Chapter 22 – The Low Down
Victor was smoking a cigar. A cigar in a submerged vessel and he is not even human and he is destroying his – whatever – it is none of my business.
I like the ashtray though, truth be told, and I played with this glass thing – spinning it around the table.
Carol and I went shopping a week ago and bought this business suit. It is very classy. Surprisingly, I am not tired from not sleeping last night.
Victor sized me up.
"You clean up nicely Ms. Munroe. If I may say so."
He does not wait for me to answer.
"The last time we saw each other was a month ago – extraordinary."
"You mean - uncanny."
W walked in like Patton.
I gave him a coy wink.
"Of course," he replies.
She does not mix any pleasantries; she puts something into her safe behind the her Chuck Close portrait hanging behind her desk, accessible by apparent thumb and eye scan only. She was a half an hour late and prefaces our meeting by mentioning how she has to leave in a few minutes for something else. After a brief preamble about secrets and confidentiality I take the opportunity and launch right into it.
Why they did not intervene in the Forge family massacre?
They redirect the question:
"We did not know where he was. We do not know what his plan is. We did everything we could a few years back, short of dropping an H-bomb on him."
They go on:
"He always had his quirks, no one is going to dispute that, and he immediately got on the bad side of every woman and most men came across.
But now he is like a rabid dog. Maybe we are to blame, but that is neither here or there at the moment."
The lights dim and footage is projected as they talk.
"We sent one covert group after another to bring him in only to lose the every member of the team. A lot of good men and women died trying to bring him in. He is now living off the grid a complete lone wolf.
Moved somewhere desolate we suspect. We honestly, do not know. Once he lived in Siberia, then beaches of Thailand, Singapore, the last known sighting of him was at Hanks funeral."
I am stunned. Only to feel ice flood my veins as I recall his scent and smile from some corner of the room. How could I have missed that?
She tells me to log into a computer terminal and read the psych evals.
He has had yearly evals since he started working for the Avengers. I quickly load it up on a nearby terminal. I do a quick cursory scan of the material. Nothing in there surprises me. Year after year his behaviors become increasingly erratic for no known reason.
"What you are going to find in there is a man's growing neurosis, specifically egomania, narcissism, teetering on the edge of psychosis until he refused to take the test. And even then we mistakenly kept him on for a few more years."
None of what they told me is new to me, but I keep my mouth shut. I am already on their bad side. And I can tell that they think I am not too far off from Logan. Psychologically speaking.
"What do you think," they finally ask after they exhausted me.
"I think the SOB is a clean up job and I am as disposable as he is. Your hands are far from clean, but this keeps them cleaner. It looks like he has been killing in third world countries for years. (I read off of Logan's chart). Prostitutes, both genders, and under aged child, both genders. Funny for being a Canadian he sure acts like an American. I assume I have cart blanche to assemble a team. But I do not need a team, just me. That should reduce the casualty risk. Am I missing anything?"
They are silent.
Wanda breaks the silence, cleaning her glasses, "you know my father was always very fond of you. More so than any of the others. He admired your -."
"No offense, but fuck you and fuck your father, he tried to kill me a couple dozen times and even though I took his orders when Charles died and a few times in between, I always kept one eye on him. Even on his death bed."
"He admired you, because he saw the hatred you bare for the humans. He of course shared your sentiment. He was curious at how well you were able to hide it from everyone including yourself. He always said, never underestimate the power of self-denial."
I am too startled to deny it. She is trying to unhinge me. This is some power play for her to regain her authority in the room. G-d damn it worked.
"We will expect you report and proposed tactical strike plan in 24 hours, unfortunately time is against us on this one. Now if you will excuse me -"
"Dead or alive?"
Wanda's eyes flame red for a second.
"Honey if you can find a way to bring him here alive, by all means be my guest."
"What did you do?"
"Excuse me?"
"She wants to know about our missions," Victor replies, "might as well tell her everything luv. Better that she knows what she is up against."
She sizes me up.
"Very well you can do the honors."
Slam.
"She does grow on you once you get to know her."
"Grows on me like breast cancer."
While he talks a projector shows the footage.
After he killed a brothel of under aged boys in Hanoi, Tony designed five specially designed adamantium Iron Men to kill him, via remote control.
None of them came back.
Each one of those cost over 1 trillion dollars.
We did not have the budget after that.
After that he wiped out three brothels in Mumbai.
The conference lights come on after images of the mounds of dead women in the streets.
"The gutters could not hold that much blood huh," is the only thing I manage to say after the color comes back to my cheeks.
"Honestly W and I do not have much faith in you or this mission. It is your death wish that concerns us."
"I do not have a -"
"Honestly we will all be impressed if you can even locate him. That would make it a success. He is like an electron, always disappearing on you. If you do see him, you would be wise to fall back and request back-up."
He whips into his wallet and pulls out my Driver's License, I see the Mutant Grade, change from a "H" to an "A."
Grade A is only limited to active Avenger's members.
He hands it back to me. I stare at it. My eyes go white for a second.
Freedom. I am that which the Queen Goddess has made me.
With a bunch of 0's and 1's, my life is restored to me.
I feel myself. Unburden. Unencumbered by man's laws.
Then I look at him with my white eyes.
I think about my possessions in boxes somewhere on this base: my Moon rock, my Mars rock, a Pluto rock, a fossilized Brood egg from the Queen, Malice's collar, one of Bishop's guns, an Asgardian battle axe, and all incarnations of my uniform. I guess, now that I think about it, there were a few things of importance in there. The Professor gave me the Winslow Homer painting from the library, Summers gave me his first edition of Moby Dick, I have Grey's complete record collection (yes vinyl). It's a mini Smithsonian of all of us.
"Assemble your team."
"What about -"
"Your uniform? Jeez. Nothing overwhelming, something tasteful."
I smile. F' you – it is going to rock – it will make Gene Simmons's stuff look like business professional.