Some time ago…

Brooklyn, New York
99 5th Avenue
Park Slope
Gorilla Coffee

Misty Knight stared across the table at the man that she had come to know as a friend, though at the moment that friendship seemed tenuous and strained. Her fault and she could understand his reluctance to what she had asked of course, after all that he had been through over the years. She and Grimm were asking a lot, but to hear Ben Grimm’s story, there was no room for rejection. The fate of the world at least relied on Jim Scully’s decision, and sacrifice.

Jim Scully had been an adventurer, ex Special Forces she had learned, whose plane went through a time warp in the Bermuda Triangle, marooning him and three companions in an alternate Earth where dinosaurs, primitives, and aliens co-existed for years. Scully and his three companions were eventually rescued and returned to their own world by the Thing, ironically enough. After that he had served in Doctor Druid’s team of occult investigators the Shock Troop alongside Sepulchre and N’Kantu, the Living Mummy, and later with others like Lilith, Dracula’s daughter, which was when Misty Knight had met the man. He was attempting to find a way to remove the power belt that he had donned in the time warp, which had recently been damaged and had altered his appearance. His skin had become transparent showing only a green glowing skeleton. During this time, he had adopted the alias of the obscure Golden Age hero, the Blazing Skull. He had helped to battle Dracula, the Lord of the Vampires, and later had worked with The Daughters of the Dragon on a few cases, along with some of the others that they had met in that little adventure. Somehow, recently the belt had finally been removed and he was living a basically normal life again, working grunt work in a warehouse in Brooklyn.

Misty Knight sometimes longed for normal, and hated that she had to be the one to take that away from the man. Scully had been through hell, and deserved his little slice of paradise, whatever it was. Still, Grimm had been adamant that Scully was needed so she had volunteered to make the trip into the gentrified Yuppie haven that Park Slope had become. She had phoned Scully ahead of time, and he had been curious enough to at least meet with her at a coffeehouse and hear what she had to say.

And now they sat on opposite sides of a table in that steaming cramped shop, surrounded by Yuppies as they sipped their lattes and surfed the Net on their Wi-Fi. A far cry from the Slope that Misty remembered from just a few years back, teeming with addicts and pushers and hoodlums, with rarely a white person to be found.

“So,” Scully said, swirling the last of his ‘Gorilla Large’ between his cupped hands. “We done here or what?”

He had put on some weight since the last time she had seen him, and it looked like his hair was starting to thin. She knew that the Power Belt had impeded his aging, but it seemed that with it removed he was racing towards old age. Misty sighed and leaned forward, her hands wrapped about her own ‘regular’ coffee as she shook her head.

“Grimm said, and I quote, ‘Don’t take no for an answer.’ Sorry, Jim. I’m s’posed to bribe you now.” Scully chuckled and leaned back in his chair.

“Bribe away.”

“Money? Worth the effort?”

“I got everything I need, Misty,” Scully said, sipping at his strong cup of black coffee. “Decent job, roof over my head, insurance and a 401K. Druid was a prick, but he set us all up good.”

“Okay,” Misty said with a grin. “I’m supposed to play on your ego next. The world needs you, Jim.”

Scully laughed, shaking his head. “Right. I done my bit, Misty, a few times over an’ then some. What can a chubby good ol’ boy possibly have to offer to the likes of Ben Grimm anyway?”

As if on cue, Misty reached into the bag she had sitting on the floor at her feet and withdrew her Ace. She tossed it onto the tabletop between them, frowning as Scully’s eyes went wide. He actually slid back and away from the table a bit.

“Where the fuck did you get that?” Scully asked, staring at the alien Power Belt that had controlled his life for so long. “Arcane destroyed it! I saw him!”

Misty could hear the panic in her friend’s voice and a wave of doubt washed over her. If someone some how had found a way to replace her bionic arm with one of flesh and blood, she knew that she would feel the same way. But, according to Grimm, she could not take no for an answer.

“It’s not the original,” she said, watching her friend closely, expecting him to bolt. “Grimm has connections, and that man has his fingers in the Time Stream, dipping in and taking out what he needs. You’re not the only one, Jim, but you’re needed.”

“No way!” Scully said without hesitation. “It took me years to get rid of my belt, and it almost killed me in the end. It was like a drug addiction. You don’t know the hell of the withdrawals I went through after Arcane removed it. I’m not going through that shit again.”

Misty frowned, feeling like a heel over what she had to do next. She liked Scully. She really did. He was good people and didn’t deserve to get screwed about, but if Grimm was right about what was coming, well, she didn’t have much choice. The made a show of looking about nervously, leaning across the table. “I’m sorry, Jim,” she said and saw him look up, worry and confusion on his face. He was actually sweating, but he leaned closer to hear.

“What?”

Misty Knight was on her feet and across the table in a split second, her bionic right arm flashing out, the hand clamping on Scully’s neck and squeezing on the carotid artery. She heard screams in the coffeehouse even as Scully went limp in her grip, slumping in his chair. Not the Vulcan Neck Pinch, but close enough.

People started to bolt for the door as she stepped about the table, picking up the belt. She ignored them. She hated herself for what she was about to do, but Grimm had said ‘at all costs’, a phrase he would never use lightly. Misty Knight took the belt and slipped it about Scully’s waist, the strap over his shoulder and buckled it into place. She gasped as it glowed faintly, and knew that she had somehow doomed her friend even as the thing pulsed once, then seemed to power down.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” she said again as she gathered her bag and slipped it over her shoulder. Then she did the same with Scully, hefting his unconscious form over her right shoulder, her bionic enhancements easily handling his weight. No one bothered her as she carried him outside Gorilla and settled him into her car, the rubber-neckers watching from a good distance away. The cops would be coming soon; some concerned citizen was even now probably calling 911, but she would be long gone by the time they got to Gorilla.

Back in Manhattan and nursing a beer, easing her conscience…

THE GATHERING

Part II: All The King’s Pawns

By Curtis Fernlund

Manhattan
Times Square
Nightwing Restorations
Later…

He felt the cold first, a rarity in itself.

Benjamin J. Grimm was generally not one to note changes in temperature, so when the first whispers of chill swirled through the Times Square offices of the Daughters of the Dragon he instantly came alert and on the defensive. He set his beer can aside and stood, teeth gnawing on the freshly lit Cuban that hung from the corner of his rock encrusted lips. He raised a hand, trying to find the focal point of the sudden cold, having worked with the Human Torch for so many years, an action that had become second nature. He figured what was coming, but there was so much going on that he also figured best to be prepared.

He saw a flicker of shadow, a dark spot that seemed to hover for a moment before expanding like a puddle of India Ink spreading out on a blotter from a spilled bottle. It grew, roiling and churning, and with the expanding shadow came a wave of cold. Grimm actually shivered, puffing on his cigar as his fists clenched and unclenched over and over.

And then the darkness just seemed to unfurl and he saw whom he had expected; Midnight, the adopted son of the Celestial dressed in a sleek black body stocking and fedora, and one other. Ben Grimm stepped forward as the Shadow Cloak swirled and thrashed as though alive, extending a hand to the silver-furred Man-Wolf that had collapsed out of the shadowy portal to the hardwood floor of Nightwing Restorations, shivering from the otherworldly cold with frost glistening on its fur and retching out whatever it had stored in its belly.

“Welcome, Colonel Jameson,” Grimm said, trying to sound congenial. The Wolfman looked up with glaring amber eyes and snarled, baring his teeth, spewing spittle and steam.

Grimm… it said, its voice somewhere between a word and a growl. What have you… done to me?

“What needed to be done, John,” Ben Grimm said sounding sad. “I’m sorry. Believe me. I know what it’s like.”

Bastard! The Man-Wolf howled, rearing shakily to its feet. It raised its claws, spittle flying from its muzzle. How could you… know? This curse! The monster… I am!

“Oh, I dunno,” Grimm said taking a long drag on his cigar. “Maybe I just look in the mirror.”

Hackles rose on the back of the Man-Wolf’s neck, the creature snarling as it stared at the rock golem before it. Somewhere in the back of its mind, the Star God recalled the plight of the Thing, but the animal within raged, wanting to rend and the Man-Wolf lunged!

The back of Grimm’s rocky hand slapped the snout of the Star God and the Man-Wolf collapsed in a heap on the floor. Grimm gnawed on his cigar for a moment, then looked at the shadowy form that stood in the corner, his cape roiling like a thing alive.

“He’ll come around,” Grimm said, crouching to make sure that he had not seriously injured the latest addition to his ranks. Unconscious, Colonel John Jameson, Star God and Man-Wolf kicked lightly, jerking in forced slumber. Grimm looked up to see the shadow man’s fingers flying in Sign.

“Dunno what yer sayin’, son, but do what ya gotta do.”

M’Nai nodded, and the Shadow Cloak swirled about him, and he was gone.

Benjamin J. Grimm stood and puffed on his cigar as he looked down on the unconscious form of the Man-Wolf. He took to the group like Scully, but Ben could not condemn either for their ill feelings. He remembered all the times that Richards had cured him, only to have that taken away. It wasn’t fair, but then who said life was fair. They were needed. End of story. Period.

“Yeah, that’ll keep me warm tonight…”

Grimm scooped up the Wolfen form of John Jameson and hauled him off and into the outer office, laying him on the couch to sleep off his angst and headache. Scully was going rounds with Misty, working off steam. Jimmy was set. If Colleen could convince Arcane, they’d all be set, with one exception.

Ben Grimm sighed. He’d dealt with devils before, but what he had to do now…

He shook his head.

One more call to make…

Manhattan
Soho
The Co-op of Eric Arcane
Later still…

Eric Arcane presented the steaming wooden cup with a slight bow, holding it over the low table, his arms outstretched and unwavering. Protocol demanded he wait thus until the square cup was either accepted or refused. To his delight, it was taken from his hands.

“Arigato gozaimasu.”

The Hedge Mage looked at the woman approvingly, nodding and waiting until she sipped the warmed sake, and then at her nod, folded his legs and sat himself on the far side of the low table. He settled and took his own cup, pouring from the porcelain kettle that sat on the slightly flaming warmer and sipping from his own wooden cup. The hot Sake burned all the way down, both inebriating and stimulating. Arcane smiled, raising his cup.

“To life.”

Colleen Wing smiled and sipped to his toast.

Pleasantries and protocols accounted for, Eric Arcane settled back on his haunches, eyeing the petite woman that sat across the low black table between them. She was pretty, white with long brown hair and just a hint of Oriental slant to her dark eyes. And in great shape he noted again, for the hundredth time. If he went that way, he would be all over that in a second. And hell, he might just anyway.

It had been months since Alex…

Alex…

Depression had hit hard afterwards, after all the shit hitting the fan had finally fallen away and he could think about getting on with his life again, such as it was. Without Alex however, there seemed little point.

He went through the motions of course, after taking care of business. As a gay couple he had little rights to any say in Alex’s estate, such as it was. And unfortunately Alex thought that he would live forever and had not made provisions. Now several months later his storage space was in limbo demanding payment, though the company would not open it to anyone as Alex had not designated anyone to be ‘In Trust’. Likewise his checking account with Citibank, his E-Trade Account, his corporation, which had barely got off the ground, and his 401K with the design company that he worked for. Thankfully his insurance had covered the cost of his funeral, but after that the remaining money was in contestation between his mother and sister, both conniving bitches that felt they deserved the remainder of his legacy, even though his entire family had ostracized Alex when he had ‘come out’ a decade before.

And as far as Eric was concerned, they could have had it, if they had simply asked rather than going to lawyers to bleed it out of him. Alex had been buried as he wanted, laid to rest and honored—by Eric at any rate—and that was what mattered.

All the bullshit that followed; the government red tape and his family was just annoying distraction. Eric didn’t want money. Just a few reminders of what might have been. He sighed…

“So, Colleen,” he said, sipping at his sake again, noting that she was watching him intently. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but you just don’t stop by to hang out. What’s up?”

“Sorry to be so transparent,” she said with a smile, setting her cup aside. She picked up her chopsticks and one of the small containers of rice that had come with the take-out that she had brought along; Vegetarian Rolls with avocado, black beef tips with broccoli in garlic sauce and cold sesame noodles. A mish-mash meal from three cultures. “You’re needed.”

“I figured that much,” Arcane said, taking his own chopsticks to the sizzling, blackened beef. He plucked a cube from the thick sauce and dipped that into the small container of hot mustard before popping it into his mouth. “S’good,” he said chewing, feeling the burn of the mustard on his tongue.

“Thanks,” Colleen Wing said, smiling as she plucked up another avocado roll. “Misty’s not big on Japanese, or sushi. Nice to share a meal.”

“My pleasure,” he replied, grinning. “Needed for what?”

Colleen sighed and settled back. She looked at him for a long moment, her chopsticks digging through the rice. Finally she scooped a bit out and slipped it into her mouth, not spilling a grain. “Ben Grimm’s putting a team together.”

“The Thing?” Arcane said, raising an eyebrow. “Doesn’t he have a team? World’s greatest, last I heard.”

“They’re on the outs at the moment,” Colleen said between nibbles. Arcane noted that she seemed to eat like a bird. “And he needs a team that’s willing to… go the extra mile.”

“This does not sound good. Just what does he need a team for?”

Eric Arcane listened to his friend as she explained all that she had been told. How Grimm had been lost in the Time Stream and maneuvered into becoming the champion for some ‘entity’ that wanted to avert some major catastrophe that was looming on the horizon. She rattled off several potential threats, things that he had read about, or seen on television. Things that he had taken a part in, that hit way too close to home. Still, he had had his share of run-ins with allegedly benevolent ‘greater beings’, alternate dimensions and the Time Stream and he had his doubts.

“And he believes this?” Arcane asked, staring at the woman across the table.

“Yes, I believe he does.”

“And you believe him?”

“I just said I did,” Colleen retorted, casually spinning her chopsticks through her fingers. She looked impatient, if not annoyed.

Arcane sighed. “I’ve run across plenty of demons that laid it on pretty thick, Colleen. Grimm’s certain his source was on the up and up?”

“He’s certain. And I trust his judgement. Hell, he’s Ben Grimm.”

“There is that.” Arcane considered, picking at the beef cubes and broccoli. Odds are he was not going to get paid for this, and he needed the money. Money earned that is. Maintenance was due on the Co-op, and he was woefully short, having done a couple charity cases down in the LOWES recently. More though, he needed distraction, needed to get out and break the depression again.

“All right,” he finally said after a long silence. “I’m in, if you answer a question.”

Colleen raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Shoot.”

“Who was Grimm’s first choice?” Colleen laughed.

“Well, after Strange of course, Grimm mentioned a ‘Clea’, and then some woman called Jennifer Kale.”

“Damn,” Arcane said, shaking his head. “I was fourth?”

“Fifth, actually,” the woman grinned. “Amanda Sefton said ‘No’ too.”

Hoboken, New Jersey
A seemingly abandoned warehouse
Later still…

To avoid celebrity he had shifted back to flesh and blood, something that seemed to be harder and harder to do every time he tried. It was actually getting painful, his orange, rocky epidermis melting away and absorbing back into his body somehow, his pale pink skin surfacing once more. He had no idea how it worked, even though Richards had tried to explain it to him numerous times. In the end, as long as it worked, he didn’t really care.

Of course, now it seemed not to be working so well. The initial tingling had changed into a burning sensation as the rock faded, hurting a little more each time he tried. Changing back into the Thing was no problem of course. Maybe his body was just more accustomed to being a monster after so many years. Richards had said that once too; an excuse for one of his failures.

Grimm sighed and walked on, checking the street signs and addresses as he moved through the decaying streets of Hoboken’s waterfront. Most of the streets in the area were dark and gritty, the streetlights shattered, garbage heaping in the gutters. Rats and homeless lined the walls of abandoned buildings, all scrambling for food and shelter in the slight, dismal rain that just seemed to add to the ambiance. The buildings were warehouses for the most part, and had been active and bustling a decade ago when the Hudson was a major stopping point for industry shipped in by sea from foreign countries and upstate, all of them opening on the now underused waterway. Industry and business had moved on with progress, taking the workers and those that had lived in the area with it.

Ben Grimm was not worried though as he strolled the street. Even in human form there was little he feared, least of all the hapless mugger that might foolishly target him as a potential victim. He had always been a fighter. He had to be, growing up on the meaner streets of Hell’s Kitchen and rumbling with the Yancy Street Gang every weekend until he had joined the Army Air Corp and gone off to fight in the war. Wars as it had turned out.

Even after that, he had fought on with the Fantastic Four, against bigger and more powerful foes of course, but it seemed his record was stuck in a groove that skipped from one battle to the next. Not that he was complaining, mind. Despite the various troubles and hardships, life had not been so bad overall. Plenty of others had it worse he knew. Point proved by the number of homeless littering the streets of Hoboken.

Finally Grimm stopped, realizing that he had at last reached his destination. He glanced at the faded number that was etched onto the wall, barely visible amidst layers of age-old graffiti. The place was just as she had described. It was five stories, a big block-style building built for efficiency rather than style and if it ever had any charm or trappings they had long since been stripped or fallen away. It was solid though; brick appearing beneath where the old lead paint had peeled away. All of the windows were barred with metal grills covering shattered glass and wooden slats bolted from the inside. Knowing who he was visiting, he imagined that every opening was wired with some sort of defense, at least an alarm but more likely something lethal.

Her instructions had been specific however, and Grimm approached the door that she had indicated when he had finally gotten in contact. It was a huge, metal-plated firedoor, battered and tagged and set solidly into an iron frame and the brick wall. Nothing that would stop the Thing, but definitely would keep out the riff raff like Benjamin J. Grimm. As expected a heavy metal bar was set into brackets bolted and welded to the door and padlocked into place with heavy Master Locks. Deadbolts were also slid and likewise locked at the top and bottom of the door, just as his host had described.

Grimm scanned the wall and found the proper tag; a little skull surrounded with writhing tentacles. “Cute,” he said as he counted out bricks from the graffiti, across and down, then pushed the designated brick. It slid in on a spring to reveal a drawer that held the keys to all the locks that he would encounter. He slipped his hand inside and plucked the heavy ring out, letting the brick slide back into place, then went about unlocking the first obstacle.

With a rusty CREAK, Grimm shouldered the heavy door open to reveal a vast expanse of warehouse within. Only a thin trace of light filtered down from the boarded over windows, and he heard the flutter of wings, the coos of pigeons disturbed by the noise he made. He smelled mold and mildew, the salty brine of the sea as they were so close to the mouth of the Hudson where it flowed into New York Harbor. Too, there was a chill in the air, and a constant, rhythmic SPLANG as water dripped somewhere in the dark.

After visiting the dungeons of Castle Doom however, it might have just as easily been like stepping into a cheap, haunted house at some carnival. Grimm reached to the side and hit the light switch that he had been assured would be there. Fluorescent lights flickered weakly doing little but to enhance the gloom of the interior. It was big, a large space littered with rusting machinery and what he supposed were boxes and crates covered with weather beaten tarps. He saw huge water rats scurrying back in the shadows, hugging the walls and watching him suspiciously, too arrogant in their domain to run and hide.

Grimm closed the door as instructed after setting the bar inside, then locking inner bolts with the same padlocks thus insuring that no one might come along and lock them in.

Grimm moved deeper into the space, approaching the next barricade, which was a motorized roll up door large enough to drive a forklift through with room to spare on all sides. He noted two more locks at the base and squatted, flipping through the keys on the ring, then unlocking the padlocks. He stood and hit the green button on a wall mounted control panel and the gate squealed a bit, then slowly started to rise, rolling up into an overhead housing. Beyond the gate, the interior took on an even dirtier, unused feel than the rest of the building. Numerous crates, containers, pallets and other paraphernalia lie strewn about in various states of disrepair. The floor, cold, hard, and made of smooth concrete, was covered in an uneven layer of dust with an obvious path leading towards another set of doors far to the back.

What caught his eye however was the woman standing far back in the dimly lit interior near one of those doors. Even from a distance and in the dim he could see that she was shapely with a definitely feminine figure enhanced with well developed muscle tone. She made no indication, so he started to make his way through the debris, following the path he had been instructed to follow. As he grew closer he saw the details of her signature outfit; the green ‘leathers’ that she had earned long ago that had once designated her as a Supreme Hydra. That was a name she no longer went by however, though he knew that she still had strong ties with the group. She had long ago taken the name of the man she had killed, simply because she had wanted the title.

She raised a green gloved hand to her lips, the glow of a cigarette illuminating her pale face eerily. Like Grimm in his human form, she apparently saw little sunlight. Still, she was beautiful, with her long black hair swooping over one eye, once hiding allegedly disfiguring scars that had long since been erased. She blew smoke at him, and he knew he had come close enough. Her full, green painted lips pursed into an amused smirk.

“Grimm,” she said her voice cold and almost slithering. He noted that one hand rested on her hip as she looked him up and down, and that she wore the low, crossed belts sporting a holstered Luger on her right and a coiled bullwhip on the left, the latter glistening wetly in the flickering lights. She was wearing stiletto, knee high boots with six-inch heels, and Grimm hoped that meant that she was not expecting a fight. “I must say,” she seemed to hiss, “that I was surprised to get your call. Still don’t wish to reveal just how you got my number?”

Grimm heard a low, muffled moaning coming through the door behind her and his gaze involuntarily drifted towards the source. The room beyond was actually better lit, and he saw what appeared to be a body hog-tied and dangling from a chain set several feet above the floor, the head hooded and small weights swinging from the nipples and groin as the body wriggled and swayed in and out of sight. He sighed, returning his attention to the woman. He was not there to get into her business, whatever it was. He needed her, at least for the moment.

“We both got our secrets, Viper,” he said, nodding towards the door. “You keep yours, I’ll keep mine, except fer what I’m payin’ for.”

The woman called Viper laughed, a chilling thing that made ‘em shrivel. Ben Grimm knew that she would have no trouble putting a bullet between his eyes if it struck her fancy. She had proclaimed herself a Nihilist for a time, but he knew deep down she was simply insane and a killer just for the sake of killing. Her heels clacked on the cold cement as she stepped to the door and eased it shut with a loud CLANG, probably for the benefit of whomever she was torturing within. He did not want to know.

“So sorry that my darker pass times are not to your liking, Grimm,” she said with a smirk, returning to her original spot. “A girl has to find distraction between schemes after all, and there are so many men willing to pay to keep their naughty secrets.” She shrugged towards the door. “A senator that annoyed his superiors and needed reprimand…”

Grimm raised a hand to stop her. “I don’t wanna know.” She laughed.

“Pity,” she said grinning wickedly. “I think it would be fun to break you, Grimm. If I could.” She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and he could see her mind wandering.

“Can we get on with this,” he grumbled and Viper seemed to snap back from whatever fantasy had taken hold.

“Of course.”

Grimm watched closely as her hand went to her belt, hovered near the Luger for a brief moment, then her fingers deftly dipped into a small pouch affixed to the leather strap. She produced a small object that he recognized as a Flash Drive. Born in another age, computers were not his forte, and he knew just enough to get by, but he knew that the tiny device could hold ungodly amounts of information; images, files, and in this case, programs.

Viper held it up, letting it dangle from her finger on a key ring tantalizingly just out of reach. “My end of our bargain, Grimm,” she hissed, back in form, waiting…

Ben sighed as he reached into the pocket of his damp trench coat, his fingers enclosing on a small device about the size of the Flash Drive. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at it lying innocently in the palm of his hand. It was little more than a signal device, like a car’s remote for locks and alarm, however far more powerful with a range that could cover most of a hemisphere bouncing off the proper satellites. It had been given to him by the Centurion, one of the things he had learned of during his years drifting suspended in the currents of time. Potentially it could herald disaster, and knowing Viper, in her hands it would.

But he would cross that bridge when he had to. Right now what she had to offer was far more important than what she might potentially do. He held his own device up for her to see, mimicking her stance—in a manly sort of way of course.

“How do I know that will do as you said, Grimm?” she asked, and it was his turn to smirk.

“Same way I gotta figure that Flash Drive will do what you say. Trust.”

Viper laughed out loud at that. “You’re a funny man, Grimm. Even I will admit you’re the most trusted man in America since Walter Cronkite. I can’t imagine what it’s taking you to reciprocate, trusting me that is. I’m a liar and a cheat, and will do anything to achieve my goals. Yet here you stand, following my orders to a ‘T’. How desperate are you, Ben Grimm? What are you planning?”

“Like I said. Let’s keep our secrets, Viper. I’ll tell ya this though; if all goes well, you’ll get a huge kick outta what I’m gonna do.”

“Oh, you are a tease.” Viper strolled forward and held out the Flash Drive, snatching it back as Grimm reached for it. “I am too. Just ask Senator Kelly. Together?”

Grimm held out his device, and after a moment of false starts, traded with Viper. She grinned as she looked at the signal device, her eyes fading into that fantasyland again. Grimm slipped the Flash Drive into his pocket and turned.

“I’ll just show myself out,” he said as he started to make his way back towards the entrance. His skin was crawling after the encounter with the world’s most deviant woman, and he definitely needed a shower. He was just passing through the roll up gate when he heard her calling after…

“I’ll lock up after you. Just leave the keys by the door. And Benjamin…”

Grimm paused, glancing back. He saw Viper purse her lips and blow him a kiss.

“Come back anytime. My offer stands. Good luck.”

Benjamin J. Grimm had faced down Galactus, gone toe to toe with Doctor Doom and fought the Incredible Hulk, all with a sense of duty and a fervor. Still he ran from the warehouse and slammed the door behind him as Viper laughed…

Ravenscroft Asylum
Upstate New York
Three nights later …

Eddy Corwin loved his job.

Sure, a lot of people would get the willies doing what he had to do, but Eddy loved it. He loved the solitude, and the peace and quiet. Who cared if there was a couple stiffs in the coolers. They was dead, an’ weren’t gonna bother nobody no how.

All’s he had to do was sweep the floors an’ mop up a little blood on occasion, empty the wastebaskets an’ all the other shit work that the big shots didn’t wanna do. Listenin’ ta tunes an’ smokin’ a little reefer an’ getting’ paid the BIG bucks ta’ tick a lock an’ look the other way. Life was definitely good.

“Fuck you, pop!”

Eddy chuckled, taking another hit off his joint, the roach almost burned to the nub. His father had said, always and over and over that he would never amount to anything. But here he was at a posh retard hospital ridin’ the gravy train. His old man had been mortified that he was gonna be a janitor, but Eddy didn’t care. In fact he had flaunted it in his father’s face.

“Yeah, I’m gonna empty bed pans for a livin’, Dad. I’m gonna mop up vomit and clean toilets for the rest a’ my life. Cool hunh?” The look on his father’s face had been priceless as he walked out the door and out of Edwin Corwin I’s life forever.

Now at forty, he had twenty years in, and could retire any time he wanted, living okay for the rest of his life. But he liked his job. Nirvana blaring through his ear buds, Kurt Corbain screaming about Teen Spirit as he mopped up the morgue, he did not care. It was easy and peaceful and as long as he could still push a broom he would keep at it.

It was only because he was between songs that he heard the bump in the night. Eddy looked up and around, wondering what had happened to make the noise. He was in the morgue, which was deserted but for him and the lone occupant in drawer 3B; one Payne, Eric. Eddy did a slow turn, looking for anything that might have fallen or shifted, anything suddenly out of place. A security guard making his rounds maybe?

Eddy knew that they were all up in arms since Jameson vanished a few days earlier and Payne had been found dead. They were keeping a tight lid on things, but the grapevine said that he was killed like a Vampire had bit him. Eddy had laughed. He had seen some queer shit at Ravenscroft over the years, but he was a long way from believing in Vampires of all things. Some bizarro Marvel shit no doubt, an’ nothin’ to do with him. He went back to mopping the filthy tiles as the Clash shifted into high gear.

His MP3 Player cranking full tilt, Eddy never heard the wrenching grind of squealing metal. He did not hear the thump of heavy footfalls plodding up behind him as he sang along to Combat Rock, out of tune and way off key. He screamed as a hand fell on his shoulder, jerking him back. He shrieked as fangs drove into his throat, strong arms holding him in place as an icy cold tongue lapped at the blood pulsing from his carotid artery.

Eddy saw his father shaking his head and turning away as the room went dim…

Eric Payne let the body fall to the floor, ignoring the sickening thump that it made as he hurried for the door. He had no idea what was happening, but the aching hunger that had been gnawing at his stomach was sated for the moment, and now his thoughts turned to escape.

He vaguely knew that he was in an insane asylum. He vaguely recalled the tortures and torments that had driven him mad and placed him there. Images of demons danced in his mind’s eye as he wiped blood from his lips, licking his fingers, listening at the thick door that barred his way.

Payne…

Eric Payne turned his eyes wide and feral as he stared at the shimmering apparition, which stood before him. Seven feet tall easily and dressed in armor tinted in varying shades of red. The figure held a bundle in his arms; a writhing mass of material and a sword at least. Payne hunkered and hissed, his mind reeling with the need to escape.

The crimson figure chuckled. Save your theatrics. You are needed elsewhere. Seek Strange.

Eric Payne screamed as the scarlet being thrust his hands forward and the bundle he had been holding seemed to unfurl. He felt the numbing cold as the gray material expanded wrapping about and enveloping him. He shrieked as he felt his soul being invaded, overwhelmed and suppressed. Visions clouded his sight as he struggled, the sword suddenly in his hand, suddenly gone. He saw fire and brimstone, death and destruction as the cold grew, all encompassing and final.

Darkness swelled as the world went away, and then Eric Payne—Devil-Slayer—felt nothing at all…

Manhattan
Times Square
Nightwing Restorations
Now…

“All right, Ben,” Misty Knight said as she rolled the tape over the folded lid of the packing box, ripping the end and pressing it into place. “That’s the last of it.”

Ben Grimm looked up from the news, the perpetual feed of CNN playing over and over spouting propaganda and hypocrisy to keep the masses nullified and complacent. He had never known just how thick the masque was until the Centurion opened his eyes.

“Sorry for this, Misty,” he said again, taking a sip of his beer and looking about the huge empty offices of Nightwing Restorations. But for his chair and the TV table that actually sported a small television hooked up to the cable line, the offices were bare. There was a small pile of refuse surrounding where he sat; cigar butts and beer cans mainly. The offices were hollow, but Misty merely shrugged as she hefted the final box of toiletries.

“Gonna miss this place, I’ll tell ya. A lot of memories. The rent was getting’ out of control though.” She shrugged, gazing out the window a final time.

“Couldn’t be helped. We all gotta disappear.”

“Yeah,” Misty said, taking a final look around. “I’ll take this down, and me and Col will head on over to the new place.”

“Okay. I’ll take care of things here, and see ya there in a few.”

Ben Grimm watched as Misty Knight took away the last of her belongings from the offices. They were finally ready to roll, but there was indeed a feeling of regret. A lot of sacrifices needed to be made.

Grimm heard a familiar voice and turned back to the television…

The Black Panther stood before a podium marked with the X-Corporation symbol and behind him was draped the flag of Wakanda. He wore the ceremonial garb of the protector of his people.

“Thank you for attending. I have only a brief statement and I will not be taking any questions after,” he began. “As you know, both the X-Corporation and Wakanda have contributed to the rebuilding and restructuring of the Avengers. Therefore, given my role as the monarch of Wakanda, an advisor to X-Corporation and an inactive Avenger, I have been asked to address the media on the recent terrorist attack in New York while the Avengers oversee the search and rescue efforts.

“The U-Foes have all been apprehended and are being transported to a superhuman holding facility. The attack was quick and devastating, but fortunately, the Avengers arrived within moments to quell the damage and prevent massive loss of life. This new team has proven their effectiveness in the field, and any doubts that have been expressed about this new roster should now be allayed.

“The Avengers shall be working hand-in-hand not only with the American government and law enforcement agencies, but with those from all across the world, especially SHIELD. Not only the Avengers but heroes from all over should be acclaimed and supported in their efforts to safeguard this planet from the forces that seek to tear it apart. The Avengers have proven themselves numerous times over the years and have saved the universe countless times and this new team shall strive to uphold that brave legacy.

“Thank you.”

Ben Grimm sat in a darkened room watching the news feed with a beer in hand. Although the inner offices of Misty Knight and Colleen Wing were generally well kept and clean, a pile of garbage sat about his chair of choice. He listened to the Panther’s propaganda and shook his head, lighting a cigar.

“So they got to you too, T’Challa,” he mused, downing the last of his beer before tossing the can away. He puffed on his cigar, watching with interest…

NEXT: Ben Grimm has made a deal with the devil, apparently, but why? Just what is he up to, and why has he gathered his group of second string heroes to go against the Big Boys? Find out next issue as Thing and Company invade SHIELD!

Nick is gonna be pissed…