HAVIN’ A HAVANA WITH THE DOCTOR

By Curtis Fernlund

NOTE: This story continues from Tomb of Dracula #14

New Mexico…

Benjamin J. Grimm stood silently as he felt the tension in his body easing away. He was anxious, but also fatigued; a side-effect of teleportation and the Time Platform that he found himself standing on. As his body shook off the last residual effects of the transfer he figured it to be normal. He’d traveled on the Platform countless times before, recently in fact. The experience had always been gut-wrenching to him.

Grimm turned his craggy orange face skyward. Far away and above the sun blazed in golden radiance. Bright and huge he felt the heat, well into the triple-digits though it was nothing to cause him damage. His armored form enhanced years ago by the sun’s very Cosmic Rays were proof against that. He did raise his hand though to blot the glare, judging position. He looked to his shadow a small black splotch at his feet. Almost noon.

He turned his gaze and in the far distance saw a ship. It was fairly big but not huge, a Troop Transport if he knew the configuration. He squinted into the bright light of day and saw beyond the vast stretches of desert with mesas and plateaus rising hundreds of feet wavering as heat radiated from the sand. He recognized the land; the deserts of the American Southwest. The ship was hovering, the glow of anti-gravity nacelles illuminating the undercarriage. He saw small figures lumbering about in its shadow; familiar forms moving mechanically about their tasks. A ramp extended from the back of the craft into the sand and he saw the hulking forms moving machinery. He could see an insignia on the tail fin, a stylized crest that he knew all too well.

Grimm turned as he heard the sound of clumsy footfalls approaching; running his way. It was charging forward from an encampment of some sort; a rag-tag mass of jutting metal and smoking machinery situated not too far from the transport. Even in the sunlight he could see the glow of monitors and the rage of open flames as the shadowy bulks moved about among twisting pipes and blocky structures lined with solar panels. One structure loomed above the rest; a tower capped with a radar dish that sporadically broadcast a beam of wavering green energy into the pristine blue sky.

Grimm returned his attention to the bulky form that was plodding his way through the sun-baked sand. He recognized the form and body of course; he had destroyed enough of them over the years. It was a robot he knew cast in some form of metallic-like plastic, which was incredibly pliant and durable. Richards had broken the code one day in his lab spouting long excited words that had almost put Grimm to sleep. It was a robot for Christ’s sake and an ugly one at that.

It was cast in purple and pink, dark boots and an attempt at a body suit to hide its genetalia, or lack there of. It wore a helmet of purple topped with what Grimm had always considered a tea fob; a little knob on top of its head that received orders and broadcasted compliance. It appeared bulky and muscular, but its face was plain; a simple hinged mouth and blank, square eyes. This one approaching him was carrying a box-like device as it finally came to a stop a few feet away.

“Mister Grimm…” The Thing cocked a huge eyebrow staring at the robot. “I am Doombot X-23. I have been charged to see to your comfort until the Master returns.”

“Yer kiddin’, right?” Ben Grimm stared at the robot with amusement. Its face did not change but he could almost see confusion as it tried to process his statement. He’d been expecting an attack, not a butler.

“I am not programmed for humor, Sir.”

“Yeah, figgered as much,” Grimm said as he looked at the odd box that the robot held in its massive hands. At first glance the Thing would have mistaken it for a microwave oven as it had a glass door with a touchpad set to the right inscribed with numbers and words written in some Balkan language; Latverian probably if there was such a thing. The similarity ended there however as the housing box seemed blanketed with additions. Pipes and metallic boxes protruded from the main housing along with thick, dangling cables and crystalline boils that had to be lights. There was a foot-long antennae set in one corner as well as a ‘tea fob’ resembling the one on the robot’s helmet.

“What’cha got there, son?”

“A portable Replicator, Sir,” the Doombot explained in a deep monotone voice. “It will produce food, water, clothing; whatever will fit within the confines of the containment processor.”

Grimm nodded knowing that Reed Richards had invented something similar based off of his Unstable Molecules, though his version was larger. “How about a Havana?”

Grimm watched as the robot hesitated. He saw the knob atop its helmet flicker briefly with a tiny red light as its head cocked slightly to one side. After a moment though the Doombot was staring at him again.

“I am not familiar with that term, Sir, beyond the reference to the city on the island of Cuba situated at –“

“A cigar, kid,” Grimm said cutting the machine off. “A big, fat one.”

“Of course. The Master has incorporated all known various blends of medicinal and non-medicinal narcotics into the computer systems memory core. But first, Sir, before I comply may I ask you to move from the platform. The Master may return at any moment.”

Grimm couldn’t argue with that. Who knew what would happen if he was standing on the Time Platform when Doom returned. He sure as hell didn’t want to go on another quantum leap.

Even as he stepped off of the large white square he saw the robot typing on the keypad of the suddenly glowing Replicator. There was a small, sudden burst of light, which quickly faded as the machine shut down and the robot opened the door. The Thing reached in and pulled out a cigar, thick and long as he had requested.

Grimm sniffed the cigar and rolled it gently in his finger tips. ‘Smells right,” he said as he opened the compartment on his belt and fished out his silver Zippo lighter. He flicked the lighter to flame puffing the cigar to life, finally blowing out a cloud of smoke with a contented sigh.

“Not bad,” Grimm said as he turned back to the Time Platform. It was about ten-foot-square he estimated; a white plate on an upraised base. He recognized much of the technology, he had seen it often enough. He noted a standing podium topped with a panel that looked like something straight out of Star Trek as well as what appeared to be a portable generator that seemed to be doing double duty at least. Like the encampment it all seemed pretty substandard, almost slapped together at least for its creator.

“Where are we kid?” Grimm heard a short pause .but doubted the robot was calculating their position. More likely there was some conflict in its orders as to how much it was allowed to reveal.

“Longitude 104° West by Latitude 34° North approximate; The United States of America; North America, sub-state designated New Mexico.”

“Just north a’ Roswell,” Grimm said more to himself than the Doombot. As a pilot and once-member of the Fantastic Four and Avengers he was familiar with several ‘points of interest’ the world over. He knew this area having been here several times over the years. They were not far from the almost mythic Area 51; the Army Base that distracted the tourists and Alien Conspiracy Theorists, as well as its more official doppelganger hidden somewhere under the desert. Grimm also knew that a few miles to the south was Gamma Base where the Incredible Hulk was first released from the confines of Bruce Banner’s psyche. And just south of that lay the remains of the small town of Artesia, New Mexico…

Ben Grimm grudgingly admitted that he was not fully in his right mind when the events in Artesia happened months ago. He’d read the papers though and seen the news; One of the Avengers’ greatest victories and most agonizing failures. Grimm remembered that the genocidal robot, Ultron, had gathered together a group of Grade B super villains in an attempt to take over the town and gain control of a military base situated beneath Artesia; a base containing nuclear missiles. Ultron had lobotomized much of the town’s population as well as the villains creating ‘Zoms’ through a Badoon technology; a technology that apparently Ultron had created. God, Grimm hated Time Discontinuity.

The Avengers were of course called in defeating Ultron’s little army as well as the zombified populace, but not before the robot had launched a nuclear missile. Despite the best efforts of the Iron Man and Ms. Marvel the device detonated decimating the city of Manhattan, Kansas and miles surrounding the area creating a Dead Zone of lingering radiation. Thousands of lives were lost in the initial onslaught and hundreds afterwards, victims of the fall out. S.H.I.E.L.D. and the government of course quarantined both areas, and as always the Avengers, namely the Vision, defeated Ultron and his plans.

The government ‘Spin Doctors’ belittled the incidents and Tony Stark and Carol Danvers were hailed as heroes in the end having rerouted the missile from a larger target, thus saving millions of lives vs. thousands. Still a large chunk of Kansas and New Mexico were now uninhabitable and would be for years to come.

And here he stood, not miles from Artesia…

Coincidence? Grimm doubted that. Doom didn’t deal in chance or coincidence. Everything he did was planned fully preparing for every contingency; at least in his mind.

A flicker of light caught the corner of Grimm’s eye and he turned to fully face the Time Machine. He heard the low hum of machinery as the mechanism powered to life lights flashing sporadically. Oddly the Platform’s panel floor did not move as usual as he expected, rather it shimmered as a shadowy form started to take shape.

It was gray and amorphorous at first but slowly the Thing saw definition and colors fading into view. Drab greens dominated the gray as details appeared; limbs and form, height and mass. Sunlight gleamed on the dull gray armor as the mechanism slowed; the sparkling lights vanishing and the low hum receding. Icy, malevolent eyes stared at him from the shadowy depths of the cold, hard mask half-hidden by the wide, green hood.

As the last of the Platform’s energies dissipated Victor Von Doom, rightful monarch of Latveria strode arrogantly from the dais and onto the burning desert sands. His dark, red-rimmed eyes flicked slightly to the right and Grimm heard the sound of Doombot X23 snapping to attention behind him. Grimm’s own gaze lingered on the Time Platform a moment longer until Doctor Doom was about to stride past him. Grimm reached out and grabbed the monarch’s arm.

Immediately the Thing felt the electrical discharge of Doom’s personal shield; just one of his many defenses to prevent the august personage from being touched by the rabble. The discharge was more than enough to kill a normal person, and once upon a time it would have sent the Thing reeling with pain. But Benjamin J. Grimm had been through much over the years. His body had morphed from something armored in a thick dinosaur hide through various versions of his more familiar rocky form. He had evolved. What once would have hurt him was now little more than annoyance.

Still Grimm grit his teeth and tightened his grip. A cloud of blue smoke spiraled skyward from the cigar as Doom finally acknowledged him. Doom’s glare of hatred stared daggers but Grimm’s blue-eyed gaze never wavered. He heard the sound of the Doombot shuffling uncertainly behind him.

“Where’s my team, Vic?” the Thing asked around the bit of his cigar.

“Unhand me, dolt!” Doom commanded trying to pull his arm free. Grimm had expected that though and held fast.

“Uh-unh. Ya left my friends behind didn’t ya, ya lousy…”

“Your ‘team’ was expendable, simpleton. It was you I wanted.” Doom stared, his eyes narrowing. “But it appears I am too late.”

New York, New York
SOHO

The trip from Avengers Island to his loft in SOHO in downtown Manhattan had not taken long; a quick teleport to the Transit Station set up in one of the old abandoned piers that lined the Battery Park wharf followed by a taxi run up Hudson Street and cross town a few blocks. Traffic was always light on a Sunday morning with little on the road but cabs and limousines moving through the gentrified, factory-lined streets looking for the current Rave or afterhour’s club. Most of the streets were still in shadows and only the bravest of pedestrians were out walking dogs or in search of their morning coffee before heading into the tunnels off to who knew where; work most likely. Sunday morning was generally the quietest of times in the city and at the moment Eric Arcane had no complaints.

He was just glad to be home.

“$10.50,” the cabby said as he pulled to a stop in front of Arcane’s loft. Arcane dipped his hand into one of the many pockets of his tattered trenchcoat and withdrew two Hamiltons. He passed the money through the slot in the safety plastic that separated the driver from his passengers, the Hindi man at the wheel immediately frowning and digging for change in his money tin.

“Keep it,” Arcane said as he opened the rear door and eased himself out of the cramped back seat of the cab. He was basically back to full health as the trip back to New York from Transylvania had taken hours, enough time for him to sleep and recharge as it was. Still it felt good to be on his feet again, to stretch. He took in the feel of his city as his two friends piled out of the cab behind him; the lights dimmed and the almost perpetual stench of refuse and car exhaust on the breeze. His stomach growled as he caught the scent of the all-night Chinese take-out place on the corner. He saw a rat skittering along the edge of the buildings a few yards away, stopping occasionally to gnaw on something held fast in its jaws. He spied Old Man Dexter’s cardboard box shoved into the entry of a building across the street out of the slight wind; a ripped and warped refrigerator packing box the old man had scored somewhere. Arcane made a mental note to drop some money in the old man’s hat later.

Arcane watched as the cab finally pulled away heading back downtown. The Freedom Tower gleamed in the distance like a beacon, an ugly replacement he thought though he had never cared much aesthetically for the Twin Towers either. But the people needed their icons and after 9-11 more so than ever.

“Lord, I’m glad to be back.” Arcane turned to see his companions standing on the sidewalk beside him.  Misty Knight and Colleen Wing; the Daughters of the Dragon.

Misty looked little better than he felt. She had been through hell since Grimm had sent their Away Team to the United Kingdom to confront a possible paradox parallel version of Captain Britain – or Captain England as the case may be. They had done their job, along with Midnight, and they had gotten the sample they needed of Brian Braddock’s DNA and Marvel Essence, but they had barely gotten away. They had faced down the Celestial Master of Strange Deaths, Fu Manchu and a horde of his Si-Fan warriors turned vampire. They also met up with Shang-Chi the alleged Master of Kung-Fu and his band of MI-5 Agents. They had done their job, accomplished their mission but they had barely gotten away with the skin of their teeth.

A wounded and drained Midnight had teleported them through his Shadow Cloak into the Dark Dimension where the running fight continued. The hordes of the Dread Dormammu’s Domain had wanted their blood; creatures and monstrosities chasing the three haggard and tired heroes over the dark wastelands of one of the dimension’s many barren worlds. Arcane recalled how Misty Knight had done all she could and then some to save them all. Midnight the adopted son of Fu Manchu was wasted and weak, a victim of his father’s manipulations and a pact formed between the Celestial and the Lord of the Vampyr months before involving the Elixir Vitae, which the trio had in their possession. M’Nai was a Vampyr it appeared and worse, linked both to the Lord of Strange Deaths as well as the King of the Undead in ways that Arcane could rationalize but not fully comprehend. The fight with the Celestial’s army had taken its toll on their comrade leaving him weak and uncertain.

Arcane himself was weakened having pushed his magicks to their limits. As a Hedge Mage every spell he cast took its toll on his own Essence. Every conjuring drained his Chi and stole from his life force. He had lost years from his life force by the time they had reached the Dark Dimension, and only the courage and valiance of Misty Knight had kept them all alive.

But then the Scarlet Centurion had appeared…

Misty Knight for all her courage and strength was no match for the Centurion; a being of Cosmic power. The Centurion had frozen them all in place as he gathered up the bits and pieces, the things that they had gained in their journey to Britain; The Essence of Brian Braddock as well as the Elixir Vitae. And in the tradition of every megalomaniacal villain he had espoused, at least somewhat, on his grand scheme.

The Scarlet Centurion had used the Thing who was already addled apparently from various forms of mind control and a trip through Time itself where he had committed acts of savagery to win his way home again. He had altered already unstable Timelines creating some form of Rift in the Omniverse, which the Centurion proposed to capitalize on. But the Centurion needed more discourse and urged Grimm to gather a team to allegedly ‘calm’ the Multi-verse.

They had all been taken in as Grimm sent his teams to gather the Essence of various Marvels. They had thought they were doing good, but in reality they were aiding the Scarlet Centurion in his grand scheme, whatever that really was. The Centurion confirmed it by mocking them all there in the Dark Dimension before allowing them all back to their own reality; though not where they had originated from.

Though they did not know it at the time they had reappeared in the Balkan Mountains of Carpathia. Arcane and M’Nai had been useless on the frozen slopes so Misty Knight had stepped up and taken charge again. She had gotten them to the shelter of a cave and actually dismantled her Bionic right arm to get a fire going to warm them all. She had beaten back all the threats and they had rested, though not long enough. Before long they had been found.

Whether by chance or design, Dracula, the Lord of the Vampyr and a foe they had stymied before had found their cave of relative safety and he saw the opportunity for vengeance. He and his rag-tag band of Rom Gypsies, circus sideshow freaks and Marvels had taken them prisoner. Arcane and Midnight were done barely able to move so Dracula had focused his angry pleasures on Misty Knight, torturing her every step of the way on their trek through the frozen countryside towards his homeland of Wallachia; Transylvania…

“If you’re done sight seeing, Eric, maybe we can get inside?”

Eric Arcane broke from his reveries and looked to the two women standing with him on the sidewalk. Colleen Wing looked tired and concerned but otherwise none the worse for ware as she supported Misty Knight; her best friend and partner. They both wore Avengers flight jackets against the early morning chill, though Misty’s right sleeve hung empty and limp. Colleen looked as though she had not slept in days with her brown hair pulled back in a frazzled tail and dark circles shading red-rimmed eyes. Her left arm was about her friend but Arcane saw that her right hand hovered within easy reach of her katana slipped though her obi belt. She was still ready to fight and defend her friend’s life. Arcane smiled at her devotion, which he knew Knight reciprocated.

“Sure, sorry,” Arcane said as he approached the door to his loft building that he had been in the process of buying with his own partner and soul mate, Alex Markham. Alex had been slain in Dracula’s earlier bid for power months ago. A hapless victim in the war against the Vampyr Lord; a senseless death that still hurt Arcane deeply.

Arcane swallowed back his grief as he opened the touchpad panel set into the door frame weeks before by ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Jimmy Woo. He first placed his palm to the recognition pad then typed in the security sequence as a light scanned his eyes for retinal identification. He heard the locks on the door unfasten as Woo’s technology acknowledged him and his companions. He then gathered his will and spoke the word that the others would hear but quickly forget; the Cantrip that would allow his magical Essence to pass through the additional mystical wards that he had set in place.

Freund!

Arcane smiled as the door opened. He doubted their more mystical enemies had read Tolkien.

Arcane led his two companions into the loft, immediately feeling the warmth within and taking in the familiar scents of the old building; aged cherry wood, cigarette smoke and burnt coffee most prevalent. By New York standards it was small; a thin building set between a renovated warehouse on the left and a larger condo on the right that sported a lady’s apparel shop on the ground floor. The building was three floors plus a small attic space which, Arcane had claimed for his sanctum, and a dank, dark basement that Alex had one day hoped to convert into a Man Cave. Doubtful that would happen now.

The building itself had first been constructed in the Thirties of the previous century to house textile sweat shops before the move to Unionize had taken full swing. Hundreds of women had been packed onto the floors sewing generic clothing and utilitarian accessories during the Great Depression for pennies a day under the harshest conditions. Arcane had felt the psychic despair as soon as he had first entered the building years before. It had gotten worse during the war but had slowly eased in the short Golden Age after the threat of the Axis had been eliminated.

The building had eventually been shut down and condemned in the Seventies and had sat empty throughout the country’s recession. Then came Manhattan’s building boom throughout the Eighties. SOHO had gentrified within a couple decades, though Arcane’s building had remained untouched as the owner would not sell. He had died in the Nineties, bitter and poor and the New York City and State had taken over. The building sat decaying for almost thirty years but had suddenly come to market after 9-11.Be it chance or design, Eric Arcane had been in the right place at the right time and ten years after the terrorist attack the building changed into his and Alex’ hands for a song.

They had spent every penny between them gutting the old structure. Alex had been good at design and with the help of his family had refurbished every floor, renovating everything from the structure to the plumbing to the internal wiring; all the physical aspects. For Arcane’s part, he had contributed money to the cause of course, but he had also purged the building of all the angst it harbored from its earlier years. Those that had died or suffered those spirits that yet lingered were sent on their way. He used his magicks to make the building home.

Life had been good for awhile, but then came the scourge of Dracula.

Arcane could smell the old polished oak and cherry wood that Alex had added years before, replacing the slipshod plasterboard of the original structure. He ran his hand along the bare brick walls of the entryway as he passed into the brightly lit living room following the noise of the television beyond. He tasted the scent of James Woo’s perpetually lit cigarettes, heard the sound of a can being opened and the ‘Shish’ of escaping gas, the sweat of anxiety and the low murmur of conversation.

Arcane saw immediately Hobie Brown and John Jameson lounging in the living room and watching the huge sixty-inch HD, 3D wall-mounted television screen set into the entertainment array attached to the far brick wall. Surround Sound Tower Speakers vibrated in the corners of the room and Arcane could see the lights flickering on the inset recorders; CD, DVD and VHS along with the stereo’s equalizer compensating for background noise. He licked his lips as he smelled coffee heating on a corner table but his eyes drifted to the open Dominoes Pizza box set on the coffee table still holding a few uneaten slices of pepperoni and jalapeno peppers. He wondered if his teammates had been expecting them. Arcane pulled a cigarette from the fresh pack of Newports that he had bought in the Staten Island Ferry Terminal at Battery Park and sparked it to life with a word.

Hobie Brown, AKA the Prowler was the first to notice their arrival looking up as he tilted a can of Diet Coke to his lips. Arcane almost laughed as the younger man’s eyes went wide. Grimm had corralled the Prowler’s help weeks earlier in an attempt to breech the headquarters of the Fantastic Four. That had been a success despite the battle between the Thing and his old teammate the Human Torch. Brown had come through with flying colors and extracted the information they had needed. A good man, he had stayed on afterwards at Grimm’s urging. The Prowler had sided with the Dark Side and was now a wanted man, as were they all. But they had all ‘Been there, done that’ at one time or another.

“Holee…” John Jameson said as he sprang from the room’s reinforced, leather recliner; Grimm’s chair. Jameson was totally bizarre in Arcane’s mind with probably the most convoluted past of any of them. The son of J Jonah Jameson, publisher and owner of the Daily Bugle, John had first been a decorated astronaut; having orbited the Earth in a specially designed capsule to study the effects of various radiations on a normal human body. John Jameson had changed in that mission his very genetic make-up altering as he gained mass and strength, his psyche corrupted as he sought out the Amazing Spider-Man at his father’s urgings. The Spider-man eventually defeated him and Jameson was saved; at least for awhile. It was a later mission that changed his life forever.

Then Colonel John Jameson found a strange glowing rock on the Moon; the final sanctioned NASA mission. As Arcane understood that red stone somehow became symbiotic with Jameson, evolving the war hero through several stages eventually changing him into a silver-furred werewolf of sorts. He was at first savage and again attacked the Spider-Man, but over the years he gained control over what was called the Moon Gem, even though it had grafted to his skin in that soft spot above his clavicle. There were whispered tales of Other-Dimensional battles; the Legends of the Star God. Arcane did not know but he did not dismiss either.

Jameson eventually seemed to lose the Wolfen part of him. He became the main pilot for the Avengers for a time at the request of Captain America, but that ended eventually in tragedy. Grimm of course knew the man’s potential and offered him a position on their team. Somewhere along the way the wolf had returned.

“Jesus, you’re back,” Jameson said as he rushed forward gripping Arcane’s hand. “We were totally in the dark here,” he said as he shook the Hedge Mage’s hand vigorously, looking to the Daughters of the Dragon. “Jesus!” he exclaimed again. “Sit!”

Brown was up pouring coffee as the trio flopped into the furniture exhausted. Jameson picked up the television remote and lowered the sound as Arcane leaned forward and snagged a semi-warm slice of pizza. He looked at his companions as he chewed, a coffee mug suddenly thrust into his free hand. Misty Knight was nodding and Colleen Wing was looking on her last nerve, ready to fight.

“What happened?” Brown asked as he set two more mugs onto the coffee table. Wing seemed to relax a bit taking hers as Arcane spoke up.

“Long, story, Hobie,” he said as he sipped the hot coffee. God that was good. “Sit and I’ll fill you in as best I know.” Brown and Jameson complied looking intent for whatever they could learn. Arcane glanced towards the back of the room and saw a plume of smoke billow from the Utility Hole. Jimmy Woo, Ex-Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. had claimed that area for his own and rarely left it.

He was their electronics tech, I.T, go to man and Black Ops Specialist. James Woo had been with S.H.I.E.L.D. for years ever since a devastating battle with the Yellow Claw and his forces. He had suffered much during that excursion, but Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. had taken him in when all others had called the Ex-CIA Operative a traitor. Woo had swiftly risen through S.H.I.E.L.D.’s ranks to become one of the core members of Fury’s elite.

Somewhere along the way however, Woo had changed…

Arcane had scanned the Asian and found odd and contradicting results. The man was not quite a Vampyr, but then again he was no longer Human. He never ate and rarely slept; always at his computers sometimes tied in cybernetically to his equipment. There was no doubt that he was dedicated to their cause, but there were times that Arcane questioned his loyalties. Grimm trusted him though and in the end it was his call.

“Where’s Iron Man, Cyclops and Phoenix?” Brown asked looking between the three. Arcane heard Wing sigh.

“Dropped us off on Avengers Island and sent us on our way,” Colleen said with some spite. “They did as Grimm asked them, and only what he asked them. They have their own problems to deal with.”

“Hardly fair, Colleen,” Arcane said as he folded the last of his slice and wolfed it down. “They came through in the end. We were screwed without their help.”

“What do you mean?” Hobie Brown asked. Arcane went on to tell the tale of the battle of Britain, the Dark Dimension and fight in the Carpathians; battling Dracula and his clan to a seeming standstill until the appearance of Doctor Doom.

“He took Grimm, we don’t know where, then after a few select words with Dracula he left himself. Dracula just let us go, and we all agreed to get the fuck out of Dodge. Dracula’s troop licked its wounds as we loaded up on the Quinjet and headed home. Figger we’ll have to face him somewhere down the road but for now there’s a truce of sorts.”

“You’ll face him,” Colleen said sounding beat. “We’re done.” All eyes turned to the female samurai as she laid her head back, her feet crossed and propped on the coffee table, one arm holding Misty Knight close.

“Misty almost died on this mission,” she continued. “You all almost died. We all did. Now Midnight’s back with Dracula, and once he recovers that fucking bastard will have a load of power. He’s too strong.”

“We’ve beat him before, Colleen,” Arcane offered as he lit a new cigarette. “We will again.”

“It took all of us along with Paladin and Thor to beat him back before. Granted, Paladin’s in my weight class but when you need to call in the Gods… I’m out, and so is Misty. This time we had Iron Man, Phoenix and… Cyclops, and we still hit a stalemate. Where does it end?”

“You did this before,” Arcane said, “Quit Drake’s team.”

“Frank Drake abandoned us!” Colleen said sitting bolt upright, fire in her eyes. “As soon as his old girlfriend popped up he tossed us aside. Fuck him!”

“I suppose,” Arcane said and Colleen sighed, leaning back. “But…”

“No buts, Eric. It’s too big for us. The Daughters of the Dragon can’t fight Cosmic entities and all-powerful deities. We’re detectives; street level with a big sword and gun. I’m not going to expose Misty to that again.

“We like you, Eric… We like all of you, but it’s way out of our league.”

“I gotta admit I agree,” Hobie Brown said looking around the room. He shrugged and sipped his coffee. “I have modified window-washing tech; clawed metal gauntlets and gas propelled funky bracers. What’s that against the likes of Galactus?”

“You did your job, kid,” Arcane said blowing smoke from his cigarette. “Grimm had faith and you came through. Don’t sell yourself short – any of you. I don’t know where Ben is but I know he’s still fighting. You all want to leave, I won’t hold it against you. Neither will Ben or anyone here. You all did more than expected. Hell Misty saved my sorry ass, and I’ll be forever in her debt. Bottom line you got friends here, Colleen. Always will. Always remember that.”

Colleen Wing finally smiled and seemed to relax. “I know.” She took a sip of her coffee and looked at Misty who was fast asleep beside her. “Seems we had this conversation not so long ago.”

“Yeah, we did,” Arcane said with a grin.

“We’ll stay awhile,” Colleen Wing said as she stood. “Misty needs the sleep. Soon as she’s up and around we’ll go. Hell, I do too.” She looked at Hobie Brown. “You have a spot with us anytime. All of you.”

Jameson nodded and Arcane smiled. “Thanks, Colleen, and you just ‘Holla’ you need a hand. For now I think John an’ me are stayin’ on board.”

“Stark offered me my old job, but…” Jameson shrugged. “I’m going to see this through till the end. The world needs heroes, right?”

Colleen Wing smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I guess it does…”

Seattle, Washington…

Benjamin J. Grimm uprooted a massive chunk of concrete from the debris of the demolished car wash. He thumped it down into the cracked earth and sat opening the buckle compartment of his wide belt and withdrawing a cigar and his Zippo. Within moments the cigar was sparked to life and Grimm inhaled deeply as he looked around at the devastation, the utter carnage of what was once a beautiful, thriving city in the Pacific Northwest.

Behind him the plastic remains of a sign still stood, cracked and dark; a pink elephant spewing water over its back advertising ‘The Elephant Car Wash’, an iconic sign that had stood for decades. Less than a mile beyond in stark contrast laid the remains of the Seattle Space Needle. An even better known landmark built for the 1962 World’s Fair, now it was a pile of twisted metal and shattered glass still housing the decaying corpses of those tourists and workers unfortunate enough to have been trapped when the tower fell.

In his years Benjamin Grimm had seen much. As a pilot back in the war he had killed. He had caused chaos and devastation; it had been his job. Later as the Thing after piloting the fateful experimental rocket for Reed Richards that had changed four lives forever he had seen even more and done worse. He had met and battled aliens. He had helped save the Earth countless times from menaces like the Savage Sub-Mariner, Galactus the Devourer, Maximus the Mad, the Star-faring Kree…

And Doom.

But this…

Grimm stared at the devastation all about him. Everywhere he looked were fallen buildings, cracked and shattered streets, devastated homes and dreams of a fallen populace unable to escape the rage of a monster. And the bodies; he was shocked at the number of bodies that still littered the ground festering in the warmth of a late summer, rotting in the debris. It had been weeks and still there they were.

Far in the distance he saw the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, Constellation hovering over Puget Sound, a flurry of activity as smaller aircraft took off and landed constantly from the wide carrier deck. He saw even smaller more human forms flying, Guardsmen he assumed, debarking in formation, their green-tinted armor shadowed near black against the backdrop of the unnaturally clear blue sky and bright sun lowering towards the horizon. They flew almost perfectly with precision performance to disappear into the devastation beyond his sight. Grimm had no idea what they were doing, what they were looking for.

The rumble of collapsing stone drew his attention not so far away. Grimm stood and shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun watching as a giant robot some thirty feet tall scooped up debris in its massive hands that were shaped like shovels. It was man-shaped but ungainly; its lower half wide and cumbersome as it planted its frame into the ground for stability. Grimm recognized the design as he watched and he saw familiar, man-sized forms scurrying about the massive treads of the Mandroid styled behemoth. Damage Control was on the job.

Someone was doing something then, he thought as he returned his attention to the leveled city. Even without the Helicarrier he knew that the government had taken a hand. They had to. Seattle was worse than Manhattan, Kansas and Artesia New Mexico combined. It was worse than 9-11. For the loss of life of course, but even more so for the cause. Those others had been terrorist related, victims of an insane robot intent on the extermination of Humankind and simply men with a vendetta and agenda in the name of God; a truth and faith that Grimm could not begin to understand. He was as patriotic as the next man, but to bring about the deaths of thousands in the name of their God?

Seattle was worse.

Thousands had died. A city had been demolished in the rage of a hero; worse, a friend. None of them deserved that fate.

He and Jameson had stared intently at the television as the live broadcast had displayed the destruction of Seattle. The two men had been ready to travel cross country to help, sitting on the edge of their seats as the saw buildings fall, explosions lighting the sky, screams deafening as people died. James Woo’s cold, hard voice had kept them in place.

“It’s too late,” he had said and though he was loathe to agree, Grimm had no choice. Woo was right. So they watched long into the night as Seattle fell. They were joined by the others eventually, one by one, all standing or sitting in the darkness huddled before the television as their ancestors had gathered around the fire. Lost and afraid…

“Ben?”

The Thing looked up and saw a woman floating above him. She had cut her hair and changed her costume but Ben Grimm had known Carol Danvers long before she had become a Marvel; a victim of radiation from an explosion that caused her DNA to be merged with that of the Kree warrior Mar-Vell, the original Captain Marvel.

Like so many others she had been through Hell throughout her career. She had been raped by a version of Immortus and abandoned by the Avengers. The mutant, Rogue had stolen her powers and left her for dead. She had become the heroine Binary with cosmic powers associating with both the X-Men and the interstellar Starjammers and later Warbird after she had rejoined the Avengers for a time. She had quit the Avengers and come to Seattle to help with the reparations, Grimm had heard. And now, here she was.

“Carol.”

“What… are you doing here, Ben? This is a Red Zone. S.H.I.E.L.D. and the government, Homeland Security has the whole upper northwest of the state of Washington quarantined and under Martial Law. How the hell did you get here?” Grimm smiled and stood, puffing on his cigar.

“Nice ta see you too, Carol. Yer lookin’ good as always.” He used his fingers to crush out the burning tobacco at the tip of his cigar then casually slipped the blunt into the compartment of his belt buckle. All the while his peripheral vision was on his old friend. He knew what she had probably heard and where her loyalties lie.

“Ben… you shouldn’t be here.” Carol Danvers floated a bit higher. He saw the faint sparks of energy rippling over her hands. “They’re going to tell me to take you down. I don’t want to, but I will. Understand that. You’re a wanted fugitive in a very bad place right now. If you run, there’s still a chance.” Grimm laughed.

“You know me better ‘n that, Carol,” the Thing said as he planted his right fist into his left, all for show. Ms. Marvel floated a little higher, well out of reach.

“Please, Ben. Just…”

“Danvers! What are you waiting for?”

Both the Thing and Ms. Marvel spun at the sound of the new voice. Grimm’s gaze swept over the half-dozen Guardsmen that hovered in the background noting their position as he focused on the speaker. He was an old man dressed in Air Force Blues and almost weighted down with medals and commendations; past victories long forgotten and deluded with his vendetta to capture a monster he had in effect created.

“Hey, Ross,” Grimm said watching as the Guardsmen moved into position behind the aging veteran. He wasn’t worried about the armored men and only a little more about Ms. Marvel who was gaining the higher ground. He was more worried about General Thaddeus ‘Thunderbolt’ Ross and the rumors he had heard, the files he had seen concerning the Red Hulk. Things could quickly go south he figured.

“You’re under arrest, Grimm!” Ross fumed. “In the name of the United States government, you will stand down and surrender.”

“Really?”

“Ben…” Grimm looked to Danvers and grinned, shaking his head.

“This is no joke, Grimm.” Ross seemed to shake a bit and as his body trembled Ben saw the skin deepen and shade as though the old man’s blood pressure was near to exploding. “You infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. and corrupted vital government documents and stole others. You invaded Four Freedoms Plaza and assaulted a member of the Fantastic Four! You lead a band of terrorist outlaws; rogues and criminals all, for what purpose we’ve yet to determine, but I know that you’re up to no good. And now you’re here in a designated Red Zone; off limits to civilians let alone terrorists! You’re going down!”

“Easy, Ross.”

Ben Grimm hadn’t even seen the other man approach he was so fixated on Ross. The staying hand had just suddenly appeared on the other man’s shoulder and Thunderbolt Ross seemed to almost shrink; his body calming and his anger put aside. With a wave of his hand the one-eyed man dismissed the armored Guardsmen sending them flying off towards the edge of the city and beyond the horizon. One brown eye glared as Colonel Nick Fury stared at the Thing.

“Hello, Ben,” the old warhorse said around the bit of his cigar. Grimm had known Fury since the war, since before S.H.I.E.L.D. when he had worked for the CIA and they had taken down the Hate Monger for the first time. They had been friends and more battling too many threats together over the years; the Yellow Claw, General Pollack, hell, even Doom. They were poker buddies once upon a time. “Ya know ya shouldn’t be here, right?” Fury said.

“Not my idea, Nicky,” Grimm replied as he sat back down. He stared at Ross’ raging face, the old man still ready to burst. “I got a partner around here somewhere. Soon as he’s done, I’ll be goin’.”

“Partner?” Fury said looking about in suspicion. “One of your team?”

“Naw,” Grimm said as he pulled the bit of cigar from his belt again. He saw Ross tense but ignored it and Ms. Marvel as well as she took up position behind him. He lit his cigar and slipped the Zippo back into its holding spot with a chuckle. He saw the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents taking up position in the background loaded for bear, the Guardsmen hovering a ways away. “Well you must think I’m a real dangerous man.” Fury snorted.

“I know you are, Ben.” Fury nodded at Carol Danvers even as he patted Ross’ shoulder only to receive a glare that he ignored. “So do they. Why don’t you just make it easy on everyone and surrender? We don’t need a brawl. I figure Murdock’ll take yer case. Sure you’ll get a few years just fer show, but if ya fight now it’s just gonna be worse. An’ fer what? Why’re you here, Ben?”

Grimm exhaled and shook his head. “I don’t even know, Nick, but I figger there’s a reason.”

“Indeed.”

There was a sudden pall as everyone turned towards the sound of the cold, metallic voice. All watched as Doom approached, striding into their midst bearing some device in his outstretched hand. When he was amongst them he looked to each in turn; Grimm briefly, Danvers and Ross with disdain, Fury with a modicum of decorum. He turned then to Grimm.

“I have the readings. We may depart.”

“Fury!” Ross raged. “It’s Doctor Doom! We can’t let him get away! And the Thing! They’re working together! This is our chance! What we wanted! Stop…”

Doctor Doom raised his right hand and pointed his index finger at General Thunderbolt Ross. All watched as a pebble shot out of the tip of his gauntlet, swiftly growing as it rocketed forward to slam fully into the general’s face. Ross reared back and fell to the ground unconscious, blood streaming from his nose.

Fury looked down at the fallen general and sighed. “Why’d ya have ta go and do that, Doom? Now I gotta take offense. Goddammit!”

Fury danced back as stellar energy blew apart the small bit of sidewalk that they had been standing on. Grimm saw Doom’s armor glow slightly; a shimmering blue surrounding him as light exploded and sparks cascaded in a dazzling display of power.

“I’m sorry, Ben!” Ms. Marvel shouted as she blasted the ground, exploding the concrete at their feet in a desperate attempt to take out her foes without hurting her friends. A wasted effort as Grimm leapt and reached skyward, grabbing her ankle as she had drifted too close.

“Me too, kid,” Grimm said as he heaved spinning and slamming Carol Danvers face first into the concrete. She started to rise after a moment and he quickly swung about, slamming her down again on the far side. This time she stayed down and Ben released his grip in favor of his cigar. He looked at Fury.

“You want a piece, Nick?”

Colonel Nicolas Fury looked first to Ross and then to Danvers. He shook his head before settling his gaze on Doom. “I dunno what yer up to, Doom, but push comes ta shove I WILL take ya down.”

“I believe you will try, Fury,” Doom said as he slipped the device he had been holding into the folds of his cloak. “You will be surprised however that in the end you will find we are all working towards the same ends. Let this pass.”

Fury stared coldly, his one good eye flicking between the despot and his one time friend. “Ben?” he finally said.

Grimm rolled the bit of cigar to the other corner of his mouth and exhaled. He looked down at Carol Danvers and the blood pooling slowly under her face. “I dunno, Nick. There’s somethin’ goin’ on; somethin’ big. I dunno what but it involves all’ a us; you, me, the Avengers…

“Give us time, Nick.” Grimm looked to Doom but the monarch was typing something into the open panel on his armored arm, unconcerned. “I got a feelin’ he’s the key at the moment,” Grimm said nodding towards Doom.

“And what about the Hulk, Ben?” Fury asked watching as Carol Danvers started to stir on the ground. “That’s why yer here, right?”

“I dunno, Nick,” Grimm said as he took a long final drag from his cigar before flicking the spent butt away. “I really don’t know…

“But figger we are.”

Next issue: Hulk Hunt begins!