THE GATHERING STORM

Part II: The Uncertainty Principle

By George Cameron

Seagate Prison, Georgia

Hawkeye strolled down the corridors of Seagate Prison, choosing to visit the notorious facility in his famous costume. It wasn’t that long ago that he himself had been a prisoner at Seagate, and there was a part of him that had to suppress a chill at being back in the rough-and-tumble environment. The guard that walked with him didn’t respond at all, even as the prisoners in the cells that the pair passed yelled at, insulted, and even spat a few times at Hawkeye.

“Didn’t know I was such a popular guy,” Hawkeye remarked humorously to the guard.

“Oh, they love you here, Avenger,” the guard replied. “Some of ‘em was sad to see ya go.”

“I’m not an Avenger anymore,” Hawkeye said, his response almost automatic. It had become a habit for him to respond as such since leaving the Avengers to join the Thunderbolts, but he didn’t realize just how strongly he felt about it sometimes.

The guard shrugged, stopping in front of one of the cells. “Whatever you say. Here we are.” And with that, he began inputting the access code on the panel next to the cell, and in a few seconds, the door slid open.

Hawkeye nodded his thanks to the guard, and stepped inside the cell. It wasn’t much different than any other prison cell in any other prison, but it was a little more spacious than Hawkeye had expected. Then again, he thought to himself, the prisoner had certainly earned himself some creature comforts. Besides a very basic bed, toilet, and sink, there was also a small table with two chairs, upon which several books and magazines were stacked.

The prisoner himself rose to greet Hawkeye. He was tall and muscular, and moved like a man with military training, which he had, despite having washed out of the armed forces when he was younger. He had dark chocolate skin and hard, deep brown eyes, eyes which narrowed just slightly upon seeing Hawkeye. He ran a hand over his smooth, bald head, and extended the other to Hawkeye. “So what brings you here, Barton?” he asked.

Hawkeye met the hand of Donald Joshua Clendenon, who had once gone by the moniker of Cardinal, and offered him a friendly smile. “Thunderbolts business, Harrier,” he replied, using the codename that Clendenon had taken when he accepted Hawkeye’s offer to join his new Thunderbolts. “Can we talk?”

Harrier nodded, and indicated one of the chairs at the small table. Hawkeye sat, joined a moment later by Harrier. “I never got a chance to tell you how proud I was of you that you chose to come back here with Abe. It took guts.”

“Well, I couldn’t let him do it alone, boss-man,” Harrier replied. “Wouldn’t have been right. You taught me that.”

Hawkeye nodded at Harrier’s words. Though he and Harrier had a complicated history because of the manipulations of the Crimson Cowl, Harrier’s time as a Thunderbolt had helped to repair the damage, and they’d parted ways with a modicum of mutual respect. And if Harrier was going to agree to what Hawkeye was going to ask of him, Hawkeye would need to test that newly-forged bond.

“I need a favor, Don,” Hawkeye began. “I need your help to find out what this new Crimson Cowl is up to.”

Harrier’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah, I’ve been hearin’ rumors about that.”

“What sort of rumors?” Hawkeye asked.

“Well, I can tell you that the Cowl isn’t Justine Hammer,” Harrier replied, referring to the bearer of the mantle when he himself was recruited into the ranks of the Masters of Evil months ago. “She’s still quite incarcerated.”

Hawkeye nodded. “Yeah, I checked up on that, just to make sure. So if she isn’t Justine, who is she?” he asked.

Harrier shrugged. “Not a clue. No one seems to know. What I can tell you is that only a handful of people have encountered her personally. She tends to contact the Masters indirectly. And, Hawk,” Harrier continued, leaning forward slightly, “these new Masters are a lot more dangerous than the ones we went up against.”

“How so?” Hawkeye asked, his curiosity piqued.

“They’re operatin’ almost like a terrorist network,” Harrier replied. “Lots of folks are workin’ with them. They’re startin’ to coordinate, and they’re operatin’ like a damned corporation. Base salaries, profit-sharin’ deals, even pension plans! The Cowl takes a fifty percent cut of any take they make, and they get the security and protection of the Masters.”

“Just like Justine used to do,” Hawkeye said. “Not a bad set-up, I’d say.”

“For you, it is,” Harrier added. “If I were you, I’d be plenty worried about this. Whoever the new Cowl is, she’s not some rank amateur. She and her Masters are securin’ the services of dozens of supercriminals all around the world.”

“What do they want?” Hawkeye asked.

“Not revenge,” Harrier replied. “From what I can see, it’s all about making money, for all of them. The Cowl is keeping her employees very, very happy.”

Harrier stood from his chair, and moved toward one of the barred windows of his cell. Clasping his hands behind his back, he looked out over the night-enshrouded, wave-tossed ocean. “I’m not sure what else I can do for you, Hawk,” he said without turning to Hawkeye. “Can’t do much from this fishbowl, y’know?”

Hawkeye also stood, his expression one of inner conflict. And he certainly was internally conflicted with what he was about to do. But he realized that, from his time as a Thunderbolt, sometimes these things needed to be done in order to stop a greater injustice. “What if I could get you outta here? Would you agree to help me?”

Harrier turned to Hawkeye then, his own expression one of surprise, shock, and not a little bit of curiosity. “How? I’m still serving out a hefty sentence, now with another ten years tacked on from when the Cowl busted me out of here,” he said acidly.

“Well, since I couldn’t get anyone to commute your sentence…” Hawkeye said, raising his right hand… which bore a small device. As soon as Harrier’s eyes were drawn to the device, Hawkeye pressed down on the device’s single button. In that moment, the wall facing the ocean exploded violently in a bright flash of phosphorescent light. Hawkeye and Harrier were both thrown to the ground by the concussion of the explosion, coughing from the smoke that now filled the ruined cell.

As alarms began to blare, a single figure emerged from the smoke. Now clad in her familiar violet, black, and lavender costume, Diamondback stood before the pair, a grin on her features. “Alright, boys, get off your asses and let’s move,” she said almost cheerfully. “Ride’s already waiting for us. Move!”

Hawkeye hesitated for a moment. If he followed through with this, he was going to be stepping over a line that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to step back over again. But if he didn’t do this, something far worse than an impromptu prison break would be worrying this country… not to mention the world. When he thought about it in those terms, the decision wasn’t difficult. He got to his feet, and offered Harrier his hand.

“Welcome to the Redeemers, Harrier,” Hawkeye said as Harrier accepted his hand.

And with that, the trio leapt from the massive hole in Harrier’s cell, and were gone.

A few floors down, a very unique prisoner observed the departure of Hawkeye, Diamondback, and Harrier from Seagate Prison. He observed as the trio descended the wall rapidly, and then quickly made it into a small, oceangoing craft that was waiting for them in the rocky shoals that surrounded Seagate on all sides. After embarking on the craft, they sped away before the guards could even begin to head out in pursuit.

Stepping away from the barred window of his cell, Marvin Flumm smiled. The man known most infamously as Mentallo sat on the edge of his bed, wondering after the ramifications of what he’d just witnessed. He knew Clint Barton to be a morally upstanding man, despite his lengthy association with such individuals as Moonstone and his old friend, the Fixer. If he was breaking criminals out of prison… well, a part of him wondered what was happening that would drive a man to such drastic actions.

He reached his hands up to his head, where a device was currently installed in order to prevent him from using his telepathic powers. After S.H.I.E.L.D. had recovered Headlok, whose body he had used to organize the Chain Gang consisting of “Headlok,” Hawkeye, Cottonmouth, and Plantman in order to escape Seagate, he’d been restored to his own body. His powers were then neutralized with an experimental unit provided by the X-Men, after that group of mutant outlaws had gone public last year. Now, more than ever, he wished he could just reach out with his thoughts and find out what Barton was up to.

Suddenly, he felt the air pressure in his cell change just as yellowish energies began to swirl into existence in his cell. Standing to his feet in an involuntary reaction of panic, he watched as the energies formed a portal of some sort, from which two figures emerged. Figures he recognized. The beautiful but treacherous Thunderbolt known as Moonstone… and his old partner and ally in many a criminal venture, the Fixer.

“Hiya, Flumm,” Fixer said in a rather chipper tone. “Wanna get out of here?”

Mentallo’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “You’ve come to break me out, Ebersol?” he asked, with a touch of hope in his voice.

Fixer nodded, glancing at Moonstone before returning his gaze to Mentallo. “Sorta.”

“Sort of?” Mentallo exclaimed. “What could the Thunderbolts possibly want with me? I’m not much for altruistic gestures of reformation.”

Fixer shook his head. “It’s not like that, Flumm. I actually need your help with a new project I’m workin’ on.”

“What sort of project…?” Mentallo asked. A touch of fear began to claw its way into his stomach. Something wasn’t right here.

“We do not have time for this, Norbert,” Moonstone suddenly said, raising an open palm toward Mentallo. Before the man could react, a shaft of bright, topaz light emerged from her palm to slam into Mentallo’s chest, knocking him into the opposite wall of his cell violently. He slumped to the cold metal floor, unconscious.

Fixer turned to regard Moonstone as Mentallo passed out. “Was that really necessary?”

Moonstone raised a single eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

Fixer shrugged. “Not really,” he replied as a pair of mechanical arms began to extend from his Tech-Pack. The manipulators at the end of the arms picked up Mentallo gently, and the two Thunderbolts stepped back through the teleportational gravity well that Moonstone had opened.

And as quickly as they’d arrived, the two Thunderbolts were gone, with no evidence that they’d ever been there.

Stormfront-1, North Sea

High above the headquarters complex of the Thunderbolts, Songbird soared on wings made of solid sound. If not for the insulation and heating units within her costume, she’d probably be freezing, because the North Sea was a very unpleasant area of the world, as far as the weather went. It was cold, and terrible storms constantly wracked the freezing waters, causing waves to constantly pound the small, rocky island upon which the Thunderbolts had placed their headquarters.

Stormfront-1 was a marvel of engineering, at least in Songbird’s opinion. The massive complex covered almost the entire surface area of the island, with several towers rising twenty stories at their tallest. Landing facilities, extensive sensors and communications equipment, and built-in defense systems were all comprised through the exterior. Within, Stormfront-1 had everything that the Thunderbolts could need. Living quarters, a massive galley, a workout and training area, weapons storage, a central control room, a mechanical workshop, an entire wing dedicated to recreational facilities, and a massive hangar bay were all situated within Stormfront-1.

All of it had been made possible by Baron Zemo. Fixer had done the majority of the work, refurbishing an old and abandoned A.I.M. facility that he’d come across while serving as a section leader in HYDRA. He had deleted the records of the base’s existence and location years ago, and after the Thunderbolts had returned from Counter-Earth, he seemed to recall the facility offhandedly, as if it had just come to his attention after those long years. And, knowing Fixer, he might just be telling the truth.

Songbird banked in the air, her wings flapping like those of a real avian as she indulged herself in her most private pleasure. Like of all of her sonic constructs, her wings appeared to be fashioned out of solidified magenta energy, held together by a process even she couldn’t begin to explain. The technology had been stolen from the supervillain Klaw by Fixer, and adapted to her own cybernetically-altered vocal chords. The carapace that she wore over her shoulders and upper torso altered the sonic energy that her vocal chords enhanced and converted it into a solid form, making her dependent on the technology for her powers.

It’s not the only power I have, though, she thought to herself. In recent months, her original abilities had begun to return: the ability to create higher-range harmonics with her voice, which could have deleterious effects on those unfortunate enough to be subjected to them. She had demonstrated the ability to influence the actions of others, the ability to induce uncontrollable hallucinations, and even cause pain and unconsciousness. She wasn’t sure why her original abilities were returning, but she didn’t question them, either.

Songbird began to descend toward the shore of the eastern side of the island, where a familiar figure sat watching the waves crash violently against the rock face. As her feet touched the barren, uneven ground, she allowed her wings to dissipate, and placed her hand on the shoulder of Atlas.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked her friend.

Atlas turned his head to regard her, but didn’t stand up. “Just watchin’ the waves,” he replied, looking out over the horizon. The sky was dark and angry, as it usually was, with occasional flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder.

Somehow appropriate, Songbird thought to herself as she sat down next to Atlas.

“Is everything okay, Erik?” she inquired, looking over at him. His expression was unreadable, but he looked troubled.

“Well, I dunno,” Atlas responded. “Do you really think what we’re doin’ is wrong, Mel?” He heaved a sigh. “After we got back from Counter-Earth, and we first set this place up, I thought we’d be doing what we were doin’ there. And we did, for a while… y’know, we stopped wastin’ time fightin’ superhumans and spent time fixin’ and buildin’ and helpin’ people who really needed it, all over the world.”

Songbird nodded, carefully considering what Atlas was telling her. “Yeah, we have,” she said. “And look at all the good we’ve done over the last six months. We’ve helped feed starving children in Africa. We’ve helped rebuild tsunami-devastated communities in Asia. We’ve helped combat terrorism in the Middle East. We’ve forged useful political alliances. And for the first time, we’ve got the world thinking that maybe we really have changed. Isn’t that what we wanted, Erik?”

“Yeah, Mel,” Atlas replied, nodding. “And I gotta tell ya, it feels really good to finally be walkin’ the right path, y’know? But this thing with Batroc’s Brigade, and before with the Circus of Crime…”

“What about it, Erik?” Songbird asked.

“Well, is this what heroes do, Mel?” he asked, meeting her gaze. “Because somethin’ just feels… wrong… about what we’re doin’.”

Songbird considered her answer for a moment before she gave it. “I’m not proud of the threats and the blackmail,” she replied carefully. “Clint wouldn’t be doing what Zemo is doing. But I don’t think it’s as simple as that.”

“No?” Atlas asked. “Shouldn’t it be, though?”

Songbird shook her head. “To be honest, I’m not sure. But is it really that bad to cut a few corners if the end result is worth it, Erik?” She wasn’t sure if she was asking Atlas, or herself.

However, before Atlas could answer her, Songbird’s uniform comlink buzzed. “Vantage to Songbird,” came the slightly distorted voice of Dallas Riordan.

Songbird reached up to tap the comlink, opening the channel. “Songbird here. What’s up, Dal?”

Vantage’s voice radiated with concern. “Get up to the control room, Mel. You’re going to want to see this.”

Several minutes later, Songbird and Atlas entered the control room that was at the heart of Stormfront-1. Vantage was seated at one of the consoles on the raised, circular platform that dominated the center of the room, along with Zemo, who stood just behind her. His expression was one of almost predatory interest, and both of them were fixated on whatever they were watching on her screen.

When the door closed behind them, Zemo turned to regard them. “Songbird, Atlas, you’re here. Good. I want you both to see this.” He looked down at Vantage. “Riordan, would you please put that on the main viewer?” he asked.

A moment later, the massive viewscreen on the far wall was displaying a news report, beamed in by satellite feed from the United States. The head and shoulders of an anchorwoman could be seen, as well as a smaller screen-within-a-screen on the upper right. The smaller screen bore a display image of a place they all recognized: Seagate Prison, off the coast of Georgia.

“—authorities have been unable to determine how the prisoner, identified as Donald Joshua Clendenon, managed to escape from the Seagate facility, as the prison’s extensive surveillance system had been rendered inoperable. Officials suspect that deliberate sabotage was involved. Clendenon, more notoriously known as the supercriminal Cardinal, had returned voluntarily to Seagate several weeks ago to serve out the remainder of his sentence, and by all accounts had been a model prisoner, causing authorities to question the reasons behind his escape. It is unknown at this time if Clendenon, a former member of the so-called Masters of Evil organization, is connected to a rumored resurgence and reorganization of the infamous supercriminal association, which has committed countless criminal acts throughout the years…”

Zemo regarded Songbird and Atlas evenly, gauging their reactions. Songbird didn’t disappoint him. “The Masters are back?” she exclaimed incredulously. “When were you going to tell us this?” She didn’t bother to ask him if he knew about it before now. This was Zemo, after all.

“When you needed to know,” Zemo said, shrugging. “They’ve been quiet before now, keeping just below the radar. I assumed the Avengers would take care of the problem.”

At that moment, Moonstone phased through the screen, and descended to the floor slowly. “I agree with Melissa,” Moonstone said as she halted her descent, hovering mere inches above the floor. “And if the Masters are active again, we need to deal with them.”

Zemo turned to regard Moonstone, giving her a rather pointed look. The others couldn’t see his expression, but Moonstone knew it for what it was: he believed she was garnering sympathy with the others. “Is that so?” Zemo asked.

Moonstone nodded. “The Thunderbolts would be dealing with a menace to society, and the Avengers would look incompetent for not dealing with it sooner. Both results are ones that you should find both productive and satisfying.”

After a moment’s consideration, Zemo nodded. “You’re absolutely right, Karla,” he said, a smile beginning to form. Then he turned his head to regard Vantage. “Riordan, begin a search for these so-called Masters,” he said. “Start double-checking any reports we come across, and find a target we can put the pressure on, to flush the rest of them out.”

Vantage nodded, and began working again at her computer console. She was already trained as a law enforcement officer, and her skills would be of particular value to the Thunderbolts in finding the Masters. Zemo nodded approvingly, and then turned to Songbird and Atlas.

“Songbird, Atlas,” he began, “I’d like you to start running combat drills with Blackheath, starting immediately. I want the team in fighting trim once Vantage has completed her task.”

Songbird and Atlas both nodded, and they both turned to leave. After they’d departed, Zemo turned to Moonstone. “I’d like to speak with you in my office, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly,” Moonstone said, and with the smallest of gestures, she initiated a gravity shunt that saw the two of them almost instantaneously in Zemo’s office, which was located on the top floor of one of Stormfront-1’s towers. His office was sparsely decorated, as most of his personal effects had been left behind in his Central American castle when S.H.I.E.L.D. had seized the facility. Large windows formed the wall on the far end of the office, allowing visitors a view of the turbulent, yet oddly humbling, North Sea.

Zemo went to stand at the window, his gaze reaching out over the North Sea, but Moonstone didn’t bother to move. She merely hovered slightly off the floor, her expression one of pure neutrality. As soon as Zemo had clasped his hands behind his back, he spoke.

“Would you mind telling me what that display was all about, Karla?” Zemo asked, getting right to the point.

Moonstone shrugged. “Would you have preferred if we’d just ignored Melissa’s question?” she asked. “I decided it would be wiser to seize control of the situation before it got out of hand.”

“You ‘decided,’ did you?” Zemo asked. He turned to face Moonstone just slightly, presenting his profile to her. “You wouldn’t be laying the groundwork to supplant me, would you?”

Moonstone laughed then, a decidedly unpleasant sound. “Why, Helmut, don’t you trust me?”

Zemo just regarded her evenly, letting his silence speak for him. Moonstone shrugged again, clearly disinterested in debating the point with him. Instead, she began to hover closer to the desk. “What do you make of this situation with Harrier?” she asked Zemo.

“I don’t,” Zemo replied. “Why?” He watched her carefully, seeing… something… slip past the mask of indifference that she wore. “You think Barton’s involved.”

This time, Moonstone’s silence spoke for her. Zemo chuckled. “Really, Karla, do you believe that your oh-so-morally-upstanding ex-boyfriend would break a man out of prison?”

“Well,” Moonstone began, “Abe comes to mind.”

Zemo nodded. “You have a point, Karla. So if Barton is responsible for Harrier’s escape, the only question left to ask is why he would help a convict escape from prison.”

Moonstone considered that for a moment. “After we returned from Counter-Earth, Harrier made it pretty clear that he was returning to Seagate to watch Abe’s back. Maybe we should try asking Abe,” she said.

“I agree,” Zemo said. He looked at her, and turned now to fully face her. “What’s on your mind, Karla?”

“Well,” Moonstone began, “inevitably, Vantage is going to force us to step up our schedule, Helmut. There is no getting around that.”

“So what are you suggesting?” Zemo asked.

“I will arrange to have her discover information that will suggest the Masters are going to intercept a shipment of black-market nuclear warheads,” Moonstone said.

Zemo’s eyes widened just noticeably. “The warheads I was already planning on confiscating from the al-Qaeda terrorists in Paris?” he asked incredulously.

“We will still gain the goodwill that we were hoping for by returning the warheads to the Indian government,” Moonstone replied. “But more importantly, it will keep Vantage clear of our more important plans.”

“And you trust the Masters not to abscond with the warheads?” Zemo asked.

Moonstone shook her head. “Of course not,” she replied. “If the Masters become a problem, I will take care of them.”

Zemo nodded, approving of her impromptu plan-within-a-plan. “The others could use the exercise. Go, and do what needs to be done,” he said, turning his back to her to once again regard the turbulent, storm-tossed sea.

Moonstone raised an eyebrow at Zemo’s dismissal, but nonetheless initiated a gravity shunt, and in a flash of yellow-white light, she was gone.

Paris, France

Diamondback had to admit to herself that she enjoyed her work. She could barely recall a time when she didn’t don a costume, whether she was doing so on behalf of the defunct Serpent Society, or alongside Captain America once she saw herself through his eyes. For better or worse, this was her life, and there wasn’t any crime in enjoying it, was there? She liked to think that she wasn’t all grim about it, like Steve… and if anyone had a reason to be grim about the life, it was Rachel Leighton.

She ran a hand through her hair, which she’d restored to that perfect shade of magenta which she favored, and cast her eyes back down on the area that she had under surveillance. She sat atop one of the many abandoned, block-shaped buildings that dominated this section of Paris’s warehouse district, her gaze fixed on the three Punjabi men that she’d pegged right away as terrorists. Not because of racial profiling, but because of what they were bringing in to storage: five nuclear warheads, transported disassembled, which they were even now offloading from a nondescript cargo truck.

While Hawkeye had gone on to the next phase of his plan, Diamondback had followed a report from her source in the Masters of Evil that had informed her about the transportation of the warheads this evening, and where to intercept them. She wasn’t entirely certain what these terrorists had to do with the Masters of Evil, but she’d find out soon enough…

…sooner than she thought, as it turned out. For in a sudden flash of bright, white light, seven figures suddenly appeared in the midst of the gathered terrorists. Seven individuals that she was quite familiar with. Klaw. Graviton. The Living Laser. The Abomination. Bullseye. Sandman. Nebula.

The Masters of Evil had arrived.

As the terrorists drew their weapons and prepared to kill the new arrivals, the Masters demonstrated just how lethal they were. Klaw unleashed waves of sonic energy that washed over a pair of terrorists, killing them almost instantly from cerebral hemorrhaging. Graviton gestured skyward with his right hand, causing three of the terrorists to be flung into the air at breakneck speed. The Living Laser bolted around the area at the speed of light, lasing through his opponents and leaving five of the terrorists dead, perfectly circular, cauterized holes burned into their torsos. The Abomination grabbed two of the terrorists and smashed them into each other, creating a messy pile of gore at his feet. Bullseye tossed a trio of shuriken at three of the terrorists, which embedded themselves with unerring accuracy between each pair of their eyes. Sandman shifted into his infamous mineral form, engulfing the leader of this particular terrorist cell and ripping the flesh off his bones in a violent sandstorm of his own creation. The last three terrorists found their chest cavities ventilated, courtesy of Nebula’s wrist-mounted plasma pistols.

As Nebula’s targets dropped to the ground, dead before they hit the cold pavement, she regarded the others with a sardonic grin. “Well, that was ridiculously easy,” she stated.

Bullseye yawned. “Such a waste of my talent.”

“That’s enough, Bullseye,” Klaw said commandingly. “The Cowl wants these warheads, so let’s get to it, shall we?”

Diamondback shifted in her hiding place, every fiber of her being telling her that they could not be allowed to steal nuclear weapons. She also knew, though, that she’d not last any longer than the terrorists that they’d just massacred, and she hesitated. What should I do? she asked herself. What would Steve do?

A moment later, a bright flash illuminated the darkness, causing Diamondback to look up from the scene before her. A few meters above the ground, bright swirls of yellow-white energy began to coalesce out of thin air, quickly forming a seething vortex of gravimetric energy. Diamondback, in her surprise, stood from her hiding place to regard what she knew to be one of Moonstone’s teleportational gravity wells.

Indeed, all seven of the would-be heroes emerged from the spatial distortion. Zemo, clad in his magenta mask and already brandishing his sword. Songbird, borne aloft on wings of solid sound. Atlas, who stood at a comfortable twenty feet in height. The Fixer, his Tech-Pack having already produced several energy weapons. Vantage, her extendable omnium-steel bo-staff held at the ready. Blackheath, already producing shoots and vines from his verdant body. And Moonstone, hovering several feet above the ground in the apex of her gravity well, calming watching it all.

Zemo pointed his sword at the Masters. “End of the road, villains,” he said resolutely.

Sandman laughed at that statement, growing slightly in stature even as his arms shifted into gigantic, spiked maces of solid sand. “Oh, this oughta be loads of fun,” he said with a wicked grin.

NEXT: The Thunderbolts and the Masters of Evil, Round One! Diamondback gets closer to discovering the fate of Black Mamba and Asp, while Hawkeye and Harrier decide to do a little bar-hopping in order to reunite with another old friend. And Vantage discovers the fate of the Thunderbolts’ captured foes… as “THE GATHERING STORM” continues!