by Stuart Moore
Reed nodded. His fingers stretched and tapped across the keyboard.
Tony gritted his teeth. This is still salvageable, he thought. It won’t fall apart. It can’t—not after all we’ve sacrificed. All I’ve sacrificed.
“Reed?”
Reed was frowning at the display screen. “Someone else is controlling this. From the Quincunx…” He stopped, staring at the screen.
Hill threw up her hands. “What?!”
“The pattern of keystrokes…I recognize it.”
Hands shaking, Reed opened a chat box and typed a single word:
SUE?
A force bolt blasted past them, burning a hole in the wall. Hill gestured, almost casually, and a pair of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents formed a blockade behind them, firing tranqs into the rebels.
When Tony looked back, Reed was staring at the screen again. The chat window showed a short, return message:
GO TO HELL
DARLING
“Reed!” Tony took him by the shoulders. “You can do this. You have to do this.”
Reed stared at him for a long moment. Tony thought he saw Reed start to nod—
—and then something slammed into Tony’s back with a dull, wet noise. Before he could react, a powerful force lifted him up off the floor. He spun around in midair, boot-jets firing at full—and found himself tangled in sticky webbing.
“I’m back, Shell-Head. And I brought my can opener.”
Spider-Man’s fist slammed into Tony’s helmet. Tony howled in pain. A dozen armor alarms went off, but his helmet seal held.
Tony reached out a hand, fired a repulsor at Spider-Man. The wall-crawler scuttled along the lab wall, dodged—blasted spider-sense!—but caught a bit of the blast on the edge of his upper torso. His blue-red uniform tore open, exposing burned flesh beneath.
Tony twisted in midair, still caught in a net of webbing. He fired pinlight-beam repulsors, burning off it bit by bit, slowly but surely.
“Should have kept the new suit, Peter.”
“I couldn’t, boss. Too much blood on it.”
“BAXTER BUILDING MAIN LABORATORY.” The piercing computer voice filled the air. “SECURITY SYSTEMS ACTIVATED. SIXTY SECONDS TO LOCKDOWN.”
“Reed!” Tony yelled. “Silence that thing. We don’t need to warn them—”
Spider-Man leapt toward Tony, both his fists clasped together. He struck Tony’s torso with a loud clang, then leapt away quickly. Tony stumbled back, firing off repulsors, but Spidey was moving too fast to get a target lock. Tony crashed down, scattering a group of Initiative trainees.
Tony climbed to his feet—and noticed that the battle pattern had changed. The Resistance forces stood together now, their backs to the large window in the side chamber. They’d managed to form a barricade against all of Tony’s forces: the Avengers, Thunderbolts, and Initiative trainees. S.H.I.E.L.D., too.
And the rebels weren’t just brawling. They stood arm to arm, in a straight line. Even their aerial forces had joined them; Falcon hovered with Stingray, Nighthawk, and Storm above the rebel line, blasting and thrusting to keep the Initiative fliers back. All with a single goal: protecting something, or someone, over by the window.
Then Spider-Man was on Tony again, punching and firing off webs.
Tony activated his chest-beam, set it to widest spread. Spidey flew backward, yelling in pain.
“THIRTY SECONDS TO LOCKDOWN.”
The thought hit Tony like a blast of ice: Peter was a decoy. To keep me from realizing what’s going on…
He flew up into the air. Blasted Stingray hard, with both repulsors and chest-beam, smashing a hole in the rebels’ aerial blockade.
…over there.
Tony swooped over the line, dodging Storm’s lightning bolts and Falcon’s grasping arms. Then he stopped short as he saw:
Captain America stood at the huge glass wall-window, bashing at it with his shield. Next to him, Dagger fired off a wide spread of light-knives, weakening the glass in a dozen spots. Cage punched at a single spot, very hard, several times in succession. Hercules hurled himself at the glass, his massive body slamming into it and bouncing back, again and again and again.
Johnny Storm had joined them, too. He fired off flame-balls, softening the glass, yellow and white flames glinting off its surface.
Beyond the window, evening had fallen. A thousand tiny lights illuminated the spires of Manhattan, lit up against the chill autumn night.
Oh no, Tony thought. No no no no no—
“FIFTEEN SECONDS TO LOCKDOWN.”
“It’s now or never.” Cap raised his shield, called to the others. “Freedom!”
“Cap!” Tony yelled. “Please—”
Too late. Light-daggers flashed, street-toughened fists lashed out. Fireballs flamed bright; god-muscles flexed and released. Captain America lashed out with his shield to strike the final, shattering blow.
The glass splintered, burst outward in a thousand shards. Captain America and the others tumbled after it, into the open air.
Cold air blasted in. With a rebel cry, the rest of the Resistance turned to follow their leader. They ran, jumped, and flew out into the dark sky.
Spider-Man swung out last, his webline anchored to the ceiling. As he let go of the line, swooping out into the sky, he turned and shot Tony another Nazi arm-salute.
Tony hovered, shocked and horrified. Evening in Times Square, he thought. There are thousands of people down on the streets. Thousands of innocent bystanders, people I’ve vowed to keep safe. And now we’ve brought our battle straight into their lives.
He clenched his fists. This is bad, very bad. This isn’t contained any longer; it’s now a public brawl. The one thing I tried, above all else, to avoid.
“ALERT: OUTER PERIMETER BREACH.”
Hill ran up beneath Tony, staring out the shattered window, barking orders into her shoulder-comm. Reed stretched up next to her, his eyes wide with shock. The rest of the Initiative forces scrambled up to join them, looking to their leader.
Ms. Marvel, strong and loyal as always, flew up to stand right before Tony. “Orders?”
He swept his gaze across her beautiful form, then down and around past his assembled forces. She-Hulk and Black Widow, determined and sure; Hawkeye and Reed, torn by old loyalties. Stature and Hermes and the children from the Initiative, just beginning their super hero careers. The deadly Thunderbolts, sneering and snarling, human weapons kept in check only by S.H.I.E.L.D.’s technology.
Tony turned, then, and gazed out into the night sky. S.H.I.E.L.D. copters dipped low, buzzing and whirling, awaiting orders.
He swept his arm forward, and soared out through the window. Then he turned back, setting his armor’s speakers to maximum.
“SHUT ’EM DOWN,” he said.
“ALL the fliers, grab a friend,” Cap yelled. “Now!”
Floor after floor of the Baxter Building whizzed by, frighteningly fast. The lights of Times Square glared bright, painting the falling heroes in a surreal palette of bright hues.
The Human Torch flamed on, arcing upward to grab hold of Sue and Dagger. Nighthawk’s wings beat furiously as he scooped up Daredevil, Valkyrie, and Cage. Storm grabbed her husband, and Spider-Man shot webs out toward the side of the Baxter Building, slowing his own fall.
Falcon swooped down and grabbed Cap up by the arms.
“Like old times, right, Cap?”
“Not exactly.” Cap shot him a grateful glance. “Get me some altitude?”
Falcon titled his head up and soared upward, carrying his partner along. Cap felt the night air on his face, invigorating him. He looked down.
The chaos of Times Square spread out in a thin wedge, cars crawling by around a central triangle of food stands, military recruiting areas, and pedestrian seating areas. The Square was crowded with people: commuters and tourists, street performers and ticket scalpers, all lit by streetlamps and arc-bright billboards. They ran like ants now, away from the barrage of glass and bodies plummeting down from
the Baxter Building.
Riot-suited S.H.I.E.L.D. agents rushed into the square, waving batons and herding the crowd south, through clumps of metal tables surrounding dumpling trucks and hot dog carts. Local cops poured out into the streets, clearing the major routes of cars. Official vehicles screeched up to block intersections.
If they just let us go, Cap thought, this’ll be over fast. But if Tony lets his troops loose on the ground…
“HO, MORTALS!” Hercules screamed down past Cap and the Falcon, his fall unchecked. “MAKE WAY FOR THE SON OF ZEUS!”
Laughing, Herc struck the sidewalk with a thundering crash. Pavement split, people scattered; water burst up from a shattered hydrant.
Dammit, Cap thought.
Two and three at a time, the Resistance touched down in the square. The Torch first, with Sue and Dagger in tow. Storm and the Panther. Spider-Man swung down to join them, shooting out webbing to dam the gushing hydrant.
Cap gestured, and Falcon turned back toward the Baxter Building. The hole was still visible in the side of Reed’s lab. A few brightly colored figures peered out, but Cap couldn’t make them out from this distance. Four S.H.I.E.L.D. copters hovered just outside.
And down below…
A cruel figure in deep blue and white stalked out the main entrance of the Baxter Building, his features lit in flashes by a Broadway theatre ad. Bullseye. The ghoul-faced Taskmaster followed, then Lady Deathstrike. And Venom, in his dark mockery of Spider-Man’s costume, his inhuman tongue flicking around hungrily.
The Thunderbolts. Tony Stark’s mercenary army, his own troop of supposedly tame super villains. Loose among the panicked citizens of New York.
Behind the Thunderbolts, heroes swarmed out of the Baxter Building. She-Hulk, Black Widow, Doc Samson. With a sinking feeling, Cap knew: This battle isn’t over yet.
The Thunderbolts whispered quickly among themselves. Lady Deathstrike pointed a long, unnaturally sharp finger, and the others turned to look. Cap squinted and saw their target: Stingray was just wobbling in for a rough landing on the blue-paved pedestrian area. He carried Asp, who struggled in his grip. She slipped, banged a leg badly in the landing.
“Gliding ain’t flying,” Cap said.
Falcon looked down at him. “What?”
Below, the Thunderbolts took off at a run. They dodged across screeching traffic, heading straight for the dazed Stingray and Asp.
Cap tensed. “There.” He pointed at the villains. “Get me down there.”
Falcon grabbed Cap tighter and dove. The gigantic ads of Times Square lit their descent: Broadway shows, fast food, electronics equipment. A documentary called Inside Stamford: Anatomy of a Tragedy.
“What’s our play?” Falcon asked.
“I can handle it. You help the others.”
“You’re gonna take on all four of ’em? Those are heavy hitters!”
“I need you to make sure our guys are all safe. If I need help, I’ll yell.”
Falcon let out a sigh, audible even over the rush of wind. He swooped down to a height of twelve feet. Cap looked down just in time to see Venom wrap his malleable alien body around Stingray, knocking him off his feet. Lady Deathstrike and Taskmaster grabbed on to the dazed Asp, holding her up before Bullseye—who just stood smiling, licking his lips.
Cap slapped Falcon’s arm. Falcon nodded and dropped him.
Cap plummeted down, over the panicked, swerving cars. Later, he would remember: In that brief moment, falling through the air toward his enemies, he felt as alive as he ever had in his life.
Then he struck down hard, crashing down on Lady Deathstrike’s neck. Asp seized the chance, shooting off a bioelectric charge at Taskmaster. He cried out and staggered back.
But Bullseye was already in motion. The assassin, who specialized in using any object as a weapon, grabbed a briefcase from a startled businessman. The man started to protest, then caught a glimpse of Bullseye’s eyes and fled in terror.
Bullseye snapped open the briefcase, incredibly fast. He grabbed out four ordinary pens and fired them like missiles, straight at Cap and Asp. Cap barely managed to raise his shield in time to block them.
A gurgling noise alerted him to Stingray’s plight: Venom’s long tongue was wrapped around Stingray’s neck now, slowly choking him. Cap pointed, and Asp nodded. She reached out her arms, sending a fierce charged bolt straight at Venom. The alien shuddered, spasmed, and released his prey.
Stingray ran to Cap. “Thanks,” he said.
“Couldn’t desert Resistance members in need,” Captain America replied.
Asp smiled. “I thought you’d be off with Falcon and…and the Torch…”
“You’re all my troops. Now go—help the others.”
Asp shot him a last, grateful glance as they ran off. Then a flash of light caught Cap’s eye. Purely on instinct, he swiveled his shield around just in time to block Taskmaster’s ray-blast. He kicked backward, catching Lady Deathstrike in the stomach an instant before her cyborg claws could grab his throat.
Cap was completely in the moment, now. All around him, little fights were breaking out: Resistance versus Initiative, heroes versus heroes. A few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents swarmed onto the blue pedestrian area, brandishing their weapons. Civilians pointed in panic, ran for cover. Cars screeched, swerved, crashed into lampposts.
Lady Deathstrike reached out long claws, slashed Cap across the chest. Blood spurted. “Some rebel leader!” she said.
Cap staggered back, and realized: I’ve lost the advantage.
Before he could recover, Venom punched him in the stomach. “Yesssss.” Cap could feel his hot breath, foul and alien.
“This is the living legend of World War Two?” Bullseye kicked high, his boot catching Cap in the face. “Who was he fighting, Bing Crosby?”
Cap’s head snapped back. The world swam before his eyes. All around him, brightly colored costumes fought a desperate ballet. Above, the lights of the square wavered and flashed before his eyes…
…and he smiled.
Lady Deathstrike held his head firmly now, gripping it from behind in her unnaturally long fingers.
“What’s so funny, Captain?”
Cap smiled through blood-splattered teeth. “I’m just thinking about my pal up there…”
A regal figure swooped down out of the night sky. Behind him, a high-tech airship popped open…and dozens of tattooed, blue-skinned warriors poured out.
“…who’s about to kick your butts into next week.”
Prince Namor arrowed downward, fists clenched. He reached back, motioning his warriors to follow. “IMPERIUS REX!”
Again, Cap smiled.
Now the Resistance had a fighting chance.
SUE Richards gazed up at Namor, watched the graceful arc of his descent. His imposing figure crashed into Bullseye, fists first, knocking the assassin to the ground. The warriors of Atlantis followed, four or five each swarming over Venom, Taskmaster, and Lady Deathstrike.
Unbidden, the thought came to Sue: At least there’s one man in my life I can count on.
She stood, invisible, pressed against an alcove next to the Baxter Building main entrance. Ben had loitered out here many times after an FF meeting, puffing that stogie. Before he gave up smoking, of course.
“Iron Man to all points.” Sue looked up sharply, saw Tony’s gleaming figure hovering above the fray. “Continue evacuation of the area and contain the battle to midtown. I want no civilian casualties. Repeat: NO CIVILIAN CASUALTIES!”
The battle had resumed quickly, down here on the ground. Just across Broadway, Luke Cage and Diamondback grappled with Wonder Man, while Ms. Marvel shot force-bolts at Cage from the air. Falcon leapt and swooped above Hawkeye, who stood with bow drawn, shouting up at his enemy. Hercules shrugged off the Black Widow’s stinger-blasts, smiling as She-Hulk moved in to join the fray.
Sue searched around for Reed. She caught a glimpse of his attenuated, 15-foot-long body a block north, coiled around Patriot and besieged by Atlant
ean troops. Johnny soared overhead, dodging and firing off flame-balls at Captain Marvel, the two of them framed by a 30-foot lingerie ad.
A hail of glass rained down on Sue—more debris from the upper floor. A group of civilians stood huddled against the building; Sue flashed on her force field, shielding them, and herself, from the new barrage. Then she heard a familiar grunt from across the square.
She dropped her invisibility field. “Ben!”
The Thing smiled, that crooked smile she’d grown to love. He stopped to backhand She-Hulk, knocking her away from Hercules. Herc turned, regarding Ben with a look of disappointment.
Ben clomped across the street, his arms spread wide. “Ya didn’t really think I was gonna sit this one out eatin’ croissants?” He reached out, hugged Sue tight. “We got people to protect!”
Then his eyes went wide with alarm. Sue whipped her head around and saw—
—a glint of light—
—the Taskmaster’s ghoulish, desiccated face—
—his energy gun, light flashing red —
“SUSAN!”
And then the air was filled with blue. Reed Richards threw himself in front of the Taskmaster’s blast, taking it full-on in the back. He cried out in pain and went limp, spasming like a rubber sheet in midair.
“Reed!” Sue pulled free of Ben, whipped herself around.
Reed collapsed to the sidewalk, his long limbs sprawling out into the street. The traffic had almost all fled now; Ben held up a hand to a bus, which screeched to a halt. Then he leaned down over Reed’s smoking body.
“Aw, man,” Ben said.
Sue ran over and bent down to touch her husband. Reed’s heart was tough to locate in his elongated form, but she’d had practice. She felt around his chest, avoiding the smoking hole in his uniform. Felt the beat beneath her palm: Bu-bump. Bu-bump.
She exhaled in relief. Then she turned to face the Taskmaster, who stood against the Baxter Building wall, recharging his weapon. The last pedestrians had fled at his first shot; he was alone.
“I got ’im, Suzie.”
“No, Ben.” Sue concentrated. “He’s mine.”
She reached out with her force field, shaping it into an invisible, hammer-shaped bludgeon. Taskmaster looked up, snarled at her—then realized what was happening. His eyes went wide with fear.
