by Stuart Moore
“Well, if it isn’t Little Peter Spider-Man.” Jester laughed. “How does it feel to be on the wrong side of the law, Parker? You like seeing the Jester wear a sheriff’s badge?”
The image swung about, as Jack O’Lantern circled Spider-Man from above. “You oughta see who we’re hangin’ with now, Petey. Bullseye, Venom, Lady Deathstrike…me an’ Jester are finally on the villains’ A-list.”
“And it’s legit, too.”
Spider-Man shook his head, struggled to focus on the circling villains.
“Oh, baby.” Jester pulled out a yo-yo, hurled it at Spider-Man. “This is too awesome for words.”
The yo-yo struck Spider-Man in the chest, exploding like a small concussion grenade. He cried out, fell backwards, and splashed down into the water.
Jack O’Lantern moved in fast. His hand shot out into the frame, grabbed Spider-Man and slammed him against the tunnel wall.
“You know,” he hissed. “This gig seemed like a bum deal at first. Working for S.H.I.E.L.D…. but then word from the top says kick the crap outta Spider-Man.” He reached out, smacked Spider-Man’s head hard. “What can we do, right?”
“We’re only obeying orders,” Jester said.
Jester reached out and tore off another chunk of Spider-Man’s mask. One eye showed clearly now, bruised and swollen partway shut. Spidey’s head lolled to the side, unmoving.
“Hill,” Tony said.
She frowned into her shoulder comm. “He’s down, Thunderbolts. Drop him and wait for cleanup crew.”
“Aww, S.H.I.E.L.D.—”
“Lay one more finger on that guy, Jack, and I shoot five thousand volts through your system. You know I’m not bluffing.”
On the screen, Jack O’Lantern’s fingers relaxed around Spider-Man’s neck. The wall-crawler dropped to the tunnel floor, landing with a splash.
“S.H.I.E.L.D. support is on their way. Just cuff him and sit tight.”
Tony exhaled in relief.
The screen shifted back to Jester’s camera. He turned to Jack O’Lantern, whose blazing orange pumpkin head filled the screen. “Spoilsport,” Jack said.
Then Jack’s head blew apart, shattering into bits of brain and pumpkin. The villain’s death-scream rang out, shrill and filtered over the comm system.
“What the hell!” Jester screamed. His camera swung around wildly, searching the tunnel walls. “S.H.I.E.L.D.! S.H.I.E.L.D., do you read? There’s somebody else down here—”
Another shot rang out, deafening in the enclosed space. Jester’s camera lurched, tottered, and tipped upward to show the roof of the tunnel. The view twitched again, then stopped moving.
“He’s down too.” The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent worked his laptop frantically. “Jack’s camera is not transmitting. Still got Jester’s—”
On the screen, a heavy black boot loomed into view, blotting out the tunnel roof. It paused, almost dramatically, then stomped down hard.
The screen went to static.
Hill jumped to her feet. “Get me a visual. Any visual!”
The agent tapped his keyboard, hissing breath between his teeth. He looked up and spread his arms helplessly.
Hill pounded her fist down on a table. “What the hell just happened down there?”
“Transmission’s cut off, Director. We’re deaf and blind.”
“Dammit.” She touched her shoulder-comm again. “All S.H.I.E.L.D. units in vicinity of Fourth Street and Broadway. Proceed immediately underground, to sewer pipes at coordinates on feed 24-J. Patrol all streets within a five-block radius; report anyone or anything trying to surface through manhole or other egress point. We may have a Resistance operation in progress, or—”
“Acting Director Hill.”
Wincing in pain, Tony moved to block her way. She frowned at him, but held her ground.
“I’m not impressed by your methods,” he said. “You failed to capture your quarry, and you lost two agents from your pilot program on their very first assignment.”
She frowned. “Big loss.”
“Nonetheless. I asked you to handle this my way, and you refused.”
“You can barely walk. And this problem is largely of your making. No one told you to invite Spider-Man, a notorious loner with antiauthoritarian tendencies, into your inner circle.”
Tony stood seething for a moment. He looked around at the wreckage of his work, the smashed equipment. The many helmets of Iron Man, dented and smashed and riddled with S.H.I.E.L.D. bullets.
“Get off my property,” he said.
She glared at him, then gestured to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. They began holstering weapons, stowing away equipment, zipping up carry-packs.
Efficient as always, Tony thought. Military to the end.
“Snap it up, boys. We’ve got a spider to catch.”
“You won’t catch him,” Tony said.
“Wishful thinking, Stark?” Hill turned, gave him one last glare. “We will catch him.”
Then S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone.
Tony stood alone for a long time. Tested his knee, tried putting weight on it. It stung, but he could walk. That was enough.
It took him three tries to find a cell phone that worked.
“Pepper, I need a cleanup crew.” He looked around at the wreckage. “And see if you can get the president of the United States on the line, will you?”
A smell of fresh ink rose up from the brand-new driver’s license. Captain America handed it to Sue Richards. “Barbara Landau,” he said.
“Ryan Landau.” Johnny Storm looked up from his own license. “We’re supposed to be married?”
Cap looked up from the paper-strewn conference table. Fluorescent lights glared down, painting the group in unflattering, washed-out hues.
“We’re running low on cover identities,” he said. “With Daredevil incarcerated, our source has dried up.”
“Married.” Sue glanced over at her brother. “That’s got to be the creepiest thing we’ve ever done.”
“How do you think I feel, sis? You look like my last date’s grandmother. Ow!”
Cap sighed. Moving to the new headquarters had been difficult; transporting the monitoring and medical equipment across town had seemed impossible until Sue showed up. Her invisibility had saved them from detection several times.
But the Resistance, Cap knew, was still on shaky ground. He couldn’t forget Hawkeye’s parting warning, about a traitor in the group. And his own injuries were still slowing him down. His left arm still hung in a sling; it stabbed with pain every time he stood up.
Take it slow, he told himself. Remember what you told the others: Step by step. Brick by brick.
Tigra walked in, frowning. “Still no cover ID for me?”
“We’ve gone over this, Tigra.” He indicated her bikini-clad body, covered head to toe with striped orange fur. “You’re not exactly inconspicuous.”
“Yeah.” Johnny smiled. “Must be tough looking as hot as you.”
Tigra purred and rubbed her back up against Johnny’s shoulder. She turned, flashed him a flirty smile.
Sue rolled her eyes.
“Sorry, Mrs. Landau,” Johnny said.
“I used to pass for normal all the time,” Tigra said. “All it took was an image inducer.”
“Which is Stark Enterprises technology,” Cap said. “We can’t have any of that here; Tony’s probably got everything they’ve made in the past ten years tagged with location tracers.” He turned back to Sue and Johnny. “As for you two, the important thing is: These cover identities get you out in public again. Which lets you help people. That’s what we’re here for, right?”
Tigra smiled again, turned toward Johnny. “He’s always so righteous,” she said, gesturing at Cap. “Takes all the fun out of arguing with him.”
Luke Cage strode in, leading the others. “Say it loud, Cap. You like the new crib?”
“It’ll do. Spartan, but that’s a plus.” Cap rose, gave Cage a half-hug. “What was this place again?”
> “African-American Employment Specialists, Inc. Helping the hardworking black man compete in a white man’s world. Fell victim to the economy, an’ it’s been empty more’n a year.”
“No love for the hard-working black man,” Falcon said.
Cage nodded. “Mmmm-hm.”
One by one, they filed in and took seats around the big table. Cage, Falcon, Tigra. Dagger, Photon, the newly arrived Stingray in bright red and white. Sue and Johnny, Patriot and Speed.
The Resistance.
“Okay, let’s get to it.” Cap scanned a handwritten agenda. “Anyone been captured lately?”
Photon was a relative newcomer, a young African-American woman with light-based powers. “Nighthawk and Valkyrie,” she said, “busted in Queens. Which cuts our aerial team down to Falcon and yours truly.”
Stingray spread his wings. “And me,” he said.
Falcon frowned. “Glidin’ ain’t flyin’, son. No worries, Cap. We got it covered.”
“Damn S.H.I.E.L.D. units.” Cap clenched his wounded hand into a fist, felt the pain stab through his arm. “For every man we’ve gained these past few days, we’ve lost one too.”
“And they’re all in that prison.”
“Maybe we can do something about that,” Cap said. “Does anyone know the status of their prisoner transfer plans?”
Sue cleared her throat. “Tony and Reed are setting up Negative Zone portals at major prisons around the country, including Rykers. But none of them are operational yet. So far, everyone’s still being shunted through the Baxter Building.”
“The Baxter Building.” Cap raised an eyebrow. “Susan, can you get us in there?”
“Normally, yes. But I…I’m sure Reed will have changed the security codes. I might even be a liability…the computers would detect my presence immediately.”
“Just as well. I’ve got another urgent mission for you.”
Cap turned to Johnny, who shook his head. “Don’t look at me. If Suzie can’t get in, I don’t stand a chance. Reed’s been making notes on how to nullify my powers since…since before I had powers.”
“Dammit. There is a window of opportunity here.” Cap swept his eyes around the group. “If we can take down the portal in the Baxter Building, that’ll leave them without anywhere to send our guys. In a week, that won’t be a problem for them. We’ve got to strike soon.”
“Cut the cord,” Cage said, “and the whole thing unravels.”
“If we’re lucky.”
“What we need is to get some guys back,” Falcon said. “Make this a fair fight again.”
“What do they call that place?” Patriot asked. “Number 42?”
“Nobody knows why.”
“Knowing Tony Stark, it prob’ly has something to do with his dad—”
They all heard it at once: heavy footsteps, boots clomping on the outer hallway floor. All eleven Resistance members shot to their feet at once, turned toward the doorway—
—and saw the Punisher, lit stark black and white by the glaring lights. Filthy water dripped from him; he smelled like old trash. In his hands he held a limp, bloody form, its costume ripped and shot open in a hundred places.
Spider-Man.
“Get me a medic,” the Punisher said. “NOW!”
THE infirmary had been hastily adapted from an open office area, cots and diagnostic machines crammed in where cubicles had stood before. Two medics lifted Spider-Man onto a bed, casting wary glances at the Punisher.
“Doesn’t weigh much,” the first medic said.
Punisher grunted. “Try carrying him three miles.”
Cap and the others stood back, leaving a wide area free for the medics to work. But Cap’s eyes never strayed from the Punisher.
“What happened?” Cap asked.
“Multiple fractures and serious blood loss,” the Punisher replied.
“I mean—”
“Tony Stark and his buddies. I think there was some kind of hallucinogen in the bombs they attacked him with, too.”
“And you rescued him.” Cap crossed to the Punisher, confronted him directly. “What happened to his attackers?”
Punisher shrugged.
The medics looked up from Spider-Man’s limp form. “This costume is fused to his skin in places.”
“Remove every inch and burn it,” Cap said. “It’s Stark issue—they could be tracking him right now.”
“You know,” Tigra said, “this might all be a setup.”
Punisher smiled. “You think I’m working with Tony Stark?”
“I don’t understand any of this.” Speed shook his head. “You all saw the press conference. Spider-Man is so far up Iron Man’s butt you can’t see his feet anymore.”
“Maybe he was, kid,” the Punisher said. “But he’s on our side now.”
“Our side?”
“Falc—”
“No no, Cap, give me a minute.” Falcon pushed past Captain America, pointed a finger at the skull emblem on Punisher’s chest. “You’re a wanted murderer, Punisher. You’ve capped more men than most of the guys we fight. Since when are you on our side?”
Punisher stared him down. “Since the other side started enlisting super villains.”
Tigra smiled grimly. “Am I the only one seeing the irony here?”
“The way I see it,” Punisher continued, “you people need all the help you can get.”
“Great,” Johnny Storm said. “Why don’t we call up Hannibal Lecter and see if he’s available, too?”
“Because Hannibal Lecter doesn’t have the black-ops training to get you into the Baxter Building.”
Falcon stared. “You can do that?”
“I got in here.”
Falcon opened his mouth, started to reply. But he stopped, as the implications sank in.
Sue Richards looked around. “Please tell me this group isn’t so far gone that we’re signing up the Punisher?”
On the medical table, Spider-Man stirred. He let out a faint moan.
Cage turned to Cap. “Your call, boss. Do we hand Skull-Man over to the cops, or do we hear him out?”
Cap turned away, frowning. He’d run up against the Punisher once before; it had been one of the toughest fights of his life. Punisher could be a formidable ally, for either side.
On the table, Spider-Man lay, frail and writhing. Fighting for his life.
I’m trapped, Cap realized. Whichever way he chose, whichever path he took, something terrible was going to happen. He could sense it, deep in his war-hardened bones.
And they’re all depending on me. To lead them; to help their lives make sense again. To build this tattered Resistance into a permanent force for good.
Step by step. Brick by brick.
He turned back to the Punisher.
“Talk,” Cap said.
“TAKE a breath of that air, Hank.” Tony Stark spread his arms. “Lot healthier than New York, am I right?”
Initiative Training Camp 09AZ, in Arizona, bustled with activity under the bright Southwestern sun. Newly registered recruits, in brightly colored training uniforms, flew and ran and sparred and lifted Sherman tanks for practice, all across the sprawling yard. S.H.I.E.L.D. officers and men in clipboards followed them like mother hens, nodding, frowning, and jotting down notes on each recruit’s performance.
Fully half the yard was cordoned off for new construction. S.H.I.E.L.D. troops mingled with government workers in backhoes and steam shovels, shouting instructions back and forth. They’d been laboring round the clock, knocking down old buildings and laying down new foundations, converting the former Marine base into a facility resilient enough to house superhumans. Like everything else in the Registration plan, the camp was coming together on the fly—and very, very fast.
Hank Pym flashed Tony an unsure smile. He squinted up at the sun, shaded his eyes from the glare.
“I’m just not sure, Tony. I’m a bioresearcher, not a drill sergeant.”
“You don’t have to be the guy in the yard with
the megaphone, Hank. I just want you running things.”
A blurry figure whizzed by, too fast to see clearly. Hank frowned. “Who’s that?”
Tony consulted his tablet computer. “Hermes. Greek god, newly arrived on Earth. If he’s willing to register…”
“What kind of speed is he hitting?”
“Mach One, if he hasn’t eaten. But we’ll have him at Mach Three by the time we go public.” Tony smiled. “Hey, I keep forgetting to ask. How’s Jan?”
“We’re not really, uh, talking right now.”
Hank’s attention turned to a group of young people in trainee costumes, standing and laughing. He looked sad, lost.
He needs this, Tony thought. And I need him.
Tony felt impatient, hot and out of place in his Armani suit. The tablet computer in his hand seemed slow; he’d become accustomed, he realized, to controlling machines with his mind rather than his fingers. He hated taking the armor off these days. It made him feel like a fish stranded on land, flailing around for data.
But the main Iron Man suit still needed a couple hours of repair, time Tony just hadn’t been able to find. Besides, he’d wanted to appeal to Hank as a man, as an old friend. Iron Man was becoming too much of a public authority figure.
“’Scuse me, guys.” A burly construction foreman gestured to a huge crane, lumbering toward them. A massive, one-piece building frame swung from its main cable. “Need to get this down on the foundation.”
Tony and Hank hurried out of the way. “Holographic Combat Simulator building,” Tony said. “When it’s operational, it’ll let you train the recruits in hundreds of different simulated environments.”
Hank smiled. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“There’s no time to give up, Hank. We’re setting up the Champions in California, those new Mormon heroes in Utah, and I’ve assigned the Spaceknights to Chicago.”
“I heard Force Works is going to…Iowa?”
“Pending background checks and the local authorities giving their absolute approval.” Tony paused. “The public needs superpeople they can count on, Hank. We’re doing this right, or not at all.”
Hank nodded. “How’s Reed doing?”