Back to Gatefold
Issue #1 by Hunter Lambright
July 2008 |
"LEGACY LOST - Part One: Hair-trigger Start"
“Wake up.”
The voice hissed across the deathly calm of the Freezer. Steam rose from the frosted stasis tubes, each of which housed a man, woman, or child, all decorated in the pastel colors of super-men and –women, all cryogenically frozen. Some had not been released since their imprisonment in the late forties.
It was late at night in the Freezer, around the time when the one man on monitor duty fell asleep like clockwork, around eight minutes or so before the coffeemaker would announce a fresh pot and inadvertently awaken the shamefaced security manager. It was hard to blame the man. Monitor duty in the Freezer was like watching plants grow. Nothing ever seemed to change.
“Wake up, Bryon,” hissed the voice from the shadows. No, that was wrong. The voice was the shadow. The room maintained its eerie stillness for a single moment longer—and then that changed with a movement almost invisible to the untrained eye. In one of the stasis tubes a pair of eyes flickered open. They belonged to a teenage boy in a dark costume that covered everything except his eyes, mouth, and nostrils.
“Good,” said the shadow. “You need to move. You have only seven minutes to escape, Bryon.”
Bryon looked into the shadow, craning his stiff neck, but knew he would see nothing. He then flicked the clasps on the inside of his cryogenic cell and, with a heaving grunt, forced the wings open on either side of him. Steam poured freely from the vacated tube as the two halves split. Bryon turned, but the shadow was gone, replaced by a brightly lit corner.
There was no time to waste. Bryon hauled himself out of the chamber and looked around. There was no one in sight. Of course, that really wasn’t a surprise. Who would be patrolling the area anyway? Bryon darted toward the exit on the far side of the room. Someone had lined their capsules up alphabetically heading away from the door, which made his escape somewhat more of a pain.
It pained him to run past his fellow heroes, but he knew that he could accomplish nothing until they thawed, and waiting for that was a luxury he didn’t have. As he ran, he faintly wondered what year it was.
He had last been thawed in 1959, sent to recapture some sensitive nuclear information from Soviet spies. How much time had passed since then?
Bryon reached the door and pulled it open. No alarm went off. His shadow had taken care of that as well, it seemed. He began to turn toward the stairwell, but stopped with a moment of sudden realization. “No,” he whispered. “They don’t get me back again.”
His legs moved mechanically down the corridor. The door at the end was nondescript, which led Bryon to believe he’d chosen the right direction. This was not a room they would have labeled. Only those who needed to be there would know which room to be in. He neared the door, only for the nearest shadow to leap out at him. “What are you doing?” it asked. “You must escape! You don’t have time for this!”
“No!” Bryon spat. “The last I was let out, they showed me their dossier on me. I know it’s here—they will not be keeping it.”
The shadow did not respond. Instead, it melted away, leaving Bryon to decide his own fate. It had set the escape in motion—it would not be held responsible if he botched it up on the way out.
Bryon kicked open the door to the file room and dashed in, prepared to catch anyone off guard. The room was empty. He saw the dark green filing cabinets lined up against the wall. On the opposite wall was a glassy screen, banked with a tabletop inset with buttons and flashing lights, the likes of which he had only seen in one of the old alien attack film strips before he had been recruited for the Hiroshima Cleanup—before his life had been taken away from him.
The filing cabinets were slightly more advanced than the ones he remembered, and it took a few seconds of extra button-pushing and drawer-jiggling for Bryon to get the “B” drawer open. His hands quickly flipped through the thick plastic folders, but saw no sign of his. He cursed inwardly. Had they withdrawn it recently, planning to defrost him for an upcoming mission?
“Try ‘Y’,” hissed the shadow. It had been watching the entire time.
Bryon ducked to the far right end of the wall of cabinets and opened the “Y” drawer with far less difficulty than the first. He pulled the drawer all the way out, knowing the file he was looking for would likely be toward the back. He read off the names under his breath as he flipped through. “Young Allies—this is it, Young Avenger,” he muttered, pulling out his file. He took care to make sure no old photographs fell out. “Wait, what is that?”
Setting his file carefully aside, and growing ever more aware of his dwindling amount of lead-time, he took a look at the file behind his, titled “Young Avengers.” The file was several inches thick, and seeing as time was of the essence, Bryon knew he had no time to waste seeing if the file was connected to him or not. He hefted it out and stacked the two files together. “Which way?”
“Up,” said the shadow, disappearing in the light of the hallway.
Bryon looked up and down the hallway. “What do you mean?” he asked. The last word was nearly cut off by the blaring of a siren emanating from klaxons set up in even intervals down the hallways. Red lights began flashing, and Bryon could already hear the sounds of footsteps marching en masse.
“Figure it out,” said the shadow, melting away for good this time. In his sprint toward the record room, Bryon had trouble remembering his path. Turning it around to backtrack it felt near-impossible, and yet those stairs were the only set he had come across. That much Bryon knew for sure. He began to run, but his pace was hampered by the files he carried. One wrong move and all of his information would fly across the halls. He could not let that happen.
A flicker of black above his head caught his eye. Bryon couldn’t be sure if it was the shadow assisting him or his imagination. He looked up and saw a hatch built into the ventilation system—an ugly set of metal vents strung along the hallways, too far underground to bother with covering them up for the sake of scenery. Bryon pried off the vent and put the files inside. He just had time to haul his cape inside the man-sized shaft and replace the cover before the footsteps reached the hallway he’d been standing in.
Two sets of incoming footsteps were converging, and Bryon was certain that they’d determined his location. He shrank deeper inside the vent so that he could not see outside, and hoped that they could not see him. The footsteps stopped.
“Any sign of him?” asked the first officer. His voice was deeper, and Bryon could tell from the way the man asked that he pulled rank. The question was incisive and demanding, and somehow it was evident that the man blamed whoever he was questioning for his escape.
The second man did not answer right away. “N-no, sir,” he finally stammered. “We’re still checking s-some of the lower facilities, on the chance he went down instead of up, but r-right now, we c-can’t find a trace of him.”
“What about his tracking chip?” the first man demanded.
“S-sir? Those weren’t approved by Congress. The bill died in the House,” replied the second man shakily.
The first man laughed, which caused more of a sinister effect than a humorous one. “Since when have we listened to Congress, officer? Since WHEN?!” he shouted. “I want you to find him in the next fifteen minutes, or it’s your job, soldier. And I want the rest of the Popsicles implanted with tracking chips immediately—am I clear, soldier?”
“Y-yes,” the officer mumbled.
“Yes what, officer?”
“Y-yes, Lieutenant.”
The officer’s group marched off immediately, but the Lieutenant’s shadow remained alone in the hallway. Bryon could see from the way his back moved that he was breathing heavily from his outburst. Then, a second shadow emerged beside his—this one in the shape of a woman. Bryon got over his momentary shock of imagining a woman in the military quickly—what she had to say was far more important than what she was.
“Lieutenant, sir? I have some information for you regarding the escapee,” she said quickly. “It’s rather important, I think you’ll see.”
“What is it, then?” asked the Lieutenant, tempering himself.
The woman shuffled through several sheets of paper in her hand. “The boy was in the file room, it seems. He took a few of the hard copies, but it looks like he wasn’t released anytime recently, because he didn’t even touch the computer. Our digital copies of the files are still intact, but he didn’t just take his, sir.” She paused. “He took the Young Avengers file.”
“The what?” asked the Lieutenant. “Who were they? I don’t remember any team by that name being incarcerated in the Freezer.”
“That’s because they weren’t,” said the woman. “The hard copy was filed under that name as an in-joke by some idiot six levels up. The file was then transferred down to us earlier last year when someone upstairs realized they had little to no use for it. You may know the file better, Lieutenant, as the Legacy clause from the Avengers Failsafe Program.”
“The chosen successors to the Avengers,” said the Lieutenant in awe. “And the Young Avenger now holds them in his hands. You realize we can’t let these names get out. If they do, someone could amass a superhuman army—someone with interests directly conflicting with ours.”
“Are you saying, sir, that we recruit them? We have our own copies still. There is still time.”
“No,” said the Lieutenant. Bryon saw him shake his head from the shadow. “No, that could take too long, and there’s always the chance of them refusing. I’m afraid we don’t have a choice. We have to eliminate them.”
# # # # #
The Adirondack Mountains—Later
It was a long time before Bryon decided he could finally stop running. His enhanced stamina and endurance only took him so far, and his sweat had gone from a nuisance to a serious trouble. It seemed that, after being frozen so long, the body had trouble readjusting to regular temperatures above freezing.
Bryon looked around for a moment before deciding to nestle himself into a pine grove that would give him some cover if someone came looking. He sat down on a bed of needles and put his arms around he knees, breathing heavily. The files were set off to the side. Bryon flipped back his mask and let his cape fall back to the ground. His face was still perspiring profusely, and a drop fell from the tip of his nose to the ground. Bryon then pulled off his gloves and laid them aside, so that he would be able to flip through the pages.
He first grabbed his own file. Everything inside was as he remembered it from the first time he had seen the file—the pictures of his family, the documentation of how he had gotten his powers (so far as they knew), the extensive interviews and reports from his only missions out of the Freezer. All of it remained intact.
Finally, after his fit of nostalgia had passed, Bryon looked at the second file. Its thickness alone was intimidating. He flipped it open to the first page and began to read. It contained something called the Legacy File, a portion of the Avengers Failsafe Program. Bryon wasn’t interested in all of that, however. He was more interested in the most recent date on the file—almost fifty years since the last time he had seen the light of day. “This is a joke,” Bryon said to himself. “This must be some kind of training exercise.”
“Then why execute the Legacies?” asked the shadow, startling Bryon from behind. Even he didn’t know the power behind the shadow. He only knew that it had given him his powers and missions, and now it had saved him as well.
Bryon shrugged. “It’s not for me to decide.” He set the file on the ground and began to gather his cape, mask, and gloves.
“Your escape has set this in motion, and you taking this file was not in the plan,” said the shadow.
Bryon shook his head. “I am not to blame. Taking the file was a mistake.”
“Your mistake,” retorted the shadow. “That is why correcting it has become your new mission, Bryon. You must save the Legacies—as many as you are able to, before we even attempt to retrieve your colleagues from the Freezer. If you do not, the future of the world is in questionable hands.”
“I’m not sure if you have realized,” Bryon spat, “but this is the future to me! How many wars have been fought since I was taken captive? How much of my life has died?”
The shadow considered its answer carefully. “Then it is your choice, Bryon. If you choose to move on with your life, so be it. However, think about this: if you choose to do nothing, how many other lives will end simply because I chose to release you from incarceration? How many more must die to pay the price for your freedom?”
“That’s not fair!” Bryon exclaimed. “Why does it have to be that way?”
“What in life is fair?” the shadow asked solemnly.
Bryon stood for a moment, looking from his file to the other, weighing out the thickness of one life versus the thickness of forty or more. “Fine. How do I do it, then?”
“You may get tired of hearing me say this, Bryon, but--” the shadow chuckled, “—you figure it out.”
Then it melted back into the darkness of the pine trees, leaving Bryon alone with only the ghosts of the past to keep him company.
# # # # #
Tak’kawa Square, Wakanda
People milled about freely in the open-air marketplace centered in one of the largest towns in Wakanda. Fruits and vegetables of every color sat in wicker bins as men and women mingled among the stalls in their vibrant clothing. In the center of the square, ringed by pathways for carts and vehicles, was an area where people chatted and caught up on what was happening in the world each day.
It was there that a boy and girl sat, talking to each other on one of the thin wooden benches in the square. “You really did it, Rala? Last night?” asked the boy, his white teeth shining brightly against his ebony skin.
“Yes, Tiko. I strung them outside the chief building, and then knocked and ran. The poachers never saw what hit them!” she exclaimed, laughing.
Tiko smiled back at her. “So it’s true? You really are the striped goddess’ chosen one?”
Rala nodded. “Are you saying you believe me?”
“No, I’m trying to figure out if you’re crazy or not,” Tiko said, laughing.
There was a commotion near the west end of the square just then, as a cart overturned and several shopkeepers and shoppers gasped. Men clothed from head to toe in black shoved their way through the square. The leader held onto a device that looked similar to a GPS unit. “One side!” the gunmen shouted. “Move!”
“I’ll prove it,” Rala said with a grin. Within a split-second, her garments changed into a thick, red-orange layer of fabric, topped with a feral mask atop her head. She ran to the front of the square where she stood in authority. “Turn and leave this place! These people are under my protection!”
The man with the GPS looked up, the red light at the top blinking as he pointed the device at her. “Rala Shurat, alias Red Tigress, your legacy is about to be snuffed,” he said with an American accent. The gunmen shuffled around Rala, pointing their barrels up at her.
She held up her hands, realizing too late that she was in way over her head. “I surrender,” she whispered.
“Tough luck,” said the leader. He snapped his fingers, and the sharp report of gunfire echoed throughout the square. The crowd screamed in shock as the Red Tigress fell to the ground, undoubtedly dead.
“Rala!” screamed Tiko in dismay. He reached his friend’s fallen form and stared into her empty eyes. Then he looked upward, seeing red—but the gunmen were already gone, like they hadn’t been there at all.
The only evidence that they had even existed was bleeding out onto the sand.
# # # # #
New York City
“How do they not go crazy?!” exclaimed Bryon, his voice barely audible over the sound of honking horns and vulgar curses from road-enraged drivers. “The noise never stops!”
“Focus,” said the shadow.
“Right,” Bryon muttered halfheartedly. He had hitchhiked out of the mountains (after stealing a change of clothes from some sleeping campers) and been dropped off rather quickly when he had asked the year. It had been a relief to both Bryon and the truck driver. The driver was able to get rid of the mentally ill teenager, and Bryon was able to get back off the road, safely away from the insanity of traffic. “I’m a bit overwhelmed right now.”
“Understatement,” said the shadow, melting away before Bryon could retort.
“It looks like we’ve arrived anyway,” Bryon said, looking up. Across the street, was a simple apartment building, no more exceptional than the twenty that surrounded it. It had taken some difficulty, but Bryon had finally pinpointed the first and closest Legacy to one of two addresses. According to her file, she was supposed to be at this location on most weekends and holidays. He hoped she would be there tonight, because if she wasn’t, he would have to add breaking and entering to his list of less-than-legal activities.
“Ready?” asked the shadow, reappearing yet again.
Bryon shook his head, looking up nervously at the apartment building. “Let me get in costume first. If I can help it, I don’t want anyone to be able to recognize me once this is all over.”
“Then what’s the plan?”
“It’s simple—kidnap Cassie Lang.”
# # # # #
“You know, T’Challa, now’s probably not the best time for you to be calling.” Carol Danvers stared at the screen, where the Black Panther’s visage stared back down at her. “You know things have been pretty shaky since you went off and formed your own team of Avengers. No one’s exceptionally thrilled with you still for that one.”
“I understand,” said the Black Panther icily. “I would not have called if I did not believe it to be a matter of the utmost urgency.”
“Yeah?” asked Carol, raising an eyebrow. “Fine, lay it on me.”
“I would feel more comfortable disclosing this information with Captain America. Is he there? I will not ask another time,” asked the Black Panther, his dark mask completely devoid of emotion. Though she couldn’t see his face, it was obvious that he was angry underneath.
Carol shook her head. “I’m in here, and I have no idea whether or not Cap’s in the building. I can take a message, if you’d like, or—”
“Is something wrong, Carol?” Steve Rogers poked his head in the door. His mask was pulled backwards, but from the neck down he was decked out in red, white, and blue. His eye caught on the imposing figure staring down from the screen. “I’ve got this.”
“Captain,” said the Panther, looking at Steve. “I believe we may have a bit of a problem.”
“Then let’s hear it,” said Steve, leaning back against a control panel.
Black Panther nodded. “I received word today that one of my countrywomen, Rala Shurat, was assassinated. The gunmen were specifically there for her and disappeared after they succeeded. I hope you can confirm for me that the fact that she was chosen as my Legacy File for your government is merely a coincidence, because if not, Wakanda and your country will have a serious problem.”
Steve’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I follow you, T’Challa. What Legacy File are you talking about?”
“I’m surprised you’ve forgotten so quickly, Captain,” said the Panther, almost disgusted. It was obvious he believed that he was being played for a fool. “Allow me to refresh your memory, Captain. Not long after the Onslaught fiasco, I received a request from your government to find what they called a ‘Legacy,’ someone in one of the generations below me who I would find fit to replace me so that there would always be a Black Panther figure in the Avengers in the event of my death. It was supposed to be a part of a so-called Avengers Failsafe Program. You’re trying to tell me you don’t remember this?”
Steve shook his head. “I’m sorry, T’Challa, but I honestly don’t.” He turned to Warbird. “What about you, Carol?”
“I wasn’t asked,” she said, her arms folded across her chest. “Then again, it wouldn’t surprise me if they didn’t ask me, anyway.” She shrugged.
“I’ll check around,” Steve said, “but I can’t remember this at all. What do you think the chances are that they went ahead and picked our Legacies without asking us?”
“Knowing your government? The chances are very high. They may have asked me out of diplomatic courtesy, or unfamiliarity with the nature of my powers. Or they may have asked me, as I suspect, in order to eliminate the next in my line,” the Black Panther said. “If I find out that the latter is the case, then it will be an act of war, Captain.”
“We’ll check into this, T’Challa, and keep you posted on what we find out about this failsafe. Look, I know our relationship has been strained lately, but let us look into this before doing anything brash. For all we know, there are more Legacy Files out there being targeted right now,” said Steve. “I don’t want this to escalate out of control.”
“If that is the case, then I will retract my threat,” said the Panther. “However, if I find out that I was right, and that any of you had a hand in covering the truth from me—there will be hell to pay.” The screen then went blank.
“Hm. That was ominous,” said Carol, shaking her head. “Do you have any idea what he was talking about?”
“No,” said Steve, pacing the length of the control room. “I wonder if it’s possible. Could the government really have a file designating who they would have take our place if we died?”
“I’ll ask around,” said Carol. “If it’s true—and at that point, we don’t even know if that’s the case—then T’Challa might be right. I don’t want any kids’ lives to be on my shoulders if we don’t look into this.”
Steve nodded. “I’ll ask the rest of the Avengers if they were asked to name a Legacy, too. If we can find anyone who might have a name for us, someone who remembers who was asking, then we might have a lead. Sound good?”
“Sounds good,” Carol confirmed. She let slip a small smile. “Never a dull moment, is there?”
“No, there isn’t,” Steve said, shaking his head. “But what would we do without constant crises and disasters waiting to happen? Problems like this, and how we react to them—it’s what makes us the Avengers.”
# # # # #
“I can’t believe you’re going to kidnap the daughter of an Avenger,” muttered the shadow, as Bryon neared the fence. “What, are you going to kidnap all of the Legacies, too?”
“It was the only way I thought I could ensure her safety,” Bryon mumbled, catapulting up onto the fire escape. Cassie’s apartment was on the second floor. He knew he had to be careful not to arouse anyone’s attention on his ascent, though.
“Isn’t she in the safest place she could possibly be right now, though?” the shadow asked skeptically. “If this is her father, she’s with an Avenger. If she’s with her mother and stepfather, she’s with a cop.”
“You are the one who told me to figure it out,” Bryon shot back. “I’m working the best that I can right now. I do not like it either, but it’s the only way I think I can get them to listen to me—either the Avengers or the police—to get them to take me seriously.”
“By looking like a super-villain?” the shadow asked, but Bryon ignored him.
“Which window?” Bryon tiptoeing along the fire escape, and hoping that the answer didn’t have anything to do with scaling the outside of the building.
“Second on the left.”
The window in question was just outside the reach of the fire escape, but Bryon knew he could make the jump without any difficulty. It was even already cracked open, as if she’d been expecting him. Lilac curtains fluttered outside, and Bryon could hear the teenager talking to someone, presumably on the phone. He had to be in and out, quickly, or else he would end up botching the entire operation. He looked around once more outside, and, convinced no one was staring at him, he vaulted over the iron bars of the fire escape and curled acrobatically inside the window, landing on one knee.
“Cassie Lang, you must come with me. Your very life is at stake,” he said in pure cornball fashion.
Cassie screamed and dropped the phone. Bryon leaned over her to pick up the phone. “Sorry if I frightened you! Please, don’t—” But she already had. The emergency button built into her wristwatch was already blinking red.
“Red blinking is never good,” said the shadow. “Told you this was a bad idea!”
“I’ll fix it,” said Bryon. He reached out to grab Cassie’s shoulder to calm her. She had shrunk back into the corner against her headboard. This time, she didn’t scream. She had been kidnapped enough in her lifetime to be able to maintain her composure.
The door was suddenly kicked in and bright light poured in from the next room, overpowering the light from Cassie’s desk lamp. Silhouetted in the doorway was a man wearing a dark blue dress shirt and slacks. The holster at his waist was empty, his gun drawn and pointed directly at Bryon. His face was contorted into a mask of rage and surprise.
“Sir, this isn’t what it looks li—” Bryon began, but he was cut off.
“Put your hands up!” shouted Cassie’s stepfather, the police officer. “You picked the wrong girl tonight, sleazeball!”
“That worked well,” muttered the shadow as Bryon’s hands rose reluctantly into the air.
# # # # #
Author’s Note
The Young Avenger is a Timely Comics superhero. You can read more about him at http://www.internationalhero.co.uk/y/youngavengers.htm
Also, more about the Freezer and the nature of the Golden Agents can be read at http://m2k.omegacen.com/marvfanfare/MF55.html
~Hunter Lambright
The voice hissed across the deathly calm of the Freezer. Steam rose from the frosted stasis tubes, each of which housed a man, woman, or child, all decorated in the pastel colors of super-men and –women, all cryogenically frozen. Some had not been released since their imprisonment in the late forties.
It was late at night in the Freezer, around the time when the one man on monitor duty fell asleep like clockwork, around eight minutes or so before the coffeemaker would announce a fresh pot and inadvertently awaken the shamefaced security manager. It was hard to blame the man. Monitor duty in the Freezer was like watching plants grow. Nothing ever seemed to change.
“Wake up, Bryon,” hissed the voice from the shadows. No, that was wrong. The voice was the shadow. The room maintained its eerie stillness for a single moment longer—and then that changed with a movement almost invisible to the untrained eye. In one of the stasis tubes a pair of eyes flickered open. They belonged to a teenage boy in a dark costume that covered everything except his eyes, mouth, and nostrils.
“Good,” said the shadow. “You need to move. You have only seven minutes to escape, Bryon.”
Bryon looked into the shadow, craning his stiff neck, but knew he would see nothing. He then flicked the clasps on the inside of his cryogenic cell and, with a heaving grunt, forced the wings open on either side of him. Steam poured freely from the vacated tube as the two halves split. Bryon turned, but the shadow was gone, replaced by a brightly lit corner.
There was no time to waste. Bryon hauled himself out of the chamber and looked around. There was no one in sight. Of course, that really wasn’t a surprise. Who would be patrolling the area anyway? Bryon darted toward the exit on the far side of the room. Someone had lined their capsules up alphabetically heading away from the door, which made his escape somewhat more of a pain.
It pained him to run past his fellow heroes, but he knew that he could accomplish nothing until they thawed, and waiting for that was a luxury he didn’t have. As he ran, he faintly wondered what year it was.
He had last been thawed in 1959, sent to recapture some sensitive nuclear information from Soviet spies. How much time had passed since then?
Bryon reached the door and pulled it open. No alarm went off. His shadow had taken care of that as well, it seemed. He began to turn toward the stairwell, but stopped with a moment of sudden realization. “No,” he whispered. “They don’t get me back again.”
His legs moved mechanically down the corridor. The door at the end was nondescript, which led Bryon to believe he’d chosen the right direction. This was not a room they would have labeled. Only those who needed to be there would know which room to be in. He neared the door, only for the nearest shadow to leap out at him. “What are you doing?” it asked. “You must escape! You don’t have time for this!”
“No!” Bryon spat. “The last I was let out, they showed me their dossier on me. I know it’s here—they will not be keeping it.”
The shadow did not respond. Instead, it melted away, leaving Bryon to decide his own fate. It had set the escape in motion—it would not be held responsible if he botched it up on the way out.
Bryon kicked open the door to the file room and dashed in, prepared to catch anyone off guard. The room was empty. He saw the dark green filing cabinets lined up against the wall. On the opposite wall was a glassy screen, banked with a tabletop inset with buttons and flashing lights, the likes of which he had only seen in one of the old alien attack film strips before he had been recruited for the Hiroshima Cleanup—before his life had been taken away from him.
The filing cabinets were slightly more advanced than the ones he remembered, and it took a few seconds of extra button-pushing and drawer-jiggling for Bryon to get the “B” drawer open. His hands quickly flipped through the thick plastic folders, but saw no sign of his. He cursed inwardly. Had they withdrawn it recently, planning to defrost him for an upcoming mission?
“Try ‘Y’,” hissed the shadow. It had been watching the entire time.
Bryon ducked to the far right end of the wall of cabinets and opened the “Y” drawer with far less difficulty than the first. He pulled the drawer all the way out, knowing the file he was looking for would likely be toward the back. He read off the names under his breath as he flipped through. “Young Allies—this is it, Young Avenger,” he muttered, pulling out his file. He took care to make sure no old photographs fell out. “Wait, what is that?”
Setting his file carefully aside, and growing ever more aware of his dwindling amount of lead-time, he took a look at the file behind his, titled “Young Avengers.” The file was several inches thick, and seeing as time was of the essence, Bryon knew he had no time to waste seeing if the file was connected to him or not. He hefted it out and stacked the two files together. “Which way?”
“Up,” said the shadow, disappearing in the light of the hallway.
Bryon looked up and down the hallway. “What do you mean?” he asked. The last word was nearly cut off by the blaring of a siren emanating from klaxons set up in even intervals down the hallways. Red lights began flashing, and Bryon could already hear the sounds of footsteps marching en masse.
“Figure it out,” said the shadow, melting away for good this time. In his sprint toward the record room, Bryon had trouble remembering his path. Turning it around to backtrack it felt near-impossible, and yet those stairs were the only set he had come across. That much Bryon knew for sure. He began to run, but his pace was hampered by the files he carried. One wrong move and all of his information would fly across the halls. He could not let that happen.
A flicker of black above his head caught his eye. Bryon couldn’t be sure if it was the shadow assisting him or his imagination. He looked up and saw a hatch built into the ventilation system—an ugly set of metal vents strung along the hallways, too far underground to bother with covering them up for the sake of scenery. Bryon pried off the vent and put the files inside. He just had time to haul his cape inside the man-sized shaft and replace the cover before the footsteps reached the hallway he’d been standing in.
Two sets of incoming footsteps were converging, and Bryon was certain that they’d determined his location. He shrank deeper inside the vent so that he could not see outside, and hoped that they could not see him. The footsteps stopped.
“Any sign of him?” asked the first officer. His voice was deeper, and Bryon could tell from the way the man asked that he pulled rank. The question was incisive and demanding, and somehow it was evident that the man blamed whoever he was questioning for his escape.
The second man did not answer right away. “N-no, sir,” he finally stammered. “We’re still checking s-some of the lower facilities, on the chance he went down instead of up, but r-right now, we c-can’t find a trace of him.”
“What about his tracking chip?” the first man demanded.
“S-sir? Those weren’t approved by Congress. The bill died in the House,” replied the second man shakily.
The first man laughed, which caused more of a sinister effect than a humorous one. “Since when have we listened to Congress, officer? Since WHEN?!” he shouted. “I want you to find him in the next fifteen minutes, or it’s your job, soldier. And I want the rest of the Popsicles implanted with tracking chips immediately—am I clear, soldier?”
“Y-yes,” the officer mumbled.
“Yes what, officer?”
“Y-yes, Lieutenant.”
The officer’s group marched off immediately, but the Lieutenant’s shadow remained alone in the hallway. Bryon could see from the way his back moved that he was breathing heavily from his outburst. Then, a second shadow emerged beside his—this one in the shape of a woman. Bryon got over his momentary shock of imagining a woman in the military quickly—what she had to say was far more important than what she was.
“Lieutenant, sir? I have some information for you regarding the escapee,” she said quickly. “It’s rather important, I think you’ll see.”
“What is it, then?” asked the Lieutenant, tempering himself.
The woman shuffled through several sheets of paper in her hand. “The boy was in the file room, it seems. He took a few of the hard copies, but it looks like he wasn’t released anytime recently, because he didn’t even touch the computer. Our digital copies of the files are still intact, but he didn’t just take his, sir.” She paused. “He took the Young Avengers file.”
“The what?” asked the Lieutenant. “Who were they? I don’t remember any team by that name being incarcerated in the Freezer.”
“That’s because they weren’t,” said the woman. “The hard copy was filed under that name as an in-joke by some idiot six levels up. The file was then transferred down to us earlier last year when someone upstairs realized they had little to no use for it. You may know the file better, Lieutenant, as the Legacy clause from the Avengers Failsafe Program.”
“The chosen successors to the Avengers,” said the Lieutenant in awe. “And the Young Avenger now holds them in his hands. You realize we can’t let these names get out. If they do, someone could amass a superhuman army—someone with interests directly conflicting with ours.”
“Are you saying, sir, that we recruit them? We have our own copies still. There is still time.”
“No,” said the Lieutenant. Bryon saw him shake his head from the shadow. “No, that could take too long, and there’s always the chance of them refusing. I’m afraid we don’t have a choice. We have to eliminate them.”
# # # # #
The Adirondack Mountains—Later
It was a long time before Bryon decided he could finally stop running. His enhanced stamina and endurance only took him so far, and his sweat had gone from a nuisance to a serious trouble. It seemed that, after being frozen so long, the body had trouble readjusting to regular temperatures above freezing.
Bryon looked around for a moment before deciding to nestle himself into a pine grove that would give him some cover if someone came looking. He sat down on a bed of needles and put his arms around he knees, breathing heavily. The files were set off to the side. Bryon flipped back his mask and let his cape fall back to the ground. His face was still perspiring profusely, and a drop fell from the tip of his nose to the ground. Bryon then pulled off his gloves and laid them aside, so that he would be able to flip through the pages.
He first grabbed his own file. Everything inside was as he remembered it from the first time he had seen the file—the pictures of his family, the documentation of how he had gotten his powers (so far as they knew), the extensive interviews and reports from his only missions out of the Freezer. All of it remained intact.
Finally, after his fit of nostalgia had passed, Bryon looked at the second file. Its thickness alone was intimidating. He flipped it open to the first page and began to read. It contained something called the Legacy File, a portion of the Avengers Failsafe Program. Bryon wasn’t interested in all of that, however. He was more interested in the most recent date on the file—almost fifty years since the last time he had seen the light of day. “This is a joke,” Bryon said to himself. “This must be some kind of training exercise.”
“Then why execute the Legacies?” asked the shadow, startling Bryon from behind. Even he didn’t know the power behind the shadow. He only knew that it had given him his powers and missions, and now it had saved him as well.
Bryon shrugged. “It’s not for me to decide.” He set the file on the ground and began to gather his cape, mask, and gloves.
“Your escape has set this in motion, and you taking this file was not in the plan,” said the shadow.
Bryon shook his head. “I am not to blame. Taking the file was a mistake.”
“Your mistake,” retorted the shadow. “That is why correcting it has become your new mission, Bryon. You must save the Legacies—as many as you are able to, before we even attempt to retrieve your colleagues from the Freezer. If you do not, the future of the world is in questionable hands.”
“I’m not sure if you have realized,” Bryon spat, “but this is the future to me! How many wars have been fought since I was taken captive? How much of my life has died?”
The shadow considered its answer carefully. “Then it is your choice, Bryon. If you choose to move on with your life, so be it. However, think about this: if you choose to do nothing, how many other lives will end simply because I chose to release you from incarceration? How many more must die to pay the price for your freedom?”
“That’s not fair!” Bryon exclaimed. “Why does it have to be that way?”
“What in life is fair?” the shadow asked solemnly.
Bryon stood for a moment, looking from his file to the other, weighing out the thickness of one life versus the thickness of forty or more. “Fine. How do I do it, then?”
“You may get tired of hearing me say this, Bryon, but--” the shadow chuckled, “—you figure it out.”
Then it melted back into the darkness of the pine trees, leaving Bryon alone with only the ghosts of the past to keep him company.
# # # # #
Tak’kawa Square, Wakanda
People milled about freely in the open-air marketplace centered in one of the largest towns in Wakanda. Fruits and vegetables of every color sat in wicker bins as men and women mingled among the stalls in their vibrant clothing. In the center of the square, ringed by pathways for carts and vehicles, was an area where people chatted and caught up on what was happening in the world each day.
It was there that a boy and girl sat, talking to each other on one of the thin wooden benches in the square. “You really did it, Rala? Last night?” asked the boy, his white teeth shining brightly against his ebony skin.
“Yes, Tiko. I strung them outside the chief building, and then knocked and ran. The poachers never saw what hit them!” she exclaimed, laughing.
Tiko smiled back at her. “So it’s true? You really are the striped goddess’ chosen one?”
Rala nodded. “Are you saying you believe me?”
“No, I’m trying to figure out if you’re crazy or not,” Tiko said, laughing.
There was a commotion near the west end of the square just then, as a cart overturned and several shopkeepers and shoppers gasped. Men clothed from head to toe in black shoved their way through the square. The leader held onto a device that looked similar to a GPS unit. “One side!” the gunmen shouted. “Move!”
“I’ll prove it,” Rala said with a grin. Within a split-second, her garments changed into a thick, red-orange layer of fabric, topped with a feral mask atop her head. She ran to the front of the square where she stood in authority. “Turn and leave this place! These people are under my protection!”
The man with the GPS looked up, the red light at the top blinking as he pointed the device at her. “Rala Shurat, alias Red Tigress, your legacy is about to be snuffed,” he said with an American accent. The gunmen shuffled around Rala, pointing their barrels up at her.
She held up her hands, realizing too late that she was in way over her head. “I surrender,” she whispered.
“Tough luck,” said the leader. He snapped his fingers, and the sharp report of gunfire echoed throughout the square. The crowd screamed in shock as the Red Tigress fell to the ground, undoubtedly dead.
“Rala!” screamed Tiko in dismay. He reached his friend’s fallen form and stared into her empty eyes. Then he looked upward, seeing red—but the gunmen were already gone, like they hadn’t been there at all.
The only evidence that they had even existed was bleeding out onto the sand.
# # # # #
New York City
“How do they not go crazy?!” exclaimed Bryon, his voice barely audible over the sound of honking horns and vulgar curses from road-enraged drivers. “The noise never stops!”
“Focus,” said the shadow.
“Right,” Bryon muttered halfheartedly. He had hitchhiked out of the mountains (after stealing a change of clothes from some sleeping campers) and been dropped off rather quickly when he had asked the year. It had been a relief to both Bryon and the truck driver. The driver was able to get rid of the mentally ill teenager, and Bryon was able to get back off the road, safely away from the insanity of traffic. “I’m a bit overwhelmed right now.”
“Understatement,” said the shadow, melting away before Bryon could retort.
“It looks like we’ve arrived anyway,” Bryon said, looking up. Across the street, was a simple apartment building, no more exceptional than the twenty that surrounded it. It had taken some difficulty, but Bryon had finally pinpointed the first and closest Legacy to one of two addresses. According to her file, she was supposed to be at this location on most weekends and holidays. He hoped she would be there tonight, because if she wasn’t, he would have to add breaking and entering to his list of less-than-legal activities.
“Ready?” asked the shadow, reappearing yet again.
Bryon shook his head, looking up nervously at the apartment building. “Let me get in costume first. If I can help it, I don’t want anyone to be able to recognize me once this is all over.”
“Then what’s the plan?”
“It’s simple—kidnap Cassie Lang.”
# # # # #
“You know, T’Challa, now’s probably not the best time for you to be calling.” Carol Danvers stared at the screen, where the Black Panther’s visage stared back down at her. “You know things have been pretty shaky since you went off and formed your own team of Avengers. No one’s exceptionally thrilled with you still for that one.”
“I understand,” said the Black Panther icily. “I would not have called if I did not believe it to be a matter of the utmost urgency.”
“Yeah?” asked Carol, raising an eyebrow. “Fine, lay it on me.”
“I would feel more comfortable disclosing this information with Captain America. Is he there? I will not ask another time,” asked the Black Panther, his dark mask completely devoid of emotion. Though she couldn’t see his face, it was obvious that he was angry underneath.
Carol shook her head. “I’m in here, and I have no idea whether or not Cap’s in the building. I can take a message, if you’d like, or—”
“Is something wrong, Carol?” Steve Rogers poked his head in the door. His mask was pulled backwards, but from the neck down he was decked out in red, white, and blue. His eye caught on the imposing figure staring down from the screen. “I’ve got this.”
“Captain,” said the Panther, looking at Steve. “I believe we may have a bit of a problem.”
“Then let’s hear it,” said Steve, leaning back against a control panel.
Black Panther nodded. “I received word today that one of my countrywomen, Rala Shurat, was assassinated. The gunmen were specifically there for her and disappeared after they succeeded. I hope you can confirm for me that the fact that she was chosen as my Legacy File for your government is merely a coincidence, because if not, Wakanda and your country will have a serious problem.”
Steve’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I follow you, T’Challa. What Legacy File are you talking about?”
“I’m surprised you’ve forgotten so quickly, Captain,” said the Panther, almost disgusted. It was obvious he believed that he was being played for a fool. “Allow me to refresh your memory, Captain. Not long after the Onslaught fiasco, I received a request from your government to find what they called a ‘Legacy,’ someone in one of the generations below me who I would find fit to replace me so that there would always be a Black Panther figure in the Avengers in the event of my death. It was supposed to be a part of a so-called Avengers Failsafe Program. You’re trying to tell me you don’t remember this?”
Steve shook his head. “I’m sorry, T’Challa, but I honestly don’t.” He turned to Warbird. “What about you, Carol?”
“I wasn’t asked,” she said, her arms folded across her chest. “Then again, it wouldn’t surprise me if they didn’t ask me, anyway.” She shrugged.
“I’ll check around,” Steve said, “but I can’t remember this at all. What do you think the chances are that they went ahead and picked our Legacies without asking us?”
“Knowing your government? The chances are very high. They may have asked me out of diplomatic courtesy, or unfamiliarity with the nature of my powers. Or they may have asked me, as I suspect, in order to eliminate the next in my line,” the Black Panther said. “If I find out that the latter is the case, then it will be an act of war, Captain.”
“We’ll check into this, T’Challa, and keep you posted on what we find out about this failsafe. Look, I know our relationship has been strained lately, but let us look into this before doing anything brash. For all we know, there are more Legacy Files out there being targeted right now,” said Steve. “I don’t want this to escalate out of control.”
“If that is the case, then I will retract my threat,” said the Panther. “However, if I find out that I was right, and that any of you had a hand in covering the truth from me—there will be hell to pay.” The screen then went blank.
“Hm. That was ominous,” said Carol, shaking her head. “Do you have any idea what he was talking about?”
“No,” said Steve, pacing the length of the control room. “I wonder if it’s possible. Could the government really have a file designating who they would have take our place if we died?”
“I’ll ask around,” said Carol. “If it’s true—and at that point, we don’t even know if that’s the case—then T’Challa might be right. I don’t want any kids’ lives to be on my shoulders if we don’t look into this.”
Steve nodded. “I’ll ask the rest of the Avengers if they were asked to name a Legacy, too. If we can find anyone who might have a name for us, someone who remembers who was asking, then we might have a lead. Sound good?”
“Sounds good,” Carol confirmed. She let slip a small smile. “Never a dull moment, is there?”
“No, there isn’t,” Steve said, shaking his head. “But what would we do without constant crises and disasters waiting to happen? Problems like this, and how we react to them—it’s what makes us the Avengers.”
# # # # #
“I can’t believe you’re going to kidnap the daughter of an Avenger,” muttered the shadow, as Bryon neared the fence. “What, are you going to kidnap all of the Legacies, too?”
“It was the only way I thought I could ensure her safety,” Bryon mumbled, catapulting up onto the fire escape. Cassie’s apartment was on the second floor. He knew he had to be careful not to arouse anyone’s attention on his ascent, though.
“Isn’t she in the safest place she could possibly be right now, though?” the shadow asked skeptically. “If this is her father, she’s with an Avenger. If she’s with her mother and stepfather, she’s with a cop.”
“You are the one who told me to figure it out,” Bryon shot back. “I’m working the best that I can right now. I do not like it either, but it’s the only way I think I can get them to listen to me—either the Avengers or the police—to get them to take me seriously.”
“By looking like a super-villain?” the shadow asked, but Bryon ignored him.
“Which window?” Bryon tiptoeing along the fire escape, and hoping that the answer didn’t have anything to do with scaling the outside of the building.
“Second on the left.”
The window in question was just outside the reach of the fire escape, but Bryon knew he could make the jump without any difficulty. It was even already cracked open, as if she’d been expecting him. Lilac curtains fluttered outside, and Bryon could hear the teenager talking to someone, presumably on the phone. He had to be in and out, quickly, or else he would end up botching the entire operation. He looked around once more outside, and, convinced no one was staring at him, he vaulted over the iron bars of the fire escape and curled acrobatically inside the window, landing on one knee.
“Cassie Lang, you must come with me. Your very life is at stake,” he said in pure cornball fashion.
Cassie screamed and dropped the phone. Bryon leaned over her to pick up the phone. “Sorry if I frightened you! Please, don’t—” But she already had. The emergency button built into her wristwatch was already blinking red.
“Red blinking is never good,” said the shadow. “Told you this was a bad idea!”
“I’ll fix it,” said Bryon. He reached out to grab Cassie’s shoulder to calm her. She had shrunk back into the corner against her headboard. This time, she didn’t scream. She had been kidnapped enough in her lifetime to be able to maintain her composure.
The door was suddenly kicked in and bright light poured in from the next room, overpowering the light from Cassie’s desk lamp. Silhouetted in the doorway was a man wearing a dark blue dress shirt and slacks. The holster at his waist was empty, his gun drawn and pointed directly at Bryon. His face was contorted into a mask of rage and surprise.
“Sir, this isn’t what it looks li—” Bryon began, but he was cut off.
“Put your hands up!” shouted Cassie’s stepfather, the police officer. “You picked the wrong girl tonight, sleazeball!”
“That worked well,” muttered the shadow as Bryon’s hands rose reluctantly into the air.
# # # # #
Author’s Note
The Young Avenger is a Timely Comics superhero. You can read more about him at http://www.internationalhero.co.uk/y/youngavengers.htm
Also, more about the Freezer and the nature of the Golden Agents can be read at http://m2k.omegacen.com/marvfanfare/MF55.html
~Hunter Lambright