"Take a look, gentlemen. Take a look, and be very frightened."
The clandestine group of men that sat around the circular oak table kept silent through the slide-show. The tall figure in the jet-black suit and sunglasses controlled the projector, speaking ominously as he clicked through the images. His voice, which one of the men was sure sounded like sandpaper rubbing across wood, echoed off the walls of the large room.
"Extra-normal criminals," the man continued, clicking through mug shots of costumed fugitives, "so far we have fifteen in total. All missing under unknown circumstances."
"What are the witnessed ramifications?" one of the group asked sternly.
"Costumed criminal acts are down thirty-five percent this month, with the obvious exclusion on the mutant front. Those fuckers multiply like rabbits. The so-called 'scientific-branch' of the criminal element has witnessed significant drops in every major city. Something is happening, gentlemen. Something bad."
"We need scenarios, Agent Crass," another of the group members spoke up, "we need contingency plans."
"We've formulated two possible scenarios to explain the drop in percentiles, gentlemen," Crass answered, clicking to yet another slide, "the first concerning this man."
"Impossible," the first group member to speak stated immediately after seeing the photo on the slide, "he's dead."
"The photo you see there," the standing agent stated in the same monotone voice he'd carried throughout the meeting, "was taken one week ago, at a bank in downtown New York City. The costumed criminal there, the one with his brains splattered all over the concrete floor, went by the name Eightball. As you all assuredly know, the man in the black suit that's standing above him...that's the Scourge."
"Fucking Hell!" The man that sat at the head of the table, who had kept silent until then, slammed his fist down on the table furiously. "I thought we'd taken this guy out of the equation years ago? Why is the bastard active again?"
"We don't know," Crass replied, clicking over to another slide, "and though it is possible that the disappearance of super-villains is due to his meddling, there is another scenario. Does everybody remember this scene, on the same night as the Scourge's little bank show?" The slide was from a local newspaper, taken of the damage done to several downtown NYC buildings. "The evidence strongly points this event toward the actions of three known criminals. Erik Josten, Donald Gill, and Frederick Myers were all identified by witnesses. I believe you gentlemen know them better as Goliath, Blizzard, and Boomerang, respectively. While the first one has fluctuated from criminal to supposed "hero" over the years, the other two are known employees of Justin Hammer."
"Get to the point, Agent Crass."
"The point, sir, is that Hammer is part of our key demographic. Apparently, the man has been swallowing super-villains like nobody's business, tracking down various independent agents over the past two weeks and having meetings with them. According to our source, the criminals haven't been seen again."
"I see," the man at the head of the table said, "he's monopolizing. Oh, we can't be having that now, can we?"
"We have a mole on the inside, one that's in direct contact with myself on a weekly basis," Crass stated, flicking the room's light switch to the "on" position, "one that has no choice but to comply to our orders."
"We tried this once before, Agent Crass," one of the other men stated, "with the Beetle, remember? That blew up in our faces rather nicely when he went AWOL with the Thunderbolts."
"Yes, that was rather unfortunate," Crass stated as he turned the slide projector off, "but steps have been taken to rectify that. We also have hopes that our rogue agent problem will be taken care of in the same fell swoop."
"I want you to make this your personal mission in life, Agent Crass," the leader of the group commanded, clasping his hands together in a form of mock prayer, "you will eat, breathe, and shit nothing that does not pertain to this. Do you understand me?"
"Of course, Director Warton," Crass responded as he finished gathering his things. The agent said nothing else as he made his way to the other side of the room, promptly exiting the meeting. Warton relaxed in his leather chair, his mind milling over the information that had been presented to him.
"Sir, if I may be so blunt," another one of the officials said, "I have to question Crass' involvement in this. The man's a sadist, with no moral background whatsoever. He ate my bagel at breakfast this morning, and then took a piss in my coffee."
"You miss the point, then," Emil Warton said with a smile, "because that's exactly the type of man the Commission for Superhuman Activities is looking for."
The clandestine group of men that sat around the circular oak table kept silent through the slide-show. The tall figure in the jet-black suit and sunglasses controlled the projector, speaking ominously as he clicked through the images. His voice, which one of the men was sure sounded like sandpaper rubbing across wood, echoed off the walls of the large room.
"Extra-normal criminals," the man continued, clicking through mug shots of costumed fugitives, "so far we have fifteen in total. All missing under unknown circumstances."
"What are the witnessed ramifications?" one of the group asked sternly.
"Costumed criminal acts are down thirty-five percent this month, with the obvious exclusion on the mutant front. Those fuckers multiply like rabbits. The so-called 'scientific-branch' of the criminal element has witnessed significant drops in every major city. Something is happening, gentlemen. Something bad."
"We need scenarios, Agent Crass," another of the group members spoke up, "we need contingency plans."
"We've formulated two possible scenarios to explain the drop in percentiles, gentlemen," Crass answered, clicking to yet another slide, "the first concerning this man."
"Impossible," the first group member to speak stated immediately after seeing the photo on the slide, "he's dead."
"The photo you see there," the standing agent stated in the same monotone voice he'd carried throughout the meeting, "was taken one week ago, at a bank in downtown New York City. The costumed criminal there, the one with his brains splattered all over the concrete floor, went by the name Eightball. As you all assuredly know, the man in the black suit that's standing above him...that's the Scourge."
"Fucking Hell!" The man that sat at the head of the table, who had kept silent until then, slammed his fist down on the table furiously. "I thought we'd taken this guy out of the equation years ago? Why is the bastard active again?"
"We don't know," Crass replied, clicking over to another slide, "and though it is possible that the disappearance of super-villains is due to his meddling, there is another scenario. Does everybody remember this scene, on the same night as the Scourge's little bank show?" The slide was from a local newspaper, taken of the damage done to several downtown NYC buildings. "The evidence strongly points this event toward the actions of three known criminals. Erik Josten, Donald Gill, and Frederick Myers were all identified by witnesses. I believe you gentlemen know them better as Goliath, Blizzard, and Boomerang, respectively. While the first one has fluctuated from criminal to supposed "hero" over the years, the other two are known employees of Justin Hammer."
"Get to the point, Agent Crass."
"The point, sir, is that Hammer is part of our key demographic. Apparently, the man has been swallowing super-villains like nobody's business, tracking down various independent agents over the past two weeks and having meetings with them. According to our source, the criminals haven't been seen again."
"I see," the man at the head of the table said, "he's monopolizing. Oh, we can't be having that now, can we?"
"We have a mole on the inside, one that's in direct contact with myself on a weekly basis," Crass stated, flicking the room's light switch to the "on" position, "one that has no choice but to comply to our orders."
"We tried this once before, Agent Crass," one of the other men stated, "with the Beetle, remember? That blew up in our faces rather nicely when he went AWOL with the Thunderbolts."
"Yes, that was rather unfortunate," Crass stated as he turned the slide projector off, "but steps have been taken to rectify that. We also have hopes that our rogue agent problem will be taken care of in the same fell swoop."
"I want you to make this your personal mission in life, Agent Crass," the leader of the group commanded, clasping his hands together in a form of mock prayer, "you will eat, breathe, and shit nothing that does not pertain to this. Do you understand me?"
"Of course, Director Warton," Crass responded as he finished gathering his things. The agent said nothing else as he made his way to the other side of the room, promptly exiting the meeting. Warton relaxed in his leather chair, his mind milling over the information that had been presented to him.
"Sir, if I may be so blunt," another one of the officials said, "I have to question Crass' involvement in this. The man's a sadist, with no moral background whatsoever. He ate my bagel at breakfast this morning, and then took a piss in my coffee."
"You miss the point, then," Emil Warton said with a smile, "because that's exactly the type of man the Commission for Superhuman Activities is looking for."
Back to GatefoldIssue #16 by Chris Munn
MERGERS AND ACQUISITIONS - Part 1 of 3 |
[EXTERNAL SENSORS ONLINE////STEALTH CAPABILITIES OPERATIONAL]
[FULL-SYSTEM OPERATION SCAN IN PROCESS////SCAN COMPLETED////FUNCTIONS AT OPTIMUM EFFECIENCY]
[TARGETING////DISTANCE .35 KILOMETERS BELOW SURFACE]
[TARGET AQUIRED]
[AWAITING COMMAND////AWAITING COMMAND////AWAITING COMMAND]
Airstrike smirked, his features hidden behind his tactical armor's helmet. He stood on a rooftop, the stealth features of his armor rendering him completely invisible from both the human eye and electronic sensors. He'd found his target.
"I've got you, you bastard."
# # # # # # # # # #
Little Samantha Scarlotti sat in the middle of her front yard, her young puppy Carlotta jumping playfully around her. The dog had been a present from her mother, given to her on her eighth birthday, and had been a constant companion ever since. The puppy's tongue licked furiously across the blonde haired child's face, causing her to cry out in a shriek of joyous surprise.
"That's a nice puppy you've got there," a menacing voice said from behind, causing the girl to turn around in fright. Her eyes drifted up the man's body, finally stopping at his face. He seemed familiar, though her young mind was unable to recall from where she had seen him. He smiled warmly as he crouched down, his rough hand placing itself on the puppy's head.
"Her name's Carlotta," Samantha stated nervously, her eyes darting past the man, toward the front door of her house. The stranger combed a hand through his slicked-back, black hair, having realized that his sudden presence had come close to upsetting her. He reached his hand toward her, causing her to lean backwards in a subtle attempt to stay out of reach.
"Samantha! Come on inside, and bring Carlotta with you!" Samantha jumped up at the sound of her mother's voice, immediately breaking into a run toward the porch, the puppy following closely behind. The stranger sighed as he returned to a standing position, hesitating for a moment before turning toward the woman.
"Hey, Brenda," he said nervously, "how are you?"
The woman remained expressionless, closing the door to the house once Samantha was inside. Slowly, she made her way down the porch steps, her eyes locked on the man in her yard. "You've been warned, Mark," she stated, having made her way to the center of the yard, face to face with the man, "this violates the restraining order, you know?"
"I'm sorry," he replied, his head hung low, "I just...I needed to see her. It's been so long."
"Yeah, mainly due to your ass being in jail. You still doing the super-villain thing, or has the mob finally taken you back?"
"Listen, Brenda, I didn't choose to go down the path I'm on. I didn't have a choice, and I wish you'd understand and accept that. I want Samantha back, I want our life back."
"YOU are not a part of OUR life anymore, Mark!" Brenda shouted, jabbing an accusatory finger into Scarlotti's face. "We're fucking DIVORCED, because YOU couldn't make it in the real world! You gave up any right you once had to be a part of our family, so don't give me this 'I didn't have a choice' shit. So get out of here, 'Blacklash', and don't ever come back, or I WILL call the police."
"Fine, okay," Mark said, raising his hands apologetically as he backed away, "but tell me one thing. Why doesn't Samantha know who I am? Why doesn't she recognize me."
Brenda sighed before replying. "I told her that her father was dead. To her, he IS dead. The truth would only make it harder. Now get out of here."
Mark said nothing as he turned away to walk back to his car. Fighting back tears, he refused to look back, knowing that it would only make things worse. As he neared the car, his cell phone activated, the shrill ring-tone snapping him back to reality. He fished the phone out of his inside jacket pocket and raised it to his ear. "Speak to me."
"Mr. Scarlotti? This is Alison at Mr. Hammer's office. He requests your immediate return to the facility, for a meeting of utmost importance."
"I'm on my way," Mark stated into the phone before hanging up. Getting in his car, he sat in silence for a full fifteen minutes. Finally, he turned the key in the ignition, starting the car. He paused, taking one last look at the home of his former family.
"Fuck it."
And he drove away.
# # # # # # # # # #
"So how we feeling today, babe? Still down in the dumps, eh?"
Melissa Gold raised her eyes from the book that sat in her lap, not exactly eager to greet her visitor. She'd been mercifully spared any annoyances from the Hammer staff, other than her nurses, since she'd regained consciousness. Donny had, of course, remained by her side for most of the time, but for the first time in her week's stay in Hammer's medical facility, he had not been there upon her awakening. Instead, to her frustration, the unparalleled sleaze that was Fred Meyers had decided to grace her with his presence.
"So I hear that you're not speaking so good now," he stated with a demon's smirk, taking the seat directly beside her bed, "I gotta say that's just too bad. I always did like to hear the sound of your voice, Mimi."
Her eyes drifted back down to the Palahniuk novel, ignoring her boyfriend's asshole of a partner. Fred fell into a brief moment of silence, rapping his fingertips against the wood armrest of the chair. "Donny asked me and Mark to come down here and check on you," he started, breaking the silence, "but Mark had to go visit his bitch. So, being the nice guy that I am, I decided to come pay you a visit on me lonesome."
Melissa brought an unsteady finger up to the stitches that crisscrossed the width of her throat, rubbing her wound gently. Fred stood from his seat as he dug through the pockets of his coat, finally withdrawing his hand, a fresh cigarette between middle and forefinger. She shot him a wicked look as he lit up, ignoring the NO SMOKING sign that hung from the door.
"They're gonna be going to work on your buddy Josten here in a bit. The doctors, they're gonna try and drain the ionic energy from his body, to get rid of the poison in his system. They've given him a thirty-percent chance of making it through the process alive."
Melissa scowled at her visitor.
"Too bad you can't go down and wish him good luck, eh?"
# # # # # # # # # #
Donny Gill grunted as the needle slid through the web of skin between two of his toes. The heroin injected through the needle immediately hit his bloodstream, causing a rush of euphoria to envelop his brain. A smile crept on to his face as he withdrew the needle, slumping down against the back of the toilet. Sweat poured from every pore, as each use of the drug seemed to take more and more out of him.
He knew the consequences of his actions, of what would happen if he were caught shooting up in one of Hammer's facilities. He knew that Hammer would probably have him killed. Unfortunately, he also didn't seem to care.
His eyes glazed and red, he slid the boot back onto his foot. "Time t' go see my girl."
# # # # # # # # # #
"Can you hear me, Mr. Josten?"
Erik could offer no reply, as the ionic poison in his body had long paralyzed his tongue. A slight groan emerged from his mouth, his eyes connecting with the blank eyes of the doctor hovering over him. The doctor nodded slowly at his patient before he began speaking commands to the dozen assistants gathered in the room.
"Now, Mr. Josten," the doctor began, again turning his attention toward the patient, "we're going to be using extreme radiation extraction procedures to purge the ionic energy from your body. It's going to hurt. A lot."
Josten nodded weakly, every open pore of his body spewing forth the crimson spires of energy.
"In all likelihood, you will die during the procedure. However, if we don't attempt this procedure, you will be dead by the end of the day. Do you understand me?"
A tear ran down Josten's face, a visage contorted into a grimace of pain. The doctor took that as a sign of acknowledgement. "Start the procedure," he stated forcefully. One of the orderlies gave a thumbs up before activating the giant piece of medical equipment that towered over the patient. Needles extended downward, hovering momentarily before hydraulic pressure systems sent them plunging into Josten's body.
Erik's screams were heard all throughout the hospital.
# # # # # # # # # #
Airstrike walked carefully through the hallways of Justin Hammer's facility, cloaked from all means of detection by his armor's tactical defense system. People walked by him with no clue that an armored super-villain was in their midst. Of course, being where he was, super-villains were an everyday, common occurrence.
He took in the familiarity of the building, sparking memories that he'd tried to repress long ago. He'd once been an employee of Justin Hammer, in his guise as the Beetle, and had acted as the industrialist's enforcer. He'd given that up upon taking Baron Zemo's offer to join the Masters of Evil, becoming a member of the faux hero group the Thunderbolts.
His thoughts drifted several months back, when he and his fellow former-villains had attempted a life of heroics. He hadn't seen his friends since the Avenger, Hawkeye, took the team under his wing. As a show of good faith, Hawkeye had demanded that Abe turn himself into the authorities. He was, after all, the only member of the Thunderbolts that had committed murder as one of his many crimes. He was still kicking himself for going along with that dumbass plan.
It wasn't the failure at redemption that made him regret his decision, as he had always felt in his heart that the life of a hero was not for him. The reason for his sense of loss came instead, despite how cliched it may sound, from his love for a woman. Songbird...Screaming Mimi...Melissa...he'd known her by all three names, and the two were the most intimate of partners. She was the reason he took Gyrich's deal, as all he wanted was to be united with her once more.
Lost in thought, Abe was suddenly forced to stop short, almost running into the oblivious man that had hurriedly exited a bathroom. His scanners inexplicably screamed to life inside his inner ear, letting him know (very loudly, much to his chagrin) that one of his three targets was now directly in front of him.
Donny Gill staggered slightly as he advanced down the corridor, unaware that the invisible Airstrike was following closely behind. Abe sighed slightly at the young man's appearance, which was quite unkempt and disheveled. During his time as the Beetle, he'd worked alongside the then-insecure Blizzard, who had problems coming into his own as an enforcer. Abe felt like he'd tried to help the kid, despite the constant lack of encouragement he'd received from Fred and Mark. Abe scowled as he quickly pushed the thoughts of his old partners out of his mind, attempting to consider them as nothing more than targets. They were three of six...three closer to his freedom...three closer to Melissa.
Still following the addled Blizzard, Jenkins could hear the slight Australian accent of Fred Myers coming from a nearby room. Two targets in one place were a blessing, but he reminded himself that he was simply there to observe, to take in the situation before striking at a later date. What he saw when he turned the corner into the hospital room, however, immediately made him rethink his strategy.
# # # # # # # # # #
"Robbie, if you don't stop whistling that fucking song, I swear to Christ I'm gonna shoot you in the forehead."
Robbie winked at his partner, the shrill tune still tweeting from his puckered lips. Mike raised his rifle and narrowed his eyes, letting the irritant know how serious he was. Robbie simply waved a dismissive hand, but still stopped the whistling nonetheless.
"How is it, man," Robbie started, his right hand un- apologetically scratching the crack of his ass, "that WE get in trouble for Blizzard and Blackwhip and Koala-Man kicking OUR asses? That's just not right, man, really."
"It's Blacklash and Boomerang, dipshit," Mike replied, his rifle slung back onto his shoulder, "and we got in trouble for allowing our asses to get kicked in the first place. Hammer frowns on employee ineptitude...we're lucky we didn't get fucking murdered."
"That's still not cool, though. Besides, of all places to put us, why roof duty? This sucks mad ass, man."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. But at least you won't be able to take any mid-shift jaunts to the snack machine up here."
"Hey, I was really fuckin' hungry, man!"
"Yeah, well because of you, I still can't walk straight! That damn screamerang fucked up my equilibrium something fierce, it's like my hearing is only in Mono now instead of Stereo."
Robbie had no reply, causing the duo to delve into silence. The autumn weather was biting hard, causing them to shiver even through their insulated uniforms. "Gum?" Robbie finally asked, extending a piece of Big Red over to his partner. Mike smiled and started to reach for the gum, until his chest exploded in two silent bursts of blood. He was dead before he hit the ground.
"Whoa, SHIT!" Robbie exclaimed, swiveling with his rifle in an attempt to find the assassin. He didn't have to look far, as a man in a black suit and a skull for a face stood only 15 feet away, gun raised toward the guard.
"Freeze, fucker!" were the last words Robbie ever spoke, as the armor piercing bullets ripped their way through his breastplate, shredding the bone and organs as they exited through his back. He, too, was dead a second later.
The Scourge said nothing as he walked past the two dead men, on his way to a very important rendezvous.
# # # # # # # # # #
"I don't care if he IS in a meeting, I'm an agent of the CSA, and I demand to speak to Justin Hammer immediately!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Crass," Alison the receptionist said with her usual chipper demeanor, "but he really can't be interrupted. I could take a message, if you'd like, and Mr. Hammer would get back with you in a day or so."
"Listen here, gutter slut," Crass said into the phone, seething with anger, "I'm about two shakes of a stripper's ass from coming down there and burying my service revolver into your fucking eye socket. You get me Hammer. NOW."
"If you're gonna talk dirty, baby," Alison said, her tone the same as before, "you're gonna have to call me at home."
CLICK!
Crass pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it in shock, his right eye twitching slightly. "That bitch...that bitch hung up. She hung up on ME." His hand squeezed tightly around the neck of the reciever, slightly cracking the plastic before he slammed it back down onto the base of the phone.
"Slut, slut, slut, SLUT!" he repeated aloud, going from a soft murmur to a furious shout. Then, with a sudden burst of inspiration, he returned the phone to his ear, fingers dialing in a frenzy.
"Fuck with Warren Crass, will you?" he muttered as the phone on the other end of the call rang.
"Avengers Mansion, where may I direct your call?" the cheery sound of an Englishman stated distinctly. Crass smiled wickedly.
"This is Agent Crass with the CSA...I have some information for the Avengers concerning the whereabouts of a known super-human fugitive."
"Whom might that be, Sir?"
"Erik Josten...though I think you people know him better as Goliath."
# # # # # # # # # #
"Donny, good to see you, mate," Fred stated as his partner walked unsteadily into the room, "I think Mimi here was starting to get sick of me company."
Donny smiled when he saw Melissa's eyes light up at his entrance, quickly taking the chair next to her bed. Fred leaned against the opposite wall as Donny rubbed a hand through his love's silver hair, expressing his genuine affection for the crippled woman. Fred had noticed the stagger in Donny's step, the glaze over his eyes, but preferred to remain silent. Who was he to tell a grown man what to do, after all?
Slowly, Fred's ears perked up, stimulated by an odd sound. "Donny, do you hear that? It's a humming sound."
"No, I don't hear any...wait a minute," Donny replied, he too picking up on the noise, "yeah, I DO hear it...and it's getting louder."
Suddenly, a primal scream of rage and raw emotion erupted from what seemed to be thin air, causing all three of the room's occupants to jump in surprise. Just as amazingly, a halo of pulsating energy began to form in the doorway, taking the shape of a heavily armored man. Before the illusionary device faded completely, a gauntlet-covered hand rose, weapons popping from every open crevice.
"Shit, get down!" Fred shouted, diving into the bathroom just as several laser beams blasted from the attacker's wrist cannons, burning white-hot holes into the floor and wall. The armored assailant's arm swept in a sideways arc, firing blazing blasts toward the scrambling Donny, who was trying to protect Melissa at the same time.
"You bastards! To think I actually had doubts about killing you!" Airstrike screamed, turning his attention back to Boomerang, who was trapped in the bathroom. The machine gun on his left forearm blazed to life, littering the small room with hundreds of rounds of ammunition.
"I don't know who you are, buddy," Donny stated, removing his shirt to reveal his Blizzard uniform underneath, "but you're in for a world of hurt." He pulled the mask over his face, and the suit's circuitry hummed to life. Airstrike turned, only to find a blast of solid ice rocketing toward him from Blizzard's fingertips. The frozen projectile hit him with the force of a battering ram, sending him crashing through the wall and into the next room.
"Missy, you stay here," Donny said in a vain attempt at chivalry, "I'll go make sure this guy's down for the count."
"You only wish!" The CSA assassin blasted through the room, propelled by his bootjets, until he collided with Blizzard's midsection. Airstrike continued his flight forward, crashing though wall after wall, graciously allowing Donny to take the brunt of the impacts.
"Jaysis, girl," Boomerang said as he exited the bathroom, having been protected from the hail of bullets by a timely leap into the steel bathtub, "that boy of yours takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin', right?"
Not expecting a response to his rhetorical question, Fred took off through the devestation, hoping to lend any kind of assistance to his compatriot. Melissa, despite her injuries, forced herself out of bed and onto her feet. Slowly, she too made her way toward the battle, determined to be a burden no longer.
"My energy field melts your ice as soon as it comes in contact, Blizzard," Airstrike stated as he landed a haymaker punch to Donny's jaw, knocking him through yet another wall. "Face it, you're outmatched."
"I don't know you are, mate," Fred stated as he finally caught up the pair of combatants, "but I can tell a Russian accent when I here it. What'd we ever do t'you?"
"Back off," Airstrike commanded as he laid down a suppressing fire with his repulsor rays, "without your weapons, you're even worse off than Blizzard."
"Just because I don't have me boomerangs," Fred stated as he hurled three broken shards of glass at his attacker, "doesn't mean I'm helpless. I've got the best aim this side of Bullseye, my boy."
"Wooo, big shit," Abe said as the glass shattered harmlessly against his steel hide, "now go away. I'll be killing you next."
The repulsor blast nailed Fred squarely in the chest, knocking him back several feet. When he finally landed, blood coughed up from his lungs as he struggled to breathe, the blast apparently breaking a few ribs with the force of impact. Airstrike paid him no mind as he made his way toward the semi-conscious Donny.
"This is for Mel, mother fucker," Jenkins stated coldly, his gauntlet pointed directly at Blizzard's head. Suddenly, a hand touched lightly on his shoulder, the proximity alarms built into his defense system sending off alarms at the moment of contact. Airstrike whipped around, prepared to strike at whoever the attacker may be, but was stopped short by the hate-filled face of Melissa Gold.
"Songbird...I don't...I don't understand," Abe stuttered out, his voice disguised by the voice alteration device built into his helmet. His weapon systems hesitated, awaiting his mental command to fire. Her eyes stayed locked on him, cold as ice and hard as tempered steel.
"Get out of the way, Mel!" a voice tinged with an electronic buzz shouted from behind, prompting Melissa to duck on reflex. A barrage of bullets collided with Airstrike's chest, the force sufficient enough to knock him onto his back.
"You made a big mistake attacking these people," the newcomer said as he walked over to Abe's position on the ground, stopping at the point where he was towering over him, "because you're far from the only armored war machine in town."
Abe Jenkins' eyes widened in shock and horror as he took in the identity of his assailant.
"It's time this party came to a screeching halt," the equally armored man known as MACH-1 stated, his arm raising up to fire. "Say your prayers."
# # # # # # # # # #
NEXT ISSUE: That's right, next issue - Airstrike versus MACH-1! But how the hell is that even possible? Also, the fractured and bruised Thunderbolts get another set of unwelcome visitors, as Earth's Mightiest Heroes come knocking on the door. All this, plus more on Scourge, Justin Hammer, and the return of an old friend! Don't miss it, Jack!
# # # # # # # # # #
LIGHTNING STRIKES
Okay, we've got two letters this month! WOOO, man! The first is one that I forgot to reply to last time, from Ultimate Avengers writer Steve "Cros" Crosby!
Flawless story, Chris. The Killer B's breaking into Hammer's building, Melissa getting attacked and molested, Diamondback getting murdered (MURDERED!). Shit, this is the Thunderbolts as they should be, a look into the darker, villainous side of the Marvel Universe. The mystery is going well, and I loved how you didn't tell us who the villains attacking Melissa were, but still have hints through description. I figured out Armadillo, at least.
Thanks tons, Cros! I'm glad that both the secretive nature of Malus' two henchmen and the Diamondback murder went over well with you.
Shit, Melissa is a captive of Dr. Karl Malus, the man who originally gave those powers. Sheesh, he's a sick puppy isn't it, and you described Melissa's fear and Malus' perversity flawlessly. And I'm delightfully confused by this turn of events. If Blizzard and the others found out about Malus at Hammer's place, and Mr. White was sent by Hammer, then why would Malus hold Mr. White captive as well. Clearly, if Malus is working for Hammer, he's working on his own terms and his own agenda. I'm both frightened and curious to see what he does with Melissa's powers. And let's not forget what he's done to Erik.
Dr. Malus is indeed a sick puppy (or, well, make that WAS a sick puppy). But, as you saw at the end of last issue, Malus was not working for Hammer, but Baron Zemo himself! Or so one would think...
And shit, you killed Diamondback! And unless I misinterpreted the whole 'super-groupie' thing, she was murdered by the Scourge! Holy shit, this is so much better than what Nicieza was doing. A straight up, frightening serial killer than targets costumed villains and ex-villains. I dearly hope that you'll be keeping this plot along for a while, and not tie it up with the Malus plot.
For reasons that will become apparent later, Scourge and the Ladykiller are in fact two different people. I do realize that having two super-hero serial killers in one book is a tad-bit overkill, but bear with me. Scourge will be getting major play in this arc, and who knows when Ladykiller will pop up...or who his next victim will be (I love being sneaky, lol). Also, I can guarantee you that the Scourge plot will be one of the main themes of my run, so don't expect it wrapped up any time soon.
What else can I say? Great action, intriguing mysteries, dramatic suspense, frightening and realistic characters. This may just be the best version of the Thunderbolts I've ever read.
WOW! Thanks again, Cros...though not THE Man, you are most assuredly one of his handmaidens. The next letter comes from writer extra-ordinare Russ Anderson, who just finished up a stellar run on Fallen Angels over in the X-Men branch (don't worry, just because it's got mutants in it doesn't mean it's bad...it's good, I SWEAR!).
No time for a full-blown review. Just wanted to let you know that I read T-bolts #15 and it kicked just as much ass as the previous issues did. You're ruthless to these characters, man! You bring a character I haven't thought of in years in, like say Malus or the Armadillo, and get me thinking about him and how maybe I could work a story around the guy and then--POW!--you bump the poor schmuck off!
Thanks, man! Yeah, I'm putting these characters through Hell and a hand basket, and trust me, things are only gonna get worse from here, lol. If you liked seeing Malus, Mad Dog, and Armadillo again, just wait for next issue...you won't be disappointed!
Don't change a thing, though. I'm digging it. Particularly Zemo's return.
Yes, the return of MIGHTY ZEMO! All hail HERR ZEMO! Erm, yeah...yep.
This book is neck-and-neck with Hulk as my favorite M2K title currently. Keep it up.
Now THAT is some praise! Everybody go read Derrick Ferguson's HULK here at M2K, just so you can see how much his book rocks over mine. Thanks again, Russ...yet another of THE MAN's hand maidens, bask in his glory!
That's it for this month, gang. Be sure to come back next month, when the Avengers kick a big ol' hole right in the Tbolts collective ass.
Chris Munn
11/17/02
BIBLIOGRAPHY- Goliath and Songbird were hospitalized at the end of Thunderbolts # 15, after being experimented on by Karl Malus.
- Robbie and Mike, the bumbling (and now deceased) guards were introduced in Thunderbolts # 14, where they recieved a right thumping by the Killer B's.
- The new Scourge first appeared in Thunderbolts # 13, his first victim being the super-villain known as Eightball.
[FULL-SYSTEM OPERATION SCAN IN PROCESS////SCAN COMPLETED////FUNCTIONS AT OPTIMUM EFFECIENCY]
[TARGETING////DISTANCE .35 KILOMETERS BELOW SURFACE]
[TARGET AQUIRED]
[AWAITING COMMAND////AWAITING COMMAND////AWAITING COMMAND]
Airstrike smirked, his features hidden behind his tactical armor's helmet. He stood on a rooftop, the stealth features of his armor rendering him completely invisible from both the human eye and electronic sensors. He'd found his target.
"I've got you, you bastard."
# # # # # # # # # #
Little Samantha Scarlotti sat in the middle of her front yard, her young puppy Carlotta jumping playfully around her. The dog had been a present from her mother, given to her on her eighth birthday, and had been a constant companion ever since. The puppy's tongue licked furiously across the blonde haired child's face, causing her to cry out in a shriek of joyous surprise.
"That's a nice puppy you've got there," a menacing voice said from behind, causing the girl to turn around in fright. Her eyes drifted up the man's body, finally stopping at his face. He seemed familiar, though her young mind was unable to recall from where she had seen him. He smiled warmly as he crouched down, his rough hand placing itself on the puppy's head.
"Her name's Carlotta," Samantha stated nervously, her eyes darting past the man, toward the front door of her house. The stranger combed a hand through his slicked-back, black hair, having realized that his sudden presence had come close to upsetting her. He reached his hand toward her, causing her to lean backwards in a subtle attempt to stay out of reach.
"Samantha! Come on inside, and bring Carlotta with you!" Samantha jumped up at the sound of her mother's voice, immediately breaking into a run toward the porch, the puppy following closely behind. The stranger sighed as he returned to a standing position, hesitating for a moment before turning toward the woman.
"Hey, Brenda," he said nervously, "how are you?"
The woman remained expressionless, closing the door to the house once Samantha was inside. Slowly, she made her way down the porch steps, her eyes locked on the man in her yard. "You've been warned, Mark," she stated, having made her way to the center of the yard, face to face with the man, "this violates the restraining order, you know?"
"I'm sorry," he replied, his head hung low, "I just...I needed to see her. It's been so long."
"Yeah, mainly due to your ass being in jail. You still doing the super-villain thing, or has the mob finally taken you back?"
"Listen, Brenda, I didn't choose to go down the path I'm on. I didn't have a choice, and I wish you'd understand and accept that. I want Samantha back, I want our life back."
"YOU are not a part of OUR life anymore, Mark!" Brenda shouted, jabbing an accusatory finger into Scarlotti's face. "We're fucking DIVORCED, because YOU couldn't make it in the real world! You gave up any right you once had to be a part of our family, so don't give me this 'I didn't have a choice' shit. So get out of here, 'Blacklash', and don't ever come back, or I WILL call the police."
"Fine, okay," Mark said, raising his hands apologetically as he backed away, "but tell me one thing. Why doesn't Samantha know who I am? Why doesn't she recognize me."
Brenda sighed before replying. "I told her that her father was dead. To her, he IS dead. The truth would only make it harder. Now get out of here."
Mark said nothing as he turned away to walk back to his car. Fighting back tears, he refused to look back, knowing that it would only make things worse. As he neared the car, his cell phone activated, the shrill ring-tone snapping him back to reality. He fished the phone out of his inside jacket pocket and raised it to his ear. "Speak to me."
"Mr. Scarlotti? This is Alison at Mr. Hammer's office. He requests your immediate return to the facility, for a meeting of utmost importance."
"I'm on my way," Mark stated into the phone before hanging up. Getting in his car, he sat in silence for a full fifteen minutes. Finally, he turned the key in the ignition, starting the car. He paused, taking one last look at the home of his former family.
"Fuck it."
And he drove away.
# # # # # # # # # #
"So how we feeling today, babe? Still down in the dumps, eh?"
Melissa Gold raised her eyes from the book that sat in her lap, not exactly eager to greet her visitor. She'd been mercifully spared any annoyances from the Hammer staff, other than her nurses, since she'd regained consciousness. Donny had, of course, remained by her side for most of the time, but for the first time in her week's stay in Hammer's medical facility, he had not been there upon her awakening. Instead, to her frustration, the unparalleled sleaze that was Fred Meyers had decided to grace her with his presence.
"So I hear that you're not speaking so good now," he stated with a demon's smirk, taking the seat directly beside her bed, "I gotta say that's just too bad. I always did like to hear the sound of your voice, Mimi."
Her eyes drifted back down to the Palahniuk novel, ignoring her boyfriend's asshole of a partner. Fred fell into a brief moment of silence, rapping his fingertips against the wood armrest of the chair. "Donny asked me and Mark to come down here and check on you," he started, breaking the silence, "but Mark had to go visit his bitch. So, being the nice guy that I am, I decided to come pay you a visit on me lonesome."
Melissa brought an unsteady finger up to the stitches that crisscrossed the width of her throat, rubbing her wound gently. Fred stood from his seat as he dug through the pockets of his coat, finally withdrawing his hand, a fresh cigarette between middle and forefinger. She shot him a wicked look as he lit up, ignoring the NO SMOKING sign that hung from the door.
"They're gonna be going to work on your buddy Josten here in a bit. The doctors, they're gonna try and drain the ionic energy from his body, to get rid of the poison in his system. They've given him a thirty-percent chance of making it through the process alive."
Melissa scowled at her visitor.
"Too bad you can't go down and wish him good luck, eh?"
# # # # # # # # # #
Donny Gill grunted as the needle slid through the web of skin between two of his toes. The heroin injected through the needle immediately hit his bloodstream, causing a rush of euphoria to envelop his brain. A smile crept on to his face as he withdrew the needle, slumping down against the back of the toilet. Sweat poured from every pore, as each use of the drug seemed to take more and more out of him.
He knew the consequences of his actions, of what would happen if he were caught shooting up in one of Hammer's facilities. He knew that Hammer would probably have him killed. Unfortunately, he also didn't seem to care.
His eyes glazed and red, he slid the boot back onto his foot. "Time t' go see my girl."
# # # # # # # # # #
"Can you hear me, Mr. Josten?"
Erik could offer no reply, as the ionic poison in his body had long paralyzed his tongue. A slight groan emerged from his mouth, his eyes connecting with the blank eyes of the doctor hovering over him. The doctor nodded slowly at his patient before he began speaking commands to the dozen assistants gathered in the room.
"Now, Mr. Josten," the doctor began, again turning his attention toward the patient, "we're going to be using extreme radiation extraction procedures to purge the ionic energy from your body. It's going to hurt. A lot."
Josten nodded weakly, every open pore of his body spewing forth the crimson spires of energy.
"In all likelihood, you will die during the procedure. However, if we don't attempt this procedure, you will be dead by the end of the day. Do you understand me?"
A tear ran down Josten's face, a visage contorted into a grimace of pain. The doctor took that as a sign of acknowledgement. "Start the procedure," he stated forcefully. One of the orderlies gave a thumbs up before activating the giant piece of medical equipment that towered over the patient. Needles extended downward, hovering momentarily before hydraulic pressure systems sent them plunging into Josten's body.
Erik's screams were heard all throughout the hospital.
# # # # # # # # # #
Airstrike walked carefully through the hallways of Justin Hammer's facility, cloaked from all means of detection by his armor's tactical defense system. People walked by him with no clue that an armored super-villain was in their midst. Of course, being where he was, super-villains were an everyday, common occurrence.
He took in the familiarity of the building, sparking memories that he'd tried to repress long ago. He'd once been an employee of Justin Hammer, in his guise as the Beetle, and had acted as the industrialist's enforcer. He'd given that up upon taking Baron Zemo's offer to join the Masters of Evil, becoming a member of the faux hero group the Thunderbolts.
His thoughts drifted several months back, when he and his fellow former-villains had attempted a life of heroics. He hadn't seen his friends since the Avenger, Hawkeye, took the team under his wing. As a show of good faith, Hawkeye had demanded that Abe turn himself into the authorities. He was, after all, the only member of the Thunderbolts that had committed murder as one of his many crimes. He was still kicking himself for going along with that dumbass plan.
It wasn't the failure at redemption that made him regret his decision, as he had always felt in his heart that the life of a hero was not for him. The reason for his sense of loss came instead, despite how cliched it may sound, from his love for a woman. Songbird...Screaming Mimi...Melissa...he'd known her by all three names, and the two were the most intimate of partners. She was the reason he took Gyrich's deal, as all he wanted was to be united with her once more.
Lost in thought, Abe was suddenly forced to stop short, almost running into the oblivious man that had hurriedly exited a bathroom. His scanners inexplicably screamed to life inside his inner ear, letting him know (very loudly, much to his chagrin) that one of his three targets was now directly in front of him.
Donny Gill staggered slightly as he advanced down the corridor, unaware that the invisible Airstrike was following closely behind. Abe sighed slightly at the young man's appearance, which was quite unkempt and disheveled. During his time as the Beetle, he'd worked alongside the then-insecure Blizzard, who had problems coming into his own as an enforcer. Abe felt like he'd tried to help the kid, despite the constant lack of encouragement he'd received from Fred and Mark. Abe scowled as he quickly pushed the thoughts of his old partners out of his mind, attempting to consider them as nothing more than targets. They were three of six...three closer to his freedom...three closer to Melissa.
Still following the addled Blizzard, Jenkins could hear the slight Australian accent of Fred Myers coming from a nearby room. Two targets in one place were a blessing, but he reminded himself that he was simply there to observe, to take in the situation before striking at a later date. What he saw when he turned the corner into the hospital room, however, immediately made him rethink his strategy.
# # # # # # # # # #
"Robbie, if you don't stop whistling that fucking song, I swear to Christ I'm gonna shoot you in the forehead."
Robbie winked at his partner, the shrill tune still tweeting from his puckered lips. Mike raised his rifle and narrowed his eyes, letting the irritant know how serious he was. Robbie simply waved a dismissive hand, but still stopped the whistling nonetheless.
"How is it, man," Robbie started, his right hand un- apologetically scratching the crack of his ass, "that WE get in trouble for Blizzard and Blackwhip and Koala-Man kicking OUR asses? That's just not right, man, really."
"It's Blacklash and Boomerang, dipshit," Mike replied, his rifle slung back onto his shoulder, "and we got in trouble for allowing our asses to get kicked in the first place. Hammer frowns on employee ineptitude...we're lucky we didn't get fucking murdered."
"That's still not cool, though. Besides, of all places to put us, why roof duty? This sucks mad ass, man."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. But at least you won't be able to take any mid-shift jaunts to the snack machine up here."
"Hey, I was really fuckin' hungry, man!"
"Yeah, well because of you, I still can't walk straight! That damn screamerang fucked up my equilibrium something fierce, it's like my hearing is only in Mono now instead of Stereo."
Robbie had no reply, causing the duo to delve into silence. The autumn weather was biting hard, causing them to shiver even through their insulated uniforms. "Gum?" Robbie finally asked, extending a piece of Big Red over to his partner. Mike smiled and started to reach for the gum, until his chest exploded in two silent bursts of blood. He was dead before he hit the ground.
"Whoa, SHIT!" Robbie exclaimed, swiveling with his rifle in an attempt to find the assassin. He didn't have to look far, as a man in a black suit and a skull for a face stood only 15 feet away, gun raised toward the guard.
"Freeze, fucker!" were the last words Robbie ever spoke, as the armor piercing bullets ripped their way through his breastplate, shredding the bone and organs as they exited through his back. He, too, was dead a second later.
The Scourge said nothing as he walked past the two dead men, on his way to a very important rendezvous.
# # # # # # # # # #
"I don't care if he IS in a meeting, I'm an agent of the CSA, and I demand to speak to Justin Hammer immediately!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Crass," Alison the receptionist said with her usual chipper demeanor, "but he really can't be interrupted. I could take a message, if you'd like, and Mr. Hammer would get back with you in a day or so."
"Listen here, gutter slut," Crass said into the phone, seething with anger, "I'm about two shakes of a stripper's ass from coming down there and burying my service revolver into your fucking eye socket. You get me Hammer. NOW."
"If you're gonna talk dirty, baby," Alison said, her tone the same as before, "you're gonna have to call me at home."
CLICK!
Crass pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it in shock, his right eye twitching slightly. "That bitch...that bitch hung up. She hung up on ME." His hand squeezed tightly around the neck of the reciever, slightly cracking the plastic before he slammed it back down onto the base of the phone.
"Slut, slut, slut, SLUT!" he repeated aloud, going from a soft murmur to a furious shout. Then, with a sudden burst of inspiration, he returned the phone to his ear, fingers dialing in a frenzy.
"Fuck with Warren Crass, will you?" he muttered as the phone on the other end of the call rang.
"Avengers Mansion, where may I direct your call?" the cheery sound of an Englishman stated distinctly. Crass smiled wickedly.
"This is Agent Crass with the CSA...I have some information for the Avengers concerning the whereabouts of a known super-human fugitive."
"Whom might that be, Sir?"
"Erik Josten...though I think you people know him better as Goliath."
# # # # # # # # # #
"Donny, good to see you, mate," Fred stated as his partner walked unsteadily into the room, "I think Mimi here was starting to get sick of me company."
Donny smiled when he saw Melissa's eyes light up at his entrance, quickly taking the chair next to her bed. Fred leaned against the opposite wall as Donny rubbed a hand through his love's silver hair, expressing his genuine affection for the crippled woman. Fred had noticed the stagger in Donny's step, the glaze over his eyes, but preferred to remain silent. Who was he to tell a grown man what to do, after all?
Slowly, Fred's ears perked up, stimulated by an odd sound. "Donny, do you hear that? It's a humming sound."
"No, I don't hear any...wait a minute," Donny replied, he too picking up on the noise, "yeah, I DO hear it...and it's getting louder."
Suddenly, a primal scream of rage and raw emotion erupted from what seemed to be thin air, causing all three of the room's occupants to jump in surprise. Just as amazingly, a halo of pulsating energy began to form in the doorway, taking the shape of a heavily armored man. Before the illusionary device faded completely, a gauntlet-covered hand rose, weapons popping from every open crevice.
"Shit, get down!" Fred shouted, diving into the bathroom just as several laser beams blasted from the attacker's wrist cannons, burning white-hot holes into the floor and wall. The armored assailant's arm swept in a sideways arc, firing blazing blasts toward the scrambling Donny, who was trying to protect Melissa at the same time.
"You bastards! To think I actually had doubts about killing you!" Airstrike screamed, turning his attention back to Boomerang, who was trapped in the bathroom. The machine gun on his left forearm blazed to life, littering the small room with hundreds of rounds of ammunition.
"I don't know who you are, buddy," Donny stated, removing his shirt to reveal his Blizzard uniform underneath, "but you're in for a world of hurt." He pulled the mask over his face, and the suit's circuitry hummed to life. Airstrike turned, only to find a blast of solid ice rocketing toward him from Blizzard's fingertips. The frozen projectile hit him with the force of a battering ram, sending him crashing through the wall and into the next room.
"Missy, you stay here," Donny said in a vain attempt at chivalry, "I'll go make sure this guy's down for the count."
"You only wish!" The CSA assassin blasted through the room, propelled by his bootjets, until he collided with Blizzard's midsection. Airstrike continued his flight forward, crashing though wall after wall, graciously allowing Donny to take the brunt of the impacts.
"Jaysis, girl," Boomerang said as he exited the bathroom, having been protected from the hail of bullets by a timely leap into the steel bathtub, "that boy of yours takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin', right?"
Not expecting a response to his rhetorical question, Fred took off through the devestation, hoping to lend any kind of assistance to his compatriot. Melissa, despite her injuries, forced herself out of bed and onto her feet. Slowly, she too made her way toward the battle, determined to be a burden no longer.
"My energy field melts your ice as soon as it comes in contact, Blizzard," Airstrike stated as he landed a haymaker punch to Donny's jaw, knocking him through yet another wall. "Face it, you're outmatched."
"I don't know you are, mate," Fred stated as he finally caught up the pair of combatants, "but I can tell a Russian accent when I here it. What'd we ever do t'you?"
"Back off," Airstrike commanded as he laid down a suppressing fire with his repulsor rays, "without your weapons, you're even worse off than Blizzard."
"Just because I don't have me boomerangs," Fred stated as he hurled three broken shards of glass at his attacker, "doesn't mean I'm helpless. I've got the best aim this side of Bullseye, my boy."
"Wooo, big shit," Abe said as the glass shattered harmlessly against his steel hide, "now go away. I'll be killing you next."
The repulsor blast nailed Fred squarely in the chest, knocking him back several feet. When he finally landed, blood coughed up from his lungs as he struggled to breathe, the blast apparently breaking a few ribs with the force of impact. Airstrike paid him no mind as he made his way toward the semi-conscious Donny.
"This is for Mel, mother fucker," Jenkins stated coldly, his gauntlet pointed directly at Blizzard's head. Suddenly, a hand touched lightly on his shoulder, the proximity alarms built into his defense system sending off alarms at the moment of contact. Airstrike whipped around, prepared to strike at whoever the attacker may be, but was stopped short by the hate-filled face of Melissa Gold.
"Songbird...I don't...I don't understand," Abe stuttered out, his voice disguised by the voice alteration device built into his helmet. His weapon systems hesitated, awaiting his mental command to fire. Her eyes stayed locked on him, cold as ice and hard as tempered steel.
"Get out of the way, Mel!" a voice tinged with an electronic buzz shouted from behind, prompting Melissa to duck on reflex. A barrage of bullets collided with Airstrike's chest, the force sufficient enough to knock him onto his back.
"You made a big mistake attacking these people," the newcomer said as he walked over to Abe's position on the ground, stopping at the point where he was towering over him, "because you're far from the only armored war machine in town."
Abe Jenkins' eyes widened in shock and horror as he took in the identity of his assailant.
"It's time this party came to a screeching halt," the equally armored man known as MACH-1 stated, his arm raising up to fire. "Say your prayers."
# # # # # # # # # #
NEXT ISSUE: That's right, next issue - Airstrike versus MACH-1! But how the hell is that even possible? Also, the fractured and bruised Thunderbolts get another set of unwelcome visitors, as Earth's Mightiest Heroes come knocking on the door. All this, plus more on Scourge, Justin Hammer, and the return of an old friend! Don't miss it, Jack!
# # # # # # # # # #
LIGHTNING STRIKES
Okay, we've got two letters this month! WOOO, man! The first is one that I forgot to reply to last time, from Ultimate Avengers writer Steve "Cros" Crosby!
Flawless story, Chris. The Killer B's breaking into Hammer's building, Melissa getting attacked and molested, Diamondback getting murdered (MURDERED!). Shit, this is the Thunderbolts as they should be, a look into the darker, villainous side of the Marvel Universe. The mystery is going well, and I loved how you didn't tell us who the villains attacking Melissa were, but still have hints through description. I figured out Armadillo, at least.
Thanks tons, Cros! I'm glad that both the secretive nature of Malus' two henchmen and the Diamondback murder went over well with you.
Shit, Melissa is a captive of Dr. Karl Malus, the man who originally gave those powers. Sheesh, he's a sick puppy isn't it, and you described Melissa's fear and Malus' perversity flawlessly. And I'm delightfully confused by this turn of events. If Blizzard and the others found out about Malus at Hammer's place, and Mr. White was sent by Hammer, then why would Malus hold Mr. White captive as well. Clearly, if Malus is working for Hammer, he's working on his own terms and his own agenda. I'm both frightened and curious to see what he does with Melissa's powers. And let's not forget what he's done to Erik.
Dr. Malus is indeed a sick puppy (or, well, make that WAS a sick puppy). But, as you saw at the end of last issue, Malus was not working for Hammer, but Baron Zemo himself! Or so one would think...
And shit, you killed Diamondback! And unless I misinterpreted the whole 'super-groupie' thing, she was murdered by the Scourge! Holy shit, this is so much better than what Nicieza was doing. A straight up, frightening serial killer than targets costumed villains and ex-villains. I dearly hope that you'll be keeping this plot along for a while, and not tie it up with the Malus plot.
For reasons that will become apparent later, Scourge and the Ladykiller are in fact two different people. I do realize that having two super-hero serial killers in one book is a tad-bit overkill, but bear with me. Scourge will be getting major play in this arc, and who knows when Ladykiller will pop up...or who his next victim will be (I love being sneaky, lol). Also, I can guarantee you that the Scourge plot will be one of the main themes of my run, so don't expect it wrapped up any time soon.
What else can I say? Great action, intriguing mysteries, dramatic suspense, frightening and realistic characters. This may just be the best version of the Thunderbolts I've ever read.
WOW! Thanks again, Cros...though not THE Man, you are most assuredly one of his handmaidens. The next letter comes from writer extra-ordinare Russ Anderson, who just finished up a stellar run on Fallen Angels over in the X-Men branch (don't worry, just because it's got mutants in it doesn't mean it's bad...it's good, I SWEAR!).
No time for a full-blown review. Just wanted to let you know that I read T-bolts #15 and it kicked just as much ass as the previous issues did. You're ruthless to these characters, man! You bring a character I haven't thought of in years in, like say Malus or the Armadillo, and get me thinking about him and how maybe I could work a story around the guy and then--POW!--you bump the poor schmuck off!
Thanks, man! Yeah, I'm putting these characters through Hell and a hand basket, and trust me, things are only gonna get worse from here, lol. If you liked seeing Malus, Mad Dog, and Armadillo again, just wait for next issue...you won't be disappointed!
Don't change a thing, though. I'm digging it. Particularly Zemo's return.
Yes, the return of MIGHTY ZEMO! All hail HERR ZEMO! Erm, yeah...yep.
This book is neck-and-neck with Hulk as my favorite M2K title currently. Keep it up.
Now THAT is some praise! Everybody go read Derrick Ferguson's HULK here at M2K, just so you can see how much his book rocks over mine. Thanks again, Russ...yet another of THE MAN's hand maidens, bask in his glory!
That's it for this month, gang. Be sure to come back next month, when the Avengers kick a big ol' hole right in the Tbolts collective ass.
Chris Munn
11/17/02
BIBLIOGRAPHY- Goliath and Songbird were hospitalized at the end of Thunderbolts # 15, after being experimented on by Karl Malus.
- Robbie and Mike, the bumbling (and now deceased) guards were introduced in Thunderbolts # 14, where they recieved a right thumping by the Killer B's.
- The new Scourge first appeared in Thunderbolts # 13, his first victim being the super-villain known as Eightball.