Natalia Alianovna Romanova slammed her fist down, her punch smashing through the heavy helmet of the Son of the Serpent on the ground before her. She felt the metal and polymer shatter at her blow, felt the flesh beneath bulge as her fist cracked bone. Blood flew up spattering her face. She sighed heavily and took a deep breath, the body at her feet finally still.
Natalia Romanova stood and wiped the blood from her face. There was sweat as well, despite the chill still in the air lingering from the recent snow. She could see her breath swirling before her, vapors obscuring the man lying in the slushy garbage strewn gutter before her. He was breathing as well, slowly and steadily despite the red trailing from his nose and the corner of his mouth. She had not meant to hit him so hard, but she was getting tired, tired and frustrated. She wanted this fight to end.
The Black Widow spun about, the muffled sound of an explosion nearby drawing her attention. She turned in time to see the exhaust trail of a mortar rocket arching through the already smoky air. A second later and the decades old neon sign of the Apollo Theater burst into a shower of sparkling glass and fire raining down on the street below. There was another explosion, the sound of the rocket's impact just a heartbeat after the image of the fireball was etched into her mind's eye. Her hair blew in the warm breeze as she watched the people up the street just starting to scream and run in a panic. The Sons of the Serpent had upped the stakes of their attack, now using heavier weapons, no longer simply threatening with sticks and stones. Now they were trying to kill!
She had known war in all of her many guises over the years; as a child in the old Soviet Union, as a soldier and spy, an Avenger. She had started wars working for the KGB, and as an Avenger she had helped to stop them. But even after all the years, all the pain and bloodshed, the sight of it still sickened her. It was something that she would never get used to, and in truth she hoped that she never would. She dreaded the day that her heart grew so cold.
The Black Widow had scarcely been able to believe her eyes as she had arrived on the scene. It had been a short, fast flight the few blocks from the UN Plaza and the S.H.I.E.L.D. offices sequestered there uptown to 125thStreet in Harlem. It had not even taken ten minutes from the time Fury had gotten the harried call from his agents to fly a S.H.I.E.L.D. transport the short distance, but by the time they had arrived the street was already in turmoil. Buildings were on fire all up and down the street also named Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard. Storefronts were shattered and billows of smoke rose into the air where cars lay mangled, overturned and burning. People were pouring into the street with fists and sticks and guns racing to defend their neighborhood from the masked, hate-filled invaders that met them fighting tooth and nail. It was a riot as bad as any that she had ever seen in Leningrad or Moscow. People were dying before her eyes as the Sons of the Serpents slithered through Harlem, striking out at any who got in their path.
But worse, the people trying to defend their street and livelihood were battling with one another as easily as themselves. Blacks were attacking whites. Women were fighting men. Children were running through the crowds striking out at anything that came near. As the S.H.I.E.L.D. transport lowered, settling in to land Natalia saw a police cruiser explode, a shower of burning twisted metal in its wake. A man ran flaming and screaming from the wreckage only to be overwhelmed and beaten down by the mob-
"Jesus…" she had heard Nighthawk whisper and glanced back to see him standing right behind her copilot's chair. All of the blood had drained from his face, and his eyes were wide with wonder and fright. Behind him Natalia could see Wolverine cranking the handle of the transports massive pressure door, gritting his teeth with impatience. She half expected her mutant friend to pop his adamantium claws and slice the door from its hinges in his desire to get out, save for the calming hand of the Black Panther on the X-Man's shoulder. She could see the tension in her fellow Avenger as well, however, and she had turned to Fury to urge him on.
Colonel Nicholas Fury was struggling with the transport's controls, desperately trying to hold the behemoth steady while trying not to land amidst a crowd of innocent civilians. The ship was standard, not equipped with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s patented vortex beam technology but ran rather on hydrogen cells powering massive blades not unlike a hovercraft. The transport ship was fast, but was not designed for maneuverability, and became unwieldy she knew when one had to worry about bystanders, not to mention being shot at. It was only when Fury cut power to the craft, letting it settle roughly in the small parking lot of a super market that she heard the sound of bullets ricocheting off of the cruiser's thick hull and wind screen. Barely a heartbeat later and Natalia had heard the door pop open and the craft was awash with the sounds of battle coming from the street.
She heard sirens and gunfire. The sounds of people cursing and shouting, screaming. There was another explosion, another car she had thought, followed by an animalistic snarl of rage. She knew then that Wolverine had joined the fray. Within moments they were all out the door behind him, their own safety forgotten, fighting for their very lives.
She had felt the wave of hatred as soon as she had stepped out of the transport. Natalia felt the anger swell within her. Anger at the stupidity of these people, fighting amongst themselves, tearing their street apart, destroying their very homes. She hated them for making her get involved and she wondered, regretted ever having come to this mad country. She had been fighting this foolishness for years, ever since she had defected. She hated herself for defecting from mother Russia, a land now half-forgotten by the decadence of America. She hated Hawkeye for being so handsome and loving when she had been so vulnerable. She hated-
She had seen the blow from the corner of her eye, the open palm speeding at her face but she was too slow to do anything about it. The hand connected against her cheek even as she tried to lean back and dodge out of the way. That only made her fall to the pavement all the faster, the force of the blow making her ears ring and knocking her off of her feet. She hit the concrete hard, barely remembering her training her head seemed so muddled. But not just from the blow. It was more than that.
Her pulse was racing. Anger still swelled within her, trying to take hold again but she fought it down, fought it back. She felt blood in her mouth from where she was biting her cheek trying to focus, trying to remember her training. She had been trained by experts in the KGB and S.H.I.E.L.D. alike to resist whatever was happening. Someone was trying to control her mind. Her emotions!
Fury had been standing over her, his face a twisted grimace, a mask of anger and pain and she knew that he was struggling with his inner demons as hard as she was. It was he that had struck her she knew, and that made her all the more angry. She had wanted to lash out, to cut him down-
"Fight it, Widow!" he snarled, his fists clenching and unclenching. She saw blood on his palms where his nails were cutting into his flesh and she smiled. "Ya gotta fight it! It's just like at…Xavier's. But stronger! The hate! It's here! Whatever's doin' this is still here! We gotta find it. It's the only…way!"
Natalia had cursed. Grudgingly she admitted that Fury was right. She had felt it earlier, when they had arrived at Xavier's estate in Westchester and had come upon a similar scene of a riot brewing. It had been a tingling sensation then, and she had felt it for only an instant before Fury had ejected her from his Flying Car. She hated him for that, as though she needed his protection. She would kill him for that! She would-
The Black Widow had beaten her fists against the cold hard stone of the pavement trying to focus her will. She could not let the anger overwhelm her. People were dying, and whether they deserved it or not, it was her job to stop them. Her responsibility to help them.
Natalia got up and ran as fast as she could away from Fury. He had been the focus driving her rage, and she knew that if he were not there in easy striking distance that she would win the battle for her emotions. So she had run, shoving people aside, trying her best to only strike out at the men dressed in the garb of the Sons of the Serpent. They were the obvious threat. They were the true villains in the midst of madness. She could hear her heart racing, pounding in her ears. Someone shouted at her as she passed and she drove her heel into his stomach to shut him out. Suddenly there had been a snake directly in her path, raising his carved serpent club to strike her down. She remembered screaming-
The Serpent at her feet moaned and for a moment she contemplated a quick death for him, putting him out of his misery. She fought back the rage, breathing in and out, trying to regain her focus and calm. All around her the fight still raged. A brick flew past her head close enough to ruffle her hair. Natalia ducked into a crouch, trying to focus on the battle. It was chaos.
Fury was right in the fact that the only way to stop this was to find whoever was the catalyst. Somewhere within the churning sea of people was the one responsible. He was probably hidden, out of sight but close enough to effect the entire area. Scanning the crowd, she had a sudden inspiration and rolled the Serpent onto his belly. Natalia pushed away the remains of his shattered helmet and felt at the base of his skull.
She found the Controller's control disk easily enough. It was not hidden. There was no need. She knew better than to try and remove it, as that would kill the bearer at worst, and at best leave him a mindless vegetable. It took a trained squad of S.H.I.E.L.D. technicians along with Charles Xavier himself to right the minds of the mob that had attacked the X-Men's Westchester headquarters. As far as she knew, they were still at it. She brushed the small metallic disk however and gasped, immediately drawing back. She felt a shock, like a jolt of pure hatred race up her arm like an electrical current. The disks were definitely broadcasting the emotions of whoever was linked to them. Controlling them and amplifying the victim's own anger to an abnormal level. It made perfect sense, fanning the flames of bigotry enough to get an angry mob bent on destruction and murder. If all of the snakes were wearing the disks and broadcasting their own hatred, then anyone in the area; the civilians, the police, even herself would be caught in the grip of rage. For someone who craved nothing but wanton violence and death it was the perfect plan-
Natalia blinked. There was something in that. Something elusively familiar about the thought but her mind was still so clouded on the verge of hate that she could not recall exactly what. The snakes, and the rage. The all-encompassing violence and senseless destruction simply for the sake of death and…
And…
"Viper!"
***
The Black Panther ducked, crouching down under the wild swing, the Serpent's club whistling by overhead. The Panther's fist shot forward driving into the padded armor of the man's stomach. The man doubled over, dropping his stick and the Panther's heightened sense of smell detected the Serpent's rancid breath as it expelled in a gush. The Avenger grimaced but grasped the man at the collar and threw him to the ground, the impact knocking him unconscious.
A hail of bullets chipped away at the ground in front of him and the African Avenger was forced to spring forward. He flipped, twisting high into the air, his powerful legs propelling him forward and past the boy with the Tech-9 automatic gun. The Panther's eyes widened to see that the boy, his assailant was barely a teenager. Then his eyes narrowed the hatred for the society that would turn a boy so young to a life of crime overwhelming him. The Panther snarled a roar of rage that would do his namesake proud. He landed in a crouch beside the boy, ready to strike as the stubby rifle barrel swung in his direction. Hate twisted the face of the youth, and T'Challa saw his own countenance reflected there, the mask of fear and anger that had molded his own features the day that his father died. The day the white man- Ulysses Klaw- had invaded Wakanda to steal the sacred Vibranium. T'Chaka, King of all the Wakanda's had stood tall and proud before the invaders, but the white man's technology and trickery had been too much for the great chieftain. T'Chaka had died, and in the space of a heartbeat, T'challa had become king!
And with the weight of the crown came the far greater duty and responsibility of honor and judgement. T'Challa remembered his struggles; growing and learning what it meant to be a king, and a man as well. He had fought his rage then, and years later had exacted his vengeance. He had beaten Klaw and honored his father. He had survived the challenges of leadership- defeating six of Wakanda's greatest warriors and securing the fabled heart-shaped herb that granted him the skill and strength of the black panther, honoring his land and home. He had fought against his inner demons and had won, thus honoring himself.
The Black Panther reached out swiftly as the boy turned, grabbing and wrenching the weapon from his grasp. The boy screamed his rage, but the Panther knew that he was not in his own right mind. True, owning and using the gun, he was a villain in his own right, but something else was driving him now. The boy drew back a fist to retaliate but the Panther dropped, sweeping his leg behind the boy's knees and laying him low. T'Challa drove a knuckle into a spot on the boy's neck, a cluster of nerves that, when struck, shocked him into unconsciousness.
The Panther rolled into a defensive crouch scanning the battlefield. Another foe had fallen, but how many more to go? If anything, there appeared to be more people within the angry mob. T'Challa saw more police arriving, rolling onto the cross town avenue off of Madison, both cruisers and armored vans. There would be police in riot gear now with tear gas and heavier guns and weaponry. Worse, the Panther could still feel the tickle of anger scratching at the back of his mind. Only his own strength of will had broken the emotional hold on himself. Normal citizens would stand no chance. The riot was about to become a blood bath!
A bestial roar drew the Panther's attention and turned his blood cold. It was like the feral screams of a great cat in pain and anger, and T'Challa knew even before he turned what- who had made that terrible sound.
Wolverine was not far away, stalking forward towards a band of Serpents trying to stand their ground against oncoming certain death. Their own rage and anger had clouded their judgement. Any sane man would have run against the sight of so fearsome a foe as the feral X-Man as he strode forward. They fired bullets into him, the force of each barely breaking the mutant's stride as they struck, his mutant healing factor forcing the lead projectiles from his body and sealing the wounds almost as quickly as another sank into his skin. He simply snarled all the louder, shrugging off each new impact, taking another halting step towards his attackers. T'Challa saw Wolverine's long adamantium claws popping in and out of their metallic housings on the back of his hands. He saw the way that the man struggled with every step he took. At first glance it appeared that the mutant was in the grips of one of his fabled animalistic rages, but as the Panther watched, he understood.
Wolverine was struggling with himself, fighting his own inner demons, his body and very soul to remain in control. Some instinctive spark of reason still burned within the man's psyche and he somehow knew that if he lost control his body would become little more than a rampaging killing machine striking out at any and all in his path with reckless abandon. If Wolverine lost his inner struggle to the beast, the Panther knew that it would take all of his own skill and strength to stop the mutant wild man.
And still the Serpents attacked. With a mighty scream Wolverine's body shook, tensing as he forced his claws back into their housings. His costume of yellow and blue was a tattered rag barely clinging to his sweaty, bloody skin. The Panther could see holes and scratches closing and scabbing over as he watched, flattened bullets that had struck the mutant's adamantium laced skeletal frame forced out of the skin and dropping to the ground at his feet.
Wolverine lunged forward into the midst of the Serpents. A sweeping roundhouse blow to the jaw dropped the first, and the Panther watched as Wolverine snatched up the falling man and flung him into his fellows. Two of the remaining four snakes staggered back under the sudden weight of impact, and the feral mutant was on them even as they screamed out in shock. Wolverine leaped, and for a moment the Panther thought that the man was going to pop his claws again, but he instead grabbed the two faltering Serpents by their collars and slammed them headfirst into one another, the force of his own leap and weight then smashing them back into the brick wall behind them. The two snakes slid down the wall already unconscious before they collapsed in a mangled heap atop Wolverine's initial foe. Wolverine then turned on the final two.
Wolverine's face twisted in a snarl, his eyes narrow slits as he stared down his prey. He raised his fists as he stepped forward, his claws sliding free once more with an audible 'snikt'! The Panther could smell the sudden fear rolling off of the two snakes, terror forcing the anger from them. They were after all just men with sticks and guns, little more than bullies. T'Challa smelled the bitter tang of urine as one of the two fainted dead away while the other snake turned on his heel and ran for his very life. Wolverine watched the man run, then stood tall, exhaling as though he had been holding in a great breath. He retracted his claws.
"You just gonna stand there, bub?" Wolverine turned to meet the Panther's gaze and T'Challa saw that the man's eyes were rimmed with red. The hate still bubbled just below the surface, but the mutant was holding it at bay.
"Forgive me, my friend. I was ready to help should you have needed it, but I felt that you had to win that particular battle on your own. I feared that the rage might consume you if I intervened."
"Hrrmph!" Wolverine shrugged. "I been fightin' the 'rage' ever since Mac an' Heather Hudson pulled me outta' the Canadian woods. Everyday a' my life. Take more'n Empath's got ta push me over the edge. Speakin' a' which, you spot 'im yet?"
The Panther shook his head. "I've been…occupied."
"Well, we better find the little brat, and fast!" Wolverine pointed and T'Challa followed the X-Man's direction. He sighed.
"Yer buddy Richmond apparently ain't got the mental defenses we do. Ya'd think Strange would'a taught 'im better."
T'Challa stared, watching as Kyle Richmond, the Defender known as Nighthawk leapt through the mob still rioting in the street, attacking anyone who was near. Nighthawk was obviously under the influence of the anger wave, striking out at civilian and Serpent alike. Richmond was a master of karate and judo, and was normally an Olympic level athlete, but in his rage he had fallen back on simple street fighting, slugging and kicking anyone in his way. His blows were full force, not pulled in the least and a pile of bodies lay in his wake. Worse, he seemed to be enjoying himself.
"C'mon, Avenger!" Wolverine said, charging forward, expecting the Panther to follow. "We better stop 'im before he kills somebody!"
The Black Panther ran forward, dodging blows of the still surging mob, lashing out when he had to. He quickly darted past the slower moving X-Man who charged forward with far less grace, dropping foes with quick, forceful blows. Nighthawk was moving away from them, but slowly, taking the time to fight whoever was near. The Panther was only a few strides away when he saw a shadow pass by overhead, bringing him to a halt.
There was a streak of pink; a blur of red and white sailing by in a flash. It took the Black Panther only a second to focus on the man swooping by overhead, his eyes as sharp as the great cats of the veldt. He recognized his old friend and fellow Avenger immediately, the red and white costume, the great dark wings spread wide as the hero arched and turned, then dove at the frenzied Nighthawk.
The Falcon was on the wing!
***
Samuel Wilson had been in his uptown Harlem offices when he had heard the first explosion. He ran to the window and saw the plume of smoke billowing into the otherwise clear, crisp air only a few blocks away. It had taken only a second to put aside his case work as a social worker and don the red and white uniform of his alter-ego; the high-flying Falcon. Within moments he was out the window- secret identities be hanged- and winging his way downtown.
He soared up and up, his wings gathering power in the strong sunlight, charging the batteries and storage cells that ran the length of his arms laced into the wings of his costume. There was a slight mechanical whir as the micro-turbine air impellers churned, creating enough lift under his wings to propel him higher and faster. The Wakandan technology held true, working perfectly as the Falcon swooped and arched following the path of Broadway downtown, his eyes growing wider the closer he got. It was like a scene out of hell…
Fires raged uncontrolled all along 125th Street in buildings and cars. Bare wires sparked and danced with electricity as the Apollo Theater's sign collapsed to the street. Clouds of smoke and yellowish gas rolled and billowed across the avenue as police in riot gear waded into the angry mob of rioting people. Sam Wilson immediately recognized those dressed in the bulky uniforms of the Sons of the Serpent, his Avenger's training springing to mind. A wave of hatred washed over him, and he knew instantly that the white bigotry of the Serpents was responsible for all the senseless violence exploding beneath him.
The Falcon swooped down, strafing the crowd. He moved by the mob at incredible speeds, his fists lashing out left and right striking the snakes as he passed before streaking skyward again. He arched up and away and then dove into the mob again, his anger spurring him on! Serpents fell before his onslaught, as a real snake would fall in the clutches of a real falcon. They were the prey, and he was the predator. He would kill them all-
A flurry of beating wings and feathers erupted in his face! The Falcon pulled up short, a sudden panic gripping him as his climb turned into a stall. He lost his flight suddenly and he could not focus, could not think. Wings were beating in his face, a screeching in his ears that addled his brain. Something cut into his arm, causing him to cry out-
He fluttered, falling, flailing his arms trying to scoop the air beneath his wings again. Panic rose as he saw the black top road growing closer, and survival pushed the rage away. Samuel Wilson twisted in mid-air easily, once reason had returned. Captain America had trained him, and once his thoughts were his own once more it was simplicity itself to regain control, righting himself and swooping up into the sky once again.
He soared higher, his flight mimicking the path of the great hunting bird that circled overhead. It was a red-tailed falcon, his oldest friend riding the wind and awaiting his return.
"Red Wing!" he shouted over the rush of air and adrenaline roaring in his ears. "Thank you, brother bird! You saved my butt again!" The falcon screamed, beating its great wings as it arched and dove back towards the rioting mob below, the Falcon flying swiftly behind.
The street was in chaos, but as the Falcon soared over the mob he saw small pockets of sanity. The fire department had arrived, and though a few of New York's Bravest were overcome by the riot, most were fighting the blaze that threatened to overwhelm the old buildings. He saw police wading into the mob, perhaps using too much force, but the rioters were fighting to kill, and the Falcon could not blame the police for defending themselves in turn. It was not their fault he realized, as he had been caught u pin the frenzy just moments before. There were 'heroes' as well he noted, fighting the good fight, trying to stop the mob. He saw the Black Widow moving through the crowd, retaliating only when she was attacked and striking to simply drop her attackers and not to injure. Farther down the street he saw Nick Fury as well. The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. stood in a circle of unconscious bodies firing his blaster weapon on any that came too close. The Falcon had worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. enough to know that Fury had his blaster set on stun, and a quick body count saw that he was focusing on the Serpents rather than civilians. The Falcon saw too that Fury was scanning the battlefield, looking for something. He knew what was going on, and the Falcon wanted that knowledge for himself. He angled his flight to land near Fury, diving low. It was then that he saw Nighthawk-
The Falcon swooped in low, catching the air beneath his wings to hover over Nighthawk's head. The Defender glanced up momentarily, almost considering attacking the newcomer, then returned his attention to the more easily accessible mob.
"Nighthawk!" the Falcon shouted. "Ya gotta fight it, man! Fight the hate!" The Defender ignored him, and the Falcon sighed. "Okay, brother! We do it the hard way."
The Falcon arched up, riding the air currents until he felt that he was high enough the twisted about and dove back at the crowd. He saw Nighthawk wailing on an old man, his fists bloody and a look of delight twisting his face. The Falcon felt the rage of anger swell in his breast again. He had not wanted to hurt the Defender- he was obviously not in his right mind- but seeing the fervor of his attack, the Falcon suddenly did not care.
The Avenger pulled out of his dive at the last possible moment, letting the momentum of his plunge carry him along, swinging his legs in a wide arch. He brought his legs up in a quick, sweeping arch, feeling his bones tingle with the force of his blow as he drove his heels up and under the Defender's chin. Nighthawk flew backwards as the Falcon flapped his wings trying to regain his flight. He glanced back, already trying to turn for another attack as he saw Nighthawk fall hard to the pavement and immediately become lost under a wave of swarming bodies. The mob was upon him, beating him down and the Falcon cursed. He had not wanted that.
He circled around, prepared to dive back into the midst of the angry mob when he saw a streak of black dive into the fray. Bodies flew out and back as the sleek form tossed them aside, digging down to the fallen Defender. There was another on the edge of the crowd, using quick, concise blows to drop the frenzied people. The Falcon breathed a sigh of relief when he finally recognized the Black Panther, his friend and fellow Avenger, and the mutant X-Man Wolverine. Within moments they were standing back to back, fending off the last of their attackers.
Nighthawk was safe!
***
Aim…Squeeze…Fire!
Nick Fury stood in the center of chaos, that churning storm of violence that raged through the streets of Harlem. He stood dead center of 125th Street where it crossed Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard, his one good eye scanning the mob, the turmoil that surrounded him.
Squeeze…Fire!
Fury fired his handgun by rote, a practice he had learned over fifty years before. The .15 caliber Needle Gun was standard issue for crowd control, but his own personal version was well worn and fit his hand like a glove. He knew the weight, knew just what to expect from the slight recoil with every shot spitting out a flurry of needle fleschettes coated with a mild sedative. Just enough to drop a man in his tracks.
Fire!
Fury caressed the trigger sending a dozen small needles into another of the Sons of the Serpents, watching just long enough to make sure that the man was starting to stagger and go down before returning his attention to the riot about him. He hefted the weight of the weapon, noting how many shots he should have remaining as he dropped another snake and then the small boy he was assaulting. The boy, rather than thanking Fury, had screamed his rage and charged forward ready to fight to the death. Fury shook his head as the boy, not even a teenager, slumped to the ground unconscious. This was going nowhere.
Fury sighed as he popped the almost empty clip from the butt of his gun and slammed a fresh replacement back in. He fired quickly, dropping two more Serpents that were charging towards him, their clubs held high and a madness in their eyes. He could hear the chatter of the approaching S.H.I.E.L.D. squads in his ear piece receiver as they drew closer and warned them to stand down well away from the battle. It would not do to add several dozen men with weapons into the mix. Not before he could find the catalyst- whatever was causing the wave of anger to sweep through the streets. The police and fire department were already on the scene, and there was a tense few minutes as the madness swept through them, but for the most part they were doing their jobs.
His allies seemed free of the anger as well, all save Nighthawk that is. Fury saw the Black Widow fighting her way in his direction, using her martial arts skills and her Widow's Bite at its lower settings to fell any that came near. Wolverine and the Black Panther were in control of themselves as well. The Panther was no concern of course, but Wolverine was always a question mark when the battle got hot and heavy. Still, Fury saw that his old friend was fighting the good fight with his fists and not his adamantium claws. Fighting side-by-side with the Panther as they struggled to keep the mob off of the fallen Nighthawk. Fury was surprised to see that Captain America's old partner the Falcon had joined the fight as well. That was a plus. They needed every level head they could get to help stop the Serpent's riot, and the Falcon was one of the best.
Still, the wave of anger was receding. Fury could feel it just barely, like a tickle in the back of his head- an elusive thought that he could not quite grasp. He hoped that whoever was the cause was not on the run, moving out of range of the crowd. He wanted to catch the culprit and end this once and for all. He scanned the rooftops again, looking closely for someone watching but not quite involved.
Fury recalled his encounters with the various Hate Mongers over the years, still not ready to dismiss that idea completely. The first had appeared years ago when he was still working for the CIA. It was not all that long after the Fantastic Four had gone public, and it had taken their help to defeat him that first time. That first Hate Monger had been personal, as he had turned out to be a 'clone' of Adolph Hitler, created by the mad scientist Arnim Zola, an operative of the Red Skull. Since that first Monger there had been a seemingly unending supply of villains to take up the mantle; the Psycho-Man from the Microverse, the Man Wolf from Counter Earth, the Corrupter, even a manifestation of the Cosmic Cube. It was like a sickness, a disease that could never quite be cured. It had always rankled Fury that he could not eliminate that threat once and for all.
And here it was again. Certainly, Wolverine had made a good case for it to be that kid Empath, one of Sebastian Shaw's junior flunkies in the defunct Hellions, and it was possible that it was the King Cobra again using the stolen control disks of Basil Sandhurst as well. Fury almost hoped that that was all that it was, knowing how devastating a bout with any of the past Hate Mongers could be.
Whoever was the culprit, they were doing a job on Harlem. There were still people running through the streets fighting, but now others were looting as well. Smashed storefronts were open to the public, and people were emptying out the merchandise without a care. He saw one woman running down the street, her arms loaded with disposable diapers, a man loading television sets into the back of a Dollar Van. The people were in a frenzy, not caring at all as to what they were doing and what was happening around them. Buildings were burning out of control all along Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard, the fire crews hard-pressed to stop the inferno from sweeping through the old, neglected structures. Cars were overturned and burning as well, their windows smashed in in the mayhem. Fire hydrants spewed water high into the chill air uselessly, the water wasted, dousing the crowd. If the riot was not contained soon, Fury would have to call in his men regardless of the danger and hope that they would be up to the task of fending off the waning anger.
Fury heard a fist strike flesh behind him and spun quickly, his gun at the ready. He realized he was too late as he saw one of the Sons of the Serpent collapse to the ground just behind where he had stood, the man's snake shaped club clattering to the ground beside his still form. Fury looked up-
"You gotta watch yer back better, Fury. You getting' slow in yer old age, man?"
Nick Fury instantly recognized the man that now stood before him. They had worked together before, and had operated on opposite sides of the law on occasion as well. A black man, he was bigger than Fury and more muscular. His telltale yellow shirt was in shreds and tatters as usual, and somewhere along the way he had lost the metal headband that was his trademark, leaving him clad only in his dark blue breeches and yellow pirate boots with a twenty pound length of chain about his waist as a belt. Despite their past differences, Fury respected the man. He was an ex-con, set-up and framed by his one time best friend. He had done time in Seagate Prison where he was accidentally mutated in an experiment gone wrong. He gained superhuman strength. His muscles and bones became more dense and his skin became steel hard, almost invulnerable. He became a hero…
"Luke Cage!" Fury bit down on his cigar as he looked the man up and down. "Should'a figgered you'd be here."
The man called Cage shrugged as he picked bits of his tattered costume from the metal wristbands that he wore. "Harlem ain't got that many heroes, Fury. Ya gotta figure if the Falcon's here, I won't be far behind. S'pose you might tell me what's goin' on now, or is it some secret o' the 'Man'?"
Fury gave Cage the run down on what he knew as the two men continued to thin out the mob. Luke Cage, once known as the Hero for Hire, now Power Man whistled softly, shaking his head when the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. finished his tale.
"Shoot, Fury! Why's it everytime one'a yer white-ass bastards gets a stick up his butt he gotta come uptown and burn down Harlem?" Cage took a long moment, staring up and down the street and Fury saw him sag as they both took in the devastation. "It's gonna be some time before we put this all back t'gether. It ain't right…"
"All the more reason that we find the scumbag that's causin' this. Your buddy Iron Fist out here somewhere?" Cage shook his head-
"Naw. Danny's out on the Coast takin' care a' some business. Don't mean I came alone though."
Fury looked to where Luke Cage was pointing and saw two women that he recognized deep within the crowd. Misty Knight and Colleen Wing were private detectives that worked under the title KnightWing Restorations. Knight was an ex-cop that lost an arm in an explosion some years ago. The arm had been replaced with a bionic limb, which gave her a bit of an edge in a fight, but the woman had never rejoined the police force, opting instead to go independent with her friend, Colleen Wing. Wing was a bit of a mystery, at least according to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files. She was a self-styled samurai, and a martial artist in her own right, almost in a league with Iron Fist and Shang Chi. There had been some problem with her father not too long after she had hooked up with Knight and they in turn encountered Iron Fist, though Fury could not quite remember what exactly. Regardless, Wing and Knight were good at what they did, and along with the team of Power Man and Iron Fist, they made up two quarters of the loosely knitted team called the Heroes for Hire. Fury was glad that they were on hand, watching as Misty Knight dropped snakes easily with her bionically enhanced strength while her friend stopped her attackers with the flat of her steel Japanese sword; a katana.
"Good!" Fury nodded. "Do me a favor, Cage, and watch my back fer a minute. I'm missin' somethin', an' there's just too much goin' on fer me ta concentrate. I guess yer right. Maybe I am getting' old."
Cage chuckled. "Do what'chu gotta do, Hoss. I got'cher back."
Fury ignored the occasional sounds of battle that came from behind him as he scanned the street again. He was missing something. Probably something obvious that he would worry over tomorrow realizing how dim witted he was for missing it in the first place. He saw the Widow had reached Wing and Knight, and the three of them were fighting almost back to back as the last of the crowd surged forward again. Likewise the Black Panther and Wolverine were standing over the stunned form of Nighthawk fighting back the crowd. Up above he saw the Falcon swooping in, his pet falcon and partner at his side. With the help of the police and the fire department, and the few people that did not succumb to the anger they were making some headway. They were winning-
"This is Fury…" The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. spoke into the small microphone pinned to the lapel of his suit jacket, watching, judging the course of the battle as he had been doing better than fifty years. "EMS units engage. All other units secure the perimeter. Nothin' gets in or out or it's yer collective butts on my authority. Minimum force! I repeat, minimum force to detain anyone tryin' ta get out a' the perimeter at a five block radius from my GP Mark. I want-"
Fury blinked. He had been right. It had been right in front of him all the time-
"Cage!" he yelled, charging forward. "Follow me!"
All along the street there were cars aflame, overturned and smashed. When the wave of anger had first washed over Harlem the crowd had apparently lashed out at anything- whatever was nearest. The stores and apartments, the office buildings, even the mail boxes and fire hydrants; whatever caught their eye and sparked their ire. And of course, the cars were an obvious target. Martin Luther King Boulevard was a cross-town street cutting across the island of Manhattan in a straight line more or less not far above the northern boundaries of Central Park. As such, even on its best day, the avenue was almost always clogged with cars jammed up bumper to bumper as tourists and commuters of all sort cut across the island from the FDR Drive to the West Side Highway and all points between. When the madness hit the traffic had stopped, sometimes abruptly. Cars had smashed into light poles, jumping the curb and plowing into the buildings. There had been collisions as cars had veered into oncoming lanes, the opposing flows of traffic meeting head on. Pedestrians had been caught in the onslaught as well, and all along the street Fury could see people lying injured and bleeding, perhaps even dead. Beyond that the mob had attacked every car in their way, overturning them and smashing out the windows, putting them to the torch. All save one…
Throughout all the carnage of the riot there seemed only one vehicle along the entire street that had remained unscathed. Oddly, due to its size and shape it should have been one of the first things targeted. It was a large white Ford Van with the stylized NY1 logo emblazoned in a bright blue on its side almost like a bullseye target. Beyond that was the satellite antenna array tower that rose above the van like a lighthouse. The satellite dish atop the twenty-foot tower was rotating slowly, which should have been a dead give away, but Fury would kick himself later. The dish should have been pointed skyward, at the very least aimed at the NY1 cable building and the receiving antenna array that was set up there. Rotating as it was, and pointed lower, Fury knew that it was directing whatever it was sending to a more localized area- say Harlem. And it had been sitting not thirty feet away from where Fury had been standing for the last few minutes, hiding in plain sight.
Fury cursed as he ran towards the van, holstering his Needler and drawing his Ingrams MAC 10 already loaded with a duty clip of first level explosive charge capsules. It burned him that he had been taken in so easily. In Manhattan it was just so common to see a news van from one of the countless stations based in New York that he had not paid it a second thought. He should have noticed right off that it was untouched and operating full blast, but in the confusion of the riot he had missed it. Even as he had missed it in Westchester apparently. It must have been hidden in the woods near the Xavier Estate during the uprising there, probably leading the townspeople of Salem Center to the gates of the X-Men mansion like a mechanized Pied Piper. The news van then simply blended in with the rest of the news crews and emergency vehicles before S.H.I.E.L.D. set up its perimeter and Professor Xavier started to free the mentally enslaved citizens from the Controller's mind control disks. It was a good cover, Fury had to grudgingly admit, and one S.H.I.E.L.D. had used to perfection.
Fury leveled his super machine pistol at the satellite dish and fired, bracing against the discharge even as he veered towards the cab of the van. A second later he heard the explosion and knew that whatever was being broadcast was now a blare of static. That tickle in the back of his mind vanished, and he felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He hoped that the rest of the crowd around him, including his allies had felt the relief as well.
***
Wolverine shook his head, shaking off the last lingering traces of the fury that had been scratching at the walls of his inner defenses. Despite his bravado it had taken every bit of his will power to keep from falling under the siren spell of the anger wave. He had tasted the power of Empath before, as well as similar mental manipulations provided by the likes of Mesmero and Sauron, but this had been far stronger. He knew that though it felt like Empath's mutant power, the young Hellion's abilities were nowhere near that level, strong enough to manipulate a mob. Only with the Controller's disks, even though from what he knew they did not work that way.
The disks channeled the emotional 'strength' of Sandhurst's slaves into his own psyche, making him physically stronger in the process. But Basil Sandhurst was still secure in the Vault- the super strong prison for paranormally powered individuals secreted away somewhere in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. Fury had sent his second in command at S.H.I.E.L.D., Dum Dum Dugan along with a squad of technos in person to check on Sandhurst and to ask him a few questions. They found the Controller stripped of his exo-skeleton and weak as a kitten. Whoever was using the disks, it was not Sandhurst. The scientist did confirm that the disks were his, or at least a modified version of the ones he had used since he had been a pawn of Thanos several years ago. Under duress Sandhurst had speculated that he thought that the disks had been adjusted to simply broadcast the raw emotions of the bearer in a sweeping radius to influence whoever was near. He also said that the simple transmitter within the disk that he had employed- the transmitter that had been amplified by Thanos and his extra-stellar science- had been replaced by and equally powerful receiver, meaning that whoever wore the disk, rather than projecting emotions to the controller, would receive emotional energies instead. Those emotions would be then broadcast in a radius to any that were within the area of effect. In a nutshell, there could be dozens of small, overly emotional groups of people with the controller in charge of the central catalyst. If someone were to somehow amplify that broadcast, it was not unthinkable that a large-scale riot might be staged.
Wolverine sniffed as a fresh smell of burning metal drifted past on the cool breeze. He looked up and saw a thin column of dark smoke wafting away up into the sky. It was satellite tower of a news van he saw, or rather what was left of it. He saw too Fury running through the dazed crowd followed closely by Luke Cage, Power Man. Fury had solved the riddle of what was causing the wave of anger, and he was about to find out who was behind it all as well. Wolverine could not miss out on that. He turned-
"Panther! Look!" he snarled, pointing at the van.
The Black Panther stopped fighting, sensing that the battle was finally over. He let the Son of the Serpent he held in one fist drop to the ground unconscious and directed his gaze to where his mutant ally indicated, seeing the news van and the heroes racing towards it.
"C'mon!" Wolverine snapped. "We gotta get over there. Fury's about ta bust open that van an' get whoever's inside. An' I wanna piece a' him too!"
"But what about Nighthawk?" T'Challa asked, glancing at their ally who lay unconscious and battered on the ground between them. "He's injured-"
"Rich boy'll live!" Wolverine answered gruffly, not even glancing back as he started forward towards the van. "The crowd's free, an' most likely in shock. They ain't gonna be a problem. Leave 'im!"
The Black Panther took a deep breath, then sighed. He was just as intrigued as to the contents of the mysterious van as any of the rest of them, but Richmond had proven his worth and loyalty. T'Challa, King of Wakanda would not leave him to the mercies of the crowd no matter that they now seemed lost and dazed as the effects of the rage dwindled away. The Panther reached down and scooped up his fallen comrade, hefting him over his shoulder.
"Come, my friend," he said, knowing full well that Kyle Richmond was beyond hearing. "We don't want to be left behind, do we?" The Black Panther shouldered his unconscious ally and ran forward, pushing his way through the remainder of the milling, uncomprehending crowd on the heels of Wolverine.
***
Samuel Wilson, the high flying Falcon swooped up and hovered over the crowd. He had felt the anger snap like a broken rubber band just after he had heard the explosion and now watched as a plume of smoke curled up into the sky. He scanned the crowd and saw that the fight had left them as well, and most were now wandering aimlessly, confused and concerned over the condition of their neighborhood. The Falcon grimaced as he took in the damage as well. It was like the aftermath of a war that had raged down 125th Street, a conflagration that had left nothing untouched. Almost nothing, he corrected himself.
From his vantage high above the mob his keen eyesight quickly spotted Nick Fury racing towards the crippled news van, smoking gun held high and at the ready. It did not take a genius to realize that fury had blasted the smoldering antenna. Behind Fury the Falcon saw too an old friend- Luke Cage Power Man following close behind the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. A quick scan of the crowd and he spotted Wolverine as well racing alongside the Black Panther who was carrying the unconscious form of Nighthawk. Even farther away he saw his fellow Avenger, the Black Widow charging through the bewildered crowd with the Daughters of the Dragon- Misty Knight and Colleen Wing.
The Falcon snorted. Whoever was in that van was in for one serious beat down. Sam Wilson whistled sharply and was swiftly joined by the dark auburn form of his oldest friend, Red Wing, his hunting falcon. With a shrug the Falcon indicated the scene below, and the great bird screamed, spiraling down even before the hero could speak-
"Let's go, partner!" the Falcon said as he angled his flight and started to dive. "We don't want to miss out on this!"
***
Colleen Wing planted her blade to the ground and dropped to one knee, exhaustion washing over her with more force than the wave of rage had. Despite the chilly autumn air she found herself covered with a sheen of sweat. She shivered, feeling drops trickling down her back beneath her kimono-like jacket. She took a deep breath, trying to find her center and regain her strength. It had been some time since she had had to fight so hard yet still hold back so that she injured no one. Worse was the inner battle she had waged against the rage that had threatened to steal her self-control. It had been touch-and-go for most of the battle, and she hated to admit that the only thing that had kept her free and in control may have been the psychic rapport that she shared with the missing yet ever in her mind Daniel Rand, Iron Fist.
Colleen looked up, feeling her strength returning and half-smiled. She was somewhat mollified to note that her best friend and partner, Misty Knight, looked just as worn out as she. She was dressed in black, head to toe, her own skin glistening with perspiration as she leaned against a dirty brick wall trying to catch her breath. Knight looked up and returned Colleen's smile with some effort, nodding that she was fine.
"Damn, Col," she said with a huff, "I must be mad out of shape. Used to be I could go all night and half the day."
"Could be we are all getting too old for this."
In unison the Daughters of the Dragon looked up to see the lithe form of the Black Widow step between them. Colleen Wing saw that the smaller woman was perspiring as well, though not half as much as either of the detectives, and she barely looked winded either. The samurai stood, not wanting to show her weakness, but she could not help wondering how the black-garbed woman could do it. As she recalled, Natasha Romanoff had been in the super hero business for years and had to be far older than either of the Daughters of the Dragon. In the end she had to simply shake her head and shrug it off. Colleen Wing had seen far too many strange things since she had first learned of the mysterious other-dimensional city of K'un-L'un and Iron Fist, its chosen warrior, perhaps the least of which being immortals.
"Look there!" the Widow pointed and Colleen and Misty both saw the column of smoke rising upwards several blocks up the street. Colleen had heard the most recent explosion but had paid it little heed as it had seemed too far away to be of significance to effect her directly. It appeared now that she had been wrong as the beauteous Black Widow leaped up into the air and stuck to the side of the building above Misty Knight's head.
The two women watched as the Widow scrambled up the side of the building mimicking Spider-Man's wall-crawling abilities perfectly. When the Black Widow reached the second floor she suddenly stopped and arched her body like a contortionist, seemingly defying gravity as she scanned the scene over the heads of the milling crowd.
"It's a news van!" Natasha called down to her two allies. "And it looks like everyone's heading towards it. I suggest we join them." The Widow kicked off and away from the side of the building, twisting in mid-air to land lightly on her feet next to the two detectives.
"What about the injured?" Misty Knight asked, her old police training coming to the fore. She cast a pained gaze across the streets that had been a battle field just moments before, frowning at the devastation all around.
"Apparently Nick Fury took care of whatever was emitting the rage that was controlling the crowd." The Widow pointed west, towards the Hudson River. "I saw S.H.I.E.L.D. emergency teams setting up down the street, and now that the riot's over, the city's Emergency Medical Services can see to the injured along with the police and fire department. We have no way of knowing what might be inside that van, and Fury and the rest might need our help."
Misty Knight shrugged, but nodded her agreement. "I suppose. But somehow I doubt that a chick with a sword and an ex-cop with a bionic arm are gonna make much of a difference to anyone that could do all this." Knight swept an arm out, indicating the smoldering remains of Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard and felt just a hint of satisfaction to see the Black Widow frown in agreement.
Still, they were all three heroes. They knew one and all that they were better suited to deal with any threat that the seemingly innocent news van might contain than the battered and bewildered crowd that seemed lost in shock. A heartbeat later and they were racing through the crowd towards the apparent source of the madness they had all just endured.
***
Fury saw a shadowy form turn his direction in the cab as he drew closer to the van. Even through the tinted windows he could see the full-covering helmet of another of the seemingly endless agents of the Sons of the Serpent. Fury cursed noting the darkened glass- another telltale sign that he had missed. No real news van would have tinted windows as they would distort any images being photographed from inside. Nick Fury wondered if he might be losing his edge, or had the wave of anger rattled him so much that he had missed the obvious. He gritted his teeth, biting down on the bit of his cigar with a snarl-
"Cage!" he yelled. "Open that sucker up! I got the driver!"
"Got'cha, Hoss!"
Fury heard Cage's reply and charged forward. Reaching the van he spun about, using his momentum to drive his elbow full force at the passenger window of the cab. He knew that the armored weave of his suit jacket would keep him from getting cut and hoped too that it would absorb the brunt of the blow. Fury smashed the window in even as he saw the man inside pushing on the opposite door. Fury shoved his arm through the jagged opening, pressing the muzzle of his gun against the back of the Serpent's head.
"Freeze, buddy! Unless you wanna be eatin' explosion, don't move an inch!"
Nick Fury heard the man in the snake helmet chuckle softly, only then realizing that a helmet was the only part of the Sons of the Serpent uniform that the man had on. Beneath the helmet the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. saw that the man was wearing a skintight costume shaded in dark purple and bright yellow.
"Funny you should say that, Colonel."
Fury saw the man's head twitch, then heard a ripping sound. Fury's mouth popped open in disbelief as the man turned slowly to face him. Fury did not really want to fire and kill the man, aside from the fact that the explosive charge would at the very least take off his own arm in the process at such close range. He could do little but stare as the man's helmet ripped away, the result of his head expanding, his jaw elongating to a ridiculous length. Nick Fury heard an angry, rasping hiss as the man's mouth opened wider and wider revealing a cavernous maw and long, sharp fangs. Suddenly Fury knew just who he was facing-
"Cottonmouth!"
Fury screamed as the bizarre member of the Serpent Society snapped forward and clamped down on his arm, engulfing gun and fist alike in his mouth. Instinctively, Fury pulled the trigger of his gun, instantly regretting his actions. Cottonmouth's eyes grew wide as the explosive bullet pierced the back of his throat, ripping through the delicate mechanisms of his bionic jaws. Blood sprayed against the driver's side window as the bullet imbedded itself in the van's inner paneling. Cottonmouth screamed, and like lightning Fury drew back, pulling his arm from the Serpent's mouth and ducking down into a crouch to roll away.
In his head he was counting down, and all too quickly reached one from three; the three second delay on the explosive charge coming to an end. He called out to Cage as the man was about to rip open the side of the van with his super human strength-
"Duck!"
Cage turned as the van lurched, rocking on its wheels. Fire erupted within the cab and both men heard a scream of agony and sudden terror. Fury sprang back to his feet even as Luke Cage dug his fingers into the side panel of the news van. With a mighty heave, the ex-member of both the Defenders and the Fantastic Four ripped the side door off of the van and tossed it aside.
Smoke billowed from the back of the van, engulfing Luke Cage even as he stepped through the hole he had made. Fury raced back to the cab and quickly flung open the door, scrambling back as the body of Cottonmouth tumbled out. His back was charred and bleeding, covered in burns from the explosion. His head to seemed scarred with smoldering flesh, but it appeared that the combination of the man's two helmets and his steel-laced bionics had saved his life. Cottonmouth was unconscious, but he was also breathing. Fury sighed in relief even as he heard the rasping coughs of Power Man coming from the back of the van.
"Cage!" Fury shouted quickly stepping to the hole that Luke Cage had made. Before he could enter the back of the van to help however, Cage leaped out. He was carrying a body, Fury saw, and as he touched down both crumpled to the ground. Luke Cage hacked and coughed, his lungs full of smoke as he struggled to catch a breath. Fury knelt down beside the man, putting a hand of comfort on his heaving shoulder.
"Easy, Cage. Breathe slowly. You'll be-"
Fury's eye widened as he saw the body sprawled on the ground beside them. The skin was dry and cracked, a pale gray pallor that should have been a darkened tanned flesh if Wolverine was right. The body was small and thin, dark eyes wide and staring, wisps of dirty brown hair blowing in the breeze. A rank odor rose from the body, blotting out the stench of the choking smoke still billowing out of the van. Nick Fury had seen death for the better part of half a century, but still his stomach turned and bile rose in his throat.
He had never seen the boy, Empath. But if this was him, he was dead, and had been for a long, long time…
Story © Curt F
Next Issue: Fury gathers the troops to try to figure out just what is going on. I know, but do you? Be here next issue as secrets are revealed as the heroes go…
Into the Serpent’s Nest!