Now
The Black Knight steered the airship over a nearly barren stretch of land in New Mexico. Simon Williams sat beside him. Dane could see the ionic hero glance at him every few minutes out of the corner of his eye. Simon was wringing his hands together, toying with the harness strapping him to the seat. Dane smiled.
"You can stop fidgeting anytime, Simon," Dane said.
"Dane, we stole this vehicle! How do you expect me to relax when we could be wanted felons right now?"
Dane smirked. "Oh, like we never did anything like this while we were on the Avengers."
"That's really not the point, Dane."
"Well, if anything happens, I'll be sure and tell them you had nothing to do with it. You can be my hostage for the day. How does that sound?
"I just don't see why we didn't tell someone we were taking it," Simon said.
"It's really not that big a deal."
"Dane, we're not taking a spin around the block for some fast food. We're flying to New Mexico!"
Dane frowned, tapping the control panel of the airship gently with his index finger. "Actually, now that you mention it, I'm not sure we're actually even in New Mexico. It's been a while since I piloted one of these. I think I messed up the navigation."
Simon sat up rigidly in his seat. "What!?"
Dane chuckled. I'm just kidding, Simon.
Simon glared at Dane. "Not funny, Whitman."
"C'mon, Williams. You gotta learn to lighten up a little. Whatever happened to the guy who traded pranks with the Beast every other day? I know he's hiding in there somewhere."
"I got your lighthearted right here," Simon muttered, flipping Dane the bird. The Black Knight laughed.
"Reign it in, Wonder Boy," Dane said as he guided the airship down towards a small, dusty town below. It seemed so out of place in the barren land surrounding it that Simon blinked his eyes a few times to make sure it was really there. It was. They landed on the outskirts amidst swirls of arid dust.
"We're here."
Before
Eric Williams pressed a bag of ice to his swollen eye and scowled at the men standing before him. He gestured for the lackey who had fetched him the cold compress to disappear. "A simple 'no' would have sufficed, Whitman."
"Yeah, we'll I've never been much on traditional means of communication, Williams," Dane replied with a snarl as an EMT dabbed at his own swollen features. He watched as another EMT zipped the body of Robert Frank into a black plastic bag. The Whizzer was dead, for a second time. "I know you had more to do with this," he gestured to the destruction behind him, "than you're letting on. So spill."
Dane felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned into the face of Wonder Man. "Dane, it was Mephisto that resurrected the Whizzer and Nuklo. The demon walked right up to you and said so."
Dane blinked. "Simon, what--?"
"He's my brother, Dane. Maybe we should just listen to what he has to say. I know he's done things in the past-"
"He hasn't done things," Dane spat. "He's tried to kill us. More times than I can count. There's no way I'm going to sit here and listen to anything this maniac has to say."
"Please. Hold still," the EMT said in a coaxing voice.
"And how about me, Dane?" Bill Foster asked. "Am I included in your bias?"
"Bill…" Dane ran his fingers through his hair. "Look. It's not like that. I just…" He paused, looking at Simon, then Hercules. Speedball was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
He frowned. "What are you even doing here with him, Bill?"
"He's here as a representative of LL Incorporated, Whitman," Eric broke in, before Foster could reply, "And if you hadn't been here that creature-"
"His name was Nuklo, Eric," Simon interrupted.
Eric nodded. "My apologies. Nuklo would have exploded, casting radioactive matter and energy all over the city, killing a countless number of innocent people. The west coast is under siege gentlemen. The days of threats lingering on the east coast are over."
"And that's why the West Coast Avengers were formed, Williams," Dane muttered sourly.
"You can't tell me you honestly believe that. The WCA was spawned from the ego of Iron Man. And you can see for yourself," Eric spread his hands, "that your precious Whackos aren't here. And where are they? I'll tell you where. Battling another menace. Right here on the west coast, in fact. Can't you see? This coast is starved for heroes. A band formed as compensation for the death of my brother isn't enough, Dane."
"Don't," Dane snapped, his ribs flaring, "call me Dane. You never thought to use my first name when you were trying to kill me. Or my friends. Or your brother."
Eric Williams pressed the fingers of his free hand to his temple, as if trying to stave off a headache. "Things have changed, Whitman. Surely you can see that. I approached you legitimately-"
"Without telling me who you were."
"And could you blame me?" Eric said. "Now? After the way you've reacted? If LL Incorporated had approached you, if you had been escorted to my office and found me sitting behind the desk, would you not have attacked me before even allowing me a chance to speak?"
Dane remained silent, and Eric shifted the ice on his eye, purposefully wincing, struggling to press his advantage. "I think the answer is obvious. All I'm asking for, Whitman, is a chance to show you that I am genuine in my intentions. Just accompany me to LL Incorporated, all of you. Let me prove to you that what I have in mind can make a difference. For you, for those hurt today, and for all those I've wronged in the past."
Now
Dane Whitman and Simon Williams walked slowly down the dust-covered streets - if they could be called streets, Simon thought they looked more like especially wide dirt-trails - of the small town recognized only by a posted sign on the border that read: Gallop, New Mexico.
"This is quaint," Simon said as they passed a long-closed dressmaking shop. The windows were broken, the counters of the store covered in the same dusty dirt that covered everything else in town. "If you're a zombie."
"Well, we're not here to sightsee," Dane replied. He kept his eyes open, his senses aware of everything going on around him. The street was mostly abandoned, but he caught glimpses of people peering out of the grimy windows of ramshackle buildings lining the walkway. Some of the denizens of the town sat out in the heat, resting in old, rusty lawn-chairs, and brittle wooden rocking chairs in need of paint. Their eyes were on the strangers, but they kept their faces blank, disinterested.
"I don't think they're impressed with us," Simon whispered.
"Doesn't seem like it," Dane agreed. "But I don't think they get many Action News reports or USA Today's out here in Gallop."
They continued on in silence. Eventually coming to a larger gathering of people huddled in front of a squat, dusty-red building with a glass door. The gathering, they soon realized, was a line of people waiting for admittance. Most of the people there were caked in dirt, their hair disheveled, their clothing ripped. Some stood on the blistering ground barefoot, others with patched-together shoes. A smattering of children played nearby, dancing in circles around blustery whirls of dust swept up by the wind.
Dane looked at the small sign over the door.
Helping Hands
They stepped inside.
It was as sweltering inside the building as it was outside. The place was cramped with warm bodies disbursed in a number of lines strewn in all directions. People were picking up shoes, bundles of clothes, medical supplies, and packages of canned food, pasta, flour, and other edibles in each line. As soon as one of the townspeople collected their package from one line, they'd invariably head to the next. People were also lined against the wall near the entrance, filling out forms on a counter-top before shuffling to whatever line was shortest.
"It looks a little bit like the DMV," Wonder Man said at Dane's shoulder. Dane watched as grateful people took their packages, and stepped back out into the dusty air. Some people were lying in cots in another small room off to his right. He could see that they were sick, and members of Helping Hands rushed back and forth, trying their best to comfort them.
"Yeah, a little I guess," Dane said. His eyes continued to scan the room. But then he felt a tug on his shirt. He turned, and looked down. A little girl was standing there. She had a stuffed bear in her hands, and she held it out to Dane.
"Me compones el osito?"
"I'm sorry," Dane muttered, "I don't understand what-"
"She would like you to fix her bear, Dane Whitman," came a voice from behind him. It was as sweet and warm as honey. Dane peered over his shoulder as Bonita Juarez passed by him and bent down in front of the small child.
"No molestes a este hombre, corazon," Bonita whispered. "Mejor ve y busca a tu mama."
The little girl smiled, she was missing her two front teeth, but Dane could see the beginnings of the replacements growing through her gums. She turned on her heels and darted through the crowd of people, and out of sight.
"What did you tell her?" Dane asked as Bonita straightened.
"That she shouldn't bother you, and to find her mother," Bonita said. "She asks everyone who comes inside to fix her bear for her. Even though there is nothing wrong with it at all."
Bonita looked at Simon and Dane carefully. "But you're not here to repair unfixable bears."
"No, we came to see you, Firebird," Simon said.
"And I'm glad for it. Come," Bonita said, "my office is this way. We-"
"Ms. Jaurez!" came a new voice. Dane and Simon both watched as a teenaged girl slipped through the clustered lines of people on a beeline for Bonita. They both did a double-take. The girl seemed extraordinarily out of place. She was dressed completely in black, her face powdered a shade whiter than her pale skin, enhancing the black lipstick and eyepaint spread over her features. Her hair was short, close-cropped and as ebon as her make-up. "I need to talk with you, Ms. Juarez. I think I'm having another episode."
"Cassie, these are my friends from New York," Bonita replied, ignoring the girl's flailing arms and pleas, and gesturing to the two men beside her. "Dane, Simon, this is Cassie. Cassie has been with us here at Helping Hands for quite some time."
Cassie glanced at Dane and Simon briefly, nodded her acknowledgment of their presence, her piercings through lip and ear jingling as she did, then ran both of her hands through her short, inky black hair. "My body feels like it's on fire, Ms. Juarez. I just feel so sick. And the dreams are worse than ever. I need your help."
Bonita smiled gently at the girl. "Cassie, it is a fever. Like the others. It will pass. Mrs. Rodriguez can give you something for it. The best thing for it is to rest on one of the beds."
"It's different this time. Worse. I feel like there's this blackness growing inside of me. Like something - someone - is making it happen. The man from my dreams. And you always make me feel better, Ms. Juarez. I just-"
"Cassie love, I must speak with these gentlemen. I'll be out to see you shortly. I promise." Bonita gestured for Dane and Simon to enter her makeshift office and they complied. The young girl looked as if betrayed by her best friend, but the firm expression on Bonita's face did not change. Cassie slumped her shoulders, her face one of silent anguish, and padded softly away.
"Shouldn't you maybe help her out?" Simon asked.
Bonita shook her head softly as she entered the office. "It has been like that with Cassie for months now. She's too afraid to go to a hospital. Probably because she's afraid they'll find nothing, and that she'll have to admit that she's not sick at all."
"Then what is it?"
"A cry for attention. Cassie and I have grown quite close since she joined the organization. She came from New York several months ago, where she worked at our main headquarters. I think something happened to her there that caused her to leave, but she hasn't told me what, and I respect her privacy."
"She loves you," Dane blurted as Bonita took a seat behind her small desk. She looked at him. He glanced at his shoes. "What I mean is… these people love you. All of them."
"They love us all," Bonita said with a smile. "We aid as much as we can, and they thank us for it in any way they can. Most of them can only love us in return."
"But they love you most of all," Dane replied. "You can see it in their faces whenever you look at them."
Bonita blushed, her darkened features reddening almost imperceptibly. She was extraordinarily beautiful. "Perhaps. But that's hardly important now, is it? My fellow Avengers have paid me a visit. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Got a proposition for ya, nightingale," Simon beamed. He reached into the satchel he'd laid at his feet and withdrew a stapled bundle of paper. He passed it to Bonita.
She looked at it briefly. "LL Incorporated. You work for this company?"
"Something like that," Dane replied, "and the chairman of the board…"
Firebird scanned the coversheet with her eyes. Blinked. Looked again. "Oh. My."
"It's not as bad as it seems, really," Simon said.
"Bottom line, Bonita. I need people I can rely on in on this. I don't trust Eric Williams any farther than I could chuck him. But I trust Simon. I trust you. I trust Hercules."
Bonita looked up "Hercules is with you?"
"He's not here," Dane replied. "He's back in Los Angeles. Keeping an eye on things until we get back."
"Keeping an eye on what things? What are you involved with here, Dane?"
Dane leaned back, and folded his hands behind his head. "We'll talk once you're done reading. I think you're going to like what you hear…"
Before
Speedball made his apologies to the group, but he had a wedding to attend. Horace Jasper had offered to drive him. Hercules had proclaimed it was a fine idea, they'd said their goodbyes, and off they'd gone. Dane, Simon and Hercules had been offered a different car. A matching limousine to the one Eric Williams and Bill Foster had arrived in. Bill rode with the heroes - Dane had insisted on it - and they spoke respectfully of times past, what everyone had been up to since they'd seen each other last, and of course, the Vision.
Bill didn't mention LL Incorporated once during the ride, but Dane observed his mannerisms closely anyway. He wasn't spitting gratuitous rhetoric, trying to sell them to Eric Williams' way of thinking or anything of the sort. And he talked with them in a calm, relaxed, easy-going manner, like the Bill of old. Dane had been worried that Williams might have brainwashed Foster in some way, but there was no apparent evidence to support his theory.
They arrived in front of the massive building, and they all clambered out of the luxury automobile. Dane found himself staring up again at the towering spire of the building, much as he'd done when he climbed from the limo the previous day, minus the throbbing twitch that was now buzzing in his neck. The complex was as impressive as it had been then. Suspicion began gnawing at his insides again as he remembered it was Eric Williams who owned this building.
"It is a wonder," Hercules said, "that Eric Williams shouldst dwell in such surroundings."
"You read my mind, Herc," Dane replied. "How could the Grim Reaper of all people afford a building like this?"
"He's not the Grim Reaper anymore, Dane," Bill Foster said, the glass doors of the building sliding open as he approached. "I was just as suspicious as you when he first contacted me. But Eric's worked hard to build what he has. LL Incorporated is a legitimate business that does a lot of wonderful work for the community. This offer Eric is making to you three… well, you'll see for yourselves that it's a superb opportunity to do good."
"Yeah, we'll see," Dane muttered. "I'm still kinda shocked to see you here, Bill. You tangled with the Grim Reaper before any of us. Do you honestly believe a man like that can change?"
Bill Foster stopped walking, and the rest of the men were forced to halt their progress through the halls of the building. He turned to face Dane. "The Swordsman, the Vision. Hell, Dane, even Simon standing right there beside you. The Avengers have fought them all. And when you served with them, were there any of them you wouldn't trust with your life?"
Dane felt like a great wad of cotton had blossomed in his throat. He swallowed roughly. "All right, Bill. All right. We'll give him a chance."
Bill nodded. "That's all he asks."
Ten minutes and thirty-nine floors later, they entered a spacious boardroom, and Bill motioned for each of the heroes to take a seat. As they did, a door at the far end of the boardroom opened and Eric Williams paced in. He was holding a fresh compress to his swollen eye. Dane envied him, but he'd be damned if he'd ask for one himself.
"The sun is just beginning to set, gentlemen, so good evening," Eric said. He wheeled his own chair out at the head of the table and sat down heavily. "I'm sure you're all exhausted after your ordeal, so I'll try to make this as brief as possible. I don't think an extended entreaty is necessary. I believe in the adage that actions speak louder than words."
Eric pressed a button hidden from view on the arm of his chair, and a panel slid open on the boardroom table. There was a thin humming sound, and a platform rose up through the void, a trio of metallic spheres roughly the size of volleyballs lined in a row upon it. Williams fingered another button, and the shiny globes lifted into the air.
"What is this, Eric?" Simon asked, but Eric Williams only grinned in response. The three orbs of metal surrounded Hercules. They hovered silently on the air, dancing playfully around the demi-god's head.
"These, Simon, are Mr. Foster's rendition of that wonder of filmmaking: the helicopter cam." Eric depressed yet a third button, and a slot on the metal spheres fell away, revealing the lens of a camera buried within. At the same instant, the far wall of the boardroom parted, and a number of television monitors came into view.
"By my father's blazing eyes," Hercules intoned. "Thou hast images of… me!"
As one, the five men in the room watched the digitized form of Hercules appear on the television screens as the cameras captured his image. Dane took his eyes from the screen and watched the Grim Reaper. Eric Williams seemed thrilled with what was going on, no sign of treachery of deceit in his manner at all.
But Dane was far from convinced.
"What's the point of this, Williams? You trying to corner the market on Avengers' home-movies?"
Eric laughed aloud. "Not quite, Whitman. In fact, I have no use for the Avengers, as it were, at all. I've decided to form my own band of heroes. And I'd like you three to be the founders."
"Thou doth surely jest," Hercules replied, still captivated by his image on the screens.
"I most assuredly do not jest, Hercules. Look at all of you." Eric spread his hands across the room. "You are all interested in what I have to say. I can see it in your eyes. And you, Hercules. You're practically mesmerized by the sight of your own face on the big screen."
"Aye, 'tis pleasing to me, I must admit," Hercules replied. "Thou hast captured the striking features of the Lion of Olympus quite well."
"Imagine then," Eric declared, "how you would feel if your face graced the television sets of every family in America. How it would please you to know your countenance would be viewed, even revered, twenty-four hours of every day."
Hercules, and the rest, finally let their eyes fall from the monitors and looked at Eric Williams. He was smiling warmly, openly. "That is my proposal to you, gentlemen. I wish to put the exploits of superheroes, your exploits, on primetime television."
Now
"You had no right!"
Dane's eyes narrowed as he scowled down at the viewscreen in front of him. He'd had Wonder Man patch him in to LA only a few minutes ago, and although he'd expected something of a reaming from his "employer", he still had to resist the urge to flick the OFF button as Erik Williams fumed.
"I told you I'd be the one recruiting the members of the team, Williams," Dane said. "We agreed-"
"No!" Eric Williams interrupted. "We agreed that you would consult with me before doing any recruiting of any sort. And we never agreed to the unauthorized removal of one of my vehicles." Eric's eyes looked past Dane, scanning the cockpit. "Is Simon there with you?"
"Nope," Dane replied, a loopy, obvious grin on his face.
Eric scowled. "And this contract you had drawn up. Are you insane? It'll take millions to rebuild that dingy little backwater town! And that's without the donation you'd like my company to make to Helping Hands itself."
"C'mon, Reap. I thought you were all about the charity?" Dane smirked.
"I'm beginning to regret making you the team-leader, Whitman."
"Really?" Dane replied, the smile growing on his face. "Because I'm just beginning to enjoy myself."
A stamp of hatred twisted Eric's features. Dane kept his face steady, amiable.
"I'll let you keep your little member," Williams growled, "But don't test me too far, Whitman. You'll regret it." And before Dane could reply, the viewscreen went dark.
"Hmmmmm," Dane mused to himself as he piloted the Champship back towards Los Angeles. "That sounded like a threat."
"I feel terribly about this," Bonita said. "I should not have left."
Simon stopped slathering mustard on the twin halves of rye he was using to make his sandwich long enough to point the butterknife at Firebird. "You're doing the right thing. Those people are going to have their entire town rebuilt. It won't be any New York, but it'll be a hell of a lot better than what they got."
"Yes, but-"
"Buff nuffin'!" Simon said as he chomped into his masterpiece. He swallowed in a great, huge gulp. "Your salary is going to Helpings Hands. You're fighting against public menaces to society. Protecting innocents, righting wrongs… the whole nine yards." Simon smacked his lips. "You sure you don't want me to make you one?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Thank you," Bonita said. "The volunteers were thrilled with the news, weren't they? I wish Cassie had been more enthusiastic."
Simon winced. "Yeah, she didn't seem to thrilled when you packed up your things and climbed aboard."
"Cassie is a complicated girl. A troubled girl. But Helping Hands has been good to her, and she to it. I think she will be all right," Bonita paused, then smiled. "What I cannot believe is that Eric Williams agreed to such a generous proposal."
"Well…" Simon said, gulping down another bite of ham on rye. "Dane had more to do with that than anything else, actually. He's giving my brother a pretty hard time of it now that we're actually going through with this thing."
"Well then I'm glad that he is," Bonita replied. "There is so much pain in this world. And so little charity. Helpings Hands will do wonderful things with the money they've been given. And Gallop won't even have a need for us anymore."
"You mean "them", right? Us is us now, girl. You're with the super-freaks again."
Firebird laughed. "Yes. I suppose so. My days with the Avengers were so short. It will be good to-"
"Nope," Simon said with a grin. "You only got half of it right. We're not the Avengers. Thor runs that ship. And Tony and Hawkeye have a West Coast branch stationed in San Francisco too."
Bonita's brow furrowed. "Then… what?"
The speakers planted overhead crackled as Dane's voice sounded. "Buckle up, folks. We're coming in for a landing."
Before
Before you impulsively reject my offer, allow me to present you with the contracts my offices have drawn up for you, Eric Williams had said, and Dane Whitman had found himself shocked into silence. If nothing else, Eric Williams was one hell of a salesman. I don't require an answer now. Take these back to the accommodations I've provided for you and review them. If you're not satisfied by the terms, I will shred the documents and you'll never hear from me again. But I'll find others, gentlemen. This is too big an idea to go undiscovered for long. I take my leave of you now. I trust you'll make the right decision.
"Thou hast not said much since we departed from our hosts, sir knight," Hercules said, ousting Dane from his thoughts as he flipped idly through the pages of the contract sitting before him. Bags of ice sat perched on his shoulders, and the crude bandages that had been stuck to his face had been replaced with fresh ones. Dane glanced up at the demi-god. He was hunched over his own copy of the document.
Dane frowned. He had already fully scrutinized each line of text, analyzing the document three times in the hour since they'd returned from LL Incorporated.
"Yeah, what gives, Dane?" Simon said, the hotel phone held against his ear. "What are you thinking about?"
Dane rubbed his eyes gently. "I'm thinking that I've read over every bit of this contract, and it actually seems legit."
Simon nodded. "I know what you mean. I've been phoning some of my contacts here in the LAPD. Eric's been busy. LL Incorporated donates to charities, sponsors fundraisers, and there haven't been any complaints of criminal activity since they arrived on the scene."
"So far," Dane said. "Any idea how Eric managed to get the money to start the business in the first place? Bill was less than frank about that."
"Corporate sponsors," Simon replied. "The LAPD was just as suspicious as you, it seems. They had a couple detectives look into it about eight months ago when LL surfaced. That wide an array of commercial contribution naturally made them even more inquisitive, so they started digging, but every sponsor was a legitimate business too. Everyone from Microsoft to Starbucks chipped in."
Dane sat up a little straighter. His back twinged. "But why? Why would all these companies be willing to shell out the big bucks for a known criminal like Eric Williams?"
"The detectives called around, asking that very question," Simon said. "And the universal response from each and every business was… us."
"Us?"
"Yeah. Eric gave the same pitch to those businesses that he gave us. I guess he's been planning this thing for some time now," Simon paused, listening for a moment as someone spoke on the other end of the line. "Thanks, Charlie. I owe you a couple."
Simon hung up the phone. "That's all they got. Eric's been in the broadcasting field from day one. Experimenting with television pilots, trying to sell his ideas. But he's thrown all his chips to the middle of the table with this venture. The R&D for the sphere camera cost him a pretty penny. This is the plan he sold all of his investors on. He's managed to keep LL afloat by sheer grit until now. But if this falls through, he's finished."
"Unbelievable," Dane mumbled. "Instead of having to save ourselves from the Grim Reaper, we're the only ones who can save him." Dane frowned, his thoughts flashing on the Eye in the Sky that had hovered over Hercules. How had Bill Foster, a biochemist, come up with the design? It wasn't his field, and although there were surely other scientists working for Williams, he'd mentioned Foster as the designer behind it. Why would Bill go along if he hadn't done it?
"Aye," Hercules broke in, scattering Dane's thoughts, "unless we refuse his tender, and others of our ilk accept in our stead."
"Not gonna happen, Herc," Dane said. "As much as I hate to admit it, I think we should accept his offer."
Simon gaped at him. "You do?"
"Don't get me wrong. I don't believe this is legitimate, and I don't trust Williams at all. And I have no doubt in my mind that eventually the Grim Reaper will show his pasty-faced true colors, and probably try to kill every one of us."
Simon frowned. "Then why…?"
"Because it's like Herc said," Dane replied, his face grim. "If it's not us, it'll be somebody else. And I can't have that happen. If I'm involved, I can sift through the sand, and hopefully find the scorpion hiding within. And if I have the right people around me, we can stomp on its tail before it has a chance to strike."
"I hath said it before, Dane Whitman," Hercules intoned. "Thou art a most complicated man."
"I'll take that as a compliment, Herc," Dane replied. He looked at Simon. "Get your brother on the phone. If we're going to do this, we're doing it my way. And I'm going to need some more recruits."
Simon picked up the phone. "You think he'll agree to that?"
Dane grinned humorlessly. "He doesn't have a choice."
Now
The Champship stood on its landing gear. Her engines were powered down now, but faint popping sounds emanated from the turbines as they gradually cooled down. Flashes of light strobed on her hull, the hangar was flooded with piercing noise and chaos. And trapped in the middle of it all were five very different individuals assembled together on a makeshift stage that had been erected only an hour before.
Dane Whitman blinked rapidly as the rapid-fire flashes of the press cameras assaulted his eyes. He glanced over at Eric Williams, and made no attempt to hide the displeasure on his face. Eric caught his gaze, and turned to look Dane in the eyes. He smiled, and then approached the bundle of microphones jutting out from the podium.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, distinguished colleagues…"
He paused. Letting the adulation of the masses build to a feverish pitch. Then: "In the months leading up to the end of World War II, a masked man appeared. His was a garb of red, white, and blue. He fought for liberty and justice. He fought for freedom from tyranny and oppression. That man's name was Captain America.
"He stood as a shining beacon of light in a world that had precious few sources of luminescence. America rallied around their larger than life hero, and he became something more. A war hero. A superhero.
"And then Captain America was taken away from the American people. Away from the free world. And the world grew cold with despair for a time. But others filled the void in his stead. A man of iron. A god of thunder. A jade giant. A humble scientist, and his ebullient wife. And these few formed a noble assemblage. One that the world could learn to love and respect and trust. And when Captain America was miraculously resurrected, he did not need to tear the world from the brink of despair. It was already well on the way to being saved.
"But they alone were not enough. Others joined them. And as the world changed, so did their methods and their practices. They were forced to adapt to their surroundings. They were wronged. And as was their nature, they were Avengers.
"But even that was not enough. For the world grew beyond their ability to protect completely. And the trust of the common man is not an easy thing to gain, even harder to hold onto. And that is why I stand here before you today. Not as a supervillain. Not as the Grim Reaper. There was a time when I was that untrusting common man. So untrusting that I lashed out against those that were put here to protect us. But my faith was restored. And I believe that with this endeavor, started here, on this day… that faith can be restored entirely. For every man and woman around the world. And so I give to you, people of America. People watching all around the world…
"…your Champions!" And Erik Williams stepped away from the podium. The others were forced to step forward to fill the void. Williams sauntered next to Dane Whitman, and grinned wickedly. The camera-work intensified, each reporter yelling out a name, fighting for the chance to have their countless questions answered first.
"You surprise me, I surprise you," Eric Williams whispered with a satisfied grin as Dane struggled to peer into the blazing flashbulbs of the cameras. "…I told you you'd regret it."
He clapped Dane on the back, forcing him to the forefront of the group. "Go get 'em, knight."
Epilogue
The giant crater in the middle of the street that had housed the battle between Los Angeles' newfound Champions and the radioactive monster known as Nuklo was still a brilliant, steaming wasteland of melted pavement. The fumes alone kept most of the casual observers, and inquisitive children at a distance. Emergency personnel, held in check by the massive amounts of traffic that clogged the byways of LA, still hadn't been able to put a freeze on the blistering heat that still rose in waves from the gulf.
But if anyone had ventured close enough to hear, the piercing peals of an infant would have struck their ears. And perhaps they would have cried out for help, climbed the barricade, and braved the steamy smoke that rose from the charred chasm before them. But after only a few steps, the remnants of the street would begin to cling to their shoes, pulling them into a sticky embrace with the blackened tar that composed the crater.
But if they had struggled further, they would have seen the source of the immense heat that had not yet fled the hole in the road. For, lying in the middle of a mini-blaze of its own, with rivers of smoke pouring upwards from the bubbling liquid of the burned street, they would have witnessed an infant, naked to the elements, screaming in the dark. And if the flesh of their face were resilient enough to bear the strain, they would have seen a glimmer of light pierce the veil of black, and approach the infant. And if their eyes were sturdy enough, they would have seen the god-like form of a man appear from the light, and stoop down to gather the child in his mighty arms.
But then the god would have turned his eyes upon that sturdy fellow. And then, most assuredly, he would have witnessed nothing more.
Next Issue: Birds of a Feather…
Champion Lovers
Well, Champions is still generating mail, but at a slower pace than our first issue. Not that I'm complaining mind you. Any feedback is good feedback, people. Our single letter this time comes from a man named Chris Munn. Yes, the same Chris Munn who pens Thunderbolts and co-writes Avengers: West Coast here at Marvel 2000. Let's see what Chris has to say.
Dear Champions,
Horace Jaspers rules all! And all those super-heroes are pretty cool too, I guess.
Thank you,
Chris Munn
No, thank YOU, Chris Munn! It's always refreshing to hear good things about a character I pulled from the depths of… nowhere in particular. Horace Jaspers wasn't showcased in this issue, but I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of our elderly limousine driver yet. Stay tuned.
-Mike Exner III
12/06/2003
The Black Knight steered the airship over a nearly barren stretch of land in New Mexico. Simon Williams sat beside him. Dane could see the ionic hero glance at him every few minutes out of the corner of his eye. Simon was wringing his hands together, toying with the harness strapping him to the seat. Dane smiled.
"You can stop fidgeting anytime, Simon," Dane said.
"Dane, we stole this vehicle! How do you expect me to relax when we could be wanted felons right now?"
Dane smirked. "Oh, like we never did anything like this while we were on the Avengers."
"That's really not the point, Dane."
"Well, if anything happens, I'll be sure and tell them you had nothing to do with it. You can be my hostage for the day. How does that sound?
"I just don't see why we didn't tell someone we were taking it," Simon said.
"It's really not that big a deal."
"Dane, we're not taking a spin around the block for some fast food. We're flying to New Mexico!"
Dane frowned, tapping the control panel of the airship gently with his index finger. "Actually, now that you mention it, I'm not sure we're actually even in New Mexico. It's been a while since I piloted one of these. I think I messed up the navigation."
Simon sat up rigidly in his seat. "What!?"
Dane chuckled. I'm just kidding, Simon.
Simon glared at Dane. "Not funny, Whitman."
"C'mon, Williams. You gotta learn to lighten up a little. Whatever happened to the guy who traded pranks with the Beast every other day? I know he's hiding in there somewhere."
"I got your lighthearted right here," Simon muttered, flipping Dane the bird. The Black Knight laughed.
"Reign it in, Wonder Boy," Dane said as he guided the airship down towards a small, dusty town below. It seemed so out of place in the barren land surrounding it that Simon blinked his eyes a few times to make sure it was really there. It was. They landed on the outskirts amidst swirls of arid dust.
"We're here."
Before
Eric Williams pressed a bag of ice to his swollen eye and scowled at the men standing before him. He gestured for the lackey who had fetched him the cold compress to disappear. "A simple 'no' would have sufficed, Whitman."
"Yeah, we'll I've never been much on traditional means of communication, Williams," Dane replied with a snarl as an EMT dabbed at his own swollen features. He watched as another EMT zipped the body of Robert Frank into a black plastic bag. The Whizzer was dead, for a second time. "I know you had more to do with this," he gestured to the destruction behind him, "than you're letting on. So spill."
Dane felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned into the face of Wonder Man. "Dane, it was Mephisto that resurrected the Whizzer and Nuklo. The demon walked right up to you and said so."
Dane blinked. "Simon, what--?"
"He's my brother, Dane. Maybe we should just listen to what he has to say. I know he's done things in the past-"
"He hasn't done things," Dane spat. "He's tried to kill us. More times than I can count. There's no way I'm going to sit here and listen to anything this maniac has to say."
"Please. Hold still," the EMT said in a coaxing voice.
"And how about me, Dane?" Bill Foster asked. "Am I included in your bias?"
"Bill…" Dane ran his fingers through his hair. "Look. It's not like that. I just…" He paused, looking at Simon, then Hercules. Speedball was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
He frowned. "What are you even doing here with him, Bill?"
"He's here as a representative of LL Incorporated, Whitman," Eric broke in, before Foster could reply, "And if you hadn't been here that creature-"
"His name was Nuklo, Eric," Simon interrupted.
Eric nodded. "My apologies. Nuklo would have exploded, casting radioactive matter and energy all over the city, killing a countless number of innocent people. The west coast is under siege gentlemen. The days of threats lingering on the east coast are over."
"And that's why the West Coast Avengers were formed, Williams," Dane muttered sourly.
"You can't tell me you honestly believe that. The WCA was spawned from the ego of Iron Man. And you can see for yourself," Eric spread his hands, "that your precious Whackos aren't here. And where are they? I'll tell you where. Battling another menace. Right here on the west coast, in fact. Can't you see? This coast is starved for heroes. A band formed as compensation for the death of my brother isn't enough, Dane."
"Don't," Dane snapped, his ribs flaring, "call me Dane. You never thought to use my first name when you were trying to kill me. Or my friends. Or your brother."
Eric Williams pressed the fingers of his free hand to his temple, as if trying to stave off a headache. "Things have changed, Whitman. Surely you can see that. I approached you legitimately-"
"Without telling me who you were."
"And could you blame me?" Eric said. "Now? After the way you've reacted? If LL Incorporated had approached you, if you had been escorted to my office and found me sitting behind the desk, would you not have attacked me before even allowing me a chance to speak?"
Dane remained silent, and Eric shifted the ice on his eye, purposefully wincing, struggling to press his advantage. "I think the answer is obvious. All I'm asking for, Whitman, is a chance to show you that I am genuine in my intentions. Just accompany me to LL Incorporated, all of you. Let me prove to you that what I have in mind can make a difference. For you, for those hurt today, and for all those I've wronged in the past."
Now
Dane Whitman and Simon Williams walked slowly down the dust-covered streets - if they could be called streets, Simon thought they looked more like especially wide dirt-trails - of the small town recognized only by a posted sign on the border that read: Gallop, New Mexico.
"This is quaint," Simon said as they passed a long-closed dressmaking shop. The windows were broken, the counters of the store covered in the same dusty dirt that covered everything else in town. "If you're a zombie."
"Well, we're not here to sightsee," Dane replied. He kept his eyes open, his senses aware of everything going on around him. The street was mostly abandoned, but he caught glimpses of people peering out of the grimy windows of ramshackle buildings lining the walkway. Some of the denizens of the town sat out in the heat, resting in old, rusty lawn-chairs, and brittle wooden rocking chairs in need of paint. Their eyes were on the strangers, but they kept their faces blank, disinterested.
"I don't think they're impressed with us," Simon whispered.
"Doesn't seem like it," Dane agreed. "But I don't think they get many Action News reports or USA Today's out here in Gallop."
They continued on in silence. Eventually coming to a larger gathering of people huddled in front of a squat, dusty-red building with a glass door. The gathering, they soon realized, was a line of people waiting for admittance. Most of the people there were caked in dirt, their hair disheveled, their clothing ripped. Some stood on the blistering ground barefoot, others with patched-together shoes. A smattering of children played nearby, dancing in circles around blustery whirls of dust swept up by the wind.
Dane looked at the small sign over the door.
Helping Hands
They stepped inside.
It was as sweltering inside the building as it was outside. The place was cramped with warm bodies disbursed in a number of lines strewn in all directions. People were picking up shoes, bundles of clothes, medical supplies, and packages of canned food, pasta, flour, and other edibles in each line. As soon as one of the townspeople collected their package from one line, they'd invariably head to the next. People were also lined against the wall near the entrance, filling out forms on a counter-top before shuffling to whatever line was shortest.
"It looks a little bit like the DMV," Wonder Man said at Dane's shoulder. Dane watched as grateful people took their packages, and stepped back out into the dusty air. Some people were lying in cots in another small room off to his right. He could see that they were sick, and members of Helping Hands rushed back and forth, trying their best to comfort them.
"Yeah, a little I guess," Dane said. His eyes continued to scan the room. But then he felt a tug on his shirt. He turned, and looked down. A little girl was standing there. She had a stuffed bear in her hands, and she held it out to Dane.
"Me compones el osito?"
"I'm sorry," Dane muttered, "I don't understand what-"
"She would like you to fix her bear, Dane Whitman," came a voice from behind him. It was as sweet and warm as honey. Dane peered over his shoulder as Bonita Juarez passed by him and bent down in front of the small child.
"No molestes a este hombre, corazon," Bonita whispered. "Mejor ve y busca a tu mama."
The little girl smiled, she was missing her two front teeth, but Dane could see the beginnings of the replacements growing through her gums. She turned on her heels and darted through the crowd of people, and out of sight.
"What did you tell her?" Dane asked as Bonita straightened.
"That she shouldn't bother you, and to find her mother," Bonita said. "She asks everyone who comes inside to fix her bear for her. Even though there is nothing wrong with it at all."
Bonita looked at Simon and Dane carefully. "But you're not here to repair unfixable bears."
"No, we came to see you, Firebird," Simon said.
"And I'm glad for it. Come," Bonita said, "my office is this way. We-"
"Ms. Jaurez!" came a new voice. Dane and Simon both watched as a teenaged girl slipped through the clustered lines of people on a beeline for Bonita. They both did a double-take. The girl seemed extraordinarily out of place. She was dressed completely in black, her face powdered a shade whiter than her pale skin, enhancing the black lipstick and eyepaint spread over her features. Her hair was short, close-cropped and as ebon as her make-up. "I need to talk with you, Ms. Juarez. I think I'm having another episode."
"Cassie, these are my friends from New York," Bonita replied, ignoring the girl's flailing arms and pleas, and gesturing to the two men beside her. "Dane, Simon, this is Cassie. Cassie has been with us here at Helping Hands for quite some time."
Cassie glanced at Dane and Simon briefly, nodded her acknowledgment of their presence, her piercings through lip and ear jingling as she did, then ran both of her hands through her short, inky black hair. "My body feels like it's on fire, Ms. Juarez. I just feel so sick. And the dreams are worse than ever. I need your help."
Bonita smiled gently at the girl. "Cassie, it is a fever. Like the others. It will pass. Mrs. Rodriguez can give you something for it. The best thing for it is to rest on one of the beds."
"It's different this time. Worse. I feel like there's this blackness growing inside of me. Like something - someone - is making it happen. The man from my dreams. And you always make me feel better, Ms. Juarez. I just-"
"Cassie love, I must speak with these gentlemen. I'll be out to see you shortly. I promise." Bonita gestured for Dane and Simon to enter her makeshift office and they complied. The young girl looked as if betrayed by her best friend, but the firm expression on Bonita's face did not change. Cassie slumped her shoulders, her face one of silent anguish, and padded softly away.
"Shouldn't you maybe help her out?" Simon asked.
Bonita shook her head softly as she entered the office. "It has been like that with Cassie for months now. She's too afraid to go to a hospital. Probably because she's afraid they'll find nothing, and that she'll have to admit that she's not sick at all."
"Then what is it?"
"A cry for attention. Cassie and I have grown quite close since she joined the organization. She came from New York several months ago, where she worked at our main headquarters. I think something happened to her there that caused her to leave, but she hasn't told me what, and I respect her privacy."
"She loves you," Dane blurted as Bonita took a seat behind her small desk. She looked at him. He glanced at his shoes. "What I mean is… these people love you. All of them."
"They love us all," Bonita said with a smile. "We aid as much as we can, and they thank us for it in any way they can. Most of them can only love us in return."
"But they love you most of all," Dane replied. "You can see it in their faces whenever you look at them."
Bonita blushed, her darkened features reddening almost imperceptibly. She was extraordinarily beautiful. "Perhaps. But that's hardly important now, is it? My fellow Avengers have paid me a visit. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Got a proposition for ya, nightingale," Simon beamed. He reached into the satchel he'd laid at his feet and withdrew a stapled bundle of paper. He passed it to Bonita.
She looked at it briefly. "LL Incorporated. You work for this company?"
"Something like that," Dane replied, "and the chairman of the board…"
Firebird scanned the coversheet with her eyes. Blinked. Looked again. "Oh. My."
"It's not as bad as it seems, really," Simon said.
"Bottom line, Bonita. I need people I can rely on in on this. I don't trust Eric Williams any farther than I could chuck him. But I trust Simon. I trust you. I trust Hercules."
Bonita looked up "Hercules is with you?"
"He's not here," Dane replied. "He's back in Los Angeles. Keeping an eye on things until we get back."
"Keeping an eye on what things? What are you involved with here, Dane?"
Dane leaned back, and folded his hands behind his head. "We'll talk once you're done reading. I think you're going to like what you hear…"
Before
Speedball made his apologies to the group, but he had a wedding to attend. Horace Jasper had offered to drive him. Hercules had proclaimed it was a fine idea, they'd said their goodbyes, and off they'd gone. Dane, Simon and Hercules had been offered a different car. A matching limousine to the one Eric Williams and Bill Foster had arrived in. Bill rode with the heroes - Dane had insisted on it - and they spoke respectfully of times past, what everyone had been up to since they'd seen each other last, and of course, the Vision.
Bill didn't mention LL Incorporated once during the ride, but Dane observed his mannerisms closely anyway. He wasn't spitting gratuitous rhetoric, trying to sell them to Eric Williams' way of thinking or anything of the sort. And he talked with them in a calm, relaxed, easy-going manner, like the Bill of old. Dane had been worried that Williams might have brainwashed Foster in some way, but there was no apparent evidence to support his theory.
They arrived in front of the massive building, and they all clambered out of the luxury automobile. Dane found himself staring up again at the towering spire of the building, much as he'd done when he climbed from the limo the previous day, minus the throbbing twitch that was now buzzing in his neck. The complex was as impressive as it had been then. Suspicion began gnawing at his insides again as he remembered it was Eric Williams who owned this building.
"It is a wonder," Hercules said, "that Eric Williams shouldst dwell in such surroundings."
"You read my mind, Herc," Dane replied. "How could the Grim Reaper of all people afford a building like this?"
"He's not the Grim Reaper anymore, Dane," Bill Foster said, the glass doors of the building sliding open as he approached. "I was just as suspicious as you when he first contacted me. But Eric's worked hard to build what he has. LL Incorporated is a legitimate business that does a lot of wonderful work for the community. This offer Eric is making to you three… well, you'll see for yourselves that it's a superb opportunity to do good."
"Yeah, we'll see," Dane muttered. "I'm still kinda shocked to see you here, Bill. You tangled with the Grim Reaper before any of us. Do you honestly believe a man like that can change?"
Bill Foster stopped walking, and the rest of the men were forced to halt their progress through the halls of the building. He turned to face Dane. "The Swordsman, the Vision. Hell, Dane, even Simon standing right there beside you. The Avengers have fought them all. And when you served with them, were there any of them you wouldn't trust with your life?"
Dane felt like a great wad of cotton had blossomed in his throat. He swallowed roughly. "All right, Bill. All right. We'll give him a chance."
Bill nodded. "That's all he asks."
Ten minutes and thirty-nine floors later, they entered a spacious boardroom, and Bill motioned for each of the heroes to take a seat. As they did, a door at the far end of the boardroom opened and Eric Williams paced in. He was holding a fresh compress to his swollen eye. Dane envied him, but he'd be damned if he'd ask for one himself.
"The sun is just beginning to set, gentlemen, so good evening," Eric said. He wheeled his own chair out at the head of the table and sat down heavily. "I'm sure you're all exhausted after your ordeal, so I'll try to make this as brief as possible. I don't think an extended entreaty is necessary. I believe in the adage that actions speak louder than words."
Eric pressed a button hidden from view on the arm of his chair, and a panel slid open on the boardroom table. There was a thin humming sound, and a platform rose up through the void, a trio of metallic spheres roughly the size of volleyballs lined in a row upon it. Williams fingered another button, and the shiny globes lifted into the air.
"What is this, Eric?" Simon asked, but Eric Williams only grinned in response. The three orbs of metal surrounded Hercules. They hovered silently on the air, dancing playfully around the demi-god's head.
"These, Simon, are Mr. Foster's rendition of that wonder of filmmaking: the helicopter cam." Eric depressed yet a third button, and a slot on the metal spheres fell away, revealing the lens of a camera buried within. At the same instant, the far wall of the boardroom parted, and a number of television monitors came into view.
"By my father's blazing eyes," Hercules intoned. "Thou hast images of… me!"
As one, the five men in the room watched the digitized form of Hercules appear on the television screens as the cameras captured his image. Dane took his eyes from the screen and watched the Grim Reaper. Eric Williams seemed thrilled with what was going on, no sign of treachery of deceit in his manner at all.
But Dane was far from convinced.
"What's the point of this, Williams? You trying to corner the market on Avengers' home-movies?"
Eric laughed aloud. "Not quite, Whitman. In fact, I have no use for the Avengers, as it were, at all. I've decided to form my own band of heroes. And I'd like you three to be the founders."
"Thou doth surely jest," Hercules replied, still captivated by his image on the screens.
"I most assuredly do not jest, Hercules. Look at all of you." Eric spread his hands across the room. "You are all interested in what I have to say. I can see it in your eyes. And you, Hercules. You're practically mesmerized by the sight of your own face on the big screen."
"Aye, 'tis pleasing to me, I must admit," Hercules replied. "Thou hast captured the striking features of the Lion of Olympus quite well."
"Imagine then," Eric declared, "how you would feel if your face graced the television sets of every family in America. How it would please you to know your countenance would be viewed, even revered, twenty-four hours of every day."
Hercules, and the rest, finally let their eyes fall from the monitors and looked at Eric Williams. He was smiling warmly, openly. "That is my proposal to you, gentlemen. I wish to put the exploits of superheroes, your exploits, on primetime television."
Now
"You had no right!"
Dane's eyes narrowed as he scowled down at the viewscreen in front of him. He'd had Wonder Man patch him in to LA only a few minutes ago, and although he'd expected something of a reaming from his "employer", he still had to resist the urge to flick the OFF button as Erik Williams fumed.
"I told you I'd be the one recruiting the members of the team, Williams," Dane said. "We agreed-"
"No!" Eric Williams interrupted. "We agreed that you would consult with me before doing any recruiting of any sort. And we never agreed to the unauthorized removal of one of my vehicles." Eric's eyes looked past Dane, scanning the cockpit. "Is Simon there with you?"
"Nope," Dane replied, a loopy, obvious grin on his face.
Eric scowled. "And this contract you had drawn up. Are you insane? It'll take millions to rebuild that dingy little backwater town! And that's without the donation you'd like my company to make to Helping Hands itself."
"C'mon, Reap. I thought you were all about the charity?" Dane smirked.
"I'm beginning to regret making you the team-leader, Whitman."
"Really?" Dane replied, the smile growing on his face. "Because I'm just beginning to enjoy myself."
A stamp of hatred twisted Eric's features. Dane kept his face steady, amiable.
"I'll let you keep your little member," Williams growled, "But don't test me too far, Whitman. You'll regret it." And before Dane could reply, the viewscreen went dark.
"Hmmmmm," Dane mused to himself as he piloted the Champship back towards Los Angeles. "That sounded like a threat."
"I feel terribly about this," Bonita said. "I should not have left."
Simon stopped slathering mustard on the twin halves of rye he was using to make his sandwich long enough to point the butterknife at Firebird. "You're doing the right thing. Those people are going to have their entire town rebuilt. It won't be any New York, but it'll be a hell of a lot better than what they got."
"Yes, but-"
"Buff nuffin'!" Simon said as he chomped into his masterpiece. He swallowed in a great, huge gulp. "Your salary is going to Helpings Hands. You're fighting against public menaces to society. Protecting innocents, righting wrongs… the whole nine yards." Simon smacked his lips. "You sure you don't want me to make you one?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Thank you," Bonita said. "The volunteers were thrilled with the news, weren't they? I wish Cassie had been more enthusiastic."
Simon winced. "Yeah, she didn't seem to thrilled when you packed up your things and climbed aboard."
"Cassie is a complicated girl. A troubled girl. But Helping Hands has been good to her, and she to it. I think she will be all right," Bonita paused, then smiled. "What I cannot believe is that Eric Williams agreed to such a generous proposal."
"Well…" Simon said, gulping down another bite of ham on rye. "Dane had more to do with that than anything else, actually. He's giving my brother a pretty hard time of it now that we're actually going through with this thing."
"Well then I'm glad that he is," Bonita replied. "There is so much pain in this world. And so little charity. Helpings Hands will do wonderful things with the money they've been given. And Gallop won't even have a need for us anymore."
"You mean "them", right? Us is us now, girl. You're with the super-freaks again."
Firebird laughed. "Yes. I suppose so. My days with the Avengers were so short. It will be good to-"
"Nope," Simon said with a grin. "You only got half of it right. We're not the Avengers. Thor runs that ship. And Tony and Hawkeye have a West Coast branch stationed in San Francisco too."
Bonita's brow furrowed. "Then… what?"
The speakers planted overhead crackled as Dane's voice sounded. "Buckle up, folks. We're coming in for a landing."
Before
Before you impulsively reject my offer, allow me to present you with the contracts my offices have drawn up for you, Eric Williams had said, and Dane Whitman had found himself shocked into silence. If nothing else, Eric Williams was one hell of a salesman. I don't require an answer now. Take these back to the accommodations I've provided for you and review them. If you're not satisfied by the terms, I will shred the documents and you'll never hear from me again. But I'll find others, gentlemen. This is too big an idea to go undiscovered for long. I take my leave of you now. I trust you'll make the right decision.
"Thou hast not said much since we departed from our hosts, sir knight," Hercules said, ousting Dane from his thoughts as he flipped idly through the pages of the contract sitting before him. Bags of ice sat perched on his shoulders, and the crude bandages that had been stuck to his face had been replaced with fresh ones. Dane glanced up at the demi-god. He was hunched over his own copy of the document.
Dane frowned. He had already fully scrutinized each line of text, analyzing the document three times in the hour since they'd returned from LL Incorporated.
"Yeah, what gives, Dane?" Simon said, the hotel phone held against his ear. "What are you thinking about?"
Dane rubbed his eyes gently. "I'm thinking that I've read over every bit of this contract, and it actually seems legit."
Simon nodded. "I know what you mean. I've been phoning some of my contacts here in the LAPD. Eric's been busy. LL Incorporated donates to charities, sponsors fundraisers, and there haven't been any complaints of criminal activity since they arrived on the scene."
"So far," Dane said. "Any idea how Eric managed to get the money to start the business in the first place? Bill was less than frank about that."
"Corporate sponsors," Simon replied. "The LAPD was just as suspicious as you, it seems. They had a couple detectives look into it about eight months ago when LL surfaced. That wide an array of commercial contribution naturally made them even more inquisitive, so they started digging, but every sponsor was a legitimate business too. Everyone from Microsoft to Starbucks chipped in."
Dane sat up a little straighter. His back twinged. "But why? Why would all these companies be willing to shell out the big bucks for a known criminal like Eric Williams?"
"The detectives called around, asking that very question," Simon said. "And the universal response from each and every business was… us."
"Us?"
"Yeah. Eric gave the same pitch to those businesses that he gave us. I guess he's been planning this thing for some time now," Simon paused, listening for a moment as someone spoke on the other end of the line. "Thanks, Charlie. I owe you a couple."
Simon hung up the phone. "That's all they got. Eric's been in the broadcasting field from day one. Experimenting with television pilots, trying to sell his ideas. But he's thrown all his chips to the middle of the table with this venture. The R&D for the sphere camera cost him a pretty penny. This is the plan he sold all of his investors on. He's managed to keep LL afloat by sheer grit until now. But if this falls through, he's finished."
"Unbelievable," Dane mumbled. "Instead of having to save ourselves from the Grim Reaper, we're the only ones who can save him." Dane frowned, his thoughts flashing on the Eye in the Sky that had hovered over Hercules. How had Bill Foster, a biochemist, come up with the design? It wasn't his field, and although there were surely other scientists working for Williams, he'd mentioned Foster as the designer behind it. Why would Bill go along if he hadn't done it?
"Aye," Hercules broke in, scattering Dane's thoughts, "unless we refuse his tender, and others of our ilk accept in our stead."
"Not gonna happen, Herc," Dane said. "As much as I hate to admit it, I think we should accept his offer."
Simon gaped at him. "You do?"
"Don't get me wrong. I don't believe this is legitimate, and I don't trust Williams at all. And I have no doubt in my mind that eventually the Grim Reaper will show his pasty-faced true colors, and probably try to kill every one of us."
Simon frowned. "Then why…?"
"Because it's like Herc said," Dane replied, his face grim. "If it's not us, it'll be somebody else. And I can't have that happen. If I'm involved, I can sift through the sand, and hopefully find the scorpion hiding within. And if I have the right people around me, we can stomp on its tail before it has a chance to strike."
"I hath said it before, Dane Whitman," Hercules intoned. "Thou art a most complicated man."
"I'll take that as a compliment, Herc," Dane replied. He looked at Simon. "Get your brother on the phone. If we're going to do this, we're doing it my way. And I'm going to need some more recruits."
Simon picked up the phone. "You think he'll agree to that?"
Dane grinned humorlessly. "He doesn't have a choice."
Now
The Champship stood on its landing gear. Her engines were powered down now, but faint popping sounds emanated from the turbines as they gradually cooled down. Flashes of light strobed on her hull, the hangar was flooded with piercing noise and chaos. And trapped in the middle of it all were five very different individuals assembled together on a makeshift stage that had been erected only an hour before.
Dane Whitman blinked rapidly as the rapid-fire flashes of the press cameras assaulted his eyes. He glanced over at Eric Williams, and made no attempt to hide the displeasure on his face. Eric caught his gaze, and turned to look Dane in the eyes. He smiled, and then approached the bundle of microphones jutting out from the podium.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, distinguished colleagues…"
He paused. Letting the adulation of the masses build to a feverish pitch. Then: "In the months leading up to the end of World War II, a masked man appeared. His was a garb of red, white, and blue. He fought for liberty and justice. He fought for freedom from tyranny and oppression. That man's name was Captain America.
"He stood as a shining beacon of light in a world that had precious few sources of luminescence. America rallied around their larger than life hero, and he became something more. A war hero. A superhero.
"And then Captain America was taken away from the American people. Away from the free world. And the world grew cold with despair for a time. But others filled the void in his stead. A man of iron. A god of thunder. A jade giant. A humble scientist, and his ebullient wife. And these few formed a noble assemblage. One that the world could learn to love and respect and trust. And when Captain America was miraculously resurrected, he did not need to tear the world from the brink of despair. It was already well on the way to being saved.
"But they alone were not enough. Others joined them. And as the world changed, so did their methods and their practices. They were forced to adapt to their surroundings. They were wronged. And as was their nature, they were Avengers.
"But even that was not enough. For the world grew beyond their ability to protect completely. And the trust of the common man is not an easy thing to gain, even harder to hold onto. And that is why I stand here before you today. Not as a supervillain. Not as the Grim Reaper. There was a time when I was that untrusting common man. So untrusting that I lashed out against those that were put here to protect us. But my faith was restored. And I believe that with this endeavor, started here, on this day… that faith can be restored entirely. For every man and woman around the world. And so I give to you, people of America. People watching all around the world…
"…your Champions!" And Erik Williams stepped away from the podium. The others were forced to step forward to fill the void. Williams sauntered next to Dane Whitman, and grinned wickedly. The camera-work intensified, each reporter yelling out a name, fighting for the chance to have their countless questions answered first.
"You surprise me, I surprise you," Eric Williams whispered with a satisfied grin as Dane struggled to peer into the blazing flashbulbs of the cameras. "…I told you you'd regret it."
He clapped Dane on the back, forcing him to the forefront of the group. "Go get 'em, knight."
Epilogue
The giant crater in the middle of the street that had housed the battle between Los Angeles' newfound Champions and the radioactive monster known as Nuklo was still a brilliant, steaming wasteland of melted pavement. The fumes alone kept most of the casual observers, and inquisitive children at a distance. Emergency personnel, held in check by the massive amounts of traffic that clogged the byways of LA, still hadn't been able to put a freeze on the blistering heat that still rose in waves from the gulf.
But if anyone had ventured close enough to hear, the piercing peals of an infant would have struck their ears. And perhaps they would have cried out for help, climbed the barricade, and braved the steamy smoke that rose from the charred chasm before them. But after only a few steps, the remnants of the street would begin to cling to their shoes, pulling them into a sticky embrace with the blackened tar that composed the crater.
But if they had struggled further, they would have seen the source of the immense heat that had not yet fled the hole in the road. For, lying in the middle of a mini-blaze of its own, with rivers of smoke pouring upwards from the bubbling liquid of the burned street, they would have witnessed an infant, naked to the elements, screaming in the dark. And if the flesh of their face were resilient enough to bear the strain, they would have seen a glimmer of light pierce the veil of black, and approach the infant. And if their eyes were sturdy enough, they would have seen the god-like form of a man appear from the light, and stoop down to gather the child in his mighty arms.
But then the god would have turned his eyes upon that sturdy fellow. And then, most assuredly, he would have witnessed nothing more.
Next Issue: Birds of a Feather…
Champion Lovers
Well, Champions is still generating mail, but at a slower pace than our first issue. Not that I'm complaining mind you. Any feedback is good feedback, people. Our single letter this time comes from a man named Chris Munn. Yes, the same Chris Munn who pens Thunderbolts and co-writes Avengers: West Coast here at Marvel 2000. Let's see what Chris has to say.
Dear Champions,
Horace Jaspers rules all! And all those super-heroes are pretty cool too, I guess.
Thank you,
Chris Munn
No, thank YOU, Chris Munn! It's always refreshing to hear good things about a character I pulled from the depths of… nowhere in particular. Horace Jaspers wasn't showcased in this issue, but I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of our elderly limousine driver yet. Stay tuned.
-Mike Exner III
12/06/2003