Chen Lu sat on a large couch in one of the lounge areas in the base of the Masters of Evil. Base perhaps being too small of a word to describe it. Given the sheer number of their ranks, their base was more like a tiny city.

Around him, other Masters—if they could be called such a thing—busied themselves. The Rhino and the Wrecker pigged out on the buffet table set up, having long ago given up on filling plates and sitting down to eat, now simply standing over the table, their hands shoveling food into their mouths. Boomerang sat on the couch adjacent to Radioactive Man’s, tinkering with the circuitry of one of his weapons. The Ringer and Blizzard sat on a couch facing another television, both of them holding Xbox 360 controllers and immersed in a game of Halo 3.

The Radioactive Man leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his interlocked fingers. His eyes focused on the widescreen HD-TV in front of him, viewing news reports on CNN of civil unrest all over the world. In America, the United Kingdom, Israel, India, Pakistan, even his native China. The coverage brought back memories of Tiananmen Square.

“World’s going to hell in a handbag.”

The sudden appearance of Speed Demon by Chen’s side caused the Radioactive Man no surprise. “So suddenly…” he said, “and so widespread. Causes one to wonder…”

Sanders removed his mask and dropped it on the table. He popped the top of a can of Miller Genuine Draft. “You don’t think… you think some Big Baddy’s making a play to take over the world? Wasn’t there something on the news about the Avengers and the FF in Latveria? Think Doom’s plotting something?” He took a sip of the beer and recalled something else. “And Magneto and that redhead from the X-Men have their own country these days, maybe they’re involved in something?”

Chen Lu’s thoughts went to his red-clad employer. “Or someone closer to home…”

The news broadcast shifted to a scene in Harlem, where both the Radioactive Man and Speed Demon recognized several of the people in the scene.

Harlem

“This isn’t what I signed on for!” Amazon shouted over the roar of the crowd. On one side of the battle were white supremacists wielding homemade banners with serpents emblazoned on them. On the other side were white and black citizens alike combating the Sons of the Serpent. Police in riot gear tried to break up the race riot and the Redeemers arrived in force to help quell the damage as well.

Cars lay overturned in the street, some of them blazing. Storefront windows were shattered, others exploded in balls of flame. Water spewed from fire hydrants and several people lay dead all along 125th Street.

“We go where we’re needed, Amazon,” said Hawkeye. “Take it easy on them.” He watched as she blatantly ignored his orders, her savagery in quelling the riots almost as fierce as the rioters themselves. As he scanned the scene, he failed to see any real difference with the rest of his teammates.

The Falcon barely held back as he strafed the crowd, his bird Redwing’s talons raking against the rioters. MACH-IV and Harrier tried to separate the warring factions from the air, combining their technological abilities, yet neither seemed to care who they hurt in the process. Even Diamondback fought with lust in her eyes, hurling her diamonds about carelessly without any thought to possible injury. Curiously, only Man-Wolf seemed to hold back, an irony that was not lost on Hawkeye.

Hawkeye affixed a sonic tip to an arrow and vaulted into the air. As he leapt through the sky, he fired the arrow, unleashing a sonic blast in the center of the mob. Man-Wolf found himself caught in the radius and howled in agony.

Flipping before landing on the ground, Hawkeye drew a second arrow. He took out another arrowhead, an explosive one this time. The Man-Wolf leapt to Hawkeye’s side and grabbed his arm as he affixed the tip.

“Stop!” said Man-Wolf.

Feeling his friend’s grip caused Hawkeye to realize what he was actually doing. He looked at the explosive tip in horror. “My god… what did I almost do?” He looked at Man-Wolf. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Can’t you feel it?” asked Man-Wolf. “It’s like a wave of rage boiling across the world. Clint, a storm is coming. And it’s about to explode.”

THE GATHERING STORM

Part VI: Crescendo

By Curtis Fernlund and Dino Pollard

Stormfront-1

Buried deep in the Stormfront-1, unbeknownst to many of the residents, sat a huge chamber. An old man in a wheelchair stared at the flurry of activity around him. Huge computers scattered all over, pipes of every size jutted from the walls, generators, crystalline tubes. Lights flashed and the room perpetually trembled as scientists scrambled about.

It made General Brushov, once one of the USSR’s top military geniuses, reminisce of the good old days. His watched as his one-time dream recreated before his eyes, a dream that would have come to fruition years ago if not for the intervention of the Avengers and the betrayal of the original Red Guardian. Thanks to the Avenger Hawkeye, he almost died, but he ended up humiliated and crippled, sentenced to oblivion in a Siberian command for years as a result of his failure.

Until Zemo.

Zemo knew of a plan devised by Brushov’s Chinese counterpart, Colonel Ling and he, along with the woman Moonstone, appeared in his desolate outpost to spirit him away for his knowledge. Brushov knew scientists Zemo then gathered to recreate the devastating weapon before him now: the Psychotron.

“Who’s a happy comrade, then?”

Brushov jumped in his wheelchair, startled as the Fixer lowered to the floor on on eof his extended Waldo arms, wearing a smug grin. The General watched with a frown as Ebersol wiped his hands free of grease, his Waldos fluttering behind him before ratcheting away into their harness.

“Kinda chokes you up to see a plan come together, huh?” asked Ebersol with a chuckle. He tossed the filthy rag aside as he looked the General up and down. “Y’know, I got an exo-skeleton off eBay a couple of months ago that you’d like. Used to belong to a moron called Rampage before he got his ass kicked by the Champions. Made a few adjustments on the tension and modified the control helmet a bit. Probably help you to walk again.”

“Stop taunting our guest, Norbert.”

Zemo strode towards them, flanked by several scientists. One was Doctor Yen, an old Chinese scientist Brushov remembered from his own failed attempt to implement the Psychotron. Yen is the last surviving scientist of that time. Also of note was Moses Magnum, who, like Yen, wore a protective suit and lab coat.

“Are we on schedule?” asked Zemo.

“Like clockwork, jefe,” said the Fixer. “All systems are go. T-Minus whatever you gather the power source.” He gestured to Magnum. “Chuck Heston here’s already rigged the thermal dynamics. But where you’re gonna find a source of continual gamma radiation with an intensity this side of the Hulk is beyond me.”

“James Darnell has graciously ‘volunteered’ for that service,” said Zemo, the smile evident in his tone. “Though he alone is not sufficient for our purposes. There is another, of course, in a roundabout way. The very radiation we need, however, makes him immune to our Level One influence. Of course, there is an alternative.”

Ebersol chuckled. “That’s why I like working with you, Helmut—never a dull moment.”

“We have to do something!”

Melissa Gold—Songbird—stared at the many monitors in the Stormfront-1’s meeting room. Each of them relayed news feeds from around the world of the various unrest, but her focus kept drifting to the MSNBC feed coming from Harlem. Every time she saw an image of MACH-IV onscreen, she kept thinking towards him. Abe Jenkins, free from prison.

“And just what are we supposed to do against that?” asked Vantage, waving a hand at the screens. “It’s way too much. Anything we did would be like stamping out a match in the middle of a forest fire.”

Songbird stared daggers at Vantage. Atlas stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. Songbird looked to her friend for support, but saw nothing in his faltering smile.

“Dallas is right, we can’t do anything about this,” he said. “It’s just too big, Mel.”

“The Green will quell this.”

All eyes focused on Blackheath, sitting in a chair overgrown with moss as he tends to a small pink flower in his hands. “Have faith,” he added, looking up with glassy eyes.

“But Hawkeye—the world—needs us,” said Songbird. “The Avengers and the FF are missing and last I heard the X-Men are now terrorists. Spider-Man and Daredevil can’t stop this and who’s left? The New Warriors? I thought we were supposed to be heroes now?”

“Hawkeye gave us over to Zemo,” said Atlas. “He’s on his own, him and that new group he’s got. We don’t roll until we get the word from Helmut.”

“I don’t care what you say,” songbird said, starting towards the door. “I’m going to do what I can, even if I have to do it alone.”

Once Songbird approached the door, it opened to reveal Moonstone standing there. Karla Sofen smiled condescendingly at her young teammate and frequent rival, adding, “no need for theatrics, Melissa. Zemo has decided we should take a hand and has given us a destination.”

“Harlem?” asked Songbird.

“Kansas,” said Moonstone. “A wide spot in the juncture of two rural roads called Littleton.”

Harlem

“We appreciate your help, Avenger.”

Hawkeye tried his best not to grind his teeth and retort to the fire chief. He hadn’t been an Avenger for months and it burned him that people failed to remember. But he sighed, counting to ten and said, “our duty, chief.”

He looked at the others gathered around John Jameson, some actually touching the former astronaut to still their own rage. It was hard. Whatever Zemo was doing—and both Hawkeye and Strucker were sure it was Zemo—it was damn hard to cope with.

{Barton!}

Hawkeye winced as the sound of Baron von Strucker’s voice shot through his body. His radio was keyed to max volume and set to vibrate the tone throughout his body to make sure he heard all messages.

{Zemo’s moving. My sources say he’s sending the Thunderbolts to Kansas.}

“Kansas?” asked Hawkeye. “The hell’s in Kansas? That makes no sense.”

{Regardless archer, that is where they are bound. I have sent an agent to intervene and I suggest you go as well.}

“I don’t buy it,” said Hawkeye, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The mental wave was making it hard to think beyond the rage and something did not seem kosher. “Nah, I don’t know where you’re getting’ your info Strucker, but that’s a wild goose chase. Whatever’s goin’ down is goin’ down in a city like New York or Chicago or somewhere big. The heroes are stretched thin right now and I’m not taking my team out of the picture on a hunch.”

{Damn you Avenger, we had a deal!}

“I told you I’d listen to you,” said Hawkeye. “But I never said a damn thing about bendin’ over. You’re wrong, Strucker. Something’s coming, I just don’t know what it is yet.

Hawkeye severed the link to Strucker, cutting short the sounds of the Baron’s curses. Clint rested on his bow and thought to the recent events.

“What are you up to, Zemo?”

Leonia, New Jersey

The transport containing a squad of the Masters of Evil touched down in the small suburb before an abandoned house reduced to rubble. Radioactive Man was the first to step off, followed by Speed Demon, Boomerang, Blizzard and a new addition to their team, the Wrecker. Radioactive Man held a device that allegedly gathers residual mental waves, though he never heard of such a thing before. However, the Crimson Cowl had yet to steer them wrong.

The device made pinging noises as he moved through the rubble. He wondered briefly what destroyed the structure and why nothing had been rebuilt on the spot. As usual, the Cowl was not forthcoming with an explanation.

“There’s no kill like overkill…” said Speed Demon in a singing voice, appearing at Lu’s side. “There’s a whole lotta power here for what? That thing registering anything useful?”

Chen looked at his teammate and shook his head. “No, I don’t understand this mission.”

“Yours ain’t t’ reason why, Kermit!”

Radioactive Man and Speed Demon turned at the sound of a CRACK and watched Boomerang fly past them and smash into the remnants of a wall. Titania stood not far away, flexing and rubbing her knuckles.

Blizzard follows almost immediately after, similarly crashing. Radioactive Man looked to his left to see the Absorbing Man stalking forward, ball and chain spinning wildly at his side.

“Word is yer a troublemaker, Chink,” said Crusher Creel. “Me an’ Titania been sent t’ put you in yer place!”

“Says you.” The Wrecker approached, lightly slapping his crowbar in his open palm. Titania leapt at him, knocking him to the ground and began to batter him with her fists. The Wrecker kicked her off and followed in suit, slamming his crowbar across her face.

“I don’t understand, this makes no sense.” Radioactive Man looked to the Absorbing Man. “Who sent you, Creel?”

“Yer mama!” shouted the Absorbing Man. His ball and chain flew outward. Radioactive Man braced himself for the impact but Speed Demon raced forward to intervene. His hands were a blur as he negated the speed of the prison ball. It fell to the ground with its loss of momentum.

“Wake up, Chen,” said Speed Demon. “We gotta—”

His words died as the Absorbing Man reached out and touched Speed Demon. Radioactive Man sees the Absorbing Man smile then vanish in a blur. A moment later, he feels Creel’s massive arm wrap around his throat.

“Suck it up, ya commie bastard,” said Creel with a sneer. “Better yet, I will!”

Lu struggled, feeling the life drain from his form. The world washed away in shades of dimming gray…

Stormfront-1
The Psychotron Chamber

Baron Zemo stood on the central platform, awaiting the final word. Around him, the scientists busied themselves at their stations, making preparations for his final victory—peace on Earth, as only Zemo could envision it. Mankind would benefit from his rule, from his benevolence. The others—Doom, the Red Skull, Hitler, Mussolini, even his father—they were all too short-sighted and driven by ego.

“Ebersol?” he asked, his patience wearing thin.

“Easy son, couple more turns,” said the Fixer, cranking a wrench on part of the machine.

Around him stood Moses Magnum as well as Brushov and Moonstone, all of them anxious for the final play. Each of them expected grandeur, none of them realizing they would fail to benefit. Only Zemo’s ideals, only Zemo’s world order, would come to pass. Whether they participated or not made little difference—Zemo prepared himself for either scenario.

The Thunderbolts were sent off, Zemo understanding full well about Songbird’s doubts. He anticipated Hawkeye, but some of the Redeemers he gathered were unexpected. Strucker’s involvement was something he knew would come, and Zemo prepared for that as well. Glancing at the monitors, he was somewhat disappointed that Barton failed to take the bait, and only Strucker’s son, dressed in the garb of the Swordsman, stood before the Thunderbolts in Kansas. Barton’s stupidity and ignorance once again proved an impediment to his final goals. But Zemo would adapt, as always.

In the Battery Chamber, through reinforced glass, Zemo watched both Lu and Darnell writhing as their radiation was converted into energy. That power, combined with Magnum’s thermal energy, would power the Psychotron and relay Zemo’s solution to the world.

Lu, the only threat within the Masters of Evil to Zemo, was now a pawn. Hawkeye and the Redeemers were stymied. Sofen was distracted. The Thunderbolts were off fighting the good fight.

“You’re on, boss.”

Zemo barely heard the Fixer’s words as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He could feel the power as the Psychotron charged, readying his vision and whim to be broadcast via the mentalists under his thrall. He had the power and the plan. He had a way for the world to survive into a golden age, under his rule.

“People of the world, I am Zemo!”