"You're absolutely, positively sure you want to do this? There's still time to back out, you know," Peter Parker tried to warn Rick Sheridan as they stepped into the Daily Bugle's city room, noticing how Rick looked around in amazement at the stark, cheap décor and the sharp contrast it made with the high-tech media equipment that sat on the twenty- and thirty-year old office furniture.
"Like I said, I need the money," Rick said. "If that means taking a job here, then that's what I'll do."
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Peter sighed, before his attention was caught by Glory Grant, daughter-in-law of the late Joe Robertson and middle-aged city editor of the Bugle, who waved to him from her desk. His curiosity piqued, Peter made his way over, followed by Rick.
"What's up, Glory?" Peter asked.
"Just wanted to let you know about those pictures you got of Spider-Man tangling with Doctor Octopus at that nuclear demonstration Jameson sent you to cover," Glory smiled. "Today's edition is selling like there's no tomorrow because of those shots. Jameson was thrilled!"
"So thrilled that he wrote that editorial lambasting Spider-Man for putting innocent people in danger with the way he recklessly attacked Doctor Octopus?" Peter rolled his eyes.
"Well…" Glory shrugged, "for once, he's actually in a decent mood."
Peter was about to say something else, when he was cut off by a tirade of angry shouting.
"Just what kind of vigilante do you take me for, Jesse James? Get out of my office, you crank! OUT! OUT! OUT!"
Rick cringed at the voice, which ranked somewhere between a bullhorn and a fire alarm in terms of sheer loudness.
The entire city room sat in silence for a minute, before they resumed working.
"…What the hell was that?" Rick finally asked Peter.
"…Just another day at the Daily Bugle," Peter replied with a long-suffering sigh.
SLEEPWALKER #32
"CHAIN OF COMMAND"
The door to the offices of J. Jonah Jameson, founder, owner, sole stockholder, publisher and editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle, flew open as a middle-aged man with dark hair and a high, intellectual forehead, clad in an expensive Armani suit, stumbled out of the room as he tried to get a word in edgewise against the thundering Jameson.
"Mr. Jameson, this is an invaluable investment, and-" the man protested.
"Didn't you hear me the first time?" Jameson barked at him, stubbing out his cigar and lighting a fresh one even as he continued yelling. "And don't think this is over-by the time I'm done with you, you won't be able to get a job fixing TV sets in this city!"
The flustered man skulked away, an angry scowl on his face, before Peter slowly led Rick into Jameson's office. His face flushed with anger, the eighty-year old newspaperman looked the same as always had-expensive but rumpled suit, military crew cut, toothbrush moustache, and the eternal cigar in hand. Sitting down again, he glared up at the two young men as they approached his desk.
"What do you want, Parker? And who's this other kid?" he demanded.
"What was-" Rick began before Peter could reply.
"The man who just left?" Jameson snorted, puffing away at his cigar. "That was some crank named Spencer Smythe, who tried to con me into investing into some 'Spider-Slayer' robot to capture Spider-Man! The whole reason I go after Spider-Man and the rest of those vigilante 'heroes' is because they flout the law, put people in danger! You can't hold them accountable if they mess up!" he continued on his tirade. "So how would it look if I suddenly started sponsoring vigilante robots to kidnap people?!? I'd be a hypocrite! Who do you take me for, William Randolph Hearst?"
Rick was about to reply, when Peter hastily stepped on his foot.
"Now what do you want?" Jameson demanded, looking at his watch impatiently.
"You know how we need a couple of new copy people?" Peter said quickly. "My friend Rick is interested in the job. He's an English major, and-"
"An English major?" Jameson looked at Rick skeptically as the youth stepped forward. "Alright, if you're so smart, tell me what's so special about the sentence 'the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dogs.'".
"That sentence uses every letter of the alphabet," Rick answered, not sure where Jameson was going with this. "What does that-"
"Well, what are you waiting for? Chinese New Year?" Jameson snapped irritably. "Get out of my office and go see Ms. Grant!"
"You mean-" Rick began in surprise.
"I mean you'll be fired if you stand around wasting any more of my time!" Jameson scowled at him.
Rick began to speak again to thank Jameson, before Peter grabbed him and pulled him out of Jameson's office and shut the door behind him. Immediately, they heard Jameson begin typing busily at his computer.
"See what I mean?" Peter sighed as they walked away.
"What was that about?" Rick wondered. "I mean, why was he talking about William Randolph Hearst?"
"It's best not to think about it," Peter shook his head. "Sometimes he makes George Steinbrenner look reasonable."
Rick and Peter both jumped as they heard Jameson's voice booming after them.
"I heard that!" Jameson shouted. "And I'll have you know that every time I've golfed with Steinbrenner, I told him he never should have fired Billy Martin!"
Rick just looked at Peter.
"Come on," Peter sighed. "I'll take you to see Glory and she'll get your schedule and paychecks worked out."
"You're sure about this when it comes to Pruitt Enterprises?" Julia asked Gwen Stacy curiously. The two women were active in volunteering and campaigning on behalf of various social causes, most notably in regards to aiding the poor and homeless of New York, and more generally in the field of the concept known as "corporate social responsibility", praising companies such as Stark Enterprises, Fireheart Enterprises, and Richmond Industries for their advances in this field while condemning others, such as Hammer Labs, Oscorp and Roxxon Oil, for their poor environmental and social records. They had met at the Coffee Bean to discuss some disconcerting rumors Gwen had heard from some of her contacts overseas.
"I don't know," Gwen shook her head, "but nothing I've heard has been any good. Child labor, the sale of blood diamonds in places like Angola and the Congo, selling weapons to multiple sides in Somalia, selling everything from weapons to computer goods to HYDRA, the Secret Empire, Genosha and Latveria, sponsoring the Supermacists and Azania in their attempts to destabilize Wakanda…it's a really ugly picture."
"How much of it has been proven?" Julia wondered.
"Not a whole lot," Gwen shook her head. "But if it's true, it would explain an awful lot. After all, how did Pruitt Enterprises get that good that fast? You would have heard something on the news to account for its change…"
"There might be a way we could find out," Julia replied. "I don't know if Peter's told you about this reporter friend of his at the Bugle, a guy named Ben Urich?"
Gwen nodded.
"Well, his nephew Phil is really interested in these types of social causes too. I could probably get his help into looking into this," Julia said.
"Don't you remember what happened the last time you started poking your nose where it didn't belong?" Gwen reminded her, half humorously and half seriously. "You ended up getting attacked by that crazy supervillain…what was his name? Lightblaster?"
"Lightmaster," Julia corrected her.
"Right. Anyway, what if you get someone else after you again?" Gwen pursed her lips.
"In this city?" Julia chuckled. "Chances are I'll have a superhero come to my rescue, just like last time."
"You can't always count on that," Gwen warned her.
"Just like you weren't able to count on Spider-Man showing up to save you from Doctor Octopus and the Sinister Six?" Julia shot back.
"Point taken," Gwen laughed.
"You're sure the Colonel has authorized this?" the young, auburn-haired man asked his tall, powerfully muscled black companion as they readied their equipment later that evening.
"The Colonel doesn't give a rat's ass about Sleepwalker," the black man responded, testing the weight of his heavy titanium batons. "Suits him either way if the green-skinned freak lives or dies."
"So why are we doing this, Nightstick?" the auburn-haired man, better known as Wiretap, wondered as he checked his gauntlets, weapons that enabled him to generate powerful blasts of electricity.
"I have my reasons," the black man known as Nightstick replied, before he turned to the last of their group, a slim woman with a short haircut and piercing facial features.
"You ready, Cuffs?" he demanded.
"Always," Cuffs replied, generating a powerful liquid ooze from her gauntlets, that she reshaped into long, sharp axe blades.
Nightstick looked at his comrades, and nodded solemnly.
The Thought Police was ready to move.
Sleepwalker's patrol that night was uneventful, the alien seeing none of his fellow heroes on patrol, nor even many passersby. Even New York, normally one of the busiest and loudest cities in the world at any time of the day or night, could be subdued by a night colder than Doctor Doom's heart, with the wind howling past the city's towering skyscrapers.
He had passed by Four Freedoms Plaza, hoping to get some information from Reed Richards on whether the famous scientist had made any progress on finding a way for Sleepwalker to return home, but none of the Fantastic Four were there, apparently having been summoned to Hawaii to prevent the Mole Man from detonating the islands' volcanoes and murdering the humans who lived there, or so the building staff had told him. Undeterred, Sleepwalker resumed his patrols, although once again the city seemed silent, buried under the snow and cold, something which only set the alien's senses on edge.
When he came through to Commodore Barry Park, then, Sleepwalker instantly reacted to the electrical blasts that came flying up at him almost out of nowhere, deflecting it with his warp beams before he came down to ground level, looking all around him and expecting an attack from any direction. To his astonishment, he saw the familiar haze of a cloaking device being turned off all around him, and then recognized the unpleasantly familiar forms of the Thought Police standing all around him, clad in their blue and gold armor, complete with night-vision goggles for fighting in the dark.
"I presume that you have once again been directed to capture me for interrogation?" Sleepwalker asked sardonically, as he stepped into a fighting stance. "Or does your master seek merely to have me destroyed for what he erroneously believes to be my intentional affronts to his mission?"
"Wrong, and wrong," Nightstick said darkly, before Cuffs and Wiretap looked at him in surprise. "This goes way deeper than anything you know, freak."
He looked from Wiretap to Cuffs, and back again, and they nodded.
"Kill him!" Nightstick ordered.
Cuffs formed her jelly into a large spiked hammer, which she swung at Sleepwalker, who quickly rolled out of the way as Wiretap fired another burst of electricity at him. His eyes glowing brightly, Sleepwalker used his warp vision to send a huge wave of snow flying at the Thought Police, which was deflected by Wiretap's electrical fields. The wave of snow exploded on contact with the electricity, sending a thick cloud of mist and snow flying through the air, obscuring the Thought Police's vision as Sleepwalker continued to throw up great gusts of ice and snow with his warp beams.
"Back to back!" Nightstick ordered Cuffs and Wiretap, which was what they did as Cuffs then used her jelly to form a defensive barrier around them, and Wiretap fired bursts of energy into the mist to try and get a bead on Sleepwalker's position. Sorting through the patterns of the snow being whipped up around then, Wiretap fired several blasts of electrical energy into the mist, using them to keep a bead on Sleepwalker until Cuffs slammed him with a thick club of jelly, wrapping around the alien and bringing him in, bound and struggling to break free.
"This is where it ends, freak!" Nightstick snarled, as he beat Sleepwalker mercilessly with his batons. "Willis is going to enjoy this!"
Suddenly, it all became clear to Sleepwalker, remembering a conversation he had when the Thought Police had previously captured him…
Nightstick, Cuffs and Colonel O'Brien eventually stepped out for a break, leaving Cuffs alone to restrain Sleepwalker. The hawk-faced woman stared into Sleepwalker's eyes, trying to discern something, although what it was he could not tell.
"Why am I here?" Sleepwalker asked somewhat ironically. "I am now a wanted criminal for saving the lives of the innocent?"
"You don't know what's at stake here," Cuffs replied calmly, not blinking as she locked eyes with Sleepwalker's.
"Then enlighten me, for I do not understand," he answered.
"The colonel will tell you if he decides that will help our mission," was all Cuffs would offer. "Otherwise, I cannot say any more."
"Perhaps I have the answer," Sleepwalker said, adjusting his position to ease the pain in his knees. "All this place...it reminds me of something someone told me recently. You are fighting still, are you not?" he asked.
Cuffs raised an eyebrow.
"Who told you that?"
"A gentleman by the name of Willis…or Hector…or Ray…or Ernest," Sleepwalker answered. "He talked to himself a great deal, gave himself multiple names, called himself the Chain Gang."
"Willis?" Cuffs asked.
Sleepwalker nodded slowly.
Cuffs flinched visibly, although she tried to keep a mask of calm.
Sleepwalker noticed the slip, although he said nothing. He had felt something about this whole meeting, something that went well beyond the destruction of the diamond.
Scowling in fury, Sleepwalker blasted himself free of Cuff's jelly and grabbed it before she could react, spinning her around and sending her crashing into Wiretap as he attacked Nightstick in a fury.
"I now observe your fraternal resemblance!" Sleepwalker said in a rage, as he caught Nightstick's batons in his arms and knocked Willis off his feet with a vicious snap kick. "You are seeking to indulge a vendetta you hold against me for my role in the incarceration of your brother, the Chain Gang?"
"Don't you call him by that name!" Nightstick roared, fire in his eyes. "Willis was family, and look at what you did to him!" Charging back at Sleepwalker, he deflected the alien's next attack with one baton and slammed him across the head with the other, before sending him flying with a third blow. Dizzy from the blow, Sleepwalker was powerless to prevent Wiretap from striking him with another electrical bolt and knocking him to the ground.
As Cuffs attempted to encase him in another wave of jelly, Sleepwalker rolled out of the way and sent another wave of snow at the Thought Police, which Cuffs deflected by shaping her jelly into a large wall. Flying above his opponents, Sleepwalker then cast his warp beams over a wide area onto the soil itself, tearing it open beneath the Thought Police's feet to swallow them up. As they struggled to break free, Sleepwalker flew down faster than Cuffs could react and struck her on the head, knocking her senseless. As Wiretap blasted himself free, he came up to attack Sleepwalker and free his companion, before the alien cast another wave of snow with his warp vision at him. Rather than blasting the snow, Wiretap simply flew out of its way, although he lost Sleepwalker in the haze. Spinning around, he suddenly caught the guardian of the Mindscape flying at him, charging right through the point-blank electrical blast Wiretap fired at him and doubling him over with a vicious double punch, before incapacitating him with a chop to the throat.
As Sleepwalker came down to the ground carrying the limp Wiretap in his arms, Nightstick finally dug himself free of the pit and charged. Dropping Wiretap into the snow, Sleepwalker came back at him, and the two foes sparred viciously. Sleepwalker took a vicious one-two hit from Nighstick's batons, before he dealt the Thought Police's leader a vicious haymaker across the jaw and a jab to the gut, driving him to his knees. As Nightstick lay stunned, Sleepwalker warped his batons into bindings, pinning Nightstick's arms to his body and his legs together, leaving him helpless and unable to move.
"I'm going to kill you for this, freak!" Nightstick cursed at Sleepwalker as he struggled to break free.
"I shall never comprehend why humans refuse to take responsibility for the actions of their kin, absolving them of guilt and responsibility when they are clearly the ones responsible for their own predicaments," Sleepwalker spat contemptuously. "I was not responsible for whatever trauma the Chain Gang suffered to fall into his current mental turmoil, and nor was I responsible for his becoming a supervillain! Why, then, do you abuse your personal power and authority to engage in your grievances against me, when your brother was the aggressor?"
"He's my brother," Nighstick, alias David Hayworth, said darkly to his alien foe. "We stick together, that's all that matters."
"Irrespective of such considerations as law and order, and your personal allegiances to the Office of Interrogative Requisitioning?" Sleepwalker demanded, referring to the government agency Nightstick worked for as part of the Thought Police.
"We're going to kill you," Nightstick replied, his voice becoming cold as ice. "Colonel O'Brien won't give a damn if you live or die. No matter what happens, we're going to kill you. I have powerful friends."
"As do I," Sleepwalker bluntly replied, not giving an inch. "As I understand it, the Fantastic Four is owed many favors by the American government and other powerful institutions for the invaluable services it has rendered them over the years. I have no doubt that my ally Benjamin Grimm, alias the Thing, would be interested to know of your assaults upon my person."
David Hayworth only snorted at this.
"Yeah, I'd like to see that orange pile of ballast try," he scoffed. "So what are you going to do now? Can't take us to the police, can you?"
Sleepwalker offered no response, save to drag Nightstick into a pile with Cuffs and Wiretap, who he bound all together with Nightstick's warped batons, even as he stripped Cuffs and Wiretap of their equipment, shredding it with his warp beams even as he contemptuously picked the Thought Police up and carried them several kilometers to the nearest garbage dump, where he promptly threw them onto a pile of rancid, frozen garbage.
Perhaps it is only fitting, Sleepwalker reflected ironically, that they are thrown in with the remainder of the trash.
(Next Issue: Rick's life seems to return to normal, as he resumes his classes and begins work at the Daily Bugle. However, as Julia continues her investigation of Pruitt Enterprises, aided by Daily Bugle intern Phil Urich, her shocking findings put her life in mortal danger, even as the rainbow revolutionary Spectra escapes from prison and resumes a crime spree to finance her revolutionary activities! Sleepwalker emerges to confront her, but his actions lead to serious unforeseen consequences for Rick! All this and more in Sleepwalker #33: The Color of Hate!)