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| Issue #5 January 2009 |
"To None Deny or Delay" Written By Derrick Ferguson |
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The following takes place two years after CHAMPIONS #4. It would also help if you read AVENGERS and THE PROWLER as well but it’s not necessary. I’m just sayin’ is all.
The California city of Vermillion wasn’t as used to superhuman sightings as say, New York, San Francisco or Chicago. Even though the last incarnation of the superhuman team known as The Champions had made their base there. But that team hadn’t stayed together long enough to make a really lasting impact on the collective consciousness of the city. So the sight of a winged man in a midnight black Daniel Meade business suit flying high above Vermillion was more than enough to make pedestrians stop and gawk in amazement.
Warren Worthington III couldn’t help but grin. It had been so long since the average Joe and Jane Punchclock stopped to point and marvel at the sight of him that he had actually forgotten what a rush it was. These days, superhumans were so common and so prevalent that the average human barely took notice of them. Warren really missed the early days when there were only a handful of superhumans. Things had been easier in those long ago days. And lighter as well.
His objective was directly in front of him. Champions Tower. Shut down for nearly a year now. The sixty story shining silver slab had been intended to be a beacon of hope for Vermillion. And a home for The Champions: “The New Heroes For The Common Man.” Warren snorted in self-derision. Had he truly been that naïve and idealistic?
One of the features of Champions Tower was the fiftieth floor oval shaped balcony. Intended to function as an observation deck/landing perch it was today serving as a restaurant where Warren was meeting with a truly important personage indeed.
The Daniel Meade suit he wore was specially tailored to accommodate his huge pure white wings and as he landed, he gave his tie a final straightening tug and folded his wings together. He walked over to the round dinner table to greet the elegantly tall black man who rose to his feet with a smoothness that no other man in the world possessed.
“Warren. I am so very pleased you could meet me for lunch.” The black man’s baritone was pleasant to the ear but underneath the pleasantness was the unmistakable steel of regal command.
Warren took the hand he held out and they shook firmly. “When the King of Wakanda summons you, you don’t turn him down. Not if you know what’s good for you.”
T’Challa, the sovereign King of Wakanda, Chieftain of The Panther Clan, the one true Black Panther smiled warmly as he motioned for Warren to sit down. “I brought along my personal chefs who studied at the finest schools in Asia and Europe. I hope their meager efforts will meet with your approval.”
Warren seated himself, carefully arraigning his wings as he did so. “I’d be happy with cheeseburgers and fries from McDonald’s, Your Majesty.”
T’Challa lifted both his hands. “I beg of you, Warren; please call me T’Challa. I asked you for this meeting not as the King of Wakanda but as a fellow businessman with a business proposition.” T’Challa motioned for the waiters to start serving as he sat across the table from his guest.
“If you insist, sure.” Warren paused as a waiter poured him a glass of wine. Warren lifted it, sniffed, and took but the merest of sips. He beamed approvingly. “An 1840 Suarez Gio. I’m impressed. There’s only eighty bottles of this left in the world. This isn’t a vintage you pull out every other day.”
“You can if you own them all as I do.” T’Challa said with no brag in his voice. It was simply a statement of fact. “But for such a distinguished and honored guest I felt you deserved nothing less.” T’Challa rolled his own wine glass between his fingers as he continued: “First, let me say that I appreciate you meeting here at Champions Tower. I know that Vermillion and this building do not hold many happy memories for you.”
“Let’s just say that you’re one of the few men in the world who could get me to come back here. Even though I still intend to honor the promise I made to contribute to stimulating Vermillion’s economy I don’t come back here if I can help it. And I have to admit: I was very curious as to why you wanted to meet here. I’m hoping you’ll satisfy that curiosity.”
“Before I go into my motivations I would like to ask a personal question. And if it is too painful or too personal then do not hesitate to tell me to mind my own business.”
“Ask away.”
“The Champions. What happened? Why didn’t the team stay together?”
Warren sighed and turned to look out over the vista of Vermillion. His eyes roamed the rooftops for a long minute before answering: “That’s the question that I really fear answering. Maybe because I don’t know the answer. We were all motivated and committed. To the team and the ideal of the team. But maybe we weren’t committed to each other.” Warren took another sip of wine. “Or it could be just as simple as I’m a better follower than leader.”
“This was your second try at a team of Champions, was it not?”
“Yep. The first one was more of a disaster. Me, Iceman, Hercules, The Black Widow and Ghost Rider of all people.” Warren laughed softly and shook his head. “We had no idea of what we were doing. But we had fun.” His face became serious again. “People think I’m joking but I’ve learned that it’s easier running a multi-billion dollar international corporation than a team of superheroes.”
“So you have no intention of starting up The Champions again? Ah, here comes the appetizers and the soup. I hope you brought a healthy appetite, Warren.”
“Indeed I did. And to answer your question, no. I have no intention of organizing a new team of Champions. I’ve restricted myself to running Worthington Industries and its sister companies such as Worthington Enterprises and Worthington Dynamics. And you may not have heard but I’m seriously considering running for a seat in The Senate. And I naturally intend to continue my work with mutant rights and affairs. Why do you ask?”
T’Challa was smiling enigmatically. “Because I want to purchase the rights to use the name ‘Champions’ as well as this tower.”
Warren was well and truly puzzled and it showed on his face. “What on earth for?”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet, my friend? I intend to organize my own team of Champions.”
Brooklyn, NY
Misty Knight slammed her non-bionic elbow into the face of the lithe Asian that tried to jump her from behind. He might have been able to take her by surprise if it wasn’t for the fact that he must have taken a bath in cologne. Misty smelled him from ten feet away. He flipped backwards, landed hard and didn’t get back up.
She whirled, parried a punch with her bionic arm and followed up with a solid palm strike to the nose of the meaty thug who had tried to sucker-punch her... He yowled like a woman and grabbed his gushing nose. Misty swept his legs out from under him and he went crashing to the floor.
Misty was already leaping over him, both booted feet landing right in the chest of the third thug. That unfortunate went somersaulting backwards three times behind finally hitting a thick wooden support post, bounced off it and slammed face first into the floor, raising a small storm of dust as he did so.
Somebody to her left opened up with a machine gun and Misty ran like a cheetah on crack as a line of bullets followed her, gaining as the slugs smashed into the wall, tiny geysers of plaster and dirt blasting outwards. Misty dived for cover behind a stack of crates, covering her head as the machine gun continued to fire, ripping into the crates, showering her with wood dust and splinters.
“Enough of this shit,” Misty growled and reached for her shoulder holster. She smoothly drew forth a Taurus PT 24/7 OSS semi-automatic and leaned around the left side of the crate, pumping shots in a specific pattern designed to elect a specific response. And it did. A yelp of pain came from a darkened corner between two discarded boilers, encrusted with rust the color of old blood. Misty placed four shots right between the boilers.
A man staggered out of the darkness, a HK MP-5 held loosely in his hands. His shattered chest a red ruin. A drool of blood dribbled from the right corner of his mouth. Misty put a final round right in the middle of his forehead. The sound his body made when it hit the floor was the sound of Death laughing.
The Brooklyn waterfront warehouse was finally silent. The only man conscious was still holding his nose. Misty walked over to him and side kicked him in the side of the head. He toppled over, out cold. It occurred to Misty that maybe she was getting too old for this kind of work. She just didn’t have the patience she used to have and once upon a time she would had taken pleasure in matching wits and skills even against shlubs such as these. Ten years ago she might even have taken the time to try and take the last one without killing him.
She strode across the storage area to the offices in back and began kicking open doors, one by one. In the last room she found what she was looking for. The thugs had stolen something that day from The French Ambassador that was dearly desired by a friend of hers. That friend was willing to pay handsomely for this item. And since Misty’s partner Colleen Wing was off in the mountains of Honshu with her grandfather and Knightwing Restorations had no pressing business, she took the job.
Misty had been warned not to open the case. Her employer had carefully explained this was for her own safety. And Misty had no intention of disobeying him. One did not dispute the word of The Black Panther lightly. She picked up the case by the handle and left the warehouse. Her instructions were simple: once she secured the package, report to The Wakandan Embassy and wait for further instructions.
As she stepped out of the warehouse and into the street, breathing deeply of the air, Misty Knight wondered briefly just exactly what it was she had gotten herself into. Sure, the money was good but The Black Panther was an international player.
She grinned to herself as she thought; But then again, so am I.
Warren pushed his soup bowl away and wiped his mouth with a silk napkin before saying; “Let me get this straight…after all these years of being an Avenger now you decide you want to form your own team? Can I ask why?”
“Certainly. I want my motives to be clearly understood. You know that I was recently injured very seriously?”
Warren nodded. “The Avengers had a final showdown with Ultron. The Vision was severely damaged. Just about every bone in your body was broken. And Dr. Henry Pym was killed. Matter of fact, the rumor was that shortly after your people came and got you, you died before they could get you back to Wakanda.”
T’Challa suddenly grinned like a mischievous schoolboy. “You don’t seem very surprised that I am not. In fact, you responded to my lunch invitation with no surprise at all. Didn’t you think I was dead as well?”
“Oh, hell, T’Challa…you know as well as I do that in our line of work people are always coming back from the dead. I’ve done it myself two or three times. Professor Xavier’s done it a couple of times. Doctor Doom and Magneto are declared dead at least once a year. The newspapers carry a story that Matt Murdock is dead and the public yawns. The Vision has been destroyed and reconstructed a couple of times. Jean Grey’s done it so many times we don’t even hold funerals for her anymore. I don’t believe anybody is dead until I see a body and sometimes not even then.” Warren leaned forward, eyes glittering with curiosity. “But I’d like to hear how you pulled off your miraculous recovery.”
T’Challa’s voice was full of emotion as he replied; “I was so close to death that I could see The Other World that lies on the other side of The Black River, Warren. But Wakanda is a land of many secrets both strange and powerful. It is to the land of my fathers that I owe my life. No more than that can I say.”
Warren leaned back in his chair as the waiters took away the soup bowls and the plates of appetizers. “Fine by me. But what has this got to do with you wanting your own team?”
“The Vision and Henry Pym were both very good friends of mine. In particular, Hank Pym was a brilliant man of magnificent genius who deserved a better, cleaner death rather than the one he received at the hand of his own creation. But it should never have gotten to that point.” T’Challa’s voice was becoming harder as anger welled up inside of him. “Ultron should have been dealt with years ago.”
“Hey, you get no argument from me on that score, pal,” Warren motioned for more wine to be poured. “There are quite a few enemies of The X-Men I wouldn’t miss a bit if they dropped off the face of the earth and were never heard from again.” A sudden thought struck Warren and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’re not thinking of turning The Champions into your own personal revenge squad, are you? Because if you are then I’m afraid I’d take umbrage with that. To put it mildly.”
“Far from it, my friend. But you must admit that sometimes it would be more advantageous if a more pro-active methodology was taken to deal with our foes and threats against humanity in general. Why should we wait for a Madame Hydra or a Zodiac or an Apocalypse to attack first before we do something? Why not go after them first?”
Warren was looking into his wine glass as he thought about what T’Challa was saying. “Yeah. I have to admit, it would be nice to have the bad guys wondering and worrying about when we were going to strike instead of the other way round.”
T’Challa was nodding, his long fingers interlaced. He continued; “Exactly my point, Warren. My team of Champions would identify threats to world peace and safety. Threats to humanity itself. And having identified those threats would go after them.”
Warren replied; “I’ve got to admit you’ve got me intrigued with this, T’Challa. You given any thought as to who you’d like on your team?”
T’Challa snapped his fingers and an aide standing nearby walked forward with a handheld computer and gave it to Warren. He spent maybe two minutes studying the list before looking up at T’Challa with amusement. “You know what the press is going to say, right? They’re going to say that this is just you wanting to have a team of Black Avengers to serve you.”
“I picked this team because of two reasons: be they friend or foe I know them all. Some I know better than they know themselves. I know their skills. I know their capabilities. And I believe that they can function as an effective team under my tutelage and direction.”
“And the other reason?”
“As an Avenger I was bound by certain rules. As the leader of my own team I would not be bound by those rules. Neither will my Champions. The individuals on that list are somewhat…how shall I put this…more hardened than your average Avenger. They will be capable of making difficult decisions and carrying out those decisions. That is a quality I require. They will all be made honorary citizens of Wakanda as well as exalted to the title of Regents of The Panther Throne. That will give them certain discretionary diplomatic immunities to be able to carry out missions that Avengers or The Fantastic Four cannot do.”
“I’ve got to be honest, T’Challa. There’s one or two names on here that make me nervous. Such as this one-“ Warren held up the computer and pointed to a name. “He’s an arms dealer. A terrorist. A killer. How could you even consider working with him? And isn’t he supposed to be dead anyway?”
“Ah, but you said it best yourself, my friend…until you’ve seen the body don’t consider anyone dead…especially not Moses Magnum…
The nation of Wakanda, Africa
His eyes opened slowly, and felt as heavy as if they were made lead instead of flesh. But then again, he truly never expected to be able to open his eyes again at all.
He was in an incredibly advanced technological complex. He lay on a medical diagnostic bed tilted at a 45 degree angle. It was enough for him to see the lab-coated technicians and physicians moving around him. The room he was in was fairly large and from the antiseptic smell Moses Magnum judged that he was in some kind of hospital or medical complex. Whoever his benefactor was, he could afford the best. The machinery and computers were state of the art and with some dismay Magnum realized that he recognized the technology. He was complexly naked and his arms and legs were securely bound. He couldn’t even use his seismic energy power if he wanted to as he felt so weak. And he hated weakness. He HATED it. If he was where he thought he was then his enemy had done worse than kill him. Moses Magnum had been made to feel WEAK.
Someone had to pay.
Suddenly there was a plastic cup to his dry, chapped lips. A cup held in the small hands of a child-like man with an oversized head and glasses. Despite his childishly odd appearance, the small man carried himself with an air of arrogant authority. “I suggest you drink.”
Magnum did so. His dehydrated system needed water. He drained the cup dry. The small man asked, “Would you like more?”
“Yes.”
The small man snapped his fingers and someone ran over to pour clear mountain spring water from a picture into the cup. Magnum gulped that down just as greedily as he had the first. Never had water tasted better.
“Now we must talk,” the small man said. “Introductions first. I am Dr. Joshua Itobo. Do you know who you are?”
“You know full well that I am Moses Magnum.”
“Oh, I knew that Mr. Magnum. I just wanted to know if you were cognizant of whom you are. We have spent considerable time reconstructing you. It wasn’t easy. Twice we almost lost you. But you will be pleased to know that you are whole again.”
“And my powers?”
Joshua Itobo smiled and produced from a pocket of his lab coat a vial filled with a glowing orange fluid. “Currently we have neural blockers that prohibit you from using your powers. This will restore you to full control over those powers. But until then you are as mortal as any of us. And will remain so until you swear your loyalty to King T’Challa.”
“So I am in Wakanda.”
Dr. Joshua Itobo smiled. And it was not a pleasant smile at all. “Indeed you are. You owe your life to my kinsman and his mercy. And if you wish to have your powers back you will humble yourself to him and listen to his proposition.”
“What proposition?” Magnum snarled.
“A proposition that may give a chance at redemption, Mr. Magnum. And who knows? You may actually enjoy being a Champion for good instead of evil. It will all be up to you and the will of my kinsman King T’Challa.”
Warren whistled low and long as T’Challa finished his outline of what he intended to do with his team of Champions. “No disrespect intended T’Challa…but I just figured out who you are.”
T’Challa paused in forking a sizable hunk of lobster tail into his mouth. “And who would that be?”
“You’re really Keyser Soze, right?”
T’Challa threw back his head and laughed loud and long. A genuine laugh of true mirth. Warren got the feeling that T’Challa hadn’t laughed like that in a long time. T’Challa had to put down his fork as he wiped his streaming eyes and the laughter slowly subsided.
“Thank you for that, Warren. By my throne I needed a good laugh.” T’Challa resumed eating his lobster. “So what say you? Will you sell me the rights to use the name of your team and this building?”
“What do you want this building for?”
“It would be more cost effective for me to buy this building and retrofit it to the particular needs of my team. Not that it would need much. You already constructed it with the intention that it would have to serve the needs of a superhero team. I will establish a Wakandan embassy in this building so that it will be considered Wakandan soil. I also intend to buy other discarded bases around the world formerly used as superhero headquarters and use them as combination Wakandan embassies and headquarters for my Champions.”
“How much you willing to spend?” Warren asked.
“Name your price, my friend.”
Warren sat back, rolled his eyes upwards in quiet contemplation. He thought for about two minutes. The he said; “Gimme twenty bucks and the papers.”
“Done.” T’Challa snapped his fingers and an aide came over with the necessary documentation. He indicated where Warren should sign. It took nearly 20 minutes for Warren to sign everything. T’Challa motioned to the aide. “Abidemi, please give Mr. Worthington twenty dollars.”
Without hesitation the aide reached inside his jacket pocket for his leather wallet, withdrew a crisp American twenty dollar bill that looked as if it could have been printed up that morning and handed it to Warren. Warren kissed the currency, folded it up and tucked it away in his hip pocket. “You know you just got a bargain, right?”
“Indeed.”
The two men resumed eating. But Warren had a final question; “So where do you go from here?”
“To recruit two more members of my Champions. One will be easy. The other may not be.”
“Want some company?”
T’Challa looked up in surprise. “I thought you were through with The Champions?”
“I am. I just signed it over to you, didn’t I? But I’m really intrigued about you’re going to next the next two on your list. Call me an interested observer.”
T’Challa smiled. “Very well then. Eat up, Warren. They don’t serve wood as exquisite as this at The Vault.”
NEXT ISSUE: The Black Panther and The Angel pay a visit to The Vault and run into female trouble that you wouldn’t believe! Meanwhile, Misty Knight has problems of her own that only The Prowler and Bruce Leroy can get her out of! And if that wasn’t enough we meet two more new members of THE CHAMPIONS!
