A Tale of the Marvel Universe
by DarkMark
Part 20
The Mandarin gazed at the two faces on the viewscreens before him. He hadn't dealt with either of them before, but if he acknowledged any as his peers, he would have to allow them that honor. Which, of course, he would never admit.
One of them looked like a machine. The other had skin of green and a brow that towered fully fifteen inches from the crown to the bridge of his nose.
Supposedly, Dr. Doom wore his mask of iron to hide a hideously scarred face. That was entirely possible, just as his armor was both defense from the outer world and war machine against it. But from the look of his eyes, the spirit of the machine he wore had affected him as well. It was hard to tell, despite what showed through his eyeslits, that one was dealing with a human inside a metal shell, and not a soulless robot.
The second of his guests-in-communication was no less unsettling. The Leader had once, reportedly, been a normal man, even a stupid one. There had been an accident in a radiation lab, and the normal man had been bathed in gamma rays. Before long, his skin turned permanently green, and his brain grew to hideous proportions. The Mandarin could not comprehend how the bones of the skull, fixed since adulthood, could expand as if by will in order to accomodate the growing brain. But perhaps the Leader's brain controlled the cells of his body to an unheard-of extent. Where the Leader's brain was concerned, anything seemed possible.
"It is agreed, then?" said the Mandarin.
Doom was the one to speak first. "Agreements mean nothing. You will remain aloof from the Fantastic Four. They are my prey, and mine alone. The matter is done."
The Leader said, "I have no interest in the others. My prime target is the Hulk, and those who stand with him. Afterwards, matters may well change."
"As for myself," said the Mandarin, "once I commanded many of those who stand against the Avengers...more importantly, who stand against Iron Man. I will resume command. After all is accomplished, as you say, Leader, things will change. As you say, Doom, the matter is done."
With that, he deactivated the scanners, as he was sure the other two did in their lairs. Plans had to be made for the world after the heroes. War would be made amongst the powers who now ruled, the men such as Doom, the Leader, the Red Skull, and the many others who would command the globe.
Even against the Yellow Claw, and he who commanded the Si-Fan.
Before long, all might be nostalgic for the time in which they had forces of the old order to contend with, instead of each other. But the great general anticipates the winds of change, and trims his sails to deal with it.
The Mandarin made ready his rings for activation. The Masters of Evil, despite their power, were a snake without a head. The head was about to arrive.
-M-
The Grim Reaper had crashed the party and now he was trying to run it. Some objected, mostly the old Masters who hadn't dealt with him. But nobody could deny that he'd brought some new arrivals into the mix, the Lethal Legion whom he had commanded: Power Man, the Man-Ape, the Living Laser. The Swordsman was unavailable, and nobody seemed to miss him, since it was rumored he'd temporarily become an Avenger and fought beside them in Britain. Also, nobody could deny that they needed direction. The last fight with the Avengers, even with surprise reinforcements, hadn't gone well.
"The Avengers are mine," said the Grim Reaper. "They were responsible for my brother's death, and his recasting in an android body, as the Vision. Therefore..."
"Therefore, shut the hell up," muttered Mr. Hyde, who had arrived along with the Cobra and the Grey Gargoyle, all of them foes of Thor and not wanting to miss out on the fun. "I'd take you as a boss like I'd take Casey Stengel in 1962. No offense to the present Mets, of course."
"You dare?" The Reaper raised his scythe, setting it sparking with deadly energy. It was pointed in the trio's general direction.
In response, the Cobra pointed his wrist-weapon. "I don't often use the deadliest venom-darts," he said. "Mostly, I just use the ones that can stun. But if you've ever wondered what it would be like to die from a cobra's bite, Reaper..."
The Grey Gargoyle, a being of living stone, interposed himself between the two of them. "Une momente, mes amis. Before we streak the floor with blood, anyone's coeur, one should remember: despite our numbers, we require all the manpower we can muster. One should not forget, we face not the Avengers alone, but the accursed Asgardian squad, and possibly the Fantastic Quartet and the Nonhumans as well. They have been associating regularly of late, have they not?"
"We'll handle them, if they turn up," snapped the Reaper. "Now step aside, rock head, and let us settle this ourselves."
"That you could settle anything is laughable, idiot," remarked a woman in a form-fitting green suit. "In both your encounters with the Avengers, you failed. I almost killed the lot of them, and, had it not been for a missile malfunction, I would have."
"And if it had not been for an occurrence which placed you in another dimension, dearest, you would have died from those missiles," said an Asian beauty in a red skin-tight outfit. "Or so you told me."
Madame Hydra turned to the other woman. "Irk me, Madame Macabre, and you had best have more than your shrinking toys to help you this time."
From another direction, the Enchantress shot a power-bolt at their feet which toppled both of them onto their rears. "Silence, the both of you," she directed. They obeyed.
"Not bad, witch," said the Wrecker, who was sitting with her and the Executioner at the same table. "But remember: leave Thor to me."
"In thine dreams," muttered the Executioner. "Only in thine dreams, Wrecker."
Others had come to join the Masters of Evil combine, and they sat in groups roughly corresponding to the heroes who were their primary foes. The Spymaster, Jack Frost, the Phantom, and Whiplash were keeping company with the Scarecrow, the Unicorn, the Melter, the Titanium Man, the third Crimson Dynamo, and Dr. Spectrum, all of them enemies of Iron Man. The Tumbler, the Planner, Dr. Faustus, and Man-Brute were joined with Nighthawk, representing the anti-Captain America faction. Ant-Man and the Wasp couldn't boast as big a following, but it did include the Whirlwind, Egghead, the Magician, and Madame Macabre, who was getting up off her backside. Thor's enemies were divided into the Asgardians (plus the Wrecker, whose power was Nornish in origin), the regular crew of the Cobra, Hyde, the Grey Gargoyle, and the Radioactive Man, plus Hyperion, who stood by himself. The others included the Whizzer, Klaw, Power Man, Man-Ape, Hammerhead, Pile-Driver, Thunderboot, and Kronus, and the lot of them had to be quartered in an abandoned lair of AIM. Everyone agreed that it was lucky they didn't have to remain hidden much longer than they did.
"And exactly how are we to decide this question?" sneered Egghead, over a mug of Pabst's. "Appoint one of us as management, have the rest form a union, and then see which breaks the other's neck first?"
"Egg, shut up," advised the Magician. "This is supposed to be a group effort, remember? I wouldn't have come out of retirement for a bitch session."
"You shouldn't have come out of retirement at all, Maj," said the Whirlwind, behind his iron mask. "Last I heard, the Wasp used a toy robot to tie you up and delivered you to the cops on a kid's wagon."
The Magician stood up, incensed, and went for his wand. He didn't find it. The Whirlwind took one hand from behind his back. "Looking for this?" he said. He was holding the Magician's weapon. The man in the top hat yelped and lurched across the table, grabbing for it. The Whirlwind held it away from him for all of a second.
That was when he noticed he wasn't holding the wand, either.
The Whizzer, clear across the room, grinned and held the wand in his grasp now. "Come and get it, turtlefoot," he dared.
By now, the Whirlwind was as mad as the Magician had been. This was more than a joke, it was a slur on his speed. He shoved the table aside, upsetting the Egghead's beer and the Egghead (and the Magician), and made ready to spin into action. But a crystalline, transparent, six-sided block appeared about him, and the former Human Top found himself unable to punch or kick through its walls. Beyond it, Dr. Spectrum was visible, holding up his glowing gem.
"Whizzer," said Spectrum, "give the Magician back his wand."
"Aw, Doc," simpered the Whizzer. "I was only..."
"Give it back. Now."
Grudgingly, the yellow-and-blue-clad Squadron Sinister member handed the Magician back his trick wand. The Magician resisted an impulse to strike him across the face with it. Spectrum didn't let down the restraining block on the Whirlwind, though. That would've been too chancy.
The Planner looked across his table at Dr. Faustus, and both of them communicated without a word. They wished they'd never gotten into the thing in the first place. But it was too late for those sentiments by now.
The Grim Reaper, in his black costume with the long cape and the metal scythe fixed to his hand, was still ranting. "You see? This is the reason why we need leadership. The internal battling, the conflicts of ego. First, there was Zemo, the organizer of the Masters, and he died fighting Captain America."
"Really," said the Melter.
"I would simply never have guessed," responded the Radioactive Man.
"Then the Crimson Cowl reformed the band," the Reaper continued, "but he was inadequate. First, he was a robot..."
"You discriminatin' against robots, now, pally?" joked Hammerhead, whose metal headpiece, designed by the Mad Thinker, gave him his name. "A fine thing to say about Automated Americans."
"...then, he let in the Black Knight, who was a traitor to the cause," finished the Reaper.
"So let's not mention the Swordsman, shall we?", the Porcupine injected with sly venom.
Power Man leaned over. "Nobody cuts my pal Sword down, Porky. Even if he did cross the line once or twice. Shut your face."
"I am the one with leadership abilities here," said the Reaper. "I have already led the Lethal Legion into battle, and almost destroyed the Avengers."
"All of once," Batroc observed, laconically. "And should you be speaking of leadership, ever hear of Batroc's Brigade?"
Whiplash toyed with his weapon. "Or should I respect a 'leader' before I see how he stands up to my whip?"
The Grim Reaper brandished his scythe once again. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order, then. En garde, Whiplash."
Before anything could be settled in that sort of manner, something else intervened. It was the appearance from sub-space of a man familiar to all too many of those present. Said appearance looked like a being unfolding itself from nothingness, as if by magic, but it was really due to the technology of a long-gone alien race, one of whose spaceships had crashed in ancient China.
Another example of that technology was the ten rings the new arrival wore on his fingers. He pointed a certain one of them on his right hand at the Grim Reaper, who wore a surprised expression. A beam shot forth from the ring. It enveloped the Reaper in its wake and created an immense amount of steam and a horrible smell.
When it had passed, the Reaper was gone.
The Mandarin let the silence hang for a moment. Then he said, in a voice that carried to the entire room, "You have been seeking a leader. He has come."
When nobody contradicted him, he added, "Let us now get to work."
-M-
PARKER
So there I was, skulking my way out of a murder scene, trying like blazes not to get noticed. Despite anything you may have heard to the contrary, that ain't easy when you're wearing a red-and-blue Spidey uniform. But I did my best, and had my spider-sense turned up on 10.5, so it managed to work.
One of the best ways to travel if you're a superhero and can't fly is by bus. That is, if you can use the Spider-Man method. I swung over to the local Greyhound depot, waited till I saw a bus going in the right direction, and hopped on top of it. I could manage that with only a small amount of noise...a muffled thump that I hoped would be chalked up to one biiiiig bird overhead...and I just kept spread-eagled, or spread-spidered, over the roof on my way back to NYC.
It took a few changes of vehicle before I got within swinging distance of the Apple, but once I was in them old concrete canyons, I was home and webslingin' and I didn't care if J. Jonah Jameson or J. Edgar Hoover even knew about it. But don't think I didn't have the scene from the Gilbert residence in the back of my mind, all the way. I shouldn't use that phrase...it reminds me of what Mr. Gilbert ended up with in the back of his head.
Well. I've got a way of getting into empty offices and using phones when nobody's around, and I made it a point to call home. I let the phone ring a dozen and a half times. No answer. The Spidey-sense was giving me a mild tingle. I thought about going home right then. But it hadn't been the first time Gwen had been out at night, usually just down to the local Hardee's (don't tell her I told you that), and I needed to get hold of Dr. Strange. He has a number, too, but it's unlisted and I didn't know it. So the only way there was by web express.
Somebody or other must have been watching for me. Maybe it was one of those geeks like Mentallo, who could read minds, or could cast psychic nets or something. Psychic nets...sounds like something you dial up for in Maine on late-night TV. Well, I never did find out what caused what happened. Maybe they were just keeping their eyes peeled really well that night.
Whatever the case, I wasn't too far from the Village, under 10 miles, I'd say, when all of a sudden my spider-sense gave me the third alarm. I looked up and I got dive-bombed by a couple of feet attached to a body attached to a pair of wings that were so silent, so new and improved, that even I couldn't hear 'em when they flapped. And the dive-bombing hurt, let me tell you.
It was the Vulture. The old one, the one who created the wings and the magnetic gimmick that let him fly.
He said something, but I wasn't concentrating on it. I had an aching head, and I was busy shooting out webs in two opposite directions and grabbing onto the ends. They stuck to two adjacent buildings, and I stopped my fall that way. The Vulture was still coming at me. So I bounced a little, used the webs' elastic properties, and flung myself up and over him.
I ended up on his back. It was an old trick, but it still worked.
Vulch reached up, cussed, and tried to grab me. I twisted his arm behind his back, put my other arm around his neck, and told him he'd better be able to fly with one arm, or we were gonna be side-by-side grease spots. He picked out a building with a water tower to land on, and I should have twigged to it right then. As a matter of fact, my Spidey-sense was blasting, but I didn't know what about.
Out from behind that water tower came a blunt object made out of hardened sand. I was fast enough to drag up Vulch and put him in front of me so that he took it in the face. I think it rearranged his nose somewhat, and he was out for the count. The Sandman started coming around the back of the tower, and the top of it lifted off. It was being lifted by a couple of jointed metal arms.
There was also some familiar smoke starting to issue from the inside of the tower.
Taking the better part of discretion, I said, "Bye, guys!", and hightailed it. I chanced a look behind me. A whole bunch of baddies were coming in my direction. Doc Ock, Sandman, Kraven, the Shocker, the Beetle, Mysterio, you name it. Everybody but Bert Parks.
I put the old web-slinger in high gear and hoped that the Doc would have some industrial-strength spells lying around, and that I'd get there in time for him to use them.
-M-
The Defenders were held tight in bands of silvery energy created by the Absorbing Man, who was wearing a silver sheath similar to the Surfer's, and reinforced by the magic of Baron Mordo. Considering they were restraining the Hulk, the Sub-Mariner, Dr. Strange, and the Silver Surfer himself, that was no small job. The Surfer's board hung in stasis, paralyzed by the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak. Dr. Strange's amulet was covered by the silver band across his chest, and he was unable to use it to melt through his bonds.
Clea and Wong, bound by more conventional ropes, looked on more-or-less helplessly. Mordo, the Absorbing Man, Tiger Shark, and the Abomination had won by the strength of surprise more than anything else. But they had won.
Now, the Ministers of Menace were contemplating the downed Defenders.
Sub-Mariner surged against his bonds, but they held fast. "The surface men will know," he muttered. "You have revealed our existence today. Their police will be alerted."
"Ooh, I am so petrified," grinned the Absorbing Man, hefting his silver-hued ball and chain. "They might even try to take us to jail or something. With those big, big guns of theirs."
"Silence, Creel," snapped Mordo. "We shall be long gone before the arrival of the police. So will Strange and his fools, thankfully."
"Great!" The Abomination cracked his green knuckles. "I get to rip the Hulk's head off!"
The Hulk growled and gave his foe a look that made him hesitate, bound though the Green Goliath might be.
The Silver Surfer said, "You may hold the Power Cosmic, but you cannot master it. Its power is beyond your body. It will burn you like a flame within paper, unless you relinquish it soon."
"Won't take that long, Surfey," said Tiger Shark, leaning against a doorjamb. "Won't take that long at all."
Clea tried to stand up, failed, and said, "Many mightier than you have tried, Mordo, and all of them have failed. Including Dormammu. Including Umar. Including—yourself."
Mordo spared her a glance. "Oh, spare me, woman. After the initial festivities, I'll probably have the Abomination crush both your skulls. We need nothing so artistic with you two."
"You don't need anything artistic with these punks, either," said the Abomination, flexing his hands. "Let me do 'em, Baron. Nobody comes back from a busted head."
"As I shall demonstrate with you, given time," said the Sub-Mariner, defiantly.
"Him, I'm not gonna miss at all," said Tiger Shark.
The Absorbing Man nodded towards Dr. Strange, who was slumping in his bands. "Why ain't he saying anything?"
Mordo stepped to his age-old foe, examining him closely. "Simple. Strange has resorted to his ectoplasmic form. Doesn't worry me in the least."
"Doesn't?"
"Not a bit. His spirit cannot survive over 24 hours without a body. Within ten minutes, I'm going to deprive him, and the others, of that."
"Now we're talkin'," said the Abomination.
"No," said Mordo. "Now, I will talk. And the rest of you will keep silent. I shall create a dimensional portal, extend it around them up to their waists...and then...close it."
"Close it?" Tiger Shark rubbed his chin. "Sounds kinda...juicy."
"Not even the Hulk or the Surfer can defy natural laws," proclaimed Mordo. "It will cut them in twain as surely as the blade of a guillotine." He turned to Wong and Clea. "And just think. The two of you get to watch."
Then Mordo stretched forth his hands, began to chant, and the air took on a different ambience.
Even the other villains were smart enough to be scared.
-M-
PARKER
You think it's easy swinging ten miles or so through the skies with about a dozen of your worst enemies in pursuit? Like fun it is, kids. I was dodging electric bolts, Mysterio's gimmicks, Shocker's blasts, Doc Ock's arms, and Sandman's sand all up and down the place. In and out of the concrete canyons, on the street, among the cabs, through an office building, and all over the place. Onward. Ever onward.
If the guy with the red cape wasn't in, I was in for a helluva fight.
It was about two miles out, I guess, when I heard something in my mind. I heard it just before I saw a ghost floating beside me, keeping pace with me.
The ghost was Dr. Strange. More specifically, it was his ectoplasmic form. You see, Strange had this trick of projecting his spirit out of his body. It still had a degree of magic power, and could make itself visible to people when he chose to. He chose to make it visible to me.
I darn near dropped the end of the web I was holding onto.
Spider-Man,> he said in my mind. I need your aid.>
"Thanks," I think I said. "But there's this minor matter of about a dozen bad guys chasing me, and I was hoping you could help with that."
Would a delaying tactic work?> he asked.
I said I hoped it'd be a little more permanent than that. But Strange said that wasn't his style, and he flew past me to face the Sinister Sixteen, or whatever they were calling themselves. He probably muttered some mystic incantation, but I didn't hear it in my ears or my brain. I heard one of Electro's bolts go cracklin' by my ear. I kept swinging.
After a few seconds, I didn't hear anything being thrown at me, which was unusual right then.
The ghost of Doc Strange caught up to me. I asked him what he did. He just said that they'd be a bit too stupefied to chase me for a few minutes. "So what happens after that?" I said.
Well,> he said, you'll either have helped save me and my allies, and we'll help you with your enemies. Or we're all be dead, and you'll be on your own.>
"Lead on, MacDuff," I said. "I'm kinda hazy on your address. By the way, who's the nasties you want me to help with?"
The Abomination, the Absorbing Man, and a couple you wouldn't know,> he said.
I don't know if I said anything after that. I don't know that it would've made a whole lot of difference if I did.
I just kept swinging.
-M-
The three other Ministers of Menace were backed against a wall as Mordo formed a hole between dimensions. It was roughly oval, hard to perceive all at once, and hurt the eyes to look upon. An odor of ozone overpowered the incense in Strange's brownstone. The oval was formed about the midsections of the trapped Defenders.
Wong and Clea had tried to roll themselves forward, but the Absorbing Man had used some Power Cosmic to make them stick to the wall behind them. All they could do was watch, like the three of Mordo's minions. The girl from Dormammu's dimension was shedding tears of agony. She was going to watch her man Strange murdered before her eyes. And there was nothing she could do about it.
The oval ring was almost totally formed. Finally, Mordo looked up at his four trapped foes and smiled. "It's finished," he said.
"Not while one of us, or one of our allies, still lives," seethed Namor.
"In that case, the problem's going to be in your allies' hands within a minute," said Mordo, raising his hands again. "A pity Strange isn't conscious to see this, but one can't have everything. Well, not for awhile, at least. Farewell, all four of you."
"Do it, Baron, do it!" urged the Abomination.
Mordo was about to oblige.
That is, before a web shot out and fastened itself around his face.
The black magician grabbed the strange caul with both hands, which became irresistibly stuck to the webbing, and fumbled with it, staggering and making muffled cries. The other three villains were stilled by surprise.
An instant later, a red-and-blue thunderbolt hurtled down the stairway to the second floor and tackled Baron Mordo about the middle from behind, slamming him into the oval ring and causing it to explode in a shower of mystic energy.
"One web facial," said the newcomer, "courtesy of your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."
Mordo sprawled motionless on the rug. Wong and Clea's expressions became suffused with hope. Tiger Shark sprang forward, grabbing for Spider-Man's ankle, and missed. Strange had told Spider-Man what to do, and approximately how long he would have to do it. Even with spider-speed, it was a close shave.
But he did manage to grab Strange's shirt and yank it up from below the silver band that covered it, so that the Amulet of Agomotto was exposed once again. The Hulk, the Sub-Mariner, and the Surfer looked on in amazement.
Tiger Shark got Spider-Man in a death grip from behind and began wrenching his head in a certain way. "Wise guy," was all he deigned to say.
Dr. Strange opened his eyes.
A beam of yellow light shot out from his amulet, hitting Tiger Shark in the eyes and immobilizing him. The Hulk roared, straining against his bonds. The Absorbing Man raised one hand and sent a bolt of destructive energy coruscating towards the heroes.
The Amulet took in the bolt, redirected it, channeled it into the Surfer's body. The Power Cosmic began to swiftly drain from the Absorbing Man's body. His flesh swiftly changed back to its normal color. He really should have had more time to contemplate what had become of him. But a flying silver board smashed into him from behind, knocking him colder than ice.
With a burst of sparking power that truly awed Spider-Man, the Silver Surfer blasted the silvery bonds to nothingness. He stood there, one hand raised in triumph and resolution.
The Abomination decided that a leap through the ceiling and through Strange's funky sunlight window might be in his best interests, but he never got that far. The Hulk grabbed him, threw him down on the floor, and pounded him repeatedly until both fell through the floor into the basement. Sounds of repeated pounding, and dust, rose from the hole.
Spider-Man ventured to say something. "How long will we have to listen to that?"
"Probably not much longer," said Namor.
A few seconds later, the Hulk heaved himself over the edge of the hole, looking a bit more satisfied. "Web-Man," he observed. "Hulk has seen Web-Man before."
Spidey spread his hands. "Hey, not me. It was just my stunt-double, Hulky. Honest."
Dr. Strange lay his hand on the Hulk's shoulder. "Spider-Man is our friend, Hulk. He came to free us, and to let you fight the Abomination?"
"He got the Hulk a fight?"
Strange nodded.
Hulk considered it. "All right. Web-Man is friend. For now."
"That's good to know, under the circumstances," said Strange. "Because, unless I miss my guess..."
The front door, which had been rehung by the Absorbing Man, fell inward again under the pressure of three metal arms. Dr. Octopus stood framed there, and surged forward, backed up by the Sandman, the Shocker, and several other miscreants. All he saw at first was his familiar, arachnid adversary.
"At last, Spider-Man," breathed Octopus. "You may have delayed us, but you'll never deter us. Nothing can stop the vengeance of..."
"Uh, Doc..." said the Sandman.
Spider-Man wasn't moving. Octopus rushed forward. About five feet away from his enemy, Doc Ock finally perceived a huge form looming over Spider-Man's shoulder.
The form was green and not looking too pleased.
"Uh, yes," stammered Octopus, halting in his tracks and beginning to back up. "As I was about to say...we can wait on our vengeance...just a bit, you understand...just, uh, a day or two, perhaps..."
Then he turned and bolted for the door, right behind Electro, Mysterio, Sandman, and all the rest.
Strange, Spider-Man and the Hulk looked out the doorspace until the motley crew of villains were out of sight. It didn't take long.
"Well, Spider-Man," said Strange, turning to his ally, "tell me: what's on your mind?"
-M-
Things were happening in Washington, D. C.
A sizeable contingent of protesters converged on the Pentagon, and they weren't chanting "Out, Demon, Out!" this time. They were on the march. National Guardsmen came out to block them. The protestors pulled out high-tech weaponry and fired. Not everyone in the throng knew what kind of heat the shooters were packing, and they tried to flee, but there were too many in the close-packed mob to do that easily.
Guardsmen went down, dead. Some who remained stood at attention. Others panicked. It wasn't clear who returned fire first.
Really, it didn't matter.
There were over a score dead, some on both sides, when the smoke began to clear. At least fifty others had been wounded. The protesters who remained tried to fan out to what passed for the tall timber. Some Guardsmen fired on them. Other Guardsmen clubbed down the ones who fired, or ordered them to stop and were obeyed.
It made Kent State look like a cakewalk.
-M-
In the Oval Office, several men watched the scene on a special video feed. The man in the seat scratched his stubbled chin and whispered, "My God," several times.
"Such a tragedy," said the man with the German accent, sincerely. "Such...insanity."
"I knew it'd come to this," said the vice-president. "I always knew..."
"Spiro, shut up," snapped the president. "Do you think I wanted this? Do you ever think I wanted this? This is...this is..."
The Secretary of State waited, then said, "Perhaps you should make an address, Mr. President."
"Do you think I could keep from making one, Henry? I'll go on the air in an hour, if we can make it. I...oh, [expletive deleted]. It's falling apart. It's all falling apart."
The vice-president said, simply, "All of it, sir?"
The president looked up and nodded. "America."
-M-
The Black Widow hung up the phone. "All right. Fury says he'll check into it."
"Wouldn't expect him to do anything less," said Daredevil. "What about helping us?"
"He says he's got his hands full, but as soon as possible, he'll see about lending a hand."
Ivan Petrov leaned against the wall, unpleased. "So this entire city falls under the command of the Purple Man, just because Nick Fury has problems with a bunch of dissidents?"
DD pulled the mask off his face, shoving it back so that it hung off the back of his costume. "In case you haven't been watching more of the news than that, Ivan, there's been civil unrest in numerous places, even bloodshed. Race riots, revolutionaries, the whole nine yards. Plus super-villain groups, like the one we've been engaging, are popping up all over the country. SHIELD is mostly leaving the super-baddies to super-heroes. Like us."
Ivan sneered. "Like you and Natasha. I don't need a costume to do my work."
"Also, we are super-heroes in name only, Matt," prompted the Widow.
Daredevil smiled wryly. "My radar sense doesn't count, then?"
"It counts for a lot. But up against opponents like these, we need allies like Thor, Iron Man, the Thing...even Spider-Man would be of help. Both of us only have normal power levels."
"Normal power levels, and brains, have been enough to get us by before, Natasha. They'll suffice again. All we have to do is figure out the right way to take out the Purple Man, and the rest we can handle."
Slowly, Natasha Romanoff said, "Perhaps the proper way is to take him out altogether."
"Don't tell me you said what I think you just said." Matt faced her with unseeing eyes, but she knew he wasn't missing anything.
"You would know if I spoke a lie," Natasha answered. Even Ivan kept his peace.
"Yes," said Matt, quietly. "I would. But heroes don't kill."
"Oh? Then what would you call the many who died at Stalingrad, or Normandy? Arch-villains?" She shook her red mane of hair. "Matt, there are sometimes when killing is justified."
"And this is not one of those times, Natasha," Matt replied. He moved closer to her. "We may be vigilantes. But we're not lawbreakers. Even criminals, even the Purple Man, has rights. We can apprehend him, but not kill him."
"Are you sure?" She put her hands on her hips. "Would he show us the same consideration? Would he hesitate to place the innocents he's enslaved out of harm's way?"
"Of course not. That's why he's a villain, and we're heroes."
The Widow nodded. "True, up to a point. But if we fail, the police will try every means to bring him down. Including the use of deadly force...sharpshooters, for example."
"They will."
"So why, then?"
"Because of morality. Because of civilization. And not the least, because of the law." A heartbeat or two, then: "Not long ago, you were accused of murder, Natasha. Are you willing to have them give it another go? This time, with justification?"
"You know better," said the Widow.
"Then why did you bring all that up?"
"Because I had to make certain just where we were prepared to draw the line."
He smiled and grasped her shoulders. "That's good, Natasha. That's very good. Now, we can get down to the plan."
"You have a plan?"
"Have you ever known me not to?"
Ivan Petrov watched the both of them, and maintained his silence. He would never take part in such a debate. Though he was a moral man, his morality was of necessity much starker than Matt Murdock's, perhaps even starker than Natasha's. He had been at Stalingrad during the Great Patriotic War. He had seen the bodies pile up on both sides, and had contributed some to the opposing side, personally.
And if he had to do it again, in the war they had at hand, there was a reason he still carried a gun.
-M-
Spider-Man had just finished telling Dr. Strange and his Defenders, whose existence he had never suspected until today, about his meeting with Nick Fury, his session in the ESP chamber, and the murder scene he had recently vacated, as well as his pursuit by Doctor Octopus and his comrades. While speaking, Spidey had made sure that there was a doorway behind him, and that the Hulk wasn't between him and it.
Strange was sitting in an ornately carved chair, Clea behind him and Wong serving tea. He stroked his chin and finally answered, "Intriguing. Most intriguing."
"Doc, along with your other titles, you can call yourself the Emir of Understatement," Spider-Man said. "But I figured if anybody could figure things out, you could. I just didn't think you'd be taking in roomies."
Clea smiled. Namor's mouth twitched a bit. The Surfer remained impassionate. The Hulk only sat and bided time, which was fine with everybody else.
"We are only allies, Spider-Man," explained Dr. Strange. "The Defenders are a much looser organization than the Avengers. Considering the legal status of three of us, we also prefer secrecy. But, when we have to, we operate together most efficiently."
"Except, perhaps, for tonight," noted the Sub-Mariner.
The Surfer, holding his board in one hand, mused, "As little as I know of humanity, the pattern here is still striking. The internal strife, the massing of super-villains in quasi-military units, and the two murders that Spider-Man described...all seem to have a common center. All parts of the same web."
"Thanks for the plug, Surfer, I think," said Spider-Man. "Glad we're back on better terms, too."
"My apologies," said the Surfer. "It was a misunderstanding. But then again, there have been so many of those." The last time the Surfer and Spider-Man met, they'd gotten into a fight. But that was practically standard operating procedure for super-heroes, when they first encountered each other.
"A conspiracy," declared Namor. "A conspiracy which ranges not only over this land, but below the sea as well. Super-villain against super-hero, with naught but mayhem as a motive, except for Byrrah's attempt on my homeland."
"That had to be part of it, too," said Spider-Man. "These things are just happening too close together."
Dr. Strange said, "Such as the two killings at the house you visited. Such as the fact that your enemies easily found you in transit from there to here. But what they could not know is that I have been partnered with the Hulk, Namor, and the Surfer here. Indeed, the hand of a master is behind all this."
Namor said, "Most likely, the armored hand of Doctor Doom. Only he could organize such an effort."
Strange shook his head. "No, my friend. Possible, but doubtful. Doom rarely works with allies, and never more than a few, at best, according to what Reed Richards has told me. Most likely, the key to the mystery lies with the two victims Spider-Man found in that house."
"Who were they?" asked Clea.
"Good question," acknowledged the sorcerer. "Perhaps we should ask our guests."
At that, the Hulk raised his head. "Does Magician want Hulk to make Green One talk?"
Strange got up and walked towards the Hulk, smiling. "No, Hulk. The Abomination might not know what we want. I suspect the answers lie with Baron Mordo, my own enemy."
"Good!" Hulk ground one hand into his other palm. "Then Hulk will make him talk!"
"Uh, that will not be necessary, Hulk," said Strange, placatingly. Spider-Man let out a sigh of relief.
The Hulk looked disgusted. "Magician never lets Hulk have fun. Hulk ought to get up and go home."
Namor responded, "Hulk, if we are correct, there should be much more fighting for all of us before very long. Will that suffice?"
"More fighting?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Good!" The Hulk grinned. "Then Hulk will stay."
Clea and the Surfer exchanged glances. Wong remained poker-faced.
"Uh, Doc," said Spider-Man. "Questioning this Mordo guy. Isn't that likely to be, well, a little dangerous?"
"Always," said Dr. Strange. "But it is the only way. How long will your webbing last?"
"About an hour. Then it melts."
"Should be only a matter of minutes, then," said Strange. They waited.
PARKER
While I waited, I thought about calling Gwen. She hadn't been pleased with me webbing shut the window. She hadn't been pleased with me galvanting off in my Spidey suit. She let me know all about it. And maybe that was the reason why I didn't call her. That and the fact that I was in Dr. Strange's house, with three guys who weren't exactly known to the Western world for being on the right side of the law, and four others that were known for always being on the wrong side of it. Even for me, it was weirdness to the nth degree.
I also didn't want to ask Strange where his phone was. So I didn't call home.
Big, bad mistake. Really bad mistake.
To the nth of the nth degree.
-M-
Nick Fury lit another cheroot in the lighter built into his command desk. Dum Dum Dugan and Gabe Jones were sitting with him, not saying anything. But they, too, had overhead his conversation with the Black Widow. Fury leaned back, took a couple of puffs, and pressed another button on his desk. The microphone on which he had taken the Widow's call was routed to another receiver. When he heard the connection opening, Fury didn't wait for the man on the other end.
"Kid. This is Nick Fury. What've you got?"
"Uh. Nick. I'm with some friends."
"In Greenwich Village? That's where your unit shows you're at."
"Well, yes."
"Doc Strange?"
"How'd you know about him?"
"We know a lot, kid. What's going on?"
"Intercepted an ambush. I helped them get out of it."
"Them?"
"Doc and his friends."
"Oh. Anything else?"
"The Doctor's about to grill one of his old enemies. Baron Something-or-other. Know him?"
"Not sure. Not Strucker or Klaue?"
"Uh, just a second. Doc, is this guy named Strucker or Klaue? No, he says he's not, and he wants to know who I'm talking to. Can I say?"
"No."
"All right."
"Can you get me up to the grill session so's I know what this guy is saying?"
"Just a minute. Doc. The guy I'm talking to would like to...oh. Well, I'm not sure. Hang on. Uh, sir?"
"Yeah, kid?"
"The doctor says he won't let you hear it unless he knows who's on the other end of the line."
"All right, dammit, put me through. Strange, is that you?"
"With whom am I speaking?"
"Colonel Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD. I want to know what the Sam Hill is going on down there."
"I am about to try to obtain information from an old acquaintance. Now, if you will excuse me..."
"Listen, Strange. I've got a man in Sick Bay who damn near died when somebody tried to cut off his arm with an AIM blaster. Spider-Man's been working with me for the last few hours. I gotta hunch that your war and mine are connected. Savvy?"
"I'll acknowledge the possibility."
"You'll do a helluva lot more than that. I want to hear you question that man. Is he a German?"
"No. Transylvanian."
"Is he with HYDRA?"
"I would tend to doubt it."
"Well, all right, Strange. I want to know who's behind it...who gave out the weapon that almost killed my man. If you trade with me, I'll trade with you."
"What do you have to trade, Colonel Fury?"
"Ask him about Fire."
"About fire?"
"Go ahead and ask him. Strange? You there?"
"Uh, Colonel? This is Spider-Man again."
"What happened to Strange, kid?"
"He handed me the comm unit and he's in front of the Baron, now. The Baron doesn't have my web all over his face anymore...oh, wow."
"What is it?"
"Doc is using his amulet. You ever seen it, Colonel? He's got a ray shooting out from it and...looks like the Baron's hypnotized, or something. Strange is talking to him."
"Kid. Shut up and get me in close so I can hear!"
"...Mordo. Your will is my will."
"My will is..."
"Say it."
"...yours."
"Very good. Now, in the name of the Seraphim, I command you to reveal what you know of those behind your actions."
"A man. With money."
"What man? What money?"
"Didn't get his name. He didn't leave it. Beard. Almost exiled him to the Dark Dimension. He showed me a million dollars. In a briefcase."
"Why did he do that?"
"He said he wanted me to fight you. Told him I'd do that for free."
"And?"
"He said he wanted me to lead a team of villains, to be one of the point leaders...what he said."
"Did he know about the Defenders?"
"Don't think so. I did. That is why...the Ministers of Menace."
"What of the Fire?"
"Code word."
"What code word?"
"Code word. Fire. If I accepted the deal...I was to dial a number, and give him the code-word. Fire. I'd receive another million, then, for operations. Said...other villains were going to be in on it. If I didn't throw in...someone else might get you."
"Ah. Did he reveal any more of his plan?"
"No."
"And you took him at his word?"
"To kill you, and your Defenders, and make two million dollars...I did not worry about his word."
"I see. Is that the only communication you had with him?"
"Yes."
"Did you know anything of the other villain groups?"
"No."
"Return to your coma."
"...Kid. Let me talk to Strange."
"Okay. Here you go, Doc."
"Yes, Colonel? I trust you heard everything."
"Yeah. What in hell is this 'Defenders'?"
"Never mind that. What more can you tell us about this Fire?"
"Here's what I have. The Black Widow, Daredevil's partner, called me up a few minutes ago and told me what she'd gotten from a friend of hers. A buncha super-ops behind the Iron Curtain got approached by the same kinda recruiter as this Baron guy you were questioning. Same code word...'Fire.'"
"I see."
"So do I. With just one eye."
"What do you wish now, Colonel?"
"There's more. The house that the kid found the two corpses in belonged to Gary Gilbert. You know, the vice-prez of Gilbert Industries."
"I have heard of him. And of his father."
"Well, his dad was one of the stiffs."
"Simon Gilbert? The president of the company?"
"Yeah."
"What of the other?"
"We ran a make on him. Name's David Graine. Known radical, past SDS member, into some pretty shady territory on the Far Left. Deader than hell. But the bullet that killed Gilbert came from his gun. The one that killed Graine came from another piece. We don't know whose."
"Perhaps..."
"No perhapsing yet. But we haven't found Gary Gilbert yet. Don't know which end of this he's in, whether he's dead or alive, or much of anything else. I could use a hand, Strange. Even one like yours."
"What do you mean, 'even one like yours', Colonel?"
"Don't put much stock in your trade. Hocus-pocus and all that. But I'm lookin' for help everywhere these days. Ask the kid."
"Well, Colonel, indeed we might agree to..."
"Strange! Beware. A noise outside the door..."
"What?"
"Strange? Hey, Strange? Who was that, anyway? Who..."
(SFX: Huge explosion.)
"Strange? Strange? Kid? Anybody? If anybody's there...hello? Do you copy? Is anybody there? Hello?"
Nick Fury shut off the communicator. He looked at Dum Dum and Gabe, grimly.
"Orders, Colonel?" said Gabe, gently.
"Get the Heli-Carrier over Greenwich Village," said Fury. "And see if there's any pieces big enough to recognize."
To be continued...