And so, I finally say it: I don't own these characters. Even the characters not yet seen in this context, like Paste Pot Pete, Radioactive Man, and that mysterious terrorist called Zemo? I don't own them. I was pre-empted by those jerks at Marvel Comics, who are going to try and sue me when this is all over and done with.
Also, this was an attempt at writing about the Ultimate version of the Masters of Evil, but it seems that Marvel got the same idea, because the current Ultimates arc(which will probably be over by the time you read this, but never mind) is about a team of 'anti-Ultimates', super-terrorists to their super-soldiers.
"Radioactive Man?" said Sue, and laughed. "Damn, when that guy gets out, Matt Groening is going to sue the pants off this guy."
"Yeah," said Johnny," looking at the Triskelion. "So, when are you guys going in?"
"You're not going?" said Sue in surprise. "I would have thought that we'd have to hold you back."
Johnny snorted. "Pfft. Dad already told me that that thing's already fireproof. What am I going to do, melt it? Nah, you guys can handle this, just let – "
"Oh, I'm not going in either," said Sue. "Paste Pot Pete said he needed a biologist to calculate all the science-stuff he couldn't handle. Basically, its just Ben, Wasp, Thor Iron Man, Quicksilver, Scarlet Witch, and Reed."
"Hell of a 'just', Ms. Storm," said Agent Carter, looking up from her desk. "So what have you got?"
"Oh," said Sue, reaching for her file, "Pete and I have come up with this formula which should blow a big enough hole for long enough to get everyone in. All we need are some explosive devices and some people to run through."
"Well, I can get you both those," said Agent Carter. As they came out of the tent, she looked at the crowd at the gates. "Damn news media, you never know who's watching."
In a room far away, Zemo watched events unfold on a little screen. All was going according to plan. The heroes might get in, but they wouldn't get out. His augmented mercenaries would see to that. And Pilot would see to them.
He remembered the first time he'd met Pilot, over eighty years before. He'd been a retainer to his father, just as had his family for as far back as both families had existed. But such was not for Zemo. In the rebellious phase all young people go through, he had tried to stop his father. And, since his father's life's work was the infiltration of the humans' civil systems, he had worked to divert and destroy them. It had become his life's work, and he had been damn good at it. But then: the invasion, the strike, the counterstrike. His father Herr Kleiser had been incapacitated, perhaps even killed by these people, and for the first time in his life, he and his father were united in their hatred of a group. Pilot had found him, convinced him of his filial duties, and with several bank access codes, they were begun…
"Is there something you would like, sir?" said the orderly, snapping him out of his reverie.
"Yes, thank you," said Zemo. "Could you turn up the volume on the television and bring me some lunch?"
