AVENGERS, NEW SCHOOL
BOOK 1 - THE NEGA-ZONE AFFAIR
CHAPTER 1
It was pitch dark in his apartment. He liked it that way when he was in the midst of removing his costume. A slight grin found itself playing upon his lips. he chuckled to himself amusedly. "Costume? Really? He wasn't a superhero. Just some guy who was tired of the crap in his neighborhood, and happened to have the means to do something about it. That was all. No more, No less.
He pulled down the black, tactical mask he wore, down around his neck. It was one of those that soldiers used in Iraq and Afghanistan to cover their nose and mouth, in order to protect from sand. Next, he removed the black duster he wore, and performed a quick inspection of the runes that ran along it's sleeves. They shone a faint, neon green.
He would need to re-enforce the quickening enchantments before long; a process he had to perform every few weeks if he didn't want them going out on him mid-battle. It was an enchantment that was far too valuable to allow to fade. It helped him channel his mystical energies far more quickly than normal, giving him a much needed edge in his daily struggles with thugs and muggers.
"Adamson, (At this point, his apartment's living room light came on) James S., Son of Samantha and Derek Adamson: They are currently living comfortably in in their bungalow in Longboat Key, Florida. Occupation: High school teacher for North Bayside High. Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius. Vehicle: Honda Civic. Last Four: 5549. You wake at 07:00 every day, school or not, have a light breakfast, shower, even though you did so the night before, and then prepare for the day. You take one of two routes to work, depending on traffic, and your desire for morning coffee. Every Sunday you leave your apartment on foot and dine at a local Mom and Pop diner named The 7th St. Diner. Every evening you set aside two hours to read the works of authors such as Charles Dickens, Lewis Caroll, George Eliot, and Robert Louis Stevenson to name but a few, while listening to Classical music."
While the stranger who had managed to gain entry into his apartment relayed the details of his life, James stood stood frozen, deciding the best course of action. In any case... he used the coat he held in his right hand to cover the movements of his left, and began to mouth the words of the incantation of protection.
A shield, blazing with intense white light, flared into being, positioned between himself and the stranger at his back. A mere two seconds later, he felt the cool metal of a pistol barrel pressing against his temple, and a feminine voice demanded, "Drop it!"
"Careful Bub. I'd do what she said." James turned his head, to see a large, meathead looking individual whose wardrobe made him think, "Fonz Clone". In his hand was a beer from his fridge, his last beer, as a matter-of-fact. That fact registered, bringing with it, a more than slight irritation. The irritation was quickly replaced with startled surprise when, with a quick SCHNICK, a set of three blades, metallic and shiny, burst from the space between his knuckles. With a quick flick of his wrists, the top half of the bottle's neck was shorn off, and clattered to the floor.
Damn.
The shield flared briefly then faded out. The woman grabbed his duster, tossing it aside. "Your hands! Get them up, slowly!"
James complied, and the buff Fonz with razor sharp claws chuckled in amusement. The beer, now apparently empty, clanked as he set it on James' table already cluttered with school papers that still needed grading.
"I was hoping to keep this civil. These two are merely here in case this was one of those times where my hopes have proven futile."
James got his first look at the man at his back, as he walked to his front, and then looked out his apartment window. He was tall, Over six feet. Bald, African American, and dressed completely in black, including a black duster similar to his own.
"The name's Nick Fury. I'm the director of an organization meant to deal with things our police and military can't handle: S.H.I.E.L.D. Our committee would have me just keep tabs on you, and fear the abilities of people like you, but I believe you could do great things for our country and even our planet. That's why I went through with the Avengers Initiative when they wanted it shut down because they fear people like you."
Nick Fury gestured toward the woman holding a pistol to James' head and she dropped it. James relaxed and seated himself on his comfortable, broken in couch. Looking to the man he now called the Fonz Clone he said, "That was my last beer."
The woman who had the pistol, came into view, sitting in the window next to Fury. She was built like an athlete, but had the feline-grace of a dancer. She had pale beautiful skin and a gorgeous, dangerous face, complemented with a wavy curtain of deep, red, hair. She wore a form-fitting, leather jumpsuit (black as well). The shoulders and left side of the chest had an emblem that he assumed was the symbol of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Nick Fury gestured to the woman. "This is Natalia Romanova, code name, Black Widow, and the man there, (he motioned toward the Fonz Clone) is Logan, code name, Wolverine."
"We've been tracking you for a while now. We think we can use your talents in our organization. We are willing to compensate for the funds you would be losing by working with us. I believe you will find it to be more than a generous amount. Unless of course, you're happy doing the bare minimum to help your fellow man, you're happy just taking out the sad losers of society, whose only real crimes, are those they commit because of their small minded greed."
He fell silent, awaiting James' answer. The spellcasting Superhero considered what his uninvited guest had proposed, and came to a singular conclusion. His expression hardened, showing that he had reached a decision.
"I believe that we both want the same things. I also believe that you should try knocking, first."
The corner of Director Fury's mouth almost twitched. "But I also think that you're right. I'm not happy with just a mugger here, and a gang-banging punk there. I want, no, I need, to make a difference. That's the reason I became a teacher. It's just a different method to combat the same old madness."
Fury inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, "Lets go then. We have a plane to catch."
Wolverine looked at James, "Well, Kind of."
[...N.Z.A...]
James looked around the bridge. This... Helicarrier was it? was massive. It was like a small airborne city. Hundreds of people, all dressed in the same dark blue uniform bearing the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem, and bearing either, pistols, or fully automatic weaponry. Both in some cases.
Fury gave the command to go stealth before calling James over. He held a manilla folder in his hand, which he tossed upon the desk that James stood in front of.
"This", Fury said, "Is another individual with extraordinary abilities, my people tell me that she appears to have superhuman hand-eye coordination, and seems to be superhumanly fast with her hands. She would make a superb addition to our cause. Consider this your first assignment. You'll arrive at the target location in twenty minutes, so go get your Super Suit on."
Fury turned to walk away, and then stopped abruptly. "Oh, and by the way. Your codename is Mystic Marvel."
James, now known as The Mystic Marvel, stood before the hatch of the Helicarrier. Wolverine as he was called, stood by as well, waiting for it to open. He looked at James with an irritated expression upon his face, or maybe it was confusion. It was hard to tell.
"What? You ain't takin a 'chute?"
The Mystic Marvel grinned. "Nope, I'm flying down. I have a spell for it." The He looked Wolverine over. "What about you?"
The whiskered Hero seemed annoyed with the question. "Just gonna jump. How else?"
Before the Mystic Marvel could pursue the subject, the hatch opened and Wolverine turned to his partner. "I'll need a few minutes when we hit the ground, bub." With a beastial roar, he leapt from the helicarrier and quickly disappeared into the darkness below.
The Mystic Marvel began to recite an incantation. "Zephyr, lord of air, hear me! Lend me your chariot, that I may ascend the realm of mortals!" He quickly, and precisely traced the 'Falcon' sigil in the air before him and moments later he could feel himself lift from the surface of the helicarrier and glide out into the open night. He landed fifteen minutes later at the location indicated.
Wolverine approached the magical hero's landing area moments later, his face and limbs badly bruised. Wolverine's left arm was clearly broken badly.
"What the hell happened?"
Wolverine, again, looked irritated by the question.
"I jumped out. I had to land somehow, Bub."
[...N.Z.A...]
The area they were searching wasn't exactly the red light district, but it was no green-acres either. The Mystic Marvel was fully expected a mugging attempt. Or, at least would have, if he hadn't been walking around with someone like Wolverine.
The streets were all trashed, and something stunk. They had just exited their fourth bar and had rounded into an alley to cut over to the next street when Wolverine stiffened and his nostrils began to flare, as he inhaled and exhaled in quick succession. The Mystic Marvel watched this and wondered. If he didn't know better, he'd think Wolverine was sniffing out someone.
"Get ready. I smell trouble."
Laughter came from both ends of the alley that they stood in. They went back-to-back, wanting to watch both avenues of approach. Several men dressed like punk and grunge rockers entered either side of the alley, wielding bats, and chains, and butterfly knives.
The largest of the thugs stepped forward, tapping the bat on his shoulder and smiling, an expression of supreme arrogance playing across his face. The first thing the Mystic Marvel thought about was how much this guy must clearly love chains and piercings. He had a multitude of piercings in his brows and ears, and lips, and one large chain that ran from his ear, to his nose, then to his lower lip.
"Well, boys! Looks like we got us a freak who's a little early for Halloween, and some guy who thinks the Sixties are still cool!"
Wolverine growled, "Walk away now, Bub, and I won't be forced to rip that chain outta your face and choke you with it."
The thug's smile faded and was replaced by a sneer. He walked toward the leather jacket clad hero, and rearing back the bat, brought it down with all his might.
SHNICK! The bat fell to the asphalt in three cleanly sliced pieces. The thug stared at the handle- the only bit left, with wide eyes. The entire alley fell deathly silent.
"Last chance."
The thug backed away, out of arm's length, and The Mystic Marvel found himself thinking, 'Surely, he's going to make the intelligent decision and walk away.'
No.
The thug pulled a combat knife off of his belt, and shouted, "take 'em boys!"
Wolverine was as good as his word. He leapt forward, grabbing the thug by his neck, and ripped the chain off, taking chunks of the thugs flesh and blood with it. The thug had only a few seconds of screaming before it was cut off by Wolverine pressing the chain across his neck from behind like a garrott. There was an explosion of yelling and blood-thirsty threats moments before the entire gang rushed in.
The Mystic Marvel had little to no time to raise his shield. Luckily, it was more than enough thanks to the enchantments on his duster. Two of the thugs bulldozed straight into the shield that materialized abruptly in front of them, falling backwards, out cold for the time being.
A punk wielding a chain, stood back and flung a length of it outward, attempting to hit The Mystic Marvel's flank. It too, only met shield. The Mystic Marvel glared at the punk's frustrated expression, and then, making a few complicated gestures with his fingers, and a whispered phrase, sent the shield rocketing forward, knocking the reprobate out into the street.
Wolverine's claws were out, and he used them to great effect. His arms were a frenzy of flesh and metal. One thug dropped, clutching a hand that the Mystic Marvel was willing to bet, was missing fingers. Two more thugs ran up with pieces of rebar. Wolverine roared, and grabbing the thug who was cradling his hand, threw him into his buddies, bowling them over.
The Mystic Marvel dropped the shield and, tracing the sigil for rage into the air, recited another incantation. "Horus! God of the blazing sun! Give unto me, your power, that I might judge my enemies!"
The Mystic Marvel braced himself for the coming impact. "Wolverine, move, or you'll be well done!"
He was either too busy tearing apart the opposition, or his feral blood lust was too much for him to care, and paid no heed to The Mystic Marvel's warning. A pillar of flame as wide as the entire alley came crashing down, engulfing everything in its path.
Even braced as he was, The Mystic Marvel nearly toppled. He felt the intense heat of the blast and wondered if he might blister by tomorrow. There was no way anyone caught in that would still be standing. The flame extinguished, and the asphalt where it had struck was melted.
A few of the thugs, hit with the spell, lay unconscious and sunken into the asphalt. As for Wolverine, he stood, blistered and burnt, but skin already healing. His clothes weren't so lucky. He was nearly naked except for the leather jacket, which oddly, still seemed to be intact.
The remaining punks, screamed, and fled, leaving their friends behind. The leader tried to do the same, but Wolverine shook his head.
"Nuh-uh, Bub."
He pointed at the thug's clothes. "Gimme those, first."
The thug looked at him, disbelievingly. "But...they're mine."
SHNICK!
The punk scrambled to remove his clothing. Once done, Wolverine shoved the scrap left of his shirt into the thug's chest and said, "Here. Cover your goods with this, an' get the hell outta here!"
The thug, whimpering, ran into the dark streets. Laughter followed a few moments later.
Wolverine and The Mystic Marvel then exited the alley, the bar that they had been heading to, before the laughable ambush, directly in front of them.
It didn't look like the type of place that a mercenary like Denise Wesson would care to hang around, but every bar was suspect. As the two were about to enter, the sound of shattering glass broke the relative quiet of the nearly deserted street, and a groaning, drunken form lay upon the ground.
A black combat boot suddenly kicked through the window, knocking out the rest of the glass to be followed by a woman dressed in "artistically" shredded blue jeans, a faded yellow t-shirt, and a brown biker's jacket complete with double white lines down the sleeves.
Genetics had been very generous in the woman's chest region. She shoved the curtain of raven hair out of her face. She was actually quite attractive, with full lips, and big eyes, and one of those cute sorority type button noses. What she did next wasn't very cute.
Walking over to the man she had apparently just sent through a window, she brought her boot down on his nethers. "I SAID NO TOUCHING!"
The Mystic Marvel was hit with a sudden suspicion.
"Miss Wesson?"
She stopped abruptly. "How do you know me?"
The Mystic Hero adopted as non-threatening a stance as possible and forced a strained smile.
"Not many women could send a guy that size through a window, and then finish the job. I'm here on behalf of an organization known as S.H.I.E.L.D..."
Before he could blink, he had a Desert Eagle, silver plated, shoved into his face.
"I've had too many groups tryin' to recruit me. They always try to screw me over. So-Not-Interested."
Just as quickly, the gun flew back into its holster. How had he missed that?
She turned to walk away, but Wolverine was having none of it.
"Nick Fury," he growled, "sent us to get you. We ain't leavin' without ya."
Again, out came the hand cannon.
SHNICK! A second later the barrel lay on the asphalt, separated from the rest of the gun. Denise threw the other half away after dropping the clip.
"I told you, I'm not Interested!"
Almost quicker than The Mystic Marvel could follow, she had a throwing knife out, and into Wolverine's arm. The berserker howled in rage and pain. Out came the other set of claws. It was going to get ugly, very quickly.
He wracked his brain for an idea, and then remembered The Package.
"Hey Wolverine! Give her the package!"
"I. SAID. NOT. INTERESTED!"
As Denise began to bolt down the street, The Mystic Marvel traced the sigil for binding, in the air, and shouted as quickly as he could, Hephaestus Master Smith, lend me your divine strength that I may ensnare my enemies!" Golden chains burst forth from the asphalt, wrapping themselves around the nearly escaped woman. She fought, but to no avail. He approached.
"What the hell do you want with me!?"
The Mystic Marvel took the envelope. "
You're a mercenary, correct? Mercenaries get paid for services rendered, unless I'm very much mistaken. We aren't out to recruit you. We want to hire you."
The bindings dissolved at his command. She looked in the envelope with a slowly growing grin.
"Did I say I wasn't interested?"