I had been approached after the funeral.
Even by funeral standards, it hadn’t been pleasant. Betsy’s family and friend’s weren’t mine. None of them had understood her decision to marry me, a convicted murderer. Throughout the program I felt their eyes on me, judging me, convicting me. I went through that day in a daze, avoiding and being avoided in return.
It had hurt that Daredevil never came by. Not attending the funeral, I understood that. But I had expected him, in the days and weeks after it happened, to stop by the shop or the apartment above. Why didn’t he come to talk, even if only to make sure I hadn’t become Gladiator again?
“You aren’t worth his time,” the voice had said. “It’s less trouble to beat you up than to keep you sane. That was Betsy’s job, and she’s dead.”
I had hoped somebody would provoke me. Why did they choose then of all times to stop walking through the store with their veiled threats? Snapping a Maggia soldier’s neck would have felt great.
Instead it had been the woman, Doctor Sofen that approached me. She didn’t make threats, veiled or otherwise. Money was offered, enough to pay the mounting bills, and a new identity that wouldn’t be traced. As a bonus I would have her service, that was how she phrased it and when I thought she was coming on to me I almost punched her. A woman.
Doctor Sofen is Moonstone, powerful enough that I was no threat, and a psychiatrist too. Those were the services she offered. I could retire somewhere, free from everything, including the voice and the cheers and the clash of weapons. All I had to do was go work for Mr. Justin Hammer and kill people that deserved it.
“Didn’t you try to kill Captain America?”
I turn in bed so that I’m facing away from my wife. Her naked, rotting corpse is still pressed against me, but it’s better not to look. Over the last few weeks she’s steadily decomposed.
“No,” I protest weakly. “He wasn’t in any danger. I didn’t have a chance.”
“And all those civilians in Genosha? You helped to slaughter them because they were born different.”
“Their leader is a super-villain that’s tried to take over the world.”
“Was he removed? Did you foil a plot? Make lives better? Achieve anything except kill?”
“I…I…”
Her face nuzzled into the back of my neck. Were those maggots?
“Sweetheart, lying to me is lying to yourself. Accept what you are, your purpose here.”
She’s right. Betsy has been more right in death than she has been in life. I’m never going to escape.
“What are you, honey?”
“A killer,” I whisper. “I’m always going to be a killer.”
Even by funeral standards, it hadn’t been pleasant. Betsy’s family and friend’s weren’t mine. None of them had understood her decision to marry me, a convicted murderer. Throughout the program I felt their eyes on me, judging me, convicting me. I went through that day in a daze, avoiding and being avoided in return.
It had hurt that Daredevil never came by. Not attending the funeral, I understood that. But I had expected him, in the days and weeks after it happened, to stop by the shop or the apartment above. Why didn’t he come to talk, even if only to make sure I hadn’t become Gladiator again?
“You aren’t worth his time,” the voice had said. “It’s less trouble to beat you up than to keep you sane. That was Betsy’s job, and she’s dead.”
I had hoped somebody would provoke me. Why did they choose then of all times to stop walking through the store with their veiled threats? Snapping a Maggia soldier’s neck would have felt great.
Instead it had been the woman, Doctor Sofen that approached me. She didn’t make threats, veiled or otherwise. Money was offered, enough to pay the mounting bills, and a new identity that wouldn’t be traced. As a bonus I would have her service, that was how she phrased it and when I thought she was coming on to me I almost punched her. A woman.
Doctor Sofen is Moonstone, powerful enough that I was no threat, and a psychiatrist too. Those were the services she offered. I could retire somewhere, free from everything, including the voice and the cheers and the clash of weapons. All I had to do was go work for Mr. Justin Hammer and kill people that deserved it.
“Didn’t you try to kill Captain America?”
I turn in bed so that I’m facing away from my wife. Her naked, rotting corpse is still pressed against me, but it’s better not to look. Over the last few weeks she’s steadily decomposed.
“No,” I protest weakly. “He wasn’t in any danger. I didn’t have a chance.”
“And all those civilians in Genosha? You helped to slaughter them because they were born different.”
“Their leader is a super-villain that’s tried to take over the world.”
“Was he removed? Did you foil a plot? Make lives better? Achieve anything except kill?”
“I…I…”
Her face nuzzled into the back of my neck. Were those maggots?
“Sweetheart, lying to me is lying to yourself. Accept what you are, your purpose here.”
She’s right. Betsy has been more right in death than she has been in life. I’m never going to escape.
“What are you, honey?”
“A killer,” I whisper. “I’m always going to be a killer.”
Back to GatefoldIssue #31 by Chris Munn (plot) & Steve Crosby (script)
Settling Accounts |
For her primary function as team psychologist, Karla Sofen’s private office was furnished to her tastes. Tall floor lamps illuminated fine paintings that adorned the walls in place of bookcases. Reading material as decoration was a sign of insecurity, and books on hand for reference was a sign of incompetence. Near the room’s center was a large oak desk, open so as to not hide Karla’s shapely legs from view. All the chairs were leather bound and comfortable, Karla’s most of all. Her lithe and powerful body was stretched across it, a tape recorder held to her full lips.
“The one I’m most worried about is Melvin Potter,” said Dr. Sofen into the tape recorder. “I never feel as though I have his full attention, that someone else is there, speaking to him. It’s possible that Hammer is exerting influence through an implant, though I haven’t found any evidence yet to support this.”
Reaching an arm across the desk, Karla typed into her computer and accessed data on Gladiator. An image of the man appeared on the screen, in full costume with buzz saws on his arms. Karla’s image was reflected against the screen, and she frowned as she read.
“Another possibility that he’s hearing voices, as Melvin has been prone to in the past. Lacking his cooperation, the services of a telepath would be required.” Dr. Sofen despised the use of telepaths, many of whom she felt were themselves unbalanced. “However, I am confident I can reach him given further sessions.”
At the press of another key, Gladiator’s image was replaced with Justin Hammer’s. Or as Karla truly knew him, Baron Helmut Zemo. It was with some satisfaction that Karla made her assessment.
“Though we’ve had no formal sessions, my informal encounters with Mr. Hammer have given me cause for concern. Everything he does seems rehearsed, orchestrated for the effect he desires. While this is not unusual for a politician; that he’s unwilling to open up to me is troubling. There’s a sense that he is especially wary around me, more than he should be just from second-hand accounts of my skills. It’s as though he’s witnessed them firsthand, though our first real interactions have been only recent. This supports the idea he has a hidden telepath, someone giving him true access to my patients.”
Should Zemo’s current scheme fail, these records will provide Karla with plausible deniability. She couldn’t very well have known Hammer was Baron Zemo if she’d suspected him of hiding something. Scrolling through the various members of the Thunderbolts, Dr. Sofen wavered between the files of Blacklash and Blizzard. It worried her that Blizzard had been shipped out without an exit interview, but ultimately she clicked on Blacklash.
“Blacklash refused counseling again. Every time I try to speak with him, he tells me to perform an act upon myself. My opinion is that his frustration is reaching the breaking point.” Or he knows, as Zemo suspects. “Desertion is most likely, but he may also turn against teammates at a critical moment. I would recommend a forceful session to learn his state of mind, and failing that, termination.”
“Aww, but that would be such a waste.” The voice whispered so closely it was practically in Moonstone’s ear. “After I told him about Zemo and all.”
Moonstone tried to take action. She turned her head and saw the skeletal, decomposing face of Mister White looking back at her. So close they were more than touching, his cheek was partly inside of hers. Moonstone felt it then, his intangible hand that had reached through her back and was now gripping her heart.
“What…what are you doing?” she asked in a whimper.
“I’m sure there are cleaner, more pleasant ways of describing it.” Mister White was pushing his face into Moonstone’s. His mouth shared the same space as hers, and when he spoke, it carried a tinge of her voice. “But I believe in calling a thing for what it is. I’m raping you.”
# # # # # # # # # #
Through binoculars, Citizen V observed the building that currently housed Justin Hammer’s presidential campaign and his personal super-team the Thunderbolts. He passed the binoculars to former T-Bolt Blizzard. He spent a minute observing the building, which was still going through repairs from when the government had sent a small army of super-villains after them.
“The areas under construction will be the most heavily secured. Hammer…” Blizzard quickly corrected himself. “Zemo isn’t an idiot.”
Also on the rooftop where Man-Killer, Speed Demon, Unuscione, a new Fixer, Abe Jenkins in the Beetle armor and a masked man called Black Archer. It was him who next took the binoculars.
“Yeah, they’re secured against super-villains. The last thing they’ll expect is a couple of normal folks sneaking in. Then once we take out the alarms, the rest of you can burst right through.”
“And then we kill them all,” Speed Demon said with a grin.
Beetle grabbed the speedster by the back of his head and squeezed just enough to be taken seriously. “We aren’t here to kill anyone. These criminals are going to be exposed and brought to justice.”
“We aren’t going to play nice just for the sake of morals,” said Citizen V. “Most of them won’t hesitate about killing us. Besides, better to kill them for good rather than watch them walk out of jail in six months.”
“Hey, I have friends in there,” Blizzard said. “If anything, they’d be willing to help us out.”
It was Black Archer who shook his head. “We can’t take the chance they’ll turn on us. If you find them first, get them to surrender, fine. But anybody who’s not us and able to fight will be considered a threat.”
Man-Killer cracked her knuckles. “I don’t like threats.”
# # # # # # # # # #
“May I interest any of you in a drink?” Baron Helmut Zemo opened a bottle of scotch and poured himself a glass. None of the five men behind him accepted the offer, which was a shame. One should always enjoy a final drink before death.
Like the rest of the world, these men saw Zemo as Justin Hammer, billionaire industrialist and presidential candidate. Soon to be president, according to the polls, and Zemo intended for that to happen. That meant the death of Goldbug, source of the gold that illegally funded his campaign. It also meant the deaths of Mentallo, Mathemanic, Mesmero and Mysterio, for they were most likely to see through Zemo’s ruse. They may even suspect what was about to happen, considering their previous mission to reprogram and brainwash Techno. He had taken on the identity of Scourge to murder super-criminals, and it would be irony for Zemo to use his new control to kill these men first.
“The work you have all done for me has been stellar.” Glass in hand, Zemo took his seat across from them. Behind him, loyal bodyguard Quantum remained in the shadows, unseen. “As have been your rewards for these feats. What I wish to discuss is future use of your respective talents. Once I have ascended to my expected position, the need will be there.”
No expression could be seen in Mysterio’s fishbowl head, and Mathemanic was careful to mask his features. In the others, however, greed was evident. Especially Goldbug, whom Zemo imagined was thinking about Fort Knox.
But much to Baron Zemo’s surprise, it was Goldbug who spoke with sense. “These men have talents. I performed a salvage operation, the nature of which I’m sure you don’t want anyone to know about.”
“I concur,” said Mathemanic. “There’s a one-hundred percent chance he’s planning to kill us, mainly to hide the secret that he’s really Baron Zemo.”
That remark brought an expression to Mysterio, even if it was the surprised expressions of Mentallo and Mesmero. And while Baron Zemo swelled with the pride his own psi-dampeners were effective, he still cautiously gestured for Quantum. Nothing happened, with a frown Zemo turned his head slightly. The somewhat large alien was quivering, and Zemo surmised that he was rapidly teleporting to and from the exact same spot.
“Your bodyguard won’t be of much use,” Mathemanic explained. “At the moment he has no concept of distance.”
“Would you mind undoing the hologram,” said Mysterio. “I’d like to see the actual man I’m going to kill.”
“There is no hologram,” said Baron Zemo. He would get away, and there was no telling who was watching or listening. “You five criminals are talking madness, but there is still hope. Once president, I can grant all of you pardons.”
“Pardoning mutants?” Mesmero laughed. “That would guarantee you one term.”
Mentallo laughed too, but for a different reason. “This is Baron Zemo. All he needs is a day of office and that one term is permanent. But I’m not averse to discussing terms, plural. Especially when we hold the cards right now.”
Goldbug rose from his chair. “I’m only here to bargain for my life. You helped cure my radiation sickness, ‘Justin,’ and I’d rather not spend my second lease on life running. What will it take for me to walk out of here with no worries?”
“Nothing.” Zemo took a sip of his scotch. “The moment you all entered this building you signed your death warrants. This has nothing to do with me, of course, but rather what these four gentlemen had done.”
“Us?” Beneath his fishbowl helmet, Mysterio raised an eyebrow. “What did we do?”
“We brainwashed Scourge,” said Mentallo. “And by the way, did you really think I wouldn’t figure out he was Fixer? I’ve known the man well enough to recognize his brain patterns.”
“Well, no offense Mentallo, but I always considered him to be the brains in your little duo. At any rate you are correct. Scourge, Techno, Fixer or whatever you want to call him, is now under my control thanks to you. And his primary task is to clean up my loose ends.”
“Like your team of Thunderbolts.” Mesmero jumped out of his seat. “He’s coming here!”
“Not future tense,” said Mathemanic. “He arrived a few minutes after we did. If nobody is dead yet, I suspect it’s because he’s waiting for the others to arrive.”
“Others?” Baron Zemo was genuinely surprised.
“Another motley collection of villains and/or heroes is coming to attack you.” Mathemanic rose to his feet. “Oh, and I corrupted Scourge’s programming so that he will know and kill you on sight, Baron. It is the risk of trusting criminals. I think I will have that drink now.”
At this time Goldbug sat back down and leaned back. “Well, it would appear we have something to bargain with after all.”
# # # # # # # # # #
The door to Dr. Sofen’s office opened and she emerged dressed in the form-fitting body-suit of Moonstone. She quickly closed the door, concealing the mummified and scattered remains of what had been Mister White’s body. With only an initial wobble on her high heels, Moonstone strode down the hallway. The confidence of Moonstone’s stride was however betrayed by the glaze behind her eyes.
Deep in the back of Moonstone’s mind, Karla Sofen struggled to process her situation. Mister White had ambushed her, somehow used his intangibility to intermingle with Karla’s molecules so that she couldn’t move. Then what he did, shifting his body around inside of Karla’s as pieces broke off until only his mind remained, shouldn’t have been possible. Let alone that his mind was somehow restraining Karla’s, allowing him to control her body after his died!
Nothing I was too attached to. That husk Baron Zemo gave me was always meant to be temporary. And I would much rather you stop screaming at me as Mister White. My given name is Philip Sterling.
Sterling, Sterling. Karla’s mind raced to place the name, but nothing came to her. In the hallway, Cybertooth and Tailhook were walking from the opposite direction, chatting amicably about something. Moonstone never paid them much nothing. Cybertooth was nothing but a second-rate Cottonmouth, while Tailhook set women back fifty years with her leather and whip.
Please, dear Karla, tell me what you really think. Moonstone stopped and looked Tailhook and down, eyeing the whip on her hip and crossbow on her back. “Little girl, I know you’re here for your little fixation on costumes, but surely you can do better than this.” Her head tilted toward Cybertooth. “I could see it only if his tongue was augmented as well.”
“Hey now,” Cybertooth took a step forward. “It’s not like that. You can’t go around saying you know us when we haven’t had a single session with you.”
Moonstone’s response was a backhand that would have broken a normal jaw but only hurled Cybertooth against the wall. Her eyes hadn’t left Tailhook, who was fumbling for her crossbow. Moonstone raised a hand.
“Ah ah, alien-based powers trump old weaponry. You don’t even have advanced gadgets, just the ability to distract perverts. So in my professional opinion, little girl, you should resign and walk away immediately. And when he wakes up, tell your boyfriend to do the same.”
As Moonstone continued walking, Mister White returned his attention inward. I’m surprised you don’t recognize the name, Karla. The Sterlings were an old and very wealthy family, up until my mother died. This reminds me, I really do need to look into her estate. Do the names Exterminator or Death-Stalker ring any bells?
They actually did, now that Karla thought about it. Sterling had been mayoral candidate Abner Jonas’ assistant, but had disappeared after the man went to jail for crimes as the Organizer. Interesting how he returned for revenge on Daredevil after the Organizer had died in jail.
An interesting theory, Ms. Sofen, but Abner had been a dear friend of my mother’s. Among the item’s he’d bequeathed to her were papers on how to construct a T-Ray gun. That, and her own insistence I make Daredevil pay, led to my folly as Exterminator. No, my vengeance came later.
“Moonstone?” At an intersection, Songbird was approaching. “Where are you going? I thought we had an appointment.”
Moonstone sighed. Luckily, Karla’s mind was an open book to her captor. “Yes, you feel guilty about Blizzard. You’re afraid you failed him like you did the Grapplers, Angar and Jenkins. If you’re looking to cry on my shoulder, turn around. Either forget about Blizzard or go after him.”
Songbird came to a stop, stunned by what she was being told. “That, that isn’t true, what happened to Angar, Titania and-”
“And Letha, yeah, Scourge killed them both. Hammer didn’t want you to know, but Volcana was recently found murdered in her apartment. Gunshot wound to the head, something that counteracted her plasma form.” Moonstone raised an eyebrow and couldn’t hold back a smile. “Would you like to talk about it?”
Songbird’s glare could have affected someone with a heart. Her mouth started to open, but she closed it immediately. Without a word or more, she turned and stalked away. Inside, Karla was thinking at Mister White’s game. Three people encouraged to leave.
Yes, something’s going to happen. Zemo I don’t give a damn about, but every person I warn is a person that owes me a favor. And stop thinking of me as Mister White. I’m taking back Death-Stalker.
Karla tried not to think about Sterling’s bad taste in names, excepting the last one that Zemo must have chosen. But in trying not to these thoughts were brought to the forefront, and as anticipated Mister White was feeling defensive, distracted. So distracted was Moonstone that she accidently bumped into Blacklash.
“Watch where you’re going, bitch.” Blacklash said this and kept walking without even looking at Moonstone.
It must be so disappointing. Those two idiots were too intimidated to notice my eyes, and Songbird had been sufficiently distracted. But Blacklash may have seen it and wondered. Incidentally, I don’t give a shit if he lives or dies. And for your information, I chose the moniker Mister White, a nice little noir name for my ruse. A shame it doesn’t fit much with my great new body though.
Moonstone opened the door to the medical area and walked inside.
Originally I had been promised Atlas. But I’ve grown to be concerned about his physical stability. Besides, I enjoy my powers, and there was no guarantee I’d keep them in another body. First thing I plan to do is scan myself for T-Ray radiation and determine who it interacts if at all with your Moongem. Well, second thing.
Karla desperately wanted a shower. Elsewhere in her head, Sterling laughed.
No, not that, although you are the sort of woman who should take this as a valuable lesson in humility. Also, be grateful that I’m likely saving your life.
Gratitude was the furthest thing from what Karla felt, though she did manage a little confusion as Moonstone approached the comatose Boomerang. Nobody had managed to figure out exactly what Mister White had done to him.
Admittedly, this isn’t exactly what I meant to do. When I phased Boomerang back in synch with our reality, I may have been imprecise in regards to his nervous system. Moonstone plunged a hand into the man’s head. Normally I wouldn’t care, but it may be important to know I can fix this. And at the least he’ll have a fighting chance.
Karla tried to pay attention to what her tormenter was doing, but with the body phased her senses had gone foggy. Next thing she knew, Moonstone was walking away from Boomerang. But the beeping from his monitor had altered, indicated improved vitals. A fighting chance, Sterling had said. What exactly was coming?
Wouldn’t you like to know? Moonstone had gone intangible again and was floating up through the ceiling. Sorry, but we won’t be sticking around to find out. I consider my business with Zemo over with. Unless he happens to survive this night, in which case I’ll come back and stalk him to death! Hahahahaha! All right, that was corny. I’ll probably just kill him in his sleep. Yes, after I’ve thought about my name.
# # # # # # # # # #
When Blacklash had found out about Blizzard’s departure, he’d nearly left then and there. That would have meant leaving Boomerang, still comatose, alone. Not to mention when Blacklash had found out, any hit would have already gone down. So Blacklash had decided to wait for news, trusting that Blizzard could handle himself.
Sure enough, Blacklash learned from the receptionist he was banging that Blizzard’s hit squad had turned up dead. It was good to know his pal was alive, but it also meant Blacklash didn’t have much time before those squads came for him.
Baron Zemo suspected that they knew.
It was something Blacklash never thought about, in case there was a telepath around. Never mind Zemo likely wouldn’t trust a telepath with the secret he was pretending to be Justin Hammer. Maybe he would. Mister White had known, had told Blacklash all about it. Who else knew? Blacklash wasn’t sure, and therefore kept his mouth shut.
The plan was the same, he kept telling himself. Stay alive until the hideout was ready. When the signal comes, grab Boomerang and take him along. It sucked that Blizzard would be left behind, but at least Donnie was out. He could survive on his own, which couldn’t be said for Boomerang.
It was soon after bumping into Moonstone that a device inside Blacklash’s boot was vibrating. It was time. He had maybe ten minutes before the shift. Pace quickening, Blacklash turned around and hurried toward the medical area. It was then he noticed the dip in temperature. His breath had become visible, warm bursts of fog. Turning the corner, Blacklash found himself facing a rapidly forming wall of ice. On the other side was Blizzard.
“Donnie?” At least Blacklash hoped it was, and reached for his whip in case it wasn’t his friend behind the mask. Zemo could have recruited any thug to wear that costume.
“It’s me, Mark,” said Blizzard in Donnie Gill’s voice. “I met some people eager to take Zemo down. They’re geared to attack any of you on sight, though, so just sit tight until everything’s over.”
“It’s Boomerang we need to watch out for! He’s lying helpless!”
“Then he’s no threat and safe as can be. I’m sorry, but I need to find Songbird.”
“Hey! No!” Blacklash turned and saw more ice behind him. He was blocked in. “Donnie, get back here! You have to let me out!”
The whip was in his hand and crackling with energy. Once, twice, three times it snapped against the ice. The shit had hit the fan, and time was running out. Blacklash needed to get out, needed to reach Boomerang. And Blizzard, upon whom he’d deliver a sufficient beating before-
A loud hum filled Blacklash’s ears. He could feel himself shifting sideways.
“No! Donnie!”
# # # # # # # # # #
For all it appeared to the world, Boomerang had not been in a coma. Oh, the body had been unresponsive, but the mind had remained active and alert. Everything heard he was able to perceive, from the revelation about Baron Zemo to Blizzard’s talk with “Justin Hammer” to Moonstone thinking aloud over his bed. Immediately after that, Boomerang felt it, the same chill that Mister White had inflicted on him. Then he felt his body again, was no longer hanging on the edge of reality.
Connection and control were different things, however. The feat of opening his eyes took Boomerang minutes to achieve. It took more time for his eyes to adjust to a world he’d been deprived of. As expected, he was in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines. There was a warm sensation between his legs, and Boomerang knew a bag was being filled. For too long he’d felt that catheter, and it was with triumph that he tightened muscles to cut off the flow. Finally, he was back in control.
“Hey, it’s good to see you awake.”
Boomerang turned his head and saw Overrider sitting on the next bed over. He’d been coming in every day, having his injuries from Swarm treated. It wasn’t the bee stings themselves that did damage so much as the chemical they released. Overrider looked a lot better than the last time Boomerang saw him, with only a few small scars visible on his face.
“I have been all along.” Boomerang raised and arm with some effort. “Only now I’m able to move. Was Moonstone here?”
“I passed her on my way in. She made some remarks about TESS and I.” Overrider frowned. “So you’ve been able to hear things?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about your son.” Perhaps because of the similar conditions, Overrider had often talked to Boomerang as though he were the man’s son. “Wish I could say I relate, but unless I knocked up a fan from my baseball days…”
“That’s okay. I’d thought nobody was listening.”
“I act as though this whole place is bugged.”
“It is. They just don’t work around me.”
The laugh felt good, even if it did cause Boomerang to lose control for a second. “That was nice, that you used to take your boy to my games.”
“Well, you were a hell of a player, but it wasn’t just about you.” Overrider lifted his head up, as though he heard something. He quickly jumped to his feet. “Something wrong just happened. You had better stay here and rest, Boomerang. I need to get TESS-1 and alert-”
The gunshot came out of nowhere; a loud unnatural boom that reduced Overrider’s healed face to a red mist. Stepping from an open doorway into the medical area was a tall man dressed all in white with a fedora and smoking shotgun. The Scourge of the Underworld.
As Boomerang struggled to force his muscles, atrophied from weeks of inactivity, to move, Scourge turned the gun toward him and fired.
# # # # # # # # # #
Next Issue: Has Boomerang awoken only to become Scourge’s next victim? What kind of deal will Baron Zemo agree to? Can the Thunderbolts survive a new attack from three deadly foes?
“The one I’m most worried about is Melvin Potter,” said Dr. Sofen into the tape recorder. “I never feel as though I have his full attention, that someone else is there, speaking to him. It’s possible that Hammer is exerting influence through an implant, though I haven’t found any evidence yet to support this.”
Reaching an arm across the desk, Karla typed into her computer and accessed data on Gladiator. An image of the man appeared on the screen, in full costume with buzz saws on his arms. Karla’s image was reflected against the screen, and she frowned as she read.
“Another possibility that he’s hearing voices, as Melvin has been prone to in the past. Lacking his cooperation, the services of a telepath would be required.” Dr. Sofen despised the use of telepaths, many of whom she felt were themselves unbalanced. “However, I am confident I can reach him given further sessions.”
At the press of another key, Gladiator’s image was replaced with Justin Hammer’s. Or as Karla truly knew him, Baron Helmut Zemo. It was with some satisfaction that Karla made her assessment.
“Though we’ve had no formal sessions, my informal encounters with Mr. Hammer have given me cause for concern. Everything he does seems rehearsed, orchestrated for the effect he desires. While this is not unusual for a politician; that he’s unwilling to open up to me is troubling. There’s a sense that he is especially wary around me, more than he should be just from second-hand accounts of my skills. It’s as though he’s witnessed them firsthand, though our first real interactions have been only recent. This supports the idea he has a hidden telepath, someone giving him true access to my patients.”
Should Zemo’s current scheme fail, these records will provide Karla with plausible deniability. She couldn’t very well have known Hammer was Baron Zemo if she’d suspected him of hiding something. Scrolling through the various members of the Thunderbolts, Dr. Sofen wavered between the files of Blacklash and Blizzard. It worried her that Blizzard had been shipped out without an exit interview, but ultimately she clicked on Blacklash.
“Blacklash refused counseling again. Every time I try to speak with him, he tells me to perform an act upon myself. My opinion is that his frustration is reaching the breaking point.” Or he knows, as Zemo suspects. “Desertion is most likely, but he may also turn against teammates at a critical moment. I would recommend a forceful session to learn his state of mind, and failing that, termination.”
“Aww, but that would be such a waste.” The voice whispered so closely it was practically in Moonstone’s ear. “After I told him about Zemo and all.”
Moonstone tried to take action. She turned her head and saw the skeletal, decomposing face of Mister White looking back at her. So close they were more than touching, his cheek was partly inside of hers. Moonstone felt it then, his intangible hand that had reached through her back and was now gripping her heart.
“What…what are you doing?” she asked in a whimper.
“I’m sure there are cleaner, more pleasant ways of describing it.” Mister White was pushing his face into Moonstone’s. His mouth shared the same space as hers, and when he spoke, it carried a tinge of her voice. “But I believe in calling a thing for what it is. I’m raping you.”
# # # # # # # # # #
Through binoculars, Citizen V observed the building that currently housed Justin Hammer’s presidential campaign and his personal super-team the Thunderbolts. He passed the binoculars to former T-Bolt Blizzard. He spent a minute observing the building, which was still going through repairs from when the government had sent a small army of super-villains after them.
“The areas under construction will be the most heavily secured. Hammer…” Blizzard quickly corrected himself. “Zemo isn’t an idiot.”
Also on the rooftop where Man-Killer, Speed Demon, Unuscione, a new Fixer, Abe Jenkins in the Beetle armor and a masked man called Black Archer. It was him who next took the binoculars.
“Yeah, they’re secured against super-villains. The last thing they’ll expect is a couple of normal folks sneaking in. Then once we take out the alarms, the rest of you can burst right through.”
“And then we kill them all,” Speed Demon said with a grin.
Beetle grabbed the speedster by the back of his head and squeezed just enough to be taken seriously. “We aren’t here to kill anyone. These criminals are going to be exposed and brought to justice.”
“We aren’t going to play nice just for the sake of morals,” said Citizen V. “Most of them won’t hesitate about killing us. Besides, better to kill them for good rather than watch them walk out of jail in six months.”
“Hey, I have friends in there,” Blizzard said. “If anything, they’d be willing to help us out.”
It was Black Archer who shook his head. “We can’t take the chance they’ll turn on us. If you find them first, get them to surrender, fine. But anybody who’s not us and able to fight will be considered a threat.”
Man-Killer cracked her knuckles. “I don’t like threats.”
# # # # # # # # # #
“May I interest any of you in a drink?” Baron Helmut Zemo opened a bottle of scotch and poured himself a glass. None of the five men behind him accepted the offer, which was a shame. One should always enjoy a final drink before death.
Like the rest of the world, these men saw Zemo as Justin Hammer, billionaire industrialist and presidential candidate. Soon to be president, according to the polls, and Zemo intended for that to happen. That meant the death of Goldbug, source of the gold that illegally funded his campaign. It also meant the deaths of Mentallo, Mathemanic, Mesmero and Mysterio, for they were most likely to see through Zemo’s ruse. They may even suspect what was about to happen, considering their previous mission to reprogram and brainwash Techno. He had taken on the identity of Scourge to murder super-criminals, and it would be irony for Zemo to use his new control to kill these men first.
“The work you have all done for me has been stellar.” Glass in hand, Zemo took his seat across from them. Behind him, loyal bodyguard Quantum remained in the shadows, unseen. “As have been your rewards for these feats. What I wish to discuss is future use of your respective talents. Once I have ascended to my expected position, the need will be there.”
No expression could be seen in Mysterio’s fishbowl head, and Mathemanic was careful to mask his features. In the others, however, greed was evident. Especially Goldbug, whom Zemo imagined was thinking about Fort Knox.
But much to Baron Zemo’s surprise, it was Goldbug who spoke with sense. “These men have talents. I performed a salvage operation, the nature of which I’m sure you don’t want anyone to know about.”
“I concur,” said Mathemanic. “There’s a one-hundred percent chance he’s planning to kill us, mainly to hide the secret that he’s really Baron Zemo.”
That remark brought an expression to Mysterio, even if it was the surprised expressions of Mentallo and Mesmero. And while Baron Zemo swelled with the pride his own psi-dampeners were effective, he still cautiously gestured for Quantum. Nothing happened, with a frown Zemo turned his head slightly. The somewhat large alien was quivering, and Zemo surmised that he was rapidly teleporting to and from the exact same spot.
“Your bodyguard won’t be of much use,” Mathemanic explained. “At the moment he has no concept of distance.”
“Would you mind undoing the hologram,” said Mysterio. “I’d like to see the actual man I’m going to kill.”
“There is no hologram,” said Baron Zemo. He would get away, and there was no telling who was watching or listening. “You five criminals are talking madness, but there is still hope. Once president, I can grant all of you pardons.”
“Pardoning mutants?” Mesmero laughed. “That would guarantee you one term.”
Mentallo laughed too, but for a different reason. “This is Baron Zemo. All he needs is a day of office and that one term is permanent. But I’m not averse to discussing terms, plural. Especially when we hold the cards right now.”
Goldbug rose from his chair. “I’m only here to bargain for my life. You helped cure my radiation sickness, ‘Justin,’ and I’d rather not spend my second lease on life running. What will it take for me to walk out of here with no worries?”
“Nothing.” Zemo took a sip of his scotch. “The moment you all entered this building you signed your death warrants. This has nothing to do with me, of course, but rather what these four gentlemen had done.”
“Us?” Beneath his fishbowl helmet, Mysterio raised an eyebrow. “What did we do?”
“We brainwashed Scourge,” said Mentallo. “And by the way, did you really think I wouldn’t figure out he was Fixer? I’ve known the man well enough to recognize his brain patterns.”
“Well, no offense Mentallo, but I always considered him to be the brains in your little duo. At any rate you are correct. Scourge, Techno, Fixer or whatever you want to call him, is now under my control thanks to you. And his primary task is to clean up my loose ends.”
“Like your team of Thunderbolts.” Mesmero jumped out of his seat. “He’s coming here!”
“Not future tense,” said Mathemanic. “He arrived a few minutes after we did. If nobody is dead yet, I suspect it’s because he’s waiting for the others to arrive.”
“Others?” Baron Zemo was genuinely surprised.
“Another motley collection of villains and/or heroes is coming to attack you.” Mathemanic rose to his feet. “Oh, and I corrupted Scourge’s programming so that he will know and kill you on sight, Baron. It is the risk of trusting criminals. I think I will have that drink now.”
At this time Goldbug sat back down and leaned back. “Well, it would appear we have something to bargain with after all.”
# # # # # # # # # #
The door to Dr. Sofen’s office opened and she emerged dressed in the form-fitting body-suit of Moonstone. She quickly closed the door, concealing the mummified and scattered remains of what had been Mister White’s body. With only an initial wobble on her high heels, Moonstone strode down the hallway. The confidence of Moonstone’s stride was however betrayed by the glaze behind her eyes.
Deep in the back of Moonstone’s mind, Karla Sofen struggled to process her situation. Mister White had ambushed her, somehow used his intangibility to intermingle with Karla’s molecules so that she couldn’t move. Then what he did, shifting his body around inside of Karla’s as pieces broke off until only his mind remained, shouldn’t have been possible. Let alone that his mind was somehow restraining Karla’s, allowing him to control her body after his died!
Nothing I was too attached to. That husk Baron Zemo gave me was always meant to be temporary. And I would much rather you stop screaming at me as Mister White. My given name is Philip Sterling.
Sterling, Sterling. Karla’s mind raced to place the name, but nothing came to her. In the hallway, Cybertooth and Tailhook were walking from the opposite direction, chatting amicably about something. Moonstone never paid them much nothing. Cybertooth was nothing but a second-rate Cottonmouth, while Tailhook set women back fifty years with her leather and whip.
Please, dear Karla, tell me what you really think. Moonstone stopped and looked Tailhook and down, eyeing the whip on her hip and crossbow on her back. “Little girl, I know you’re here for your little fixation on costumes, but surely you can do better than this.” Her head tilted toward Cybertooth. “I could see it only if his tongue was augmented as well.”
“Hey now,” Cybertooth took a step forward. “It’s not like that. You can’t go around saying you know us when we haven’t had a single session with you.”
Moonstone’s response was a backhand that would have broken a normal jaw but only hurled Cybertooth against the wall. Her eyes hadn’t left Tailhook, who was fumbling for her crossbow. Moonstone raised a hand.
“Ah ah, alien-based powers trump old weaponry. You don’t even have advanced gadgets, just the ability to distract perverts. So in my professional opinion, little girl, you should resign and walk away immediately. And when he wakes up, tell your boyfriend to do the same.”
As Moonstone continued walking, Mister White returned his attention inward. I’m surprised you don’t recognize the name, Karla. The Sterlings were an old and very wealthy family, up until my mother died. This reminds me, I really do need to look into her estate. Do the names Exterminator or Death-Stalker ring any bells?
They actually did, now that Karla thought about it. Sterling had been mayoral candidate Abner Jonas’ assistant, but had disappeared after the man went to jail for crimes as the Organizer. Interesting how he returned for revenge on Daredevil after the Organizer had died in jail.
An interesting theory, Ms. Sofen, but Abner had been a dear friend of my mother’s. Among the item’s he’d bequeathed to her were papers on how to construct a T-Ray gun. That, and her own insistence I make Daredevil pay, led to my folly as Exterminator. No, my vengeance came later.
“Moonstone?” At an intersection, Songbird was approaching. “Where are you going? I thought we had an appointment.”
Moonstone sighed. Luckily, Karla’s mind was an open book to her captor. “Yes, you feel guilty about Blizzard. You’re afraid you failed him like you did the Grapplers, Angar and Jenkins. If you’re looking to cry on my shoulder, turn around. Either forget about Blizzard or go after him.”
Songbird came to a stop, stunned by what she was being told. “That, that isn’t true, what happened to Angar, Titania and-”
“And Letha, yeah, Scourge killed them both. Hammer didn’t want you to know, but Volcana was recently found murdered in her apartment. Gunshot wound to the head, something that counteracted her plasma form.” Moonstone raised an eyebrow and couldn’t hold back a smile. “Would you like to talk about it?”
Songbird’s glare could have affected someone with a heart. Her mouth started to open, but she closed it immediately. Without a word or more, she turned and stalked away. Inside, Karla was thinking at Mister White’s game. Three people encouraged to leave.
Yes, something’s going to happen. Zemo I don’t give a damn about, but every person I warn is a person that owes me a favor. And stop thinking of me as Mister White. I’m taking back Death-Stalker.
Karla tried not to think about Sterling’s bad taste in names, excepting the last one that Zemo must have chosen. But in trying not to these thoughts were brought to the forefront, and as anticipated Mister White was feeling defensive, distracted. So distracted was Moonstone that she accidently bumped into Blacklash.
“Watch where you’re going, bitch.” Blacklash said this and kept walking without even looking at Moonstone.
It must be so disappointing. Those two idiots were too intimidated to notice my eyes, and Songbird had been sufficiently distracted. But Blacklash may have seen it and wondered. Incidentally, I don’t give a shit if he lives or dies. And for your information, I chose the moniker Mister White, a nice little noir name for my ruse. A shame it doesn’t fit much with my great new body though.
Moonstone opened the door to the medical area and walked inside.
Originally I had been promised Atlas. But I’ve grown to be concerned about his physical stability. Besides, I enjoy my powers, and there was no guarantee I’d keep them in another body. First thing I plan to do is scan myself for T-Ray radiation and determine who it interacts if at all with your Moongem. Well, second thing.
Karla desperately wanted a shower. Elsewhere in her head, Sterling laughed.
No, not that, although you are the sort of woman who should take this as a valuable lesson in humility. Also, be grateful that I’m likely saving your life.
Gratitude was the furthest thing from what Karla felt, though she did manage a little confusion as Moonstone approached the comatose Boomerang. Nobody had managed to figure out exactly what Mister White had done to him.
Admittedly, this isn’t exactly what I meant to do. When I phased Boomerang back in synch with our reality, I may have been imprecise in regards to his nervous system. Moonstone plunged a hand into the man’s head. Normally I wouldn’t care, but it may be important to know I can fix this. And at the least he’ll have a fighting chance.
Karla tried to pay attention to what her tormenter was doing, but with the body phased her senses had gone foggy. Next thing she knew, Moonstone was walking away from Boomerang. But the beeping from his monitor had altered, indicated improved vitals. A fighting chance, Sterling had said. What exactly was coming?
Wouldn’t you like to know? Moonstone had gone intangible again and was floating up through the ceiling. Sorry, but we won’t be sticking around to find out. I consider my business with Zemo over with. Unless he happens to survive this night, in which case I’ll come back and stalk him to death! Hahahahaha! All right, that was corny. I’ll probably just kill him in his sleep. Yes, after I’ve thought about my name.
# # # # # # # # # #
When Blacklash had found out about Blizzard’s departure, he’d nearly left then and there. That would have meant leaving Boomerang, still comatose, alone. Not to mention when Blacklash had found out, any hit would have already gone down. So Blacklash had decided to wait for news, trusting that Blizzard could handle himself.
Sure enough, Blacklash learned from the receptionist he was banging that Blizzard’s hit squad had turned up dead. It was good to know his pal was alive, but it also meant Blacklash didn’t have much time before those squads came for him.
Baron Zemo suspected that they knew.
It was something Blacklash never thought about, in case there was a telepath around. Never mind Zemo likely wouldn’t trust a telepath with the secret he was pretending to be Justin Hammer. Maybe he would. Mister White had known, had told Blacklash all about it. Who else knew? Blacklash wasn’t sure, and therefore kept his mouth shut.
The plan was the same, he kept telling himself. Stay alive until the hideout was ready. When the signal comes, grab Boomerang and take him along. It sucked that Blizzard would be left behind, but at least Donnie was out. He could survive on his own, which couldn’t be said for Boomerang.
It was soon after bumping into Moonstone that a device inside Blacklash’s boot was vibrating. It was time. He had maybe ten minutes before the shift. Pace quickening, Blacklash turned around and hurried toward the medical area. It was then he noticed the dip in temperature. His breath had become visible, warm bursts of fog. Turning the corner, Blacklash found himself facing a rapidly forming wall of ice. On the other side was Blizzard.
“Donnie?” At least Blacklash hoped it was, and reached for his whip in case it wasn’t his friend behind the mask. Zemo could have recruited any thug to wear that costume.
“It’s me, Mark,” said Blizzard in Donnie Gill’s voice. “I met some people eager to take Zemo down. They’re geared to attack any of you on sight, though, so just sit tight until everything’s over.”
“It’s Boomerang we need to watch out for! He’s lying helpless!”
“Then he’s no threat and safe as can be. I’m sorry, but I need to find Songbird.”
“Hey! No!” Blacklash turned and saw more ice behind him. He was blocked in. “Donnie, get back here! You have to let me out!”
The whip was in his hand and crackling with energy. Once, twice, three times it snapped against the ice. The shit had hit the fan, and time was running out. Blacklash needed to get out, needed to reach Boomerang. And Blizzard, upon whom he’d deliver a sufficient beating before-
A loud hum filled Blacklash’s ears. He could feel himself shifting sideways.
“No! Donnie!”
# # # # # # # # # #
For all it appeared to the world, Boomerang had not been in a coma. Oh, the body had been unresponsive, but the mind had remained active and alert. Everything heard he was able to perceive, from the revelation about Baron Zemo to Blizzard’s talk with “Justin Hammer” to Moonstone thinking aloud over his bed. Immediately after that, Boomerang felt it, the same chill that Mister White had inflicted on him. Then he felt his body again, was no longer hanging on the edge of reality.
Connection and control were different things, however. The feat of opening his eyes took Boomerang minutes to achieve. It took more time for his eyes to adjust to a world he’d been deprived of. As expected, he was in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines. There was a warm sensation between his legs, and Boomerang knew a bag was being filled. For too long he’d felt that catheter, and it was with triumph that he tightened muscles to cut off the flow. Finally, he was back in control.
“Hey, it’s good to see you awake.”
Boomerang turned his head and saw Overrider sitting on the next bed over. He’d been coming in every day, having his injuries from Swarm treated. It wasn’t the bee stings themselves that did damage so much as the chemical they released. Overrider looked a lot better than the last time Boomerang saw him, with only a few small scars visible on his face.
“I have been all along.” Boomerang raised and arm with some effort. “Only now I’m able to move. Was Moonstone here?”
“I passed her on my way in. She made some remarks about TESS and I.” Overrider frowned. “So you’ve been able to hear things?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about your son.” Perhaps because of the similar conditions, Overrider had often talked to Boomerang as though he were the man’s son. “Wish I could say I relate, but unless I knocked up a fan from my baseball days…”
“That’s okay. I’d thought nobody was listening.”
“I act as though this whole place is bugged.”
“It is. They just don’t work around me.”
The laugh felt good, even if it did cause Boomerang to lose control for a second. “That was nice, that you used to take your boy to my games.”
“Well, you were a hell of a player, but it wasn’t just about you.” Overrider lifted his head up, as though he heard something. He quickly jumped to his feet. “Something wrong just happened. You had better stay here and rest, Boomerang. I need to get TESS-1 and alert-”
The gunshot came out of nowhere; a loud unnatural boom that reduced Overrider’s healed face to a red mist. Stepping from an open doorway into the medical area was a tall man dressed all in white with a fedora and smoking shotgun. The Scourge of the Underworld.
As Boomerang struggled to force his muscles, atrophied from weeks of inactivity, to move, Scourge turned the gun toward him and fired.
# # # # # # # # # #
Next Issue: Has Boomerang awoken only to become Scourge’s next victim? What kind of deal will Baron Zemo agree to? Can the Thunderbolts survive a new attack from three deadly foes?