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Transition Special #1 January 2010	“Once Again, With Changing!” Written By Thomas Deja and Derrick Ferguson

Angelica Jones looked at the results again.

And again.

And again.

"Not now," she muttered.

"Quiet on the set!"

Elsa Bloodstone walked down the steep incline of the ravine toward the gaunt, grey-haired man with the uncommonly bushy eyes consulting with the director.  A tall statuesque woman just a hair shy of 5'10", she walked with the sort of gait that would make poets think of great cats.  The only indication that the tropical heat was getting to her was the stray strands of pale red hair--a by-product of her natural, golden wheat color slowing coming through--that stuck to her cream-complexioned face.  Her startlingly blue eyes were focused on the man, and did not acknowledge the chaos of the movie set going on around her.  Clutched in her left hand was a tarnished oil-burning lamp.  At this moment, it seemed to be glowing with a strange, golden radiance.

"Mr. Wolfington!"

The man looked up.  For a moment, the revulsion he felt about her flashed across his face.  But it was only a moment before he pasted on the same inhumanly cheerful smile he had pasted on every time he had to talk to her.  "Elsie--"

"...was my mother," she abruptly finished, her accent--a layered mix of Boston Brahmin and upper crust British--making everything sound more elegant than it should be.  "You need to shut this shoot down."

"Great God in Heaven, this thing again," Wolfington muttered, his eyebrows wiggling like two caterpillars dying from food poisoning.  He clutched Elsa's arm and rubbed it in a way that she assumed was meant to be comforting.  "Look, if it's about the money--"

She tore her arm away from his grasp, an action that caused Wolfington to shake his hand; apparently, she had not watched her strength again.  She once again reminded herself to remove the choker before interacting with normal people.  She held out the lamp.  "It's about avoiding a potential calamity.  My father used this to warn him of supernatural activity; when it's glowing like this, it's an early warning of powerful forces at work."

Wolfington stared at him.  "This busted up old antique...warned your father of danger?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"There's a genie inside it, which--"

"So a genie inside the lamp warns you whenever there's supernatural danger," Wolfington murmured.  He looked over his shoulder at the short woman with round glasses who served as his continuity person.  "Margie, do we have this crap about a genie in the final script?"

Elsa felt her anger rising.  She crossed her arms in front of her.  "You don't believe me."

"You have to admit that this sounds like five pounds of bull, Elsie."

Elsa took a deep breath.  "The man portraying my father in this 'biopic'--"

"Watch the sarcasm," Wolfington warned.

"--is a being whose every molecule has been replaced by pure ionic energy, who used to regularly rub elbows with an Asgardian god, an mutant probability changer, a man in a suit of armor that makes the Pentagon jealous and a World War II super-soldier who spent decades frozen in a block of ice," Elsa continued through a tight-lipped smile.  "And yet, you refuse to believe in a genie when confronted with an unnaturally glowing lamp."

"That's different," Wolfington replied.  "Williams was an Avenger...you, you're just some Victoria's Secret model playing at being Indiana Jones."

"That was one time.  For charity."

"Whatever floats your boat.  Look, we professionals gotta go and shoot this scene before we lose the light.  Why don't you go back, count all the money I gave you to consult on this pic and stay in your trailer until I ask you to, you know, consult.""  Without waiting for Elsa to respond, Wolfington turned and made his way back to the set.  For a brief moment, the adventurer had contemplated grabbing hold of her silver spear and running the grotty little producer through.

There has to be something evil dwelling within there.  No other way to explain how rude he is.

"Pillock," she muttered under her breath.  Once more she questioned her decision to let this insufferable man shoot on her father's island headquarters, the legendary Bloodstone Island.

She knew she was right; the lamp never lied.  But if Wolfington won't listen, maybe she could appeal to someone else.

Her face solemn, she started walking towards Simon Williams' trailer.

Vance Astrovik put down his razor, his face still half-lathered up and laughed.  He drew his fiance' close to her.  "That's....Angel, that's great!"

Angel smiled wanly, but gently pulled away.  She couldn't say she didn't anticipate his reaction to the news; she had just hoped that the sober Vance, the one who looked at things with a clear head would be the one to show up.

For a moment, the two lovers stood in silence.  "But hon," Angelica finally said quietly, "with my abilities, and our responsibilities here...this is just awful."

Sam Wilson stopped in his stride.  "Are you serious?"

"Very serious," Danny Rand replied.  "Don't get me wrong, Sam--I certainly recognize what the Avengers do is important.  And I consider the invitation you and Monica extended to me to be a tremendous honor.  But since signing on here, what have I done?  I've been thrown at a cosmic menace like a rag doll.  No offense, Piotr."

Poitr Rasputin acknowledged the statement with a wave of his hand.  "There is none taken, tovarisch."

Danny sighed.  "I'm not a good fit here.  I should be back on the streets, dealing with everyday crime.  My greatest impact is on the ground, not in the sky with this team.  I've already got a Rand-Meachum jet being prepped, and I'm going home.  Once I'm settled, I'll personally report in to the East Coast branch, let them know it's purely on me...."

Sam sighed.  "Danny, you know we want you here--"

Danny Rand looked to the tall, powerfully built Russian, "Piotr, can I have a minute with Sam alone?"

"It is no problem.  I think I will have a little snack."  Pior took Danny's hand and shook it warmly.  So large was the Russian that his hand seemed to envelope the martial artist's completely.  "It was a pleasure to serve with you, Daniel.  I look forward to when next we meet."

"You too," Danny Rand said.

The two men watched Piotr Rasputin leave for the kitchen.  A moment passed, as these men who had known each other, worked together, long before they joined this iteration of The Avengers, relaxed.  "Do you want to duck into a conference room?" Sam finally asked.

"It's not necessary."

"Then what's on your mind?"

"I just wanted to know," the wielder of the Iron Fist said evenly, "what you're doing here."

Derek Wolfington grumbled as he stalked away from the set of Bloodstone.  Everything looked to be lined up for the establishing shots of the Island before the big scene for the day--a scene where the great monster hunter Bloodstone takes the woman destined to be the love of his life, Samantha Eden to his sanctuary for the first time.  Williams was out of make-up, and he had gone over the scene personally with Alicia Witt.  There should be no way for things to go off the rails.  If everything went well, with the second unit providing coverage, they'd be ahead of their schedule.

If only that underwear model that fancied herself Lara Croft hadn't gotten into his face with that stupid story about genies in lamps warning of great evil....

He once more reached into his 'Bloodstone' crew jacket and fished out the bottle of Advil he took to carrying ever since he first negotiated with Elsa-I'm-So-Special-Bloodstone.  He shotgunned a pair of the blue tablets into his mouth and dry swallowed.  If he was lucky, the pounding in his head would go away within the hour.  Of course, with the string of luck he was having lately....

It wasn't that long ago that Derek Wolfington was in the papers on a weekly basis.  His publicity stunts had always attracted attention to each new film he financed--and as a side bonus, he got to see things most men never had.  How many English boys had been to outer space?  Seen every continent with their own eyes?  His life was a gift, and he planned to enjoy it every day...

But Bloodstone, this movie...

Yes, bringing in the daughter of Ulysses Bloodstone as a consultant was part of the publicity, as was getting the rights to film on the isolated Pacific Island the great monster hunter used as a base.  The press junket before principal photography was a wild success.  But was all this pain worth it?

And somewhere deep in the back of his head, that throbbing seemed to make words....

....set...me...free...

Vance shrugged.  "It seems obvious to me.  Let's go to Ms. Rambeau and Mr. Wilson and let them know we're resigning."

Angelica's eyes grew ever-so-slightly wider.  "No.  Vance, no.  This means so much to you."

"You mean so much more to me, Angel.  We've gone civilian before.  We can do it again."

"But honey...you've wanted this all your life.  You were integral to handling the Void crisis.  I won't consider it."

"But the way your powers work--"

Angelica Jones put a single finger over her lover's lips.  "Let's go to Ms. Rambeau.  Maybe there's another option."

Piotr Rasputin picked up the sandwich in both hands.   Large slices of ham glistening with reddish-yellow sauce threatened to slide out from between the two hunks of twelve grain bread.  A large leaf of lettuce and a slice of pineapple lay on top of the pile of meat.  He took a bite and smiled warmly.

"Once again, tovarisch, I am so happy you agreed to join us.  I missed your cooking."

"Thanks, bra," Kune Cordova replied before picking up his own sandwich--identical, if smaller. The two men sat in the kitchen of the newly christened Avengers Tower.  Sure, it was nothing to compare to the legendary set-up Tony Stark created for Edwin Jarvis, but it did contain a wide variety of state of the art  culinary equipment. 

"There was nothing to do in Vermillion by the time you guys contacted me," Kune continued.  "After the Champs disbanded, I found myself...well, bored.  Sure, my paycheck came in every week, but there's only so much Halo you can play on company time.  And besides, who am I gonna have a Hawaiian barbeque sandwich with."

"Well, it is good to have you here."  Piotr took another bite of the sandwich.  "This is truly heavenly."

The hulking, dark-skinned man--one half Hawaiian Islander, one half Domican--paused for a moment, then asked, "What are you doing here, though?  I thought you were pretty happy working with those inner city kids."

Piotr Rasputin's handsome, rugged face took on a serious cast.  He took another bite of the sandwich, took his time savoring it.  "I need to know.  Kune, I died willingly knowing I was granting so many others life.  And yet, I came back here, and the reasons why The Lord returned me to this plane with this accursed vision allowing me to see the evil around me...it's still a mystery.  As much as I loved being able to change lives in Vermillion, The Avengers have access to more resources that will allow me to find answers."

Kune Cordova leaned back in his chair and nodded.  "Well, I hope you find what you're looking for, bra.  You're a real blast to hang with."

"Thank you," Piotr replied.  "Even if these answers are never revealed to me...I value having a friend such as you."

Simon Williams studied the old-style lamp.  It looked like something out of a classic 'Arabian Nights' style adventure featuring Sabu and Douglas Fairbanks, even with all the dings and dents in its surface...but the glow that came off it, a glow that seemed to shift slowly, made it clear that this was no ordinary antique.

"So there's a...genie in here that alerts you to supernatural evil?"

Elsa Bloodstone shook her head sadly.  "Oh, for God's sale...this sort of behavior I expected from Wolfington, but from you...."

Simon put the lamp down on the nearest counter in his trailer.  "Don't get me wrong, Ms. Bloodstone...I believe you."

The woman's posture relaxed almost instantly.  "Finally."

"I can't even say it surprises me," Simon continued.  He stood up, and was once more reminded of how...uncomfortable he felt dressed up like this woman's father.  With the jodhpurs and the white safari jacket open almost to his navel, a fake crimson gem affixed to his chest, Simon was an idealized version of what the real Ulysses Bloodstone was like.  Now his daughter wore similar clothes like she was born to wear them, and her poise, her gaze, the way she moved made it clear that she was what he was just playing at.  Watching her made him feel like he was disrespecting the man's memory.

Thankfully, if she noticed his self-consciousness about how silly he looked, she refused to acknowledge it. "I tried to explain to that...insufferable plank of a man about the danger, but he's only concerned with his precious film."  She hugged herself and muttered, "I should never had given him permission to shoot here in the first place.  I knew the dangers of being on this island.  Somone's bound to be hurt...."

"Well, luckily, you came to me." Simon said, "The Avengers just opened up a new West Coast branch.  I'll call them.  If you're serious about the nature of the problem--"

"I am.  That lamp has never been wrong."

"Then I'm sure they can send some members over to investigate, maybe even persuade Wolfington to delay filming."

"Good luck with that.  I don't think Wolfington man would be phased if Dormammu showed up with a treat bag asking for entrails."

Simon smiled.  "Trust me.  We Avengers can be very persuasive."

Slowly, hesitantly, Elsa Bloodstone returned that smile, an act that caused Simon's heart to skip a beat--granted, if his heart hadn't been replaced by pure ionic energy.

"The truth?"

"I would expect nothing less."

Sam Wilson sighed.  "When The Champions went south, and Photon volunteered to fly out here and re-establish the West Coast branch...I agreed to come with to be Cap's eyes out here.  It's no great secret that The Avengers--Hell, any super-team--had had problems staying above water one the Pacific Coast for any period of time.  I figured if I was here, contributing what I learned from him..."

"But, Sam...you and I are different.  You've spent so much time defining yourself as the 'Hero of Harlem.'  It was your area, the thing that defined you.  Those people need you there, not running around saving movie executives and commuters stuck in gridlock from big shadowy beasts."

"Are you saying that stopping menaces like the Void won't impact the kinds of people I care about the most if left unchecked?"

"I mean," Danny said, moving closer, "that it makes more sense for you to be closer to those kinds of people when menaces like the Void threaten them.  Think about it, okay?"

Before he could say anything further, the melody of "Across 110th Street" emerged from Sam's cell.  He consulted the screen briefly.  "It's Cap.  Let me take this and we'll continue."

"Hey, Cap...what's up?"

"Sam," the Star-Spangled Avenger said, "Get to the monitor room.  You need to see this."

"I don't know about this."

"You will be the perfect, my friend.  With your experience working with myself and with Lord Plunder, there can be no one better suited to be Avengers Government Liaison.  And you will be in a perfect position to alert me to anything they are doing that might interfere with my plans."

"But we've tried the spy thing before and, well...you know how badly I suck at it.  I'm barely Matt Helm, let alone James Bond."

"It is not about spying, my friend.  I need to keep my presence here in the States secret...and until I am ready to reveal myself, I need to know what my former allies are doing in my backyard....and besides, I know how fiercely you will fight for them if they come under fire."

"You are one weird Great Cat, that's for sure.  Asking me to go all cloak and dagger on your buddies, while expecting me to keep their seats firmly un-hot."

"Which is why you are indisputably the best man for this task.  Will you do this for me?"

"You know I will.  I just don't feel right about it."

"Over time, I think, you will."

How long had Derek been walking?

He found it difficult to tell.  Surely, he needed to be back on the set, ready to ride roughshod over that no-nothing director.  Who knows how far behind they were getting, even with that bitch screaming about 'evil.'

But the pounding was spurring him to move on.

He no longer recognized the place he was walking through.  The brush, the landscape looked different.  Derek found it difficult to focus on the details for very long before they became blurry.  He swore that this was the beginnings of the worst migraine of his life.

The Advil hadn't helped.  In fact, it had no effect whatsoever.  The pounding had been getting worse and worse, to the point where the words Derek imagined were hidden within were howling at him.

...must....have...release....this....place...will...give...me...freedom...the...power...is...so...strong...

Power...Derek had done his research on this place, had come on the scout once he had closed the deal with that snooty bitch.  He read in that biography written by Samantha Eden how there were portions of the island the man had not explored.  He knew that the reason Ulysses Bloodstone had chosen this particular island for his headquarters was because of its reputation in arcane lore as a lodestone for magickal power.

It all read as bull to Derek Wolfington, but now, with the thundering in his brain....

...can...feel..it..growing...release me...

...he wasn't so sure. 

The foliage around him bore leaves of a green so vivid it looked like they were carved of emerald.  As he fell to his knees, Derek was able to perceive every single grain of the rich soil beneath him...except that it seemed to shift with a life of it own, etching forms and shapes that caused his stomach to lurch.  A strong wind wound its way through the spaces between the trees, and it felt like it caresses the aged producer's face...

Yes, thundered whatever it was that dwelled inside his head.  Now Kraggoom can live!

And slowly, Derek Wolfington felt his lifeforce slide out of him in a form that burned from the inside.

A form that looked like smoke.

Sam Wilson found Janet Van Dyne in the entertainment room.  The room was furnished with over two dozen plush couch like chairs arraigned in stadium seating fashion.  The state of the art plasma screen on the far wall was about half the size of a typical movie theater screen.  There was no need for remote controls.  One merely had to speak into the air.  Sensitive microphones in the couches picked up the spoken commands and translated them into action.

Jan had the huge screen broken up into seven separate pictures-in-picture.  ABC, NBC, FNC, CNN, The Marvels Channel, SNN, INN…they all were showing the same thing: the current invasion of New York by the undersea barbarian hoards of Attuma.  Jan was sitting in the front row.  Legs crossed, arms folded.  Sam could feel the tension in her body.  Jan was like a living live wire.

Sam stood behind her chair for a few minutes, watching the screens along with Jan.  Not saying anything.  She knew he was there.  She had known ever since he walked into the room. 

It was maybe two minutes before Jan broke the silence as Sam knew she would.  “One hell of a mess.”

“True that.”

“I suppose you’re here to tell me we’re going to New York to help out.”

“In fact, we’re not.  Tony Stark’s been in touch with us.  For now we’re on standby alert.  Steve thinks that between the East Coast contingent and the rest of New York’s superhuman populace they can handle the situation.”

Jan nodded in agreement.  “That’s a good call.  Andromeda’s on the team now so maybe she can talk to her father and calm down the situation before any more lives are lost.”

“But I’m going anyway.”

Jan turned in her seat.  She was still numbered among the world’s most beautiful women.  Sam could easily see how she had once had a modeling career that at its height had rivaled that of Iman or Heidi Klum.  But there was also pain on that face.  Pain that hadn’t been there a few short days ago. 

“You’d ignore an order from Captain America?”

“Steve understands my need to get back to New York and see for myself that Harlem is taken care of.”

“He gave you the okay?”

“I don’t need Steve’s permission to do what I know is right.  And Harlem needs me now.”

Jan turned back around in her seat to face the screen.  “Glad to see there’s somebody left on this team who still has balls.”

“Meaning that you’re still upset that Steve didn’t back your play when you tried to take Tony’s head off.”

Jan’s head turned slightly so that she was looking at Sam out of the corner of her eye.  “You know, don’t you?  Steve told you.”

“C’mon, Jan…you show up without warning, looking mad enough to take on The Masters of Evil all by yourself.  Eyes puffy and red from crying and you honestly didn’t think I’d call Steve and ask him what the hell was going on with you?”

“Have you told anybody else?”

“Nope.  I know how to keep a confidence.”

“Which is more than Steve Rogers knows how to do.  He’s worse than a gossipy housewife.”

“That’s not fair and you know that, Jan.  Steve is one of your oldest and trusted friends.  He loves you and he’s concerned.  He wanted me to keep an eye on you and make sure you were okay.”

“Okay?”  Jan erupted from her seat in a fury.  Despite the fact that Sam Wilson at 6’2” towered over her 5’4” height, such was her anger that Sam took a step back in surprise.  He’d seen Jan mad before but this was a whole new level of anger she was tapping into one.  One he’d never seen before.

“Do you have any idea of what that son of a bitch Stark did to Hank?  He’s taken Hank's soul and put it in The Vision’s body!  The Vision even sounds like Hank now!  And nobody seems to have a problem with it!”

“Let me ask you a question.  Do you believe Hank invented and built this machine with Tony Stark?”

“Of course he did!  Hank would rather work on some damned new invention than eat or sleep, you know that!”

“Yeah, he did.  And you know why he and Tony built such a contraption?”

“You seem to want to play Mr. Psychoanalyst today!  Why don’t you tell me?”

Sam shrugged muscular shoulders.  “Nothing psycho anything about it, babe.  Hank Pym and Tony Stark are men who had a couple of things in common.  And one of those things was that they’re both too brilliant for their own good.  There’s nothing wrong with being smart.  God knows they saved the world enough times using their brains.  But the bad thing about being that smart is that you never question if you should do something.  You only question if you can.”

That made Janet pause.  And Sam continued.

“Hank’s had a history of creating the incredible.  He discovered The Pym Particles but their use had its drawbacks didn’t it?  For awhile he was stuck at being a giant and thought he’d never regain his normal height.   Another experiment induced schizophrenia and created the Yellowjacket persona.  A persona that claimed it murdered Hank Pym.  When Hank was court-martialed by The Avengers he created a robot to attack his own team-mates.  The idea was for him to defeat the robot and get back in the good graces of The Avengers.  Instead the robot ended up almost killing all of you.   And speaking of killer robots Hank built there’s Ultron-“

“If there’s a point to this, make it!”

“Only that Hank had a history of creating things that have turned around and bit him in the ass.  This machine that Tony used to put his brain engrams in The Vision’s body is just another one.”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this!  You sound like you’re blaming Hank!”

“I’m not blaming anyone.  It’s long past time for that.  What’s done is done and can’t be undone.  All I’m saying is that if you blame Tony Stark then you damn well need to blame Hank as well.  Hank knew good and well what he was doing with that machine and he never once stopped to think of what the ramifications of it being used would be.”

Jan’s tightened fists were visibly trembling.  She was still mad, yes.  But she was also listening.

“Hiding out here on the west coast isn’t going to solve the problem or ease the hurt, Jan.  And it won’t give you the answer to the question that you have.”

“And how do you know what question that is, Mr. Know-It-All?”

“Because it’s the same question all of us have: how much of Henry Pym is in there?”  Sam stepped closer and asked in a soft, quiet voice; “Did Hank know about you and Tony?”

Jan drew in a deep, shuddering breath before answering; “Yes.  When Hank and I made a try at reconciliation I wanted there to be no secrets between us.  What Tony and I had didn’t last long and was more physical than anything else.  But I didn’t want any walls between us.”

“So don’t build any now.  Come back to New York with me.  Confront Tony.  Confront The Vision.  And put to rest the ghost of Hank Pym.”

The elevator doors leading to Avengers HQ slid open.  Monica Rambeau and Melissa Gold emerged from the softly-lit wood paneled car, a variety of shopping bags clutched awkwardly in their hands.

"I don't know if I can wear some of these things," Melissa remarked.

"Melissa, hun." the leader of the Avengers replied with a laugh, "if it was up to me, I'd be wearing the same overalls I would wear to work on my cargo boat.  But being an Avenger means we have to present a certain appearance...and it that means we get to damage our expense accounts buying some high class duds, well...."

Kune Cordova strode forward, the largish tablet that connected him to the main frames of the headquarters cradled in one arm.  "Ms. Rambeau, we have situations."

The corner of Monica's full lip curled ever so slightly, an action that the Avengers' new facilities manager knew indicated bemused doubt.  "And when are there not situations?" she asked before glancing over at Melissa briefly.

"We've had reports of an Atlantean invasion of New York--"

Melissa's eyes grew wide.  She dropped her bags.  "How soon should we be ready?"

The massive Kune raised one meaty hand.  "Don't worry, bra.  Captain America has asked that we remain on standby alert."

Melissa's actions slowed for a moment.  "But you said situations.  That means more than one."

Kune nodded.  He consulted his tablet, tapping the touchscreen several times.  "We got a call from Simon Williams reporting some supernatural situation on Bloodstone Island.  I took the liberty of checking the Avengers Satellite feeds, and there is some strong electromagnetic activity going on--"

"Which is usually a strong sign of ectoplasmic presence," Monica muttered to herself.  She straightened up, took a moment to tamp down her braids, and suddenly she was another person--the person who led one-half of the most powerful super-team on Earth.  "Has Danny Rand left yet?"

"Yes," Kune replied.

"Okay, so we're just down one," she mused.  She dropped her bags, which sent shoes, sandals and various articles of clothing spill out onto the floor.  "But then, Simon's already on site.  We'll be able to get him to pitch in."

Kune's voice lowered.  "I'm afraid Mr. Rand isn't the only one."

The beautiful New Orleans native took a step back, one hand to her chest.  "Are we really working from behind so soon?  No matter.  Brief me on the way to my quarters.  Melissa, let the others know and muster everyone in the Quinjet bay.  Kune, are we still expecting that Conoway woman to visit us?"

"Yes."

"You sure she's a good fit for our scientific advisor?"

"She came very highly recommended--and according to her cv, she's something like the fifth smartest person on Earth."

Monica raised one elegant eyebrow.  "And you never padded your resume?"  She immediately started striding off.  "Never mind.  Kune, get my a fuller brief and meet us at the bay.  Hold down the forth and keep Conoway occupied until we return.  Let Simon know--"

"Uhhh, Ms. Rambeau, can we talk to you?"

Monica turned to see Angelica and Vance coming at her from the living quarters.  She didn't stop heading towards her office, but pointed one elegant finger and said, "You two are on active duty.  You need to be in costume.  Get in them and meet us at the Quinjet."
"Well...Something's come up," Vance said.  The young couple tried to match Monica's long strides, and were failing.

"Tell us on the way to the hot zone," Monica said. 

"But I'm not going!" Angelica called out.

"Angelica...we're short handed--according to Cordova, shorter handed than I initially thought.  We're going to need you, like, now, so get into gear."  Monica had already discarded her jacket and scarf, and was stepping out of her flats.  She knew that Cordova would pick up after her...or she'd have to do it when they returned.

"But that's it.  I can't."

Monica looked over her shoulder, her brows furrowed.  "This is not the time for dithering."

"I'm not dithering.  I'm pregnant," Angelica Jones said, joy welling up in her voice.  "Which means I have to leave the Avengers."

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