"For the record, Herman, I'm doing this because, well, it's both business AND it's personal." Osborn leaned forward and tapped me on the knee. "You've been a thorn in my side all week. From a professional standpoint, you made me change my plans time and time again. From a personal standpoint, having to make so many adaptations in such a short period of really infuriated me."

Norman Osborn. Head of the Thunderbolts. Acting Secretary of Homeland Security and from what I've gathered, the head government guy calling the shots. Murderer. That goes without saying, but let me say it again anyway. Murderer. The slicked back hair, the piercing stare, and...just under his skin. It's there. The insanity, the thing that made him try to ruin Spider-Man's life. I've seen it before. And as the Trapster holds my chin so I'm locking eyes with him, I can see it now, even if therapy and drugs are keeping it in check.

And for the record? Yes, in person, his hair really DOES look that stupid.

"Now, this is where I'm supposed to tell you how you've ruined my plans to take over the world and be rid of that damnable Spider-Man. That's how the game works, right, Herman? Petruski, please make him nod his acknowledgement." My head moved up and down as the Trapster led me by the chin. "Well, I am sorry to disappoint you and everyone else who thought everything I did was some big grand plan, like I had some sort of list I was going down. What I was doing, Herman, was trying to end this crisis."

The helicopter banked to its right, heading across the island, away from Central Park. "You see, Herman, when the first reports of the dead coming back to life crossed my desk, a lot of my fellow government employees called them 'preposterous beyond belief.' They wanted to focus on the 'why' of the epidemic, Herman. But the 'why' wasn't important. The dead were coming back to life and attacking the living. Solar radiation, voodoo mysticism, organisms from space...why they were doing it didn't matter. The important question, the one only I was asking...who was behind it? Or rather...who profits?"

He reached out, and with a well-manicured finger, tapped me on the forehead. "You never thought about that, did you? All you were concerned about was playing a hero and figuring out who was trying to kill you. You never were a big picture guy, Herman. You could see the edges, but never took in the long view."

A response would have been nice, but my vocal cords were burning with a cold fire.

"So here I am, trying to figure out who was behind this. He was the key, Herman. There aren't enough bullets in the world to kill every potential undead on Earth, and there was no way I would risk...my high-end super powered assets when it appears that a single zombie could rip Thor's throat out, his status as a God be damned. So, instead of trying to dam a raging river, I was going to dry up the source. I had my plan in motion the moment Nick Fury shot the Wrecker on national television. And it was working, Herman. It was working. Everyone was following along. The government was in lockstep behind me. The superheroes were toeing the line. Even that damn wall-crawler was following my orders."

It was a subtle shift. Just a single crease of the brow. And if I could, I would have probably tensed up and leaned slightly away from Osborn. "And you came along. You, Herman, provided an option to my plan to move everyone. The heroes were helping to move everyone into the central areas of the city, but suddenly, the criminals and miscreants decide to lend a hand, and kill zombies...while staying put. Sure, some of them came to me and worked under my direction, but for the most part, you, and Octavius, and Beck, all decided to make stands and embarrass me in front of the entire nation. I don't like being embarrassed, Herman."

By that point, we may have been over water. I couldn't tell. We had flown long enough that, by now, we should have been landing, right? "And the heroes looked at you, Herman. A two-bit thug with delusions of adequacy, who seemingly woke up one morning and decided to just go out and help save the world. And the heroes looked at me. A self-made billionaire who's paid his debt to society and is doing his best to serve his country. And they picked you, Herman. Instead of me? They picked...you."

My lips moved, but all that came out was gibberish. My head still hung heavy, and Pete had to switch hands to keep me from breaking eye contact with Osborn. Thanks a lot, Pete.

"So I improvised. I allowed the villains to work alongside the heroes. And that just gave the heroes carte blanche to defy me. I know they could have gone into your warehouse at any time, or pulled Octavius from his ivory tower at ESU, or gone into the sewers where the Mole Man...the MOLE MAN...was hiding civilians who had been trapped on a subway. The heroes were giving the Mole Man more respect by letting him live and let live than they were giving me for trying to end this crisis."

That should have been an exclamation point on his last sentence, but Osborn dropped into a low hiss at he spoke the final word. "And whoever sent the Vulture to kill you botched that job horribly, didn't he? So I had to make do. I had to pull resources back. If I was going to find out who was behind this, I couldn't waste time with my assets running around the city picking up strays. So, I cut you all off. If you weren't in the Park by now, after all that time and effort spent by the Avengers, by the Initiative, by SHIELD, then you were written off. I prepped, I planned, and I was ready to just let you all wither on the vine by force of attrition. And then, you band together."

Osborn leaned forward now. His eyes were narrow, but his voice was even and smooth. "The very thing I wanted you to do, and you do it when I no longer require it. Again, Herman, another thumb to my eye. First, you defy me. Then, you imitate me. Then, the Avengers, who spent forever arguing against my proposals, invite you to come into my fortress, to share my hospitality? No. No, Herman. That was the last straw, the slap across the face."

"Nnnn...nnnn...o..."

"Luckily, I improvised. I'll take your influx of refugees, and of supervillians. You can never have enough pawns, Schultz. When the final reveal comes, when the grand player steps out, in the end of things, you'll have been nothing more than an inspirational speed bump. I am sorry I had to kill Systevich. He would have made a perfect asset. But killing you was something he would never stand for. Unlike Petruski. He was easily bought."

Trapster had an evil gleam in his eye, as he turned my face to look at him. "You think I would just let you get away with trying to kill me? I never forgot, and as long as you were alive, Herman, I never, ever forgave."

"Yes. Spare the melodramatics, please. We're running short on time." Osborn pulled away from me, tapping his armrest. "In a few moments, the helicopter will radio a distress call, saying we're under attack by the Punisher as we were trying to lift off, and that Rhino was killed by a shaped charge before we were able to get away. We'll land safe and sound in the Park, and no one will be the wiser.

"Now, I know what you're thinking, Herman, because you're not as clever as you believe you are. I can't bring you back to Central Park with me. I wouldn't want to bring you back, anyway, Herman. Not when I can have the next best thing."

Osborn snapped his fingers. In the seat next to him, the other armored guy had been quiet, not saying a word, just looking at me. At the request of Osborn, he reached up, and unsnapped his helmet.

And I was staring at myself.

Same unkempt brown hair, same slightly skewed nose, same brown eyes, same stupid sarcastic smirk.

"Cha...cham..."

"Yes, Chameleon. Considering you were kind enough to dress up in that ridiculous quilt, it was a simple matter for him to steal your backup suit and gloves from the crate of supplies you so kindly had Molecule Man teleport to Central Park a few hours ago." Chameleon, still grinning, unsnapped the armor vest he was wearing. Underneath was my suit, the brown-and-yellow fabric unmistakable. "Without Rhino to cause a fuss, and with Boomerang cutting and running then second you land, there's no one around to question Chameleon's foolproof portrayal of you. Especially with Petruski at his side. I can use them to rally your colleagues to my point of view. So, in a roundabout way, I do owe you my thanks, Herman. Anyone who had their doubts about me, you'll provide the countering viewpoint and bring them around to my way of thinking. Too bad you don't have a wife or children, Herman. I would have seen to it that OsCorp took care of them."

"Mr. Osborn, we're ready when you are," the pilot called from the cockpit. Petruski let go of my chin. As my head dropped to my chest, I could see Chameleon nonchalantly sliding on one of my vibro-smashers from the pair I had packed for transport.

"This leaves us with one final problem, Herman. Namely, what do to with you. And that's very, very simple." I felt someone take my hand. Petruski squeezed my fingers tightly, and once again, that warm fire flared on my palm. This time, however, the fire instantly raced up my arm and flooded my entire body in an instant. Even the tips of my toes felt like someone was jabbing a hot poker under the toenails as Petruski gripped my hand.

"Mr. Osborn knows a thing or two about chemicals, Herman. He gave me a wonderful idea a few weeks ago. The poison that's going through your veins right now? It binds to your nervous system. Slows it down, makes the nerve impulses take just a little longer. Now, the initial problem with the compound was that it broke down too quickly. But if there's one person on this planet who knows how to bind stuff together…" Trapster's voice took on a tone of pride. "The stuff lasts five times longer now. Well enough to shut down someone's entire body for nearly three minutes. Turns out you're not the only genius around, Herman."

"Give him a double dose, Petruski. Just to be sure."

"You got it, Mr. Osborn." Both hands clasped around mine as the needle dug further in. I couldn't even grit my teeth as the poison screwed with my nervous system. I couldn't move my toes. I don't think I could even blink. Was I even still breathing? I couldn't tell. Proper panic couldn't even set in, all the involuntary physical responses failing to come to pass.

"Now here's the beauty of the compound, Herman. I have to be honest, I yanked this from the movie 'The Serpent and the Rainbow.' It works in stages." With one final squeeze, he let go of my hand. My arm instantly fell to my side, dangling towards the floor. But I saw it. I didn't feel gravity pull on it, didn't feel the blood rushing to my fingers. "It starts on the outside and works its way in. So you lose motor functions first, and then you start having organ failure. Liver, pancreas, intestines. The big three are the last to go. You're still breathing, and your heart's still going, even if you can't feel either. I mean…there's something about someone knowing they're going to die, Herman, that really makes them think about the choices in their lives, and what brought them to such a point. Making someone think about their mortality and how they're going to die, and how there's nothing that can be done about it…that was Mr. Osborn's final contribution to the compound."

Osborn waved a hand at Trapster. Immediately, my former friend began to untie the straps that had held me in place. "Petruski is right. One has to understand their past to fully grip their present. This, in a way, is my payment for all you've done to complicate my life over the past week. You can spend the last moments of your subpar existence wondering why all your life's decisions have brought you to this point. If you had just kept your head down, Herman, and plugged away with your meager skills, you could have survived all of this. That's what I want you to ponder as you lay dying, Herman. Bring us down."

Only by the way Osborn shifted slightly was I able to determine that the helicopter was descending. Trapster yanked away the final straps as Osborn studied me. "You could have been someone, Herman. I don't mean what you were over the past few days, someone that will be nothing more than a footnote, soon to be forgotten as history is written by me. I could have used a man like you on my team. Chameleon."

The mimic leaned from his seat and slid open the helicopter's door. As Trapster hoisted me out of the seat, my head lolled loosely on my shoulders. "Goodbye, Herman," he told me, turning my dead weight towards the door. "There is one bit of good news. There aren't any zombies in this part of town, so you'll reanimate in one piece. Maybe you'll run into Rhino when you wake up in, oh, five to ten minutes."

I got a glimpse of pavement as Peter threw me out of the helicopter, before I smashed into the street face first. I couldn't even feel the pain of my nose slamming into the ground as my head turned to the side on impact. Behind me, the sound of the door being slammed shut was louder than the blades of the departing helicopter.

My eyes took in the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. I knew that much because, beyond the pavement was nothing but dark water, lapping against the side of Manhattan. I couldn't even tell if I was trying to move, because my body wasn't telling me anything. I could hear the waves breaking as I fought to find that willpower I had before, that, and yeah, I'm saying it, heroic spark that got me out of every tough scrape leading up to this point. That thing that kept me going, drove me forward, killing zombies and saving the day.

It didn't come. I couldn't will it into existence. This time out, I was completely and utterly screwed. No tears, no gasps, no death rattles. Just my frozen body and the lapping waves of the dark ocean. I didn't even have the dignity to close my eyes as I laid there dying. I didn't panic, though. I don't think I could have been physically capable of panicking, but I didn't plead, cajole, or try to bargain. I just took in the Atlantic Ocean.

I hadn't been to the beach in forever. That's what crept into my head. Well, I had been to the beach recently, but that was for a job. The last time I had been to a beach for fun had been a few years ago. Fred, Aleksei, myself, and Joystick had pulled off a job up in Boston. The guy who hired us to rip some technology off from Stane Technologies had set us up in a very nice house on Cape Cod, right there on the beach. An entire week of laying low, a fully stocked fridge, all the beer and seafood we could want. It was Aleksei's first job after his suit had been upgraded, and as soon as we got to the beach house, the big guy just peeled off his suit and ran screaming into the ocean. And then came right back out, yelling about how damn cold the North Atlantic was.

Beer on the porch during the day. Beer and lobster on the porch at night. Hearing Boomerang and Joystick going at it while I channel surfed and Aleksei snored, passed out on the couch.

Good times, I thought to myself. My vision was going black, fading along the edges. My view narrowed, taking away the street. One night, Fred has passed out early, and Joystick had wandered into the living room. I wanted to hit on her, but I didn't know if her and Fred were exclusive. Probably not. But I wouldn't screw him over like that. Besides, just because a girl talks to you doesn't mean she wants to jump your bones.

We just sat out on the porch all night, watching the waves come in like I'm doing now. Talking. That was my last time at the beach. That's what I was taking to the grave with me. My best friends in the house, a cold beer in my hand, a pretty woman at my side, and the ocean in front of me.

"Herman."

The cold voice came from behind me. The streetlights that were still working backlit the shadow that fell across my body. "Herman. It's time for you to come with me."

The ocean was a tiny dot for a moment, and then, nothing.

X

"He shouldn't be alive."

"I know. Either Herman's tougher than he looks, or the Trapster's little concoction needed more time in the cooker."

"No, I mean, he shouldn't be alive. As in, we should just off him right now and end his miserable existence."

"Tell you what. You go ahead and kill him, and I'll explain to our boss why you disobeyed orders."

"Our master would never listen to you…"

"Well, I'm listening to him. He says Herman lives, so he lives. Unless you want him to take it all away?"

"Bah. I'm not going against him. I'm just voicing my concerns from a minimum safe distance."

Something cold pushed against the side of my neck. I felt the sharp edge bit into the skin. Which meant I was still alive? Right?

"Don't mark him. Come on, hovering over him's just gonna make you want to do something really stupid. You want to loom, loom from somewhere else."

My ears picked up the sound of rustling fabric. Slowly, I managed to force open my eyelids, going from a world of black to a world of blur. Everything was gray, out of focus. My fingers waggled, and I could feel my toes flexing. My back was slowly registering that I was laying on something hard. My hands rested against something cold...stone, I determined.

Great. So I had feeling back in my body, or I would eventually. But was it because the paralytic poison that had flowed through my veins was wearing off? Or was it because poison doesn't affect the dead?

I couldn't move my head yet, but the world was slowly coming into focus as I blinked to remove the dryness from my eyes. The wall of gray blur above me clarified into...a wall of gray stone. Or a ceiling, if the high arches, the tops wreathed in shadow, that crossed the stone were any indication.

"Ugh..." My mouth worked. So at least I was armed with my infinite reservoir of wit.

"He's awake."

The form that leaned in over my face took a few seconds to come into focus. I beheld a face carved with jagged scars, running from the bridge of his nose to his cheeks, back to his ears, and straight up past his eyes, reaching to the crown of his forehead.

"Hey, Herman. Glad you woke up," said the man with a five-point star on his face.

No. No way. The scars threw me off, but I knew the voice.

"Can't be," I managed to force out in a harsh whisper through dry lips. "You're...you're dead..."

Maxwell Dillon's face took on a twisted smirk as he leered down, his red eyes filled with malice. "I know. And guess what, Herman? So are you."

X

"Come on, get up." Rough hands grabbed me by the front of my armor, easily ignoring the firing of my contact plates as Electro yanked me to a sitting position. My head lolled to the side, but I managed to raise it with great effort. The man in front of me looked like Maxwell Dillon. I recognized the face, even with the jagged scars. The voice was the same. And so was his green-and-yellow uniform, right down to the bullet holes that ran along his torso.

"It's good to see you again, Herman." The raspy voice held a tone of unabashed glee as he let me go. Immediately, I slumped forward, but Electro was right there to push me back up. "Hey, hey, take a second. You died, Herman. Coming back from that's a cast iron bitch. Trust me, I know."

He kept me upright as I managed to slowly regain control of my body. I used my hands to grip the side of the stone slab I had been lying on to help me from falling over. My gloves were gone, and my mask still hung on the back of my uniform. I studied the man in front of me as I tried to figure out just what the hell was going on. Electro stood up straight, pride in his spine. A series of bullet holes stretched across the front of his uniform, blood staining the latex. The jagged tears in his skin were evident, wide open wounds that refused to heal. And his eyes. Just like the Hulk's, a sea of red swirling behind the surface, patches of dead white visible for a split second.

"You were shot..." I took a deep breath, feeling my lungs expand before I sighed with relief. "You were shot, Max. I saw it. You should be dead."

"Should be? Herman, pay attention. It's like I just said...I AM dead. 5.56 mm anti-personnel rounds to the chest will do that to a guy." Electro gently jabbed a figure into one of the tears on his uniform. "Stone cold dead. And let me tell you, being dead, even for a few minutes? It sucks. But you can relate, right?"

"I...no. I'm not dead." The breath in my lungs, and the pounding headache that was slowly forming in my head, that was proof of life.

"Not yet. But you were." Electro pointed at my chest. Looking down, I saw, just above my heart, where the brown fabric had been burned into a charred black. "When I found you, you had just passed on. Expired. Ceased to be. An ex-Shocker. You're lucky that I showed up." He put his hand on my chest...

"JESUS!" The shock caused me to flinch. The world snapped into focus as the electricity arced through me, causing my whole body to spasm. I barely stayed upright as Electro laughed at my misery.

"I had to play 'Defibrillator' and shock you back to life. A few more seconds and whatever junk the Trapster shot in would have screwed your nervous system enough that all the juice in Indian Point couldn't have brought you back. Well, brought you back to life. I'm sure you would have come back eventually..."

Pause.

"This is where you say 'thank you, Max, for saving my life.'"

"The jury's still out on being grateful," I groused. Slowly, I slid off the stone slab. Electro stepped backwards, giving me room to try to stand on wobbly legs. "I have a feeling that this is going to end badly for me," I told him, leaning on the slab for support. "No offense, but having seen the dead get up and walk this past week, meeting a dead man who can talk AND isn't trying to take a bite out of me...why don't I just say 'thank you, Max, for possibly extending my life before it ends in a horrific manner?'"

Electro laughed as I managed to push away from the slab to stand on my own two feet. "Fair enough. And no, Herman. I may be dead, but human flesh doesn't interest me anymore, thanks to my boss.

"Your boss, huh? So he's finally going to meet me face-to-face?"

"Oh, yeah. I mean, you've defied the odds and stayed alive this long. At this point, it's a mix of 'maybe I should offer this guy a job' and 'how the hell does he keep NOT managing to die?' I mean, hell, you pissed off my boss, the Punisher, AND Norman Osborn, Herman! But you're still here, alive, and without missing any chunks of your body. "

I turned my head to look at where I was. Immediately, I knew exactly what building we stood in. It had been years since I had been inside, since my Mom had dragged me here for Easter Mass as a child. Yeah, I know, German last name, Jewish high school, Catholic mother. Any wonder I turned out as screwed up as I was?

"Your boss sure knows how to pick em," I told Electro as I stared out over the nave of Saint Patrick's Cathedral. The two of us stood at the altar, which had acted as my cot for however long I was unconscious. The cathedral was dark, the nave stretching towards the entrance lit only by dim candles. Behind the altar, the back of the church was bathed in darkness. The only light came from what still burned in the city outside, coming in through the blue stained glass windows that rested high on the rear wall.

"I love the ambience, Max. It's very Hammer Horror."

"Bah! Still a smart mouth."

It didn't come from Electro. But rather, a second raspy voice spoke from somewhere above us, from the dark alcoves of the nave's ceiling. "The one question he's been squawking about, and instead of asking who, he's busy looking at the décor!"

My shoulders slumped as I recognized the voice. I shouldn't have been surprised, though. If Electro had survived his fatal encounter with the Punisher, why not the guy perched in the shadows as well?

"I'm so used to getting the damn run around from you guys. I figured you'd just flap your gums when you were good and ready."

"As Maxwell said, our Master wants to have a personal chat with you. We've just been chosen to...entertain you until he arrives."

"Entertain me. Again, very Hammer Horror."

My eyes were on the shadows as he glided down from the ceiling. Smoothly, he descended from the darkness like a fallen archangel, metal wings spread over the rows of pews. He landed in front of me, the suit of green power armor shiny and polished, free of any signs of combat or damage.

I couldn't say the same for the face of Adrian Toomes, who sneered as his wings folded behind him. Weeping burn wounds covered what parts of his head still had skin. No hair, even eyebrows, remained. When he smiled, the skin pulled tightly, exposing even more of his skull, a dull white against the angry red of his burned flesh.

"Jesus, Adrian," I breathed softly after I had finished recoiling in disgust. Even with all the carnage and gore I had seen, his visage took the damn cake. It took the cake, brought it home, sliced it up, and served it to an unsuspecting family on their son's birthday. "What the hell happened to you?"

"What do you THINK, Herman? I was blown up by an RPG and covered in burning diesel fuel! You should know! You were there!" He took a step forward, his skull coming fully into view, shimmering wetly in the dim light. "You were the one who locked me in that dumpster and left me a sitting duck for Frank Castle!"

His face was inches from mine. Toomes didn't even have eyes anymore. Twin balls of dark blood took their place, swirling in their sockets. No white as he stared daggers at me, just a swirling mass of red floating in the empty space. "This is the result, Herman. Do you know what it's like to be covered in diesel and set ablaze? I do. Pain like you have yet to experience in your life. My flesh melting away like candle wax, my bones charring from the heat. And then, it all vanished. It all went away. All thanks to our master."

"Huh. So, you take care of the place while he's away?"

The remaining lip on Toomes' face pursed. "You've been hanging around that damnable wall-crawler, Herman. You'll want to take the next few hours very seriously, so shut your mouth and open your eyes and ears if you know what's best for you."

"You'll have to forgive Adrian," Electro spoke from behind me. "He's a little pissed that you got him killed."

Adrian's head tilted to the side, like a bird noticing a piece of bread hitting the sidewalk. "This is your fault, Herman," he said as I watched his teeth click through the melted hole in his cheek. "All of it."

"It ain't my fault." I took a step away from him, his gaze jerkily turning to follow me. "You're the one who tried to kill me. If you hadn't, you wouldn't have gotten locked in that damn dumpster."

"Really?" He took a step forward, lurching towards me. What passed for his eyes narrowed as I recoiled. "Really?"

It was still Adrian Toomes. Sure, his face looked like Dr. Phibes on a REALLY bad day, and there was the whole "why the hell isn't he dead" thing. But this was NOT the strangest...ok, ok, it WAS the strangest thing I'd seen all week. The dead rising from the graves, the skies going black with ash, heroes and villains working together, the Hulk's unstoppable rampage, and now Electro and the Vulture back from the dead, but not as zombies. There just hits a point in your career as a supervillain where nothing can bother you can more. I hadn't hit that point until all this happened, and now I had been dragged headfirst all the way to it. I had seen men ripped apart, and ghouls devour human flesh. Adrian was just...

...disgusting. And it physically made me ill, as the lingering stink of charred flesh emanated from Toomes' body. But the mental engine in my brain didn't stall and put me into emotional vapor lock.

"Yeah, Toomes. Really. You tried to kill me, then you tried to get me killed, then you tried to kill me again, and then in the course of questioning you, I almost got killed! So don't sit there and blame me for you getting killed, because it was YOUR dumb ass that got stuffed in that dumpster in the first place!"

Metal talons dug into my chest, digging into my skin as I grunted in pain. Effortlessly, the Vulture lifted me off the ground with one arm. "Now listen carefully, Herman," he told me as my legs kicked in mid-air. "In the next few hours, things are going to get very, very intense. Your decisions are going to determine the rest of your life. So, show a little bit of your vaunted intelligence, and show us a little respect!"

He reared back, and hurled me forward. I bounced on the stone floor, coming to rest against a stone column after smacking into it back first. I looked up to see the Vulture, hunched over, taking steps in my direction...

"Adrian! Chill out, man. Just be cool, alright."

The Vulture whipped around to stare at Electro. "Be cool? He's responsible for our deaths, Max!"

"Yeah, well, he's got a point. You got stuffed in that dumpster because you were dumb enough to let him get the drop on you," Max replied. "Besides, you heard the boss. We're supposed to keep an eye on him, not beat him up. It'll be better if he's in one piece down the line."

"One piece? Look at me, Max!" A sharp talon pointed at his ruined face. "He's responsible for this!"

"Beating the hell out of him ain't gonna make things better, Adrian. Take a powder, before you do something our boss is gonna make you regret." The Vulture stared at his friend for a second. I thought Adrian was going to lash out and make a stab at Max, but instead, he spun on his heels. Metal clanked on stone as Adrian walked away, heading towards the pews towards the front of the church.

"You ok, Herman," Electro asked.

"What do you think," I answered as I climbed back onto my feet.

"Yeah. Sorry about Adrian. He's obviously a little ticked at you."

"I noticed," I replied. Electro was standing by the altar, arms crossed. If it wasn't for the gunshot wounds and the scars on his face, we could have been back at the bank, talking tough and trying to feel the other person out. Alright. I can play that game. "You're all sunshine and lollipops, though. I think you'd be pissed at me too."

A jagged grin etched across his face. "Oh, I am, Herman. Believe me, the past few days, I've been really upset at you. But you know...this didn't turn out too bad." He snapped his fingers, sending a short bolt of energy into the air. "I can still call the lightning. I don't have to worry about dying anymore. And I'm still on the winning side. Don't get me wrong, I'm still going to get my pound of flesh at some point. But I'm not going to be a sourpuss about it."

I responded with a dark chuckle. Granted, he just threatened my life, but there was something about his cheer. "Nice to see you're looking on the bright side of life at least." I wandered forward, towards him. "So, what's the plan? You and Adrian keep me here until your boss shows up?"

"Pretty much. He's out getting everything set up for the big finale. Food, drinks, prizes, and the complete and utter destruction of the Avengers, Norman Osborn, and the rest of humanity." His teeth crackled with lighting as he gave me a wide grin. "Gonna be a hell of a fireworks show, Herman."

"So that's it. Your boss...he's the one behind all of this." He responded with a respectful nod. I had gotten back to the altar now. Electro's body language was confident, cocky. I wasn't a threat to him, especially without my vibrosmashers. "Everything...it's all his doing. The dead rising from the graves. The massacres all around the world. And...the whole red eye thing. It's him. It's not a simple case of your boss trying to be on top when the world ends. It's about ending the world."

"Yes...and no. Hey, you want a drink or something? We got water, and I think there's some of the communion wine left over. This place hasn't been turned into unholy ground quiet yet..."

"God, Max...would you listen to yourself? You're talking like you're working for the Devil!"

"Not quite. He's sitting this one out. God is, too, if he really exists. Anyway, you want that wine or not?"

I was thirsty. "Yeah, sure. Promise me you're not going to poison it, or bleed into it or anything."

He put a hand over his heart, smearing a bit of the blood from a nearby wound. "Herman! Give me some credit. You're a guest. Scout's honor, on the grave of my dead mother. And she is dead. Buried her myself the other night."

This was weird. TOO weird. Max was chatting like it was the most normal thing in the world as he produced two silver goblets from a nearby alcove. "Guess I owed her something. I mean, if it wasn't for her, I never would have become Electro, and ended up like this." From a golden pitcher, the Villain of Voltage proceeded to pour out red wine into the goblets. "What about your folks, Herman? You hear anything from them this week?"

"Dead. A long time ago. And I'm really glad."

Electro walked over and handed me one of the goblets. "So...what should we toast to? The end of the world as we know it?"

After a second of thought, I raised my glass. "How about to everyone getting what they deserve, Max?"

"That, I can do, Herman." With a clink of our goblets, the two of us drank. I needed the refreshing liquid as it rolled down my throat, quenching my thirst and giving me just that little bit of kick in my stomach.

"So, your boss...he's really the guy behind everything," I said as I handed Electro back my drained glass.

"Well, he's the boss here...but in the grand scheme of things, he's just the agent of change. When everyone's dead, he's going to be the one running things down here for the big guy."

"Great. So your boss has a boss?"

"Just one more."

"And where does that put you on the food chain, Max? Foot soldier?"

"For now. I was the last guy brought on board." He walked around the altar, coming to rest on the other side. He faced me, leaning over the stone slab. "I wasn't supposed to be...initiated, yet. Sure, I was working for him, but, you know, I thought it was just a guy making a power play, like the Hood pulled off a few months back. Turns out, it's a lot bigger than I ever imagined."

"Sounds to me," I countered," like you were selling out the human race."

"Oh, I am now. What have they every done for me? Before I died, though, what my boss was offering? Security and safety. From an army that was walking around increasing numbers." His eyes were making me uneasy as he gave me a smile. "You want to know why there wasn't a single zombie in sight during the whole time you and I were in the bank? It's because my boss told them not to eat me. I was a ghost, Herman...me and my crew."

"And they ignored the Vulture and went right for me earlier tonight," I said as the connection clicked. "That's why they walked past him, and didn't try to claw their way into the dumpster. Your boss provides...some kind of immunity."

"And the light bulb just turned on in your head," Electro replied with a smirk. "I didn't know it at the time, but I wasn't in that bank for the gold. What use is my boss going to have for gold and jewels when they're no one left on this planet but the living dead? I was there...for you, Herman."

"For me." At this point, it wasn't a question. Yeah, sure, the universe decided I was a lynchpin in the mad schemes of the guy out to drown the world in a sea of blood and flesh. That low-level degree of infamy was looking better and better all the time. "He used you as bait?"

Max nodded firmly. "He figured you'd come and check out the bank vault eventually. But when you didn't come of your own free will, he decided to dispatch Adrian to lure you close."

Another fuse screwed home. "Adrian. He's who I saw that night. And who I saw on the apartment building across from the Walgreen's."

"Clever, clever," Electro said. "My boss has had his eye on you, Herman, ever since you and Aleksei's little Boy Scout moment outside the 7-11 that very first night...if it's any consolation, I'm sorry about Aleksei. He doesn't deserve to go out that way."

"Huh...you know, he raised a toast to you that night, on the roof," I told him.

"No surprise. He always...for someone with an incredible well of rage inside, he could be a very respectful person. But anyway, I do feel for your loss."

"Yeah, well...back to the bank."

"Ah, yes. You weren't on my boss' radar, Herman, at first. But you became a rallying point. People, instead of cowering in terror behind splintering doors, or being pulled down as they try to make a run for it by a crowd of zombies, were picking up a 2x4 and fending off two or three ghouls at a time. Instead of falling apart and squabbling, the Avengers and the Initiative worked together. And don't get me started on the whole 'supervillains putting everything aside for the sake of humanity' thing." Electro shook his head, rolling his eyes heavenward. "You couldn't have pulled that off if you had TRIED. And yet you did it." Mockingly, Electro clapped his hands together. "Well played, sir. Well played."

"I suppose it's too late to say it wasn't what I had planned, huh," I joked, weakly.

"Much too late. You became a beacon, Herman. Through your actions, hope spread. One light in the darkness, becoming two, becoming four, becoming...well, do the math. And if you're trying to end the human race, you can't have hope." He spread his hands. "That's why you needed to die, Herman. The death of hope. Without you, I'm sure Aleksei couldn't have managed as well as he did, and Fred would have abandoned you in a heartbeat."

"The death of hope? Wow. Ok, Max, I've heard some stupid things in my life, but this..."

One snap of Electro's fingers, and between all five digits on his right hand, lightning crackled back and forth. "Watch your words, Herman."

"I'm sorry, but..."

"No, Herman. Would you put your self-esteem issues to the side for one moment? Your actions, Herman. Ripples in the water. The butterfly effect, to use a cliché. It all emanated from you. In the grand scheme of the universe, Herman, the threads over the past seven days mostly weave back to you. And I'm not lying. My boss has an inside man with the universe."

"No. No, damn it." I stepped away from the altar, turning away as I spoke sharply. "I am not the center of the universe. Everything I did, Max, it was the right thing to do, not because I had this great big grand design to become a superstar. It was the right thing to do, saving people. That's all I wanted to do, and that's all I did."

"Aw. Is big bad Shocker upset someone's finally paying attention to him? Wake up, Herman!" he yelled, slamming his crackling hands on the altar. "You screwed with the fundamental forces of the universe, life and death, and unless you wrap your head around that fact really damn quick, you aren't going to survive this night."

"I won't anyway. Because, if I'm so damn important, why don't you just kill me now, Max? Seriously, just blast away, or get Adrian to decapitate me!"

"I accept that offer," a voice spoke from the high ceiling.

"Adrian, no! Damn it, Herman...you don't just kill hope. You have to break it. Or else...you make a martyr. Why do you think I didn't just kill you back in the bank? I drew it out. Well, you drew it out, but still. You needed to be broken, Herman. To see the futility of your ways. But you just wouldn't die. You kept hope alive."

"If we can just stop the whole 'reason you suck' speech for a moment, Max...so that's why you aren't killing me right now, isn't it?" A smirk spread across my face as I realized why I was still breathing. "Your boss needs me alive."

"For a while longer, anyway. But you see, Herman...the death of hope doesn't mean...well, physical death. What if you came over to our side? Worked for my boss? If everyone saw you on the side of the Devil, it's almost the same as seeing you broken and defeated. You step out there, standing beside me...and I could just imagine the entire world deflating."

Point, Electro.

"Think about it, Herman. He's going to win. Osborn can't stop him, Stark can't stop him, Fury can't. No one can. It's like I said earlier...why not come work for the winning side?"

"It's hard to agree, Max, when I see you haven't taken the victory lap yet. You're a lousy pitchman."

He shrugged his shoulders, his scarred face giving me an "aw shucks" look. "Well I'm just the warm up act."

"Yeah...alright. Well, no offense, but I really would like to meet your boss soon. I mean, I'm very impressed with that way you've gone out of your way not to mention him by name, other than 'the boss' and Adrian's rendition of Renfield."

"Eh...suspense, Herman. If I told you who it was, it would lose some of the shock when you finally do meet..."

A loud creaking sound.

"...him. And here he is now."

I turned towards the sound of metal grinding on stone. At the far end of the cathedral, a set of the massive wooden doors were swinging open. The entry way was shrouded in darkness, and the lights of Rockefeller Center across the street provided the only illumination, backlighting the group of individuals now making their way inside.

I felt a firm hand fall on my shoulder. "Don't falter now, Herman," Electro said in a low voice. "Show a little steel in your backbone, alright?"

"Been getting my ass kicked up and down Manhattan all week long," I whispered in response. "It does wonders for one's 'why should I be impressed by you' reflex."

"Say that now..." he said, before Electro took a step backwards. The doors swung closed, black falling over the far end of Saint Patrick's. My eyes readjusted to the gloom, allowing me to see several figures walking towards me. They moved slowly, in a pack, but they didn't shuffle like the living dead. It was more like, well, a church procession. At the front of the group was the tallest of them. He strode with powerful strides, walking down the aisle like he owned the place, while the...four...no, five people behind him followed with a deferred pace, acknowledging who their leader was.

"That's him, Herman. No more games, no more double talk. That's your destiny, right there. Hope you're ready for it." Out of the corner of my eye, Electro had dropped down to one knee, his head bowed, as he approached. Slowly, he was coming into the light, allowing me to make out the cape billowing behind him. He wore a blue-and-black suit of some kind, metallic, molded body armor...

My breath caught in my throat. "Oh...oh, my God," I stuttered. As he crossed the final row of pews, there was no mistaking who I was looking at. He had changed his helmet, getting rid of the struts that had stuck out of the side. But other than that, he was exactly the same. Blue armor. A red cloak that flowed behind him. A skull and crossbones emblazoned on the chestpiece.

And, instead of a right hand, it was his trademark. Not just for him, but for an image that stretched back centuries, something that every human being, at one point of another, has pondered, and eventually, met face-to-face. Tonight, there was a damn good chance it would be my turn.

The procession behind him fanned out, taking their seats in the pews like normal parishioners. He strode to the altar, his eyes locked directly on to me. They had been ever since he had walked inside. This church, this place of worship, holy ground...now suddenly, the gothic styling of one of the most sacred places in New York City felt blasphemous. The angles of the stonework seemed sharper. The arches loomed higher. And the wine I had drunk earlier swirled in my stomach, all because of this man's very presence.

Metal boots stomped on the stone floor, echoing throughout the cavernous building. I couldn't move...I could barely breathe...as the man who, according to Electro, was responsible for everything that was happening strode directly up the small steps to where I stood by the altar. It made sense. It made PERFECT sense.

He came to a halt, towering over me by a couple of inches. His eyes were a maelstrom of red in stark contrast to his pale gray skin. All I could do was stare up at him. My hands were clenched, my palms clammy with sweat. I had steel in my spine, but that's because I couldn't do anything else but just lock up.

"Dillon," his voice said, scraping across the stone walls like sandpaper. "I see you kept him alive. Well done. You controlled your anger."

"Wasn't a problem, boss," Electro responded, his eyes still locked on the floor. "Figured if I scratched his paint job, you'd scratch mine a lot worse in return."

"A crude analogy, but very appropriate." Even as he addressed Max, his gaze never wavered or broke from mine. It was a staring contest I was losing by refusing to blink. "Herman Schultz. You can take that look of shocked awe off your face at any time. It's very unbecoming of the hero of the day."

The tap-tap-tapping of the personification of Death's trademark weapon broke my fearful reverie. "I should have known," I choked out. "I should have known you were involved somehow. I thought of you, outside the 7-11. I wondered what you were, but I put it right out of my head. This is too good an opportunity for you to pass up. A whole new order, with yourself at the top."

"Not the very top, Herman," the Grim Reaper said, a tight smile on his face. "But pretty damn close."