Donnie Gill slowly wrapped his lips over the inhaler. He pushed down on the dispenser and the technology-derived drug neuroin sent a jolt through his system. The inhaler fell from his now-loose grip and every one of his muscles felt lax and fluid.

He fell back on the bed, located in his quarters in the Hydra base. Donnie’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, his entire body tingling. Imagine the best orgasm you’ve ever had, multiply it by a factor of about a thousand, and you’d come close to what Donnie Gill felt whenever he dosed.

The intercom in his room crackled to life and the voice of Bentley Wittman, the Wizard, echoed within the four walls. “It’s ready, Donald. We’re just waiting on you.”

Donnie knew it was time to go, but he felt like just laying here. Slowly, carefully, he rolled on the bed and fell on the floor. Laughing, he braced his hands against the cold linoleum and pushed himself up. He grabbed the wall for support, trying to convince his leg muscles that it was now time to go solid.

Neuroin disrupts the workings of the brain. Suddenly it was several years earlier. Donnie was in his original Blizzard suit. Developed by Gregor Shapanka who first wore it and given to Gill by Justin Hammer. For Donnie, it was an incredible rush. The power that suit held, he felt like a god.

Until of course he was defeated. It was a humiliating experience, and yet Donnie longed for the chance to put the suit on again, to prove that he was worth something.

It was a few months ago. Donnie’s first time inside Castle Zemo. After being one of the lucky few who remained with Moonstone in the Red Skull’s reality, one of the few recalled the way the world really was, he was invited by Zemo to join the Thunderbolts.

“Good to have you onboard, Blizzard. Looking forward to working with you.” Abner Jenkins, his helmet off, in his shiny, new MACH-IV armor. What an arrogant, pompous, condescending ass. Donnie knew what Jenkins was really saying—“Why the hell did Zemo waste his time with a Z-lister like you? It’s gonna be fun watching you fuck up in the field.”

Now he was outside Castle Zemo, training alongside the rest of the Thunderbolts. A simple “capture the flag” exercise. This was it, the big leagues. And Donnie felt like a freshman who had just been promoted to the varsity team. Jack O’Lantern threw a large pumpkin bomb and Donnie reacted in a panic, throwing his arms up and generating a sub-zero blast to freeze it in mid-air. That’ll show him, won’t it?

“Are you insane, Gill?”

The Fixer. Donnie looked up and saw another missile coming towards him. The Fixer shouted over its roar: “When I said I got this one, that means stay out of my way! I locked onto it with a heat-seeker, you dumb shit!”

“Relax Fix, I got this,” said MACH-IV, a repulsor burst destroying the Fixer’s missile.

“Goddamit Gill, where the fuck were you when they were handing out sense, jerking off?” demanded the Fixer.

“Ease up on him,” said MACH-IV.

Translation: Don’t make fun of the retarded.

MACH-IV looked down at Blizzard and Donnie could just picture Abe’s smug smile beneath that helmet. “No worries, man.”

Translation: Just let me know when you need your diaper changed.

Donnie watched as Songbird landed beside MACH-IV. The hell does she see in that guy? Pompous bastard.

“Gill! Are you joining us or what?”

The crackle of the speaker again. Donnie struggled to get to the intercom, kicking aside spent neuroin containers that littered the ground. He pushed the talk button. “Yeah Wiz, I’m on my way right now.”

COLD SNAP

By Steve Seinberg and Dino Pollard

Castle Zemo

A round, metal table sat in the center of Castle Zemo’s war room. In the center of the table was a gold circle and inside it, the letter T in the style of a lightning bolt. Eleven chairs were gathered around the table, each one occupied by the current Thunderbolts.

Beneath the purple mask he wore to conceal his face, Zemo cringed with every movement. During Baron Strucker’s assault on the Castle, one of the three moonstones Zemo held in his possession was forcibly removed from his body by Graviton. The remaining two moonstones in conjunction with the Fixer’s technology had allowed Zemo to heal from what would have normally been a fatal wound, but the pain was still there.

A reminder, he thought, not to let his pride get the better of him.

“It seems things are as I suspected. Now that the Swordsman has killed his father and ascended to the Supreme Leader of Hydra, he won’t be back,” he began. “Blizzard has gone with him and we can only assume the two of them had some sort of arrangement.”

“It’s not like we’re really losing much by getting rid of that damn junkie.” The voice of Steven Levins, the Jack O’Lantern, who looked quite different without the flaming pumpkin that his teammates have come to know him by.

“Be that as it may, this is still a setback for us,” said Zemo. “One of the reasons I wanted Wolfgang dead was because I wanted Hydra’s resources. Despite Andreas’ reassurance that he is still on our side, I’m wary of him.” Zemo’s eyes drifted over to the Fixer and Abomination. “I realize that some of you wanted to launch a preemptive strike against Wolfgang, yet I protested. I understand things look bleak right now. It seems as if all we have gained from waiting for Strucker to move first was to lose some of our own numbers as well as relocate the Castle to a secure pocket dimension.”

“So what did we accomplish by sitting on our asses?” asked Bullseye.

“First off, we know who we can and can’t trust,” said the Fixer.

“Regardless of what happened to us, Wolfgang von Strucker is dead. That means we have shifted a certain set of power dynamics, dynamics that extend beyond Hydra,” said Zemo. “We may have lost this battle, but our cause in the greater war has been advanced.”

“What war would that be?” asked Lady Mastermind.

“Now is not the time for those details, but I will say this—you have all remained by my side this long and your trust will be rewarded,” said Zemo. “All I ask is for an extension of that trust.”

“Trust me, Donald—we will soon make a warrior of you.”

The voice of Baron Zemo when he invited Donnie to remain with the Thunderbolts. Going up against the likes of the Wrecking Crew, government agents, even the Red Skull himself. He remembered Zemo placing him on the Thunderbolts’ short-lived “public” team, one that would play the role of the reformed villains. Even now, Donnie still wasn’t sure if that meant Zemo felt he was too noble to be one of the covert assassins…or simply too inept.

Donnie moved through the corridors of the facility, avoiding the disgusted looks of the Hydra agents who roamed the halls. Donnie glared at them in response. He was just waiting for one of them to try and confront him. Just give me an excuse, you fucking bastards.

He knew what they were thinking, that he was nothing more than the new boss’ junkie pet. Someone who didn’t deserve everything he’d been given. The hell did they know? They didn’t know what it was like to be Donnie Gill, to have to suffer for years of abuse at the hands of any number of superheroes and then to be mocked by his fellow villains behind his back.

Fuck ’em, self-righteous pricks. Let’s see them go up against Iron Man. Probably shit their pants.

Here, he was powerful. Here, he was strong. Not like with the Thunderbolts, where even nobodies like the Jack O’Lantern would sneer at him. All that pressure, and how it’s what started him on the drugs. What came next was a spiral, and the only way to fend off paying the price of his addiction was to keep it up. To the point that he went to the Fixer for something better and stronger than smack.

He knew that at some point, the jig would be up. But maybe now, all that would change. Donnie rounded a corner, finding himself facing the door leading to the workshop of the Wingless Wizard.

Otto Octavius walked up the granite steps of the old church. Night had fallen and the place would be vacant. From beneath his trench coat, one of his metal arms snaked out, about to burst through the door. But at the slightest touch, the door opened.

Doctor Octopus prepared himself, readying his tentacles for any sort of attack he might receive. Perhaps Zemo and the Thunderbolts had tracked him down? Or maybe it was someone else.

The lights came on and Doctor Octopus relaxed his natural arms, the trench coat falling off and his tentacles came to life, extending and prepped to strike at the first target he saw.

“Calm yourself, Doctor.”

Octavius spun and found three people facing him. One was a red man who had a large device where one of his arms should be. Another was a man made of pure energy. And between them a feminine figure in a form-fitting scarlet body stocking with a voluminous cloak and cowl concealing her face.

“After all, you’re the one who requested this meeting,” said the Crimson Cowl.

“Ms. Hammer, I presume,” said Octavius.

“Precisely. And you know my associates?”

“Klaw and the Living Laser, yes.”

“Your message was somewhat surprising. So you’ve got my attention for the moment, Otto. But you’d better have something significant to say if you intend to keep it,” said the Crimson Cowl.

“I understand you’ve signed on some enforcers, some of whom would like to get a shot at Helmut Zemo. And I also know that ultimately, you’re gunning for your father and his shadowy co-conspirators,” said Doctor Octopus.

“You seem to know quite a lot, Doctor.”

“I like to keep my arms full,” said Octavius, grinning at his pun.

“Assuming your information is even correct, what do I care if you know about all this?” asked the Crimson Cowl. “You’re approaching me and so far you’ve shown me that you have nothing to bargain with.”

“I’m surprised at you, Justine. Information is the most valuable commodity,” said Octavius.

“What is this, blackmail? If you’re threatening to tattle to SHIELD or Zemo, you need to have a bit more to offer,” said the Living Laser.

“Dead men tell no tales,” said Klaw, raising his sonic weapon.

The Cowl held up both her hands, a signal for her bodyguards to steady themselves. “I must apologize for their behavior. They’re simply doing their jobs. But they do make a very good point—what exactly are you after?”

“I want to help you,” said Octavius. “I’m offering you my own mind in exchange for my own shot at Zemo.”

“Brilliant as you are, Doctor, you may be more trouble than you’re worth,” said the Crimson Cowl. “You were one of Zemo’s Thunderbolts until recently, which leads me to believe you turned on him and he found out. Now, you’re after me because you want my protection? How do I know you won’t throw me under the bus once you get a better offer?”

“Very astute, my dear. If you can’t trust me, you can at least trust that I will always act in my own best interests. And as you said, I was one of the Thunderbolts until recently. That means I have copious amounts of intel on Zemo’s resources, his troops, and his plans. I was also your father’s mole inside the Thunderbolts. So that means at the moment, I know more about your two greatest enemies than anyone else.”

The Crimson Cowl crossed her arms, and Octavius knew she was considering his position. Behind his sunglasses, he carefully eyed Klaw. He felt bothered by this nagging sensation that Klaw was doing something to the soundscape in the church, but what it was he didn’t know and he couldn’t hear anything. It was simply an instinct and Otto had learned long ago to trust those beyond all else.

“Okay, Otto. This will probably be a big mistake, but hopefully our enemies will be dead before it comes to that,” said the Crimson Cowl. “Welcome to the Masters of Evil, Doctor Octopus.”

Donnie approached the Wizard’s workshop. Here he was, off to see the Wizard, just like Dorothy. And like Dorothy, he wondered if what awaited him behind that curtain was what he really wanted. Dorothy’s ruby slippers came into his mind as well, one momentarily-clear snowflake in the blizzard of neuroin-fueled thoughts that swirled about his mind in a snowglobe fashion. He thought of his own recent pair of ruby slippers…

“The Crimson Dynamo armor,” Andreas told him as the two of them and the Wizard ran through these very halls. The portal to Castle Zemo had just closed and now they were off to find Baron Strucker. Just ahead, the Baron was waiting, practically begging his son to slice off his head and hand as a greeting.

The Wizard stopped them and led them to a sealed door. Wittman looked down at his gauntlet and a compartment opened with a small touch screen. Wittman hit a few buttons, entering a password and the door slid open. The lights came on in the small lab. In the center of it was the Crimson Dynamo armor, the same one the Unicorn had helped the Wizard locate in some mothballed Russian weapons depot. Now fully restored and gleaming in the light.

“Put it on, Donald,” said the Swordsman.

Donnie stepped up to the suit and it opened up, the various panels and compartments making way. Still wearing the Blizzard suit, Donnie stepped inside and the armor closed up around him. The heads up display began transmitting diagnostic checks and boot-up sequences across his retina, lines of code that Donnie had no way of comprehending. Then things he recognized started flashing—such as a list of available weapons onboard the armor.

The Blizzard suit could be impressive, sure. And it definitely elevated Donnie above the level of the usual riff-raff. But this—this was like stepping into invincibility. He wondered if this is what Jenkins and Stark felt like whenever they stepped into their respective armors. In here, he was untouchable. He felt like a destroyer.

However, Donnie knew it was all short-lived. Just a plan to frame the real Dynamo for Strucker’s murder. Once he showed up, Wittman shut down the real Dynamo by remote, as he had done earlier, then the three of them went to down on him, beating up the man’s armor with him still inside it. Completely incapable of fighting back until it looked like he had been on the losing end of a fight.

Donnie had been reluctant to remove his own armor. All that power…now he understood just exactly why that Stark tech was so valuable. And even as he mused on this “guys in armor” phenomenon, one of them came roaring down the hall. Donnie’s own personal demon—Mr. I-Got-It-Made. Mr. I-Bang-Songbird-And-Wear-Invincible-Armor-And-Get-Respect Jenkins.

MACH-IV came in like a rocket, a thick fog behind him indicating that he’d just released tear gas to clear the corridor on his way in. So no Hydra troops, not yet. And Donnie knew what else that meant.

No witnesses.

Donnie felt a roar in his head. Like the neuroin but calming. And Wittman, he’d done something, something that made MACH-IV’s armor stutter. Slowed him down. No longer than a moment, but a moment was all Donnie Gill needed. Everything seemed to be moving in slow-motion and Donnie disengaged one of the Dynamo gauntlets. He threw out his hand, the Blizzard suit he wore beneath the armor unleashing the most powerful, localized cold snap it could muster. Donnie would never try that in the field—the energy it expanded was too great. But now, he poured the entirety of the Blizzard suits battery into that one blast and it freeze-dried both Jenkins’ helmet and that soft, little head kept underneath.

Donnie dropped that hand and threw out the other one, still encased in the Dynamo suit and fired a massive repulsor charge, one that all but exploded Jenkins’ head. And Donnie’s head also exploded—figuratively, anyway. That roar reached a crescendo and at that moment, Donald Gill knew he’d crossed a line. He didn’t know if it was really good or really bad, but he knew no matter what, it was monumental.

That part, at least, felt really good.

“Donald!”

Donnie wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he realized the Swordsman was trying to talk him down. The ice he created around MACH-IV’s head had melted into a puddle, but Donnie had no way of knowing if that was from time or the blast.

“Security feed’s dead, boss,” said the Wizard.

Andreas removed his helmet and the Dynamo’s system formed crosshairs around his handsome features. Andreas stood his ground, not even flinching, even when facing off against this mammoth piece of godhood.

“Donald, it’s time for the next part of our plan,” said Andreas.

Our plan, thought Donnie. That’s right, Andreas had treated him as an equal. The three of them, they came up with this together. A way for Andreas to take over his father’s empire, to flip Zemo the bird, and for Donnie to gain the respect he deserved.

“But you know what that means, Donald—you need to get out of the suit. I promised you that you would be rewarded for your help and you will be—you just need to wait a little bit longer,” said Andreas.

“Right…right,” said Donnie. He powered down the armor and slipped it off. Wittman stepped up to it, activating some Pym particles he stole and shrinking down the armor to the size of a housefly so he could hide it in one of his compartments. No evidence that there were two Dynamos.

Still, Donnie felt naked without it. And as he looked down at the real Dynamo’s banged up armor, then at the headless MACH-IV, an idea began to form in his mind. An idea for him to get what he deserved and a way to ram that final nail into Jenkins’ coffin.

Donnie snapped out of his daze, still standing in front of the door to the Wizard’s lab. He reached his hand out and pushed it open. The Wizard and the Swordsman were there, standing in front of something large under a sheet. They faced Donnie as he entered and the Swordsman walked up to him, laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“You know why I called you here,” said Baron Zemo, seated behind his desk with Hawkeye and Songbird standing in front. “Abe is dead and I’d like your thoughts on it. Do you think he played some part in the Swordsman’s plot?”

“The better question is what did you have to do with it?” asked Songbird.

Hawkeye laid a hand on her shoulder. “Mel…”

“That’s quite all right, Barton,” said Zemo. “Melissa, I understand your reservations. But I assure you, I had nothing to do with Abe’s death. He was loyal, he was trustworthy. I gain nothing from his death—on the contrary, I’ve now lost a valuable resource.”

“And that’s all we are to you, isn’t it?” asked Songbird. “Just resources, you cold-hearted ba—”

“Easy Mel,” said Hawkeye again, his voice more firm now. “I believe you, Zemo. So what do you think happened?”

“Gill,” said Zemo.

“Blizzard? Man doesn’t have the stones for something like that,” said Hawkeye.

“Perhaps you underestimated him. Gill had been growing increasingly unstable, or had you forgotten about the incident with him and the Jack O’Lantern?” asked Zemo. “Whether it was due to that or Andreas’ influence—or even a combination—I believe he killed Abe. Both he and Andreas dodged our questions on the matter during their transmission. And I noticed Gill in particular looked away when Melissa inquired about Abe.”

“How’d a nobody like Gill get the drop on Abe is what I wanna know,” said Hawkeye.

“I’m not sure either, but it’s obvious there was something else going on,” said Zemo. “We know Abe followed them through the portal, so I believe he stumbled on their treachery and they killed him because of it.”

Songbird turned her back to Zemo and Hawkeye reached out to her. He felt her body quivering slightly beneath his touch—she was crying, but trying to hide it. She didn’t want to appear weak in front of the Baron and Clint could hardly blame her.

“I hoped it was something else, or that there was some chance Strucker was lying, but that all sounds pretty legit,” he said. “There’s also something else I wanted to talk to you about—I’m leaving. Only reason I stayed on this long was to get rid of Wolfgang and now he’s out of the picture. And I can’t stand this world you’re in, a world where decent guys like Abe end up dead and scumbags like Octavius get away scot-free.”

“So I see,” said Zemo.

Clint studied the man’s body language, expecting Zemo to lash out at any moment with the moonstones. “I should let you know that I’ve already spoken to Stark and he’s offered me my old spot on his team. I’m telling you this because I know you could kill me right now, but doing that would only guarantee the Avengers making you their top priority.”

“That may be true, but there is another factor which I find far more motivating.” Zemo stood and walked around his desk, standing face-to-face with Hawkeye. “You’ve been a man of your word, Barton. You fought by my side and played a valuable role on my team. Despite whatever flaws you may perceive, Helmut Zemo respects true honor when it presents itself. So go, unharmed and unmolested, with my blessing.”

“I appreciate that, Baron.”

“Although just so you are aware, this offer does not extend to the future,” said Zemo. “If we meet again as enemies, I will give you no quarter and I’ll expect none in return.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Hawkeye.

“I assume Melissa will be joining you.”

Songbird still stood with her back to the two men, not even reacting to her name. Hawkeye spoke for her: “She’s not cut out for this kind of work, you know that just as well as I do. Stark’s offered her a spot on the team as well.”

“Very well,” said Zemo. “I will escort you to the teleport bay and the Fixer will transport you wherever you wish to go.”

“I gotta say, I’m impressed,” said the Wizard as Donnie walked up to the sheet-covered object. “You’ve proven to be pretty ruthless, more so than anyone expected.”

“Is this it?” asked Donnie.

“Yeah, that’s it,” said the Wizard. “We took the beat-up Dynamo armor and spruced it up, buffed it out, and added some improvements. Also, we tailored it to the specifications you requested, incorporating all your changes. Gotta say I’m impressed with your new choice of identity—poetic justice and all that.”

“What about the Blizzard suit?” asked Donnie.

“I’ve begun looking into Hydra operatives who will serve as suitable pilots,” said Andreas. “We’ll find someone soon.”

“Yeah, when we go up against the T-Bolts again, they’re definitely gonna have a whole new Donnie Gill to contend with,” said the Wizard. “So go ahead.”

Donnie reached forward, his hands trembling as they gripped the sheet. With one, forceful gesture, he pulled it off. The light shone off the purple and green shell before him, and he looked at his own reflection in the yellow faceplate. This was it, this was what he was waiting for.

“You just gonna stand there or are you gonna put it on?” asked the Wizard.

Donnie smiled, his body shaking partly because of the neuroin and partly because of his excitement at stepping into his future. He climbed into the carapace, the tank-like shell closing up around him. The suit powered up and began transmitting the boot data over his retinas. He moved around, each step he took felt like it could cause an earthquake.

Andreas von Strucker grinned. “Welcome to the big leagues, Beetle.”