Three figures crept through the darkness, making their way through the sewer lines that led into the maximum-security prison known as the Vault. No words were shared between them, the two men flanking the woman in front and behind as they sloshed through the liquid waste. Finally, the group stopped as they came across the steel grate covering the entrance to the prison.
"This is Nosebleed," the man in front said into the small headset communicator that branched from ear to mouth, "we're here. Do we proceed?"
"Yeah, but do it quietly," the person on the other end of the transmission ordered, "we don't want to attract any unnecessary attention...at least not yet."
"10-4," Nosebleed replied, cracking his knuckles as he spoke. Despite his short stature, his height coming to a sharp five foot four, the wiry New York native possessed a strength he'd yet to find matched. Placing one open hand on the center of the grate, he kissed his closed fist for luck. His arm shot forward, his fist hitting his outstretched hand with a muffled thud that betrayed the true force of his punch. He waited a moment, and then watched as the grate fell from its place and into the water below.
"Rock, we're in," the radio said, "Memento, you're up."
The second of the two men stepped to the forefront, taking position in front of the now-open sewer grate. Adjusting the leather bondage mask that clung tightly to his face, the man named Memento outstretched his arms, placing his hands on the sides of the tunnel. "Tracing a neural pathway now, boss," he whispered, "soon as I lock on, I'll get the coordinates we need."
"What is it he's doing again?" Nosebleed asked his female partner, to which she simply shrugged.
"I'm locking onto a human mind," the leather-clad psionic answered, "so I can access their memory banks. Since we've no access to Vault schematics, I'm tapping into the next best resource. Got it, let's go."
The three moved quickly through the entrance, coming across an above hatchway almost immediately. The female ascended the ladder first, pushing her way through the hatch and into the floor above them. "Come on up, guys," she whispered through the hole, "the coast is clear."
"Freeze, bitch!" a voice commanded from behind her, causing her to jump in surprise. The redhead turned, her blue eyes showing a look of confusion behind the metal face mask that clung to her face. Two guards stood rigidly in front of her, their guns drawn and pointed straight at the young girl.
"First time for everything, huh Jessie?" the first guard asked the second. "Never seen somebody try to break into the Vault before."
"You picked the wrong time to pay a visit, hooker," the second guard taunted, walking closer to his target, "Gyrich's got every entrance guarded since the little slaughter-fest that went on last week."
"I wish I had time to play, boys," the girl said with a smile, a spark of crimson energy dancing across her eyes, "but I'm on a schedule tonight."
The world turned upside down for the two men, as their greatest sexual fantasies came to life before their eyes. Within moments, both were sprawled out on the floor, drool escaping their open mouths. "Eight year old boys, man?" the girl asked rhetorically, furrowing her brow as he looked at the first guard. She then took a glance at the second man, "And you...man, I've seen some sick shit in my day..."
"Yo, Lapdance!" Nosebleed yelled as he climbed through the sewer hatch. "Everything cool up here?"
"No problem," she replied with a wink, "at least not anymore."
"If you guys are through playing around," their commander said through the communication relay, "let's get back to the reason you're there."
"Don't worry, Beetle-boy," Memento said as he followed his partners out of the sewer, "we'll find Hank's office in no time. I got the directions, clear as crystal, burned in my memory cells."
"Give me a shout when you've got the target secured, then." Away from the Vault, positioned on an adjacent hill that overlooked the prison, Abe Jenkins disengaged the communication relay inside his armor system's helmet. With a sigh, he took a glance back at two of his compatriots, the villains he knew only as Infernal and Sharpe. "How's things with the rest of the group?"
"Viral and Ignition are getting ready to walk through the front door," Sharpe replied as he removed his headset, "and as for the Silencer, trust me, good sir...we need not worry about him."
"Good deal," Airstrike commented, "let's get this show on the road."
Infernal slapped his hands together, rubbing the flaming appendages together with glee. "Masters...let's get evil."
"This is Nosebleed," the man in front said into the small headset communicator that branched from ear to mouth, "we're here. Do we proceed?"
"Yeah, but do it quietly," the person on the other end of the transmission ordered, "we don't want to attract any unnecessary attention...at least not yet."
"10-4," Nosebleed replied, cracking his knuckles as he spoke. Despite his short stature, his height coming to a sharp five foot four, the wiry New York native possessed a strength he'd yet to find matched. Placing one open hand on the center of the grate, he kissed his closed fist for luck. His arm shot forward, his fist hitting his outstretched hand with a muffled thud that betrayed the true force of his punch. He waited a moment, and then watched as the grate fell from its place and into the water below.
"Rock, we're in," the radio said, "Memento, you're up."
The second of the two men stepped to the forefront, taking position in front of the now-open sewer grate. Adjusting the leather bondage mask that clung tightly to his face, the man named Memento outstretched his arms, placing his hands on the sides of the tunnel. "Tracing a neural pathway now, boss," he whispered, "soon as I lock on, I'll get the coordinates we need."
"What is it he's doing again?" Nosebleed asked his female partner, to which she simply shrugged.
"I'm locking onto a human mind," the leather-clad psionic answered, "so I can access their memory banks. Since we've no access to Vault schematics, I'm tapping into the next best resource. Got it, let's go."
The three moved quickly through the entrance, coming across an above hatchway almost immediately. The female ascended the ladder first, pushing her way through the hatch and into the floor above them. "Come on up, guys," she whispered through the hole, "the coast is clear."
"Freeze, bitch!" a voice commanded from behind her, causing her to jump in surprise. The redhead turned, her blue eyes showing a look of confusion behind the metal face mask that clung to her face. Two guards stood rigidly in front of her, their guns drawn and pointed straight at the young girl.
"First time for everything, huh Jessie?" the first guard asked the second. "Never seen somebody try to break into the Vault before."
"You picked the wrong time to pay a visit, hooker," the second guard taunted, walking closer to his target, "Gyrich's got every entrance guarded since the little slaughter-fest that went on last week."
"I wish I had time to play, boys," the girl said with a smile, a spark of crimson energy dancing across her eyes, "but I'm on a schedule tonight."
The world turned upside down for the two men, as their greatest sexual fantasies came to life before their eyes. Within moments, both were sprawled out on the floor, drool escaping their open mouths. "Eight year old boys, man?" the girl asked rhetorically, furrowing her brow as he looked at the first guard. She then took a glance at the second man, "And you...man, I've seen some sick shit in my day..."
"Yo, Lapdance!" Nosebleed yelled as he climbed through the sewer hatch. "Everything cool up here?"
"No problem," she replied with a wink, "at least not anymore."
"If you guys are through playing around," their commander said through the communication relay, "let's get back to the reason you're there."
"Don't worry, Beetle-boy," Memento said as he followed his partners out of the sewer, "we'll find Hank's office in no time. I got the directions, clear as crystal, burned in my memory cells."
"Give me a shout when you've got the target secured, then." Away from the Vault, positioned on an adjacent hill that overlooked the prison, Abe Jenkins disengaged the communication relay inside his armor system's helmet. With a sigh, he took a glance back at two of his compatriots, the villains he knew only as Infernal and Sharpe. "How's things with the rest of the group?"
"Viral and Ignition are getting ready to walk through the front door," Sharpe replied as he removed his headset, "and as for the Silencer, trust me, good sir...we need not worry about him."
"Good deal," Airstrike commented, "let's get this show on the road."
Infernal slapped his hands together, rubbing the flaming appendages together with glee. "Masters...let's get evil."
Back to GatefoldIssue #20 by Chris Munn
ANSWERING MACHINES |
"Agents with the NSA," the man, his pale-white skin almost transparent, said to the guard stationed at the Vault's main entrance, "we're here to see Jack Taggert, an inmate here. It's very important, a matter of national security."
Jericho Johnson, a rookie of only four months stationed at the Vault, cocked a curious eye at the man and woman that stood before him, each holding an identification badge with their photos and names. "Uh, I don't think I know a Jack Taggert," Johnson said, tapping the name into his computer system, "he must not be one of the big guns, huh?"
"He almost killed Iron Man once," the thin Security Agent answered, his voice a hushed whisper that Johnson had to strain to hear, "by shooting him with a nuclear missile. Draw your own conclusions."
"Uh, okay, well, see, here's the thing," Johnson stammered, much to the chagrin of the two visitors, "Mr. Gyrich's got the Vault on lockdown, after an incident we had last week. I'll really have to call and get his approval before I can let you in."
"I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that, child," the ghastly man stated, placing his palm on the glass that separated him from Jericho, "so you can die now. Bubonic plague, always a favorite of mine."
Before Johnson could react, the disease that the agent had called by name began to ravage his system at an accelerated rate, decimating his internal organs within seconds. The young man fell to the ground, his body a mushy blob of pus and blood, to which his attacker showed no emotion at all.
"Guess you can't go wrong with the classics, eh Viral?" his female comrade stated, turning toward the steel door that barred their access to the Vault.
"We're the diversion, my dear Ignition," Viral rasped, "no need to be subtle."
Without a prompt from either Master of Evil, the steel door slid opened, revealing a battalion of armored Guardsmen, all just itching for a taste of action. "Get your hands up!" the lead soldier commanded, his armor humming as he charged a repulsor blast.
The young black woman named Ignition smirked as she raised her hands above her head. "You ready for the punch line, jackboots?" Smoke and fire began to spark from her raised hands, igniting at her mental command. "Duck and cover, Viral." As the Guardsmen moved to intercept her, the flame exploded forth in a circle, devastating the room with the effect of a large tank shell. When the smoke cleared, the room was nothing but a crater in the Earth, the Guardsmen lying in broken heaps on the charred ground.
"A little, oomph," Viral stated, uncovering the wreckage from the spot where he'd taken cover, "too close for comfort, my girl."
"Well, hey, they wanted a diversion, didn't they?" Ignition answered with a smile. "Get ready to have every Guardsmen in the fucking building come down on our heads, buddy."
Viral dusted the dirt and debris from his white business suit, glaring at his teammate through narrowed eyes. "I cannot wait."
# # # # # # # # # #
He moved without making a sound, his sonic nullifiers instantly muting any and all noises in his general vicinity. The Silencer was the perfect assassin, as his trek through the Vault's ventilation ducts could attest. He'd been on the move for what seemed like hours, working his way deeper and deeper into the installation. He'd yet to come across anything interesting, but even if he did, there's no way he could communicate it back to his followers. The Masters of Evil were on their own for the first time, and that brought a slight bit of pride to the otherwise grim assassin.
As he rounded a corner in the duct, he immediately spotted a source of light, the illumination pouring into the tunnel from the grated vent in the floor. His silence field pulled in tight around his body, the stealthy killer listened to the voices that filtered up into the duct.
"Don't bullshit me, Benton," said a voice seething with pent up anger, "I want to see these freaks ready by the end of the month. We can't use them if we can't control them, dig?"
"Don't worry, Agent Crass," a second voice answered, this one timid and shaky, "the compliance chips have already been planted in two of the subjects. Bushwacker will be online by the end of the week."
"Good," the voice, identified as a man named Crass, stated with authority, "glad to see you're not as big a disappointment as I thought you'd be."
The Silencer paused momentarily, weighing the options before him. There was a chance that the information contained in the two men's conversation could prove useful in the future, but there was a specific mission that needed to be completed. The options weighed and countered, the quiet assassin moved past the ceiling grate, leaving the two unknown men to their own devices.
# # # # # # # # # #
INTERLUDE ONE
In the barely-standing city of Hammer Bay, a shaken and rattled figure made his way through the crowded streets of Magda Square. Although the sun shone brightly on the bustling center of the city, he wore a full cloak over his body, the hood pulled mysteriously over his features. Although this was a place where his people supposedly had a haven, a home to call their own, he had no reason to believe the propaganda.
For this was Genosha, the country ruled by Magneto...a man he knew all-too-well.
"My brothers and sisters," a female voice sounded off across the many loud speakers set up around the Square, "Lord Magneto will be addressing the country tonight. Attendance is mandatory."
He winced at the sound of the woman's voice, immediately recognizing the second-in-command of Magneto's parliament. Camilla Unuscione, the only remaining member of the Master of Magnetism's Acolytes. How his past and future seemed to intersect with each other in bizarre, winding circles, he thought to himself. How one mistake from the past could inexplicably come into contact with another.
"Good evening, brother," a beautiful girl addressed him from behind a desk at the National Communiqué Center, "how may I assist you?"
"I need to send a message," he said, his Italian accent coming through quite thick in his speech, "to America. To my poor sister, who is not yet brave enough to travel here to the Promised Land."
The girl's eyes twitched behind closed eye-lids, her mutant ability connecting her mind to one of million digital cellular pathways that traveled across the slipstream of electrical impulses. Her eyes opened as her mouth grew into a smile, and she handed him a cordless phone. "You may use the booth in the far back corner."
He said his thanks to the girl, cradling the phone between body and arm in order to keep from dropping it. The curse of his own mutant ability, a genetic blessing that nearly killed him once upon a time. He sat down in the booth, taking one last glance around to make sure no one was watching him, and then dialed the number.
"Hammer Industries," a cheerful woman's voice said on the other end of the line, all the way in America, "how may I direct your call."
"I must speak with Hammer." he said, his voice little above a whisper.
"I'm sorry, sir," the receptionist replied, "but Mr. Hammer isn't taking calls at the moment."
"Magnetism attracts...mine is the force that repels."
A pause.
"Connecting you now, sir."
He breathed heavily as the phone rang, nervous at what could easily be seen as a betrayal not only of his country's leader but also of his entire people. "Hammer speaking," the gruff, aged voice of the millionaire answered.
"This is Unus," he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking, "and I have information for you."
END INTERLUDE
# # # # # # # # # #
"You get Syphilis," Viral stated, talking more to himself than to his victims, as he waded through a squadron of soldiers, "and you get Cholera. Fun for all, I say."
The men died painfully, falling in waves before the invisible blight that emitted from the villain's pores. In moments, only one lone guard remained, violently ill, but still alive. Viral sauntered forward, placing a cold hand across the young man's throat. "Did you know, my lad, that I contain in my body a perfect equilibrium of every disease known to mankind? The viruses cancel each other out, supercharging my immune system to superhuman levels."
The guard choked on his own blood.
"Obviously, your immune system was not quite so strong," he said with a sick grin plastered across his pale face, "though you're the first I've ever killed with Spanish Influenza. Feel honored."
"Quit playing around, Casper!" Ignition yelled from the adjoining room, where her explosive powers were keeping several Guardsmen at bay. "I could use some help over here!"
"No problem," Viral acquiesced as he walked between his partner and her attackers, "here's one I've been wanting to try for some time now."
The Guardsmen reacted with blinding speed, raising their arms in an effort to cut the Master of Evil in two with their repulsor blasts. Unfortunately, they weren't quite fast enough. "A present for you, my tin friends," Viral hissed, "its name is Necrotizing Fasciitis."
# # # # # # # # # #
Having abandoned the safety of the air ducts, the Silencer moved through the nearly abandoned hallways of the Vault. The former Thunderbolt's plan had worked, the diversion set-up by Viral and Ignition taking care of most opposition to the Silencer's goal. Coming to a turn in the hall, the silent assassin peaked around the corner, his target in sight. One guard remained on the cell block, obviously left behind to hold the fort while his comrades focused their energies on the attack that was happening floors below.
No sound came from the Silencer's pistol as it fired, nor did any noise come from the sound-muffled bullet as it struck the guard at the base of his neck, killing him instantly. After waiting a moment, making sure that no other guards had been alerted, the Silencer made his way to the cell of the man he'd come to find.
"Who are you? What are you doing?" The man in the cell asked frantically, his voice thick with a heavy Russian accent. The Silencer put his finger to his mouth, though it was covered by a full mask, signaling for the man he'd come to free to remain quiet.
# # # # # # # # # #
"Sir, we've got two unidentified individuals attacking the front gates...requesting assistance immediately!"
Henry Gyrich sighed as he took in the information passed to him by the Guardsman on the other end of the loud speaker. Reclining back in his chair, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "Okay, Jones," he finally answered, "reroute 80% of the Guardsmen force to stopping those two. I hate to leave the cells with a skeleton crew, but I don't see any other option. My personal guards will remain in position."
"Affirmative, sir," the Guardsmen replied, "we'll contact you as soon as the hostiles are apprehended."
Gyrich said nothing as he ended the communiqué, seething with anger at the onset of yet another unauthorized incursion into his prison. His thoughts were interrupted immediately after, however, by the sound of a struggle outside his door. Standing from his chair, the Commission agent listened as the brief battle ended, punctuated by a loud slam against his door. The steel entrance stood for a moment before finally falling to the ground with a crash.
"Who are you?" he yelled, straining to see past the dust from the conflict. "Who's there?"
His answer came in the form of a broken and sparking Guardsmen, tossed onto the floor by the attacker. Nosebleed stepped from the smoke, a wry grin displayed on his face. "Sit yer ass down, Hank," the villain ordered, "you got company."
Lapdance and Memento followed their teammate into the office, cutting off the only way into the room. "We've got Gyrich secured," Memento relayed through his communicator, "come on in."
# # # # # # # # # #
"They got the bastard," Airstrike said, a smile forming on his lips, "so I'm going in."
Sharpe and Infernal nodded affirmatively as Abe turned back toward them. "Go pull the diversion team out," he commanded, "I'll meet back up with you at the safehouse."
With nary a word from the two Masters of Evil, Jenkins activated his bootjets. The jet thrusters launched the former Beetle into the sky, the visual map of the Vault as plain as day in his thoughts, thanks to Memento's mental imaging. "Top floor," he muttered to himself as he rocketed toward the Vault, "awfully convenient."
As he approached the roof of the complex, Airstrike let loose several air-to-ground missiles from his personal armament system, blasting a hole into the facility with relative ease. He flew through the entryway, his guidance unit taking him straight toward the office of the man he'd come to see for answers. Spotting Lapdance in the hallway in front of the office, he powered down his bootjets, landing a few feet away from her.
"How's it going, boss man?" she teased, knowing how resentful some of the other Masters were of Jenkins' taking command of their group. Abe said nothing as he walked past her, entering the office. Gyrich remained in the chair behind his desk, guarded carefully by the diminutive Nosebleed.
"Abner," Gyrich addressed through gritted teeth, "I should've known."
"Clear out of here, Masters," Jenkins ordered, "head for the rendezvous point. I need some time alone with Henry."
The three villains begrudgingly complied, leaving the office and making their way back down the hallway. Airstrike waited a few moments, his gaze never leaving Gyrich's, for his ersatz team of criminals to start making their way out of the facility.
"I'm here for answers, you son of a bitch," Jenkins finally said, breaking the silence in the air, "and if I have to hurt you to get them, more the better."
# # # # # # # # # #
INTERLUDE TWO
Detective Milton Weisz stepped lightly through the small motel room, careful not to step on any of the various body parts that lay strung across the room. The crime scene was one of the most grisly he'd ever witnessed in his fifteen years in the New York Police Department. The scariest part, however, was that he'd seen nearly the exact kind of murder a few weeks prior.
"Fucking shit," Weisz muttered to himself, "what a mess."
"I accidentally stepped on her severed finger when I came in," the medical examiner said from his position on the floor, crouched down with a pencil and notepad in front of the girl's body, "how's it going, Milton?"
"Better before I saw this," the detective commented, taking a glance at the corpse. The legs cut off at the knees, her throat slashed...the girl had died painfully.
"See the knife in her hand?" the M.E. asked, pointing at the large butcher knife in her cold grasp. "She did this to herself."
"Her name's Hallie Takahama," Weisz stated as he rubbed a hand over his balding head, "she was a super-hero. Possibly a super-villain. We haven't determined which. Tell me this isn't the same modus operandi as the Diamondback case."
"She checked in last Saturday night," the other policeman began, "paid for the whole week in cash. Room's under her name, so no leads there. Only thing we got is what the desk clerk told us...there was a guy with her."
"Jesus," Weisz grunted, "so it is the same."
"Detective Weisz?" another policeman asked from the motel room door. "You've got a visitor."
"Tell him to track me down at the office. We're a little busy, here."
"Uh, I don't think I can tell him that."
Weisz grumbled to himself as he pushed his way past the uniformed officer, making his way outside. He stopped short when he saw who was waiting for him, the lights from the numerous police cruisers reflecting off his metallic surface. "Detective Weisz, I presume?" the golden Avenger known to the world as Iron Man asked, extending an armored hand toward the stunned investigator.
"I understand you've got the body of Hallie Takahama in that room," Iron Man continued after the handshake, "a girl that the Avengers have a bit of history with."
"I'll tell you the same thing I told your star spangled partner a few weeks ago at the Leighton murder," Weisz interjected, "we can do this without the cape crowd getting involved. It is our job, you know."
"Takahama, or Jolt, as we knew her," Iron Man continued, seemingly ignoring the cop's statement, "was a member of the Thunderbolts. Her teammates could be targeted next by whoever did this."
"I kinda doubt it," Weisz answered, sparking up a match across Iron Man's steel hide, "seeing as how the girl killed herself." The detective lit his cigarette, following his words with a puff of smoke in the Avenger's face. "We'll keep you posted on what we find."
"See that you do," Iron Man said sternly before activating his bootjets.
Weisz watched the hero fly into the night sky, a scowl formed on his lips. "Super hero jackass."
END INTERLUDE
# # # # # # # # # #
"You're here," Gyrich began, his legs propped up on his desk as Abe watched his every move, "because you found out there's somebody out there in the real world walking around with your face. At least I hope that's why you're here, since that's the whole reason I released you in the first place. The Commission wanted an operative to infiltrate your little Thunderbolts crew, and it was obvious to everyone involved that you were the best candidate. But seriously, Jenkins...we weren't really going to release a dangerous criminal like yourself back into the world, were we?"
"Keep going, you sack of shit," Jenkins commented, his disgust rising with every word Gyrich spoke.
"Are you familiar with a piece of equipment called the Life Model Decoy?" Gyrich asked, removing a cigarette from the pack on his desk. "They're cybernetic replicas of people...completely indistinguishable from the real person. Your LMD never had reason to doubt its authenticity, Abraham. That's why it was so perfect, what with all of your memories downloaded into his matrix. It was YOU, in every way that counted."
Airstrike's eyes narrowed beneath his helmet.
"Of course, that's what proved to be its flaw, as well. Instead of leading us to the Thunderbolts, it went rogue along with them. The Commission couldn't let an expensive piece of equipment like that run amok, you understand. That's why I released you. I knew you'd discover your double, and in turn destroy it for us. How long did it take you to kill it, Jenkins? That's a fight I'd have paid money to see."
"I didn't destroy it," Abe hissed, "it's still out there, leading my life."
"Oh..." Gyrich said, the smirk disappearing from his face, "that's too bad. Although I think that you'll be sure to track him down now, am I right?"
"Soon as I'm done with you." Airstrike lifted his arm, his wrist-lasers targeted on the man he hated more than any other.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you..." Airstrike and Gyrich both turned toward the door, surprised at the threatening voice that dared to interrupt their discussion. A single guard stood in the room, his pistol courageously aimed at Airstrike.
"Shoot him now," Gyrich ordered, smiling at the unexpected turn of events.
"Shut up," the guard answered, turning his gun away from Abe and toward the unarmed Commission agent. Gyrich's eyes widened in shock as the guard's features began to melt and digitize, leaving the cold, skeletal eyes of an unknown person staring at him. The Scourge pulled the trigger on his gun twice, both shots hitting Gyrich square in the chest. The Vault warden spun out of his chair, his body hitting the floor behind his desk with a sharp thud.
"Whoa, who the fuck are you?" Airstrike asked, his own weapons now pointed at the murderer before him. The Scourge cocked his head curiously at Abe, but remained silent as he walked over to Gyrich's desk.
"There's so much you don't know," the assassin began to explain, "things that I've only recently discovered myself. Lower your weapons, Abe. They wouldn't do you any good, anyway."
"What?" Abe asked in disbelief. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"
"I'm an old friend," the Scourge said as he took a seat on the top of the desk, facing the confused Abe Jenkins, "and I want you to listen to what I have to say."
"You fucking shot him!"
"You were going to kill him regardless, had I not interrupted," the skull-faced killer said, his voice still a constant calm, "and trust me. That wasn't Henry Gyrich."
"Make fucking sense!" Airstrike shouted, waving his wrist guns at the man before him.
"Take a look for yourself," the Scourge requested, waving his hand at Gyrich's body, barely visible on the floor behind the desk. Abe cautiously walked around the desk, keeping his eyes locked on the Scourge the entire way. Only when he stopped moving did he allow his gaze to move downward, and what he said made him gasp. Gyrich was indeed dead, the two holes in his chest enough proof of that. Instead of blood from the wounds, however, the holes in his body spewed forth sparks and oil, the destroyed circuitry buzzing and humming as it attempted to continue working while damaged.
"You see?" the Scourge asked, though he knew the question to be rhetorical. "All that talk about Life Model Decoys, and poor Hank there didn't even realize that he was one himself."
"Where...where is he?" Abe choked out, stunned at the discovery. "Where's the real one?"
"If I knew that," the Scourge said, his countenance turning grim as he spoke, "he'd be just as dead as his double there. You have no idea what Gyrich - the real Gyrich - did to me. I've been hiding out here in the Vault, watching and waiting, trying to figure out where that scumbag's hidden himself away at."
"You said we were friends," Abe said, his thoughts finally beginning to collect themselves, "but I think I'd remember somebody that looked like walking death, man."
The Scourge's face and form began to shimmer and flow, the effect of his chameleon field activating yet again. Instead of the Vault guard that he'd copied the last time, the killer's face transformed into one immediately recognized by the baffled Airstrike. The now-human face of the Scourge smiled at Abe, his trimmed moustache and goatee accenting the face that Jenkins knew all too well. In light of the recognition, Airstrike could only choke out a muffled "Holy shit..."
Paul Norbert Eversol, the holographic image of the man from his days as one of the Thunderbolts, extended his free hand toward the dumbstruck Airstrike. "Glad to see I'm not forgotten."
"Techno?" Abe asked, hesitantly taking his former teammate's hand to shake. "Man, I'm so confused right now."
"I know what you mean," Eversol replied as he holstered his pistol.
"Why the fuck are you running around killing people like this? Not really your style, is it?"
"Things have been different for me from the moment I got trapped in this cybernetic body, Abe," the Scourge answered, "and I'm only now starting to figure things out. Got an old friend of yours to thank for that, actually. Justin Hammer gave me a computer disk that spelled it all out for me...what was done to me."
"What was done to you?"
"Henry Gyrich went rouge from the Commission after the second Vault was destroyed, hell bent on destroying the super-powered community," he explained, "but the CSA weren't gonna just sit by without doing a little damage control. They put the LMD of Gyrich in position, so they could give plausible deniability on their part. They were able to put things in motion secretly, and from what I understand SHIELD took care of the real Gyrich a few weeks back."
"You didn't answer my question."
Eversol paused, raising an eyebrow at Airstrike. "Still as observant as I ever, I see..."
The holographic image of the Fixer faded away, returning him to his now-default appearance of the Scourge. His skull face twisted into a look of total sadness as he stared at the dead body of the robotic Henry Gyrich. "Fuck this piece of shit," the Scourge grunted, removing his pistol with a blurred motion. He shot the robot several more times in the head, causing it to explode with sound and fury.
"Get out of here, Jenkins," he ordered, turning his gun in Abe's direction, "before I kill you, too. I can't help myself...I can't stop the killing."
"This isn't over, Techno," Airstrike warned as he turned, knowing he could do nothing but walk away, "I still have questions that need answering."
"So do I, buddy," the Scourge said as he watched Abe leave the room, "so do I."
# # # # # # # # # #
Abe Jenkins sat by himself in the safehouse he'd chosen for the Masters of Evil, his mind attempting to process what he'd learned from his former friend. Things had become so complicated since he'd been put in jail all those months ago, almost as if the world had turned upside-down in his absence. He didn't like not knowing the full story, and at that moment he was a full chapters shy of a novel.
"Jenkins?" Lapdance asked from the door, cracking it open just enough to stick her head in the room. "Silencer's back, with our guest of honor."
"Good," Abe said, standing from the bed. Following the girl out into the house's living room, he immediately spotted the large Russian in the center of the room.
"Dimitri Bukharin?" Jenkins asked, shaking the man's hand.
"Da," Bukharin replied, "you people have my many thanks for rescuing me, but I must know...why?"
"That suit of armor look familiar to you?" Abe asked, pointing to the standing Airstrike armor in the corner of the room.
"It does," the Russian answered as he walked over to the armor, "it is mine. How did it come into your hands?"
"It was given to me by the man that imprisoned you," Abe explained, "but now, I'm giving it back to you. I don't need it anymore."
"Then what you gonna do, Beetle-boy?" Infernal asked from his position on the couch.
"I've got to forge my own way now, Masters," Jenkins stated, "especially after what I learned tonight."
"So no more of this MACH-1 nonsense?" Ignition continued, happy at the opportunity to needle the reformed-villain.
Abe shot him an unpleasant look. "I'm thinking maybe it's time for the Beetle to fly again..."
# # # # # # # # # #
NEXT ISSUE: The focus returns to the newly organized Thunderbolts team, as Justin Hammer makes a stunning announcement to the press. Don't miss this prelude to "Industrial Strength", the crossover with Alex Cook's Fallen Angels!
# # # # # # # # # #
LIGHTNING STRIKES
First off, I'd like to thank everybody who gave me props on # 19, whether it was through AIM or e-mail...I appreciate every single bit of feedback I recieve, and thanks go out to you all for taking the time to read and respond to this series. As for letters, we've got four this month. Let's get it on!
First letter comes from an extra-special person, namely this book's previous writer: Mike Exner III!
Been meaning to send you a letter regarding T-Bolts for a while now, Chris. Haven't done it. You know me... I'm a bastard. However, I am sending you one now... so quit yer' bitchin'.
Consider my bitching quieted, my friend!
I only have one complaint with this issue, so I'll get it out of the way first thing. Scourge rules! See, that's not a complaint, but this is... I hate that he's being manipulated by some kind of outside force or brainwashing or whatever. See, Scourge is so badass in these pages that the fact that Gyrich or whoever it is that's manipulating him makes him seem a tad bit weaker as a character in my eyes. Especially since he killed Electro! Ahhhhhh! However, the fact that there's another super-type serial killer out there (Ladykiller) who seems perfectly fine with rubbing out superhero hotties more than makes up for this fact. I also assume that we'll soon be getting to the bottom of who this Scourge character is. And I'm sure you have a revelation up your sleeve that will blow me away and make me forget all about my complaints.
Indeed, the Scourge DOES rule (and he's actually one of my favorite characters in the book). I wouldn't say, however, that Gyrich is "manipulating" him...as was discovered in this issue, it was more like he he changed him to suit his own ends and then unleashed him against the country's criminals. The Scourge was himself unaware of this, until he recieved the computer disk from Justin Hammer that spelled out everything that had happened to him and who he really was. Also, as you've just read, the identity of the Scourge is no longer a mystery, so here's hoping the revelation was to your liking.
I also appreciated the explanation for Abe Jenkins being back in prison. It was a confusing aspect of the series when it first came under your pen, but, if you think about it (and I did) this is the Thunderbolts! They're supposed to be confusing the hell out of you. The fact that the MACH-1 that was running around during MY run was actually some sort of LMD or clone or whatever is a great idea. And that's only one explanation for it, as well. The LMD could be Airstrike. We just don't know. Brilliant stuff.
You nailed it exactly, man...Thunderbolts is definately supposed to confuse the hell out of you (and it's good to know that I succeeded, heheh). Obviously, your LMD theory was indeed correct, concerning both Abe's situation and about why there's two different Henry Gyrichs running around (here and in the pages of Wheatley's X-Force). Just because Abe knows the truth, though, doesn't do anything to resolve the fact that there's still a robotic copy of him running around with his old team.
It was also nice to see Hallie back within the pages, even if I'm afraid you're going to axe her by next issue. The explanation of what happened to the T-Bolts inbetween the start of my previous run and your current one was done pretty well. A flashback or something of that nature would have been nice, but one of the strengths of your writing has always been dialogue, and I enjoyed the story Hallie spun.
I almost did it as a flashback, but decided against it. The issue had so much other stuff going on, I felt that a flashback would just add to the chaos. As for Hallie...alas, she shall be missed.
The confrontation with the Masters of Evil and Abe seemed a little thrown together at the last minute, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Like I said, the T-Bolts are meant to be about a grouping of characters who are always kept on their toes. Things like the Masters of Evil just happening to be at the same bar as Abe so he can train them are a little far-fetched, sure... but this is T-Bolts fanfic! I love it!
You nailed it again, man. I wanted the introduction of the Masters to be this bizare, off-the-wall encounter that would throw everybody off (including Abe). Now that you've seen the Masters' official debut in this issue, be sure to let me know what you think of the team!
In short, I like what you've done with all the characters and the direction of the book in general. I'm interested to know what's happened to Living Lightning, Charcoal, Citizen V and all the rest of the annexed T-Bolts just like anybody else, but I'm really enjoying the stories you're spinning with this title, Chris... so don't do anyhting different than you might already. Really looking forward to the next issue. Who is.... THE SCOURGE!?!?
Awesome, man...glad to have approval (especially from the former writer)! Citizen V, actually, has been appearing regularly in X-Force over the past several months...as for the others, well, I honestly don't know. I suppose that's up to whoever decides to write them next.
Oh, and about the Scourge...never say I don't give answers to mysteries.. :-)
The next letter comes from reader Gregory Cuikshank!
I only recently started reading the Marvel 2000 version of Thunderbolts, starting with the first issue of your run. Now, I'm not going to lie, you are a very skilled writer---a little dark, but still very skilled. I liked your use of numerous obscure villains, such as Eightball, Splice, Blacklash, and Blizzard(hell, I don't even know some of these guys), and loved bringing Scourge into the mix, and assumed my first letter to you would be completely positive.
Thanks for reading, and for the writing compliments!
However, recent events in T-Bolts #19 have forced me to reconsider. What are these events, you ask?
You killed Whirlwind and Avalanche.
Without a doubt, two of my personal favourite classic villains, on a bank-robbing scale.
Massacred them, without giving a single thought to the readers that may like them. If possible, when choosing comic book villains to massacre, please be a tad considerate of the fans. And try to find an excuse to bring them back to life.
Aye, there's the rub, my friend. To be honest, I expect your letter to be the first of many like this, showing support for any one of the characters I killed. The problem with choosing characters whose only purpose is to die is that every character out there has at least one fan that's gonna get upset at me. I mean, I'm an Avalanche fan myself, loved that guy since the old Brotherhood of Evil Mutants days...but sacrifices, sometimes, have to be made for the good of the story. I intentionally picked characters that I personally liked, such as Electro and the Sin-Eater, in order to show that the Scourge is a very serious threat to ANY costumed villain...not just the lame-ass that only appeared in one issue of LUKE CAGE back in 1976. As for bringing the characters back to life, it won't be happening under my pen...if somebody else comes along and wants to do it, then they can feel free, but to do it myself would cheapen the impact of my story. Thanks for taking the time to write, Gregory!
Next up, is a review of # 19 by fellow M2K writer Brent Lambert!
THE GOOD: Chris makes writing suspense easy. Throughout this entire issue you can feel a tension building that you just know is going to explode. Everything from the mystery of Scourge, to how the old T-Bolts disbanded, and the new Masters of Evil tells you that something big is on the horizon. I also like this Ladykiller subplot Chris has going on, but I have to wonder how it will tie in to all the other stuff going on in T-Bolts?
Trust me, writing suspense is NOT easy...why do you think it takes me so frickin' long to write the damn things? The Scourge and the Masters of Evil got the spotlight in the next issue, and expect some big things to come from our little Ladykiller. ;-)
THE BAD: Jolt seemed a little out of character for me, but I figure that she’s been through a lot.
Well, I wanted to emphasize that after everything she's been through, Hallie's really not a kid anymore. But hey, at least I didn't have her spouting out endless streams of profanity, lol.
OVERALL: A good issue that is setting up some major stuff. Chris makes obscure characters work well and he makes them important. I applaud him on that.
You totally rule all, Brent. Obscure characters are the BEST!
Now, we've got a letter from a writer of many splendid things, Mr. Ian Astheimer!
How dare you, sir. As if doing third-string villains justice was not enough, you dare to tease me with a glimpse of Marsha Rosenberg in #18, only to find her eerily absent from the subsequent issue? Frankly, I am appalled that you would neglect such an outstanding creature as you have. And, for that, I shall not stand.
Yeah, like I explained, that was my biggest problem with # 18. Though worry, not! Dear Volcana will be getting more screen time next issue!
Luckily, the chair in which I sit is comfortable. So, enough with that Claremontian diatribe and on with the comments and queries.
As stated above, I'm a big fan of Volcana and have been ever since she appeared in an installment of the Spider-Man/X-Men: Time's Arrow trilogy. She has one of the most unique personalities in -- oh, hell, who am I kidding? Have you seen her? Her knockers are huge, man. Marsha's got mammaries to spare. I mean, seriously, what's not to like? Excluding her "only partners in crime" relationship with Titania, of course. With Mary still alive and kicking after Scourge's prison assault, the timing is right for a little romance, don't you think? Of course you do.
You ain't lyin', friend...her knockers ARE huge! I'm sorry to say, though, that there no plans for a Titantia/Volcana lesbian-fest...although, in hind sight, that's not a bad idea at all.
Speaking of Scourge's jaunt in the Vault, kudos on killing off the sorriest of the sorry-assed. I do believe Thunderbolts goes through more characters in a month than I go through rolls of Charmin. And, that's a feat.
Damn skippy! Although, as you no doubt noticed, this issue had not a single death! Consider it a breather issue after last issue's slaughter, lol.
Oh, and Taproot -- is his moniker an ode to the hard rock (are they even hard rock? I have no fuckin' clue...) band of the same name? Either way, Plantman has never been cooler...or, um, cool at all until now, come to think of it.
Yeah, I gotta admit it...I'm a huge fan of the band Taproot, and his new name is indeed a nod to that band. But, as I explained last issue, the name does make sense, too! Best of both worlds!
Can't wait to see the latest Masters of Evil in action.
You got it, man...so what'd ya think?
So, keep up the good work, or I'll send a skull-faced assassin after you.
Bwahaha.
No, bwahaha to YOU, my good man! Thanks for the letter, you magnificent bastard.
Has anybody else noticed that the lettercols are starting to dwarf the actual issues?
Chris Munn
06/21/03
BIBLIOGRAPHY- The Silencer made his first, and only, appearance in Hawkeye # 2, back in the early 1980's.
- Jack Taggert, the inmate mentioned by Viral, did indeed almost kill Iron Man with a nuclear missle, in his armored form of Firepower, in Iron Man # 230-232.
- To see where the real Henry Gyrich's been hanging his hat, check out recent issues of X-Force.
- Techno was killed and his mind transferred into his robotic tech-pack in Marvel's Thunderbolts # 8.
Jericho Johnson, a rookie of only four months stationed at the Vault, cocked a curious eye at the man and woman that stood before him, each holding an identification badge with their photos and names. "Uh, I don't think I know a Jack Taggert," Johnson said, tapping the name into his computer system, "he must not be one of the big guns, huh?"
"He almost killed Iron Man once," the thin Security Agent answered, his voice a hushed whisper that Johnson had to strain to hear, "by shooting him with a nuclear missile. Draw your own conclusions."
"Uh, okay, well, see, here's the thing," Johnson stammered, much to the chagrin of the two visitors, "Mr. Gyrich's got the Vault on lockdown, after an incident we had last week. I'll really have to call and get his approval before I can let you in."
"I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that, child," the ghastly man stated, placing his palm on the glass that separated him from Jericho, "so you can die now. Bubonic plague, always a favorite of mine."
Before Johnson could react, the disease that the agent had called by name began to ravage his system at an accelerated rate, decimating his internal organs within seconds. The young man fell to the ground, his body a mushy blob of pus and blood, to which his attacker showed no emotion at all.
"Guess you can't go wrong with the classics, eh Viral?" his female comrade stated, turning toward the steel door that barred their access to the Vault.
"We're the diversion, my dear Ignition," Viral rasped, "no need to be subtle."
Without a prompt from either Master of Evil, the steel door slid opened, revealing a battalion of armored Guardsmen, all just itching for a taste of action. "Get your hands up!" the lead soldier commanded, his armor humming as he charged a repulsor blast.
The young black woman named Ignition smirked as she raised her hands above her head. "You ready for the punch line, jackboots?" Smoke and fire began to spark from her raised hands, igniting at her mental command. "Duck and cover, Viral." As the Guardsmen moved to intercept her, the flame exploded forth in a circle, devastating the room with the effect of a large tank shell. When the smoke cleared, the room was nothing but a crater in the Earth, the Guardsmen lying in broken heaps on the charred ground.
"A little, oomph," Viral stated, uncovering the wreckage from the spot where he'd taken cover, "too close for comfort, my girl."
"Well, hey, they wanted a diversion, didn't they?" Ignition answered with a smile. "Get ready to have every Guardsmen in the fucking building come down on our heads, buddy."
Viral dusted the dirt and debris from his white business suit, glaring at his teammate through narrowed eyes. "I cannot wait."
# # # # # # # # # #
He moved without making a sound, his sonic nullifiers instantly muting any and all noises in his general vicinity. The Silencer was the perfect assassin, as his trek through the Vault's ventilation ducts could attest. He'd been on the move for what seemed like hours, working his way deeper and deeper into the installation. He'd yet to come across anything interesting, but even if he did, there's no way he could communicate it back to his followers. The Masters of Evil were on their own for the first time, and that brought a slight bit of pride to the otherwise grim assassin.
As he rounded a corner in the duct, he immediately spotted a source of light, the illumination pouring into the tunnel from the grated vent in the floor. His silence field pulled in tight around his body, the stealthy killer listened to the voices that filtered up into the duct.
"Don't bullshit me, Benton," said a voice seething with pent up anger, "I want to see these freaks ready by the end of the month. We can't use them if we can't control them, dig?"
"Don't worry, Agent Crass," a second voice answered, this one timid and shaky, "the compliance chips have already been planted in two of the subjects. Bushwacker will be online by the end of the week."
"Good," the voice, identified as a man named Crass, stated with authority, "glad to see you're not as big a disappointment as I thought you'd be."
The Silencer paused momentarily, weighing the options before him. There was a chance that the information contained in the two men's conversation could prove useful in the future, but there was a specific mission that needed to be completed. The options weighed and countered, the quiet assassin moved past the ceiling grate, leaving the two unknown men to their own devices.
# # # # # # # # # #
INTERLUDE ONE
In the barely-standing city of Hammer Bay, a shaken and rattled figure made his way through the crowded streets of Magda Square. Although the sun shone brightly on the bustling center of the city, he wore a full cloak over his body, the hood pulled mysteriously over his features. Although this was a place where his people supposedly had a haven, a home to call their own, he had no reason to believe the propaganda.
For this was Genosha, the country ruled by Magneto...a man he knew all-too-well.
"My brothers and sisters," a female voice sounded off across the many loud speakers set up around the Square, "Lord Magneto will be addressing the country tonight. Attendance is mandatory."
He winced at the sound of the woman's voice, immediately recognizing the second-in-command of Magneto's parliament. Camilla Unuscione, the only remaining member of the Master of Magnetism's Acolytes. How his past and future seemed to intersect with each other in bizarre, winding circles, he thought to himself. How one mistake from the past could inexplicably come into contact with another.
"Good evening, brother," a beautiful girl addressed him from behind a desk at the National Communiqué Center, "how may I assist you?"
"I need to send a message," he said, his Italian accent coming through quite thick in his speech, "to America. To my poor sister, who is not yet brave enough to travel here to the Promised Land."
The girl's eyes twitched behind closed eye-lids, her mutant ability connecting her mind to one of million digital cellular pathways that traveled across the slipstream of electrical impulses. Her eyes opened as her mouth grew into a smile, and she handed him a cordless phone. "You may use the booth in the far back corner."
He said his thanks to the girl, cradling the phone between body and arm in order to keep from dropping it. The curse of his own mutant ability, a genetic blessing that nearly killed him once upon a time. He sat down in the booth, taking one last glance around to make sure no one was watching him, and then dialed the number.
"Hammer Industries," a cheerful woman's voice said on the other end of the line, all the way in America, "how may I direct your call."
"I must speak with Hammer." he said, his voice little above a whisper.
"I'm sorry, sir," the receptionist replied, "but Mr. Hammer isn't taking calls at the moment."
"Magnetism attracts...mine is the force that repels."
A pause.
"Connecting you now, sir."
He breathed heavily as the phone rang, nervous at what could easily be seen as a betrayal not only of his country's leader but also of his entire people. "Hammer speaking," the gruff, aged voice of the millionaire answered.
"This is Unus," he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking, "and I have information for you."
END INTERLUDE
# # # # # # # # # #
"You get Syphilis," Viral stated, talking more to himself than to his victims, as he waded through a squadron of soldiers, "and you get Cholera. Fun for all, I say."
The men died painfully, falling in waves before the invisible blight that emitted from the villain's pores. In moments, only one lone guard remained, violently ill, but still alive. Viral sauntered forward, placing a cold hand across the young man's throat. "Did you know, my lad, that I contain in my body a perfect equilibrium of every disease known to mankind? The viruses cancel each other out, supercharging my immune system to superhuman levels."
The guard choked on his own blood.
"Obviously, your immune system was not quite so strong," he said with a sick grin plastered across his pale face, "though you're the first I've ever killed with Spanish Influenza. Feel honored."
"Quit playing around, Casper!" Ignition yelled from the adjoining room, where her explosive powers were keeping several Guardsmen at bay. "I could use some help over here!"
"No problem," Viral acquiesced as he walked between his partner and her attackers, "here's one I've been wanting to try for some time now."
The Guardsmen reacted with blinding speed, raising their arms in an effort to cut the Master of Evil in two with their repulsor blasts. Unfortunately, they weren't quite fast enough. "A present for you, my tin friends," Viral hissed, "its name is Necrotizing Fasciitis."
# # # # # # # # # #
Having abandoned the safety of the air ducts, the Silencer moved through the nearly abandoned hallways of the Vault. The former Thunderbolt's plan had worked, the diversion set-up by Viral and Ignition taking care of most opposition to the Silencer's goal. Coming to a turn in the hall, the silent assassin peaked around the corner, his target in sight. One guard remained on the cell block, obviously left behind to hold the fort while his comrades focused their energies on the attack that was happening floors below.
No sound came from the Silencer's pistol as it fired, nor did any noise come from the sound-muffled bullet as it struck the guard at the base of his neck, killing him instantly. After waiting a moment, making sure that no other guards had been alerted, the Silencer made his way to the cell of the man he'd come to find.
"Who are you? What are you doing?" The man in the cell asked frantically, his voice thick with a heavy Russian accent. The Silencer put his finger to his mouth, though it was covered by a full mask, signaling for the man he'd come to free to remain quiet.
# # # # # # # # # #
"Sir, we've got two unidentified individuals attacking the front gates...requesting assistance immediately!"
Henry Gyrich sighed as he took in the information passed to him by the Guardsman on the other end of the loud speaker. Reclining back in his chair, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "Okay, Jones," he finally answered, "reroute 80% of the Guardsmen force to stopping those two. I hate to leave the cells with a skeleton crew, but I don't see any other option. My personal guards will remain in position."
"Affirmative, sir," the Guardsmen replied, "we'll contact you as soon as the hostiles are apprehended."
Gyrich said nothing as he ended the communiqué, seething with anger at the onset of yet another unauthorized incursion into his prison. His thoughts were interrupted immediately after, however, by the sound of a struggle outside his door. Standing from his chair, the Commission agent listened as the brief battle ended, punctuated by a loud slam against his door. The steel entrance stood for a moment before finally falling to the ground with a crash.
"Who are you?" he yelled, straining to see past the dust from the conflict. "Who's there?"
His answer came in the form of a broken and sparking Guardsmen, tossed onto the floor by the attacker. Nosebleed stepped from the smoke, a wry grin displayed on his face. "Sit yer ass down, Hank," the villain ordered, "you got company."
Lapdance and Memento followed their teammate into the office, cutting off the only way into the room. "We've got Gyrich secured," Memento relayed through his communicator, "come on in."
# # # # # # # # # #
"They got the bastard," Airstrike said, a smile forming on his lips, "so I'm going in."
Sharpe and Infernal nodded affirmatively as Abe turned back toward them. "Go pull the diversion team out," he commanded, "I'll meet back up with you at the safehouse."
With nary a word from the two Masters of Evil, Jenkins activated his bootjets. The jet thrusters launched the former Beetle into the sky, the visual map of the Vault as plain as day in his thoughts, thanks to Memento's mental imaging. "Top floor," he muttered to himself as he rocketed toward the Vault, "awfully convenient."
As he approached the roof of the complex, Airstrike let loose several air-to-ground missiles from his personal armament system, blasting a hole into the facility with relative ease. He flew through the entryway, his guidance unit taking him straight toward the office of the man he'd come to see for answers. Spotting Lapdance in the hallway in front of the office, he powered down his bootjets, landing a few feet away from her.
"How's it going, boss man?" she teased, knowing how resentful some of the other Masters were of Jenkins' taking command of their group. Abe said nothing as he walked past her, entering the office. Gyrich remained in the chair behind his desk, guarded carefully by the diminutive Nosebleed.
"Abner," Gyrich addressed through gritted teeth, "I should've known."
"Clear out of here, Masters," Jenkins ordered, "head for the rendezvous point. I need some time alone with Henry."
The three villains begrudgingly complied, leaving the office and making their way back down the hallway. Airstrike waited a few moments, his gaze never leaving Gyrich's, for his ersatz team of criminals to start making their way out of the facility.
"I'm here for answers, you son of a bitch," Jenkins finally said, breaking the silence in the air, "and if I have to hurt you to get them, more the better."
# # # # # # # # # #
INTERLUDE TWO
Detective Milton Weisz stepped lightly through the small motel room, careful not to step on any of the various body parts that lay strung across the room. The crime scene was one of the most grisly he'd ever witnessed in his fifteen years in the New York Police Department. The scariest part, however, was that he'd seen nearly the exact kind of murder a few weeks prior.
"Fucking shit," Weisz muttered to himself, "what a mess."
"I accidentally stepped on her severed finger when I came in," the medical examiner said from his position on the floor, crouched down with a pencil and notepad in front of the girl's body, "how's it going, Milton?"
"Better before I saw this," the detective commented, taking a glance at the corpse. The legs cut off at the knees, her throat slashed...the girl had died painfully.
"See the knife in her hand?" the M.E. asked, pointing at the large butcher knife in her cold grasp. "She did this to herself."
"Her name's Hallie Takahama," Weisz stated as he rubbed a hand over his balding head, "she was a super-hero. Possibly a super-villain. We haven't determined which. Tell me this isn't the same modus operandi as the Diamondback case."
"She checked in last Saturday night," the other policeman began, "paid for the whole week in cash. Room's under her name, so no leads there. Only thing we got is what the desk clerk told us...there was a guy with her."
"Jesus," Weisz grunted, "so it is the same."
"Detective Weisz?" another policeman asked from the motel room door. "You've got a visitor."
"Tell him to track me down at the office. We're a little busy, here."
"Uh, I don't think I can tell him that."
Weisz grumbled to himself as he pushed his way past the uniformed officer, making his way outside. He stopped short when he saw who was waiting for him, the lights from the numerous police cruisers reflecting off his metallic surface. "Detective Weisz, I presume?" the golden Avenger known to the world as Iron Man asked, extending an armored hand toward the stunned investigator.
"I understand you've got the body of Hallie Takahama in that room," Iron Man continued after the handshake, "a girl that the Avengers have a bit of history with."
"I'll tell you the same thing I told your star spangled partner a few weeks ago at the Leighton murder," Weisz interjected, "we can do this without the cape crowd getting involved. It is our job, you know."
"Takahama, or Jolt, as we knew her," Iron Man continued, seemingly ignoring the cop's statement, "was a member of the Thunderbolts. Her teammates could be targeted next by whoever did this."
"I kinda doubt it," Weisz answered, sparking up a match across Iron Man's steel hide, "seeing as how the girl killed herself." The detective lit his cigarette, following his words with a puff of smoke in the Avenger's face. "We'll keep you posted on what we find."
"See that you do," Iron Man said sternly before activating his bootjets.
Weisz watched the hero fly into the night sky, a scowl formed on his lips. "Super hero jackass."
END INTERLUDE
# # # # # # # # # #
"You're here," Gyrich began, his legs propped up on his desk as Abe watched his every move, "because you found out there's somebody out there in the real world walking around with your face. At least I hope that's why you're here, since that's the whole reason I released you in the first place. The Commission wanted an operative to infiltrate your little Thunderbolts crew, and it was obvious to everyone involved that you were the best candidate. But seriously, Jenkins...we weren't really going to release a dangerous criminal like yourself back into the world, were we?"
"Keep going, you sack of shit," Jenkins commented, his disgust rising with every word Gyrich spoke.
"Are you familiar with a piece of equipment called the Life Model Decoy?" Gyrich asked, removing a cigarette from the pack on his desk. "They're cybernetic replicas of people...completely indistinguishable from the real person. Your LMD never had reason to doubt its authenticity, Abraham. That's why it was so perfect, what with all of your memories downloaded into his matrix. It was YOU, in every way that counted."
Airstrike's eyes narrowed beneath his helmet.
"Of course, that's what proved to be its flaw, as well. Instead of leading us to the Thunderbolts, it went rogue along with them. The Commission couldn't let an expensive piece of equipment like that run amok, you understand. That's why I released you. I knew you'd discover your double, and in turn destroy it for us. How long did it take you to kill it, Jenkins? That's a fight I'd have paid money to see."
"I didn't destroy it," Abe hissed, "it's still out there, leading my life."
"Oh..." Gyrich said, the smirk disappearing from his face, "that's too bad. Although I think that you'll be sure to track him down now, am I right?"
"Soon as I'm done with you." Airstrike lifted his arm, his wrist-lasers targeted on the man he hated more than any other.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you..." Airstrike and Gyrich both turned toward the door, surprised at the threatening voice that dared to interrupt their discussion. A single guard stood in the room, his pistol courageously aimed at Airstrike.
"Shoot him now," Gyrich ordered, smiling at the unexpected turn of events.
"Shut up," the guard answered, turning his gun away from Abe and toward the unarmed Commission agent. Gyrich's eyes widened in shock as the guard's features began to melt and digitize, leaving the cold, skeletal eyes of an unknown person staring at him. The Scourge pulled the trigger on his gun twice, both shots hitting Gyrich square in the chest. The Vault warden spun out of his chair, his body hitting the floor behind his desk with a sharp thud.
"Whoa, who the fuck are you?" Airstrike asked, his own weapons now pointed at the murderer before him. The Scourge cocked his head curiously at Abe, but remained silent as he walked over to Gyrich's desk.
"There's so much you don't know," the assassin began to explain, "things that I've only recently discovered myself. Lower your weapons, Abe. They wouldn't do you any good, anyway."
"What?" Abe asked in disbelief. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"
"I'm an old friend," the Scourge said as he took a seat on the top of the desk, facing the confused Abe Jenkins, "and I want you to listen to what I have to say."
"You fucking shot him!"
"You were going to kill him regardless, had I not interrupted," the skull-faced killer said, his voice still a constant calm, "and trust me. That wasn't Henry Gyrich."
"Make fucking sense!" Airstrike shouted, waving his wrist guns at the man before him.
"Take a look for yourself," the Scourge requested, waving his hand at Gyrich's body, barely visible on the floor behind the desk. Abe cautiously walked around the desk, keeping his eyes locked on the Scourge the entire way. Only when he stopped moving did he allow his gaze to move downward, and what he said made him gasp. Gyrich was indeed dead, the two holes in his chest enough proof of that. Instead of blood from the wounds, however, the holes in his body spewed forth sparks and oil, the destroyed circuitry buzzing and humming as it attempted to continue working while damaged.
"You see?" the Scourge asked, though he knew the question to be rhetorical. "All that talk about Life Model Decoys, and poor Hank there didn't even realize that he was one himself."
"Where...where is he?" Abe choked out, stunned at the discovery. "Where's the real one?"
"If I knew that," the Scourge said, his countenance turning grim as he spoke, "he'd be just as dead as his double there. You have no idea what Gyrich - the real Gyrich - did to me. I've been hiding out here in the Vault, watching and waiting, trying to figure out where that scumbag's hidden himself away at."
"You said we were friends," Abe said, his thoughts finally beginning to collect themselves, "but I think I'd remember somebody that looked like walking death, man."
The Scourge's face and form began to shimmer and flow, the effect of his chameleon field activating yet again. Instead of the Vault guard that he'd copied the last time, the killer's face transformed into one immediately recognized by the baffled Airstrike. The now-human face of the Scourge smiled at Abe, his trimmed moustache and goatee accenting the face that Jenkins knew all too well. In light of the recognition, Airstrike could only choke out a muffled "Holy shit..."
Paul Norbert Eversol, the holographic image of the man from his days as one of the Thunderbolts, extended his free hand toward the dumbstruck Airstrike. "Glad to see I'm not forgotten."
"Techno?" Abe asked, hesitantly taking his former teammate's hand to shake. "Man, I'm so confused right now."
"I know what you mean," Eversol replied as he holstered his pistol.
"Why the fuck are you running around killing people like this? Not really your style, is it?"
"Things have been different for me from the moment I got trapped in this cybernetic body, Abe," the Scourge answered, "and I'm only now starting to figure things out. Got an old friend of yours to thank for that, actually. Justin Hammer gave me a computer disk that spelled it all out for me...what was done to me."
"What was done to you?"
"Henry Gyrich went rouge from the Commission after the second Vault was destroyed, hell bent on destroying the super-powered community," he explained, "but the CSA weren't gonna just sit by without doing a little damage control. They put the LMD of Gyrich in position, so they could give plausible deniability on their part. They were able to put things in motion secretly, and from what I understand SHIELD took care of the real Gyrich a few weeks back."
"You didn't answer my question."
Eversol paused, raising an eyebrow at Airstrike. "Still as observant as I ever, I see..."
The holographic image of the Fixer faded away, returning him to his now-default appearance of the Scourge. His skull face twisted into a look of total sadness as he stared at the dead body of the robotic Henry Gyrich. "Fuck this piece of shit," the Scourge grunted, removing his pistol with a blurred motion. He shot the robot several more times in the head, causing it to explode with sound and fury.
"Get out of here, Jenkins," he ordered, turning his gun in Abe's direction, "before I kill you, too. I can't help myself...I can't stop the killing."
"This isn't over, Techno," Airstrike warned as he turned, knowing he could do nothing but walk away, "I still have questions that need answering."
"So do I, buddy," the Scourge said as he watched Abe leave the room, "so do I."
# # # # # # # # # #
Abe Jenkins sat by himself in the safehouse he'd chosen for the Masters of Evil, his mind attempting to process what he'd learned from his former friend. Things had become so complicated since he'd been put in jail all those months ago, almost as if the world had turned upside-down in his absence. He didn't like not knowing the full story, and at that moment he was a full chapters shy of a novel.
"Jenkins?" Lapdance asked from the door, cracking it open just enough to stick her head in the room. "Silencer's back, with our guest of honor."
"Good," Abe said, standing from the bed. Following the girl out into the house's living room, he immediately spotted the large Russian in the center of the room.
"Dimitri Bukharin?" Jenkins asked, shaking the man's hand.
"Da," Bukharin replied, "you people have my many thanks for rescuing me, but I must know...why?"
"That suit of armor look familiar to you?" Abe asked, pointing to the standing Airstrike armor in the corner of the room.
"It does," the Russian answered as he walked over to the armor, "it is mine. How did it come into your hands?"
"It was given to me by the man that imprisoned you," Abe explained, "but now, I'm giving it back to you. I don't need it anymore."
"Then what you gonna do, Beetle-boy?" Infernal asked from his position on the couch.
"I've got to forge my own way now, Masters," Jenkins stated, "especially after what I learned tonight."
"So no more of this MACH-1 nonsense?" Ignition continued, happy at the opportunity to needle the reformed-villain.
Abe shot him an unpleasant look. "I'm thinking maybe it's time for the Beetle to fly again..."
# # # # # # # # # #
NEXT ISSUE: The focus returns to the newly organized Thunderbolts team, as Justin Hammer makes a stunning announcement to the press. Don't miss this prelude to "Industrial Strength", the crossover with Alex Cook's Fallen Angels!
# # # # # # # # # #
LIGHTNING STRIKES
First off, I'd like to thank everybody who gave me props on # 19, whether it was through AIM or e-mail...I appreciate every single bit of feedback I recieve, and thanks go out to you all for taking the time to read and respond to this series. As for letters, we've got four this month. Let's get it on!
First letter comes from an extra-special person, namely this book's previous writer: Mike Exner III!
Been meaning to send you a letter regarding T-Bolts for a while now, Chris. Haven't done it. You know me... I'm a bastard. However, I am sending you one now... so quit yer' bitchin'.
Consider my bitching quieted, my friend!
I only have one complaint with this issue, so I'll get it out of the way first thing. Scourge rules! See, that's not a complaint, but this is... I hate that he's being manipulated by some kind of outside force or brainwashing or whatever. See, Scourge is so badass in these pages that the fact that Gyrich or whoever it is that's manipulating him makes him seem a tad bit weaker as a character in my eyes. Especially since he killed Electro! Ahhhhhh! However, the fact that there's another super-type serial killer out there (Ladykiller) who seems perfectly fine with rubbing out superhero hotties more than makes up for this fact. I also assume that we'll soon be getting to the bottom of who this Scourge character is. And I'm sure you have a revelation up your sleeve that will blow me away and make me forget all about my complaints.
Indeed, the Scourge DOES rule (and he's actually one of my favorite characters in the book). I wouldn't say, however, that Gyrich is "manipulating" him...as was discovered in this issue, it was more like he he changed him to suit his own ends and then unleashed him against the country's criminals. The Scourge was himself unaware of this, until he recieved the computer disk from Justin Hammer that spelled out everything that had happened to him and who he really was. Also, as you've just read, the identity of the Scourge is no longer a mystery, so here's hoping the revelation was to your liking.
I also appreciated the explanation for Abe Jenkins being back in prison. It was a confusing aspect of the series when it first came under your pen, but, if you think about it (and I did) this is the Thunderbolts! They're supposed to be confusing the hell out of you. The fact that the MACH-1 that was running around during MY run was actually some sort of LMD or clone or whatever is a great idea. And that's only one explanation for it, as well. The LMD could be Airstrike. We just don't know. Brilliant stuff.
You nailed it exactly, man...Thunderbolts is definately supposed to confuse the hell out of you (and it's good to know that I succeeded, heheh). Obviously, your LMD theory was indeed correct, concerning both Abe's situation and about why there's two different Henry Gyrichs running around (here and in the pages of Wheatley's X-Force). Just because Abe knows the truth, though, doesn't do anything to resolve the fact that there's still a robotic copy of him running around with his old team.
It was also nice to see Hallie back within the pages, even if I'm afraid you're going to axe her by next issue. The explanation of what happened to the T-Bolts inbetween the start of my previous run and your current one was done pretty well. A flashback or something of that nature would have been nice, but one of the strengths of your writing has always been dialogue, and I enjoyed the story Hallie spun.
I almost did it as a flashback, but decided against it. The issue had so much other stuff going on, I felt that a flashback would just add to the chaos. As for Hallie...alas, she shall be missed.
The confrontation with the Masters of Evil and Abe seemed a little thrown together at the last minute, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Like I said, the T-Bolts are meant to be about a grouping of characters who are always kept on their toes. Things like the Masters of Evil just happening to be at the same bar as Abe so he can train them are a little far-fetched, sure... but this is T-Bolts fanfic! I love it!
You nailed it again, man. I wanted the introduction of the Masters to be this bizare, off-the-wall encounter that would throw everybody off (including Abe). Now that you've seen the Masters' official debut in this issue, be sure to let me know what you think of the team!
In short, I like what you've done with all the characters and the direction of the book in general. I'm interested to know what's happened to Living Lightning, Charcoal, Citizen V and all the rest of the annexed T-Bolts just like anybody else, but I'm really enjoying the stories you're spinning with this title, Chris... so don't do anyhting different than you might already. Really looking forward to the next issue. Who is.... THE SCOURGE!?!?
Awesome, man...glad to have approval (especially from the former writer)! Citizen V, actually, has been appearing regularly in X-Force over the past several months...as for the others, well, I honestly don't know. I suppose that's up to whoever decides to write them next.
Oh, and about the Scourge...never say I don't give answers to mysteries.. :-)
The next letter comes from reader Gregory Cuikshank!
I only recently started reading the Marvel 2000 version of Thunderbolts, starting with the first issue of your run. Now, I'm not going to lie, you are a very skilled writer---a little dark, but still very skilled. I liked your use of numerous obscure villains, such as Eightball, Splice, Blacklash, and Blizzard(hell, I don't even know some of these guys), and loved bringing Scourge into the mix, and assumed my first letter to you would be completely positive.
Thanks for reading, and for the writing compliments!
However, recent events in T-Bolts #19 have forced me to reconsider. What are these events, you ask?
You killed Whirlwind and Avalanche.
Without a doubt, two of my personal favourite classic villains, on a bank-robbing scale.
Massacred them, without giving a single thought to the readers that may like them. If possible, when choosing comic book villains to massacre, please be a tad considerate of the fans. And try to find an excuse to bring them back to life.
Aye, there's the rub, my friend. To be honest, I expect your letter to be the first of many like this, showing support for any one of the characters I killed. The problem with choosing characters whose only purpose is to die is that every character out there has at least one fan that's gonna get upset at me. I mean, I'm an Avalanche fan myself, loved that guy since the old Brotherhood of Evil Mutants days...but sacrifices, sometimes, have to be made for the good of the story. I intentionally picked characters that I personally liked, such as Electro and the Sin-Eater, in order to show that the Scourge is a very serious threat to ANY costumed villain...not just the lame-ass that only appeared in one issue of LUKE CAGE back in 1976. As for bringing the characters back to life, it won't be happening under my pen...if somebody else comes along and wants to do it, then they can feel free, but to do it myself would cheapen the impact of my story. Thanks for taking the time to write, Gregory!
Next up, is a review of # 19 by fellow M2K writer Brent Lambert!
THE GOOD: Chris makes writing suspense easy. Throughout this entire issue you can feel a tension building that you just know is going to explode. Everything from the mystery of Scourge, to how the old T-Bolts disbanded, and the new Masters of Evil tells you that something big is on the horizon. I also like this Ladykiller subplot Chris has going on, but I have to wonder how it will tie in to all the other stuff going on in T-Bolts?
Trust me, writing suspense is NOT easy...why do you think it takes me so frickin' long to write the damn things? The Scourge and the Masters of Evil got the spotlight in the next issue, and expect some big things to come from our little Ladykiller. ;-)
THE BAD: Jolt seemed a little out of character for me, but I figure that she’s been through a lot.
Well, I wanted to emphasize that after everything she's been through, Hallie's really not a kid anymore. But hey, at least I didn't have her spouting out endless streams of profanity, lol.
OVERALL: A good issue that is setting up some major stuff. Chris makes obscure characters work well and he makes them important. I applaud him on that.
You totally rule all, Brent. Obscure characters are the BEST!
Now, we've got a letter from a writer of many splendid things, Mr. Ian Astheimer!
How dare you, sir. As if doing third-string villains justice was not enough, you dare to tease me with a glimpse of Marsha Rosenberg in #18, only to find her eerily absent from the subsequent issue? Frankly, I am appalled that you would neglect such an outstanding creature as you have. And, for that, I shall not stand.
Yeah, like I explained, that was my biggest problem with # 18. Though worry, not! Dear Volcana will be getting more screen time next issue!
Luckily, the chair in which I sit is comfortable. So, enough with that Claremontian diatribe and on with the comments and queries.
As stated above, I'm a big fan of Volcana and have been ever since she appeared in an installment of the Spider-Man/X-Men: Time's Arrow trilogy. She has one of the most unique personalities in -- oh, hell, who am I kidding? Have you seen her? Her knockers are huge, man. Marsha's got mammaries to spare. I mean, seriously, what's not to like? Excluding her "only partners in crime" relationship with Titania, of course. With Mary still alive and kicking after Scourge's prison assault, the timing is right for a little romance, don't you think? Of course you do.
You ain't lyin', friend...her knockers ARE huge! I'm sorry to say, though, that there no plans for a Titantia/Volcana lesbian-fest...although, in hind sight, that's not a bad idea at all.
Speaking of Scourge's jaunt in the Vault, kudos on killing off the sorriest of the sorry-assed. I do believe Thunderbolts goes through more characters in a month than I go through rolls of Charmin. And, that's a feat.
Damn skippy! Although, as you no doubt noticed, this issue had not a single death! Consider it a breather issue after last issue's slaughter, lol.
Oh, and Taproot -- is his moniker an ode to the hard rock (are they even hard rock? I have no fuckin' clue...) band of the same name? Either way, Plantman has never been cooler...or, um, cool at all until now, come to think of it.
Yeah, I gotta admit it...I'm a huge fan of the band Taproot, and his new name is indeed a nod to that band. But, as I explained last issue, the name does make sense, too! Best of both worlds!
Can't wait to see the latest Masters of Evil in action.
You got it, man...so what'd ya think?
So, keep up the good work, or I'll send a skull-faced assassin after you.
Bwahaha.
No, bwahaha to YOU, my good man! Thanks for the letter, you magnificent bastard.
Has anybody else noticed that the lettercols are starting to dwarf the actual issues?
Chris Munn
06/21/03
BIBLIOGRAPHY- The Silencer made his first, and only, appearance in Hawkeye # 2, back in the early 1980's.
- Jack Taggert, the inmate mentioned by Viral, did indeed almost kill Iron Man with a nuclear missle, in his armored form of Firepower, in Iron Man # 230-232.
- To see where the real Henry Gyrich's been hanging his hat, check out recent issues of X-Force.
- Techno was killed and his mind transferred into his robotic tech-pack in Marvel's Thunderbolts # 8.