A helicopter flew through the air, descending on the man-made island prison known as the Raft. Like the Vault or the Cube, the Raft was one of many prisons designed to house superhuman inmates. Once the chopper touched down, a man in a military uniform with rank identifying him as colonel stepped out onto the tarmac, opening the door to the chopper.

From the chopper emerged a man in a blue suit and red tie, with round glasses and long, green hair tied neatly behind his head in a ponytail. In his hand he carried a briefcase.

“Dr. Samson?” asked the colonel, shouting over the roar of the chopper blades. “My name is Colonel Kraig. Welcome to the Raft.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” said Samson. As the two left the tarmac, they were able to lower their voices to a conversational level. “I must admit, I was a little surprised when I received your message. I heard you right, though—you said you have the Hulk in captivity?”

“That’s right, Doctor,” said Kraig. “Surprisingly, he actually surrendered to us when my men confronted him.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Samson.

“Well, you’re the expert on him,” said Kraig. “Am I to understand that you once successfully cured the Hulk of his…temperament?”

“Not quite,” said Samson. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

Leonard Samson flinched a little as he recalled those memories. He had once attempted to merge the various aspects of the man’s personality—Bruce Banner, Joe Fixit and the Hulk—into a single personality. Instead, all Samson succeeded in doing was creating a fourth personality, Banner’s idealized version of himself. A being who, when in control of the Hulk’s form, contained the savage Hulk’s immense strength, Banner’s intelligence and Fixit’s cunning instincts. A personality the other three came to refer to as the Professor.

“Since you’re the foremost authority on all things mean and green, we figured it would be best to call you, especially since General Ross is still missing,” said Kraig.

Nor was it the first time was the thought running through Samson’s head. Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross was a man who in the past had tried to stop the Hulk by any means necessary. He may be missing, but Samson knew it would only be a matter of time before Ross popped up again in the future.

“I’m just trying to figure out how the Hulk arrived on the east coast,” said Samson. “Last I heard, Felton Hardbottle was pursuing him out west.”

“Hardbottle’s also got quite a few marks against him, Doctor,” said Kraig. “Between you and me, I have no idea why he was chosen as Ross’ successor for the Hulkbusters. The man’s a loose cannon and his name is unfortunately extremely fitting.”

“I don’t disagree on any single point, sir,” said Samson. “But despite his problems, I doubt Hardbottle would be pursuing the Hulk on the wrong coast.”

“I can’t deny what I’ve seen with my own eyes, Doctor,” said Kraig. The two entered an elevator that took them down to the lowest sub-level of the Raft. “This is where we keep him. You wouldn’t believe how many gallons of tranquilizer we had to use in order to transport him.”

“And you’re sure this facility is strong enough to contain him?” asked Samson.

“Of course,” said Kraig. “We are several hundred feet below sea level. The facility is constructed of reinforced titanium. Many of our shackles are made of an adamantium alloy and we’ve got him monitored twenty-four/seven. If the Hulk so much as twitches, that movement gets recorded and logged.”

“Since when have superhuman prisons been owned and operated by the United States military, Colonel?”

“The people held here are some of the most dangerous in the world, Doctor. Any one of them possesses ten times the destructive power of any conventional explosive. They are a threat to national security, each and every one of them.”

“And that’s what you believe the Hulk to be as well?”

“You know his history, Doctor. You tell me.”

“You’re right, I do,” said Samson as the elevator reached its destination. The doors opened and he began walking, forcing Kraig to catch up. “And do you know what I’ve learned from the Hulk’s history?”

“What would that be?” asked Kraig.

“He’s reactionary,” said Samson. “The Hulk won’t attack unless provoked.”

“That’s not a risk either I nor the United States government is willing to take.”

“And that’s why you’ll continue pouring money into trying to destroy him,” said Samson. “And he’ll continue finding ways to break free.”

“Right in here,” said Kraig. A retinal scan confirmed his identity and the doors opened. They found themselves in a large room, at the center of which was a massive chamber. “That glass is indestructible. But luckily for us, he’s been calm ever since he woke up. Hasn’t so much as raised his voice. Hell, he hasn’t even said a damn word.”

“Calm?” asked Samson as he approached the darkened cell. “You’re sure of that?”

“Bio rhythms read as completely stable,” said Kraig. “Not even a hint of excitement.”

“That’s strange…”

“What?”

“In the past, when the Hulk was calm, he reverted back to Banner. But now he’s not…”

“Let’s see if he’s willing to talk to us, then.”

Kraig activated the console controls for the lights and the cell lit up. Once it did, Samson gasped in shock. “Colonel, what’s the meaning of this?”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t the Hulk.”

“He looks like the Hulk and he called himself the Hulk.”

“Colonel, the Hulk is either green or gray—” Samson pointed to the behemoth behind the glass. “—not red!”

Virginia

He materialized a few blocks away from his destination, arriving through a tear in space and time. His eyes burned like red-hot coals and the inverted pentagram on his chest—his birthmark—glowed. With a gesture, the tear sealed up and he pulled his leather trench coat tightly, fastening the buttons to keep the mark hidden. With a fedora hat atop his crimson hair, he moved from the alley and walked the rest of the way to his destination.

A few seconds after he pressed the doorbell, a woman opened the door. She was young and innocent, with long, auburn hair. He could taste the purity of her soul and the demon inside him wanted to violate her right there, but he kept it at bay.

“Mrs. Bracken, I presume?” he asked.

“Y-yes,” she said, made uneasy by his very presence.

“My name is Daimon Hellstrom. I believe you have need of my services?”

“Please, come in.” She opened the door wider and stepped aside, parting the threshold for him. Hellstrom entered, tipping his hat slightly to her.

“Thank you. Now where is the girl?”

“Downstairs, in the basement,” said Mrs. Bracken. “My husband’s with her.”

“Show me.”

She nodded and led him through the small house to a door up against the wall. Down the steps into the basement, where Daimon Hellstrom saw the reason the Brackens had called him.

A young girl, couldn’t have been more than six or seven, was tied to a post. The light that illuminated the room was a bright blue fire that burned within her eyes. A young man, slightly older than the woman, sat a few feet away, a Bible open in his hands. He silently mouthed the words as he read over them, and the girl laughed.

“Jack?” asked the woman.

Jack Bracken closed the book and looked up at his wife. “Jesus Kathy, I told you not to come down here!” He moved to her side, but Kathy had already caught sight of her daughter.

“My God…”

Jack looked at their visitor. “Is this him?”

“Daimon Hellstrom, at your service, Mr. Bracken.”

“It’s such a relief to see you here,” said Jack, offering his hand. Hellstrom just looked down at it and Jack nervously withdrew. “Umm…you come very highly recommended. Everyone says you’re the best…umm…well…at this.”

“So I’m told,” said Hellstrom, stepping past the Brackens and focusing his attentions on the girl. “Mary, is it?”

Kathy nodded. “Yes, that’s her name.”

“Of course it is,” said Hellstrom. “It had to be a Mary.”

Jack moved forward and thrust the Bible towards his visitor. “I’ve been reading from the book, maybe you’d like to—?”

“Get that away from me!” he said, swatting the book from Jack’s hand. “God can’t help your daughter now, Mr. Bracken. Only I can.”

“…right,” said Jack, noticing a slight burn on the back of Hellstrom’s hand. The spot where his skin made brief contact with the holy book.

“Leave us,” said Hellstrom, removing his hat.

“I’m not leaving her side,” said Jack.

“Mr. Bracken, that was not a suggestion, it was a command. The rite of exorcism I am about to perform is dangerous.”

“Don’t you hurt her!” said Kathy.

“I meant for you,” said Hellstrom. “Once the entity is expelled from your daughter, it will seek another host. And you, my dear, are a near-perfect substitute.”

“…okay, we’ll go,” said Jack.

Hellstrom watched as the Brackens ascended the basement steps. Once he heard the door close, he unbuttoned his coat, opening it to reveal the pentagram, now resembling nothing more special than a tattoo.

“You are playing with fire, devil-spawn,” said the being inside Mary.

“I’m Lord of the Pit, fire is my domain,” said Hellstrom. He held out his arm, palm facing the child. His palm split open and a golden, fiery trident emerged from the wound. It extended further and further until it reached its full length and he wrapped his fingers around it, slamming the hilt to the ground with sparks flying. His eyes burned again as the pentagram started to glow.

“Hellstorm, what makes you think you can stop us?”

“Normally, I would be able to simply command you to leave this body,” said Hellstorm. “But that won’t work, will it? No, not with you.”

“This child is ours!”

“Yes, I am quite sure your master would love to get his hands on her,” said Hellstorm. “Too bad he won’t.”

“Says who?”

“Me,” he hissed, hellfire spurting up all around him and the girl. “The words from the Bible, the references to God and Christ, they had no adverse affect on you, did they?”

Mary giggled, but with a darkness in her voice. “Clever. Very clever. For a demonic mongrel like you.”

“And I know why,” said Hellstorm.

The bonds holding Mary began to break, one by one. Blue fire emerged from her back and she began to hover in the air, her eyes burning with the same colored flame. Hellstorm gripped his trident and a burst of power emerged from the pronged tip, holding the girl in place.

“I know what you really are…” he began, as the hellfire and the blue flames expanded all across the basement, yet they could not intermingle, keeping the other at bay. Hellstorm fixed his gaze on the young girl. “…angel.”

He thrust forward with the trident, impaling the young girl on it and she shrieked in agony as the flames dissipated, as did her fiery wings. Hellstorm pinned her to the ground, placing his booted foot on her small frame.

“Leave this girl immediately and do not return. Tell your master, tell all of Heaven, that this world is under the protection of the Lord of Hell. Any further assault against mankind will be viewed as an assault upon me and that will be an act of war.”

“You stupid half-breed. Do you think you can truly delay the inevitable?”

“I won’t delay it, I will stop it in its tracks. And then, if I am pushed, I will lay waste to your warped, fascist ‘paradise.’” The black halo appeared above Hellstorm’s head, its energies flowing through his body and his trident, into the girl’s body, causing the angel great pain, and causing convulsions and shrieks. “Now go. You have a message to give your masters.”

The girl screamed again and the blue flame rushed forth from her mouth, vanishing quickly into smoke as it reached the ceiling. Hellstorm removed his trident and not a mark remained on the young girl.

The trident merged back into his body and Hellstorm closed his jacket once more, kneeling before the girl and taking her into his arms. She stirred and weakly looked up at him, then quickly fell back into a deep sleep.

When Hellstorm emerged from the basement, he handed the child to her father. Jack looked at his little girl, then back at this strange man. “Is she…?”

“She’s fine,” said Hellstorm. “The…entity that possessed her is now gone. Right now, she just needs rest.”

“How do we know it won’t come back?” asked Kathy.

“Trust me, it won’t.” Hellstorm put his fedora back on and moved for the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go. I have other matters to attend to.”

New York

A young man in his mid-twenties lay comatose in a hospital bed. The equipment hooked up to his body monitored his heart and brain activity. The heart rate remained normal, but his brain had little to no activity.

Rick Sheridan, for all intents and purposes, was braindead.

After the nurse turned off the lights and leftthe room, another figure appeared, emerging from the confines of Rick’s mind. His skin was a pale green complete with glowing red eyes. He wore a suit of blue with a purple cloak wrapped around his head and flowing down his back.

For years, this being has been bonded with Rick Sheridan, living within the confines of Rick’s mind, only able to emerge while Rick slept. Now, with Sheridan lying in a coma, he is free to wander the Earth as he chooses. Yet most nights, for the past six months, the being known as the Sleepwalker has simply kept a watchful eye over his host.

Because, when Rick went into a coma, something strange occurred. Something that had never happened before. Rather than simply releasing the Sleepwalker from his confinement, Rick’s mind had somehow possessed the Sleepwalker’s body.

So now, Rick Sheridan has control over the Sleepwalker, his body and all his powers. If he had the Sleepwalker’s experience, his memories, Rick might be able to find a way to restore his body.

Sleepwalker went to the window, focusing intently on it with his eyes. The window began to warp beneath his gaze, a giant hole forming in the glass. He flew through the fresh opening and once he departed, the window reverted back to normal.

As he flew through the night sky, he caught sight of a plume of smoke in the distance. He headed straight for it, thinking it to be a simple fire and hoping he could offer some assistance. When he arrived, however, he witnessed something else—a man dressed in a black bodysuit with a giant billiard ball atop his head. He held what appeared to be a simple pool cue in his white gloved hands, although Sleepwalker knew it was anything but.

“8-Ball…” he muttered, recalling the name of his first foe.

8-Ball stood in the middle of a crowded intersection, slamming the end of his pool cue against a car that screeched to a halt in front of him. Amazingly enough, that simple strike sent the car flying off.

Sleepwalker flew down, directing his eye-beams at the flying car. It froze in midair and Sleepwalker lowered it gently to the ground. Beneath his billiard helmet, 8-Ball smiled.

“Ah Sleepy, how good to see you again, old buddy,” he said.

“You’ve been quiet for a long time, where have you been hiding, 8-Ball?” asked Sleepwalker.

8-Ball cocked his head slightly to the side. “You sound…different. Almost…human.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” said Sleepwalker.

“Ah irony, how I love thee,” said 8-Ball.

“And what’s that mean?”

“Maybe I should show you.” 8-Ball wrapped his thumb and index finger around the end of the cue, then pulled back and thrust it forward, as if he was taking a shot, although there was nothing to strike. But as the cue completed its movement, a flaming cue ball appeared at the end of the cue, flying towards Sleepwalker with a trail of fire. He turned his eye-beams on it, but they seemed to have absolutely no effect on the ball.

“Oh, that’s not good…”

Sleepwalker raised his arms and braced himself for the blow. The flaming ball knocked him from the sky and he crashed to the street, his body smoldering. He rubbed his head as he stumbled to his feet.

A giant eight-ball slammed into Sleepwalker’s back, knocking him down again. The ball hovered in front of Sleepwalker’s face and much to the young man’s shock, it began to speak.

“I guess I should have told you,” came 8-Ball’s voice. “I’ve been through some changes myself.

“A hovering ball and a radio inside it?” asked Sleepwalker. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“Who said there was a radio?” asked 8-Ball.

Sleepwalker looked over his shoulder and saw 8-Ball’s headless body hovering towards him atop a giant triangle. His glowing eyes widened in shock. “What in the hell is going on?”

“An apt choice of words,” said 8-Ball. His headless body took another shot with the cue, and fifteen flaming billiard balls flew out. “I’ll break!”

Sleepwalker tried to dodge the balls, but found himself pummeled by them, leaving him unconscious and his body laying motionless on the street, smoke rising up from it. 8-Ball’s head reattached itself to his body and he hovered above Sleepwalker’s unconscious form.

“I’d like to kill you now, but there are plans for you.” His triangle turned around and he flew off into the distance. “Next time, Sleepy!” As he flew off, his body exploded into dozens of tiny billiard balls, before they seemed to burn into nothingness.

Greenwich Village

A tarot card lifted itself from the top of the deck and flipped over. The face of the card featured a man with red hair, sitting upon a throne of skulls, holding a trident in his hand. Beneath the image, the words THE EMPEROR were written. The card hovered above the yellow-gloved palm of a particularly strange man who lived in a strange house.

“Daimon…what part will you play in this, I wonder?”

With a wave of his hand, the card joined another he had removed earlier. On this face was a hulking red creature with an upside down pentagram above his head with THE DEVIL written under. “And you…who are you and what is your reason for being in these visions?”

“Doctor?”

The Sorcerer Supreme turned, hovering in the lotus position with a flowing crimson cape trimmed with gold fixed around his neck. The cape seemed to move everywhere at once, even though there was not the slightest bit of wind. Its reach seemed inhuman, yet it was a sight the bald Chinese man who stood at the door had grown more than accustomed to.

“Yes, Wong?” asked Doctor Strange.

“There’s someone at the door for you,” said Wong.

“I’m busy at the moment.”

“I really think you’ll want to come,” said Wong. “It’s Mr. Blaze.”

“And?”

“He’s…not well, sir.”

“Very well,” said Strange. He moved towards the door, still hovering in the lotus position. As the door closed on his study, however, another card flipped over, seemingly on its own.

On its face, a man clad in golden robes and the words THE HERMIT beneath.

THE BEST DEFENSE

Part I: Omens

By Dino Pollard

THE BEST DEFENSE

Man, this is a title several years in the making. And no, that’s not an exaggeration, I have been trying to work up the courage to write a Defenders book ever since Marvel Omega first launched.

See, when MO first began, Logan Polk, at the time my partner-in-crime on Avengers, had only intended to remain on that book until issue #13, the conclusion of the “Empire” story-arc. Once that finished, we wanted to write Defenders with a cast that included…well, I’m not going to say who it included, because some of those characters will pop up here.

Unfortunately, other things happened. First off, Logan and I were having such a good time on Avengers that we decided to extend our run up to issue #25. But then, Logan had to take a leave of absence from fanfic because of pressures from real life. So that meant our collaboration on Avengers, as well as Logan’s planned Captain Universe limited series and Defenders came to an abrupt halt (although it worked out in the end as Derrick Ferguson joined me on Avengers and Anthony Crute is going to address the fate of Rick Jones in the new Captain Marvel series).

But what to do about Defenders? I still wanted to write these kooky characters and in the years that past, I would go back to the roster I came up with, adding and subtracting characters as I saw fit, jotting down notes here and there. But again, I still had to work up the courage.

I was first introduced to the Defenders by Will Short in his stellar run on the book over at Marvel 2000. Will made me care about these characters I had previously thought of as complete and total losers. Outside of the original four of Doc Strange, Hulk, Namor and the Silver Surfer, who really gave a shit about Valkyrie or Gargoyle or Hellcat or Nighthawk or any of the other parade of supposedly third rate characters?

Well, Will did and he converted me into a fan. Will’s work was what inspired me to pick up the Kurt Busiek/Erik Larsen Defenders relaunch back in 2000/2001, I think it was. Luckily, the horrid taste that bullshit series left in my mouth wasn’t enough to discourage me from seeking out the older comics, and I developed a great fondness for Steve Gerber and J.M. DeMatteis’ respective runs. I loved the idea of this non-team of heroes who were outcasts and rejects before the X-Men came along and made it the cool new thing.

My most-recent idea was to do a prelude to this series with six solo minis, each one lasting around three issues and focusing on each of these new Defenders, similar to Grant Morrison’s recent Seven Soldiers of Victory. The scenes in here were originally going to be included in the first issues of The Rampaging Hulk; Hellstorm, Son of Satan; and Sleepwalker, respectively (although I wouldn’t have done a Doctor Strange solo for reasons which I won’t get into here). I decided to abandon that idea for a number of reasons (even after I made up some really awesome logos for those books). Part of the reason was such a big deal for Defenders didn’t make sense, especially since this is a non-team and, if tradition was any indication, there could be a completely different team by the end of the first story-arc. Another reason is I’ve got another project that this idea will be used for, one that will make more sense when it comes around, and I didn’t want to do the same thing twice. And a third reason is that I think it’d be a lot more interesting for you guys to guess who the Defenders would be.

I’ve got some cool things in mind for this book and I’m going to try and mix the chaotic nature of Gerber’s run with the more horror-esque DeMatteis and a good dose of whatthefuckery of Morrison’s Doom Patrol in for good measure. And I will most-likely fail miserably at it, so I’m now taking bets for how many issues it will be before I crash and burn in a fiery blaze.

But it should make for a fun ride.

Dino Pollard
February 2009