Author's Note:
I confess would like to see a season four that was a bit more like TOS, in that I.R. doesn't necessarily realize there's someone acting against them, and indeed, isn't necessarily acting against them as obsessively as the Hood in TAG does. By the end, as much as the comic fan in me appreciate the Superman - Lex Luthor allusion, the Hood's obsession with I.R. was getting a bit boring.
"Well, this is gratifying," the Hood gloated as the escape vehicle lifted off and left the GDF pursuers in the dust, "I hadn't even organized an escape just yet."
"Yeah, but we left Fuse behind," Havoc fretted, looking back as if she could actually see her brother fading into the distance.
"He's probably better off where he is," a voice with an accent that Havoc couldn't quite place said, as a figure came out of the shadows, a handsome young man with thick black hair, in an expensive tailored suit. He looked a bit familiar to Havoc.
"Another welcome surprise, my son," the Hood genuinely sounded pleased, and yes, he was genuinely smiling.
"Father," the man opened his arms, and the Hood stepped into the embrace. There was a sharp, muffled retort, the Hood stiffened for a moment and sagged. The young man carefully sank down to lay the body on the deck. He placed a small hand gun down beside the body.
Havoc stood there blinking, until it hit it her that the Hood had been shot and now was dead.
The Hood's purported son was resting the Hood's head on his knees, as he deftly swung off his jacket, carefully folded it, and slipped it under the Hood's head as he eased it on the floor. Then he stood and looked at Havoc sadly.
"That was easier to do than I expected."
"You killed him!" Havoc felt a touch dumb, but all she could do was repeat, "you killed him!"
"Yes," he nodded sympathetically, "all things considered, it was for the best. His obsession with International Rescue and Jeff Tracy was beginning to make him the laugh-stock of the criminal underworld."
He tapped his watch, and requested assistance in the hold. Four large burly people in suits almost as expensive and well-tailored as his own came.
"Take my Father's body to the cold storage I have arranged. Gently, and with respect," he emphasized.
"Yes, Sir!"
As they went about their task, he returned his attention to Havoc.
"We have much to discuss," he carefully looped an arm around her waist, not quite touch her, but using it to steer her out of the ship's hold, "I believe you have potential."
Havoc stared at him, trying to resist, but her body just didn't seem to cooperate with her will, and her feet carried her as he directed.
"Your eye…" and she wondered if she had had 'a leash' as the Mechanic had called installed her without knowledge, because one of his eyes was a soft melting dark brown, but the other was the sickly golden green that the Hood had had.
"No, not a cybernetic eye," the man smiled at Havoc, "simply Heterochromia iridum, it runs in my Mother's family. Now…"
"What are you going to do with…" she couldn't bring herself to finish, and then realize maybe she should be interrupting him.
"I can see we're not going to get anywhere until I explain," he said with gentle, unnerving laughter, "my intention is to have a small funeral, then cremate the remains, and scatter the ashes in one of the gardens of my Mother's estate in Indonesia. I truly believe for a short time my Father was actually happy there with us. Then something touched off his obsession again, and, well, we didn't really ever see him again."
"Ah," Havoc nodded, it was going to take a while to sink in. She looked around found they were in a beautiful sitting room, not some she expected to find on something that looked like an air freighter from the outside.
"Now, as I was saying. You have potential, Havoc. A ruthlessness and a sadly under-developed intelligence I believe could be nurtured into something more productive and enriching," he helped her into a chair at a table with tea set out on it, before sitting himself, "I would very much like to help you blossom into the true chaotic goddess you could be."
"What do you get out of it?" she managed to hang on to a small part of her wits.
"I want a very similar goal as my Father once did, without the Thunderbird fixation: Wealth, Power, the World," he grinned, "although I will settle for just the Wealth and the power that comes with that. I plan to be very generous with my allies."
"Okay," she nodded, she would give him a chance, as if she really had a say in the matter, "What do I call you?"
"I am the Black Phantom," he pulled himself up regally, then chuckled, "but you, my lovely Havoc, can call me Sam."
End Note:
The Black Phantom ended up being creepier towards Havoc than I originally intended; maybe he has the supernatural mind-control powers his Father doesn't have.