Castle Zemo

Simon Maddicks was flanked by Chen Lu, the Radioactive Man and Emil Blonsky, the Abomination. Maddicks himself was dressed in his Killer Shrike armor and the three men stood in front of the desk of Baron Helmut Zemo.

The Baron’s elbows were perched on the armrests, his fingers interlocked. The office was quite spacious with twin, high-backed chairs set in front of the large oak desk. Behind the desk were several monitors, each of them showing a camera feed from a different part of the Castle’s common areas.

“Unfortunately, we are short one of my lieutenants, but he had an outside appointment he needed to keep,” said Zemo. “Mr. Maddicks, I would like to thank you for coming to hear my offer. I’m sure together we can reach a mutually-beneficial agreement.”

Killer Shrike nodded. “Pretty impressive place you got here, Zemo. Abomination and Radioactive Man just gave me a tour of it. And from what they’ve told me about the set-up, I’m willing to hear more.”

“Excellent,” said Zemo. “I understand Emil and Dr. Chen have explained to you that we lack an effective air force. This is our one area of weakness, and you were our first choice for shoring up that area. I’ve studied your record. Your skills, both inborn and augmented, are impressive. And you’ve displayed a very strong showing against a variety of hero types. You have a dedication to your job and a no-nonsense approach, which is what the Thunderbolts need.

“As you can see, this Castle is quite secluded in a pocket dimension, granting us a high level of security from authorities. We pay very well, provide you with upgrades to your current technology, excellent field support, crack intelligence, and ultimately, the opportunity to change the world.”

“Yeah, your boys mentioned that, too,” said Killer Shrike. “Sounds good and all, but I’ve still got some reservations.”

Zemo gestured for him to continue. “The floor is yours.”

“Don’t get me wrong, the guys in this room are great. And I know you just signed on Blacklash, who’s a stone-cold pro. But there are some red flags. First one who comes to mind is the guy you sent for my recruitment.”

“Kasady.” The Abomination and Radioactive Man spoke that name in unison, with an equal amount of derision.

Zemo nodded at this. “I appreciate your candidness. We have been evaluating several of our operatives, Carnage foremost among them, as we begin pushing this organization to new heights. We have some very serious campaigns looming and that requires a much more critical eye in our own ranks. Anyone found wanting will be left behind. The recruitment of both yourself and Blacklash are a part of these improvements.”

“Good to hear. Also, I’m not so keen on psychics,” said Killer Shrike.

“Understood. But both Mentallo and Lady Mastermind have proven themselves to be fine operatives with no ulterior motivations.”

{No ulterior motives? How’s that for a laugh?} asked Lady Mastermind. She lay in bed in her quarters, eyes closed as she engaged her newfound partner in a telepathic conversation.

Mentallo smiled from his position. He sat in a reclining chair front of the television in one of the common areas. Bullseye was sprawled out on the couch, sipping a Heineken. To anyone who looked in, they would think Flumm was simply watching sitcoms with his teammate. And although he was able to keep a portion of his mind dedicated to that task should anyone engage him in conversation, most of his willpower was directed towards his conversation with Regan and their eavesdrop on Zemo’s conference.

{What do you think of the new guy?} he asked.

{Seems like a cipher, to be honest. Mostly just a thin personality construct laid on top of combat imperatives. Roxxon definitely did a number on him—not only beefing up his physical skills but also wiping most of his original personality and memories. They were programming him to be the perfect soldier and aerial-based war machine. Any sort of “personality” he might exhibit is pretty much just a veneer, or what little he’s managed to grow organically for himself since leaving Roxxon. Most of the memories he thinks he has are implants or things he just dreamed up.}

{That’s what I was able to figure out. That anti-grav implant in his spine didn’t provide as much static for me, so I was able to slip in and traipse about in there,} said Mentallo. {Bottom line, no matter how good he is in combat situations, he could prove to be a really big liability if his personality construct were to crack.}

{Or a great asset if someone wanted him to crack…} Regan’s musing was accompanied by a thin smile.

{What about Scarlotti? You manage to check him out?}

{Yeah. Like Maddicks, he’s a pro in the field. But off the field, he’s something of a mess. The man’s a diagnosed manic-depressive, been rejected by his family, and when he tried to go straight, money drove him back into the life. That led to his wife being killed by an assassin who targeted him. His parents petitioned for custody of his kid and they got it.}

{So that’s how he ended up working for Hammer again.}

{Yup. Hammer said if he became Blacklash again, then Hammer would have his legal team help him get back his son. Except it kept getting put off,} said Lady Mastermind. {Seems like he’s the kind of guy who’s got his own code of honor and his own values. You earn his trust, he’d be one hell of an ally. And with everything that’s happened to him, he’s been torn down. Not suicidal, but more like fearless.}

{Very impressive. Your skills are definitely growing, Regan.}

She smiled. {Gotta admit, it’s a heady feeling, knowing I can get a deeper read on our teammates without them knowing. But Zemo’s moonstones and Ebersol’s tech still make their minds pretty much indecipherable.}

{I get the feeling Zemo would be tough to read even without his magic rocks,} said Mentallo. {But Ebersol…oh what a good, solid read of that man would turn up…}

RANDOM VIOLENCE

By Steve Seinberg and Dino Pollard

Baltimore

The Fixer stood alone on a deserted high school’s football field. Whoever his contact was, they chose a good meeting space—big, wide open, no bystanders and bringing in reinforcements or weaponry would risk being spotted.

The rumbling of a sports car engine was heard in the adjacent parking lot. The Fixer scanned the vehicle—Ferrari, with some after-market modifications. Came at a high price, which meant this guy was someone with a lot of cash to burn. Either that, or a thief of not-inconsequential skill.

The contact entered the field, walking to meet the Fixer in the center. He had chalk-white skin and was heavily-muscled. Despite the high-priced car, he seemed to be dress quite shabbily by comparison—a leather vest, jeans and a bandana. As he came closer, the Fixer could see he also wore dark sunglasses and he was smoking a cigar.

It took the Fixer a moment to place the man, but he was able to do it—Random. A bounty hunter who, although he may be a mutant, didn’t restrict himself solely to that homogenous group. More than that, he had a reputation for being a zealous operative whose only loyalty was to the highest bidder. Rumor had it he once dropped a job while in progress because the target offered him a higher sum than contract.

“So, you’re the Fixer. They call me Random.”

“Pretty impressive how you managed to get that message to me,” said the Fixer. “You certainly know your tech.”

Random chuckled. “If it doesn’t shoot, blow up, or go from Point A to Point B, probably not the kinda machine I’d be good with. My client’s got some serious people on the payroll. One of them handled the messaging end.”

“So you’re the welcome wagon, eh? What can you tell me about your employer? And what sort of job are we talking about?”

Random flicked away the remains of his cigar stub. “You seem like a right enough guy, so I’ll level with you. My client doesn’t wanna be named. And the position—” Random’s arm shifted into a quad-barreled organic blaster. “—is casket-filler!”

Random unloaded a barrage of energy blasts. The Fixer’s tech-pack reacted reflexively, throwing up an energy shield to defend its creator. The anti-grav discs on his feet put some distance between him and Random, with his shields providing protection from the mutant’s energy blasts. Both of Random’s arms were now morphed into those quad blasters, unloading burst after burst, forcing the Fixer to stay on the defensive.

The Fixer hovered, his tech-pack in evade mode. Despite Random’s size, he was incredibly quick with those blasters and it was difficult for the Fixer to recognize a pattern in his attack. Using a backdoor satellite connection into Interpol’s server, he was able to call up some information on the bounty hunter, which flashed over his retina.

Real name was Marshall Evan Stone III. Had a lot of activity with the government-sanctioned X-Factor, both as an ally and opponent. A large portion of the sightings connecting him with X-Factor, however, contradicted reports of him working various jobs overseas. The Fixer bypassed that, however. He didn’t care about Random’s past, he was more interested in the man’s abilities. And that’s where the Fixer found an ace in the hole. Aside from his shapeshifting, Random possessed the mutant ability to counteract any attack directed at him.

“Alright, ugly, let’s put those powers of yours to the test,” said the Fixer with a grin. A small dish rose from the tech-pack and positioned itself over the Fixer’s right shoulder. It unleashed a sonic attack. The instant it was fired, Random’s ears suddenly retreated into his head.

“Nice try, Ebersol! But I can handle anything you throw at me!”

“We’ll see about that.”

A burst of acid came next, and Random’s skin transformed into a sort of treated glass. The acid simply slid harmlessly off his massive bicep, sizzling as it struck the grass beneath. Random’s legs coiled and he sprung towards the Fixer’s aerial position. He was quite a distance away, but his arm extended, wrapping around the Fixer’s neck. Random pulled himself towards his target, his free arm now morphed into one, giant barrel, the mouth of which was larger than the Fixer’s head.

The tech-pack unleashed an electrical charge, but Random’s body just reacted immediately, shifting into rubber so the electricity had no effect on him. Random’s grip on the Fixer’s neck increased, putting more pressure on it. The Fixer held out his arm, a needle extending from the gauntlet, and jammed it into Random’s flesh. He injected a fast-acting toxin and Random’s grip weakened.

The bounty hunter fell to the ground, keeled over as the toxin worked through his system. His body was acting as fast as it could to counteract the poison. As he hunched on his knees, his body expelled the toxins through his mouth, throwing them up over the football field. Random wiped his lips on his arm and stood upright again.

“Now that was definitely not cool!” His arms morphed into the giant cannons and a few more arms sprouted on his body, also armed with cannons. They fired simultaneously with the kind of firepower usually seen from a platoon. “You just broke my vomit streak!”

The Fixer threw up his shields and dodged past the blasts as fast as he could. He returned fire when he had the opportunity to, releasing grenades, firebombs and napalm bursts. But with each incendiary device that struck Random, his protoplasmic body just briefly broke apart in order to reform without harm.

“Yeah, this was a great idea, Ebersol,” the Fixer muttered to himself. “Piss off the guy who’s trying to kill you.”

Ebersol raised his forearm to his face and with a command, a holographic touchscreen was projected from his gauntlet. With his free hand, he entered in a few commands set to trigger his failsafe. On the field, several bombs the Fixer had planted went off simultaneously. Both chemical and incendiary. The sudden assault forced Random’s powers to work at a breakneck pace in order to compensate for the onslaught.

Once the smoke cleared, Random was on his knees. He was breathless and obviously exhausted. His body had been pushed to his limits, but he was otherwise no worse for wear. The Fixer calmly approached.

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of who hired you. And as for this job offer, I had a feeling it was a trap, but wanted to see how bold your client was willing to be. Truth be told, I never had any intention of leaving the Thunderbolts. Zemo’s done right by me and I’m in this for the long haul,” said the Fixer. “In fact, I brought some friends along. I’m sure they’d be more than happy to sing the Baron’s praises as well.”

At that, the equipment shed near one of the end-zones burst apart into splinters. The flaming-headed Jack O’Lantern rose above the field on his glider, closing in towards Random. From behind the bleachers came a snarling noise and Tiger Shark leapt from behind them. He landed near the sideline and also charged towards the bounty hunter.

“Looks like this job has gone south,” said Random. “And when the going gets tough, the tough get going!”

Random burst apart into protoplasmic goo, leaving only his clothing as he sunk into the soil. The three Thunderbolts went to the spot where he left, but could find no trace of him left. The Fixer’s scanners tried to locate him, but seems as if he’d spread himself too far, too fast and couldn’t get a lock.

“So what the hell was this all about?” asked Jack O’Lantern.

The Fixer knelt down, running his fingers along the astroturf. “Whoever hired Random is trying to gut our organization.”

Jack O’Lantern scoffed. “Yeah, like that narrows it down.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt there are a lot of people who’d like to do it,” said the Fixer. “But what narrows it down is you’d need someone who has enough resources where he sees going to war with us as an acceptable risk. And that list is much, much shorter.”

“What now?” asked Tiger Shark.

The Fixer rose to his feet. “We head back to the Castle. I need to go over this with the Baron.

Justin Hammer’s face was a mask of rage as spun his chair away from the monitor. “Turn it off. I’ve seen enough.”

Tarantula nodded. From her tablet, she cut the feed. “At least Random didn’t give away your identity.”

“Which is worth almost nothing,” said Hammer. “Ebersol is right, those who oppose Zemo and have the resources to do so is a short list. We need to fall back and regroup. Come up with a new and effective way to hit Zemo hard and fast.”

“What about Random?” asked Tarantula.

“To blazes with him. That over-muscled simpleton turned out to be a massive failure,” said Hammer. “If he calls, inform him that he will not receive the remaining balance due to breach of contract. If he persists, have him eliminated.”

Hammer stood from the desk and strode over to the windows overlooking New York City. “Following the debacle with Hydra and Strucker’s overthrow of his father, our operatives have been cut short. We’ll need to be a bit more creative in our methods from now on. Perhaps setting some other major force against our foe.”

Tarantula nodded. “As Levins noted, there are more than a few people who oppose Zemo. It’s just a matter of finding the right players and giving them the resources they need to take him on.”

Hammer smiled. “We have work to do, Ms. Vasquez.”