Paris, France

In a seedier section of the City of Lights, just on the border of the Seine in the lower section of the city was a warehouse district. The night was warm, but the pleasant weather is not enough to draw people to such an area. Instead, the only ones present are located just outside a non-descript warehouse.

A panel truck was parked outside, loaded with five unassembled nuclear warheads. Within the shadows are the remains of several would-be terrorists, executed in a grisly fashion. Six men and one woman are the only ones currently left alive, all of them members of the Crimson Cowl’s Masters of Evil.

Secluded in the shadows, hidden among pallets and crates, was a young woman with no association with either the dead terrorists or the Masters. Rachel Leighton, once part of the Serpent Society and a mercenary by trade. She went by the name of Diamondback.

She watched as the Masters slaughtered the terrorists. Diamondback still tried to figure out the sequence of events that led her here. She came to Paris because an informant within the Masters had given he clues as to the whereabouts of her missing friends, Asp and Black Mamba.

Instead, she found herself mere feet away from some of the most dangerous criminals on the planet—Bullseye, the Abomination, Sandman, Nebula, the Living Laser, Klaw and Graviton. Any one of them was skilled enough and powerful enough to give her a run for her money. So she felt her best move was to stay silent, make a note of everything she witnessed, and report back to Hawkeye later.

Before the Masters could get to work pillaging the truck of its contents, a tear in space appeared before them, and expands, emitting a bright, blinding light. Seven people stood in the glow, seven faces which are familiar to Diamondback.

The woman known as Moonstone hovered towards the back of the group, brightly lit up, cool and aloof. Songbird’s sonic wings carried her to the right while Vantage flipped towards the left. Bringing up the rear was Blackheath, vine-like tendrils extending from his body and the Fixer, his tech-pac sprouting mechanical spider-like legs. The size-shifting Atlas grew to nearly thirty feet, and hovering before him on the Z-Wing was the leader of the Thunderbolts—Baron Zemo himself.

Across from the Thunderbolts, the Masters readied themselves. Nebula armed her wrist-mounted blasters while Bullseye smiled, twirling a plastic playing card between his fingers. The Abomination snarled at the fore of the group beside Sandman. Between them were the Living Laser and Klaw, his sonic horn aimed at his adversaries. Graviton hovered towards the back, his legs crossed and his chin resting on his hand.

Zemo thrust his sword towards the Masters and declared, “end of the road, villains!”

Sandman offered a smile and a quip. “Oh this oughta be loads of fun.”

THE GATHERING STORM

Part III: Battle Royale

By Curtis Fernlund and Dino Pollard

Sandman was the first to strike, a granite mace formed at the end of an extended arm of sand. He swung the arm towards the group, but Zemo deflected the mace with his sword. His Z-Wing carried him past the Abomination and Sandman, towards Nebula and Bullseye. The Baron shouted commands to his team in a code only they could understand. The Thunderbolts responded in kind.

Atlas moved forward, using his massive hands to sweep away the Abomination. When his hand struck Sandman, the villain was shattered, spreading his form into a pile of sand. Atlas moved towards the Abomination.

Before Sandman had a chance to reform, Blackheath stepped among the discarded particles. Vegetation spewed forth from the cobbled street, and the hero took the battle to the villain on another level.

Songbird swooped towards Klaw, who fired off a sonic blast from his horn. Songbird instantly formed a shield around her body, protecting her from the assault. Sonic constructs began to surround her, courtesy of Klaw’s horn. Constructs in the form of large gorillas and elephants assault Songbird, battering her shields.

The young woman was not as experienced as Klaw, but she did have an edge over him. Her powers were inherent, enhanced by her carapace. She opened her mouth and emitted a powerful scream, strong enough to shatter Klaw’s prosthetic and vaporize the creatures.

Vantage flipped past the columns of sand and vegetation that erupted as a result of Sandman’s battle with Blackheath. She saw Baron Zemo going up against Nebula with Bullseye readying a strike. Vantage attempted a sneak attack, prepared to rabbit punch Bullseye with her staff. The assassin suddenly spun and hurled a flurry of stretched-out paperclips at her. Vantage dodged most of the deadlier ones, but a few struck her shoulder and arm.

Bullseye laughed, swaggering towards her. “Stupid cunt,” he said. “You ain’t the devil. Hell, you ain’t even his bitch.”

He produced an Ace of Spades and smiled as he moved in for the kill.

Despite Atlas’ size, the Abomination’s sheer strength still outmatched him. The behemoth brought Atlas to the ground and leapt on his chest, moving towards his face and pounding on it.

Nearby, the Fixer stood with a makeshift shield protecting his body from the attacks of the Living Laser. The Fixer looked down at a wrist-mounted PC, examining the calculations and read-outs while the Laser continued to fire energy blasts at him.

“You really think that shield’ll hold up forever?” asked the Laser. “I’m a being made of pure light! How the hell do you think you’ll be able to defeat me? You got nothin’ on me, you hear?”

The Fixer noted a decrease in the Laser’s energy and tapped a sequence of numeric codes into his PC. He looked up at the Laser.

“Ready to see the light, Ebersol?” asked the Laser with a chuckle.

The Fixer just shook his head. “Sun don’t shine out your ass, Parks,” he said. He dropped a small metallic cube on the ground and it started to vibrate the moment it struck. The Laser was instantly sucked inside the small device and Fixer picked it up with a Waldo and dropped it into a compartment on his techpac.

“That’s a little present from our old friend Blackout,” he said. “Enjoy the Dark Dimension, Arthur.”

“Daughter of Thanos? I can see why he abandoned you,” said Zemo. “You’re pathetic.” He used his Z-Wing to nimbly avoid the blasts from Nebula’s weapons.

“You’re the pathetic one, pink-skin,” said Nebula. “You surrender your dreams of conquest for what? Heroism? I at least stay true to my goals!”

“A true mercenary, with delusions of grandeur, I might add.” Zemo deflected the blasts off his sword and swooped forward. He lunged, his blade cutting through her left blaster and her wrist. The woman screamed as her hand fell to the ground.

“A Zemo never surrenders, alien,” he said. With that, he brought his sword down again, this time slicing through her neck.

“I’ll take the warheads,” said Graviton, the truck rising in the air. “They’ll further my own goals just as easily as the Masters. They were just a stepping stone, after all.”

“I suspected as much,” said Moonstone, in a voice that sounded all-too familiar to Graviton. His skin paled with his realization.

“You? You’re…”

Moonstone nodded and with a wave of her hand, the truck vanished in a flash of light. “You’re a fool, Hall. All that power, wasted.”

“Not as foolish as you!” said Graviton, expanding his power and directing it at his enemy. However, it seemed to have no effect on Moonstone. She simply smiled.

“I’ve absorbed two Moonstones, Hall. I’m twice what you might ever hope to me,” she said. “But of course, ‘twice nothing…’”

She waved her hand again and Graviton shrieked before his voice choked off. His body stiffened before it began to compact on itself.

Moonstone watched without sympathy. “A simple matter to realign the gravity that dwells within you, letting mass compile, drawn like a black hole.”

She almost laughed as Graviton screamed, his body vanishing in a compressing blot of shadow.

Hell’s Kitchen

Located on the Hudson River in New York. The seedy elements were not as abundant as they once were. Both Times Square and the Kitchen have gone through a gentrification, the current mayor attempting to drive out the unwelcome elements so the streets could be made safe for democracy… and tourism.

But there was one place still left untouched by this great renaissance. A dark and dirty bar on a plot of land owned by unknown landlords. A frequent haunt of both lowlife and legend. A place called Josie’s, the latest stop on a pub crawl of two men hoping to redeem the name “hero.”

“I’m getting drunk,” said Donald Clendenon. “And bored.”

“Moderation, son,” said Clint Barton. “That’s the key.”

Clendenon was a recently-escaped convict. Once called Cardinal, he’s since attempted to use his sophisticated armor as a hero called Harrier. He was recruited by Barton, also a reformed criminal in addition to serving both the Avengers and Thunderbolts as Hawkeye.

Both men are tired and a little tipsy. They’ve visited several bars in the area, searching for a specific barmaid. Hawkeye seems particularly focused on one of them here. Tall, muscular, and with closely-cropped red hair.

Katrina Luisa Van Horn. Once called Man-Killer, last known as Amazon. Ex-Hydra, ex-Master of Evil, trying to redeem herself for her past misdeeds. A shoe-in, or so Hawkeye hoped.

He stands, prepared to approach her when he watches a drunken patron grab Katrina’s rear. Hawkeye instinctively reaches for his bow and arrow, which aren’t there. But before he can intervene, Katrina twists the man’s arm and drives him to his knees, whimpering. She grabs him by his hair, lifting him above the ground and carries him effortlessly to the door, where she tosses him out into the street.

Hawkeye approached her. “Katrina?”

She looked at him, eyeing Clint up and down. “Who wants to know?”

“Name’s Clint Barton,” he said. “But you probably remember me as—”

Katrina grabbed Hawkeye by his throat and lifted him off the ground. Hawkeye looked towards Harrier, who was beginning to activate the armor he wore beneath his clothes. Instead, Hawkeye motioned for him to stay down.

“I don’t like men, Clint. And I really don’t like pretty boys. So I suggest you find another water hole.” She dropped him by the door and regarded Harrier carefully. Hawkeye coughed and called out to her.

“Wait,” he said. “I’ve got a proposition. One I think you’ll wanna hear.”

Paris

Blackheath emerged from the earth, seemingly unaffected by his battle with Sandman. “I have dispersed the dirt… thing. He shall trouble us no longer.”

The Fixer shook his head. “Damn Sam, you’re hardly the fun plant guy I knew and loved.”

Blackheath fixed his gaze on his teammate. “Samuel Smithers is dead. Do not call me by that name.”

Before the Fixer can respond, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to see the magenta mask of Baron Helmut Zemo and falls silent.

“We’ve done good work today,” said Zemo. “We’ve saved the warheads and stopped the Masters, which means we’ve dealt the Cowl a massive blow. She’ll have to regroup before she dares strike again.”

“What happened to the warheads?” asked Atlas. His face was bruised and battered thanks to his tussle with the Abomination. When the other Thunderbolts prepared to intervene, the creature simply left away. He looked down at Vantage, whom he held in his arms. Bullseye had driven the playing card into her shoulder, piercing her body armor. He slipped off before he had a chance to do any additional damage.

“They’re safe,” said Moonstone. None of the Thunderbolts attempted to offer a response.

Diamondback remained in the shadows and watched as the Thunderbolts transported away. She had to wonder why her informant directed her here. This had nothing to do with Asp and Black Mamba. Nevertheless, Hawkeye would want to know what transpired, that much she was sure of.

Stormfront-1

Upon their return to their base, the Thunderbolts dispersed. Blackheath immediately went off into his self-imposed exile, while Melissa watched as the Fixer escorted Atlas and Vantage to the infirmary to check on their wounds. She also watched Zemo and Moonstone walk off together, seemingly very tense.

Melissa sighed. The Thunderbolts had at a time become extremely close, but now despite their cohesion as a team, the bonds were almost gone.

Times like this made her realize how much she missed Abe.

In the infirmary, Fixer had Atlas lay Vantage down on a gurney. An updated version of the Avengers Ultra Rejuvenator hung above her body. The Fixer activated the devise and it emitted a purple glow. After a few moments, the Fixer shut it down.

“She’ll be fine, she just needs to rest,” he told Atlas. “The effects can be disorienting.”

The Fixer looked to Atlas who was fixated on Vantage’s prone form. He patted Josten on the shoulder. “Relax, we won. Time to kick back with a cold one.”

“You go ahead, I’ll stay here a bit,” said Atlas.

The Fixer shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Elsewhere, in a hidden chamber in the Stormfront-1, Zemo stood before Moonstone. Her mask was off as was his, revealing his scarred visage.

“Where are they?” asked Zemo.

“The warheads are safe, Helmut,” said Moonstone. “That’s all you need to know.”

“I’d prefer to see them myself.”

“You don’t trust me?” asked Moonstone in a mocking tone, feigning hurt feelings.

“No,” said Zemo.

“Then we’ll have to change that,” said Moonstone. “We’re in this together, Baron. We’d better start trusting each other.”

“What of the other teams?” asked Zemo.

“I have two more groups of Masters assembled for assaults on Hydra and AIM to secure what we need.”

She held a piece of paper with two sets of names listed, a list she handed to Zemo. He reviewed it, making note to apply each name to his memory, then handed it back to her. There was an uneasy truce between the pair. Zemo knew Karla Sofen was not a person to be trusted. He was convinced she would betray him sooner rather than later, and he had already taken steps to ensure he would succeed.

Sometime later, Vantage awoke in the infirmary. Atlas had already left, and the room was dark. She felt weak and disoriented. The healing made her feel like she was drunk and she was surprised to find herself alone.

Dallas Riordan wandered from the infirmary, but in her dazed state she found herself in another part of the Stormfront-1. Down in the lower levels. She opened a door and looked around in confusion before she gasped at what she was looking at.

Strapped to chairs with devices covering their heads that resembled old fashioned hair-dryers were the villains the Thunderbolts had recently captured. Asp, Black Mamba, Batroc, Zaran, Machete and others—all restrained and unconscious. Wires were connected from the devices on their heads to a core where three people were held in suspended animation. One was Marvin Flumm, Mentallo. The second was Zebediah Killgrave, the Purple Man. The third was a girl Dallas hadn’t recognized, but she bore a resemblance to Killgrave, including his purple skin.

Dallas was shocked, unsure of whether or not to help those held captive or to get to safety. Before she could move, someone had made her decision for her.

“Sorry you had to see this.”

Dallas spun but she didn’t have a moment to catch a glimpse of the speaker as something exploded in her face.