Issue #8 (Dec 2018) Written by Jake Hawkins Featuring:
Black Panther
Killmonger
Storm
YEARS AGO DEEP IN THE ALKAMA FIELDS
A young T’Challa sprinted through the tall grass, dressed in the all-white uniform of the Hatut Zeraze. He stopped on a dime and rolled just as a spear came flying in his direction. He raised his head to see his father stalking towards him, his cloak billowing in the light breeze. T’Challa smiled underneath his mask, he was ready for this opportunity. He had studied his elder brother’s every move during combat training, soaked in every opportunity to pick the brain of the wise teacher Changamire his mother had been so kind to introduce him to. This was his moment to show his father his work had been put to good use, a moment he would not waste. T’Challa clenched his fist, and four of the energy daggers he had spent the last few nights creating appeared between each finger. He prepared to attack, but now his father was nowhere to be seen, vanishing in the sliver of a moment T’Challa had looked away.
He cursed under his breath, thankful Ramonda wasn’t here to admonish him for his language as he searched for his father’s whereabouts. A slight shift in the wind around T’Challa gave him just enough time to turn his head as King T’Chaka pounced on to his son, pinning his arm behind him and shoving him face first into the dirt.
An hour later they sat on the shores of Birnin Zana, watching the sun set on Necropolis. T’Chaka’s helmet sat between them as he beamed proudly at his son. “You could have had me, if you hadn’t spent so much time obsessing over your every move.”
T’Challa hung his head, clearly dejected he couldn’t best his father in their hunt. T’Chaka comforted his son, placing a hand on the back of his head as he stared out at what he considered was the most beautiful view one could have the privilege of seeing. “Do not take my words as criticism my son. Your mind is a gift to this world, something unlike any of the great kings that came before our time had. Like any tool, it is to be honed. That will come.”
T’Challa raised his head to soak in the view. “Baba, do you ever grow weary of it? The crown.” T’Challa asked a question his father wasn’t quite expecting, but one he shouldn’t have been surprised by. T’Challa had his mother N’Yami’s inquisitive nature, and it was a nature that had helped mold his son into the bright young man before him.
“I always wondered the same, when I watched your grandfather sit on the throne. I wondered how a man could walk through life with such burdens on his shoulders, and yet never sagged from the weight. You must forgive me, I am not the man your grandfather was.” T’Chaka admitted as he managed a smile, a thousand regrets running through his mind as he stared upon the face of his son. “I learned to see the throne and Wakanda as more than just a duty that was passed into my lap, but to view it as what it truly is, what it was built to be.”
“What is that, Baba?”
“It’s everything the people need it to be my son. It can be a sanctuary, it can be a place that gifts opportunities that cannot be found anywhere else in the world. Wakanda has and always will be its people, and we are a part of the people, no matter what perch we view things from. When I am feeling the weight straining against me, I know that I can endure, as I have the lifeblood and strength of my people flowing through me, and it is because of them I will do my duty to protect horizons such as this one.” T’Chaka stood up as he finished his sentence, gesturing for his son to follow him back to the palace.
YEARS LATER THE GOLDEN PALACE
T’Challa stood in the main lab, watching as the table Erik Kilmonger was shackled to rose into an upright position. The two of them glared at one another, their hatred permeating the room.
“I wanted to talk to you, before they begin,” T’Challa admitted as he stared at N’Jadaka, not breaking his gaze from Kilmonger’s bruised and swollen face, “I wanted you to know that I wish there was another way I could keep you away from my people.”
“Are they your people, orphan king? What have you truly given for Wakanda?” Kilmonger spat back as he grimaced through the pain he was enduring. T’Challa’s chief scientist began attaching various wires to Kilmonger’s head. “You have treated your birthright as nothing more than a means to serve the world, not your people and not your country. And you vilify me, one who has given his body and mind to raise Wakanda from its past and into the prominence it so richly deserves, for nothing more than to feed your ego.”
“You speak of egos and yet you are willing to destroy anything in your path, wipe out whoever may disagree with your methods to prove your insane theories have some sort of substance. You are nothing more than a man, wishing he could play king. Because of your personalized brand of insanity, and my leniency, too many people have suffered. I’ve come to the uneasy conclusion that I cannot continue to allow my country to be a pawn in your self-righteous crusades. But neither can I bring myself to kill a son of Wakanda.” T’Challa responded calmly.
“You lack the temerity your predecessors had orphan king. Bashinga, Azzuri, L’Okali, they all would have slit my throat long ago. But you, you’re too busy playing the hero to ever truly do what is necessary. Too busy shucking and playing mammy next to Captain America and Tony Stark to do what your people need. No, you’ll let them die in the name of your vanity.” Kilmonger taunted T’Challa, his eyes crazed with a bloodlust the king had never seen before in any creature.
“It must be driving you mad. The very idea that nothing you have promised your followers, or yourself will come to fruition.” T’Challa responded blankly before turning to leave the room.
“How long will you stifle our people? How long will you allow Wakanda to languish and let the world see us as their equals, their allies? Mark this day orphan king, your soft heart will be the downfall of yourself and all the things you hold close to you.” Kilmonger sneered. “And on that day, I will gladly do you the courtesy of ending your life.”
T’Challa gave the go ahead to one of the lab techs waiting to turn on the mechanism Kilmonger was hooked in to with a simple nod. He turned and left the room as N’Jadaka’s writhed with pain, thrashing against his shackles as the machine purged his mind of any semblance of the man he was.
TOKYO, JAPAN NOW
Ororo and T’Challa took a seat in a booth as a waiter brought them a pair of menus. Ororo ordered them both a few different sushi rolls in perfect Japanese, much to T’Challa’s surprise.
“I didn’t know you were learning Japanese.” T’Challa said as he took a sip of his drink and studied the room. As much as he wished this moment could be nothing more than the two of them making up for far too much lost time, they were here for something severely less comforting.
“Logan has been teaching me in his spare time.” Ororo told him as she caught the slightly sour expression on T’Challa’s face at the mention of the man known as Wolverine’s name. “Please T’Challa, we are both adults. Let us not pretend that I don’t know how busy you’ve been since we last saw each other. I hear you were spending quite a lot of free time in Hell’s Kitchen. How is Colleen?”
“The waitress, was she helpful?” T’Challa asked as he glanced in the direction of their server, doing his best to brush aside the question posed to him. Despite everything he knew was to come, he couldn’t have been happier having Ororo sitting across from him, knowing she was willing to be by his side once again as he stood on the cusp of a battle that could very well be his last.
“I told her you were an American businessman looking to buy a stake in the restaurant should the meal be impressive enough.” Ororo answered, shooting him a sly look and allowing him to avoid her previous question. “I’m surprised she’s here given her husband’s current situation.”
“Sometimes the best cure to heartache is a busy mind. If I hadn’t been so determined to travel the world after my father died, I wouldn’t have met you.” T’Challa told her as he took her hand in his. Ororo’s eyes cut back over to the front of the restaurant where she saw the general manager exiting her office next to the front counter. The waitress and her boss both glanced at their table as they spoke to each other. T’Challa narrowed his focus, using his incredible eyesight to lipread the conversation.
“She’s taken the bait, she’ll be heading over to talk to us momentarily.” T’Challa said with raised eyebrows before turning back to Ororo.
“What’s bothering you?” Ororo asked, easily picking up on the look T’Challa had plastered on his face. It was the very same one he had when she first saw him, the look he wore when his mind was working so furiously it seemed he was trying to solve every one of the world’s problems at once.
“She didn’t believe her initially. She took one look at us and was very skeptical we could pay for our meal much less be wealthy.” T’Challa answered, clearly bothered by the assumption placed on them. “I suppose I wore my favorite dashiki for nothing.” He smoothed his royal purple and gold dashiki and shook back his sleeve, revealing his kimoyo band.
“People think that America is the only place where prejudice resides, and it couldn’t be farther from the truth. It’s just the place where it’s most flagrant, most on display. But anti-blackness is a worldwide epidemic. It always has been.” Ororo stated flatly, her soul heavy as she considered the many forms of hatred she had endured throughout her life. “Being a mutant and a black woman is a battle on two fronts for me, and neither is one I should have to wage.”
“I remember talking to S’Yan right before I chose to join the Avengers. I told him I never quite understood how Wakanda had stood idle while so many tragedies happened to countries on the very same continent. He explained to me that due to the treatment of people who look like us, Wakanda felt the need to consider themselves unlike any others. The brutality around us gave credence to the staunch policy of keeping to ourselves. I remember reading about Magneto when he first appeared, or watching footage of when the Hulk first rampaged across the country and knew that I couldn’t stomach to rule the way my predecessors had.” T’Challa explained, revealing to Ororo a story he hadn’t told anyone before. He knew she would understand him better than anyone else would, she had watched him in conflict with his duties since the day she met him.
“I know you feel responsible for Ramonda, for Namor’s attack, but we both know she was prouder of you than I’d imagine even your father would be at the man you have become. Aneka’s words weigh heavily on you, but the world needs the extraordinary man you are just as much as Wakanda does.” Ororo leaned across the table and planted a quick kiss on T’Challa just as the sushi bar’s owner and manager approached them.
*TRANSLATED FROM JAPANESE
“*I’ve been informed you have interest in the restaurant. While I appreciate and am flattered by this, I am afraid I wouldn’t be able to discuss any sort of partnership or controlling interest for the foreseeable future.” The women explained once she reached their table.
“*That is disappointing news. I have heard nothing but wonderful things about this establishment. May I ask why?” T’Challa responded in fluent Japanese, surprising the owner who was expecting Ororo to be the one to answer.
“My husband, who co-owns the property is currently hospitalized. I wouldn’t be very comfortable discussing that sort of business without his input on the matter.” She responded with a weak smile as their waitress brought T’Challa and Ororo their drinks.
* “I’m sorry to hear that. If it isn’t too bold to ask, what happened to him Mrs...?” Ororo began.
“Gedo. Itsumi Gedo. He was in a car accident yesterday-”
“Do not lie to the sky witch. She deserves to know what brutality awaits her now that she was foolish enough to follow T’Challa into an early grave.” A man in his early twenties commanded from a table behind Itsumi. “This is the way you decide to chase after me T’Challa? I’m...disappointed.” The man’s eyes were a strange shade of green and black, his voice a gargling churn that sounded as if it wasn’t quite his own.
“I see you’ve welcomed the street urchin back into the palace. I am not surprised. You’ve always found a way to disgrace your crown and yourself in unique ways.” The waitress chimed in, her eyes the same strange mash of colors.
Suddenly everyone in the restaurant stood up and turned their attention towards the booth T’Challa and the mutant known as Storm sat at. Mrs. Gedo face turned a staunch white as she realized the signs of a threat her husband had warned her about decades ago. She suddenly felt very dizzy and began to struggle to stay on her feet. She stumbled as she took a step away from the waitress, Ororo catching her before she could fall.
“How are you doing this, Erik?” T’Challa said as he stood up, his eyes scanning the room as the kitchen staff joined the throng of civilians under Kilmonger’s control.
“The will of the beast has granted me many gifts, some of which I am still growing accustomed to. Gifts even I never considered feasible.” An elderly woman on Storm’s left boasted as she grabbed a knife off a nearby table and crept towards them.
Outside the sushi bar, a pair of black limos screeched to a halt out front. Twelve men in black suits with matching ties exited the vehicles, members of the Yakuza now under the command of the Hand, each of them armed. A bear of a man exited the first limo last, reaching back inside to grab a Steyr AUG and loading a banana clip into the weapon before following the rest of the crew towards the building.
“Unfortunately, I won’t be able to fulfill a promise I made to you orphan king, but your death will be one that marks the end of days for all god’s creations. When the will and chaos of the beast spreads like a cleansing plague across this country and so many more, your corpse will be the very first on display as a warning to those who would consider standing against me.” One of the cook’s boasted as he pushed through the crowd towards T’Challa, a meat cleaver gripped in his hand.
“Ororo, please do your best to hurt them as little as possible.” T’Challa whispered through gritted teeth. Ororo lowered the faint Mrs. Gedo into the booth behind them and turned towards the crowd, her eyes turning a staunch white.
“Make sure you take your own advice, King T’Challa.” She responded with a smirk. A thick fog began to develop in the room, and the nanites in T’Challa’s kimoyo band went to work as his suit began to cover his body. The civilian's charged, and the panther sprang into action. His vibranium soled boots allowed him to move silently through the shroud conjured by Storm. T’Challa dropped seven people with a flurry of chops and nerve strikes, doing all he could to minimize the damage done to their impromptu opponents. It wasn’t their fault they were caught in the middle of a feud that had caused far too much collateral damage already, T’Challa concluded.
One of the waiter’s grabbed a fork and lunged towards Mrs. Gedo, an expression of pure ferocity etched on his face as he attacked. Before he could reach her, a powerful gust swooped him into its current, sending him crashing with incredible speed through the wall behind the booth Mrs. Gedo was huddled in. Storm cleared the fog slightly as T’Challa surveyed the room, the floor littered with unconscious bodies.
“He’s got us running in circles already. Using all these people as nothing more than cannon fodder and we’re not a single step closer to discovering his location.” T’Challa barked, his frustration bubbling to the surface.
“You should be concerned with making it out of this country alive, foreigner.” A member of the Yakuza advised as they filed into the room, the large man entering last. “You’re already too late, the Hand rule this country now in more ways than one.”
“Ororo, get Mrs. Gedo to safety.” T’Challa instructed as his hands tightened into fist. Ororo hesitated, extremely reluctant to leave him alone before finally relenting, realizing Mrs. Gedo’s safety was the higher priority. She helped the woman to her feet and the two of them crept towards the exit while T’Challa prepared to do battle with the Yakuza members.
The hands of his gloved began to glow a soft blue as the Yakuza members unloaded their weapons at the Wakandan king, bullets bouncing off his suit as their kinetic energy was absorbed. He snatched a gun from one of his adversary’s, unloading the kinetic energy in his suit as he delivered a kick to the thug’s gut. The force sent him crashing across the dining area, wrecking several tables in his path.
Another Yakuza rushed T’Challa from behind, sword in hand as he swung a blow aimed at the panther’s torso. T’Challa caught the blade with ease as another attacker approached from the front. He tossed the end of the shattered blade into the chest of the man in front of him, dropping him as it pierced his heart. He turned with speed unlike anything the Yakuza firing squad had ever seen and placed his open palm on the face of the thug behind him. A massive rush of air pressure shot from T’Challa’s glove, slamming the Yakuza member through the floor with such force several bones could be heard breaking. T’Challa stood up, facing the remaining members while generating an energy spear in his left hand.
“You’ve been sent here to do a job. Don’t shrink away now that you’ve found the task impossible.” T’Challa’s mask slipped away as he showed his face to the rest of the men in the room. “You can leave with your lives and bury your pride. Or I can bury you here. It doesn’t matter in the slightest to me.”
The largest in the group pushed past the frightened Yakuza and immediately began to unload his rifle at T’Challa, whose mask formed over him once again as the bullets rained upon him. T’Challa lunged at the man, burying his spear in his sternum before snatching the AUG away from him and tossing it at the back of the head of one of the now retreating Yakuza thugs.
The massive Yakuza member struggled back to his feet, blood dripping from the wound inflicted by T’Challa. He charged the panther, but the king of Wakanda leaped over him, causing him to crash full force into the last thug unable to escape T’Challa’s onslaught. The bear of a man stumbled back to his feet, realizing his error and more determined than ever to put T’Challa down. Before he could turn and engage the king once more, T’Challa was on top of him. With blinding quickness T’Challa jammed a pair of energy daggers directly into the back of the man’s skull, and he slunk to the floor as blood seeped from his wounds.
The young man left in the room with T’Challa was frozen with fear, unable to move as the panther approached him. Ororo rushed back in to the room as T’Challa pulled him to his feet, his mask once again fading away.
“*Kilmonger. You will tell me where he is, or I will cut off your head. This is not a threat, this is a promise I will not hesitate to follow through on.” T’Challa told him as his hands gripped tight around the young man’s throat, his voice a low rumble.
Storm placed a hand on the king’s shoulder, and T’Challa read the look upon her face. “He is just a boy. Not much older than I was when you saw me picking every pocket in sight.” She reminded him, which caused him to relax his grip slightly before turning back to the Yakuza member he had at his mercy.
“*We’ve never seen him, the guy running the Hand now! I swear we just got a call from the Viper and she told us to take out Gedo and the rest of his family. We were just supposed to be sending a message to anyone else against the Hand. You weren’t even supposed to be here.” The young man managed to gasp out, and T’Challa finally dropped him.
“*Do not let me ever see your face again boy.” T’Challa threatened as the man scurried out of the wrecked sushi shop.
“They're going after Gedo’s family, but why? The man is barely clinging to life.” Ororo lamented as she and T’Challa recovered from their battle, T’Challa’s suit beginning to fade away.
“N’Jadaka is trying to keep me busy while also doing what he does best, putting on a show. This was nothing but a demonstration of the power he now controls. We need to contact Shuri and see if she’s located the hospital Liu Gedo is in. Let’s get back to the embassy.” The pair of them began to exit the restaurant, stepping over and past the pile of bodies littering the room.
“Mrs. Gedo is safe, I put her in a cab. She’s headed for her sister’s in Nara.” Ororo informed him, much to T’Challa’s relief. Just as they reached the door, they are engulfed in a swirling orange mass of energy, much to their mutual confusion. Seconds later they are dropped roughly on to the ground, miles away from the sushi bar.
T’Challa and Ororo got to their feet and took in their surroundings, finding themselves in the middle of a construction site. T’Challa picked up an unfamiliar scent and began to scan for its source, his costume once again starting to cover his body. Another mass of energy formed in front of the pair as the young man known as Eden emerged from it, a spear in his hand. He took a deep breath, his regret for what was about to come next weighing heavily on him. Still, he knew that the time for choices were long past. He was a weapon of the Hand, and he would do his duty.