FIC: Darker Reign (10/?)

Montreal, Canada

"How's Stark doing?"

Dr. Langkowski grimaced at the question from his team leader. "Not good," he finally admitted. "The wounds he suffered in his flight over here are serious but healable, broken bones, burns etc. But it's the brain damage that's causing the doctors' concern."

"How so?" James Hudson demanded.

Langkowski grimaced, medicine really wasn't his area of expertise. "From what I understand Stark is being lobotomised, but according to the doctors it's far from an usual lobotomy, it's something unidentifiable wiping his brain area by area in an almost sequential matter. One expert I talked to equated it to the wiping of a computer hard drive."

"Well if any engineer could manage it, it'd be Stark, why I have no idea though," James mused. "What's his long term diagnosis?"

"To be blunt we're talking about Stark not being able to breathe on his own when the process is over," Langkowski replied.

"Is there any way of stopping this process?" James queried.

"The doctors don't even know what's causing it, much less how to even slow it down," Langkowski answered. "And from what you're saying the only one who could heal is currently lying in a bed comatose."

"Perhaps not the only one," Heather Hudson spoke up. Both men turned towards the third member of Alpha Flight. "There's always Reed Richards or Henry Pym. Maybe even Hank McCoy?"

"It's a thought," mused James. "But until then Stark's helpless?" Langkowski nodded slowly. "If the past is any indication, we can't rely on Osborn to respect trifling legalities like national borders, we're going to have to contact every Canadian hero we can get in touch with, and organise a constant rotating guard on Stark."

"Okay team," Finn growled as he strolled into the briefing room filled with his team and strode onto the podium at the front of the room. "We've had a break in the case, CCTV in Newark caught footage of Lehane & Harris boarding a coach en-route to Atlanta."

Miller joined him on the podium. "You've read the files, you know not to under-estimate the duo despite appearances. They're extremely dangerous, very experienced, and will not come without a fight."

"Oh yeah," commented one of the men, an unshaven, dark-eyed black. "Look that honey, you can bet she's a wriggler."

Another man snorted. "Screamer too, hellcat like that will take some puttin' down."

"But look at her," said a third. "She's definitely worth the effort."

The first laughed. "I can get behind that. Hell, I can't wait to get behind that behind."

"Yeah, I hope she struggles."

"Let's keep it professional, people." His skin crawling, Finn shot Miller a worried glance. Under Osborn's tutelage, SHIELD, a collection of the elite, had been transformed into HAMMER, a motley mob of corrupt cops, grizzled criminals, and dishonourably charged soldiers. And every second things were getting worse.

"Huh." Doom licked his lips as he peered into his scrying bowl, energy rippled across the grey water, indecipherable to one untrained in the mystic arts, but to one such as he, learned in magics, easily readable. He leaned back, mind whirling furiously as he considered the news before him. "A gathering, a competition for the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme." Doom smiled slowly as he considered how such a position would greatly increase his already considerable power. And who better to wield such a power and shoulder such a responsibility than Doom? He rose with an assured nod. "To New Orleans."

"I think not!"

Doom spun on his foot at a husky purr, hand swinging up to fire yellow energy at the interloper. His teeth bared in recognition as his instinctive attack dissipated on the interloper's shields. "Le Fay!"

The tall, purple-haired witch let out a vicious snarl even as she retaliated with an attack of his own, green lightning arcing across his throne room to crash against his shields. Multi-coloured sparks erupted, dancing across their respective shields, illuminating the grim, dark chamber. "You'll never be Sorcerer Supreme, I won't allow it!"

"Wench!" Doom let out an enraged roar. "What you will or won't allow is of little import to me!"

"Then it is time you learnt humility!" Le Fay shrilled. High winds filled the chamber as lightning lanced between the duo, the gusting typhoon inexorably dragging the duo across the stone paved floor, and towards a shimmering black surfaced and oval shaped portal. "You will NEVER be Sorcerer Supreme!"

Doom gritted his teeth as he struggled against the portal's pull, all too conscious that if he concentrated his efforts on escaping the portal's grasp he would doubtless succeed, but the moment he dropped his defences, Le Fay would incinerate him on the spot.

The moment they arrived at the rift's threshold, Doom leapt at his rival, but as soon as he left his feet a wind caught him and the woman, dragging them into the rippling, crackling abyss. "NOOOO!" Doom let out a frustrated scream. To be so close to ultimate power, but to lose it all on a jealous bitch's capricious whim.

"Hi," Wiccan smiled nervously at his potential rival for the position of the Sorcerer Supreme. It was ridiculous to think of him, or anybody for that matter taking the post that Dr. Strange had held for as long he could remember. "This guy you're here looking for, is he your boyfriend?"

The red-head flushed, and half-glanced at the hot brunette she'd come in with, stood at the counter with the Doctor ordering some food. "It's complicated," she finally replied. "He was once, but gay now! He's like my best friend from whenever, I gave him his nickname because I couldn't pronounce his name, he always protected me from bullies, and saved me when I went Darth Willow."

Darth Willow? Billy struggled to translate the twenty-something's encoded babblings but stuck on the words 'gay now'. "How did your friends react when they found out about you know?"

"Oh," the red-head flushed again, "it was weird. The worst bit was building up to tell them. They were okay afterwards, well except Xander being Xander has a vivid imagination so he was always wondering about me with other girls." Willow's gaze impaled him. "And what about you?"

It was Billy's turn to blush. "They were fine, the bit that weirded them out was my boy-friend was an alien."

"Ha!" Willow chuckled. "To other people that might be odd. But I used to date a werewolf, my best friend dated a former demon, and my other best friend dated two vampires. Beat that!"

Nighthawk stared with wonder around the opulent throne room, both its vastness and richness awing him. He, Puma, White Tiger, and Battlestar had all joined the defections to Wakanda. He felt guilty about fleeing the US., and far from sure about being here, in the homeland of a man who'd once deliberately crashed the world's financial markets. But a nation ruled at least in part by Norman Osborn wasn't a land he wanted any part of.

"Greetings honoured guests." He glanced up to see T'Challa walking around and sitting on his throne. "I trust your journey here wasn't too troublesome?"

"No," Nighthawk shook his head. "The destination is more worrying."

"Oh?" T'Challa's lips tugged up into a wry smile, the black man's eyes staring unblinkingly at him. "How so?"

"Our people, our friends are all suffering at home, it doesn't feel right deserting them," Nighthawk finally replied.

"As forthright as ever, Kyle." T'Challa rose smoothly and leapt down the pedestal his throne was sat upon to land in a crouch his namesake would have been proud of before straightening. "You're not deserting them, we're merely gathering our forces and intelligence. However, I myself am stymied as to just how much I can do without being painted by Osborn's propaganda machine as a foreign power seeking to interfere in America's domestic affairs."

"Meaning?" queried Battlestar, the muscled black dressed in the stars and stripes clinging tightly to his shield.

"Meaning I can't be the face of any fight-back against Osborn, it has to be an American," T'Challa replied. "It has to be an American, Captain America, Iron Man, Reed Richards, or Luke Cage perhaps. Until such a leader rises, any moves I and we make against Osborn have to be clandestine." T'Challa looked towards him and Puma in particular. "I understand you wish to transfer the assets of Richmond Enterprises and Fireheart Enterprises to Wakandan banks?"

"As protection for our assets, yes," Nighthawk agreed.

"Then I better take you to meet our finance minister," T'Challa looked towards White Tiger and Battlestar. "Someone will be through in a moment to take you to where your fellow Metas are housed. I trust you find the accommodations to your satisfaction."

"Ah, Mr. Osborn, an honour and a pleasure to meet you."

"And yet you kept me waiting," Osborn growled as he rose.

"Yes," the tall thin man's hollowed out cheeks flushed as he looked away from Osborn's glare. "Sorry about that sir."

Osborn nodded curtly before falling in beside the suited man. "I understand you've been experimenting with artificially creating meta-humans?"

"Yes sir," the man nodded. "Strikeforce X are a twelve man strong team who have through a course of drugs, nano-technology, and bio-implants developed animal-senses, enhanced strength, healing factor, and reflexes as well as energy claws."

"And I trust they'll be available for my operations if required?"

The man nodded. "By all means, Director Osborn."

"When I look at Osborn's Avengers, I don't see a brave new age," Tigra spoke into the camera. "In fact I see something horrifying. Quite apart from Osborn's own dubious record, let's look at his Avengers. Ragnarok, not Thor, who only a few months ago murdered a good friend of mine in Bill Foster AKA Goliath. Enchantress, a witch with the very worst of reputations. And Moonstone has turned from good to evil so many times I've lost count."

"That was former Avenger, Ms. Geer Nelson AKA Tigra, from a hidden location. The footage delivered here only a few hours ago." Todd Keller turned towards the statuesque red-head sat beside him. "Ms. Hand, P.A. to Director Osborn, your rebuttal?"

"Thank you for this opportunity to comment on Ms. Nelson's words." The red-head shot Keller a dazzling smile. "I find Ms. Nelson's stance puzzling, not to mention hypocritical."

Keller leaned forward, a carefully manufactured puzzled expression on his face. "Hypocritical, Ms. Hand? I'm surprised to hear such a distinguished luminary in such harsh terms."

"Nevertheless," Ms. Hand shook her head. "I feel it's accurate. After all, Tigra's been in teams with both Hawkeye and Falcon, both former criminals who reformed. Why is reformation alright for her friends but not for those Director Osborn chose as members of his team?"

"What's good for the goose etc?" Keller queried.

"Precisely." Hand smirked. "After all, you can't argue with results. Look at all the metas we've captured, look at the falling crime statistics. Finally Americans can feel safe in their homes again."