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Some rundown docks on the Hudson – 19:58

The lava-red glow of Joystick’s energy batons was nearly the only source of light out on these private docks. The address had led her to a warehouse…of course a warehouse. She had no idea what it was with these old time villains and their warehouses. Most of her modern clients had the decency to conduct business in their luxury offices or a fancy club or, even better, a place of Joystick’s choosing. Her skin prickled with paranoia as her eyes darted to every shadow.

“I assure you, you won’t need those,” a voice nearby told her. Too close, where was he? It was the same voice from the meeting earlier but she couldn’t see him

“Come out where I can see you, or are you afraid to face me like a man?”

“There is no need for this hostility. I am disappointed, Joystick; I thought you came here for business.”

“I did but your scrawny ass seems focused on punking me.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were here for the job, not revenge over some silly misunderstanding about your last job.”

“I am.”

“Come, join us inside then, and we’ll discuss the job.”

There was a slight sounding of shoes crunching on pavement, but at least she could hear him. She followed the sound to a door into the back of the warehouse. She let one energy baton dissipate but held the other one ready as she opened the steel door.

Inside stood a ragtag collection of minor super-villains that made Joystick cringe…she couldn’t believe she was thought of being in the same class as them. Spider Woman, a madwoman with all the powers of all the Spider Women, at least she had some power to back her up. One look into the woman’s crazy eyes told Joystick that she shouldn’t turn her back on this Spider Woman for a second.

Blue Streak, some kind of lame skating mercenary was staring at Joystick as she let her other baton fade. She had nothing to fear from these clowns; Griffin, a man as dumb as the animals that he was seemingly related to, was a bigger freak than the X-Men. Last was Porcupine, she didn’t know who wore the armor now, and frankly she didn’t care, though the last Porcupine had quite a reputation.

“Glad to see you could make it, Joystick.” The man that had met her in the restaurant stood before her, though now he sported a ragged red cloak that blew in a non-existent wind.

“What kind of circus do you have going on here?” Joystick asked, sneering at the newest Porcupine.

The Griffin roared and turned toward her, extending his massive claws. “I wouldn’t talk bad about your comrades in arms, Joystick. They might not be there when you need them in battle,” the cloaked man chastised her.

“I don’t need any of them.”

“You may not think much of us, but I could kill you in seconds, little girl,” Spider Woman hissed, one of her hands glowing with crackling red energy.

“Love to see you try.” Joystick let both of her batons rematerialize in her hands.

“Ladies, as much as the boys and I might like a good cat fight, we are here to discuss business.”

“Tell us what you want, Hood,” Spider Woman returned her attention back on the man in the red cloak.

“Hood?” Joystick smirked.

“That is what I go by,” her contact told her.

“I’m not working with crazy people like her,” Joystick jabbed a finger at Spider Woman, who smirked at her.

“Not even for ten million dollars apiece?”

“What? What exactly are we getting hired to do?”

The Hood smirked at her. “If I tell you we can’t let you leave without joining us.”

Joystick laughed, looking at them all. “I’d love to see you stop me. But go ahead and tell me, I’ll decide then.”

The Hood looked at the other members of his gang and they in turn nodded at him, though Spider Woman shook her head in disagreement. “We are going to raid a Shield base.”

Joystick laughed. “I’m in.”

---

Fort Raymond – 09:16

Calvin Rankin sat in his cell. They called it a room but it was a cell. His formerly broken wing was limp behind him; though the bone had healed it was still weak and the muscles were sore. What hurt worse was his pride…even with all the powers of the first five X-Men and yet he was still taken down by a bunch of powerless jarheads, or whatever these SHIELD types referred to themselves as. All his life he had been trying to take charge but always he ended up someone else’s pawn.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with my life when everyone else controls it?” He hated being in his cell, but they never let him out except to eat or practice. They had found a nearby regenerating mutant in an NYC prison and flew him out so that he could copy her powers.

“Rankin,” Crowne’s false cheerful voice came over the intercom system they had built into all of the lower levels. “How are we feeling today?”

“Like shit.”

“How’s that wing?”

“Sore.”

“Be a good soldier and follow my boys coming for you to the practice room. We need to work on those skills of yours…after yesterday’s little practice I would think you would too.”

“I’m not a soldier.”

“What was that?”

“I said I am not a god damned soldier!”

“Now listen here you ungrateful little prick!” At least now Crowne’s voice sounded natural, like he had been born and raised to insult people. “If it weren’t for me you’d be locked up on Ryker’s or worse. Now you can either be my good little soldier boy or you can be a shackled and starving prisoner of the state. Is that what you want?”

Rankin glared at the little speaker in the ceiling but stayed silent.

“Well? What’s it gonna be, Rankin?”

“Fine.”

“Fine . . .what?”

“I’ll play soldier for you,” Rankin sneered. “Until I can kill you,” he muttered under his breath once he was sure Crowne wasn’t listening anymore.

---

Elsewhere . . .

“Annoying little prick,” Crowne cut the intercom with the push of a button. “I need some real super-weapons on my team.”

He sat in his luxurious office with a number of portfolios splayed in front of him. Fury had just advised him to expect another criminal to fill his ranks in a few days. Crowne rubbed his temples with his hands, he hated that man.

“Agent Goddard, how are we coming with the new setup?” He was glad the military had installed the intercom system, it saved him a lot of time in oversight.

“Faster than anticipated, sir,” for once Goddard sounded enthusiastic, jubilant even. “You should come down and see for yourself.”

“That’s why I am contacting you on the intercom, Goddard, I don’t have time to come down there right now.”

“You really should come take a look; we’ll be ready to begin the process in a matter of hours.”

“In a matter of hours? I’ve never seen your men work so fast.”

“I am as excited to start as you are, Crowne.”

“I’ll be down in a moment.”

Crowne straightened his tie and stepped in front of a mirror to make sure his blond hair was slicked back perfectly in place. There was no good in going out in front of them without looking perfect. They would lose respect for a superior officer for something like that.

It was a brief walk from his office to the elevator and he found himself nodding at passing agents, not something he usually did. Despite a few setbacks from Fury himself, Crowne’s plans were slowly coming together. His small smile slipped when he stepped into the elevator and found agent Barrows already occupying it.

“Hello, Agent.”

“Agent Crowne, sir, good morning.”

“I’m surprised you don’t dye it, Agent.”

“What? My hair, sir? I heard you didn’t like for your agents to dye their hair.”

“I’d make an exception in your case,” Crowne’s eyes narrowed on her teal locks. The elevator stopped and agent Barrows exited without another word.

Once the doors closed Crowne pulled out a small brass key and jammed it into the small keyhole at the bottom of the pad and turned it. He pressed the ‘B’ button and it lit up blue, he pressed it again and it changed to green, he hit it a little harder and it changed to amber, with an irritated sigh he pressed the button again and it came up red. His face still dour he pressed the door close button then turned the key again.

With a slight lurch the elevator proceeded downwards deep into the earth’s crust, Crowne staring impatiently at his watch waiting the almost full minute it took to descend to the Red Level. Another chime announced his arrival as the elevator doors opened to a steel and cement basement completely undecorated except the large red ‘B’ painted on the wall across from the elevator.

“Agent Crowne, sir,” a nervous twitchy scientist greeted him. His hair was almost gone from the top of his head but that didn’t stop the man from valiantly trying to cover it up with a bad comb over. “Agent Goddard told me you’d be arriving.”

“Where is it?”

The man jumped a little at Crowne’s abruptness. “Right this way. We’ve made tremendous progress since yesterday.”

“I’d better be satisfied with all the manpower I’m throwing at this project.”

“Oh, I think you will be sir.”

The man bobbed ahead of him while Crowne glared at the man’s hunched, thin shoulders. He didn’t respect a man who didn’t take care of his body.

“Ah! Agent Crowne, come come come,” Agent Goddard greeted them in front of a large steel door wide enough nearly to be double doors. His head bobbed on his vulture like neck as he motioned Crowne forward opening the door for him.

They arrived in a large, high-tech observatory. On the far end was an elongated viewing window with six-inch thick vibranium laced plexiglass invented by Reed Richards. In front of the window were a long series of monitors as well as a microphone and control system. All that meant nothing, for it was what lay beyond the glass that interested agent Crowne.

The window revealed a circular room with no ledges or edges to grasp onto, all of it vibranium-laced, expensive was putting it mildly. The original design had been drawn up as a plan to contain the Hulk, but now Crowne had his own plans for it. Next to the table were various monitors and a couple IV’s ready and waiting the beginnings of their latest experiment.

“And when do we expect delivery of the first . . . piece?”

“In about two hours, but I must remind you that this delivery must be kept very quiet, you know certain parties in S.H.I.E.L.D. don’t appreciate what we will be doing here, sir.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” Crowne frowned at the memories racing through his head. “All of my S.H.I.E.L.D. agents will be on a training exercise and my Capekiller unit will be inside, practicing.”

“Perfect. This will be my finest work for you, Agent Crowne,” Agent Goddard actually smiled with sincerity. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

“Think nothing of it, just get me results.”

“It’s what we all want.”

“Good, I’m glad that we understand each other.” With a stiff nod, Crowne turned and stalked right back toward the elevator.

“The man doesn’t appreciate the process,” Agent Goddard shook his head before returning to oversee the completion of his newest lab.

---

Later that day . . .

Eric O’Grady stripped off his restrictive uniform. It felt good to finally peel his clothes off after a long day of work, even if that work was standing in front of a door watching self-important scientists pass him by with nary a glance. He shoved his uniform and weapon into his locker and pulled out his towel before walking into the shower room.

There were several agents already in the showers, washing their hair and joking amongst each other, but as soon as O’Grady walked in they fell silent. O’Grady glanced around but none of them even dared look in his direction.

“Thank god it is the end of the day, eh guys?” O’Grady asked, but no one made a sound. “Seriously? Even you Ivan? We went to Academy together.”

Still the only sound was the light pounding of the shower water hitting naked bodies and soap slicked tiles. O’Grady looked at each naked agent in disbelief. Most of them just stared straight ahead at the tile walls in front of them. O’Grady’s old classmate Ivan, a tall lanky Russian with pale boyish looks, stared at him directly but shook his head at O’Grady in disappointment.

“Whatever,” O’Grady knocked some of their towels onto the floor before going to take a more private area in the handicapped showers.

When he got out everyone had already dried, dressed and left. He toweled himself off as he walked from his private shower to his locker. He suddenly stopped and bent over. On the floor was a five-dollar bill, clipped to it was a card, Club Connection and it was lady’s night tonight. The agent smiled to himself, he was going out tonight. First though he had to figure out how to squirm out of this afternoon’s exercises.

---

Elsewhere . . .

Agent Goddard stood impatiently waiting as a S.H.I.E.L.D. helicopter slowly lowered onto an emergency landing pad atop the fort. Both the pilot and the accompanying agent that sat at the edge of the open side door wore stern frowns. Once it touched down Goddard hurried forward as the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents climbed out of the helicopter and began to remove an enormous metal crate.

“Can we hurry? This is supposed to be a silent operation!”

Neither agent said a word as they continued toward the open door that Goddard had left propped.

“Can’t you speak? Can you at least tell me how you were able to get this stuff? It was supposed to be on full lockdown?”

“They aren’t supposed to say a word, Agent Goddard, as you said this is supposed to be a silent operation,” the Hood appeared out of thin air next to Goddard.

Goddard stumbled away from the Hood in surprise, but recovered. “I wasn’t expecting you to show your face during delivery. What if my superior officer had been here?”

“I made sure there was no one else before I showed myself,” Hood smiled through clenched teeth. “Besides I like to make sure my investments and transactions go as smoothly as possible. Don’t you? It’s how I’ve gotten this far.”

“Well, I have the security rotation you wanted,” Goddard handed him a small envelope. “I don’t have sufficient clearance to get the rest of what you want but when I make enough progress with this experiment to impress Crowne I will get the clearance and they are as good as yours. You’re not planning on anything that will stop my experiment are you?”

“Trust me,” the Hood smiled condescendingly at him, “would I invest this much into something I didn’t want to see to fruition?”

“I . . . I guess not.”

“Keep me appraised, I want to know when you have the rest of what I bargained for,” the Hood said, turning away.

“I will,” Goddard agreed. He turned for just a second to make sure the two silent agents were handling his new experiment with care and when he looked back the Hood was gone. He guided them all the way down to the main level where his agents took over. No one but a designated few agents were allowed to even know of Red B’s existence.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” Goddard wondered aloud as they slowly descended into the bowels of the earth.

---

Club Connection 20:41

Usually Eric O’Grady went out with his uniform shirt under his clothes so he could use it to get laid, but not tonight. Tonight he couldn’t get far enough away from work. So much for the brotherhood of S.H.I.E.L.D.; one mistake and everybody turns their backs on you like you’re goddamn Benedict Arnold. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and entered the club with a swagger and a smile.

Inside the music and lights were pumping to the beat of an energetic house song. College students and socialites were grinding against each other like it was the only way they could feel anything. Beautiful girls covered in black-light paint immediately surrounded him and rubbed against him as they moved their hips and breasts to the beat.

“I could get used to this!” O’Grady grinned from ear to ear as the girls giggled with him. “What’s your name, sweet thing?”

“Come on,” one of the girls answered him with a seductive wink and a slow wag of her finger. “Let’s get a table.”

O’Grady followed as she led him along by the buttons on his shirt, the other girls took it all in stride and continued to gyrate around him. He couldn’t even decide what to look at, a supple nearly bared breast here and a high-riding panty there, there was just so much to see.

“Do you come here often?”

The girl smiled coyly and sat him down at a small booth table, away from the flashing dance floor. “I work here. Didn’t you notice the outfit?”

“So your interest in me is . . . strictly professional?”

“Well, yes,” the club girl smiled.

“Then what is it you want from me,” O’Grady grinned rakishly at her.

“I asked them to bring you over here,” smiled a man in his sixties.

“Uhhh, no offense buddy, but I don’t play for the same team.”

The man laughed. “That’s not why I asked you over. You look like a young man who could use some extra cash.”

“Yeah, couldn’t everyone?”

“Haha, no, as a matter of fact not everyone could actually use some extra cash. Wouldn’t you like to be one of those people, Eric?”

“What the hell? How do you know my name, pops?”

The man’s genial veneer slipped but only for a second before he smiled again, “I have a few connections at your work place. They told me about your recent . . . incident, and I thought you just might want a way out of S.H.I.E.L.D., and the monotony regular life has to offer.”

“Go on,” O’Grady’s eyes narrowed. What harm could it do just to listen to the man’s offer? He didn’t have to accept.

“As you already know your base is developing certain weapons technologies. It is one of these I am interested in, something that could make someone in my line of work not only eternally rich but a lot more efficient.”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to steal one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s prized experiments and give it to you? Why would I possibly do something so stupid? You do realize they are an International peacekeeping force. No matter where I went I would be hunted.”

“There are places. But that’s not why you’d do it. You would do it for 50% of the profits for as long as you stick by my side and help me with my jobs. With the suit I am speaking of I could acquire us millions in one night with minimal effort.”

“You know what, forget you old man! I may be a coward but I am no traitor, and I’m not stupid either. I’m outta here!”

“Should we bring him back, Black Fox?” Aimee, one of his favorite girls, asked.

“No,” Black Fox grabbed his shot of vodka and downed it with a flick of his wrist. “He’ll be back, I have some contacts that guarantee it.”

---

Mimic’s Room 23:36

After a long hard day of practice Calvin Rankin ached in new places, even his wingtips ached. At least he had lasted longer than he had yesterday. Even Castillo had begrudgingly given him a compliment, well only if you counted ‘at least you didn’t quit’ as a compliment, but coming from him it practically was a compliment.

He was just drifting off into the ache-free comforts of slumber when the heavy clank of his door being unlocked startled him back into consciousness. There were some whispers, perhaps S.H.I.E.L.D. had a mission for him, but he hoped not. All he wanted was some sleep.

Something cold wrapped around his neck and he grasped it as it yanked him into the air. Mimic flapped his wings, trying to regain control of the situation. Whatever was choking him prevented him from shouting for help. A red-orange flash illuminated the room in a bloody glow as Calvin unleashed his optic blasts on the intruder. In the instant he let loose he saw a masked man below him. His optic blast did its job as the intruder dropped him.

Could he be tangling with Doctor Octopus? The very thought of it caused bullets of sweat to burst out onto his face as he gasped for air. Another cold metal tentacle slammed into his gut, stealing what little breath he had regained. Calvin crumpled to his hands and knees, his lungs desperately trying to intake air, but none seemed to come.

Finally air filled his lungs, painfully. The intruder wrapped a coil around each of his arms as Calvin coughed violently. He was dizzy and couldn’t focus, he desperately had to regain his senses or his attacker may kill him.

“Guards!” he was finally able to cough out. His voice was too weak, his breathing too shallow.

“Pathetic,” a contempt-filled voice spat. The lights flickered on and Calvin squinted against the light, realizing immediately that his man was no Doctor Octopus.

“All right you two, break it up!” a stern voice barked. “Make like good cellmates and stop trying to kill each other.”

No one moved or said a word.

“Dammit, Constrictor, put Rankin down.” Calvin looked up to see it was a S.H.I.E.L.D. guard with his gun already drawn and pointed.

“Cellmate?” Constrictor asked as he dropped Calvin heavily onto the hard floor. “With this loser? I’d rather go to Ryker’s or the Cube or wherever it is you people are stuffing us these days.”

“You don’t have a choice now, Mr. Payne, you already signed the papers, now suck it up. If he is damaged or unable to fulfill his duties tomorrow you will be the one to answer for it. You got that, Payne?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Constrictor tossed Calvin a sneer pulling his coils back into their holders. “I hope I can at least pound you in some sort of practice session.”

Calvin groaned as he struggled to his feet and returned to his bed. The S.H.I.E.L.D. guards were watching both of their every moves and Mimic didn’t feel like any more punishment. He didn’t know what he was going to do about this Constrictor guy, but if they were cellmates then that meant Constrictor was probably going to be part of the team.

Calvin groaned and pulled his blanket over his face. This deal he had made kept getting worse and worse.

---

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To Be Continued...

This was originally meant to be the concluding issue of the first arc but last issue some things went longer than I meant them to. I thought I could stuff it all into this issue but by page 16 I knew I had to extend it just one extra issue. Thanks for reading so far I hope you like the next issue.

Next: In Capekillers #5: The base is attacked but what exactly is Hood and his gang after? Who will come out on top Hood’s gang or the Capekillers?

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