - a figure draped in that instantly recognisable crimson cloth, their yellow eyes gleaming. The devil seemed to slide out of the dark itself, creeping closer.

Eric Michaels scrambled back, flattening himself against the wall, holding his breath. “How the hell did you get in here?” he demanded, his voice trembling.

The devil cocked their head to the side, studying him with those burning eyes. “It doesn’t matter how I got in here,” they intoned, their voice a low growl that seemed to resonate the man’s skull.

The devil raised a clawed hand and, with a flick of their wrist, pinned Eric to the wall with a force that left him gasping for air.

“Please,” Eric whimpered as he struggled against the crushing force. “What more do you want from me?!”

The devil leaned closer, their eyes boring into Eric’s, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still.

Jack Murdock delved deep into the lies etched into Eric’s soul. They sifted through layers of deceit, through the self-justifications and twisted truths that Eric had convinced himself of over the years. They saw it all - the terrorising, the violence, the anguish he had inflicted without remorse for so many years. And then, at the centre of it all, they saw the face of a young girl, her eyes hollow, her smile long gone.

Jack recoiled in disgust, letting up for just a moment before their return, with a fury.

“There’s still one sin resting upon your soul,” they growled, channelling their local priest Father Lantom and the true Devil of Hell’s Kitchen at once. “”You will confess.”

Tears streamed down Michaels’ face. “I can’t… I can’t… Anything but that…”

The devil’s grip tightened, the claws digging into the man’s skin. “Tell the police what I just saw. What you did to your daughter.”

Eric sobbed, shaking his head frantically. “No… I can’t! Deed’s already done… What good would it do now?”

Jack leaned closer, their breath hot against the man’s ear. “The Lord may spare you yet, if you tell them where they can find her body.”

In a cold sweat, Michaels turned his tear-streaked face toward the devil. “H-How do you know that…?”

The devil stepped back, a cruel smile curling beneath their billowing scarf. “The Devil has many names - the one down below. One of them is the ‘Prince of Lies’. I know a man’s worst lies, darkest secrets, just by looking at him, and you, Eric Anton Michaels, are in dire need of confession.”

The man’s lip quivered, and he shook his head in disbelief. “You’re lying… Daredevil’s fast, he’s scary, but he’s no mutant or whatever!”

The devil laughed softly, the sound echoing off the cold, concrete walls. “I am not Daredevil.”

They leaned in close, their glowing eyes piercing into Eric’s very soul.

“I am the devil that lurks in the shadows,” they hissed. “The Darkdevil.”

The claws released their grip, and Eric Michaels crumpled to the floor, gasping and sobbing. He looked up, but the devil had already vanished into the shadows. The lights flickered back on, illuminating Eric as he curled into a foetal position on the cold floor, his sobs echoing down the silent corridor.

The guards found him an hour later, rocking back and forth, muttering confessions of sins long buried.

The next morning, Eric Michaels would lead the police to a small clearing on the outskirts of the city, where they found the shallow grave of his daughter, Emily.

And the Darkdevil watched from the shadows, their eyes still burning with righteous fury.

How did we get here? Return for Darkdevil #2 to find out!

#MarvelNCU proudly presents…

STREETS RUN RED

Issue Six: The New, New York

Story by  u/VoidKiller826, u/Predaplant & u/FrostFireFive

Written by  u/VoidKiller826

Edited by  u/AdamantAce & u/Predaplant

Harlem, New York

It had been three days since the Maggia-Goblin War ended. A war that nearly consumed the entire city in a blaze of fire from the bombings and turned the streets red from the violent clashes between the two groups. A war that was thankfully stopped by the combined efforts of the heroes across the island, along with the NYPD, the Fire Department, the Mutants of M-Town, and the so-called ‘act of God’: the rain shower that came and helped dissipate a raging inferno.

Now that a few days had passed, it was time to rebuild, something NYC had grown used to by now. The people of Harlem came together to help clean their streets of rubble and debris left behind from the destruction. The person at the forefront in the clean-up was Harlem’s native Luke Cage.

With great strength, Luke lifted the burned-down car easily and moved it out of the road. Moving back, he walked toward the waiting long Rand Enterprises truck and placed the car on top of the others, stacking them all together.

“Alright!” Luke shouted at the driver. “Move out and call the next one!”

The driver gave a thumbs up and moved forward, taking the metal husks to the junkyard with the rest. Around him, he heard cheering from the people of Harlem, thanking him for his effort to clean up the neighborhood. But the ex-convict knew the hard work was not yet done.

“Working hard there, Power Man?”

Luke turned to see Danny Rand, wearing a dark green hoodie and brown pants. In his hands were bagels he bought from a nearby stand. He handed one to Luke, who accepted it gracefully.

“Always for Harlem,” Luke took a small piece of the bagel before handing it to a nearby kid who accepted it with a smile. “We got hit hard, from the bombs and the bullets, along with all the guns lying around for some kid to pick up. I can’t just leave it like this.”

The weapons especially had Luke’s attention. The Maggia had military-grade hardware, and now with them all but gone after Hammerhead got arrested over in M-Town, they were ripe for the taking. That was why Luke was slowly filling whole dustbins with scraps of Maggia weaponry he had torn apart with his bare hands.

Danny continued. “Yeah, I just came from Midtown and things were just as bad down there. Lots of burned out buildings Hammerhead used to own, and I heard Hell’s Kitchen got hit hard too.”

“Yeah, I heard that too.” Luke nodded at Danny to follow him, and the duo walked through the streets of Harlem, watching its people working together to clean up their homes, and helping out whenever they needed their skills. “Hopefully the Mayor is serious with this new rebuilding initiative your company and Stark planned out.”

The day after the war, Mayor Jameson made a press conference to announce an emergency initiative helping rebuild a lot of what was lost in the conflict and addressing other issues such as the Flooded District over on the East Side. The ‘Maggia-Goblin War’ - as the media had come to call it - was the wake-up call they needed to start fixing the city.

And with support from Stark Industries and Rand Enterprise, Jameson’s initiative was already picking up steam.

“No need to hope. This initiative is exactly what the city needs,” Danny said, looking to the future. “New York needs more from not just us, but from everyone in the city everywhere, to help bring it back from the brink.”

Luke smiled; even within the short time they had known each other, Danny had become someone he could trust, even call a friend.

“Love the optimism there, Young Dragon.” Out from behind Luke appeared the one and only Tony Stark, wearing a two-piece suit and sunglasses despite the weather being gloomy from the rain. “*That’s* what we need.”

“Stark,” Luke greeted the famous Iron Man. “Nice to see you again so soon.”

“Would’ve been sooner, but I’ve been a bit busy, Power Man,” Tony noted, taking off his sunglasses and sighing. “Between getting Jameson’s ‘New, New York’ off the ground, wearing down Rand’s lawyers and triple checking the inventory for Stark Tower… Not to mention checking in at the hospital for…” He stopped for a moment, realizing they got the picture. “Yeah, I’ve, er, I've been busy.”

Danny chuckled. “Yeah, we’ve all been occupied with the clean-up.” He pointed at his surroundings. “Speaking of busy: You heard from Spider-Man since this all broke out, Stark?”

“I have not,” Tony shook his head. “But you know how he is - when you live two lives, it’s twice as much to put back together after the world gets turned upside down. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Luke kissed his teeth. “I’m hardly holding the one together,” he chuckled to himself. “So what’s next for the Immortal Iron First?”

“Well,” Danny began with a sigh, “With Hammerhead and the Maggia arrested and Hobgoblin disappearing, they left a big void to be filled, probably the biggest since Fisk’s death. So I guess I’ll be keeping an eye on the Golden Tigers and the rest in case they try to make any plays.”

Tony nodded in understanding. “Expect the lines to be ringing off the chain for the Hero Initiative these next few weeks. I mean, you two are full proof that the initiative works as flawlessly as I envisioned it.”

“Not as flawlessly as you think,” Luke noted, helping to push a destroyed car out of the way. “From what I heard, this war had been growing for a while. Even with everyone expecting it to happen, it still burned half the city. What will happen when something we aren’t expecting hits us?”

“I guess we trust us, all of us, in saving the day,” Tony noted, confident as ever. “You two proved that, and I am sure there are others around the city who did the same. We can’t predict the future, we can only be ready for whatever could come next.”

“That reminds me,” Danny called for the others’ attention. “Tony, can you give me more of those pagers?”

“I’ve got plenty spare,” Tony replied. “Why? You fancy yourself a talent scout?”

“Just in case I find new heroes.” Danny noted.

“You thinking of starting a team?” Luke asked.

“Whoa there, stealing my idea now? I worked hard to get a hold of the trademark for the name so watch out!” 

Danny chuckled then turned to the street ahead, seeing the people of Harlem working together in fixing their homes inspired him, as the Iron Fist and as Danny Rand. “I think this city might need… some Defenders.”

The Triskelion

“You defied direct orders.” The cold voice of Deputy Director Maria Hill resonated around the room, her tone ever commanding, ever cold, the kind that would send shivers to even the most hardened agents. She was standing behind her desk, watching the window from her office and into the city ahead, turning to face the standing Agents Clint Barton and Bobbi Morse. “You were told, directly, to not interfere in the proceedings while we assessed the situation. You know it was not under our jurisdiction.”

Clint scoffed, which earned him a cold glare from Hill.

“Furthermore, you not only went there, you also dragged a civilian into a situation where she could have been hurt or worse, a civilian who is the daughter of a very influential family, even if she was someone you helped train,” Hill noted, well aware of Kate Bishop and her history with Clint during his days working as a security guard in their building years ago. “Need I add conspiring with a lawless and murderous vigilante? SHIELD already has enough problems without having to worry about two of our best agents being seen working alongside the likes of Daredevil.”

Bobbi stepped on Clint’s foot when he opened his mouth, stopping him from making any sarcastic comments.

“We get it, Maria,” Bobbi spoke up, stepping forward while silently telling Clint to keep his mouth shut. “Whatever consequences you think best, I’ll accept. And Clint was under my command, so it’s my responsibility. Not his.”

Clint once again tried to speak up, not too happy that Bobbi would take the fall for his choice. He was just as willing to take whatever Hill threw at him, even getting fired.

“That won’t be necessary,” Hill replied, her focus squarely on Bobbi. “Thanks to your stunt, we started looking into the gangs, the Maggia especially, as we came to find out their weapons were provided by someone outside the country. The council are very interested in finding out more about them.” She pointed at some files on the desk “I already requested the NYPD to put Hammerhead under our custody along with sending any Maggia-related cases our way, putting them under a new team dedicated to looking more into their dealings.”

Bobbi furrowed her brow. All SHIELD were interested in was pursuing yet another bad guy, even when the city they were centered in was falling apart around them after the last bad guy they ignored. 

“And New York?” Clint spoke up, never one to keep things to himself even under orders, but this time Bobbi was thankful Clint asked. “They’ll need a lot of help after the city nearly got burned to the ground, and SHIELD’s got plenty of resources.”

“Of course,” Maria said, her glare getting intense when Clint started talking. “I already recommend you two to help Stark and Rand with this ‘New, New York’ project the Mayor is starting. It is not your prime objective, of course. You are to keep your eyes on the Maggia for anything suspicious.”

For the second time, Bobbi stepped on Clint’s foot, a bit harder this time.

“We understand, Deputy Director,” Bobbi said respectfully, trying her best to maintain her composure and not take umbrage at this assignment. “Is there anything else?”

“Just one, and it's for you, Clint. Pull another stunt like that again and I can’t protect you anymore, you understand?” The Deputy Director gave the famed Hawkeye a warning, shooting at him a cold glare, one that irked the archer, but Clint waved it off and headed to the door, with Bobbi following behind him.

“Did you have to step on my foot that hard, Bobbi?” Clint complained as the two agents stepped out of Hill’s office and into the hallway. Stretching his sore foot, he leaned by the steel railing nearby, annoyed by the pain.

“Didn’t want you to piss Maria off even more,” Bobbi said, and the two began walking after Clint finished stomping. “You’re already on her shit list for being a maverick, and you going off on your own to New York just proves her point”

Clint chuckled. “What can I say? I never was one for following instructions.”

“I know, I’ve seen your Ikea furniture,” Bobbi mocked, smiling. “But I am serious. Fury can move mountains at SHIELD, but every time Hill covers for you it puts her in hotter and hotter water. Next time, she’s gonna let us both take the fall if you make things difficult again.”

“You’re fine,” Clint waved his hand, greeting some agents nearby. “She has a soft spot for you, if anything she’ll probably promote you for even bigger assignments.”

“It’s not that,” Bobbi shook her head. “You don’t know how much things are changing at SHIELD. It’s volatile. If Hill can’t keep you on a leash, she’ll lose her position and you can bet they’ll put someone much more severe than her in to replace her.”

Clint shrugged. “More severe than Hill? I don’t buy it.” The archer then pointed at the New York skyline visible from the window. “But you’re right about things changing. If they see a gang war nearly burning New York City to the ground small time, then I am scared of what they consider big time.”

“There’s always a bigger fish,” Bobbi intoned. “But I know I’ll be glad to have SHIELD around when it finally comes blubbing.”

Clint exhaled loudly then spoke, changing the subject. “Since we’re meant to be helping with the rebuild, wanna head to M-Town?”

Bobbi raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think a pair of SHIELD agents sticking their nose in a mutant community is the best.”

“It's not that,” Clint shook his head. “Kate sent me a message before we went to Hill that she and FEAST are setting up some tents around the city as part of this initiative. She’s out in M-Town next and needs a helping hand.”

“Stark, Rand, and FEAST are all throwing in to help the city, and SHIELD is sending two agents.” Bobbi shook her head, finding something wrong with that picture.

“We could call Daisy or Sharon, they should be back from their missions by now.” He shifted a bit, scratching his head as he smiled at Bobbi, it lacked the usual overconfident smile he was known for, instead, more sincere. “Or… it can be just us, I know this one place over in Midtown that shows some old movies. The owner is a friend of mine.”

Bobbi raised her brows. “Are you… asking me out, Barton?”

Clint shrugged, smirking. “That’s for you to guess, Doctor Morse.”

Hell’s Kitchen

The last time Hell’s Kitchen was this quiet was when the news of Wilson Fisk’s death hit the street. It felt like a holiday for some, and a bad omen for others, but for Matt Murdock, it felt like the calm before the storm. He knew that his actions would cause a large power vacuum from the hole the Kingpin of Crime left behind. He had held this city’s criminal underworld under a tight stranglehold, and with him gone, many had wanted to take his throne and his title.

The Maggia-Goblin War was that storm, a firestorm, one that swallowed the city whole, along with everyone in it. The war consumed many lives, many innocents and sinners, Maggia and Goblins, police and firemen, it didn’t discriminate.

But now, thanks to everyone’s effort in stopping Hammerhead and Hobgoblin, the city was, for now, quiet again at last.

He stood on top of the Our Sister of Mercy church, and perched on the cross like a watchful guardian, a guardian devil, making sure that quiet stayed in his home as it began to rebuild. Matt could hear construction workers moving debris into the Stark trucks. He could smell the food being given to the people of Hell’s Kitchen from a FEAST tent that was set up a few blocks from where he was. And he could feel the cold air that came from the rain shower that stopped the fires that almost claimed the city.

Things would eventually go back to normal; new faces would come in to vie for the same prize Hammerhead and Hobgoblin fought for. Hell, now Matt knew that Fisk wasn’t even dead, it was any day now he’d make his grand return himself. Matt had questioned recently how he had been doing this for so long, for decades now. But the answer was clear: because the war never ends. And he had made Fisk a promise, one he intended to make good on.

“Hey, Matt! Where are you?”

Matt didn’t need to guess who was shouting below, he could smell the liquor on her breath. He jumped off the cross and walked down the stairs into the church’s ground floor where Jessica Jones was standing and once again examined the pinboard he had erected with all the names and faces of his targets.

“You’ll need a new murder board now.” Jessica plucked out the picture of Hammerhead. “The big guys are down and out, and whatever is left with the Maggia and the Goblins are just fodder for the cops to arrest or for Punisher to shoot.”

“Not all of them are out of the game,” Matt said, taking Hammerhead’s picture from Jessica’s hand and setting it aside. “There are always new players on the board.”

“Yeah… yeah… players change but the game stays the same, I know,” Jessica snarked, staring at some of the photos before turning to Matt. “I heard you were with Danny over in Chinatown.”

Daredevil nodded at Jessica, picking up a box nearby and setting it near the board. “He got hurt in that fight, so I left him under the care of a friend.”

“You still have those?”

Matt didn’t respond as he picked up a small box nearby, and walked over to the board. “I heard he was running with your old friend, Luke Cage.”

He could sense Jessica’s heart skip when she heard Luke’s name as if shame came down on her. “You met Luke?”

Matt shook his head. “No, and I don’t intend to. I’m still the lawyer that failed to keep him out of prison.”

“We all failed him,” Jessica corrected him, sighing and leaning against a nearby table. “I still think about it every day, you know. How things could have worked out differently after everything with…”

Matt gave her a silent agreement and began taking down the tactile photographs and yarn that were connecting them. The Maggia, the most powerful group in New York, was most certainly done. Hammerhead was their true power, but with his arrest, his family and followers crumbled, leaving them open for any retaliation and even inner conflict after he was exposed for his role in killing his fellow Maggia dons.

And Jessica was right. Matt did need a new crime board. A bigger one.

“Anyway, I came here for this,” Jessica brought out her notebook, opened it and pulled out a thick file she pressed down on one of the pews. “A tip you might wanna look into. A pattern of disappearances across the city, some even further afield. Vanished either without a word, or leaving some out-of-character notes behind.”

Matt nodded. “Kidnappings,” he replied. “But why bring this to me, of all people?”

“Because, my dear Hornhead…” said Jessica as she pulled one of many letters - transcribed into braille - from the file and handed it to him, “They’re all Catholic priests.”

“...Earlier today J. Jonah Jameson announced that the ‘New, New York’ Initiative has begun in earnest with its mission of rebuilding the city. Stark Industries CEO Tony Stark and Rand Enterprises CFO Ward Meachum have agreed to put their full support into the project alongside the Mayor.”

“Next channel please, Ms Shelby.”

Standing in the middle of a darkened room and watching the various monitors mounted on the wall was a man thought by many to be dead, a man who once held the undisputed title as the ruler of the criminal underworld for decades.

Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime, watching the latest news on the events that have transpired in his beloved city from the comfort of his luxurious hideaway within the city.

Seated in front of him was a bespectacled blonde woman who nodded and obliged on the order, clicking on a few keys on her board, it showed another news feed.

“...With the arrest of the criminal known as ‘Hammerhead’, various captains and lieutenants have surrendered in masses following the reveal of the infamous mob boss role in the Purgatory incident that occurred last week. What was thought to be an attack from a rival gang claiming the lives of several Maggia dons was revealed to be, in fact, done on Hammerhead’s orders…”

“Sir,” spoke a servant who appeared in the doorway. “Dinner is served.”

Wilson Fisk nodded, thanking him, and walked into the next room, which sported a ceiling-to-floor mirror that revealed the Manhattan skyline in all of its glory. He happily took a seat at the table and proceeded to watch as his city pieced itself back together, ready for his return.

END