Chapter 10: Humble Pie
Jason Strongbow slams his fist hard successively on the submersible's steel hull. He would prefer not to pass-out and perish after arduously pulling himself to possible safety. He hammers the hatch, hoping it to open by others' or by his own impetus.
Suddenly, as American Eagle smites, the steel turns inexplicably pliable as if superheated, and the whole hull starts to scintillate like a celestial body. The river water steams and boils. Briefly, Eagle beholds Tigra behind the hatch's glass, and she spots some buff guy banging on the bathyscaphe.
Then, the calescent tub teleports. It takes Necker and Duffy with it. It leaves Strongbow and Nelson in the storm-tossed soup. Eagle would sigh—had he the air. The Cat screeches, underwater, in surprise and frustration. In the gritty, green flowage, Greer grabs Jason's neck nape and swims for the river's surface. One able arm and a wicked whip-kick fight the flooding channel's coursing current until Tigra breaks the bucking waves. Both Jason and Greer gasp for good oxygen as the agitated wash spins them. Gale-force winds fling flotsam from the trees along both banks, and weighty wood wallops the distressed duo in the wild waters.
"Hey! What happened to Old Man River?" American Eagle huffs, "He seems notably narrower in these parts." Old Man River is the Mississippi.
"How should I know?" Tigra hisses in her ally's ear. This evening's enveloping downpour is deafening.
From seemingly nowhere. "Hey! Do you guys need some help?!" someone shouts in the vicinity.
The surfaced superbeings spot several soaked citizens (of somewhere) on a nearby shore. Their presence and proximity are surprises. The Mississippi should be about a mile-wide around these parts. Treading water in the unforgiving flooded flow, super-detective Tigra examines her new environment. Bustling for the bank despite the fierce flow, American Eagle surveys the new surroundings.
"We're in the Illinois River!" Eagle announces to Tigra. He reads a sign on shore.
"You two are in Elsah, Illinois!" informs a Jersey County sheriff's deputy. He lobs a long rope, and Elsah's gathered people pull the line to land. Jason and Greer thank them kindly.
Tigra scratches her chinny-chin-chin, and the Cat conjectures within that Necker's craft made northward from West Alton up the Illinois River. Ever curious, the Cat wonders to what secreted AIM facility Eve ran. But, as heavy rain pelts everyone, the Avenger more immediately wonders why a considerable crowd is out in the weather.
"Say, I appreciate the assistance," Tigra shimmies herself dry (very temporarily), "But, why are you folks out in a flash flood and a terrible tempest?"
"Well, to investigate the plane crash from a moment ago," the deputy hollers. He points-out a sizable fiery object sizzling in the pattering precip over yon. Lightning illuminates and elucidates the object nicely.
Nearby, a Protestant minister pleas, "Plainly, that is not a plane though."
"No, it is a ship that fell from the sky," Tigra assesses, "I was just on that damn thing when it teleported."
"Crikey! You were on that crazy craft?" the reverend queries.
Tigra comments, "Yeah, I was overwhelmed by mad scientist Curtis 'Chemistro' Carr and his crew of corrupt curs. They kidnapped me and would have kept me caged soon in a kennel. But, my catnap concluded before the crumb-bum criminals could deliver me to their fellow dastards."
"Congrats on escaping," the constable compliments coping skills.
The crimefighter continues, "Currently, I would like to pursue the scary creatures on the loose to the south. If I am correct, MODOK, Grey Gargoyle, and Fin Fang Foom might be rampaging through St. Louis right now, causing chaos."
The sopping sleuth is actually all wet. She does not know that it is Zzzax who/what might fry the Lou to a crisp while a commandeered Hulk deconstructs the city.
The deputy's brow creases, "Currently, we can't cart you to St. Louis, by either cop car or even birch canoe. I wish that we could. However, in this crotchety cascade, all thoroughfares are crud. Condolences."
"Crap!" Tigra kicks mud.
The clergy cringes, "Say, we are good Christians around here in Elsah. We do not cotton much to curses—or immodest costumes. Please cover-up." The pastor presents the scantily-clad "sinner" with a poncho.
Greer keeps any crass comebacks to herself, and the feline flaunter flips on the tarp tunic. Close-lipped American Eagle and she creep along with the crowd toward cover. Around them, a damnable deluge cuts the pair from their peers. Across the area, a stupendous storm rages from well north of Elsah to well south of St. Louis, a city for which good Christians should pray.
In St. Louis, a smoldering woman staggers about—astounded and aghast—after teleporting wonkily. Eve Necker weaves toward the wide window before her. She sees the Gateway Arch in the near distance. And, based on view, she seems to be in one of St. Louis' many skyscrapers. The smoking redhead shucks the charred labcoat from her sore, semi-singed body, and she assesses that she suffered slight, but not serious, injury. Seared, her shirt slumps from her shoulders, and her scorched skirt slides past her sinking shabby stockings. Eve steps from her half-disintegrated clothes and stands semi-nude in just satin brassiere and shorts. The window shows the mad scientist her reflection, and she studies the soot sullying alabaster skin and the tactile sting brought about by her heedless machinations.
And, the distinguished Dr. Necker realizes that she is naked. Throughout, the sad sort samples humble pie from her tongue to her gut to her tightening posterior.
But, a foolish ass does not ultimately give a fig. Suppressing shame, Eve simply sets to fetch a bathrobe (like fig leaves) and make big plans. In her mind, the sociopath will be back to sadistic, sick experimentation with cybernetics in no time, and she will make certain superheroes suffer severely. So the egregious narcissist tells herself.
The schemer scans her new setting, and she smiles. To her surprise and satisfaction, Eve recognizes AIM's luxury accommodations. She is somehow in the penthouse atop the Rowen. Smugly, the simpering Scottish scoundrel steps a jig in celebration.
But, just then, the wide window sparkles sublimely with St. Elmo's fire. For a second, Eve ogles the incoming, accumulating energy. A spectacular blue burns fleetingly on the glass between tenebrous thunderclouds and Necker's person before. . . . . Like a bolt from above, Zzzax arrives—blasting vitreous debris inward. The cyclonic concussion sends the psychotic lass sprawling. Eve's shape smacks the suite wall. Two rods away, stupendous sentient static releases a stentorian squall that shakes the chamber and chills the spine. The amped abomination stretches his unnatural arm, snatches Eve's ankle, skids her across the carpet (creating some static), sets a huge hand on her head, stents her cerebrum (through her skull), and obscenely sucks out her psyche! Zzzax can steal psyches by infiltrating brain synapses.
Elsewhere, several miles north, Spider-Woman senses Chemistro in the vicinity. He stirs her psychic awareness. Amidst raucous rain, Arachne quietly approaches her quarry. She soft-steps to one side of a high shipping container. On the opposite side, Chemistro clutches a radioactive shiv, enriched with uranium. It should bite Spider-Woman well. He waits. She stops and scans around. As the two pause, torrential rains wash the boat's topside and them. On wailing winds, curtains of rain cuff Spider-Woman and Chemistro successively.
Suddenly, webbing wraps Carr's head, and Carpenter simply jerks his cranium forcefully against the steel container. Unconscious , the big brain falls. Spider-Woman walks around Chemistro's concealment. She is unsure how to secure the conked criminal. Everything has some chemistry to it. She will just have to quickly conquer the rest of AIM on this crate before Chemistro rouses.
Spider-Woman bounds down the stairs to the belly of the barge. With one kick, she breaks an "impervious" hatch entirely from its hinges. Her fists and feet fleetly flop three flunkies near the breach. A fourth and fifth fire laser guns from down the hallway. Hopping upward, Spider-Woman scuttles along the ceiling until reaching the two troublemakers. She drops; they drop. Julia dashes down the passage, drawing more fire. She easily dodges through it and distracts herself not with small fry. Behind her, she hears an unfortunate ricochet do-in some dunce.
Turning consecutive corners, Spider-Woman canvasses for endangered Avengers. Tigra and U.S. Agent must be here somewhere. Sighing, the heroine wishes that AWOL American Eagle could come to aid the search. Julia wonders where the hell he went. Slouch!
Three AIM agents ambush Spider-Woman. Excitedly, they almost successively activate a sonic device and deploy a strong net. But, Spider-Woman tosses them around and continues touring the ship.
Out of nowhere, Grey Gargoyle attacks. One moment, Spider-Woman slinks along a wall toward a left turn. The next second, a stony right fist punches through paneling. The punch floors the prowler.
"Hah! I hit you, b****!" Grey Gargoyle rips open the remaining wall. He enters the close quarters and clobbers his foe through the wooden wall behind her.
"Hah! I hit back," Spider-Woman karate-chops living concrete. It chips a bit. The champion cracks the calcified cad another one.
In the altercation's area, another petrified party also cracks minutely. A couple rooms over, U.S. Agent stands petrified, literally, not figuratively. But, atom by atom, the resolute warrior fights the effects of Grey Gargoyle's touch. Indomitable will permeates John Walker's body even in this inert state. And, Captain America will not be conquered. Thus, he determinedly thaws the fibers of his being until his fingers tremulously twitch. Walker will soon leave the lab in which Grey Gargoyle left him.
A length away, the French fiend flings things in the boat's galley. Pots, pans, plates, ladles, dish towels, and everything become solid stone projectiles from his hands. Spider-Woman adeptly dances and dodges. At her boots, the ship's steward sneaks-up on her hamstrings with an AIM-enhanced electric knife. He springs. But, a careening crock cracks his poor cranium like a crimson-filled coconut. He croaks right there.
Spinning, Spider-Woman capture's Grey Gargoyle with a web-line. Yanking, she catapults the jerk across the quarters. He crashes through a glass cooler door.
"Ha! Another bad guy in the cooler!" the crimefighter crows.
"What?" the supervillain rises, "That is terrible banter."
"I know, but it distracted you," Julia slams a steel cabinet door into Paul's mug. It imprints over his face. She slugs the door's dent out—sending scamp onto his keister.
Spider-Woman tosses some contents from the cupboard, "Here, Gargoyle, have some cream-filled sponge cakes. You'll get a big delight in every bite."
"I am unsure that they would suit me," the baddie bats the package aside, "I don't think that those things ever fossilize."
Grey Gargoyle's cracks his knuckles like crushed gravel. He gets up. Spider-Woman and he grapple into the adjacent mess hall.
Elsewhere, Wasp watches the rampaging Hulk wreck St. Louis. Like a rogue elephant, the behemoth barrels down I-44 overturning big rigs, bashing cars aside, bucking the pavement, and blaring with rage. Jan ascertains that psychic Zzzax has somehow activated Bruce's worst animus. The beryl, feral brute beats his chest. He bowls over some more traffic. He bounds for Busch Stadium.
Surveying the traffic corridor, Wasp cringes at the chaos and casualties caused in such short time. She considers helping the affected civilians. By landing and enlarging, a Mighty Avenger could appear in their midst and offer direction and a pep talk. But, the Wondrous Wasp needs to sample some humble pie on this one. Emergency sirens already approach in the wailing wind and inundated streets, and those plain folks (and their practical measures) will likely better any little Avenger's (rhetorical) efforts.
Wasp beelines for Busch Stadium. As the sky provides a cold shower, Jan Van Dyne tastes some humble pie again. The thought occurs. No Avenger easily bests the Incredible Hulk, not even Hercules or Thor. Entire teams of Earth's Mightiest have met defeat. Wee Wasp has little chance.
For now, Wasp will have to wing it. She will have to coax and counsel the confused colossus and try killing his rage with kindness. However, Jan just hopes that her summoned back-up arrives soon. Past counselors have been pulverized when attempting gentle pacification of the powerhouse. Daredevil, Dr. Strange, Doc Samson, Black Widow, and Betty Ross (a.k.a. Red She-Hulk) all have the x-rays and used plaster of Paris to show. Wasp shudders.
"Sometimes, a girl needs some help," she admits internally, much as she feels abashed.
Elsewhere nearby, Speed chases living lightning across the St. Louis sky. Shepherd can still spot Zzzax despite the camouflage that active cumulonimbus clouds provide. The creature cruises and coruscates along the frenetic fulguration above. Beneath him, Tommy travels like lightning as well. The two meet at the Missouri Botanical Garden, five miles west of the Rowen.
In a flash, Zzzax strikes Speed in the street. A bolt simply explodes Shaw Boulevard beneath Speed instantly. The surprised sprinter sheers sharp into Shaw's Garden, as the locals call the MBG. He hits a tree and tumbles back. From above, Zzzax zaps Speed again before any evasion. The Living Dynamo descends from his Jovian zenith. Speed zigs away when he should have zagged, and Zzzax seizes the zoomer from the zinnias. Zealously, the awful entity issues sizzling current through the spastic champion. The pie-eyed hero feels somewhat humbled.
"You zit on my arse. I should f****** fry ya!" Zzzax speaks. Shockingly, he sounds exactly like a Scottish woman.
The Whizzer wonders whether Zzzax somehow has acquired Dr. Necker's psyche and if the electric eidolon intends to steal his. But, the speedster is not waiting to find out. He sets his shaky soles.
"I'll z-z-zombify you like I did the ditz-z-z Necker!" Zzzax says in his natural voice—confirming suspicions.
Getting in a zone, the determined dasher zips southeast—Zzzax attached all of the way. Tommy has noticed that the heavy rain disrupts the Living Dynamo slightly, so Speed makes for one of the garden's large open pools. Beside the geodesic dome, he finds one. He zeroes in. Tommy dives—dragging the attached titan with him. "Shorting out", the Living Dynamo splendidly disperses, with a Wilhelm scream, throughout the pool while Speed propels himself free. For a second, Zzzax is zilch.
Experiencing arrhythmia, staggering Speed nosedives into sodden mud and xiphoid brambles. He draws ragged breath and seeks to steady his pulse. But, Zzzax reforms immediately. Amazed, resolute Speed makes like the Zephyr, and Zzzax pursues him swiftly east (toward the big river).
On the Mississippi, at West Alton, Spider-Woman casts Grey Gargoyle through the wall of the ship's conference room. The metamorphic man crashes on the big table collapsing it. Automatically, Paul Pierre procures two wooden shards and turns them to stone swords. Standing, he swings the duel stalagmites swiftly and circularly. Like a chevalier, Grey Gargoyle thrusts one at Spider-Woman in the hallway. She breaks the blade with a backhand block. He stabs the other at her. Julia judo-throws the jabber through a closet door—into the "john". The heavy hurls headlong into the boat's head. Like a deuce, the thug drops into the dip. Gargoyle gurgles in disgust and tastes the "humble pie". Apoplectic, P.P. punches into the porcelain. Pivoting, Gargoyle pelts Arachne with four allantoid stones.
Spider-Woman blinks baffled, "Did you just hit me with. . . . ?"
The incensed villain interrupts, "Scat! I need to take a shower." A stone sword slashes overhead hall pipes that spray both parties. From the head, Duval tosses Carpenter a bar of soap.
Spider-Woman blinks bugged, "Do you expect. . . . ?"
"No, I am going to my stateroom for a proper douche," the civilized scumbag stomps away.
Spider-Woman spits disgusted. She needs to find and rescue Walker anyway. Swiveling, white boots beat a path through a barge of brigands, and Carpenter beats brigands into the barge as necessary. She surveys her setting via psionics and plain sight. Soon, she sees a sign affixed between sick bay and the brig. It reads "Laboratory".
Elsewhere, in Edinburgh, Scotland, Duffy awakes in a cutting-edge hospital. Med-bots take outstanding care of him. Even better than Eve Necker. As midnight arrives, he wonders what still occurs back in Missouri where the time is 17:00.
"I wish someone would show me," Duffy says to himself.
Back in Missouri, Spider-Woman swats several AIM scientists aside with a sizable table. They drop onto a pile of previously "processed" palookas.
Arachne addresses U.S. Agent before her, "Johnny, can you hear me?"
"J'lia, cin u n'rst'nd m'?" locked lips reply.
"I can understand you, sweetie," Spider-Woman smiles, "But maybe, you should study ventriloquism for your next super-skill."
"H'h', vr f'in f'nny," Agent strains his stiff visage to a scowl.
Concerned Carpenter considers her readily recuperating comrade. His colors—pink skin, black uniform with red, white, and blue—return. More importantly, his range of motion does as well. Grey Gargoyle's effect wanes upon the robust warrior, and Spider-Woman is glad to have her ally back. She may need his might soon.
Summoning all might, stiff U.S. Agent suddenly points sidelong. "Bad guy," he clearly calls.
Bounding in, Grey Gargoyle ambushes with a flying elbow. Spider-Woman counters with a forceful throw. Beakers, bottles, and sundry glass shatter beneath a rocky rump. U.S. Agent salutes his pal and peer. Charging, Gargoyle besets the Spideress again. She sidesteps and swipes his legs. Surprisingly, the big galoot dexterously tucks and rolls right back to his feet. Sans hesitation, seven hundred pounds spins a flying roundhouse upon his foe. She barely blocks it—nigh breaking her ulna.
"Bon," Gargoyle gives a thumbs-up, "Those savate lessons with Batroc have paid-off."
Sans hesitation, Spider-Woman hops and snapkicks her heel into the oaf's face. Baddie backpedals, bell rung. Braking, he balances and recoups. Grey Gargoyle puts up his dukes, cobwebs half-cleared. Spider-Woman does the same. Duval boxes and bolo-blows the air. Carpenter dances like a butterfly and circles. Glare set, Gargoyle follows Arachne's winding path—into her web.
Without warning, U.S. Agent wraps extreme extremities around Grey Gargoyle's head and halse (i.e. his neck). Agent's arms tighten and twist as though he might snap Gargoyle's spine (if he has one). The rocky rogue reaches rearward, but John's partner grabs Paul's wrists before he can petrify anyone. The super-soldier sets his feet firmly and superbly strains, steering nut sideways.
Arachne observes. She asks, "John, what are you doing? Are you trying to somehow choke him out?"
"Nah"
Suddenly, U.S. Agent snaps Grey Gargoyle's head clean off! The odd orb sails starboard, strikes a centrifuge, spins obscenely over the floor, and settles at Walker's feet. The truncated body stands stiff as a statue, behaving like non-living sculpture. The Captain crassly shoves it over.
"Damn, John," Spider-Woman is a wee shocked.
"Don't judge," U.S. Agent states, "We have both offed adversaries when necessary."
"Well, mauling me was sooo not necessary," says the "deceased" sucker on the stratum.
Jarred Julia stares disturbed at the unexpected odious animation. She looks the head in the eye. It winks. Its accompanying section spookily resets to its knees. The dumb, sightless thing's digits feel for Duval's detached dome. The doddering segment drags its dogs forward—away from its crown.
"Oh s***! Over here! Over here!" Gargoyle curses and calls.
The Captain kicks the chatty chunk farther from its freakish seeker. Johnny chortles, "Naturally, such an unnatural feller can operate without an onion. I'll be."
"I'll be pursuing the actual head of this AIM operation," Spider-Woman answers, put off, "MODOK graciously invited the Avengers into a trap to rescue you. We have done so. I should go find and thank him—with my fists."
"Hold up," the hero holds-up a hand, "I need to be debriefed."
"Fine," the heroine summarizes, "You have been frozen for a few hours; MODOK telepathically taunted the Avengers to come get Tigra and you; some guy named American Eagle joined us in journeying here to West Alton, Missouri; Chemistro, Grey Gargoyle, and a lot of AIM agents are down already; Eve Necker and her Minion's status is unknown; please do not behead Necker when you see her; Hulk has his powers back, but someone zapped his psyche, so he and Zzzax, the Living Dynamo are back in St. Louis, probably rampaging; Wasp and Speed pursued them; American Eagle has apparently flown elsewhere, for he isn't to be seen anywhere."
U.S. Agent absorbs all of this information. He answers, "Fine, let me fetch my shield. It should be around this lab someplace."
Spider-Woman scoots out the exit, "I am ambushing MODOK immediately before he ambushes us."
"You are going to ambush a telepath?" her colleague questions her strategy. Often, ESP can espy approaching assailants.
Spider-Woman hastens down the hallway, headstrong. Halfway down the corridor, Carpenter collapses crippled. From afar, MODOK has cut her motor functions. Concentrating greatly, monstrous mentalist commands the costumed crusader's carcass to comply with his quirks. Spider-Woman is to keep quiet and not call comrade U.S. Agent. She is to keep still and not coordinate her body's quarters. She is to keep her mind insensible and not psychically counter this incorporeal incursion.
However, Julia Carpenter is one incredibly tough cookie, so Spider-Woman combats MODOK's machinations all of the way. She wills herself upright and ambulatory. Clumsily, she clops forward on her avenging course.
But, an awful mental bolt crumbles Julia's fortitude and crushes her volition. Her visage crinkles. Her extremities even contort and curl. Then, telekinesis seizes her. It carries her crooked form to the bow. Her conductor releases his psychic cinch there. Scumbag AIM staff surround the duo.
Distressed MODOK coughs and wheezes, "Criminy, you are capable of combatting psychic assailment. I'm going to need a complete kilo of f****** coke just to bring me back on-line."
"I am not keen on cocaine," Spider-Woman cradles her searing skull, "But, I CAN get crazy with any super-criminal who coordinates mass chaos."
MODOK clicks a "cow" tongue, "Actually, AIM and the CSA were simply going to conduct clandestine commerce until U.S. Agent and the gang brought the kooky occurrences to St. Louis. You Avengers brought mass chaos to Missouri. Show me otherwise. So, you stand corrected, Little Miss Can't Be Wrong."
"Shut-up, you're spin-doctoring," Spider-Woman rejoins, "And, I should know because I am about to do some spinning and doctoring of my own."
MODOK sighs, "Truly, your corny yuks complement the wascally Web-Slinger who you counterfeit. But, you cannot hope to copy his capability."
"Actually, today, I shall exceed it," the Woman raises wrists.
From spread fingers, silvery strands shoot over MODOK's ugly mug. Silky cilia seep between the miscreation's skin and his Doomsday Chair, the steely seat encasing the organism. They cincture so many Chair components like strong strings. Then, Spider-Woman savagely tugs the fixed fibers free, tearing Tarleton's tech. Circuits pop. Oily conduits part. Live cables unplug. Parts plump and explode. Motherboards fry. Sparks fly. Flames project prominently and peel both cheeks. Internal alarms peal.
Within the withering wear, smoking MODOK screams, "Oh no, I'm melting! I'm melting! What a world! What a world!" He gives the finger.
With trembling hand, the baking ham pulls a chair lever. Automatically, extinguisher pumps about his person. No unkind culprit cooks the Scientist Supreme for long; AIM engineers have anticipated such attempted agonizing assassination. Ashy, fuming MODOK falls askance. The Avenger advances (alertly) on her immobile enemy.
Meanwhile, elsewhere, U.S. Agent searches for his shield, and Grey Gargoyle searches for his head. Fruitfully, Paul Pierre's palm finds the fancied familiar features. He fumbles them a bit, fixes them atop his torso, and fidgets for best fit. His face shows slight fear, but the mangled mad scientist follows through on his theory. The Gargoyle has been in fragments before. From those times, he knows that his fantastic transformation has a failsafe. It should work. Wary, Grey Gargoyle flops his hand to his chest, and dull epidermis flushes pink. The flux flows up his body. At his neck, flesh fortuitously fuses with flesh and fixes his grievous disfigurement. Dr. Paul Duval feels great relief.
The next moment, someone savagely spins the scoundrel around. "Let's test your healed neck," utters U.S. Agent.
Gargoyle frowns. Walker decks Duval and drags him to medical restraints on an exam table in the lab. They should keep the subject from touching himself and getting hard again. The hero hurries. U.S. Agent has assistance to offer Spider-Woman in the bow.
In the freighter's front, MODOK telekinetically flings Arachne to the ceiling. Playing possum, the duplicitous pig surprised her. Her psychic senses did not even warn her, serendipitously stifled as they were. Sneering, MODOK squishes Spider-Woman against the ship's strake plates. Amused AIM agents snicker at the pancaked paladin. Levitating himself upright, the evil organism sinks his acquisition about a yard. Straining, he attempts slamming the superheroine through the solid steel ceiling several times—unsuccessfully.
Slam. "Crrrap."
Slam! "S***!"
Slam! "Mulligan."
SLAM! "M*********!"
"Screw it!" MODOK declares, "The Doomsday Chair expedites all my needs anyway."
A secret seatslot slides open. A ruinous missile rockets fifteen feet to the roof. The blast blows the hull to the thunderous heavens. Through a hole, it sucks stunned Spider-Woman into the storming stygian sky. Her slack form somersaults several times before belly-flopping back below the silty, astir Mississippi River. Blub, blub goes the strawberry blonde beneath the barge.
But, Spider-Woman does not limply bob in the current for long. . . . .
Within the vessel, MODOK has big eyes and a bemused expression. All-around, burst beekeepers stick squashed and splattered like insects. Blood-stained suits slide and slop from the surroundings "Oh right, the concussive force," MODOK assesses, "I would slap my forehead if I could."
"Allow me."
Suddenly, a slung shield splits MODOK's nose, and sanguine stuff squirts forth. The weapon bounces back to U.S. Agent. "Okay, I broke your nose instead of bruising your brow," Cap comments, "But, give me a minute."
"Oh, are we fighting?" the head heavy hawks hideous hemoglobin, "What a waste of time. You should spend your next minute saving Spider-Woman from—the bull sharks that I have psychically summoned!"
"Do they have 'lasers', Dr. Evil?" the hero harasses with his fingers, "Don't bulls*** about your bevy of sharks. There ain't but maybe one bull shark in the entire Mississippi at any one time."
"I totally know that. I am the Scientist Supreme," MODOK snaps back.
Outside the keel, a lone killer fish flits past suspended Spider-Woman and ignores her. And, she ignores it. The shark sics a school of crappies. Carpenter crossly adheres her gloves to the keel and crawls peeved toward the prow, intent upon punishing MODOK severely.
Inside the prow, MODOK proposes "You should stop Zzzax and Hulk in St. Louis instead of engaging me. I politely provided you Avengers crises elsewhere than here. You will kindly allow me to escape."
"You aren't escaping anything, fool," U.S. Agent flings his shield forcefully.
With a thought, MODOK deflects the dangerous disk. But, the device was a decoy anyway. U.S. Agent dashes in. He punches MODOK to port. He slugs him to starboard. Walker deliberately dents the Doomsday Chair and then does some real damage. Great grip gouging armor, the protector props-up the punch-drunk reprobate. From way downtown, Agent pops MODOK in the mug. Furiously, the fighter pummels the fink's prodigious face pulpy pronto. Then, Agent promptly upends the thousand-pounder and puts him on his shell. With the other, Walker rips the rocket unit from Tarleton's posterior. The pathetic freak cannot fly away.
"I told you. You ain't escaping nothing," U.S. Agent restates.
Plastered, pug-ugly MODOK pants—"heh, heh, heh"—and points at the rain pouring through the perforated hull.
"What? You want some aqua, a******?" Agent grabs an armored leg. Pitilessly, he pitches his battered opponent beneath the pelting precipitation. Openly laughing, MODOK lies in the downpour. His shaky finger points skyward, and his trembling lips titter.
Walker approaches. He probes, "What's so damn funny?"
"Do you remember when you fought the Elements of Doom in St. Louis?" MODOK inquires back (see Avengers v.3 #56).
"Yeah, the Avengers and I totally overcame the Elements that day," U.S. Agent amusingly indicates the drenching deluge, "Captain America did alright too."
Silently, Spider-Woman descends, on a line, beside her buddy. She stares-down MODOK something fierce.
"AIM knows all about the battle. We monitored it," the wrecked wretch rasps, "Do you remember what Wonder Man warned you that day about mixing plentiful water with purest Sodium?"
John's jaw goes slightly ajar. He thinks that he knows where all is headed. . . . . Julia jostles his arm to go. She has already figured the fateful formula.
"Well," the cracked kook continues, "Chemistro synthesized three tons of pure sodium that is evenly distributed in shipping containers across the barge. And, this is a button on my Doomsday Chair. . . . ."
In bad shape, aiding each other, Carr and Duval abruptly appear. Chemist Duval conveys shock. Chemist Carr is consternated that his grand poobah goes with the suicide plan like a poopyhead. Psycho Tarleton presses the button. Five big containers break wide open.
Spider-Woman swings U.S. Agent over her shoulder. She desperately shoots a web for anywhere away from. . . . .
KAA-BOOOOOM!