by Stan Lee
Carlos smiled. “Dog was the tough one—he was on the ground. It was tricky to get to him without hitting you guys, too. Which would have, uh, defeated the whole purpose.”
All at once, Duane started peppering Carlos with technical questions. Jasmine seemed very proud of him, too.
“I would have done it sooner,” Carlos said, “but when Duane shorted out the power, all my equipment went dead. I had to wait until the Vanguards dragged him far enough away from headquarters for everything to reboot.”
Rabbit poofed in next to Carlos. “So does that mean we can un-power those guys whenever we want?”
“I wish,” Carlos replied, “but it’s probably not that simple. For one thing, we’re very close to the north magnetic pole up here. I had to tap an awful lot of EM energy to pull this off—it wouldn’t work in most parts of the world.”
“I hate to point this out,” Jasmine added, “but Maxwell also has dozens of scientists at work, analyzing the Zodiac power. He’s probably already figuring out how to shield his operatives from Carlos’s pulse tech.”
“So we’ll come up with something else,” Liam said. “You wouldn’t believe what this man’s got in his lab.”
He clamped an arm around Carlos. Carlos winced at Liam’s grip, then flashed an embarrassed smile.
“We screwed up,” Roxanne said.
Everyone turned to look at her.
“They had us beat,” she continued. “Look at Steven’s face. They tied the rest of us up, swatted Kim away like she was a fly. If Carlos hadn’t pulled his little trick, we’d all be on our way to Maxwell’s Zodiac jail right now.”
Duane stepped toward her. “R-Roxanne?”
“I’ve worked with combos before; I know teamwork when I see it,” she said to Duane. “This isn’t it.”
She turned and walked away, back toward the icy headquarters building.
“Ah, she’ll come around,” Liam said. “Some people ain’t used to this sort of brawling—”
“She’s right,” Steven said.
He could feel their eyes on him, now. But it was Jasmine’s look that hurt the most: a look of disappointment, almost betrayal.
“We got really lucky,” he continued. “They just used me like a punching bag. Next time, we might not…somebody might get…”
Suddenly he felt incredibly tired. His face hurt, his feet ached, and his stomach was sore from the pounding the Vanguards had given him. He felt like throwing up.
What am I doing here? he thought. What are any of us doing?
“Steven,” Kim said. She put a hand on his arm.
But Steven just turned away and stalked off into the snow. He could feel all their eyes on his back.
“We failed,” he said, too quietly for the others to hear. “I failed.”
For the first time since Hong Kong, he felt like he didn’t fit in. Like he didn’t belong anywhere.
The Tiger power kept him warm, but inside, Steven felt cold.
IF YOU WERE to start at the spot where Steven Lee was standing and cut a hole straight through the Earth, you’d come out the other side right in the middle of Australia. There isn’t much to see in the Australian outback—mostly red sand, withered trees, and the occasional kangaroo.
But in one secret location, hidden in the desert, there sits a strange complex of buildings. From the outside they look like white spheres, perfectly smooth and featureless. Inside, they’re the headquarters of Vanguard.
In the largest of those buildings, Maxwell sat in his private sanctum. A classic Japanese garden surrounded him, furnished with waterfalls, wooden bridges, and carefully arranged trays of sand and pebbles. In the exact center of the garden, under a juniper tree, Maxwell rocked slowly on an old porch swing. His eyes were closed, and his legs were folded up in lotus position. The Dragon form blazed over his head, its savage jaws snapping open and closed.
“I am the Dragon,” Maxwell chanted softly. “I am strong and farsighted, and I create the future. I am born to rule.”
The swing was chipped, covered with peeling white paint, and its metal chain squeaked as it swung. Maxwell had scavenged it from his childhood home back in Indiana.
“Sha Qi,” he said, “grant me strength. I accept the burden, the loneliness of power. Help me attain my goals, and bury those who would oppose me beneath the weight of their own weakness.”
Above him, a second energy form shimmered into existence. The new construct slithered and whipped around, as if trying to get away. But Maxwell’s Dragon turned to it, hissed fire, and reached out for it with sharp-clawed wings.
“Jasmine,” he said softly.
The second Dragon—the thinner, older-looking one—tried to shrink away. But Maxwell’s avatar clapped its wings around the newcomer, snaring it tight. As it pulled Jasmine’s Dragon closer, Maxwell glowed brighter.
“Don’t fight me,” he whispered. “You can’t win.”
Then he felt Jasmine’s mind, her consciousness, from all the way on the other side of the world. He felt her realization, the knowledge that her power was leeching away. He sensed her defiance, but also her panic.
“There can only be one Dragon,” he said. The energy, the vitality, surged through him. “And it will be—”
“Maxwell?”
At the sound of the amplified voice, Maxwell’s eyes snapped open.
“The field team has returned, sir.”
He darted a glance up above. Too late; his concentration had been broken. The Dragons were gone.
He clenched his fists, then forced himself to relax. This changes nothing, he thought. It might take a little longer, but I will be the only Dragon. Because I understand the price, and she doesn’t.
She still believes she can have friends.
He rose to his feet, his legs aching from the long meditation session. “Acknowledged,” he said to a hidden speaker on his lapel. “On my way.”
Maxwell’s debriefing room was just outside the garden, but it might as well have been on a different world. It was painted white, with low ceilings and fluorescent lighting. The Vanguard logo covered one entire wall. It was as corporate as a room could possibly be.
The field team stood waiting for him. They looked terrible. Josie and Malik—Horse and Ox, respectively—were dirty and bruised. Vincent, the agent called Monkey, was shifting from side to side, favoring one leg.
Nicky stood in his non-Dog form, shivering under a blanket. His face was dotted with frostbite scabs.
“I don’t see my new recruits,” Maxwell said.
Josie stepped forward, grimacing. “We encountered some unexpected trouble.”
“It wasn’t her fault, sir,” Malik said. “We almost had them.”
“Nevertheless, I was team leader,” Josie said. “I take responsibility.”
“Well, I don’t,” said Vincent.
Maxwell turned to glare at him.
“We did everything we were supposed to do,” Vincent continued. “We landed in a sub-zero storm, we split up and secured prisoners and regrouped, just like in all those boring drills you put us through.”
Maxwell’s eyes flashed with anger. Dragon power flared around him.
Nicky nudged Vincent. “Dude,” Nicky said.
But Vincent kept talking. “We would have won,” he said, “but for some reason our powers cut out on us. That’s not our fault.” He pointed at Maxwell. “You musta screwed up the Zodiac Convergence.”
“Dude,” Nicky repeated. “Are you suicidal?”
Josie and Malik looked nervous now, too.
Maxwell glanced over at the far corner of the room. A hidden door slid silently open, and a figure glided into the room: a tall, lean woman with a menacing expression, her dark hair swept all the way over one eye. Maxwell smiled. He liked Celine, the Zodiac’s deadly Snake.
Celine cast her gaze across the field team, one by one. Her eyes flashed green. A coiled serpent form shimmered into existence above her, its sharp tongue hissing angrily. When her gaze reached Vincent
, she smiled cruelly.
Vincent looked suddenly nervous. He took one limping step back, away from the others.
A second figure appeared behind Celine. A short, squat man with narrow eyes and a high collar that almost covered his mouth.
This was Thiago, the Rat.
They took up position on either side of Vincent. He was chittering now, rocking from side to side. He looked to his teammates for help, but Josie just shook her head. Malik glanced away very deliberately, pulled out his dart gun, and started cleaning it.
After flashing Vincent a quick, apologetic smile, Nicky pulled the blanket tighter around his body as if he thought he could hide inside it.
Celine looked up at Maxwell. Vincent followed her gaze, and time seemed to stand still as the others waited for their leader to decide Vincent’s fate.
Slowly, Maxwell shook his head.
“Dismissed,” he said. “Regroup and prepare. You’ll get a rematch against Jasmine and her children sooner than you think.”
Malik and Josie saluted. The group broke and began to scatter.
Celine stuck her face in front of Vincent’s and hissed. Vincent flinched; she laughed. Then Vincent hurried away.
“Wait,” Maxwell said.
Everyone froze.
He pointed at Vincent. “You. With me.”
“M-me?” Vincent said.
“I won’t say it twice.”
Again, Vincent looked around for help. But the rest of his team was already gone. Celine and Thiago were just slipping out the back door.
Maxwell turned and started out of the room. He didn’t look back, but he knew Vincent was following him. Vincent had no choice.
Maxwell walked through the Japanese garden over a stone bridge that crossed a placid lake. “I find it very peaceful here,” he said. “Don’t you?”
“Y-yeah,” Vincent replied, his voice quavering.
He thinks I’ve brought him here to kill him, Maxwell thought. The idea pleased him.
“Everything in this garden…the pattern of the rocks, the trees, even the temperature-regulated breeze…all of it is designed to encourage contemplation. And concentration.”
“That’s, uh, awesome,” Vincent said. He looked down at the floating water, and swallowed nervously.
Maxwell led Vincent to a small wooden gazebo, a covered structure at the top of a low hill, and gestured for him to sit. Vincent limped over to a bench inside the gazebo, and Maxwell sat down opposite him.
“I don’t think you’ve been here before,” Maxwell said.
“N-nope,” Vincent said. “Listen, I was only jokin’ back there—”
Maxwell held up a hand. Vincent went silent.
“You have trouble with authority,” Maxwell continued. “That’s not a bad thing in itself. In fact, it’s why I recruited you. I want free thinkers…people who are tired of being pushed around by a world that makes less and less sense every year.
“But you don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you? You’re like a child.”
“Uh, yeah,” Vincent said, hope creeping into his eyes. “I, uh, I guess you gotta be patient with me.”
“True, children have to be nurtured.” Maxwell paused. “But sometimes they have to be spanked.”
Vincent fidgeted, scratching his neck. “I, I, I don’t think you’re allowed to do that anymore.”
“But you aren’t even a child,” Maxwell continued. “You’re just a screw-up.”
“Hey,” Vincent said. “I got rights—”
“You’ve got nothing. You are nothing. I tried to free you, to open your mind—but you’re still just a monkey in a cage. Aren’t you?”
Vincent leapt up, suddenly angry. Maxwell watched his movements calmly.
“I might be different now,” Vincent said, “but I ain’t your monkey. I’m nobody’s monkey.”
“You can’t see,” Maxwell said, rising to his feet. “You can’t see the cage, all around you.”
He clenched his fists, and the Dragon power flared to life.
“That’s unfortunate,” he continued.
Vincent took a step back. He looked around wildly at the gazebo, at the rolling hills and neatly trimmed grass beyond.
Maxwell stared at his agent. He felt a terrible, familiar feeling, the feeling he had inside when he was about to take a drastic step. For a long moment he considered the pros and cons, weighing them in his mind.
The last time he’d done this, an entire city had died.
“Forgive me,” Maxwell said.
Vincent stared at him with frightened eyes. “For what?”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Maxwell raised his hands to his temples. The Dragon power shot forth from his forehead in a sharp, focused burst. Its jaws gaped wide, shrieking like a predator closing in on its prey.
Then Maxwell was inside Vincent’s mind. He saw Vincent’s childhood self-image: the unwanted youngest son of a large family in Miami, Florida. He saw fear, doubt, and a constant need to prove himself. But Vincent lacked the focus, the concentration, the intellect to break out of his trap. His cage.
And now he was a problem. Maxwell knew his soldiers—he had led them into battle, he had watched them kill, and he had watched them die. He could see the inevitable outcome: Vincent would fail him. The agent had already performed poorly in the field. One day soon, he would actively betray Maxwell.
Maxwell had risked everything, devoted billions of dollars and countless man-hours to the single goal of controlling the most dangerous power the world had ever known. He could not allow that to be undone—especially by one of his own.
He reached deeper into Vincent’s brain. Vincent whimpered, trying feebly to push Maxwell out. But Maxwell was too strong. He forced his way through to the hatred, the resentment, the bitterness that Vincent kept hidden. The bitterness that pulsed like a red star, angry and burning.
The Dragon opened its jaws and ate the red star.
Maxwell felt the thrill, the exhilaration, of consuming part of another man. Vincent’s hatred, his darker self, exploded inside Maxwell, flashing and scattering to every corner of Maxwell’s being. It wasn’t a killing, but it felt like one.
You can’t be a soldier, Maxwell had often said, if you will not kill.
And yet, he knew he’d lost something as well. This was a necessary evil, but an evil nonetheless. The Dragon power was meant for greater, purer things.
Slowly, the red ball’s fire faded away. Maxwell exhaled, his hands shaking. He felt spent, exhausted.
Vincent made a little noise. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he slumped forward on the bench.
“Are you injured?” Maxwell asked.
Vincent looked down at his hand, as if he’d never seen it before. He shook it and winced. For a moment, Maxwell wondered if he’d gone too far. Had he damaged Vincent beyond repair?
Then Vincent looked up. When he spoke again, there was a new purpose in his voice, and a new obedience.
“No, sir,” Vincent said.
“Good,” Maxwell replied, “because I’m going to need you again, very soon. You will obey me now?”
Vincent considered the question for a moment. Then he nodded, firmly and decisively.
“Without question?”
“Yes,” Vincent said. “Without question.”
Maxwell gestured toward the stone bridge. “You can go.”
Vincent stood up and snapped a sharp salute at Maxwell. Then he turned and marched away, all trace of his former rebellious attitude gone. He seemed like a different person now.
In a very real way, he was.
When Monkey was gone, Maxwell stood up. He stumbled and almost fell. He realized he was shaking.
Maxwell had always known that the Dragon was capable of altering men’s minds. He’d considered using that power, mostly on his enemies, but he’d vowed to avoid it if at all possible. It seemed like a step too far, even for a man with so much blood already on his hands.
Part of the r
eason was moral. Killing was one thing: it was a clean, almost purifying act. The person was alive, and then he was dead. Altering a person’s mind by force was different. It was a violation, an intrusion into the victim’s deepest self.
But there was a practical problem as well. Using the power this way drained Maxwell, caused the Dragon to recede from him. He’d spent a day and a night in the garden, meditating, drawing Jasmine’s Dragon power into himself. And now, with a single cruel act, he’d undone almost all of that work.
He walked out of the gazebo and across the pond. He knelt down in a field of sand and traced a circle with his finger.
The garden had always been a place of peace, of escape. But now it felt different. The trees looked gnarled and unnatural, the rocks seemed harsh and jagged in the water. The bridges looked shaky, as if they could collapse any minute.
I’ve spoiled it, he realized. By doing what I did to Monkey, I’ve befouled my perfect place. It can never be pure again.
Maxwell crossed to the wooden swing and sat down. He closed his eyes and tried to focus the power. Once again, the two Dragons came into view. Maxwell’s Dragon held Jasmine’s in its firm, talon-winged grip.
No. I did what needed to be done. This is how the world works, and mine is the reaction that the world demands.
But then Maxwell’s dragon seemed to flicker, to wink out of existence and back again. Jasmine’s Dragon whipped its tail sharply and broke Maxwell’s grip. Then it reached out, opened hissing jaws, and lashed out with sharp claws.
Maxwell felt the blow and jumped, startled. Above him, the energy constructs faded away.
More of his power was gone now—into the ether, the link between Dragons. Maybe even back into Jasmine. And he was too rattled, too drained to try again.
Don’t get overconfident, Jasmine, he thought. This is just a temporary setback. I’m still coming for you.
He reached up to open his shirt, unbuttoning it all the way down to reveal an old, jagged scar. He ran his fingers along it, down his chest to his stomach.
If he couldn’t absorb her power from there…