THE BLACK FOREST

BADEN-WÜRTTEMBERG, GERMANY

“Thirteen.”

Her grunt echoed through the murkiness of the extended German woodlands. She was an illumination, a bright spark in the chaos of something which they had all longed, or perhaps hoped, had been left in the archaic past of Earth. Every step she took, every graceful sway of her hips, caused a spark of fire to erupt from her heel. Lady Jacqueline Falsworth had been more than an aristocratic lady in her lifetime. She had watched as the world had changed around her and, in many ways, it seemed the so-called golden age of heroes had paved the way to a brighter future. Yet, as she considered the mangled face of her latest foe, the Englishwoman knew that dangers would always lurk in the shadows.

Known to the world as Spitfire, and fresh from a stint with the all-female Heralds, Jacqueline was calm and reposed despite the beads of sweat on her forehead, each of which threatened to expose her growing weaknesses. Since her transformation from a mere superhuman into the ancient being that she now was, Jacqueline’s health had been fading. Her diet, for lack of a better word, required so much more than she was providing for herself. Even now, with hatred and hunger, she looked down on the exposed neck of the downed National Force grunt and it gave her a moment of thought, a need that she desired to quell.

Union Jack, guns held high, dropped in beside his sister. “I told you, we weren’t playing this game.”

His words pulled Spitfire from her trance. In times of difficulty, Jacqueline was reminded of the difference between the life that she now needed and the life she wished to attain once again. Brian was a guiding light, a beacon to draw her home. In many ways, her brother had become her own Pied Piper of Hamlyn, drawing her back from the brink when she threatened to succumb to her carnal desires. It brought a smile to her somewhat sorrowful face. Her blonde hair whirled around her face as she looked around, observing the carnage of the National Force once again being depleted by their merry band of Invaders.

“We have to have something to break the monotony, darling,” she replied softly. “It’s been months of chasing these goons and still we haven’t seen hide nor tail of whatever it is we’re searching for.”

Union Jack fired on two incoming Neo-Nazis. He could sense the dissent in his sister’s words. There was a fear that lingered in his mind, a thought that her growing detachment was more than just disillusionment, but that she was losing herself to the vampirism that now consumed her. “We put our trust in Hammond and S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Brian reminded her forcefully. “You know that was the agreement we made when we signed up to this. S.H.I.E.L.D. has always been pomp and circumstance, classification and clearances. That was never gonna change, Jackie.”

They felt a sudden heat, the intensity of which announced the arrival of their leader: Jim Hammond, the Human Torch. Or at least, the original bearer of that sobriquet. He was much more composed and stoic than either of them had ever remembered, the militaristic discipline of the android was not entirely unknown to them from previous adventures but his inhuman detachment was only rivalled by Spitfire’s. Hammond looked down on them, his humanoid face devoid of emotion, as it burned with the intensity of the sun. Despite a lack of emotion, both knew he was to reproach them for their lack of professionalism.

“Can we continue with the mission or do you require more time on a personal conversation.”

Spitfire glowered. “We’re on it, darling.” Content to walk away from the fight, the superhuman speedster – clad in her familiar golden bodysuit – rushed off, fire marking the direction she’d chosen until the flames stopped and another National Force Nazi was out of action.

Hammond hovered. “I suggest you follow Lady Falsworth’s suit, Lord Falsworth.”

Union Jack gave a curt nod. He was first and foremost a soldier, this was war, he had orders to follow. However, he felt a growing disconnection with their cause and, in large part, Brian attributed that to the general lack of concern displayed by their commanding officer. This was most evident when it came to personal safety. Union Jack had found himself sent into a situation almost trickier than he could handle and the Human Torch had been unconcerned with his survival if the objective of the mission had been completed. It was a growing irritant but a battle zone was never the best time to air grievances. He rushed off into the fray, almost being blinded as he passed by one of their newest recruits.

Radiance, the Japanese heroine who had been known as Supreme Radiant Friend in her own country, had released an arc of explosive photonic energies. Her physicality was matched by her beauty but she wasn’t the strongest brawler of the Invaders and so, she relied on her other skills, such as deflection and distraction. As the three National Force supremacists screamed and grabbed their eyes, Radiance wove her body gracefully between them, catching them off-guard and gaining the upper hand. As she stepped past the last of the Nazis, the legacy heroine smiled girlishly. She was over-confident in her abilities and unaware that one of the three had not been as easy to dispatch.

As he aimed his gun towards her back, the yellow-clad heroine could have offered her last smile. If not for the quick thinking of her comrade, the Fin, who slammed his mystical cutlass on the man’s arm and detached it from his body. Unable to pull the trigger, the man attempted to roll from harm’s way but the Fin was merciless and wasted no time in ending the goon’s life with another swing of his enchanted cutlass. He then paced towards the Japanese heroine with a glare.

“Be careful, Sabuki,” he muttered. “You have to always watch your back. Your grandmother would never have been so careless.” Before Ryoko could even offer a reply, or a defence, the Fin had disappeared into the overgrowth of the forest in search of his next victim.

Ryoko scowled like a petulant child. She was revered for her abilities in Japan, the media darling of the superhuman community, but when the Invaders had reached out towards her, she had jumped at the opportunity to step away from the freedom of being a solo hero and media icon in favour of fulfilling the legacy of her grandmother, the Golden Girl of the Kid Commando’s. Unfortunately, Ryoko was still very much in a mindset that was not compatible with most of her teammates. Many had been through World War II, through a variety of machinations that allowed them to live an extended existence, and she had yet to earn her position amongst their ranks.

Several feet ahead of her Blazing Skull was dispatching several more of their foes but, much like her specialised skillset, the Invaders gathered around her where the distraction. Acting as the lure so that the true mission could be undertaken without notice. She rushed forward to assist Blazing Skull as Hammond hovered overhead, shooting upward to remove himself from the fray.

His eyes searched the length and breadth of the forest as he reached out to contact his final, and perhaps most important, asset in this mission. “Iron Cross,” he said into the fire-proof communicators held in the lapels of his costume. “Update on your status.”

Far ahead of him, the cyborg lurched forward as she peered from the bushes. Iron Cross, the daughter of Helmut Gruler, was a recent addition to the Invaders. However, they deemed anyone who had not fought alongside them in World War II in an infantile fashion that was displeasing to her. Although, Iron Cross still believed herself to be a worthier asset than the recently recruited Japanese bubblehead. Carefully, Iron Cross made her way forward from the undergrowth. She extended her metallic arm as it shifted and whirred, transforming into an energy cannon. The fray behind her had drawn most of National Force from their base. Only seven remained. In seven shots, each of the men had been dispatched before they had even noted the predator in the overgrowth. Iron Cross stood upright and moved into the open.

“I’m clear for contact.”

Iron Cross was nothing if not clear and concise. As was required, the African-German heroine was more aware of their mission than most of her situational colleagues. Unlike most of her teammates, Iron Cross hadn’t joined the ranks of the Invaders for wholly altruistic reasons. Since her accidental exposure to a Terrigen Crystal in Germany, the technological woman had made it her mission to repent for the sins of her father. Helmut Gruler had been on the wrong side of the second World War and his name had become mud in her homeland. Even though he had saw the errors of his ways, Helmut had died as a monster. It had broken her heart to watch him suffer and it seemed to her that it was the single emotional memory that led her personality back from the brink of complete computerisation.

She marched forward, her long brown weave drawn into a harsh ponytail between the protrusions of her metal head-brace. Other than her face, Iron Cross was almost completely mechanical. She raised her arm and aimed the energy cannon, blasting the door through. Her need for stealth had been compromised already and she saw no reason to continue the charade. Hammond rebuked her over the communicator but she ignored him. The primary objective was in sight and, much like most of her teammates, Iron Cross was growing tired of chasing Nazis across the plains of western Europe. Nazis had been her entire life; the fear of them, the misunderstanding of her country by the media, and Iron Cross hoped to act as a symbol of hope as well as of redemption.

Hate-Monger, dressed in his garish purple robe with a H emblazoned with a distinctive H, was loading his weapon as the woman entered. His outfit made her think it had been designed by a colour-blind member of the Ku Klux Klan but she wasn’t a witty individual and small-talk would serve no use. She aimed and fired the cannon, the Hate-Monger was thrown over the table that held a whirring machine. Her primary objective was in sight. She stormed forward, kicking his dropped weapon as she passed it, and she stared down upon his pathetic figure with disgust.

“You’re lucky it was on stun.”

The cannon shook and quivered, returning in the shape of her hand with extensions on her fingertips. She placed her freshly reformed hand on the machine without hesitation as her eyes glowed. It spoke to her in a code she didn’t understand. It was unfamiliar but it definitely wasn’t binary. However, Iron Cross was a dominant force and she managed to communicate with the machine to shut down. The whirring ceased and Hate-Monger took the opportunity to make a run for it. He had made it as far as the door before Hammond entered the room and shot him with a fireball.

Iron Cross turned to him. “I don’t comprehend the machine’s language.”

“The origins and purpose of the machine doesn’t concern us,” replied Hammond bluntly. “We’re merely the retrieval team. S.H.I.E.L.D. has been informed of our acquisition and will soon be here to transport the machine and Hate-Monger to a more secure facility.” His words fell flatly.

“And, in the case of possibly being disrespectful, we’re meant to be okay with that?” Iron Cross asked. “I’m not sure if I’m comfortable being a gun that S.H.I.E.L.D. points and fires.”

Hammond stared her down. “No-one is forcing you to stay, Miss Gruler.”

Iron Cross frowned.

THE WEBS OF SUPREMACY

Part I

By Gavin McMahon

OUTPOST 53

AKTAU, KAZAKHSTAN

“And he flat out refused to explain what the device was?” enquired Brian curiously. His masked had been removed to expose a boyishly handsome face with a shuck of neatly styled brown hair. He was the second in the line of Invaders that entered the room. He folded his arms, staring down his cybernetic comrade. Brian was bitter, having been informed that Iron Cross had been more informed than any of the rest of them entering the latest in a series of missions.

Clare Gruler blinked as she observed the confusion in his face. “Did my explanation not suffice? Hammond merely told me to resign if I had any issues with how he’d led us.” It was such a human reaction and one she wasn’t particularly fond of but his bitterness didn’t go unnoticed, even to her mechanical mind. “Hammond’s organisation of the mission isn’t in question. To fulfil your roles none of you needed to be as informed as I was. I couldn’t have located the device if I hadn’t known what I was looking for. It was a tactical decision.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” scowled the Englishman.

Jacqueline placed a hand on his shoulder gently. Her presence was somewhat soothing but it also reminded him of his longing for contentment and comfort. His lifestyle prevented that, just as hers did. The Falsworth’s had a connection deeper than most siblings. When she spoke, it was soft and weary. “I don’t think she’s justifying his actions, darling. She’s merely pointing out that, given the result, they weren’t entirely fallible.” She released her grip and made for the sofa. “The mission was a success.”

“Not quite,” said Ryoko as she stretched to reach the top shelf of the cupboard, having made her way towards the kitchenette of their makeshift headquarters. She always made food after a mission. Using her powers seemed to burn to her energy reserves at an exponential rate. “There were some National Force guys that disappeared into the forest. S.H.I.E.L.D. can’t have collected all of them.” She scowled. “I still can’t believe it wasn’t the Hate-Monger. Who plants a high ranking goon as a distraction?”

“Worry not, my sweet,” Jacqueline replied, rubbing at her eyes. “National Force is a movement, much as Nazism was before it. It can be contained but not squashed entirely, not as long as people believe in it. We, and those like us, will always be there to hunt them when they rear their heads. As for Hate-Monger, he’ll be caught and tried like all the others, sooner or later.”

Mark Todd, the Blazing Skull, yawned loudly and drew their attention towards him. He waved them off and each of the Invaders continued to make themselves at home. Most of his teammates seemed to have become increasingly anxious during their confinement to the Outpost but it caused no problems for Mark. Before his transformation into the Blazing Skull, the one-time foreign correspondent had been trapped in more cramped bases during the second Sino-Japanese War. His teachings from the Skullmen had seen him safely harboured in a series of subterranean mineshafts. As they developed cabin fever, Mark became more comfortable. It reminded him of the home he had left behind to protect the world from Nazism once before. A clattering of a fallen pan brought him back to reality and he observed as Peter Noble chastised the young Ryoko.

“Leave her alone, Fin,” he grumbled.

Unlike the other Invaders, Mark was the most amiable towards the new recruits. He wasn’t sure if old age had softened him or he was overcompensating for the horrifying appearance he had become permanently stuck in. The Skullmen hadn’t mentioned use of the facial invisibility power wouldn’t fade after decades of use. Still, Clare and Ryoko had been fiercely admirable in their missions and it deserved recognition. Not the cordial, polite recognition they received from Brian and Jacqueline, which always seemed false to him, but he allowed it. Peter and Hammond spoke down to them, treating the heroes as trainees when in fact they’d been selected because they had made impressive use of their legacy.

“Or what, Todd?” grimaced Peter, his hand already clasping his mystical cutlass. His aggression was becoming overwhelming. “Some of us have been hard at it all day and we want a bit of peace and quiet when we get back to this shit hole. If I can’t get back to my family, the least I can have is that.”

Mark glared. “Ryoko dropping a pan isn’t the reason you can’t return to your family, Noble. None of us were dragged here kicking and screaming, we were offered this and we said yes. If you’re so concerned about your family then why’d you leave them behind? I’m betting there’s a pretty sordid reason that you’re keeping close to your chest.”

Peter scowled before storming from the room.

“Was that necessary?” asked Jacqueline, her voice was raspy almost as if she was out of breath. “Do you two have to repeat this fight every time you end up in the same room?” She looked pale, not just as she normally did as a vampire but somehow even more deathly. “It does get so tiring, darling.”

Brian frowned, concerned. “You okay, Jack?”

“Of course, darling, just a little worn out,” she offered a weak smile. “Stay out of trouble. I’m talking to all of you.” Despite her proclamation, her eyes rested firmly on the square jawbone of her brother. “I’m going to retire for a couple of hours. You know the sunlight plays havoc with my mood. Sweetest dreams.” Much like Peter, Jacqueline disappeared into the sprawling series of hallways.

“Jemma.”

The Scotsman entered through the somewhat untidy portion room, tools lay spread haphazardly across the breadth of metallic tables in what he would have considered to be an orderly fashion. He was petite, particularly when presented alongside the burlier agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. that normally stormed the hallways of the Outpost, and his caramel blond hair was curly and tight to the scalp. He was as unlike an agent as could be physically but behind his innocent blue eyes was the mind of a genius, a mind that had been unmatched at the Academy. Still, he was not without his faults and, despite his twenty-seven years old the planet, Leo Fitz remained naïve to the workings of the real world. Harsh and volatile as they could be.

In contrast, Jemma Simmons was calm and collected. Brilliant in her own way but with heightened social skills and much neater. She stood, her long brown hair trailing across the faint pink stripes that lined her blouse, in an immaculately tidy workspace. The Human Torch, Jim Hammond, lay on the operating table beside her. His cybernetic brain exposed for the world to see. Despite initially thinking he would have fallen under Fitz’s remit as a technology specialist, the duo soon realised that Hammond’s intricate brain was mapped much like that of an average human, it was simply much more resilient. She smiled at him, softly at first but concern soon creeped in at the corners of her mouth. Since the Academy, Jemma had taken it upon herself to act as the best friend and confident of the Scottish savant. The closeness of their countries had been their first bond.

“Yes, Fitz?” she replied, her British accent was crisp. She had been born and raised in the fields and farmlands of Oxfordshire and her first degree had been from her county’s university, one of the oldest and most acclaimed in the world. Everything about her was prim and proper. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s just have you ever wondered why they want him reset after every mission, drawing him back to square one with only the most basic, functioning information left intact?” his accent was coarser, a sign of his council estate upbringing. If Simmons had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, Fitz’s had been cheap copper found in a landfill. Despite the harshness of his accent, his words were compassionate.

Simmons offered a brief smile. “It’s just the protocol we have to follow. It’s for efficiency, we’ve been told this. He doesn’t know any different. He’s just a machine.”

“I thought that too when we first arrived but look at the facts,” continued Fitz. “His neuro-signature is unlike anything we’d ever encountered. It takes a biochemical specialist to co-ordinate his fresh brain patterns without causing severe damage to his central nervous system. I don’t think he is a machine. He’s more than that and we’re playing God but we don’t even know why.”

“We’re doing what we’re told to,” she said somewhat dismissively. “That’s our job. We’re not here to make decisions. We don’t even have the clearance to do so. There’s no point worrying about the system, Fitz, it hasn’t failed us so far.”

“But Ward didn’t–“

The door creaked.

“This seems tense,” the Asian-American one-time hacktivist announced her arrival. Her voice was low and husky, in some ways it could have been considered sensual even when she said the most basic of things. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“Don’t be silly, Skye,” replied Simmons quickly. “Fitz and I were just discussing the brain modification system on Hammond.” The Englishwoman attached the last of the wires and stepped back, her broad smile was more apprehensive than before. “He’s all yours.”

Skye smiled as she moved forward and flipped open her laptop. Her brown hair was drawn back into a ponytail apart from some frayed hairs that fell around her ears and, although she had always been friendly with the pair, she seemed unnerved by the tension was clung in the room. Still, with a curt nod, she’d taken her position and began to tap at her laptop, recoding the basic brain structure of Jim Hammond and withdrawing the information and mechanic patterns that had been gained during the most recent excursion into Germany. It was clear on her face, beneath the smile, that she was concerned with the attention of the pair, their eyes resting squarely on her. Finally, she looked up.

“Is something wrong?”

“Actually–”

Simmons interjected. “No, nothing. We just have work we should be getting on with. Classified stuffed. Gonna have to idle away whilst you’re here.” She offered some goonish, goofy movements as if to exaggerate her point. The first sign of her attempts at lying was always the added arm movements.

“Fitz?” enquired Skye, undeterred.

Despite Simmons subtle glaring, he answered. “I was just wondering why Ward only allows you to work on the coding? I know you’re very skilled, don’t get me wrong, but I’m a whiz with technology and I have a genius IQ.” Skye looked partially offended as he barrelled on. “Surely, I could manage it. Especially since Simmons and I already work so closely together.”

She laughed. “That’s it? Why didn’t you before?” She tapped at her laptop as the code started running and then returned her attention to him. “I suppose it’s just habit. I was here when the protocol of Hammond’s memory wiping was first brought into play and I led it so when you came in, genius IQ and all, it was just as easy for me to continue working on it.” Skye arched her brow. “If it’s a problem I’m sure I can speak to Ward and hand over the reins?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” beamed Simmons before giving Fitz a look that told him to shut up.

Skye’s phone rung. “Just a sec.” She stood but paused. “Just don’t touch anything for now. If we’re gonna handover maybe best to do it start to finish, okay?”

When Fitz and Simmons had nodded, she left the room.

“What the fuck?” said Simmons with some spectacularly dramatic hand movements as if to reiterate her exasperation at his tactlessness.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t add up. Ward sent the Invaders after the device and I haven’t even seen it, even though I’m in charge of technology. Skye’s the only one who codes even though I could do it. There’s something that doesn’t feel right about all of this. She’s sleeping with him, isn’t she? Surely she’d know.”

Simmons frowned. “Exactly, Fitz, she’s sleeping with him.”

“Exactly,” he said firmly until the realisation dawned on his face. “Oh shit.”

Simmons slapped her forehead as Skye re-entered the room. The tension had quickly escalated. The hacker merely shrugged it off and returned to her laptop. After a few more minutes of typing she was done and slammed the lid shut. As she was leaving, she paused and turned back towards them.

“Simmons, can I have a word in private?” she smiled at Fitz as she added. “It’s just girl stuff.”

“Of course.”

They made their way into the hallway.

Peter was storming through the hallways as he tried to shrug off the words that Mark had said. In many ways, it was because the one-time Neptunian king found it difficult to accept that his family wasn’t waiting patiently for his return. The Invaders had come knocking at his door at an opportune time as trouble had already begun to brew in his marriage and Nia had been on the brink of leaving it all behind. Peter had been an excellent king to the Neptunian people and his love for Nia was complete but he was a man who had never been able to control his need to explore and adventure. It had led him into his position as a king and, even in his contentment, Peter looked on the world with the vaguest of beliefs that there had to be something, or someone else, out there. One final buzz of excitement, the thrill of adventure calling to him like a siren song. The raven-haired man turned the corner and immediately stepped backwards as he peeked to see one of the laboratory agents and the hacker in deep conversation. He had a great vantage point to eavesdrop, particularly as their body language and the way the hacker’s hand – although appearing to be on her waist – had a finger around the handle of her gun.

“It really seems to me that something’s going on today and I’m sure that Ward would be curious to know that it seems there’s dissent amongst the troops, Simmons,” the hacker, Skye he believed her name was, continued in her tirade. Unaware that she was being watched. “It’s not really the picture of solidarity he was hoping for when he got this gig, you know?”

The lab rat seemed defensive. Her arms clung tightly across her chest. It was a far cry from the amiable conversations he’d seen them have around the base. “It isn’t like that,” replied Simmons, attempting to sound casual but there was a quiver in her voice. “I think Fitz just had some grand ideas when we got here and now he’s feeling a little undervalued by the whole situation. Tech has always been his thing. It’s where he feels safe and at home.” She was rambling. “You . . . You doing what he considers to be a part of his job is just a little concerning to him. I think he doesn’t feel at home. That’s all, I promise you.”

Skye didn’t look convinced.

“It really seems that somethings bugging the two of you. Normally when I come down here for this, there’s laughing and joking but today it’s almost like I’m being watched. I gotta say Simmons I didn’t appreciate it. I know I’m good at my job and I’ve been at Ward’s side long before this, I fit in here just fine.”

Simmons’ expression changed at Skye’s last line. Yet, she seemed to decisively play it cool. Peter wouldn’t have cared about the bickering in an everyday situation but the hostility had his interest piqued. He was on his guard, fingers lapped around the mystical cutlass that hung from his waist.

“I’m sure I can speak for both of us, Skye, when I say we’re sorry if we hurt your feelings that wasn’t our intention. I mean, we’re all friends here and we wouldn’t do anything to each other.”

“See?” stated Skye. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Skye pulled her gun and pointed it squarely on Simmons, her back leg sliding out slightly to brace herself against the weapon’s inevitable kickback. The Fin wasted no more time on idling in the shadows. He pounced forward, cutlass in the air as he barrelled towards the hacker. His blade came down towards the barrel of the gun but she pulled it from his path in time. Instead, he planted his foot firmly in her stomach and launched her into a nearby wall. Baring his teeth, the Fin looked down upon her as he stepped in front of Simmons, becoming a human shield. Skye started to laugh as she pushed herself off the ground and stared angrily at them.

She placed her hands in the air as if feigning surrender. “Well, I guess I’m busted.” Her smile turned into a smirk. “Tell me, Simmons, was it you or your little lap dog that worked it out? When I put a bullet between his eyes I’d like to know if I’m killing the accomplice or the mastermind. Clearly, you’ve all become surplus to requirement.” She pointed the gun. “But thank you for your service.”

Simmons squinted in a moment of fear as she felt the warmth of the Fin’s body leave her. He moved forward, she could feel it, but as the bullet blasted, the next sensation she felt was far more unsettling. It was viscous and carried the faintest smell of copper as it clung to her. Blood. Opening her eyes, the mystical cutlass was on the ground and Skye was reaching for the gun that had been knocked from her hand. Time seemed to slow as her eyes narrowed in on the lifeless corpse of the Fin, blood and brain matter now seeping through a single wound at the centre of his forehead. The doctor wasted no time in spinning on her heels and making a run for it. Her thick heels thudded against metallic flooring as sparks flew behind her, bullets ricocheting from Skye’s missed attempts to murder her.

Simmons ran and ran until she could run no more.

“Daisy–”

Skye was heaving as she slammed the door behind her. Faint traces of the Fin’s blood clung to her face and clothing, she’d been more fortunate in that regard that Simmons. “Cut it out, Grant. They know. Or at least, I’m sure most of them will by now. It all depends on how long that acerbic bitch can run for before she catches cramp.” She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, still clutching the gun, as she paced the room.

“What do you mean they know, Shannon?” he uttered angrily.

It felt peculiar to hear him utter her true name after so long. The life she had led before taking over the body of Daisy Potts, a young hacker with bigger ambitions than she was able to handle, had somehow become little more than a memory to the one-time villainous. She’d been resting easily in Colombia when Daisy had come to her door with a plot of entrapment but she had failed to realise, in her youthful recklessness, that the Nazi war criminal had only escaped the western world’s interpretation of justice by becoming learned and wry in the art of duplicity and distraction. Shannon Kane, known better to some who had served the Invaders during World War II, as the Spider Queen. Aged and on the verge of infirm, Shannon had jumped at the chance to start her life anew without looking over her shoulder but the call of power and destruction had always been too hard for the former actress to resist. Slipping into Daisy’s mind had been child’s play, the war had allowed her to meet a lot of intelligent yet dangerous people, and the chance at another performance to tempting to pass up.

It was then that she’d met Grant Ward, the sweet, gullible foot soldier with delusions of grandeur. The rest had become ancient history as they’d worked alongside one another to build an empire within the carcass of S.H.I.E.L.D. Its destruction would allow them to finally, and fully, enact their plans. However handsome he may have been, Ward had always been to slow to keep up with her overactive mind. She thought three steps ahead of the competition and he followed her lead. It had been a perfect working relationship, until now. Now, Shannon found him irritating.

She stopped to glare at him. “Did I fucking stutter? They know. I shot the Fin in the head and Simmons got away from me so I assume they’ll be descending on us soon if they aren’t already. We have to speed this process up.” She nudged towards the device the Invaders had taken from Hate-Monger. “Is it operational yet?”

He replied coolly. “Yes.”

“Then send the fucking signal,” she screamed.

Like that, Ward activated the beacon.

Next in All-New Invaders: What is the device? Why have Ward and Skye betrayed them?