Seattle, Washington

“Hold the door!”

The man in the trench coat and hat hurried into the elevator at the Space Needle, crowding in among the other visitors. He nodded to the older man whose finger rested on the door open button. “Thanks.”

The old man nodded and pressed the door close button. As it rose to the top, the lights started to flicker. The riders all looked up simultaneously and then the elevator seemed to slow and then ground to a halt. A few people gasped and one or two screamed when the lights went off completely.

It only lasted a moment, then the elevator started up once more and everyone breathed in relief. The door opened up on the observation deck and all the riders quickly disembarked, none of them trusting the elevator by this point.

Outside the Space Needle, storm clouds gathered and lightning flashed. As if the electricity was somehow drawn to the tourist attraction. At the security gate, the guard checked the tickets carried by the patrons and allowed them to pass. The man in the trench coat ignored him.

“Hey, hold on,” said the guard, stepping in front of the man. “You need to show your ticket.”

The man in the coat wrapped his hand around the guard’s neck and lifted him up off the ground, then slammed him against the wall. The guard gasped as he saw the man’s eyes, which crackled brightly. The guard’s hairs all seemed to stand on end and a powerful electrical current flowed through the man’s fingertips into the guard’s body.

“This is my ticket.” He released the guard, whose lifeless body crumpled on the ground. The man threw off his trench coat and hat, revealing a torso covered with electrical nodes and various other wires and mechanical fixtures. He held out his hands, electricity arching from his body and into the various electronics in the Space Needle.

People screamed and ran for the elevator, but as they pressed the button, nothing happened. The lights flickered and the mystery man walked over to the windows. He raised his hand to his face and slowly clenched it in a fist. And, as if by his command, lightning shot from the storm clouds into the Space Needle.

The glass windows shattered and the lights flickered on and off like a strobe. Even when it went dark, he illuminated the room by firing a bolt through patrons. It flew off his body like a chain, jumping from person to person. Their bodies went into convulsions and spasms as they died in agony on the floors.

By the time he was finished, only corpses would be left.

He stepped over to one of the shattered windows and looked up into the sky. A news chopper was there, hovering nearby and even with the darkness, he could see the red light of the camera. He tilted his head slightly and then he spoke:

“The world’s imperfect.”

He raised his hands and electricity shot forth into the helicopter, overriding its navigation systems and its controls, fusing the crew to their seats.

COST OF IMPERFECTION

Part I

By Hunter Lambright and Dino Pollard

The Infiltrator
Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean

“The attack on the Space Needle is just the latest in a long line of terrorist acts committed by these so-called ‘marvels.’” The woman offering her opinion in front of CSPAN’s cameras was Senator Miriam Sharpe. “What I am proposing is a revision of Senator Kelly’s Mutant Registration Act. My question is: why stop with mutants? If we’re truly committed to a War On Terror, then why do we shy away from the super-powered terrorists? Whose attacks are far more frequent than those of Muslim extremists.

“If we pass the Superhuman Registration Act, all those with powers will be required to register with the Commission on Superhuman Activities. More than that, this will also allow aspiring young heroes to be provided with the proper training.

“We need to have a name and a face to attribute these attacks to. And I urge Congress to act no—”

“Mute,” said the 3-D Man as he entered. “You actually watchin’ that crap?”

Cybermancer kept her gaze on the holographic monitors that hovered before her, her fingers moving over the hard-light structures. “It’s really just background noise.”

“So what are you really working on?” asked the 3-D Man. He was dressed in his uniform, but the goggles and mask were lowered to reveal his face.

“It’s an algorithm to track down AIM via the money they use to fund their projects.”

“English, please?”

“That was English.”

“Okay, then break it down for me in stupid man’s English.”

Cybermancer smiled. “It deals with probabilities against sums of money that starts at one place and ends up at another in the same amount, tracking it through the various shell companies it passes. It’s pretty theoretical at this point, but Bridge told me to keep at it.”

“Yeah? Any hits so far?” asked 3-D Man.

“A few, but nothing promising.”

He nodded and looked back at the muted television screen. He watched as Sharpe was now arguing with Robert Kelly himself, who had pretty much completely reversed his position on mutant rights in recent years.

“You think anything’ll come of that?” he asked. “This registration stuff they’re talking about.”

She simply shrugged. “Why don’t you ask Kelly how it worked for him? Or for that matter, what about Graydon Creed?”

“Different times, girl. These days, everyone’s runnin’ scared and willing to sign up for anything that promises security. Wonder if we would technically be registered since SHIELD’s got files on all of us?”

“I imagine our unit is kept pretty secret,” said Cybermancer. “Plausible deniability, you know.”

On the deck of the Infiltrator, the Black Widow fired off with her Widow’s Bite. The energy harmlessly struck the Black Knight’s Shield of Night. The Sword of Light sparked and he took aim with it, returning the energy right back.

The Black Widow nimbly dodged it and drew one of her guns, opening fire. The Black Knight charged towards her, slicing through the bullets with his sword. When he got within range, he slammed her with the shield, knocking her to the side. He jumped at her, bringing the sword down in a stabbing motion, and the Black Widow narrowly avoided the strike, quickly getting back to her feet.

“Very spry with new toys,” she said.

“You’re pretty nimble yourself. But you know, I used to work alongside the real Black Widow,” said the Black Knight.

“Oh really?”

“That’s right,” said the Black Knight. “You see, I know the real Black Widow. And guess what, honey? You sure as hell aren’t her. You’re not even close.”

Yelena Belova’s eyes burned with hatred and she charged at him. She jumped but as the Black Knight moved to strike her, she shot out a jumpline from her gauntlet and jerked up into the air. She disconnected the line and flipped, landing behind him. Once her feet touched the ground, she sprung up and threw her leg in a wide arc, connecting with the back of his helmet.

The Black Knight stumbled and the Widow took that opportunity, leaping at him and wrapping her legs around his neck. She threw her bodyweight to the side, taking him down to the ground.

“I may not be Romanov, but no matter when or where we fight, I will always take you down,” she said.

“Is that what you think?” asked the Black Knight. He broke free of her scissor-hold and punched her across the face. With his shield, he pinned her to the ground and leaned in close to her, his helmet just inches from her face. “Ever consider that the only reason you’re on top is because that’s exactly where I want you?”

Century stood on a higher deck, overlooking the battle between the Black Widow and the Black Knight. He found their interaction fascinating, but as it continued, he felt he had perhaps seen enough. Turning, he found himself taken aback when he saw the X-Man standing right behind him.

“I am sorry, I didn’t see/observe/notice you.”

The X-Man watched Century carefully as his eye flashed. He looked past the alien, at the two fighters on the main deck. “I see. Not like the predecessor.”

“No, she is not,” said Century. “The Black Knight recently made a similar comment, which led to an escalation of the conflict/battle/match.”

“Hmm.” The X-Man looked at Century again. “You think we’re kindred spirits?”

“In a way. We are both connected/tethered/attached to the minds of others. My mind is the product of a hundred of my species, whereas your abilities tie you to the mind of everyone on the planet.”

“You’re right in that sense. But I have to ask you a simple question.” The X-Man’s eye began to crackle with his psionic energy. “Are you a god?”

“Negative,” said Century.

“Then we’re not as kindred as you think. You’re the last remnants of a dead race. But me, I’m the messiah of a brand new one.”

“No man is a messiah if he appoints/nominates/selects himself.”

“I know you believe that,” said X-Man. “You would think, with the minds of a hundred people, that you’d be difficult to scan. But it’s not like that at all. You’re an open book to me, Century. Just like everyone on this team. In fact, I know you better than you know yourself.”

“You can discover more about my past?” asked Century.

“Can, yes. But will I?” The X-Man grinned as his eye glowed and he rose into the air. “Well, that’s a different story.”

George Washington Bridge sat behind his desk, his fingers resting on his chin, as he listened to Parnell Jacobs. The younger man and former mercenary wore a sleeveless t-shirt and jeans, much different from the usual bodysuit he wore whenever he piloted the War Machine armor.

“I’ve been spending most of my free time trying to hack back into the networks Stark cut off my armor from,” said Jacobs. “And I’ve managed to get back into one of them.”

“Pick up anything we can use?” asked Bridge.

“Yeah.” Jacobs’ voice dropped by a few octaves and Bridge had to lean closer to hear his words. “Remember that Alkhema problem we discussed?”

“What about it?” asked Bridge.

“Well I got a hit. Could be nothing, but it could lead us to something big.”

Bridge sighed. “What did I tell you last time?”

“You said I was wasting my time.”

“Exactly.”

“The hell’s your problem, Bridge? This is something that needs to be dealt with.”

“That’s your opinion, Jacobs. And I disagree,” said Bridge. “I’m in charge here, so I’ll be the one who picks which missions are relevant to Force Works.”

“In other words, you’ll only choose jobs that fit your own personal mission.”

Bridge’s eyes hardened as he fixed his gaze on Jacobs. But a former Air Force pilot and mercenary like Parnell Jacobs was not a man to be intimidated. He took Bridge’s stare and gave it right back.

“This is my unit, you got me?” asked Bridge. “You don’t like the way I run things, then you can march right out that door and never turn around.”

“Think I wouldn’t?” asked Jacobs.

Bridge leaned back in his chair. “Be my guest, brother. But once you do, you better believe that your immunity’s null and void.”

As they continued to stare, the buzzer from the door began sounding. Bridge pressed a button on his armrest. “Yeah.”

“It’s Cybermancer.”

“Come in.” He hit another switch and the door slid open.

Suzi Endo entered the office and looked from Jacobs to Bridge. She stepped closer to them. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, I think we’re done here.” Bridge’s gaze softened. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah, we’re done,” said Jacobs. “For now.”

Once he left the room, Bridge turned his attention to Suzi. “So what do you need?”

“I drew a hit from the algorithm, leads to a facility in a town outside DC. And it’s important we mobilize the team immediately.”

“Why the rush?” asked Bridge. “Where’s the money going to?”

“Not where’s it going to, but where’s it coming from,” she said. “And this one comes from a tag on a Congressional bill.”

A green-booted foot kicked the charred head of a MODOC unit. Slade Truman looked around the area, finding nothing but the aftermath of a fairly large battle. He reached a hand to his ear, activating the com-link hidden beneath his mask.

“Fury, you read me?”

“Find anything?”

“Nothing,” said Moonraker. “Looks like AIM cleared outta here pretty damn fast.”

“Anything that might be a link to Bridge?”

Moonraker continued moving through the facility and something caught his eye on the ground. He knelt down and picked up the firearm. “This gun, looks like it could be SHIELD-issue. You mind running off a serial number?”

“Ready when you are, kid.”

Moonraker found the serial number and rattled it off. He waited a few moments before he heard Fury whistle into the earbud. “You get anything?”

“Not on Bridge, but this gun was registered to Jack Truman, Agent 18. Ring any bells?”

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard of him,” said Moonraker.

“Maybe you know him better by his new designation—Deathlok,” said Fury. “Looks like this goes deeper than we thought.”