The Carpathian Mountains
Carpatti Meridionali
Romania…

“C’mon!” Misty Knight shouted though she knew her voice was barely heard over the howling winds whipping around her and chilling her to the bone. Snow swirled about her in great, clotting flakes blotting her vision as she raced haphazardly down the steep slope of the mountain’s face, plumes of white billowing in her wake. She was freezing, her good left arm as numb as her bionic right exposed to the winds, the frigid blast of the blizzard that had swept over the high range of mountains even as she and her companions had started down from the heights.

Eric Arcane moaned his discomfort as she plowed through the hip deep snowdrifts, the jostling of their race doing nothing to aid his failing condition. He was hardly in a state to complain however, thrown over her bionically enhanced right side in a fireman’s carry as she struggled down the slope, jarring him every step of the way. “Suck it up, old man,” she hissed through gritted teeth as she pressed on.

They had appeared on the edge of a precipice high in a mountain range, somewhere after they had escaped from the Dark Dimension. Midnight, her third teammate had teleported them away as the denizens of that dark place had been swarming to attack them. He had stepped blind, one Reality into the next, but at the time they had, had little choice. They were none of them in any condition to fight a horde of nasty, extra-dimensional critters.

Out of the frying pan…

They had staggered from Midnight’s Shadow Cloak, each falling into the snow with pain and exhaustion. Misty herself was spent, her bionic right arm taxed to its limits, her gun depleted of bullets save one final click, four remaining shells in the cylinder. Midnight seemed burnt, staggering as the shadowy darkness receded back into his magical cloak when all three were clear. The adopted son of Fu Manchu had stumbled and finally fallen to the snowy slope breathing in great gasps of exhaustion. And Arcane was the worst.

He looked to be ninety if he was a day, old and feeble and gasping for every breath in the high altitudes. As Misty Knight understood his abilities, every spell he cast drank from his life source and added days, months, even years to his body depending on the potency of the spell. Arcane had been casting wildly during their battle in London, and to look at his pallid, gray frame now, it was obvious that he was spent if not on Death’s doorstep.

And of course even before they had gotten their bearings they had heard the howling of the wolves. Misty had gathered up Arcane’s frail body and started down the slope hoping that Midnight would catch up. They had been running ever since…

She dropped over the edge of a ledge, landing hard and ignoring Arcane’s grunts of pain, as she glanced back upslope. Midnight was following, but just barely, Bo-stick in hand as he struggled down the mountain seemingly lost and looking intoxicated in his staggering step. She wondered just what the hell was wrong with him, now.

“Better hurry your ass, boy,” she shouted into the wind as the wolves howled again. “I will leave your ass.” Midnight’s fingers flickered as he said something in Sign, but he continued, trying to catch up, his cape billowing out behind as he slowly descended the icy slope.

Down the mountain they went, sliding, running, tumbling. All the while the howls of the wolves echoed in the background spurring them on, getting closer. In Misty’s mind she saw the Scarlet Centurion, their salvation in the Dark Dimension leaving the trio to die. She cursed Grimm as she ran; wondering what he had been thinking when he made his deal with that devil. Whatever the Centurion had told the Thing, he obviously had other motives and he had doomed the three companions when he had abandoned them to the creatures of the Dark Dimension.

But Misty Knight would not go down without a fight.

“Fuck!” Misty spat as she skidded down a steep incline. Dark, huge shapes flitted through the sparse, barren trees not so far away, great lumbering shapes little more than shadow in the thick, swirling white of the storm. The wolves were pacing their run and judging them, and before too long she knew that they would strike. She had to find solid, flat ground to make a stand, before the slavering pack decided to take them down.

Misty plowed on through the drifts, finally reaching a somewhat level plane. She scanned about; breath heaving in huge billowing clouds as Midnight slugged down besides her looking wan and spent. He leaned heavily on his staff, his breath rasping as he hung his head in seeming defeat.

“You better get right, Son,” Misty said as she shifted Arcane’s weight on her shoulders watching the shadowy wolves flicker between the trees. “I’m gonna need you soon. I can’t do this by myself.”

Midnight raised his head, the thin slits in his mask white but looking forlorn and lost. Still he nodded and stood a little taller as he clutched his staff. Misty had no idea what was wrong with him, but since they had stepped from the Dark Dimension to the icy slopes of the mountain- somewhere in Europe she suspected- he had been dragging and confused.

Misty turned at the sound of a guttural snarl and saw two huge timber wolves stepping her way, hackles raised and teeth bared. She counted two others skirting the trees, circling in the distance to get behind her, crouched low and trundling through the snow.

“Wonderful,” she said and with a shrug dropped Eric Arcane into the hip deep snow behind her drawing her gun. She ignored his moans as he fell behind her, focusing her Magnum on the closest, advancing wolf.

“Bring it, bitches!”

SNOW DAY

By Curtis Fernlund

Manhattan:
428 Greene Street
SoHo

“Anything, Jimmy?”

Ben Grimm watched as the slim Asian’s fingers played over the keyboard of the desktop computer. One of five actually, each with its own power source and separate tower attached to a dozen small monitors that displayed various scenes from around the world; three of which that were monitoring BBC One and Two as well as CNN Europe. One monitor showed the current Prime Minister in session at Parliament. Another showed a garbage barge making its way upstream along the Thames. The third showed Sir James Jaspers ranting on the surge of Marvels invading Britain recently.

James Woo, formerly FBI, formerly SHIELD leaned back in his chair and took a long drag from his cigarette. His fingers flicked across the keys but finally he shook his head. “Nothing,” he said exhaling a cloud of blue smoke. “Her phone is dead; broken, out of range or out of power. The GPU cannot pick her up, if she is still alive and in possession of the phone.”

“She’s still alive, you little prick!” Colleen Wing said stepping up to the computer consoles. Her skin was flushed and her hand was on the pommel of her sword as she leaned in to look at the displays. “Maybe she’s in a dead zone.”

“Possibly,” Woo acceded, his fingers back at the keyboard. On the display a map shifted showing varying images. “But until she moves into the ‘Web’ we will never find her.”

Colleen Wing was about to speak but Grimm cut her off. “What about the others?”

“Arcane’s phone is apparently dead as well, and Midnight never carried one.”

“Dammit!” Colleen fumed, slamming her fists down on the table. “We have to do something. You’re S.H.I.E.L.D.! Don’t you have some mega satellite network you can tap into to find her?”

Woo took a long pull on his cigarette, glancing at Grimm before exhaling. “My ties to that organization were… severed. I can of course access their database despite their recent upgrades against any suspected, impending, incursion on my part, but even if I did, without a signal from Knight or Arcane it would be pointless.”

“Well, what about you, Grimm?” Colleen snarled. “What about Richards? Or your mysterious contact? Can’t he conjure up some way to find them?”

The Thing sighed as he bit down on the butt of his cigar to keep from grinding his teeth. “I’ve tried ta contact him a few times now, but he’s apparently busy. As ta Richards; he’s a last option. I burned a couple bridges last night, an’ we’re not ready ta play twenty questions with the smartest man on the planet just yet. Push comes ta shove, we’ll bring him in, but even so I doubt he’d be able to find her without something to go on.”

“What about her bionic arm?” John Jameson asked from the doorway. Everyone turned his way to see him standing in an NYU tee shirt and blue jeans, barefoot and holding a glass of milk. His skin flushed slightly, as he became the center of attention, everyone waiting for him to go on. “I mean, I’m no electronics expert but can’t you focus on that? Their can’t be too many bionic arms out there, right?”

“You’d be surprised,” Grimm said as he turned back to Woo who was already tapping away at his computer network. “Jimmy?”

“It’s a possibility,” Woo said as his fingers glided over the keyboard, blue smoke billowing about his head. “I will need the specifics on its construction, which in itself will be an obstacle. A combination of Stark and Wakandan technologies if I am not mistaken. Both of those corporations are even harder to hack than S.H.I.E.L.D. Anthony Stark and T’Challa T’Chaka designed S.H.I.E.L.D.’s computer system after all. I will do my best, however,” he said with assurance looking up to Colleen Wing. “If there is a way, I will find it.”

Colleen sighed and placed a hand on Jimmy Woo’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze as her anger and anxiety abated just a bit. “I know. And I’m sorry. It’s just… Misty’s my oldest, best friend, my partner. I just…”

“C’mon, Col,” Ben Grimm said as he gently placed a hand on her arm to lead her from the room. “Let’s let Jimmy do his bit in peace.” Colleen Wing nodded even as Woo leaned into the console, already lost in the task at hand.

Hobie Brown looked away from the television as Grimm, Wing and Jameson came into the living room of Eric Arcane’s SoHo loft. It was cramped for the eight members of the Thing’s ragtag team but it was off the radar, so to speak. Only Doctor Strange knew of its location and steps had been taken to ensure that he would not be a problem some week’s prior. *

*See Thing #4 for that magical tale.

“Any luck?” Hobie asked noting the three grim faces answering his own question. “Sorry I can’t help, Miss Wing. I’m computer savvy but nowhere in Mister Woo’s league.”

“Drop the formalities, kid,” Grimm said. “Like it or not, yer on the team now. Get comfortable with that an’ we’ll all get along better.”

“For now,” Colleen mumbled under her breath to receive an odd look from John Jameson as she slumped into the room’s recliner.

“Sorry, Sir… Mister Grimm… Ben.” The Prowler seemed to blush as he shook his head. “It’s hard though, y’know? You’re all like… legends. I’m just an ex-window washer with some gadgets and a knack for hacking buildings.”

“An ex-window washer that went toe to toe with Spider-Man and ‘hacked’ the Baxter Building,” Jameson said with a chuckle as he dropped to the sofa. “I can’t speak on the latter, but I’ve gone my rounds with Spidey and that’s no easy feat.” He drained his glass and set it aside, glancing at the zombies being slaughtered on screen before looking back to Grimm. “So what’s the next step, jefe?”

“I got an idea,” Grimm said as he stared blankly at the television screen, “but it ain’t gonna be pretty. I’ll try to contact… my contact again. If he’s still a no show, and if Woo comes up empty I’ll let ya know.”

“I need to make a call,” Colleen Wing said abruptly, getting up and heading up the stairs without explanation. The three men watched her go, hearing the door to the room she shared with Misty Knight slam shut.

“She’s close to cracking, you know,” Jameson said to the Thing. “I can feel her tension. Killing that girl cut her deep.” *

See Thing # 5 for the details.

“I know,” Grimm agreed tossing his sodden cigar butt into the trashcan by the door. “It had ta be done though. Just wish I would’a done it.”

“If wishes were fishes,” Hobie Brown quoted as he settled back to watch the end of The Walking Dead, missing the odd looks that Grimm and Jameson cast his way.

The Carpathian Mountains
Carpatti Meridionali
Romania…

BOOM…

Misty Knight grimaced as the second wolf fell to her second bullet, the rapport of her Magnum echoing in the midst of the storm. Blood spewed as the wolf’s head exploded in a spray of crimson that splattered her as the dead husk fell to the ground at her feet. She was breathing hard, breath clouding in the cold as she spun about seeking the other two of the pack.

“Nnnngh!”

Misty turned fully about to see Midnight jamming a sai into the third wolf, the sharp blade protruding from the animal’s back even as the fourth locked its jaws about the man’s forearm. Her staggered, trying to withdraw as the wolf gnawed and bit, savaging his arm even as the third of the pack spasmed in its death roes. He yanked free, but the wolf’s weight drove him to the ground, the beast snarling and ripping into his flesh.

Misty charged forward, raising her arm and taking careful aim. Without hesitation she fired.

BOOM!

The wolf spiraled backwards to sprawl in the snow, its head a bloody gash and steaming. She ran up on Midnight, staring at his ravaged arm.

His body stocking had been ripped away, the black-hued flesh of his arm exposed and rented from the assault. Blood was gushing from the wound as Misty dropped to her knees before the agonized man.

“Dammit,” she cursed under her breath as she grabbed the tail of Midnight’s cloak and pressed it to the wound. There was a lot of blood, but none pumping so she figured that no artery had been cut. The cloak sparkled darkly as she pressed it over the wound, seemingly soaking up the blood, a dark gray light tearing at her vision. And just as suddenly as it had started, the blood seemed to well and staunch.

Misty knew that Midnight was a vampire of sorts, and as such she had no idea how his body worked. The wound on his arm lay bare and ravaged, but the flow of blood stopped. His cloak rippled as he looked up at her, fingers shaking as he tried to Sign. She had no idea what he said and told him as much.

“Rest,” she said as she stood and turned about in a circle scanning the battleground. Four dead wolves steaming in the snow. Two friends near death and needing help. Lost and alone. The only good news was that the blizzard seemed to be losing some of its force, the wind slightly dying and the snowfall easing a bit. Misty scanned the area looking for help… safety… hope.

She saw a cleft in the rocky wall of the mountainside not so far away and hurried towards it. Peering into the darkness within she saw that it was a cave, a tight fit definitely, but with some effort she knew that they could rest there, out of the elements. She could tend M’Nai’s wound as best she was able and Arcane could get the healing rest he needed.

Misty Knight went back to the battleground and scooped up Arcane in her arms. He was limp and unconscious, his body cold to the touch, but she hoped that that was because of the frigid environment, rather than death. She carried him the few yards to the cave and sidled inside, laying him on the dry, stone floor before hurrying back to guide Midnight within.

Once she had both men situated she went back out into the waning blizzard to gather scrub and dead wood in the sparse forest. They would need a fire for warmth to survive, and food and water. Misty heaved a deep breath in the icy environs, detesting the measures that she would have to take, but knew that she had no choice. Without her efforts Arcane was as good as dead. Midnight, she did not know but he seemed so out of it that she could not take the chance.

Baring an armload of dead, fallen branches, moss and twigs, Misty eased back into the dank, dark cave. She dropped her bundle and looked to her charges. Arcane was dead to the world, though a quick check on his wrinkled neck detected a pulse. Midnight was slumped against the wall, all but invisible in the confines of the cave in his black suit and dark cloak, only the slits of his eyes apparent.

She took the last bullet from her gun and used her enhanced strength to pull the slug from the shell, sprinkling the gunpowder onto a small flat stone beneath the heap of deadwood, moss and twig.

“This is gonna hurt me more than it hurts either of you,” Misty said as she rolled up the sleeve of her thick turtleneck shirt. With a grimace she dug a fingernail of her left hand into the pseudo skin of her right arm. She peeled the fabricated skin back to expose the thin, metallic plating beneath, then pried open a panel on her bionic arm. She stared at the exposed wires and circuitries, finally ripping a bit of wire free, sparking and feeling her prosthetic fingers go instantly numb.

Misty Knight touched the sparking wires to the gunpowder wincing at the bright flare as the mixture caught fire blazing, catching the tinder. In moments the blaze took hold and warmth slowly flooded the cave as she added wood to the flames.

Misty held her left hand to the warmth, glancing at her charges; both sprawled on the cavern’s floor and seemingly dead to the world and sighed. Outside the wind’s howling diminished and the first light of false dawn drifted through the opening. It was going to be a long day…

Avenger’s Island
New York Harbor…

Grimm was impressed.

Stark had pulled out all the stops on his island headquarters for the new group of Avengers that he’d gathered, though he had to admit the layout reminded him more of the Avengers West Coast Compound than the old Avenger’s Mansion. Even from the distance of the ferry he could see the main building was three stories constructed in the Gothic style of old New York and looking imposing. He could see the other buildings; the labs and the hangers for the Quinjets, the docks and power stations, living quarters and even a church. All of the utilitarian structures were offset by green trees and parkland for the visitors. There was even a small lake, more a large pond he supposed complete with ducks and swans and the Canadian Geese that had become a problem in the five boroughs over the last few years.

Benjamin J. Grimm smiled as the tourist ferry chugged along, bumping into its berth in the docks. He stared at the huge statue of the Founders towering over the debarking platform; Giant-Man and the Wasp, the Mighty Thor, the Invincible Iron-Man, the Incredible Hulk and Captain America, the original Living Legend of World War II. His smile faded as he thought of Steve Rogers, gone now, and of Alicia who had sculpted this to replace the original lost in the destruction of their mansion. There was a lot of history here, good memories and bad, and Ben hoped that today would not add to the latter.

“And there came a day…”

Ben tuned out the tour guide’s spiel as he trundled along with the others in the group, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his over-sized trenchcoat, digital flashbulbs exploding about him as the tourists took there slew of pictures. He knew the recitation by rote, and as much as he enjoyed the trip down Memory Lane, he had to focus. He had to find Stark.

The group moved away from the docks after awhile, the guide pointing out the power stations and the Avengers’ various craft on site, their hydroplane and famous submarine most notably. As they headed towards the living quarters set on the edge of Duquesne Park, Ben saw Hawkeye and Songbird walking between the buildings on the island’s far edge. Light from cameras flared as Hawkeye waved and Grimm turned away. He did not think that Barton would recognize him in his human, flesh and blood guise but why take chances?

Finally they reached the living quarters and as the guide directed everyone into the lobby, Ben hesitated, slipping aside and away. He jogged around the corner of the squat, two-story building and edged against the wall scanning the grounds. Odds were that Stark was in the Administration Building, or one of the labs. His earlier call to Jarvis had been short and terse, the Avengers’ butler offering no information beyond that ‘Master Stark is in residence.’ Ben wondered what stories his old friend had heard to make Jarvis give him the cold shoulder.

Grimm followed the cobbled path and came up on the Administration Building. He glanced through the windows and as expected there was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent seated at the main desk, a woman decked out in the standard Blues, a lieutenant by her markings. Grimm sighed as he watched her for a minute, engrossed by whatever was on her computer screen. Now came the tricky part.

Ben knew that he had to get by the woman, but unlike the other night at the Baxter Building he did not have the option of knocking her out. Middle of the day as it was, she would definitely be missed and quickly. Charm and guile were needed this time, the former of which he had in spades, the latter not so much. He had to figure that word had come down from on high in S.H.I.E.L.D. that the Thing was persona non grata, so good or bad this was a job for Benjamin J. Grimm rather than his rocky alter ego.

The agent at the desk glanced up as soon as he passed through the doors, sliding her chair a bit to the side so that the computer monitor was not blocking her view. She was glancing sidelong at it however and Grimm saw her brow furrow in confusion, probably wondering why he was not showing on the security scanners.

“Hi there,” Ben said walking briskly to the desk and drawing her attention away from the screen. He flashed his best smile. “Roger Stevens to see Tony Stark.” Grimm held his smile in place, waiting for reaction but despite a quick glance up and down, the agent seemed clueless as to the name he had chosen. Grimm knew that ‘Roger Stevens’ was a name that Steve Rogers had used on occasion when Captain America- the real Cap- had needed a different identity. He hoped the agent wouldn’t know that, but figured Stark would and that would snag his curiosity enough to get Grimm in the door.

“You have an appointment, Mister Stevens?”

“Naw,” Ben said truthfully. “I was an associate of Fantastic Four Inc. Back in town for a few days and thought I’d drop in on Tony. We worked together a few times an’ I ain’t seen him in years. Figured I’d give him a thrill.”

The woman stared at him blankly, then moved a slender hand across the desk and depressed an inlaid button. “I’ll see if he has time for you, Mister Stevens.”

“Thanks.” Ben licked his lips then reaffixed his smile, looking about the lobby as the agent contacted Stark.

“Yes?”

“Mister Stark? There’s a Mister Stevens here to see you.”

“Stevens?”

“A Mister Roger Stevens affiliated with Fantastic Four Incorporated. He says he is an old associate.”

“Roger…” The silence was thick for a moment and Ben imagined that Stark was either considering or hitting the panic button. He held his ground though, smiling all the while.

“Send him up.”

“Yessir.”

The agent terminated the intercom and scooped up a plastic, clip-on card, which she handed to Grimm. “Wear that in plain sight,” she said typing quickly on her keyboard. “It will access the elevator and get you through security. Mister Stark’s in his offices on three. Take the elevator and turn right to the end of the corridor.”

“Thanks,” Ben said trying to sound congenial as he clipped the card to his coat and headed off towards the elevators. Moments later he was standing before the reinforced doors paneled in cherry that led to Stark’s office. He knocked…

The left-hand door flew open and Grimm saw Tony Stark standing there in gray Armani, his hair disheveled and silk tie pulled low. “Steve!” he said, but then his brown eyes narrowed and Ben saw recognition wash over him. “Grimm!”

Ben saw Stark stagger back, then change, planting his feet and bringing his hands up in a martial arts stance. His eyes went dark, as he stood ready to fight. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, what you want but you won’t find me an easy target whatever it is.”

Ben raised his hands in a warding gesture, trying to look and sound non-threatening. “Easy, Tony. Easy… I ain’t here fer you. Not like ya figure anyway. I need yer help.”

Stark did not back down as Grimm stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He glanced quickly about the office; functional yet obviously accoutered for the rich and famous with rare paintings on the wall, rich furniture and all the luxuries money could buy. Stark’s stance seemed to lax a bit.

“You need my help? Just what the hell are you up to? Rumor is you invaded the Pentagon and killed a girl. You’ve put together some group that’s been attacking heroes… friends!”

“It was the Senate, actually, and the girl in question was a plant by one a’ the Brotherhood of Evil Mutant’s Splinter Cells looking ta off Kelly and start a Race War. But that’s neither here nor there. I ain’t here ta try an’ prove my innocence or justify what I’m doin’. I’m here as an old friend cuz I need help. Help that only you can provide.

“What are you talking about?” Stark said and Ben saw him relax just a bit more, curiosity overriding caution.

“It’s Misty Knight,” Ben said pulling a cigar from his coat. Despite Stark’s protestations he put it to his lips and lit it while Stark finally broke his stance and moved behind his desk tapping keys on his computer. “Sent her and a couple others on a mission. They went missing after the fact an’ now they’re lost.”

“The battle in Britain with Braddock. I got the report from S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Grimm said puffing on his cigar. “They left the scene an’ vanished. Dropped off the radar.”

Stark stared at Grimm and Ben could see his old, one-time friend considering. Finally Stark sighed and leaned forwards, his fingers flying across the touch screen monitor imbedded in his desk top. “And what do you need me for?” he said without looking up.

“Well, we figured you built Misty’s bionic arm, and figured too that you had some kind of GPS built into the circuitry. I need ya ta find her, ASAP.” Stark looked up and stared at Grimm for several long heartbeats then finally nodded.

“You figured right, Ben.” Anthony Stark’s fingers flew over his computer’s keyboard. “T’Challa and I both thought it prudent at the time though we’ve never had reason to call up that data till now. It’ll take a few moments for the program to initialize, minutes then to scan for her beacon. Why don’t you take that time to tell me what the hell you’re doing?”

Grimm looked at his old friend long and hard, finally shaking his head. “I wish I could, brother, believe me. But, the more that know the less chance things turn out okay in the end. You know me Tony. You know there’s a damn good reason.” Stark sighed.

“I know.” Anthony Stark looked up. “But you know eventually someone’s going to tell us to take you down.” Grimm smirked through a thick cloud of smoke.

“Yer welcome to try.”

The computer ‘pinged’…

Manhattan:
428 Greene Street
SoHo

John Jameson sat on the old threadbare sofa flicking through the television channels bored out of his mind. That was one of the bad things about being in Grimm’s group, the time between missions. He almost felt the fifth-wheel with nothing to contribute in the search for their three missing teammates beyond his one simple suggestion. Which left him playing the waiting game until Grimm returned or Woo managed to crack Stark’s computer security.

Hell even Hobie Brown was happily occupied, having brought over a few ‘necessities’ after a quick stealthy stop at his apartment. After he had helped Grimm hack the Baxter Building as the Prowler he had had to abandon his old place just like the rest of them, setting up shop in Arcane’s SoHo loft. Brown had grabbed a corner and a small table and was now deep in concentration as he leaned over his wrist bracers, the electronics splayed wide as he soldered in some new circuitry upgrade.

He felt sorry for Brown. Unlike the rest of them, he seemed to have actually had a life before all this started. Well, not totally true he supposed. Knight and Colleen Wing had had their detective agency uptown, and Woo had been a member of Fury’s elite in S.H.I.E.L.D. Eric Arcane had been a ‘Mystical Detective’, whatever that was, though from what Misty Knight had said that was by the wayside for the last few months after Arcane’s lover had been killed. By Vampires no less. Jameson chuckled.

The three of them along with Skully had become vampire hunters after that, until Grimm drafted them in his crazy mission. Jameson still wasn’t exactly sure just what that was, but he knew Benjamin J. Grimm, and if he said it was necessary, all that they had done, well that was good enough for J. Jonah Jameson’s number one son.

Jameson sighed and turned off the television. As he thought about it, it seemed that he was the only one in the group that didn’t have a life. Even the creepy Midnight probably had somewhere to go, someone to go to in the down time, not that anyone would know. “Only me,” he whispered then downing the rest of his milk. He pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his sweats and clicked onto the list of numbers.

He wondered if his father had heard the news of what went down in Washington yet. Probably; J. Jonah Jameson was always in the know. If so, he was probably frantic with worry, as despite his gruff exterior and despite that they had been estranged for almost a year, John knew that his father loved him. Oddly, there had been nothing in the Daily Bugle about what had happened in DC. Even with the blood ties between them, John could not imagine his father sitting on this. Woo had indicated that Fury was suppressing information as per S.H.I.E.L.D. S.O.P. Maybe that was it.

Grimm had strongly suggested to everyone to avoid contact with friends or relatives, but maybe, John thought, I should call…

BZZZZ…

John Jameson jumped at the sound of the door’s buzzer. Saved by the bell, literally, he shut down his phone and went to the intercom by the door, pushing the ‘Talk’ button. “Who?”

“That’s for me,” Colleen Wing said striding into the living room as a man’s garbled voice crackled over the staticky intercom. Jameson looked at her as she came to the call box and pressed the button to open the downstairs door. She still looked worried and grim, her dark eyes rimmed red, hair pulled back in a tail and wearing raggedy denims, a tee shirt and socks. Jameson heard the heavy fire door downstairs thump shut as Colleen moved to unlock the door to the apartment. She seemed nervous almost as she glanced at him, opening the door.

“I called a friend to help look for Misty,” she said with a heavy sigh. “His friend actually. I don’t know if she can help, but I was getting desperate.”

“No problem,” Jameson said, “I-“

“Hello, Colleen.”

Jameson turned towards the doorway at the sound of the man’s voice. Standing there was a tall, slim man with brown hair swept to the side dressed in jeans, crew shirt and deck shoes under a black trenchcoat misted with water droplets. Jameson looked curiously at his thick, ruby red sunglasses a moment before turning to the woman standing beside him. She was a beauty; a red head dressed in jeans and a gray hoody sporting the emblem and sigil of the Xavier Institute under a black rubber slicker.

“Hello, Scott,” Colleen said and Jameson could hear a little strain in her voice. Some history between the three obviously, but just what Jameson could only guess. “Thank you for coming,” Colleen continued stepping back to let them in.

“Of course we came,” the man said with a forced smile letting the woman step in before him. Jameson saw an icy exchange between the two women as the couple moved into the foyer and Colleen closed the door, locking the many locks. “We’re old friends. You needed help.” The man turned to Jameson, extending a hand.

“Colonel Jameson,” he said as Jameson took his hand and shook it, surprised at the man’s firm grip, stronger than he appeared. “It is an honor. Scott Summers.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Jameson said as he turned to the red head, “though I haven’t been a colonel in some time. John’s fine. And you are…” he said extending his hand, taking the woman’s and shaking it lightly.

“Jean Grey,” she said with a dazzling smile. “Like Scott said, it’s an honor to meet you. War hero, fighter pilot, astronaut; very impressive.” Jameson shrugged.

“I had my fifteen minutes to be sure, but that’s all in the past. I’m just a retired Vet now living those ‘Glory Days’ like the song says.” The woman smiled and turned.

“And you must be Colleen Wing,” she said reaching out to shake hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Jameson saw a quick glance at Summers as she shook Grey’s hand briefly.

“Probably not as much as I’ve heard about you,” Colleen said, her words dripping with sarcasm. Jameson felt the temperature in the room sliding towards freezing. Definitely history there, between these three. He cleared his throat.

“I… um… need to head to the deli. I can-“

Colleen raised a hand of negation and took a deep breath. “Stay, John.” Colleen eyed the two for a moment, and Jameson saw them both nod. “This is Cyclops and Phoenix of the X-Men.” Jameson’s eyes went wide, but before he could say a word, Colleen continued.

“Misty and I are old friends, with Scott at least. Phoenix is a telepath, and I hoped she could help locate Misty.” Jameson could hear the cool tinge to Colleen’s voice, but he could also see the hope and desperation in her face and body language. He knew that the X-Men were Mutants and branded as outlaws, but he also knew of all the good that they had done over the years. He smiled.

“I hope so too,” he said truthfully. He had heard all the stories and rumors, all the things that the X-Men were accused of, all the tales of the resurrection of Phoenix. True or not it did not matter. They were all in the same boat, outlaws. “If you need anything…”

“A quiet place,” Jean Grey said sloughing out of her slicker and handing it to Jameson, “ and maybe a cup of coffee?”

“Clear your mind,” Phoenix said as she settled cross-legged Indian style on the bed. Colleen Wing sat likewise just a foot away, both women tense and uncomfortable, eyeing one another. Scott had told her of his dalliance with Colleen and at the time Jean had accepted. She had been dead after all, and Jean could hardly blame him for moving on. Actually she was glad that he had, rather than withdrawing into a shell and becoming a hermit like he usually did.

“Breathe deeply and concentrate on Misty.” Jean had actually been surprised that there had been a few after her. Not only Colleen Wing, but also Lee Forrester and Madelyne Pryor. Scott was apparently more promiscuous than she had ever given him credit. Who would have known that the stoic Scott Summers was a lady killer.

“Focus on her; her attitude and speech, her scent and personality. Think on her connections; who she loved, her friends and family. Her likes and dislikes, all those things that made Misty unique, anything that would stand out.” Colleen closed her eyes and nodded, trying to comply as Jean reached forward and touched her fingertips to the other woman’s temples.

SPARK! Flashes of memory connected with the X-Men…

Kurt, Scott and Ororo with Colleen and Misty, Power Man and Iron Fist fighting the Living Monolith…

Misty and Luke Cage again confronting Storm in Harlem…

Colleen on a train waving at Scott standing on a LIRR Platform as he stared dumbfounded at a note attached to a key…

Jean wavered, sweating as her eyes focused. “You have a psychic link to… Daniel Rand…”

“The Iron Fist,” Colleen mumbled without explanation.

“Scott and I share something similar,” Jean said smugly. She hated to seem catty, but it just seemed to come out. She wondered, but moved on, going silent as she extended her senses, blocking away the psychic babble as she searched the world over for Misty Knight…

“Europe,” she finally said, a jolt of energy making her jerk from her psychic trance. Colleen flinched as well shaking her head and looking pale and withdrawn. She looked at Jean hopefully.

“The Balkan states. I’ll need to be closer to narrow the field. But she is definitely there, and hurting. Cold and afraid.”

“No…” Colleen whispered, coming out of her transcendent state. “We need to go… Save her!”

“We will,” Jean said coming back into herself, holding Colleen’s hands firmly. “We’ll find her.” Jean turned to Scott standing quietly in the background.

“The Blackbird,” she said and he nodded.

“That won’t be necessary,” another voice said from the hall. Jean Grey started and turned taken totally unawares. Her eyes widened to see the Thing and Iron-Man standing in the doorway, Jameson and Brown standing behind.

“Your Blackbird’s cute,” the Iron Man’s voice echoed metallically, “but I have a Quinjet.”

The Carpathian Mountains
Carpatti Meridionali
Romania…

Misty Knight woke with a start.

It was dim in the cave as she struggled to come awake, dim and cold. The fire she had started was still smoldering offering a slight ruddy glow. She could vaguely see Midnight still hunkering against the wall, hugging himself, Arcane still sprawled, laid out flat on the floor. Snow was piled up about the opening of the cleft ands there was the slight hiss and whine of wind but it seemed that the blizzard had finally blown itself out.

Chink-chuk-crunch…

Eyes wide Misty scrambled forward. She fell to the cave’s floor as her dead right arm gave out beneath her. Cursing she rose up, shivering in the chill as she got to her feet. Her left hand drifted to her holster, pausing as she recalled that she was out of bullets. She drew the gun regardless; good as a rock she figured.

Ch-Chik

If it was more wolves, they were screwed. No way she could fend them off again with a dead weight arm and an empty gun. She looked to Midnight and saw that he would be no help, and though Arcane looked better, younger he was still out cold. Misty moved towards the front of the cave.

Chuk… Chuk…

A silhouette appeared at the mouth of the cave, not a wolf thank god. A man! All that she could see was the black shadow, though, a man wearing a cloak or long coat against the cold by the look. Misty raised her gun as the snow started to fall aside, away…

The glare of evening’s light kept the man in shadow as he stepped just within, dusk falling outside. He was tall and shrouded in the dark, standing at the edge of her vision. Misty held her gun up, outstretched in her left hand and aiming pointlessly.

“I’ll shoot,” she said trying to steel her voice, hoping her bluff sounded convincing. She heard the man chuckle.

“This is too amusing. Three of my bane gathered together and at my mercy. There truly is a God, though I think it is the one best described by Milton. A bitter, angry deity that thrives on obscurity and revenge.”

Misty Knight pulled the hammer of her Magnum back, still playing the bluff as the man swaggered forward. He stepped into the rough red glow of their fire and her eyes went wide in recognition.

“Aww… fuck.”

“Indeed.”

Dracula smiled bearing his teeth then laughed long and hard…

NEXT ISSUE: Oh No! Misty Knight, Midnight and Eric Arcane are in DEEP SHIT! They were all integral in stymieing Dracula’s plans some months back, and now they are at his mercy. The Lord of the Undead will seek his revenge unless Tony Stark and Phoenix get their collective act together and find the wayward trio in time for the cavalry to arrive. Will they? We’ll find out soon enough, but for now go read Tomb of Dracula elsewhere on Marvel Omega to see things from the other side…out in just a few short days!