Chapter 1: That's Cold, Man
Brutal, frigid wind jostles Craig Hollis's unkempt blond hair as he his chilled legs move him across the frozen bay. It jerks his breath away in a thick white column. Hollis smiles, for he will not die here. Not from hypothermia nor pneumonia nor anything. At least not permanently. In civilian attire, Mr. Immortal makes his way toward the ice shanties a half-mile off the shore. His source sits in one of them.
Recently, she snail-mailed him in Milwaukee, where he resides at Great Lakes Champions headquarters. Supposedly, some resourceful criminals might be monitoring her e-mail. The letter said to meet her seventy-five miles north of Milwaukee on this early February morn. The source's name is Lynn Michaels, and she is an ex-policewoman. Mr. Immortal thinks that she is rather resourceful herself.
Ever madcap, Mr. Immortal grins in the minus twenty windchill. He wonders if Quasar or Phantom Eagle ever traversed this boreal bay when they lived around here. The local legends are heroes whom journeyman Immortal greatly admires. Ahead, Hollis sees hearty, happy folk having their annual ice fisheree. There must be at least one hundred people on Lake Winnebago today, out on the solid water. Over the cold air, their snowmobiles and augers whir beneath the black smoke from heaters and grills. Pick-up trucks go to-and-fro between the shoreline and the city of shanties upon Miller's Bay. Craig is nearly to the large tents set-up for the festival. He passes racks of walleye and crappie caught this morning. They will be food later. For now, there are brats with sauerkraut and cheddar-topped burgers in the beertent. Ashley Crawford sits in the beertent making friends and eating. Secretly, the supermodel does like her food. Around her, the men like her, and the women find her charming. Hollis gives his friend a wink while passing. She winks back. The Great Lake Champions have each other's backs as Immortal approaches Michaels's shanty for this mysterious meeting.
Behind Hollis, another person has his back. A skulking figure has followed him since he left shore. He walked onto the ice for about five hundred feet; then, she exited a non-descript pick-up's passenger side. Concealed in a parka, she tails the hero as he moseys.
The pick-up looks like most any other truck on the shore on this day dedicated to outdoorsmen. The truck's driver looks through the cab's window into the covered bed. He asks, "Do we know the blond guy?"
"That is Mr. Immortal out-of-costume," a voice answers, "I suspect that he goes to see Lynn Michaels. This development is unexpected. I did not know that she contacted anyone. However, our operation continues as planned. Hilda will do her part. The Great Lakes Champions will trace nothing back to us."
The driver adds, "And, our men down south will soon find out who Michaels all contacted."
"That would be correct, Brian. They should be currently at her family's farm near Madison," the concealed person confirms.
"Lynn Michaels," Lynn Michaels shakes Craig Hollis's hand. Both have strong grips. Just outside Lynn's shanty, there are two shadows. One is behind Mr. Immortal in the ten o'clock sun. The other is flush against the structure. Michaels does not even notice Doorman beside her shanty. Hopefully, no possible bad guys see him either.
Craig has a seat in the heated shanty. Ever warm-blooded, Mr. Immortal flirts a bit, "This is a nice place that you have here. It is a perfect location to exchange intelligence and to whisper secrets." He playfully nudges her boot with his in the close quarters.
Lynn sniffs. She is either physically cold or socially unimpressed, "Thank you, sir. I selected it because it is out-of-the-way and hard-to-get-to. Unfriendly parties are unlikely to bother or to eavesdrop. The high, harsh winds even help us today."
"Yeah, who the hell would follow someone out here?" the champion chuckles.
A raven parka approaches the tents. Beery Ashley does not notice the woman passing through. Hilda is dressed like any other sportsman on the ice today. She draws no attention. She draws nearer to the shanty.
Within, Craig and Lynn continue their conversation. He speaks, "The GLC did a background check on you, naturally. You are a former NYPD detective who retired to rural Iowa County, Wisconsin, awhile back. That is interesting."
"I left New York City because of the Punisher," Lynn decides to simply explain, "In fact, I was the Lady Punisher for awhile participating in lethal vigilantism right along Frank Castle. However, the day came when Punisher's war had me weary. A fellow rogue officer and I fled to the Madison area where I am from. Eddie Dyson—a.k.a. Payback—was also a Punisher-imitator. He and I settled-down with my father on a dairy farm. "
The amateur champion is a wee wide-eyed, "Wow, that is quite a story. I only knew that you were an ex-cop. I'm not sure what to say. . . . ."
"Should I tell you why I contacted someone in the costumed community?" Det. Michaels keeps the conversation on track, "Well, an ex-detective often monitors the internet during her spare time. A trained eye can spot plenty of suspicious activity in cyberspace. Then, she can pass information onto the proper parties. Normally, the police or FBI will do. However, some potential threats require masked marvels such as Wisconsin's own Great Lakes Champions. Therefore, I wrote you guys a letter for a face-to-face. I did not want certain information going through the web. Our bad guys are kind of tech-savvy."
A parka unzips nearly to the shanty. Hilda wears some sort of device on her chest. Camouflaged, Doorman narrows his eyes to see clearly. Deathurge's replacement, he senses death fast approaching.
Lynn's coat unzips slightly, and she reaches for a small device inside. "What do you have?" Craig asks.
"A flash. . . . ." her voice begins to say "flashdrive". However, the informant never gets to provide her information. The shack's door whips open wide.
"Hail, Hate-Monger!" a crazed-eyed burly blonde screams. Her open coat frames the crapload of explosives upon her torso. Mr. Immortal's jaw drops. He shields Michaels. Lady Punisher gasps. Alert, Doorman tackles Hilda just as her thumb depresses a detonator. The massive explosion begins right as Doorman envelops the suicide bomber in darkforce. He teleports her away.
A partial explosion shivers the shanty and sends substantial splinters through Mr. Immortal's back. A flash of fire consumes Craig and Lynn, and their clothing ignites. The concussion propels them a hundred feet through the air, and they skip harshly like stones over the ice when they finally land. With supreme effort, the champion has held onto his charge. Craig coughs blood onto Lynn from his internal bleeding. She is about to comfort him. Then, Doorman and the madwoman materialize upon the bay's shore.
Doorman can only teleport short distances. In this case, he took Hilda a half-mile from the fisheree. Considerately, he aimed his teleportation away from the occupied parking lot. There are many people waiting to get out on the ice this fine February day. Instead of west, Doorman moved the main massive explosion to the bay's south shore where sit many tall pines and a rocky border. The soft wood and hard earth go airborne. Shoreline ice joins. Some debris flies into the surrounding park area mostly abandoned during winter. It plunges into deep, giving snow.
Great debris crashes upon the gathered fishermen. It cuts and stabs them. It bruises and breaks their bodies. Ashley Crawford transforms into Big Bertha. She shields who she can with her big body. In the chaos, the earth and ice shakes. On the shore, a psychotic man smirks hidden in a covered truckbed. Hero Doorman and minion Hilda are seemingly blown into oblivion.
The earth quakes. And, the solid ice does too. Instantly, it heaves high in places. Thunderous, ominous cracks and snaps are heard amongst the crowd. People panic and rush for shore. They slip on the ice. They fall over each other. They foolishly hesitate wondering whether to gun their weighty trucks and snowmobiles over the breaking bay. What is the best way to escape? They hesitate to leave the wounded upon the collapsing lake. Others will not leave their loved ones. A ways away, Lynn Michaels will not leave honorable Mr. Immortal. Body aching badly, she holds him as she sees and hears a great fissure approaching.
Then, disaster strikes. Over the water, the frozen firmament gives way. A hundred souls are in the winter water drowning and freezing to death. Broken ice buffets them as they struggle toward solid ground with stiffening bodies in the debacle. On shore, emergency personnel see the mass casualty before them. They hear the desperate screams as the unforgiving wind blows over their petrified faces. Luckily, the first responders are very well-trained and capable men and women. They dispatch the few hovercraft and boats available into the lake. Granted, they cannot bring one hundred citizens to safety at once. So, they swiftly summon help from the surrounding area such as Green Bay and Milwaukee. The cavalry could take awhile to arrive, though. The rescuers could use help right now.
Two Champions do their best to provide it. Only Big Bertha and Flatman are functional after the attack. Big Bertha emulates a giant raft floating in the water, and the dying gratefully cling to her like a lifeboat. Flatman is in the water too. The flexible hero was Mr. Immortal's back-up beneath the ice. His super-stretchable wetsuit protects him in the gelid lake. Smartly, Flatman thinks of wrapping around Bertha while she moves toward the bank. He is a strong twenty-foot tether behind her, and further desperate hands grab hold. Like an odobenine giant, Bertha pulls a mass of humanity toward safety. Rescue divers enter the depths to search for submerged victims. When he can, Flatman helps look. His malleable body even allows him into locked vehicles and tight places in which people are pinned. But, this calamity is a bad situation. Local hospitals will be overwhelmed with the ambulances leaving the mass triage in the parking lot.
Brian Calusky and William Cross sit in their truck observing. Calusky is also called Piledriver. Cross is also called Crossfire. The driver comments on the chaos, "Damn, that huge explosion was supposed to be out on the bay. It was supposed to kill more people. . . . ."
"Including our target Lynn Michaels," the evil genius completes the thug's thought.
"What now?" the one-man Wrecking Crew asks, "Do I go take care of Big Bertha and Flatman?"
"No, we have enough casualties," Crossfire comments, "I suspect that Lady Punisher might be one of them despite the Great Lakes Chumps' efforts."
"You didn't anticipate them?"
"No," Crossfire shoots tersely, "Michaels must have contacted them in an unusual way of which I had not thought."
"Oh," Brian breaks open a schnapps bottle and belts some on this cold day. Nearby cops seem awfully busy at the moment. The driver won't get into any trouble.
From the back, Crossfire takes the bottle, "Let us drink to an operation well-executed. The target has probably died. And, Constrictor got us a good patsy out of Racine. That she-thug was simple for me to brainwash. She did her job. We did ours. And, the terror attack won't even be traced back to me."
"Hail, Hate-Monger!" Piledriver guffaws.
"That's right. Most likely, people did not even hear that uttered before the explosion. But, if they did, they will hunt-down one of the Hate-Mongers, all of whom are apparently dead," Crossfire hands back the bottle, "Let's get on the road."
"To Madison?" Calusky does a swig for the road.
"Soon. We can find out how our two associates did in Iowa County. However, we have one stop before the Cross family's hometown," William Cross settles back into the truckbed. The vehicle begins moving. It leaves the scene of the incident without a cop even stopping it. In some places, local police are just not ready for a terror attack.
Mr. Immortal witnesses the truck's departure though. He sees it just as he emerges from the water with Lynn barely alive. His fatal wounds have healed. Mr. Immortal is not sure if Crossfire's departing truck is significant or not. He does know that Miss Michaels needs attention though. Paramedics clear water from her lungs and begin resuscitating her immediately. She does not immediately regain consciousness, however. An ambulance transports her away.
A non-descript pick-up passes Gruenwald Avenue and heads northward. It enters a large brick warehouse near the edge of town. Brian Calusky stops the vehicle over a floorgrate. Crossfire and he hop-out. Nearby, there is a non-descript sedan with tinted windows.
"Now what?" Piledriver asks.
"Have you ever heard of Bruno Horgan?" Crossfire asks back.
"He had a humble reputation among us supervillains," Piledriver shrugs, "Horgan went by 'Melter'. He fought Iron Man a bunch of times. Then, he died."
"Well, his tech is going to help us destroy this truck associated with a terrorist attack," Crossfire pops the hood. From the back, he produces a device. He attaches the device to the engine block. Major microwaves turn solid steel into molten mush. A melted motor vehicle cascades into the grate where authorities won't even think to look for it. The two criminals get into the inconspicuous car. Crossfire gazes out the tinted window that obscures his cybernetic eye. Piledriver turns on the radio. The station reports on the lake tragedy.
At the lake tragedy, Craig Hollis tells an arriving SHIELD agent what Hilda said. Hate-Monger's followers appear to be behind this attack. Also, Hollis mentions spotting a flashdrive in Lynn's hand before the explosion. The good guys must some-how-some-way retrieve that device from the lake. Agent Tia Senyaka (see Daredevil #377-379) assures Mr. Immortal that SHIELD will act to bring guilty parties to justice. Fellow champions Big Bertha and Flatman appreciate that reassurance too. Doorman is nowhere to be seen. He might be dead.
On the ten o'clock news, the media discusses Hilda Altman of Racine. News outlets discuss also a manifesto apparently from Altman. They received it soon after the attack. In it, Hilda shares her apparent love of Hate-Monger and his philosophies. Altman was notably a member of the Racine Ramjets roller derby team (see Dazzler # 35), and former teammates express their disbelief in interview after interview throughout the evening. U.S. Sen. Jeff Knudsen of Wisconsin (see Sentinel LS) is likewise a busy commentator throughout the evening. He reassures the public and vows justice. SHIELD knows that it has to get to work.