Preface
...
The Wakandan jungle was tangled paradise of lush darkness. Like all jungles it had its dangers; deadly animals, treacherous paths, and even a the occasional cut throat bandit. Still, even the darkest places of the jungle had always seemed like home to T'challa. There was always a vibrancy to everything, an energy of life that chased away fears. In the past month however, the jungle had grown still, and quiet. The prince found himself feeling anxious about having to venture into it. The fact that someone could turn his own home against him angered him, almost more than the murders. They were strange killings, not like any anyone had heard of before. There was a ritualism to them, but also a sense of sport. It was a sick mind that was behind these acts, but so far there had been no clues to point investigations in any direction. Prince T'challa was determined that this should change. His people needed to know that they were safe, and he wanted to have his jungle back. He needed help on this one. He needed the best; people who were specialized to deal with this sort of situation, and he had known just who to call.
"Really Rogers," T'Challa was standing by the large window as he spoke on the phone. "it is all of you who are doing me the favor, more than I you. What ever you need you have only to ask. Of course. No I would never tell them. You are more than welcome. Good bye."
He hung up and glared out his window at the deep green that surrounded him.
"You will be mine," he growled.