Baja California, Mexico
Near the Sonoran Desert

The man named Trejo entered the small bar on the outskirts of town. The night was slightly cool, but that didn’t stop the bar from feeling as hot as a sauna. Trejo noticed a man seated at the bar with short, brown hair and a cowboy hat. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes briefly connected with Trejo.

A gringo. Trejo climbed onto the stool next to him. The white man sipped his warm beer as Trejo lit a cigarette. “You’re late,” he said.

“Gimme a break,” said Trejo. “I don’t hear from you for a damn year. All of a sudden, you call me up, say you wanna do business?”

“I got held up.”

“Whatever.”

“You know I’m good for the money. So what’s the problem?” asked the white man.

“Problem is I don’t know if you’re still who you say you are,” said Trejo. “Figure we oughta take a walk, first. Make sure you’re clean.”

The white man scoffed. “Will that ease your conscience?”

“Indulge me.”

The white man finished the rest of his beer and stood from the bar. “Okay, let’s go.”

Trejo led him outside the bar and motioned to a beat-up Cadillac parked outside. “Up for a ride?”

“With all the money you arms dealers make, you’d think you’d buy a car that runs nicely.”

“Image is everything in this business, gringo. The more you flash, the bigger the bull’s eye you paint.” Trejo climbed into the car and the white man followed suit. They drove further outside of town, into the desert and then Trejo slowed to a stop.

“What are we doing out here?” asked the white man.

“Here’s where the merchandise is.” Trejo stepped out and the man followed. The night filled with bright floodlights. The white man was almost blinded by them, raising his arms to shield his eyes.

Several silhouettes appeared against the lights. They all surrounded the white man. But the only one who spoke was Trejo.

“Just ‘cuz I don’t talk fancy don’t make me stupid,” he said. “Think I don’t know what the deal is? Who you with? ATF? Federali?”

“None of ‘em,” said the white man.

“Bull! Shit!” shouted Trejo, accentuating each word with a punch at the white man’s face. The white man fell into the arms of one of Trejo’s goons, blood dripping from the grin on his face.

“See, why’d you have to go and do that?” he asked. “Now you’re gonna pay.”

“Oh yeah?” asked Trejo. “You an’ what army, gringo?”

The man smiled and spoke one word: “Assemble.” His hat shifted form, transforming into a helmet with bug-like eyes and antennae on the forehead. The man then shrunk down to the size of an ant, kept aloft by a jet-pack.

“What the fu—?”

Ant-Man’s tiny fist connected with Trejo’s face, but struck with force far stronger than his little form displayed. The other goons drew their handguns and started firing blindly, but Ant-Man was too small for any of their bullets to have an effect on him.

The floodlights blew out one by one, the remaining light forming into the figure of a woman. The Avenger called Photon was now the only source of light in the area and instantly drew the arms dealers’ gunfire. Once their clips were empty, Photon cracked a smile and with the speed of light, left all but Trejo lying unconscious.

Trejo tried to run for his car, but the door opened and knocked him off his feet. Ant-Man stepped out of the vehicle, grown to his full height. He picked up Trejo and slammed him against the hood of the car.

“Where’s the merchandise?”

“T-the trailer! It’s in the trailer!”

“Photon?”

Photon was gone in a flash and then returned to Ant-Man’s side. “He’s telling the truth, it’s in there.”

“So you’ll let me go?” asked Trejo.

Ant-Man lightly slapped Trejo’s face. “That’s why I like you, Trejo. You always come up with the best jokes.”

Lights appeared overhead and Trejo was overcome with a look of complete horror. “Wh-what’s that? A UFO?”

“That’s our ride,” said Ant-Man. He fired a stinger from his gauntlet that knocked Trejo out with a powerful sedative.

CONTROL IN HAND

Part I

By Dino Pollard

The small Quinjet carrying the Secret Avengers along with Trejo and the weapons cache he brought with him soared through the clouds. The Black Widow sat behind the controls of the jet and Ant-Man joined her up in the cockpit.

“Trejo’s still out, but we may need to give him another before we get back to base.”

“We’re almost there,” said the Black Widow.

“How’s that work?” asked Ant-Man. “Thought it would take us at least another hour before we land.”

“We’ve had a change of scenery,” said the Black Widow. “Nicholas felt the more mobility we had, the more freedom we had to move around. Most of the moving was handled while you were re-establishing your old contacts in Mexico.”

“So where is this place and how exactly is it so mobile?” asked Ant-Man.

Natasha smiled. “Eric, as a former agent of SHIELD, I thought you would have figured that out on your own already.”

The Quinjet rose above the clouds and ahead of them, there was a flicker of the scenery. Almost out of nowhere, the scenery gave way to a flying Helicarrier. Not as large as the usual flagships SHIELD operated, but certainly big enough to prove impressive.

“Groovy,” said Ant-Man.

A hatch on the Helicarrier opened and the Quinjet flew inside, touching down in the small hangar. Once the hatch closed, the Black Widow, Photon and Ant-Man carrying Trejo disembarked. Two men waited on the hangar floor for them to disembark. One was Jack Monroe—Nomad, the leader of this team of Avengers. The other wore a SHIELD uniform and was someone Eric O’Grady had dealings with in his past.

“Say hello to your new home.” Nomad then motioned to the agent. “And this is our new liaison to SHIELD, Agent—”

“Coulson,” said Ant-Man.

“O’Grady.”

“I see you two already know each other?” asked Nomad.

“Phil here was my partner. Until he stabbed me in the back,” said Ant-Man.

“You went rogue. Someone had to bring you in. I was just doing my job,” said Coulson. “Some of us understand the concept of duty.”

Ant-Man moved closer but Coulson didn’t even flinch, just maintained his ground. The Black Widow stepped between the pair. “We don’t have time for this. We have work to do.”

“Natasha, show O’Grady to the brig. He can leave his old friend in there,” said Nomad. “Coulson, you and Monica help me unload these weapons so Rhodey and Bill can have a look at them.”

“See you around, ‘buddy,’” snapped Ant-Man as he and the Black Widow passed Coulson.

A few hours after James Rhodes and Bill Foster had been given a chance to examine the weapons confiscated from Trejo, the Avengers and Agent Coulson met in the Helicarrier’s briefing room. Nomad stood to address the team.

“Before we get started on what O’Grady found out on his mission, I wanted to give our new addition a chance to introduce himself to the group.”

Coulson stood. “As per Director Fury’s orders, I’m to serve as your new liaison with SHIELD. My primary duties will be relegated to support from the prototypeSteranko stealth Helicarrier. It’s smaller than the traditional model, capable of faster speeds and equipped with holographic stealth technology, courtesy of Mr. Rhodes and Stark Enterprises.”

“You’re welcome,” said Rhodey. He was the only one of the Avengers not in-costume, as his VTR battle suit required more effort to climb into.

“Speaking of Rhodey, he’s had a chance to look over the weapons we confiscated from O’Grady’s former contact,” said Nomad. “What’ve you got?”

“What we’re looking at here is a pretty state-of-the-art exo-skeleton,” said Rhodey. “It’s not quite Starktech, but it’s pretty damn similar. And it’s not something we haven’t seen before, but we haven’t seen it in this form.”

“What’s that mean?” asked Spider-Woman.

“The form we’re used to seeing this tech in is much bigger and not suited for pilots,” said Rhodey. “It’s identical in design to the tech found in Sentinels.”

“But it’s been modified,” said Goliath, chiming in. “Not only miniaturized and for human pilots, but the tracking systems have been altered as well. They can do more than just target mutants—it’s been altered so they can target anyone with a unique genetic structure.”

“So anyone with super powers, right?” asked Spider-Woman.

“Bingo,” said Rhodey.

“Wait, so how did a dirtbag gun-runner like Trejo get his hands on something so sophisticated?” asked Ant-Man.

“He had help,” said Rhodey. “I did some digging into Sentinel history and it seems like Trask didn’t only have factories in the States. He had one in South America, where they were experimenting with adapting technology. Eventually the factory was abandoned, but the tech is still operational. Question is, who turned it on and who had Trejo distribute it?”

“We need to get some answers from Trejo, then,” said Nomad. He turned to Spider-Woman. “You up for using your pheromone trick, Jessica?”

Ant-Man stood. “No need. I’ll take this one.”

“I’d advise against that,” said Coulson. “We still want Trejo breathing.”

“I’ve got history with him, he’ll talk to me,” said Ant-Man.

“And you can stay in control?” asked Nomad.

Ant-Man nodded.

“Carefully,” said Nomad. “Kasper’s still recovering from his injuries at home, so we’re at a diminished strength level. Don’t make me have to sideline you as well.”

Trejo was woken with a bucket of cold water thrown in his face. He coughed and shook his head, his long hair sticking to his face and neck. He tried to move, but his hands were cuffed behind his back and Ant-Man stood before him.

“O-O’Grady?” asked Trejo. “So what’s this? You become a superhero now?”

“If I were a superhero, I wouldn’t be allowed to do what I’m going to do to you,” said Ant-Man. “That is, unless you tell me everything I want to know about your supplier.”

“Go to hell, O’Grady. Think I’m scared of you?”

Ant-Man bent over, the emotionless bug-eyes of his helmet inches from Trejo’s face. When he spoke, the helmet distorted his voice slightly, giving it an unearthly sound. “As a matter of fact, I do. Because you know what I’m capable of, don’t you?”

“Big talk, that’s all.”

“Funny, isn’t that what the guy down in Guatemala said?”

Trejo’s eyes went wide with horror at that statement. “You wouldn’t…”

“Not unless you tell me what I wanna know.”

“But those heroes…the ones you work for…”

Ant-Man raised his arm and a stinger shot out from his gauntlet, just above the back of his hand. “We’re not what you think.”

Behind the two-way mirror, Nomad, Coulson and Photon watched Ant-Man’s interrogation. At the sign of the stinger, Photon shifted into her energy form, but Nomad held up his hand to stop her.

“Wait. He’s in control.”

“He’s nuts is what he is!” said Photon.

“He’s just trying to put some fear into the guy,” said Nomad.

“I know O’Grady better than you, Monroe. He’s not a guy you can trust to maintain control,” said Coulson.

“People have said the same thing about me,” said Nomad. “I need to know what my team is capable of and how far they’re willing to go.”

“As long as we call ourselves Avengers, there’s a line we never cross, Jack. And Ant-Man’s about to dance all over that line,” said Photon.

“He hasn’t done anything,” said Nomad.

“Yet,” said Coulson. “Just to clarify.”

“And what if he does?” asked Photon.

Nomad’s face remained stoic, his eyes unreadable behind the opaque lenses of his mask. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

Ant-Man backhanded Trejo with the gauntlet that didn’t have a stinger. The force of the blow caused Trejo, still cuffed to the chair, to fall over with it. Moving him on his back, O’Grady knelt over Trejo, the tip of the stinger just inches from his throat.

“These stingers are something I put into the armor myself. They release a potent toxin. Wouldn’t quite call it paralysis, but the level of pain your nerves experience pretty much makes it impossible to move.”

“Don’t! C’mon man, I never done wrong by you!”

“You’re not telling me what I wanna hear, Trejo,” said Ant-Man. “Now this is your last chance. Are you gonna talk?”

“Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta!”

Ant-Man pulled his arm back slightly, increasing the distance between Trejo and the stinger. Trejo let out a breath of relief, but sweat still left his face sleek.

“What about Sierra Nevada?” asked Ant-Man.

“That’s where they come from,” said Trejo.

“Who’s running the operation?”

“I dunno what his name is. Some Asian dude. Got a bunch of ninja workin’ with him, too.”

Ant-Man brought the stinger up again, poised to strike. He pulled back his arm, and brought it down.

“No man, no!”

The stinger retracted an instant before it would have impaled Trejo’s neck. Ant-Man climbed off him and banged a few times on the interrogation room door. Nomad opened it, staring at his teammate. Ant-Man ignored him and strolled past.

Nomad closed the door and Ant-Man sat at the table with Photon and Coulson staring him down. O’Grady just calmly removed his helmet. “What’s with all the dirty looks?”

“You almost went too far,” said Photon.

O’Grady chuckled. “Except I didn’t. So why are your panties in a bunch, babe?”

“I don’t know how you expect us to work with this asshole, Monroe.” Photon stormed from the room.

“So you heard what he had to say,” said O’Grady. “Sierra Nevada.”

“Makes sense. It’s isolated and any trouble the locals would give could probably easily be tackled by men equipped with this kind of tech,” said Nomad.

“He said ninjas,” said Coulson.

“Could be the Hand,” said Nomad.

Coulson seemed unconvinced. “Doesn’t fit their profile. Why would the Hand be interested in arms dealing?”

“Jessica’s got some experience with them, we’ll have her look into it. And would help if Rhodey did some recon on Sierra Nevada.” Nomad looked between Coulson and O’Grady, whose eyes were locked in an intense staring contest. “Seems you two have a few things to discuss, so I’ll leave you to it.”

Once Nomad left, Coulson finally spoke. “What did Trejo mean?”

“You weren’t listening? Not very good for a guy sent to spy on us for Fury,” said O’Grady.

“About Guatemala,” said Coulson. “What did you do there?”

O’Grady stood with a grin on his face. “You’re a SHIELD guy, so you know what need-to-know basis means. And guess what? You don’t need to know.”

“You realize I’ll be paying very special attention to you, right O’Grady?” asked Coulson.

Ant-Man pointed to his head. “Look at my face, Phil. This is the face of a man who doesn’t give a rat’s ass.” He walked out the door, leaving Coulson alone in the room.

Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta

An isolated mountain range in South America, extending into Colombia. Most of the inhabited area was reserved for indigenous people. But a deserted old factory was also located out in this place. And here served the headquarters of an organization which had recently gained a foothold in South America.

“You’ve done some impressive work down here.” The man who spoke was dressed all in black, save for his red tie. His eyes lacked sclera and burned a bright crimson. He stood at a window overlooking the factory floor where the Sentinel technology was being converted through automated means.

“It’s all thanks to you and your organization,” said the Japanese man. He was dressed in a suit, if it could be called that. The tails of the white shirt were un-tucked and his collar open with no tie. His hair was spiked and he wore black sunglasses. As he sat behind his desk, his fingers danced along the hilt of a katana, the blade resting against the ground. Behind the Japanese man stood a larger man. Also dressed in black, but with a white spider emblazoned on his full facemask.

“You’re too kind, Mr. Bakuto,” said the crimson-eyed man. “I take it your masters in Japan aren’t aware of your new use for the South American finger of Hand?”

“They’re old men, too busy playing around with myths,” said Bakuto. “It’s time to prepare for the future. And that’s what you boys can help us with.”

“Indeed we can. But don’t discount the past, my friend.”

“By the way, I don’t think you’ve told me your name,” said Bakuto.

“Haven’t I? Apologies.” He lit a cigarette and puffed on it. “You may call me Achan.”

“And our deal is secure?” asked Bakuto.

“Oh, it is,” said Achan. “With our assistance, soon you will be able to overthrow the other fingers of the Hand and as promised, the organization will be under your sole control.”

“All in exchange for helping you distribute these new weapons,” said Bakuto. “Seems like you’re not getting a fair end of the deal.”

“Oh trust me, my friend. We are,” said Achan with a sly grin. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to be on my way.”

Achan stepped away from the window and into the shadows. And like that, he was gone. The large man who had been silent finally spoke. “You sure we can trust him?”

“Not really, Carlos. But we’ll be ready for anything Achan throws at us,” said Bakuto.

The Black Tarantula said nothing more. Bakuto raised the katana, running his finger down the surface of the flawless blade. “It’s all about control, Tarantula. That’s what it’s always been about. And soon, the two of us will control the Hand.”