by Stan Lee
Carlos, Duane thought. You could help. You worked with the Dragon; you helped develop the volcano tech. You’re the only one who might be able to stop this.
If you’d only wake up.
“Open your flib-gibbering eyes!” he said.
But Carlos didn’t move. So Duane turned away and resumed monitoring, collating, and sorting the data before him—waiting, with gritted teeth, for the end of the world.
Jasmine flinched as a blast of frigid wind struck her. She shivered and let out a strangled noise.
Carlos laughed. Embarrassed, she punched him; her gloved fist sank into his heavy parka. She snuggled against his warm chest.
“Jaz,” he said, pointing. “You don’t want to miss this.”
A huge cement mixer rumbled loudly as its drum began to spin. It sat, along with a few other all-terrain vehicles, on a carpet of snow that seemed to stretch on forever—except for a huge circular trench, almost half a kilometer in diameter, that had been cleared away and dug to a depth of two stories. Workers in heavy coats stood nearby, directing the operation, shivering in the extreme cold. The sun beat down, glaring brightly against the snow.
With a grinding noise, the cement mixer’s chute swung over the trench. As the gray cement began to flow, Jasmine’s breath caught in her throat.
“Zodiac headquarters,” she whispered.
Carlos smiled and pulled her closer. He smelled of sweat and hard work. She closed her eyes, drinking in the feel of him.
For a moment, she forgot it was only a memory.
“This was the time,” she said. “After all our planning, this was when the dream became real. When I realized we actually could make the world a better place.”
“Oh, Jasmine. Really?”
She opened her eyes. Carlos had turned rigid and cold, his arms frozen in place around her. The cement mixer had stopped turning; the thick stream of cement hung over the trench like an abstract sculpture. The workers were gone.
She turned, knowing whom she would see. Maxwell wore his usual uniform, with no snow gear over it. He didn’t seem cold.
“‘Make the world a better place’?” He grimaced. “I believe I just threw up in my mouth.”
Furious, she disengaged from Carlos and stalked over to Maxwell. She reached up and slapped him across the face as hard as she could. Her hand passed straight through his body; she stumbled and almost fell.
“Mindscape. Remember?” Maxwell laughed. “You really have to get better at this.”
“Actually, I think I’ve had enough.”
“And yet you’re still here. Your friends have tried several times to extract you.”
“You. You’re preventing that. Keeping me in here.”
“I’m not keeping you anywhere.”
She glared at him. She couldn’t trust Maxwell; she knew that. Yet his words rang true.
“Are you just torturing me now?” She gestured at the cement mixer, at the clearing that would become Zodiac headquarters. “This was the coldest I’ve ever been in my life. And…and the happiest.”
“I’m not picking these flashbacks. You are.”
She spat in the snow. Riddles, she thought, nothing but riddles. “How do I get rid of you? How do I get you out of my head?”
His face grew serious. “Wrong question.”
“You don’t get to decide what questions I—”
“The right question,” he continued, “is how do you get him out of his head?”
Maxwell gestured at Carlos. The scientist remained completely still, his arms wrapped around the space where Jasmine had stood a few moments before. He looked happy, content, watching the dream they’d shared become a reality.
Just like I was.
“Okay,” she whispered. “What do I do?”
He walked up and took her by the shoulders. “I’ve told you. Twice now.” His eyes bored into hers. “You must unburden yourself.”
All around Maxwell’s figure, the landscape began to shift. Snow flattened into sand; the cement mixer wavered and vanished. Cold, biting air turned to dry, searing heat.
Jasmine found herself back in the desert. She pulled away from Maxwell and turned, knowing what she would see. Once again, Carlos lay in his hospital bed, surrounded by the endless sand.
“The world needs him,” Maxwell said. “And you claim you love him.”
“I do. More than anything.”
“Then tell him.”
She grabbed Carlos by the shoulders. “Wake up,” she said, shaking his limp body. “Wake up!” But Carlos’s eyes didn’t open.
“Tell him.”
She whirled to face Maxwell. “Tell him what?”
Maxwell shot her a look of disappointment. Then, all at once, he started to glow. Not with Zodiac energy, she realized. This was red, electrical—more like the discharges given off by the Vanguard energy rifles—
The blast knocked her off her feet. She skidded across the ground—which seemed to have transformed into some sort of hard stone surface. She bounced off a railing and tumbled to the floor.
She scrambled to her feet. She stood on a narrow walkway—an observation deck, she realized. She leaned over the railing; beyond about a meter of safety netting, a beautiful city lay stretched out below. A calm river wound through close-packed old buildings bordered by high trees.
Oh, no.
A glance back confirmed her suspicions. A distinctive arch of riveted girders stood in the center of the deck, obscuring the other side of the walkway. There was no doubt: this was the Eiffel Tower, in Paris.
“Oh,” said a woman with a deep voice, as if echoing Jasmine’s thoughts. “Oh, no.”
Ice ran through Jasmine’s veins. She hadn’t heard that voice for years.
She crept around the arch, toward the sound of the voice. She wanted to flee, to avoid this moment from her past, to banish it forever from her memory. But that was impossible. Now that she was there, she had to see.
A tall woman in a trench coat knelt over a man in a Vanguard uniform. The man lay on the deck. He had a hole in his chest.
“Oh,” the woman said, running her hand along the man’s face. “Oh, Liang.”
The man didn’t move. Smoke rose from his wound, but he was clearly dead.
Mom and Dad. Jasmine couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe.
This is the day they died.
The woman cast a quick glance up at Jasmine. A dozen expressions crossed her face: fear, anger, sadness, worry. Her mouth silently formed the words, I’m sorry, Jaz.
Then she whirled to her feet. Her trench coat flipped open, revealing a matching Vanguard uniform. “You killed him,” the woman said.
Jasmine forced herself to look up. Again, she knew what she would see. She’d lived this moment already, many years before.
Maxwell stood at the far end of the walkway, his eyes shining with fury. He held an energy rifle, its barrel still glowing red-hot. They were alone; the rest of the tourists had fled at the first sign of violence.
Maxwell, Jasmine realized, was more than a phantom there. He wasn’t the Dragon yet; this had happened before the Zodiac Convergence, before the powers had exploded into the world. But he wasn’t just a hitchhiking presence in her mind, either. He was an active participant in this event.
And he just murdered my father.
Jasmine glanced quickly at the dead body. He used to like dogs, she thought, and watching movies in the middle of the night.
The sorrow was almost unbearable. But that wasn’t the worst of it, she knew. There was more to come.
“I killed him,” Maxwell acknowledged, “as I would eliminate any traitor to my organization.”
“Traitor?” Jasmine’s mother took a step toward Maxwell. “What are you talking about?”
“Really, Mu Ning.” Maxwell’s eyes were hard, unmoving. “The deception is over.”
“You’ve gone mad.”
Mu Ning, Jasmine’s mother, reached into the pocket of her trench coat. No, Jasmine though
t. Don’t do it, Mom. Don’t do it.
Maxwell raised the energy rifle. “Did you lie this way to your superiors in the American CIA? When you met with them at the—”
No. No no no no no.
“—at the Saint Maurice Banquet?”
Mu Ning charged. Maxwell stepped back, surprised, and raised his energy rifle. But before he could aim, Mu Ning whipped out a charged energy knife and slashed it across his chest.
Maxwell let out a loud, inhuman howl. He stumbled back and lost his grip on the energy rifle. His uniform fell in tatters from his chest; blood dripped to the floor. As he staggered back, Mu Ning tackled him and raised the knife for another blow. Their eyes locked together.
Mu Ning pressed her knee into Maxwell’s chest, pinning him to the observation deck. Jasmine couldn’t move; all she could do was watch.
Everything seemed to freeze. Maxwell’s head whipped sideways, his eyes staring straight at Jasmine. “Now do you understand?”
Before Jasmine could react, the world snapped back into motion. Mu Ning spat down at Maxwell, spraying his face. Her knife’s blade crackled with energy as she plunged it down, aiming straight at his chest.
Maxwell’s arm shot out, almost too fast to see. He grabbed Mu Ning by the throat and lifted her up, off the observation deck. She flailed, struggled, and made a choking noise.
Almost casually, he reached out and twisted her wrist. The knife slipped from her fingers, landing on the deck with a sizzle.
“I hope your daughter,” he hissed, “proves more useful than you.”
He swung his arm back, lifting Mu Ning high. Then he lunged forward and hurled her off the deck.
Jasmine ran to the railing. Mu Ning’s flailing body soared through the air, over the protective netting. As Jasmine watched in horror, her mother began the long drop toward the city below.
Mu Ning’s form grew smaller and smaller. Before it could strike the ground, it disappeared into a grove of trees.
Jasmine whirled. Maxwell stood facing her. His uniform was torn, his chest bleeding. He looked like a wounded animal.
“You killed them,” she said. “You did this.”
To her surprise, he shook his head. “You still don’t understand.”
He reached out a hand and swept it sideways—and they were sitting at a sidewalk café. Jasmine glanced in surprise at the tattered banner above them, then at the cobblestoned street. A river flowed just beyond it, serene and peaceful.
Across the table, Maxwell leaned back in his chair, frowning at something on his phone. He wore casual clothes; there was no evidence of his knife wound.
Jasmine picked up a huge croissant and took a bite. Jelly filled her mouth, the taste of warm fruit mixed with butter.
“I love Paris,” she said.
Maxwell raised an eyebrow, then flashed her an indulgent half smile.
I know when this was, she thought. Just two days before the murders—before the day he killed my parents. I’m…how old am I? Sixteen?
And I’m already working for him, she remembered with horror. I begged him to let me join Vanguard.
Jasmine leaned across the table, smirking. She felt numb, detached. All she could do was let things play out as they had, with her teenage self calling the shots.
“I’m sick of going over reports,” she said. “When you gonna give me a real job? Something with a little wetwork?”
Maxwell chuckled.
“I’m ready,” she insisted.
He laid down the smartphone and studied her. “You think you can follow in your parents’ footsteps?”
“My parents?” Young Jasmine snorted. “They don’t know what they’re doing.”
I was a cocky little brat, she thought. Never satisfied. Never appreciated them.
“I can’t argue with your assessment,” Maxwell replied. “They certainly let me down on the Johannesburg mission.”
“They’re never around anymore,” Jasmine said. “All they do is go to parties.”
Something hard entered Maxwell’s eyes. “Parties?”
No, Jasmine thought. No, you little fool. Don’t say it. Don’t say it!
“Yeah,” she said. “Tonight they’re going to something…the Saint Maurice Banquet?” She made a pfffft noise. “Of course, they’re not takin’ me.”
Maxwell stared at her. She remembered the sudden queasiness that look had triggered. Somehow young Jasmine had known her world was about to be turned upside down, though she hadn’t understood why.
As Maxwell turned to type something on his phone, she leaned forward again. “So you gonna give me a mission or what?”
“I promise,” he said, not looking up, “you’ll see action very soon.”
But Jasmine was barely listening. She forced herself to look at Maxwell—at the man who’d killed her parents, murdered thousands of people, kidnapped and wounded members of her team. The man who’d led her back in time to this moment.
“I told you,” she whispered. “I gave you the information.”
He nodded. A smile crept around the corners of his lips.
“The banquet. That’s how you knew my parents were…were spying on you.” She stood up, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back tears. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know about them or…or what I was telling you.”
“I told her I hoped you’d be more useful.” Maxwell’s voice was hard. “She never knew: you already were.”
“It’s my fault. My fault you killed them.” She couldn’t stop the tears; she raised both hands to wipe them away. “I’ve known it for a long time. Carried it around with me like an anvil.”
“And you couldn’t tell anyone. Not even those closest to you.”
“Why did you do that?” She opened her eyes wide, glared at Maxwell. “Why did you make me relive it? To torture me, force me to admit it to you?”
“Not to me,” he replied, his voice even. “To him.”
They were back in the desert. Maxwell stood on the other side of Carlos’s hospital bed, gesturing at the unmoving body between them.
“I can’t heal the damage,” Maxwell continued. “I can’t make him live with what he’s done. Only you can do that.”
Maxwell stepped away, a strange expression on his face. He’s in my mind, she thought. He feels what I’m feeling.
“I’m sorry, Jasmine,” he said. “For some of it, anyway.”
She turned to look down at Carlos. His face seemed thin, drained of life. She took his withered hand and leaned close to him.
“I know what you’re feeling,” she said.
She stopped and caught her breath, bracing herself.
“Sometimes we do things,” she continued. “And…and afterward we feel like we can’t live with ourselves. Like we’ve ruined our whole lives in one moment, become someone else entirely. Not even a person—a thing, something too horrible to face in the mirror. And it feels like there’s no way we can ever get back to the person we used to be.”
He didn’t move. She clutched his hand tighter.
“You felt that way,” she continued. “I know you did. When you helped Maxwell, when you turned against me and stole all our powers. It wasn’t your fault. He brainwashed you…the Dragon did. He saw something inside you, drew it out and played on it, made you feel like you were doing the right thing. But it wasn’t your fault.”
His hand twitched. She leaned closer.
“I know. Because I’ve felt the same way. I wanted to work for Maxwell so bad…I told him things I shouldn’t. And those things led directly to the death of my parents. I’ve never told you that, never told anybody. Because I, I, I didn’t want you to think of me like that. Because I blamed myself so much.
“But you know what? I was a stupid kid. And I didn’t know, couldn’t have known, what I was doing. I’d give anything if I could take it back, if my folks could be alive right now. But I can’t do that. It doesn’t matter what kind of superpowers you have….That’s just not the way the world works.
“So I have
to forgive myself.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “And you know what? You have to forgive yourself, too.”
He stirred. A small restless noise came from his mouth.
“We need you,” Jasmine continued. “I need you. You big dumb nerd.”
Again the noise. This time it was clearly a laugh.
“Jaz,” he croaked.
She couldn’t help it. She broke into tears and fell over his bed, burying her head in his chest. He smelled good, just as he had that day in the snowy wastes of Greenland. He smelled like home.
“I had no idea,” he continued, his eyes still closed. “No idea you were carrying that around.”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “It kind of sucked.”
“Not as bad as…eating applesauce through a tube for a week.”
She laughed, then cried a little more. At last she straightened herself up and wiped away her tears.
“The team needs your help,” she said. “Things are pretty bad, I think. And believe it or not, Maxwell isn’t the—”
She looked around, startled. Maxwell had gone, retreated somewhere back inside her mind. She and Carlos were the only two people in the world, alone under the blazing sun.
Carlos’s finger rose, beckoning to her. He said something she couldn’t make out. As she leaned in closer, he opened his eyes for the first time.
“Duane,” he gasped. “Take me to Duane.”
STEVEN SWAM FURIOUSLY, trying not to think about a lot of things: His team, being buffeted in a tiny ship somewhere above his head. The explosive charges planted along the volcano below him. His parents, who might very well be following him to their deaths.
The end of the world.
The caldera, the crater exposed by the drill-ship’s first detonation, loomed below, lit by the Dragon-glow from inside the mountain. Steven reached out with his Tiger senses, scanning the area. The crater was the size of a small lake, with gray stone walls surrounding a surprisingly flat floor. On the far side, along one wall, a jagged hole led inside the mountain. That’s it, he thought. That’s the way in.