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| Issue #3 March 2006 |
"Renovations" Part Three: Building the Foundation Written By Thomas Deja |
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Note: This issue takes place after the events presently unfolding in Uncanny X-Men (we're actually caught up with The Avengers)
What Came Before: For personal reasons, Warren Worthington has agreed to reform The Champions as the official super-team of depressed city Vermillion. Re-enlisting The Black Widow and Hercules as co-founders, and adding new recruits Mattie Franklin and Fabian Stankowicz, the team is in the process of setting itself up. Meanwhile, renegade voodoo priest The Black Talon plots with Hydra to create an army of zombies to forment anarchy....
Kune Cordova--half Hawaiian, half Dominican, with the sense of humor of the former and the temper of the latter--sat at the temporary conference table of what was going to be Champions Plaza's main skyscraper and looked across at his legal counsel.
That his legal counsel was close to seven feet tall with emerald skin and a veritable tsunami of forest green curls, a woman who was as muscular as the 'fitness models' he saw in weightlifting magazines yet was as feminine as they came, was the prime reason he was looking. And as she sorted through the various papers, torts and contracts that had been a by-product of his boss starting a new super-team, he thought the kind of thoughts that would get him sued.
Was it sexual harassment, he thought to himself, if the woman could tear me in two?
The lawyer glanced up from the paper and put away her readung glasses. "Everything seems to be in order for the incorporation. I'll file the papers of ownership for the dormitories and the headquarters tomorrow, and everything else is just boilerplate--and if there is a problem, I have authorization to get some of my...A-level contacts to put in a few good words--so congratulations, Mr. Cordova. Unless there's a horrible snag, Mr. Worthington will have his super-team. Just tell him not to mess it up this time."
Kuni forced a laugh. "We'll do our best to run this one right. The co-operation we're receiving from the Mayor's Office is amazing--"
"Which is why you're going to need some major insurance. Right now The Champions of Vermillion can do no wrong, but wait until you hit your first major civilian-endangerment tragedy...then there's trouble. Lucky for you, Ms. Romanova, the Avengers and I have already discussed an affiliation contract, which will grandfather The Champions into the Avengers' insurance and liability coverage. I'll have some things for you to sign in the morning concerning that." She snapped shut her briefcase.
Kune knitted his brow; he did not like the sound of that last statement. "An affiliation contract? That's not going to make us...answerable to the Avengers, is it?"
"No, no," The She-Hulk said as she rose to her full statuesque height, a cascade of emerald curls falling down her back. "Ms. Romanova made it clear that the Champions of Vermillion want as much autonomy from the 'East Coast Metahuman Mafia' as possible. What I'm setting up is a formal agreement between the two organizations recognizing each other as allies in good standing who will freely exchange information and ideas conversant to their common interests, and who will defer to each other in their spheres of influence. In other words," she added with a dazzling smile. "it comes down to 'We'll watch your back, you watch ours, and while we'll offer you help, we recognize the west coast as your backyard."
Kune rose up and extended a hand. "You'll forgive me if I still look over those papers closely, I trust."
She-Hulk returned the handshake. "I'd expect you to. You're Warren Worthington's factotum in this project, after all. Once everything's straightened out over at Avengers Mansion, their coordinator will be in touch with you to start the communications flowing."
"Good." He hesitated for a moment until the green giantess made to leave the conference room and said, "Ms. Walters?"
She looked back. "Yes?"
"If you have some time tonight, I'd be glad to show you around what...little remains that's nice here," he said, the words coming out in an overanxious tumble.
Jennifer Walters, the She-Hulk, gave Kune aznother dazzling smile. "Thanks, Mr. Cordova, but I already have a date for the evening. But I'll be back in two weeks to finalize some things; you'll have my full attention then. Deal?"
Kune straightened up, returning her smile. "Deal."
Mattie Franklin looked around and asked, "This is...The Fold?"
Natasha nodded. They walked down the main avenue of the neighborhood, the coolness of the late afternoon air belying the usual perception of what California weather should be like. "I think the name has something to do with this trail of pocket parks....they 'fold' the commercial and residential sections in half."
The two women did, in fact, have a series of small, single block parks to their right, their width bisecting Moses Avenue. "Well, it's...different," Mattie offered. She adjusted the strap on her backpack. "So we're staying in a hotel here?"
"Until Champions Tower is finished," Natasha replied.
Mattie turned her head and peered in to the park. The plants that decorated the place seemed overgrown and in bad need of a pruning, and the playground was empty, a single swing swaying back and forth giving her a chill. "I dunno, Ms. Romanova. After hearing what Mr. Worthington had in mind, I thought we'd be...you know, closer to the masses."
Natasha looked at her younger charge with a raised eyebrow. "Were you paying attention during Mayor Aguilar's tour inside his reinforced limousine."
"Of course!" Mattie countered. "But I didn't expect you to be so....snobby as to demand digs in the nicer part of town."
"We didn't demand anything. The Mayor insisted."
"But why?" Mattie asked while smiling and waving at a toddler in the small playground on the other side of the hedge. "I thought his whole deal was that we were going to be trying to up the overall standard of living here. Why not move into one of the other area?"
Natasha stopped walking. Her body seemed to stiffen. "I cannot speak for the others, Ms. Franklin. But I can speak for you."
"Yeah, right," Mattie shot back.
"I made a promise to your guardians," Natasha said her voice becoming low. "a promise that did not come easy. I needed to call in a pair of favors from some men I did not wish to interact with at this time to make this new start possible for you. A part of the promise was that Warren and I would keep you clear of any possible temptation to return to your previous lifestyle. What that means is that you will be living here in the Fold, in a penthouse I will share. I'm not a fool, Mattie--I know that even here you might get access to drugs. But you shan't be able to keep it from me."
"Look, Ms. Romanova," Mattie said after a moment. "I'm not saying I want to go back to being a druggie trophy tramp--I have nightmares about what I did during that time every night. But if I wanted to, and if I found a connection, there's nothing to stop me from shooting up."
Natasha's smile turned cold. "There is."
Mattie drew back. "You?"
The Russian nodded slowly. "Me."
Mattie looked into her team leader's eyes, eyes that were like chips of ice. After a moment, she shrugged and said, unsteadily, "Okay. I can deal with that."
"I thought you would feel that way," Natasha Romanoff said. Her smile softened and she threw an arm around Mattie. "I feel like something chocolatey. Want something chocolatey?"
"Chocolatey is good."
"Then let us go."
Warren Worthington took the young woman's hand in his and shook it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain O'Riley."
Mayor Aguilar sat down between the two, grinning like he just won the lottery. "I have assigned Captain O'Riley to form and ultimately head-up the Vermillion Code Blue program."
The woman narrowed her startlingly vivid lavender eyes. "Not gonna do the augments," she said under her breath.
"We'll talk about that matter later, Baba," the Mayor countered before turning his attention back to Warren.
A quizzival look came across Warren's face. "Baba--like in the Who song?"
"My real name," the police woman said sharply, "Is Bathsheba Virginia O'Riley. Some people who can't handle Biblical names think it's cute to reduce it to a hippie-ass song reference." She added under her breath, her creme-colored skin darkening ever slightly. "Gonna kill that Daltrey I ever catch his narrow ass."
"Anyway," the Mayor continued. "We would like to locate the Code Blue Division in Champions Tower...maybe give them a floor."
"I don't know if that's a good idea," Warren said.
The woman smirked, her eyes lighting up with glee. She sat back, arms folded. "That's what I told him."
"How so? I would think, considering how closely you'll be working together, that the proximity would be ideal."
"Mayor, with all due respect," Warren answered, choosing his words carefully, "once The Champions are fully operational, we'll be a prime target for any big time supervillain who wanders in here with even a modicum of smarts. If you put Code Blue in the Tower with us, you'll be providing them with a way to knock out all metahuman opposition in one fell swoop."
"You'd be making me and my men sitting ducks," Captain O'Riley added.
"Exactly. Locating Code Blue elsewhere makes much more sense."
"I ain't puttin' a bullseye on the back of anyone I invite into the program, Mayor. You want a Code Blue, fine. But don't make me the head of a kamikaze run, aight?"
Warren looked across the table at the officer. "I think we're going to enjoy working with you," he said with a genuine smile.
"You better enjoy it, Mr. Worthington," Captain Bathsheba Virginia O'Riley replied, her face not betraying a hint of emotion. "Cause you stuck with me."
Fabian rubbed his eyes until he saw spots. He reached for the chipped Avengers mug and took another drag of brackish coffee. On the monitor before him, the 3-D CAD model rotated on its axis. He looked once more for flaws, for places which prevented the virtual tests from succeeding.
He saw nothing.
The model was for a suit of armor. Since Fabian was expected to be a field agent for this new Champions (how else would he remain close with Mattie, after all?), he needed a new rig. For that matter, he needed a new name; in discussions with Natasha and Warren, they all agreed that using a variation on his Machano-Marauder identity was a no go. Not only did it sound too 'bad guy' for a member of a team obsessively there to protect people, it also reminded people of Fabian's embarrassing string of defeats at the hands of the Avengers. If he was to be an active participant, he needed to come up with something more heroic.
He was calling the present ordnance 'The Blue Blazer.' The weapons systems emphasized a modular, cartridge-based system pattern vaguely on modern riot-control equipment. But no matter how much he tweaked the numbers and altered the specs, the ordnance did not seem to operate correctly. It frustrated him something fierce.
Fabian took another healthy swig of his coffee and started crunching numbers when a window opened up on his terminal.
>Hello, Fabian<
Fabian stared at the blinking message for a full minute. He glanced down to confirm that his connections were still secure, then clicked on the network icon to confirm that he was offline.
This...this was weird.
Finally, he typed in, Who is this?
>A friend<
I don't know have any friends here, Fabian typed.
>I have been keeping an eye on you for some time, Fabian. You could say that I am a fan.<
Bull, Fabian retorted. You don't know me.
For a moment, the terminal flickered. When it stabilized, windows opened to display schematics of previous Mechano-Marauder armors and the Protectorate robots. Fabian shuddered at the last sight, wanting to forget how, in the wake of the Avengers' disappearance, he had a nervous breakdown and created the robots to protect New York--which caused countless lives.
>You are very talented, Fabian. I want to help you.<
Fabian stared yet again. He closed the schematic windows and typed in, Why?
>I have been living here for a while, Fabian. What you and your allies have been doing for us is admirable. I want to see you succeed. I want you to help me feel safe.<
Who are you?
>A friend. A free thinker like yourself.<
Fabian thought a long time before typing, What do you want?
>I noticed you have been having problems with troubleshooting. I can help.<
Yeah, right.
The terminal flickered again Another window opened up. Fabian looked once quickly.
Then a second time, now slowly.
>Do you recognize what this is?<
"A neural harness?"
>Yes<
For some reason, Fabian didn't wonder why his visitor overheard his speech.
I can't get anything close to that. Even with Worthington Industries behind me--
>Give me a day. I will have it on your doorstep.<
"Why?"
>Because I want you to excel, my friend. With this neural harness, you shall.<
For a moment, the screen was blank before the person on the other end added one more line.
>...which brings us to your code name. I have a suggestion...<
Hercules rolled over onto the left side of the bed. "Verily....the Gods will speak of this."
"That's what you say to all the girls."
He turned his head to contemplate the long, lithe, powerful jade form of Jennifer Walkers besides him. A small smile broke slowly on his face. "Sooth, you are not any girl, Jennifer."
"And you're not just any God of Strength, my friend." She lay back, and for a moment both the couple contemplated the ceiling, lost in their own thoughts. "I'm going to need to be back in New York day after next. But I'll be back."
Hercules rolled onto his side and put a hand on Jennifer's belly. He took a moment to contemplate the way his swarthy skin contrasted with the green expanse of his partner. "You are aware, fair Jennifer, that Natasha and Warren were hoping to add your own amazing abilities to those of the Prince of Power. And truthfully, so did I."
Now it was Jennifer's turn to roll over so that she could face the powerful Olympian. She caressed his cheek. "Awwww, Herc. You know I would like that. But I made a promise to Hawkeye. He needs Avengers, and with you out here and Thor missing--"
"You need to lend your peerless power to Friend Clint's band." Hercules sighed. "I will not play at being glad, but Clinton is as good a man as the Prince of Power ever met...and he would never pull you from his side."
Jennifer smiled wanly. "I knew you'd say that, Herc. And I will be back. We haven't even scratched San Francisco's nightlife, after all..."
She leaned in and kissed him. "And besides, I need someone to give me a good workout, huh?"
He walked over the Thornley Bridge. It was one of these things that obviously was built to be a cutting edge span when the city was first built, but the rust on its struts and the dust that littered the roadway made it sad. There was a faint stink of garbage rotting, and a warm wind plucked at his wool coat.
Garbage wasn't all that stank here in Vermillion. The place positively reeked of evil.
"Thank you, Belasco," he muttered under his breath.
He took to the streets, his hat pushed down on his head, the collar of his coat flipped up. The vision he had been cursed with ever since he returned from the dead streaked every building with a reddish tinge like an infected wound. All it did was make him yearn for being dead, for that time when he was happy, was being rewarded for a life spent in the service of others....
At one point he passed an elaborate brownstone. The tinge turned into a pulsing glow, the center of which was a beautiful woman who stood on the steps, rocking on one hip, her head tilted to one side, strands of darkish hair falling to her face barely hiding the pupilless nature of her eyes.
"This is mine," she whispered in his head.
"Not anymore," he whispered to the wind, hoping it reached her ears.
The fact was that, in his travels since his return, no place screamed out at him for help as much as Vermillion. And if he could no longer stay with his friends on the East coast, this would be as good a place as any.
In the afternoon, he took out his sketch pad and did a preliminary study of the Humana Clocktower. Children watched him warily, unsure of whether to approach him. He could see their life essences blackening at the edges, as living in this cesspool of hopelessness killed their spirit.
As he walked along the Bartholomew Concourse in the shadows of the statuary, he came across the construction site. He walked closely towards the sign along its front and read it.
The future site of
CHAMPIONS TOWER
Home of your Vermillion's Heroes for the Common Man.
He found himself smiling in spite of himself. Even though he grew up in Communist Russia, he believed in God--and in his time in the United States, he learned that there was so much in this world that was strange and unusual. He knew of synchronicity and providence; he knew especially after where he had spent the afterlife that a higher power liked to show you signs. To come to this city, blighted with despair and hopelessness, and to find friends waiting for you there....
He found the foreman of the site and shook his hand. "My name is Piotr Rasputin."
"Hey, Peter. Nice to meet you. You looking for work?"
Piotr smiled and replied, his Russian accent softened by years of living in America. "Yes, actually, I would like that. But first...I need to contract Mr. Worthington. He...knows me."
The Black Talon found Ghorman's behavior amusing. After weeks of collaborating with the scientists and lackeys under the simpleton's control--something he tolerated only out of respect for the risk HYDRA's leader, Baron Strucker, was taking in financing his project--the man's palatable nervousness was refreshing. But then, The Talon reasoned, he shouldn't be surprised; the man was a racist, and putting him here on a Blue Heights rooftop overlooking the mostly Black and Hispanic populace, was bound to make him a wreck.
"Why do we need to do this here?" Ghorman asked.
"Because," The Talon replied as he adjusted the circlet of white feathers on his left arm. "The population density is higher here than in any other neighborhood in Vermillion. Larger population density means a larger sample, which means we can better gauge the poison's success."
"But still--"
"Do not worry," the voodoo priest said soothingly as he removed the long silver cylinders from a steel briefcase with the yellow-and-green death's head octopus symbol of HYDRA. "We are safe on this roof. It is the tallest building in this neighborhood, after all." He picked the first of the cylinders up and hefted it over his head, one hand on each end. "And if you're worrying about the poison aversely affecting us, do not worry. The charm I have provided you will keep us safe from its transformative effect."
"Charm?" Ghorman asked as the Black Talon twisted the cylinder in his hands. The container screwed apart, releasing a bright yellowish dust into the air.
The voodoo priest put the separate parts of the cylinder down and reached for the next canister. "Yes...the circlet of white feathers. White feathers cleanse the supplicant, prevents anyone from casting negative energies against you."
The HYDRA commander coughed. His eyes grew wide as The Talon unscrewed the second canister. "But--but I do not have--"
"The circlet?" The Black Talon finished. He watched Ghorman fall to the ground. Spasms wracked the man's body. "I was intending on giving you one yesterday. But then you went and called me a...what were the words?...an 'uppity, chicken headed tar baby' to the Baron. He told me and I--well, I forgot. Hopefully you'll remember to keep a civil tongue in your head in your future life of servitude."
As Ghorman twitched his last, the screams from the streets below made music.
Next Issue: Now we're up to speed...and it's time to see if the Champions of Vermillion can stem the tide of The Black Talon's chemical zombies!
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