"Ragh!" A fist came flying towards Kurt's face faster than he could react, smashing into his left temple. He spun from the force of the impact, slamming into the side of the metal cage that surrounded the two fighters.
He fought hard to re-gain his constitution, balancing himself with his tail as he delivered a counter-attack to his opponent's stomach. And he continued with his momentum, striking the man in the jaw, sending a spurt of blood flying out of his mouth.
He wasn't one for fighting in a ring. He wasn't one for fighting at all. But sometimes people were forced to do nasty things to survive.
He ducked under a swinging backhand, trying not to think about how winning this fight would mean that he'd get to eat for another week. He couldn't become so distracted, or he risked starvation and eviction.
His fist struck flesh again, smacking the larger man backwards into the metal bars of the cage. Beyond the cage, he could hear people screaming with both anticipation and hate.
"FREAK!"
"MONSTER!"
"FUCKIN' MUTIE!"
He ignored them as best he could, meanwhile avoiding a staggering punch to the jaw as he wrapped the end of his tail around the man's leading leg, sending him crashing to the ground. A bell rang out, signifying the end of the fight, allowing Kurt to relax his body slightly.
He'd won. He'd get paid. he'd get by for another few days. That was all that mattered at the moment.
...xxXxx...
"Who...what could have done this?" was the first thing Steve Rogers said as he observed as he stepped off the jet, and onto a demolished Military Base in the middle of nowhere.
Bodies were strewn everywhere. Walls had collapsed. Vehicles were overturned. Several fires still had to be put out by crews.
"That's the thing sir," Agent Jackson, the man who had brought Steve onto the plane in the first place, said as the two of them observed the carnage. "This place is better protected than Fort Knox. Yet someone steamrolled over it like it was nothing." Dressed in tight black suits, the two men certainly seemed to stand out among the gaggle of soldiers.
Ever since the incident, Jackson had been escorting Steve all around the world to different countries, solving various issues or meeting important individuals. He didn't say anything, but Steve was sure that the man was under strict orders to keep him away from the mainland, were he would no doubt be bombarded with questions about whether or not he was the 'real' Captain America.
He was, certainly. But only a handful of people knew that.
What he wanted at the moment more than anything was to go home. He hadn't actually had a chance to visit his old neighbourhood since being thawed out. He'd only seen a drone feed of his old street. Not even remotely the same thing.
"Someone wanted this place cleaned out," Jackson remarked as he casually kicked a piece of debris out of his way. "Someone with a lot of firepower," he grunted as the two of them examined a large, metal door that had been blasted apart by some sort of explosion.
"Rumor has it is was some fuckin' Mutie freaks what did this," a passing soldier snapped.
"Language, soldier," Steve reminded the man firmly. "This isn't an excuse for that kind of language."
"Whatever," the soldier grunted, shrugging his comment off as he walked away, as Jackson tapped Steve on the shoulder.
"Might wanna keep a lid on that kinda talk, Cap," he said cautiously, with his eyes darting left and right. "Not everyone here is so...open-minded about powered people being here. Of course," he continued rather reassuringly, "they respect you. Just not-"
"Just not people like me," Steve said firmly, dismissing him. "Why are we here, Agent?"
"Even I'm not sure," Jackson shrugged as the two came upon a heavy door, which looked like it had been blown apart by a massive explosion. Yet there was a surprising lack of shrapnel, or scorching. Completely unlike any sort of explosion he had ever seen before. "Upstairs got word this place had been attacked last night, and wants the two of us to investigate."
"Well," Steve sighed as he leaned down and ran his fingers across the concrete floor. "I'm no cop, but I'll give it my best shot. What is this place, anyway?"
"Classified," Jackson replied stiffly.
"What's inside then?"
"Classified."
"What else do you know about the attack?"
"Classified." Sensing he was going to get nowhere, Steve grunted and looked around for some sort of clue. A sign that someone had used a weapon he could recognize. One of the Television programmes he had become somewhat addicted to heavily emphasized the value of looking over every small detail of a crime-scene. The show's main protagonist would even go so far as to examine minute details in a victim's bones, which could tell a fascinating story about the victim's life.
And here, since he was not going to be getting his hands on any direct information, he needed clues to help him put the pieces together. So he began looking around, with a more careful eye. And he learned a lot.
There were no shell casings. The soldiers at the base had no time to fire upon their attackers, who were obviously very swift and silent. Trained. Organized. Lethal.
He needed to know what was inside the facility. And as he wiped the grime off a small metal plate, he knew exactly where he was going to get his first straight answer.
...xxXxx...
"And you're absolutely sure no train is randomly going to come through here?" Jean pondered out loud as she, as well as Pepper Stark and Jessica Parker, explored the converted railway passage together.
"Fairly certain," Pepper replied with a sigh, pushing back one of the red curls that collided in an oddly smooth way with her African-American features. "I've been down here myself for most of the past week, overseeing the construction. Though," she continued with a small nod as they continued their small walk about, "if you listen closely, you can hear the trains passing by on occasion." The three of them chuckled for a while, admiring the work that had gone into putting the place together.
As a whole, the team had splintered off several hours ago, wanting to explore the different areas of the complex for themselves. So far Jean had explored the kitchen, recreation lounge, sleeping quarters and armoury.
In the latter, she had come across several garish black suits, comprised of a mixture of leather and Kevlar. Obviously they were meant for function over fashion, but surely the richest man in the world could have gotten something slightly more appealing to the eyes.
On the other hand, she had been given a golden opportunity to learn nuggets of information about her new teammates.
As it turned out, despite her inherited wealth, Pepper was very much a self-made woman. She'd already started a semi-successful business by the age of seventeen, one year before she had been given full access to her parent's trust fund. Once she had been given that money, she had expertly used it to expand her existing prospects before beginning to take over portions of her family's company.
Jessica, on the other hand, had only recently completed her final year of medical school. Less than a week prior, actually. Apparently her efforts in the post alien-invasion hospital scene had been crucial. And Jean was certainly glad to know there was at least one medical professional on the team, given what she assumed they'd be doing.
Of course, there was one question that had been idling in the back of her head since the brother-sister duo had walked in. And although she was confident she could just get the information right from the source with a literal thought, it was much politer to ask first.
"Listen," Jean asked tentatively, touching Jessica gingerly on the shoulder. "About your-?"
"If you're about to ask me why Peter's skin is the way it is," Jessica replied, in a practised, yet defensive tone. As she spoke, she planted her feet and crossed her arms pointedly, giving off a 'piss me off and I'll throw a chair at you' vibe. Which, Jean realized, would be more humane than what the girl could really do to either of them. "Don't even bother. Because I'm not about to tell you a damn thing."
"We're just curious," Pepper replied softly, "that's all!"
"You and everyone else," Jessica snorted with a hint of disdain. "Look," she continued, gesturing about with her hands. "He's had it rough. He was less than a year old when..." a brief pause stopped her words from leaving her mouth. Lips pursed, she was seemingly searching for the right words as the other two waited with some measure of anticipation. "When we where adopted. His current look came later, after he developed incredible hearing and a nearly perfect memory. So anything you say to him, even if you think he's out of earshot, he might hear. Fuck," she shrugged with defeat, "he might be able to hear us now. So please, WATCH. WHAT. YOU. SAY."
...xxXxx...
Deep inside perhaps the most luxurious building he had ever been inside in his lifetime, while in the very same room as one of his childhood heroes, Peter Parker was bored out of his skull.
It probably didn't help that his brain literally operated at three times the speed of a normal human being. He had a reading speed of close to one-thousand words per minute. His I.Q was difficult for any test to pin down, but his average was around one-hundred and thirty, as long as he wasn't accused of cheating the test, that is. Some, if not most, of his teachers had suggested that he had some form of A.D.H.D. But the simple fact was that he had often been absolutely bored during school. He'd never really learned anything from the teachers, when compared to what he read in textbooks and online.
He couldn't help it! Often, when complaining to whoever would listen, he'd say that it was like reading subtitles on a movie that lagged a full minute behind the audio. The only reason he had gone to school some days was those brief moments of time he could spend in it's library, browsing through whatever book piqued his interest at the time.
Much like he was at the moment. Though in this case it was an e-book. And he was hanging upside-down on the wall, casually skimming his eyes over the words on the screen. Though, the silence was getting to him slightly. So he decided to break it.
"Sweet joint, don't you think?" he said casually to the only other person in the room at the time.
"Agreed," Hank McCoy replied as he stretched himself out, over the couch. Almost like a cat would. "I don't think I've sat on a couch this cushy in years. It's very relaxing."
"No doubt," Peter chuckled, "This whole room probably cost as much as my childhood home. Maybe even more than that," he said as he thumbed himself to the next page. "Anyways you got anymore thesis's coming out, Doc? It's been way too long since your last."
"You read my last thesis?" Hank replied, sounding slightly shocked at this, "as what, a Collage application-"
"Fun," Peter shrugged, "back in Ninth Grade. I was bored."
"...and you read a ninety-page thesis on the 'X-gene'?" McCoy asked, completely astounded. "Unless...?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Nope," Peter replied casually, giving the good doctor a side-glance as he spoke. It wasn't a question that was completely unreasonable. However, he had grown somewhat tired of answering it. "Happened way before puberty. Possibly since birth," he added nonchalantly, seconds before the elderly Tony Stark hobbled into the room on his cane. He was followed shortly after by his grand-daughter. His worried look was enough to motivate Peter to descend from the wall.
"You two," Tony growled, "we've been called out. Gather what you need from the armoury and meet me with the rest of the team in five."
...xxXxx...
Steve leaned against the wall, outside the room his 'Partner' was currently inside, having a 'private' conversation. Clearly, Jackson thought he was a lot stupider than he was. He knew a cover-up when he saw one. And he knew he had certainly struck a few nerves by calling for Anthony Stark in person.
But his status as a World-War Two hero made him practically immune to the backlash that would have befallen any other soldier. Not that he was afraid of it.
"...I know, sir. He made...yes, I understand that...no, I didn't...HE made the call himself, sir. Without my consent. I..." Whoever Jackson was talking to was clearly not impressed, and certainly not giving him a proper chance to explain himself. Steve even had half a mind to take the phone right from Jackson and explain their situation to the commanding officer himself.
But he was tired of being kept in the dark. And this was his small revenge.
"No, I wouldn't have advised it, sir. But Stark is already on his way here, with company...But as a private contractor, he is entitled to...yes, yes, I know sir. We'll do our best to keep them away from the cells and-"
Cells? Steve thought with a jolt, as he looked around at the base with a new perspective. He could see it clearly now. The way the walls had been built. The watch-towers with machine-gun turrets. Heavily armed soldiers.
It was a prison. But for who? No military personnel were worth this much trouble. And that really only left civilians.
Not in his country.
In the blink of an eye, he stormed away, wanting to find some new answers for the burning questions deep inside him.
He didn't take the time to notice that he was being followed.
...xxXxx...
"So what exactly happened?" Jean asked blatantly. The entire team was assembled in a long, dark room, which had a state-of-the art jet dominating one-half of it's entirety.
"As I said," Tony replied slowly, "the details are sketchy at best. What I know is this," he said with a small sigh. "Half an hour ago, I was contacted by Captain Steve Rogers who-"
"Captain America?" Jessica interrupted, only to be cut off by a glare from the retired Avenger.
"Captain Rogers informed me that last night," Tony continued with a deep breath, "a military installation was ransacked. The intruders made off with something of value, which the government refuses to tell him exactly what it was." The team looked around at one another with trepidation. "I designed most of the security systems they used for the facility. Custom-made," he said as he tapped his cane on the ground.
"So you think you can shed some light on this?" Jubilee asked with a raised hand.
"I already have a fair idea," Tony replied, "but this is a good opportunity for you to work together as a team. Because I will not always be there with you. Today I'm merely going as an adviser...and as a way for you to get inside. Otherwise you'd never get past the guards." Again, every Avenger looked at one another with some reservations. But no one said a word, allowing the veteran hero to continue with "Not everyone will be going today. Most of the time we will split up for smaller missions. So, Mister Parker, Miss Lee and Mister...Thor..., if you please," he said, indicating towards the jet, "custom-fitting suits are waiting for you inside. You need to look the part."
...xxXxx...
"A fascinating contraption," the self-proclaimed Thunder-God, Thor, nodded as he ran his large hands over the interior of the jet, as it sped through the air at an unimaginable speed. His war-hammer lay on it's side, where he had set it down before takeoff. "Though why I could not simply fly there myself-"
"It's the government, buddy," Peter chuckled from his seat, "doubt they'd appreciate it if a guy dropped down in the middle of an army base carrying a giant sledge-hammer that can throw lightning," he continued as he looked around the cabin, at the other two who had come along. Peter was almost as curious about the Jet as Thor was. Jubilee on the other hand, looked like she was about to vomit. "Am I right?"
"No army has ever bested the mighty Thor!"the thunder-god proudly boasted, with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. "Though many have tried!" He chuckled with delight as he slapped his knees.
"Doubt it would be fair to them," Peter offered with a smirk, "even if you were blindfolded. That Hammer certainly is remarkable! May I see it?" he asked politely.
"Certainly," Thor nodded, as he grasped the weapon by the handle, got up from his seat, and walked over beside Hank, sitting himself down between Peter and the Mutant girl. "Though you will not be able to wield it, my friend. For my father placed a mighty enchantment upon it. Only those his will deems worthy may hold the power within." Naturally, both Peter and Lee gave one another a quizzical look. Jubilee still looked green and ready to blow without a moments notice, however.
"So..." Peter asked, with a raised eyebrow, "it's the hammer version of the sorting hat?"
"'Sorting Hat'?" Thor asked, puzzled, "no, my friend...it is a hammer...a powerful heirloom handed down..."
"It's basically alive, right?" Peter replied, cutting the self proclaimed god off again. "If it can think for itself, it's alive, right? That's what you're saying?"
"How the hell can you be having this discussion at a time like this...?" Jubilee moaned as the back of her head thudded against the hull of the jet. She still looked extremely pale.
"Motion sickness?" Peter asked politely.
"Yep," she replied as she closed her eyes.
"Never been on a plane before?" Peter asked.
"Nope." she said, still not opening her eyes.
"First time's always the worst," Peter sighed as he cupped his hands together, "Trust me, on the way back, you'll feel better. Might help if you vomit now, though. It'll relieve some of the sensation." She simple rolled her head to the side slightly and gave him a death-glare before replying.
"Speaking from experience?" she muttered as she massaged her temples.
"I am," he nodded, "travelled around a bit, going to different Doctors and specialists a few years ago, about my uh..." he motioned up and down, indicating towards his many scars. "...skin condition. Nothing worked, though."
"Skin grafts didn't work?" she asked casually, "Even from other parts of the-?" Peter's small look cut him off, as she knew why skin grafting wouldn't have worked. It required large amount of skin to be completely 'healthy'. Something he did not have, apparently.
"Might wanna pop your ears," Peter said to the young woman, changing the subject back to what it had been without breaking a sweat. "Once we begin the descent. Otherwise you will ruin that outfit. Speaking of which," he continued as he reached over to the intercom, which connected them with Tony Stark, who was occupied with flying the jet in the cockpit. "How far away are we?" he asked.
"Twenty-Five minutes until we begin descent."
...xxXxx...
Switching off the intercom, Tony returned his attention towards the flight, and the events of the past month.
He was not one-hundred percent sure that this new team of Avengers was up to the challenge. Certainly, he respected the power and abilities a few of them possessed. Thor was an obvious standout, even if his claims about a magical land in the sky were completely absurd.
But he had personally recorded the so-called 'Thunder-God' throwing around bolts of lightning, tossing fully grown men around like they were nothing, and even demolishing an armoured truck with a single swing of his hammer. Definitely a heavy-hitter that Tony wanted on his side.
The same could be said for the Parker siblings. The pair seemed to possess speed and strength that few could match. Barring any potential psychological damage on Peter Parker's behalf, the two would most certainly have been fully accepted by his old team.
It was the others that gave him cause for concern.
While powerful, Jean Grey was largely untested in combat. Telepathy and Telekinesis were certainly useful abilities, but she would be a liability until she could properly harness their full potential.
Certainly the most concerning was Jubilation Lee. Lacking any clear offensive powers, such as lightning generation or super-strength, she was immediately at a disadvantage. But she did bring a certain amount of variety, with her ability to provide non-lethal cover-fire, certainly useful in the hostage situations they would inevitably encounter.
But, he had to remind himself that at first, the original Avengers were not perfect either. There had been squabbling and in-fighting for the position as leader. Several members had threatened to quit over the years. They were the sort of people you would never think to even put in a room together, let alone work to save the world.
So, as he began to descend through the clouds, he put those worries out of his mind and focused on the task at hand. This was going to be the first outing of the 'New' Avengers, although he had elected to leave half the team back at the mansion. A standard practice from the old days, in case some new situation presented itself.
Though nothing could be as interesting as the situation he knew they were walking into.
...xxXxx...
"Easy boys," Agent Jackson assured as he, along with the gathered twenty-something guards watched the Jet's ramp descend onto the ground. Every hand subtly reached for a sidearm as their arriving guests sauntered down the platform.
Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries and the former Iron Man led the way. Even well into his senior years, the old man looked like a predator ready for a fight. He wasn't someone who Jackson wanted to mess with.
Following him was another man of even greater stature. His arms where almost as thick as a man's torso, and he stood two heads taller than Jackson. Thick, bulging muscles crossed his body, hidden only by some sort of body-armour that he wore. Adding to his intimidating nature was the war-hammer he carried at his side.
Almost in complete contrast to the first two off the plane, the latter two were laughably out of place. Kids, he guessed. Perhaps fresh out of high school. The girl was the shortest of all of them, barely reaching five feet tall. And with a hot pink stripe through her otherwise jet-black hair, she looked entirely ridiculous. The boy at least had the advantage of being only slightly taller, as tall as Stark was. But the way his eyes darted from side to side made him look anxious, possibly even paranoid.
"What can I do for you today, Mr. Stark?" Jackson asked with as much of a welcoming demeanour as he could muster. He stuck out his hand for the older man to shake, but was denied with a cold stare.
"You can cut the government bullcrap," Stark snarled as he signalled around. "Ninety-five of these systems are mine. Developed by me for one purpose, and one purpose alone."
"I have-" Jackson tried to say.
"Don't lie to me, boy. We both know who's in there." Stark whispered, drawing Jackson in close. Apparently, he knew things that he shouldn't have, by all accounts. In a desperate retaliation, Jackson had to reply swiftly.
"At one point you might have been put in there," Jackson said firmly, "would you and your people like a tour? Perhaps of your new cells?" He'd been granted special permission by his superiors to say that. Because a select few people knew exactly what Tony Stark was trying to do. They knew he was trying to re-boot the Avengers team with the so-called 'Heroes of New York'.
"Are you threatening me, son?" Tony hissed as he leaned heavily on his cane.
...xxXxx...
"Holy fucking shit," Jubilee stuttered as she and Peter stared at the torn-open doorway before them. "It's like..."
"Like someone took a giant can-opener to it," Peter suggested with a shrug.
"I was gonna say a tank shell," she replied sheepishly, "big fucking grenade or something..."
"No residue," Peter said as he crouched down to examine something. "No gunpowder. No scorching. No bomb pieces or shrapnel. Someone didn't want to leave evidence." Jubilee just shrugged and let him focus on whatever he was thinking about. She had no expertise in crime-scene analysis, aside from watching a few episodes of C.S.I. back at the Xavier institute. By all means, she shouldn't have been picked for this assignment, but a small part of her understood why it might be.
Tony Stark wanted to split them up, get them used to working with the people they didn't know. Which was why Jean and Jessica hadn't been asked to come. Not that she minded, of course. It gave her cause to learn something about the people she would be working with.
"You wouldn't happen to have compass on you," Peter asked as he stood up, "would you?"
"Why would I have a compass?" Jubilee replied.
"Just a question," he said as he ran his hands over the metal surface of the door. "You know what a Rail-gun is, right?" he asked.
"No," she replied, "why would-?"
"It's a weapon that launches a projectile using electromagnetism instead of an explosive," he said as he continued to examine the door. She tried to understand what he was saying, but her relatively limited education prohibited her from understanding his point completely. She did her best though. "Like throwing a rock at a window, instead of a bullet." There. Now she understood what he was trying to say. Somewhat, at least.
"So, you're saying someone threw a rock at the door to break it?" she asked as she moved closer, seeing if she could see the so-called 'rock', or whatever had been used to break the door.
"No," he clarified as he motioned towards the hunk of twisted metal. "I'm saying that this door was both the target and projectile. Someone used a big flippin' magnet to fire it like a rail-gun would." He stepped through the hole in the entrance, and she followed him closely, eager to see some clues.
Only for a blaring alarm to go off. And it became abundantly clear what the base was designed for.
"It's a prison," Jubilee remarked with a grimace. "a mutant prison."
"Powered people, more likely," Peter remarked with a small shrug that spoke some volumes to her. "But, given that mutants make up...ninety-nine percent of all powered people, your assumption is forgiven."
"Why the hell is the government involved then? I mean...beyond the norm. There's no need for this...we don't deserve different treatment," she half-snapped back at him. His careless attitude on the subject pissed her off slightly. "Guns and planes and tanks and shit..." she scowled venomously, looking at the base in an entirely new light. "Who the hell deserves this kind of hell-hole?"
"Some people do," Peter shrugged as he resumed his inspection of the torn-apart door. "But this doesn't make sense, the door's pushed inw-!" She snapped and violently shoved him against the wall with a surprising amount of force. Something she had learned how to do very early on. "The hell?" he asked.
"What the fuck did you mean by that?" Jubilee hissed forcefully. "'Some do'? It's inhumane! I wouldn't my worst enemy in-" He pushed back, knocking her off-balance slightly and cutting her off.
"I said 'some', not 'all'," Peter said slowly, without much emotion, which only pissed her off even more. "Some people deserve this! They've earned it! Monsters who-"
"Monsters, that's what we all are?"
"I didn't say that!"
"You kinda did, ass-hole!"
"I didn't mean it like that! What I meant was-!"
"Or would you rather we all be put down to make the world a better place?"
"What's going on here?" Both turned to see Captain America looking directly at them, with his hands at his sides and his shield slung on his back. He was clearly not impressed.
And he wasn't alone.
A man stood behind him. With electricity buzzing around his hands. And a malicious look in his eye. He moved with inhuman speed as he tried to make a break for it, lunging past Rogers, who only ducked out of the way at the last second. Jubilee had to duck as lightning arced out from his hands, striking the wall behind her. But Peter proved that the moniker 'Spider-man' was well-deserved and raced up the side of the wall in order to catch the man by surprise with a surprise blow to the stomach. Enough to knock him down, but not out. Both tumbled to the ground, and the escaping man sizzled with electricity, knocking Peter back into a wall.
Rogers took the initiative and charged him, only to be met with a beam of lightning, blocked only by the Vibranium shield. The two were stuck in a stalemate, giving Jubilee the perfect chance to prove her worth as she snagged the nearest piece of rubble, and charged it with plasmoid energy before side-arming it into the man's gut.
He was stunned by the initial blow, and completely floored by the ensuing explosion. Which gave Rogers the perfect opportunity to close the gap between them and knock the man out cold. "Well, that was fun," the Captain sighed as he slung the unconscious man over his shoulder.
...xxXxx...
"No," Jackson said vehemently, as he slammed his hands down on the table in front of him. "No, I won't allow it, Stark!" The two of them had been going back-and-forth for the better part of half an hour, with little to show for it.
"You can't keep this a secret," Stark replied confidently, "not for long. It's too big of a secret."
"You've kept some pretty big secrets in your time," Jackson snapped back, "You're still keeping some, as far as I know."
"My secrets don't involve a revived World-War Two Hero," Tony commented slowly, trying to gain traction in their argument. That was always the key when working with government officials. He couldn't afford to let up on this. It was too much of a golden opportunity. "Or a secret prison run by a privately owned organization being operated and funded by the US government."
"What's it like hiring terrorists?" Jackson asked bitterly, as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "One word from us and your whole new 'Avengers' lineup comes crashing in on itself." Pushing himself forward, so that he was level with the man, Tony growled a low response.
"As far as I'm concerned," he said, whispering into Jackson's ear, "I've got way more dirt on you people that can do a hell of a lot more damage. Remember," he whispered softly, "I know all about those little side-projects. The dead conscripts. Weapon X. Those orbital Satellites. Nothing that you'd want getting out there, I think." the two men stared one another down, waiting for the other to balk.
Only Tony Stark was much more sure that he had won the argument than Jackson was. He had the experience, after all. His confidence paid off, and the young Agent wiped his brown free of sweat as he broke off, saying, "I'll see what I can do...the President wants to keep this private for now..."
"Not good enough," Tony grunted, "We're going public in two weeks time. I want Rogers there at the premier event."
"A premier event?" Jackson scoffed with a twitch of his head. "What is this, Hollywood?"
"A good public image is vital to any enterprise," Tony replied sternly, "Something I've learned over the years. The unveiling is perhaps the most crucial time for any new line of product. That's when most of the public forms their opinion." Tony was telling the truth. He had already diverted close to a million dollars to the event already, with food, staff and live music forming the bulk of the expenses. Expenses which would would be covered tenfold by the product lines he planned to introduce. He'd learned from the mistakes the previous team of Avengers had made, where they had lost the rights to their own branded merchandise, and suffered financially for it.
Of course, this venture wasn't for the sake of profits. He genuinely believed that the world needed the Avengers now more than ever. Especially with the constant threats of World War Three and a complete Mutant Uprising. But, the money had to come from somewhere, and if anyone should benefit from their image, they should.
"I'll...I'll have to talk it over with the President," Jackson said as he rubbed his chin, "It's still a big move on our part...If people found out we'd kept him for close to a year-"
"Tell them there were unexpected complications," Tony replied surely, having spun similar tall tales in his youth. "Health risks. Psychological evaluations. Tell then that being frozen for over seventy years will take it's effect on the body."
"We'll...we'll see what we can do."
...xxXxx...
"Well how'd it go?" Pepper asked her Grandfather as he descended down the ramp of their private jet. As she stood there, Jubilation Lee stormed past her, fuming about something under her breath. Thor and Peter followed shortly, with all three disappearing into various hallways.
"It could have gone better," Tony replied stiffly. "I managed to make a deal with the Government concerning Captain Rogers. However, an unknown number of prisoners managed to escape." Pepper grimaced, understanding his tone perfectly as the two of them continued down the hallway together. "And as far as how the team worked," he continued, "it certainly could have gone better, but also much worse, as well."
"Well you can't expect complete strangers to get along all hunky-dory right away, can you?" she offered as best she could, hoping it would be enough to improve his mood somewhat. "I mean, from what you've told me, you and Mr. Richards where often at one another's throats, right?"
"Perhaps," Tony sighed deeply, "but we've still got some work to do. Especially," he said as he directed her towards the armoury. "On your suit. You still need to log more hours of flight inside it before I'm comfortable-"
"I know, grandpa," Pepper smiled as she touched his shoulder reassuringly. "I know. I've just been rather busy...you know...Running your company. Helping you get this little side-project off the ground. It's a lot to handle in only a few weeks time." She followed him into the room, where a weaponized suit of armour stood in the very centre. It was a very trimmed-down version of the old Iron Man armour, offering more flexibility and speed, though it was equally as durable as his slightly out-dated model.
"Well," he said, as he motioned towards the suit, and pressed a button, opening it up for her to get inside. "You have time now. Make sure you follow the proper flight-pattern." Pepper let out a small smirk as she tossed her jacket aside, onto a nearby table, and stepped into the chrome armour, letting it slide into place around her body as the heads up display came to life.
Powerful thrusters on the boots and wrists fired up, lifting her into the air by a few inches. An access hatch opened in the roof above her, and she rocketed skywards, leaving her grandfather behind in the dust.
...xxXxx...
Erik Lensherr, a disgraced, outcast, former commander of the world's leading military strike-force rose out of his seat as he saw the doors to his hidden facility open up. Three figures walked in, but he did not raise a hand to them, because he knew exactly who they were. And because no one else had any reason to go looking for the base just yet. he'd covered their tracks very well.
He examined the three as they approached.
The first, and tallest, was Elizabeth Braddock, former member of the British M.I. 6. She led the way with proud strides. She was covered in top-notch body-armour that had been stolen the very night Erik had formed their small band of rebels. Sleek black plates covered her chest, legs and arms. Her vibrant purple hair was technically against Military protocol, and would have disqualified her in his eyes, where it not for her myriad of other abilities that more than made up for such a small flaw.
Braddock was a telepath, and a skilled one at that. Though certainly not the most powerful he had ever met, she was adept at using her powers while in the field and on the run. She could render opponents unconscious, hide herself and others from sight, perform basic mind-reading and even exerted some control over others, with some effort.
Her Mutant Powers were matched easily by her skills as a soldier. She was skilled with a firearm, but much moreso in close-quarters combat. Erik believed that in combat, she used her telepathy sub-consciously to determine where and when an opponent would strike. Perhaps she even controlled their moves to a small degree.
Her prowess was amplified even more by the long Katana she carried on her back. Made of the nearly unbreakable metal known as Adamantium, the weapon had performed some astonishing feats. Once, Erik recalled seeing it slice clean through a Tank's armour.
Trailing at the back was a short, scruffy and stocky Mutant named James Howlett. He'd transferred to Erik's unit, mainly because other branches of the Military didn't want him or his thuggish attitude. But Erik had seen right through it to the honourable man inside. And for that, he had earned Howlett's respect and loyalty.
Howlett had proven himself to be a worthy addition to their cause, with his ability to heal rapidly, even from mortal wounds. And he was by no means a slouch on the offensive, either. His healing abilities had slowed his ageing down to a crawl, and he admitted to Erik in private that he had served in several Military's over the years as far back as World War One. Thus, he had plenty of time to master a variety of firearms and fighting styles.
But bringing up the middle was the person he was most looking forward to seeing. He practically dropped his hardened Military persona as he pulled his daughter, Wanda, into the tightest hug he could muster. He hadn't seen her in so long, years in fact. An unwilling separation caused by years of service and greedy scientists wishing to 'replicate' her potent Mutant abilities for Military use.
Not on his watch.
"I'm sorry," he sobbed into her shoulder, letting his emotions get the better of him. "I'm sorry for letting them hurt you. I swear I will make them pay for what they've done to our family and to our kind!" He swore, as both an oath to his daughter and to Mutants in general.