The Five Stages

The Middle of Winter, Earth-42

The colored lights of Christmas shone brightly from within frosty windows, and they were just beginning to cast their shadows in the early evening light as a solitary figure trudged along the sidewalk in front of them. There were a few others about, braving the harsh blizzardly conditions. But even so, he was still alone.

One foot followed after the other as he struggled through the heavy snow. It was over three feet deep in parts, and with each step forward his boot would sink into the fresh powder with a loud crunch. Large white flakes continued to fall, whipped about by the churning frozen air. Steam from his breath curled around his head, and he could feel the iciness of the air with each deep intake. He'd walked this route many times before, so he knew, he still had a way to go.

"This shit sucks."

Miles had a lot more to say about it than that, but it was just that simple.

Sometimes, shit just sucked.

He had been planning on staying at the repair shop this weekend. His new gear just needed a dozen or so more hours of work until it was fully ready and besides, Christmas was next weekend, so he'd soon be spending plenty of time at his mom's house anyway. But she had called him out of the blue an hour ago, telling him to come home as soon as possible. Her tone had been strangely intense, and she didn't tell him why it was so important, but Miles had a good idea about what had caused his long trek through this freshly falling snow.

His report card, the second to last of his senior year, was coming in the mail today.

Miles had hoped the storm might have delayed it, but the post office really did seem to live up to their "nor rain, nor snow, nor gloom of night," bullshit. He didn't know exactly how bad the damage was, but he was pretty sure the only class he had an A in was shop class.

Miles knew he could do better; he just didn't want to. He'd always made a living with his hands, not with his head, and he had no plans to change that arrangement in the future. Let other people go to college and pay some already rich assholes $100,000 for the privilege of getting a stupid signed piece of paper.

His mom thought different, he guessed that most moms would. It mattered to her, and Miles knew why. Because to her, it was the gateway to a better life. To something meaningful.

But Miles had found meaning, even if he was only just starting to realize it himself. It was why he had wanted to keep working on his gear, he was so close to being ready.

But now, here he was. Cold, tired, and in a bad mood. Slowly making his way towards a chewing out he knew was waiting for him.

But he could take it. And besides, grades only mattered in high school, it wasn't like they went onto some permanent record or something.

His foot suddenly froze in the air halfway between its next step.

"Wait, they don't… do they?"

His thoughts were interrupted by something impacting the back of his head with a thump as a stream of ice slid down the back of his shirt. Turning around, he saw two boys a dozen or so feet behind him. They were tightly bundled up so Miles could only see their part of their face, but they looked to be a few years younger than him. One had his hands coving his mouth, his eyes wide. The other was pointing at Miles and laughing, another snowball in his other hand. Miles stared them down for a moment, before he gestured to the one laughing and said, "you wanna try that shit again?"

The kid stopped laughing and turned to his friend who quickly began to shake his head. But he just shrugged his shoulders and looked back at Miles for a second before he let loose the attack.

Miles twisted his head out of the way as the snowball whizzed past his ear and scattered against the decorated store window behind him.

"Bad move little man," said Miles as he couldn't help but smile at the kid's audacity. But now it was time to show them how a professional got it done!

He summersaulted forwards, collecting two handfuls of snow as he did so and as he leapt back to his feet, he hucked both of them at the same time. They impacted one after the other upon the laughing kid's chest, sending snow spraying into his face.

There was a tense standoff for a moment as the kid wiped the snow off. Then, with his own smile breaking through, he dove for the ground.

The battle was on!

Miles and him began lobbing snowballs back and forth at each other, as the other kid watched on, trying to dodge the stray projectiles that came in his direction. Miles had speed, strength, and experience on his side, and he was landing the cleanest shots. But the kid was a natural, and more than once Miles caught a snowball with his face. The fight eventually drove the both of them searching for cover as one pushed forward and the other moved back, so after a minute of this tit for tat, they were at a stalemate, separated now only by a pick-up truck that the both of them were using for cover.

Miles ducked down under the truck's bed to see where the kid was standing, and was planning on flanking him, when a snowball suddenly struck him from an unexpected direction. Whipping his head around he saw the other kid, the incriminating white snow still visible on his black mitten. He looked nervous, but he was starting to smile after having finally mustered up the courage to enter the icy fray.

Miles's prior experience had taught him that facing off against two opponents meant that he had to divide and conquer them to win. And even with something as silly as a snowball fight, he wasn't about to lose. So, given that his new opponent still looked unsure of himself, he reckoned that one good strike to the face would be enough to send him scurrying away.

In one continuous motion he reached into the bed of the pick-up, scooped up a large handful of snow, compacted it with his other hand as he spun once around, and let it fly towards him like a baseball pitcher, raised leg delivery and all!

It sped through the air and hit the kid square in the middle of his forehead. But instead of the soft puff the impact of a snowball usually made, this had a dull thud, and the kid immediately fell backwards, clutching at his head.

Miles blinked in surprise, not fully realizing yet what had happened. The other kid leapt around the side of the truck, snowball in hand and ready to strike, but he paused as he saw Miles paying him no mind. He then noticed his friend lying prone in the snow and, the fight forgotten, rushed over to him.

Miles looked down at his snow-covered gloves, and then looked into the bed of the truck. He saw the indentation from where he had scooped up the snow and only now noticed the small pieces of something that reflected the multi-colored Christmas lights nearby. Lowering his hand and moving it through the snow, his stomach sank as he realized what they were.

Broken pieces of glass.

Sharp.

The other kid was sitting up now with the help of his friend, and as Miles walked over to them, he could see the tears forming in his eyes as a single line of dark red blood streaked down his face and dripped onto the snow.

"Oh shit I'm, my bad I didn't, you know…"

He kneeled and reached out as gently as he could to move the kids hand away from the wound. It wasn't as bad as he feared, wasn't as bad as it could have been. But it was still a nasty cut. Miles didn't think he'd need stitches, but he was no doctor.

"My moms a nurse," he began to say as the other kid helped him stand up, "she could take a look at it." But they were already walking quickly away, and they didn't even look back in his direction as he called out after them.

"I'm sorry!"

He watched them go, until they turned the corner and were gone from view. His eyes drifted downward and lingered for a while on the small quickly freezing pool of blood at his feet.

A red smear, on white snow.

Unbidden, memories of that long night spent in the Pine Barrens came into his mind.

He looked up and gazed at his reflection in the store window across from him. Two bright lights from within the hanging strand obscured his view of his reflected hands. One shone a vibrant purple, the other a deep red.

He always made his living with his hands.

Today it seemed, was no different.

~o0o~

He stood before the door to their home and was looking forward to the warm air within. What he was not looking forward to was the long, stern, and detailed lecture on his failings that he knew was awaiting him. So, before he faced that, he kicked the snow off his boots and took out the homing device he had taken with him from the shop. It was the latest upgrade to his gear he had been working on, based partly on the glider's technology. It was untested, but theoretically it should summon his gauntlets to his location.

How far could they travel? How accurate was it? Miles didn't know, he had only added the microjets to them a few weeks ago. But they had worked well in increasing the speed and power of his fists, and it gave him a much better ability to control his movements in flight. Before, activating his boots had felt like strapping himself to the end of an unguided rocket. Now, it was like a guided rocket. A slightly, guided rocket.

He put the homing beacon back into his pants pocket, he had plans to test it later on the roof.

But family always had to come first. Even when he really didn't want it to.

With a heavy sigh, he finally pushed open the door to his home and let the warm air wash over him for a moment. As he stepped inside, he noticed that there was an unusual smell in the air, but his mother had recently gotten into baking, so he just assumed that her most recent experiment must've gone poorly.

"I'm home," he called out as he began to remove the many layers of winter clothing he was wearing. He didn't get an immediate response so, after taking off his gloves, jacket, and sweater he called out again, "mom, I'm home!"

"I'm in the kitchen," finally came her response after a few more seconds of silence.

"I can tell," said Miles as he began to untie his tall boots. "From the smell did something got burnt again?"

Silence for a moment.

"Just, come to the kitchen please."

Miles sighed; he knew that tone of voice well.

"I'll be there, I'm just getting my boots off."

He didn't get a response to that, but he knew that she was sitting at the table, report card laid out in front of her, an angry and disappointed expression upon her face.

He had seen the scene too many times before for it to be any different now.

Sliding his thick wool socks off and slipping on a fresh pair, he stored his boots in the closet before finally making his way towards the kitchen. As he approached, the unusual smell became stronger and stronger. It started to smell more and more like rotting food or spoiled milk. It caused Miles to cough and plug up his nose with his hand.

"Jesucristo Mama, it smells like something died in here!"

He rounded the corner and saw her sitting directly across from him, the report card lying on the table between them. But what was unusual, other than the smell that was stronger than ever, was who was sitting next to her.

It was his uncle, Aaron.

Which was odd.

Because he was dead.

Not maybe, not probably, but certainly.

Dead.

And yet, there he was. Sitting there. But he was different. Wrong. Altered.

His skin was a sallow color, disfigured and discolored. His hair was missing in uneven patches, and what was left was grey and visibly decaying. He was still wearing his prowler get-up, what he had been wearing the last time he had seen him.

Held him.

Dying.

On that ancient stone beneath the burning brilliance of the collider stream.

But what drew Miles's attention the most were his eyes and mouth, or rather, where they once were. Gone was the flesh and blood, replaced now by blue and white blocks of cybernetics. They seemed grafted onto the skin, coving up the entirety of their prior flesh and blood components. The solid mechanical replacement that was faceted to his mouth began to flash as projected sounds from the cybernetics now emitted words with a cold and haughty tone.

"Well, how lovely is this, a broken family reunited once more."

Miles's hand unconsciously drifted down towards his pants pocket as he breathlessly responded, "Uncle Aaron?"

"More or less," came the electronic voice, as the arms gestured to the living corpse Miles was staring at. "Less perhaps, then more. But nevertheless, here I am."

Miles looked to his mom, but she was frozen in fear and horror, staring at the most familiar of strangers sitting next to her.

"What are you?"

"A well-earned lesson. But I'm getting ahead of myself, first things first after all."

The monstrosity picked up the blue paper of the report card and waved it in front of itself.

"A D in English and a C- in chemistry! Shameful grades, but worst of all a C in Spanish! For shame Mr. Morales, for shame!"

Miles began to recognize the condescending tone of the electric voice, but he had to be sure who he was actually talking too.

"Tell me, uncle, how's your jaw feeling?"

The monstrosity involuntarily reached towards its own jaw before the hand snapped back down to the table.

"Ah," said Miles, as he finally sat at the table across from his mom and his uncle. "So, Dok, I see you survived the collider then?"

"More than survived," angrily responded the monstrosity, before he regained his previous composure. "Your injury to me was nothing more then just the push I needed. To replace the last of that which was weak with that which is strong!"

"Huh, how bout that? You rip a man's jaw off and he thanks you for it."

The figure of his uncle tensed, as his mother looked at her son in horror.

"Although, I wouldn't call what you were or what you are now much of a man."

"Miles!"

The tone of his mother's voice caused him to break away from his staredown with the eyeless corpse. He could tell she was terrified of the thing sitting in her kitchen. But meeting her gaze, he now realized that she was nearly just as scared of the other thing sitting in her kitchen.

Miles's brow furrowed as he leaned back a little in his chair, a question formed and died upon his lips as the electronic voice of the monstrosity rasped out a cruel laugh.

"Oh dear oh dear, I see the confusion in your eyes young one. Allow me to enlighten you. See, I've been informing your very hospitable mother here about your, shall we call them, nighttime activities."

"I don't do that shit anymore," said Miles, more to his himself then to either of them.

"What, you think time lessens the stain?"

Miles didn't immediately answer so Dok continued in that same scornful electronic voice, "the body may change, age and decay, but the soul is fixed upon whatever star it first set its course upon. And for you, Mr. Morales, that star is dripping red."

"Comin from the man, the thing, that has a body count larger than all the stars in the sky, mine ain't shit to compare it to!"

His mother flinched at that, and Miles couldn't help but notice.

"Oh no doubt," said Dok, "but if we are to cut ourselves with the individual degrees of our sins, then I'm afraid we would still both bleed out."

"I'm cool with that, if it means getting rid of you" said Miles in a low voice, before he once again saw the horror in his mother's eyes.

"But at least mine, Mr. Morales, have been in service of the greater good of humanity."

His anger suddenly vanished, replaced with indignation as he spat out, "good of what? All you ever did was kill, and rob, and try to get whatever power that ain't yours already!"

"With your limited view I could see how you could come to that conclusion. But I see with eyes forged from clarity and a mind that stretches far further then that C- brain of yours could ever comprehend."

Miles knew when a monologue was coming, after all they always started with an insult. So, as Dok continued to speak, he slowly reached his hand into his pants pocket.

"But, seeing as this is to be your last day on earth, I suppose expanding your horizons is at least one merciful action I can take. For I do what I do for the future. Not for my own, but for all of ours. You see-"

"Your last day?"

Rio's voice broke through, causing the both of them to look at her. But for the moment she only had eyes for what was once Jeff's brother.

"Your last day… Miles never told me what happened."

"I, uh, I'm not, this is just a-"

"He died protecting me."

The words had flown out of him all at once, as if he was admitting it to her and to himself for the first time.

"We were in this cavern under Bear Mountain. I remember rock, smooth and cold. Above us was, I don't know how to describe it mom… it was like all the colors of every universe. I had felt him first collide with my back, then I felt a half dozen needles just pierce my skin. I turned around and saw that flying thing with its claws dug into his chest. The rest is a blur. Just images of ripping and beating. Then I heard her voice and saw a ghost pleading with me. She was huddled in the corner of her room, blankets pulled up to her face. But I wasn't done, nothing was gonna stop me! Then, I heard him. I saw him. I ran to him. I held him. He didn't have long."

Miles's eyes drifted over to the chest of his uncle sitting across from him. The lines of blood staining it was still there, but it was now a dull grey, long since dead, just like the rest of him.

"He said he wanted me to grow old. He called me… a protector. Something I ain't."

How could he be?

The air around the kitchen table was quiet then, as the rumbling sounds of a snowplow passed by on the street outside. Both of them were lost, wrestling with their emotions.

In a quiet voice, Rio said, "so he did keep his promise to me."

Miles nodded slightly, as his finger finally activated the beacon in his pocket.

"What a touching scene," came Dok's synthesized voice, breaking the both of them out of their shared moment. "And truly, I am glad the both of you were able to have this closure. Because, even without my doing, you are already getting at the heart of why I am here."

"And what is that, huh, other than you being your usual sadistic self?"

"Sadistic? An impressive choice of words for someone with a D in English. But that word is the furthest from my purpose, for I come today with a chance to grieve. And it seems you have already gotten past denial, so with that it's one down and only four to go."

Genuinely confused, Miles asked, "what the hell are you on about?"

"Grief, Mr. Morales. The humble me, helping you deal with yours, as one last thank you for pushing me to finally go beyond what I thought was possible."

"You expect me to get all weepy over my uncle? I've already had those tears. And the fuck you mean beyond what was possible! If this thing is your great leap forward then you're even more insane then I thought. All you are now is a voice from a dead man's throat!"

The cyborg shook its head, shedding a few loose grey hairs in the process as it said, "I am here for far more than just tears. And this is only a vessel. I have no real skin in this game, so to speak. No, Mr. Morales, my only goal tonight is to drive you to acceptance."

"Accept what?"

"That he is dead, and so are you."

"That a threat?"

"Oh no, it is most assuredly a promise. And I think in the course of your instruction you will come to understand what a great leap forward this 'voice from a dead man's throat' truly is."

"Don't hold your breath."

"I couldn't even if I wanted too."

Behind focused eyes, Miles's head was racing, attempting to calculate the distance between the shop and here. Whatever it was exactly, he knew he needed more time. That was, if they were even coming at all.

"Why don't you stop speaking in riddles and just tell me what the hell you think you're here for."

"Very well. I will lay it out for you step by step if that will finally pierce through the haze that obscures your view of the future. I will draw out your anger, your rage, I will make you expend your fury upon this body that you still love. Then, with your fingers broken and bloody, and seeing the reaper's scythe closing in, unable to stop it, you will beg for your life. You will ask me for forgiveness, for mercy, and I must admit that I am looking forward to that part the most. Then, when you have finally expended all your cries, after I have savaged you enough, broken you fully, you will despair. It is only then, with you on your knees and nowhere else to run, no one else to turn to, no salvation to find on this earth. Only then, after that final acceptance of your death, will I allow the scythe cut your thread and end your mortal suffering! As for what lies after that for your soul, well, even I do not know. But it will be the worms that will feast on your flesh!"

There was another long silence around the kitchen table as Miles did his best to act like he wasn't scared. But he knew that he had meant every word he had just said. Dok was no liar, and he was too smart not to have the means to back-up his words.

"Is that all?"

"In the broadest possible strokes, yes. The execution may vary, but that is your future, for however long tonight may take."

"Well, I'll admit, its one hell of a plan Dok. But you're wrong about one thing at least."

"Doubtful, but I'll indulge you a moment further."

"I don't love that," he said, gesturing to the corpse of Aaron. "I loved the man! And he's in here still, with me, with mom, and there ain't damn thing you can do to take that away!"

"Such cloying sentiment," sighed Dok as the cyborg's head shook back and forth disapprovingly. "You never used to have that problem before. The other one, that web-slinger, he was the one that was full of it. I suppose it only makes sense that you learned it from him, he was your superior after all."

At that Miles laughed, which caught both Dok and his mother completely off guard.

"You know, you ain't all wrong all the time Dok. But we brothers now, and I've learned a few other things too. Like how to do magic tricks."

The cyborg was silent and only craned its head to the side in confusion.

"Tell me Dok, do you like magic?"

"There's no such thing."

"Oh, there definitely is. For example, I'm about to make a left hook appear out of thin air!"

"And how's that?"

*beep* *beep* *beep*

The sound came from under the table.

Miles leapt across it, but not at the cyborg.

He tackled his mother to the floor as Dok just watched, frozen in momentary surprise. This was not a part of his-

The window overlooking the street suddenly exploded inwards as a metal fist with a burning line of purple fire like the tail of a comet rocketed into the kitchen and collided with the cyborg's chest in an almighty *THOOM*, propelling his uncle's corpse across the room and through the wall between the kitchen and the master bedroom!

Plaster rained down all around them from the massive hole as artwork hung on the wall scattered across the floor. The cold air from outside the shattered window quickly swirled into the room as Miles leapt to his feet and turned towards it. His other gauntlet was roaring across the street towards him, but with a press of the beacon in his pocket, it slowed and Miles was able to catch it, although it's inertia still caused him to slide back several feet. He slid it onto his right arm as its servos whined and its purple circuitry crackled to life. His metal fingers snapped into a fist, and from through the dust still hanging in the air within the hole in the wall, his other gauntlet, it's purple flames now gently burning, arrived back at his side. He slid his right arm into it before he slammed his two metal fists together with a satisfying crunch.

"YOU WANNA KILL ME DOK, THEN PULL UP ASSHOLE! CAUSE NOW THIS A FIGHT!"

A blue light began to cut through the slowly dissipating dust. And as the cyborg stepped out from within the hole its body had made, Miles was stunned at what he now saw! Hundreds of lines of blue light were visible underneath the cyborg's previously sallow skin, giving the corpse the appearance of being lit from within by electricity. Miles quickly realized that these lines were running through where all the blood in a living person would. An electrically powered circulatory system!

"An impressive trick I must admit, and not one I was expecting," said Dok as the cyborg brushed some of the broken bits of plaster off of its shoulders. "But you're not the only one palming an ace here. A lot of that web-slinger's blood got spilled on the collider floor, the still recovering Sandman I have to thank for that. And while some of its features still elude me, one was capable of easy reproduction!"

Bolts of electricity shot out from different points across his body and arced to a dozen surfaces all around their apartment, shorting them out in unison and sending down a cascade of orange sparks to complement his gathering blue aura.

"Now, my soon to be dead friend, I think it's time for the second stage!"

"Not this agai-"

A blast of electricity hit him square in the chest and sent him flying out the broken window. The Electric Prowler strode up towards it, looked down into the street below, and then looked down at Rio. Its eyes and mouth were now smoking sizzling cinders of blue lightning.

"I wouldn't watch this if I were you, it will be quite a bloody affair."

With that, it leapt through the window.

Rio, her heart about to beat out of her chest, fumbled in her pocket for her phone. Standing up and pulling it out, if she could have breathed it would have been a sigh of relief as somehow it was still functioning. She scrolled as fast as she could through her contacts, looking for a singular name as she ran towards the door to their home. Finally finding it, she missed twice with her thumb before pressing the call button.

The name of the contact read:

"Miles Weird Pale Friend."

She knew, from what Miles had told of him, that he was the only one who could save her son.

She just had to hope that the green-eyed guy would answer an unknown number. And that he'd get here in time!

Otherwise…