“Baron Zemo is dead.”

Assembled around the large table in their compound meeting room, the Avengers all sat up a little straighter, their attention fully captured by the words of their chairman.  Hawkeye stood at the end of the table, his words lingering in the air before he continued speaking.  “I just saw his body, and according to our good buddy Warren Crass it’s been 100% verified that it’s Zemo.”

“Who did the deed?” Warbird asked.  “I’d like to shake their hand, if only to throw handcuffs on it immediately after.”

“Dunno yet,” Hawkeye answered, “but I’ve got a pretty good guess.”

“The Scourge,” Iron Man stated, finishing Hawkeye’s thought for him.  “If that’s indeed who did it then he’s apparently stepped up his choice of targets.”

“Serial killers do tend to escalate if left unchecked,” the Beast said as he adjusted the small pair of glasses that rested on his nose, “perhaps that’s what we’re looking at here?”

“Okay, maybe I’m just stupid,” Darkhawk spoke up, raising his hand almost timidly, “but who the hell is Baron Zemo?”

“Looks like someone hasn’t been reading the history files like a good little Avenger,” Hawkeye commented with a wink and a smile at his youngest teammate.

“He’s a madman,” the Wasp began, “son of the original Baron Zemo, founder of the Masters of Evil.  A few years back, he organized a massive strike on Avengers Mansion and came close to killing a few of us, including poor Jarvis.”

“Wait,” Darkhawk interrupted, “is this the Thunderbolts guy?”

“That’d be him,” Hawkeye answered, “but he’d dropped off the grid a while back.  Now he’s suddenly found dead in an abandoned warehouse here in Los Angeles?  Sounds like there’s some pieces missing from the puzzle, if you ask me.”

Hawkeye continued to drone on, his statements accentuated by comments by the other various heroes.  But one Avenger, sitting at the far end of the table, her head hung low, remained silent.  Priscilla Lyons was thankful that none of her teammates had glanced her way, for they would have noticed the color draining from her face after she heard Hawkeye’s opening statement. Baron Zemo was dead, and that meant only one thing to the young girl.

“Vags, you got anything to add or ask?” Hawkeye asked, prompting the rest of the Avengers to turn in unison to stare at Priscilla.  She lifted her eyes to look at the people she’d betrayed so many times without them ever knowing.  If Baron Zemo was really dead, then her greatest wish had been granted. 

She was finally free.

"A Dead Giveaway"

Written by Chris Munn

This issue takes place after Avengers # 36-41 and Thunderbolts # 25-26

“Would you mind explaining just what you think you’re doing in here?”

The Moon Knight paused in his typing, stopped his eyes from their rapid movement across the words displayed on the computer monitor, and sighed.  “You didn’t invite me to your meeting,” Marc Spector answered, “and the death of such a powerful man as Helmut Zemo interests me highly.”

The light from the rows of computer banks reflected and bounced off of the sheen of Anthony Stark’s armor as he stepped forcefully into the archive room.  “We didn’t invite you,” Iron Man replied, “because you’re not an Avenger.”

Spector swiveled in his chair, allowing the white lenses in his mask to shine beneath his cowl.  “I seem to recall accepting an invitation to stay with you for a bit, an invitation extended by your chairman.”

Iron Man’s eyes narrowed beneath his helmet.  “And I seem to recall the Avengers court-martialing you.”

“Once an Avenger,” Moon Knight responded, “always an Avenger...isn’t that the saying?”

Stark’s teeth began to grind in irritation.  “How did you know –?”

“I placed a bug in your meeting room,” Spector interrupted, “to listen in.  This Zemo murder has me intrigued, especially if your theory of the Scourge being the perpetrator is correct.  I’ve been following the killer’s movements over the past few months, trying to work out a pattern to his seemingly random attacks.”

“Listen, Knight,” Iron Man began, pointing an extended finger at the sitting man in white, “just so we’re clear.  A guest here you may be, but you do anything like this again and I will happily boot your smug ass through the gate.  We’re not to be used by you, no matter what your intentions may be.” 

“Fair enough, Avenger,” the Moon Knight agreed as he turned back to the computer console, “fair enough.”

Priscilla Lyons fell back onto her bed, unable to hide the grin that had grown across her face.  She reveled in her newfound freedom, ecstatic that she could finally be the hero the others believed her to be.  She had fought truly and valiantly, to be sure, but the thought was always lingering in the back of her mind.

She was a traitor to the Avengers, a spy for one of their greatest enemies, but now that enemy was dead and she was off the hook.  The only remaining person that knew of her connection to Baron Zemo was Norbert Ebersol, the former Fixer and current Scourge, and who would believe the word of a serial killing villain such as he?  The weight of her betrayal was finally off her shoulders, and she could start enjoying her role as an Avenger.

And her future in the league of Earth’s mightiest heroes was looking bright indeed.  She was the one that had been chosen to lead the Avengers’ relief efforts in the devastated San Francisco, and she had - in her own opinion - excelled in the position.  If she stuck with it, she thought, maybe she could follow in Hawkeye’s footsteps...from wide-eyed over-eager rookie to sure and steady chairman of the Avengers.

Rolling across the bed onto her stomach, Priscilla reached to the laptop computer that sat resting on her bedside table.  It had been several days since she’d last checked her e-mail, an act that had always been implemented with a foreboding sense of dread.  Logging into the account created with false personal information, she opened the in-box of the e-mail address known only to herself and the deceased Helmut Zemo.  It was time to purge the account, to erase it from online existence before someone stumbled across it.

What she saw when the page loaded made her blood run cold.

The details of our arrangement have changed, the electronic letter read, and it is time for us to meet in person.  Your work is not finished.  Be at the Hollywood Sign at 2:00 A.M., tonight, and we shall settle the business between us.

She gasped and fought back tears as she read the message over and again.  She hadn’t recognized the sender’s address, but that was no surprise, as Zemo had regularly switched addresses between each contact.  No one else knew of their method of communicating, not even Ebersol.  In a fit of panic and rage, Vagabond tossed the laptop off of the bed, smashing it against the closest wall.

The devil was alive, she forced herself to accept, and it was time for her to pay him his due.

“Interstellar tracking systems are few and far between, Tony,” Henry Pym said as he leaned back in his chair, tossing a screwdriver onto his work table in a sign of frustration, “and until we get one, I think we’re at a stand-still here.”

Iron Man nodded his head at the man that had helped him found the Avengers all those years ago.  “I expected as much, Hank,” he replied while leaning over the table, his fingers dancing lightly over the pieces of electronic equipment that had been cobbled together by the two inventors, “and in case I haven’t said it yet, I think it’s great that you took up Clint’s offer to stay here at the Compound.”

Pym chuckled slightly.  “I didn’t have much choice, did I?  Equinox destroyed my home and lab along with San Francisco, so it was either here or back to New York.  And, really, I don’t think I could face that just yet.”

Tony bit his tongue, halting his instinctual desire to ask Hank how he was holding up.  He knew that his old friend was still carrying around tons of guilt over what had happened to the Vision not long ago, but he was proud of Pym nonetheless.  Moving back with the Avengers, even if he insisted on remaining nothing but scientific support, was a major step in the right direction.  “So who do we have to contact for this tracking system?” Iron Man asked, deciding to steer the conversation back on target.

“Well,” Pym began as he tapped a few keys on his makeshift keyboard, “there’s always Peter Corbeau and Starcore, but I’m not sure what his status is these days.  The East Coast team apparently have a solid relationship with the Shi’ar Empire, so that’s an option as well.  What about Starfox and the Titans?”

“The Titans...” Iron Man said softly, prompting him to begin a slow back-and-forth pace across the metal floor of Pym’s lab.  “If what we were told about Captain Marvel is accurate, he was born on Titan and raised by Mentor, Starfox’s father.  Maybe that would be the best place to start, since we know Genis isn’t on Earth.  Maybe he went home?”

“Certainly a possibility,” Hank replied, “but if you don’t mind my asking, what’s the rush in tracking Marvel down?  I’m sure his cosmic responsibilities weigh on him just as much as his role as an Avenger.”

“I think he’s a major problem in the making,” Iron Man answered, “and the last thing we need is another Avenger taking a wrong turn.  We barely recovered from the Vision’s betrayal, something you know all too well...and based on Marvel’s recent actions, I think we may be looking at a similar situation.”

“I hope you’re wrong, Tony,” Pym stated, “because when it comes right down to it, I don’t think we’ve got what it takes to stop Captain Marvel if he has gone rogue.” 

“I know, Hank,” Stark said in return, “and I pray I’m wrong as well...”

Four hours and counting...

Priscilla grunted as she slammed her fist into the heavy-bag that swung from the ceiling of the exercise room, the sand within the bag rippling with the force of her punch.  Again and again she punched at the bag, each collision increasing in ferocity.  She ignored the slight twinge of pain in her side, disregarded the layers of sweat that were collecting across her body, and closed her eyes.  She could see the face of her tormentor vividly, the smile beneath the mask of Baron Zemo mocking her.

Finally, she screamed, not out of pain but from frustration, and kicked her leg into the air.  The top of her foot struck the bag with as much force as she could muster, amazingly snapping the metal chain that held it affixed to the ceiling.  The bag fell to the ground with a dull thud and skid several feet before she realized what she’d done.  Placing her hands on her knees, Priscilla attempted to catch her breath and slow her heart, but the stress was evident on her face.

“I always knew that bag was out to get you,” a voice thick with a western drawl said from the entrance to the room, causing her to jump slightly in surprise.  Matthew Hawk, the time-lost vigilante known better as the Two-Gun Kid, leaned on the facing of the door, a bottle of water in his hand.  “But you shore showed it who was boss in these parts.”

He walked over to the panting Vagabond, the water bottle extended out to her as he approached.  She eyed him suspiciously before snatching the bottle from his grasp, but there was no hesitation when she poured the refreshing liquid down her throat.  “We ain’t had much time to talk lately, Pris,” Matt said as he took a seat on a nearby weight bench, “and you look like you got a lot on your mind.”

“Now’s not the best time, Matt,” she answered, crouching down to sit on the floor, “I’m not in the mood for a chat.”

“I kin tell,” he replied with a smile on his roughly hewn face, “but what kinda friend would I be if I let you brush me off so darn easily?”

Priscilla sighed loudly and threw up her hands.  “Fine, okay, let me pose a question to you, you sage o’ the sagebrush.  Say you had a secret, something that not only embarrasses you but could also result in your friends turning against you.  What would you do to keep those friends from finding out?  To what lengths would you go?”

“We all have skeletons in our closets, darlin’,” he answered, his head hung low, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his wide-brimmed Stetson, “myself included.”

“Oh, Matt,” Vagabond said as she pulled her knees to her chest and buried her head between them, “I’ve done something stupid.  I made a deal with someone, but now that it’s come time for me to repay him...I can’t.  The price is too high!”

“I kin help, Priscilla,” Matt said, placing a tender hand on her shoulder, “all you have to do is ask.”

“No, you can’t,” she responded, brushing his hand away from her body, “this is something personal.  But don’t worry, it all ends tonight.  I’m going to take care of it.” 

Two-Gun watched as she walked away from him.  When she was gone from the room, he tipped his hat at the door and nodded.  “Here’s to you, gal.  Hope you have more strength than me.”

The Hollywood sign loomed over her, the lights shining up and upon it, illuminating the wooded area with an almost eerie incandescence.  Vagabond had arrived an hour early, hoping to take Zemo by surprise when he approached.  Of course, she knew that the chances of taking a master planner like the Baron by surprise were slim to none, but she couldn’t let her hopes be dashed.  Tonight would be the end, she had decided, and she would no longer bow down to the villain like a slave.  There was only one way to redeem her traitorous acts toward her friends and teammates: she had to bring Zemo to justice.

She stepped carefully, softly, through the brush behind the sign high in the Hollywood Hills, as silent as a cat.  When she emerged into a small clearing, bathed in the radiance of moonlight beaming down from the heavens, she was greeted by a most curious sound...clapping.

Her head shot up and to the left, where perched atop a large rock sat the absolute last person she’d expected to meet.  Not Baron Zemo at all, the white-clad vigilante named Moon Knight sat above her, his hands clapping together slowly, rhythmically, even methodically.  “I’m almost surprised you’re here,” Spector said once his clapping ceased, “but I suppose it’s the role of a good lapdog to come when called.”

“Moon Knight?” she asked in astonishment and confusion.  “What the hell are you doing here?  What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been watching you since the moment we met in San Francisco, Priscilla,” the Knight answered, “you were, after all, the only Avenger in California that I knew next to nothing about.  All I knew was that you had been targeted by the Scourge a few months ago and lived to tell the tale...would you mind explaining just how you managed that little feat?”

“It’s none of your goddamned business!” Vagabond shouted, the wheels beginning to turn in her mind.  She silently prayed that things were not how they seemed at the moment.

“When I discover that an Avenger is acting as a spy,” he said firmly, each word hitting her with near physical force, “I make it my business.”

“No, no,” she whispered, tears beginning to well up in her eyes, “this can’t be happening.”

“All electronic signals sent into and out of the Compound are logged by the core computer system, even those sent out from a personal notebook,” Spector continued, “of course, you did take steps to clear your tracks, but I still recovered fragments of your correspondence.  You and your contact were careful not to use names, so when I sent a similar message to you earlier I could only assume it was you.  I know all of the others personally...but you, again, I knew next to nothing about.  Suffice it to say, young lady, I know plenty now.”

“So what happens now?” Vagabond asked. 

The Moon Knight leapt from the large rock and landed on the ground in front of her, making the move look effortless.  Now face to face with the accused, he acquiesced to her question.  “Now we return to the Avengers,” he stated, “and you own up to what you’ve done.”

She hesitated, then took a step forward.  “I don’t think so.  I’ve seen how the others talk to you, Moon Knight.  They don’t trust you at all, so you must’ve screwed up royally when you were an Avenger.  Do you really think they’ll believe you over me?”

“You misunderstand,” Spector said in turn, “I’m not giving you a choice.”

“Get bent, you pasty nutcase,” Priscilla said as she threw forward her fist, the speed of her punch nearly blurring her motion.  To her surprise, her fist was caught in the Knight’s open palm, only a few scant inches from his cloaked face. 

“Very well,” the Fist of Khonshu said through clinched teeth, “the hard way it is.”

Despite the late hour, the halls of Avengers Compound were still alive, specifically the second, smaller laboratory held deep within the complex’s sub-basement facilities.  It was there that Carol Danvers, the former Ms. Marvel, was discovering that fate was a cruel mistress indeed.

“By Pama,” she shouted as the hydraulic weight at her sides, held aloft in her arms by the steel bar affixed between them, crushed down upon her, “this is freaking ridiculous!”

“I’m powering down the hydraulics,” her teammate, Henry McCoy, told her as he turned a nearby nob with his large and dexterous foot, “but you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“Just say it, Beast,” Warbird said as she stepped away from the weight lifting device, wiping away the sweat on her brow with a small hand-towel, “my power’s almost gone now, isn’t it?”

“As I told you a few weeks ago, Carol,” the brutish but brilliant Beast replied, the large white labcoat covering his blue-furred body, indicating his scientific passion, “your power is still fluctuating wildly.  With the constant stress that we champions of justice undergo on a day to day basis, your body simply can’t keep up with the demand.”

“But I don’t understand,” Danvers argued, “I was fine when we fought with and against the Justice League.  I couldn’t access my Binary power like I did when we faced Moomba last month, but I’ve long accepted that my star-traveling days are behind me.  This is just so damn frustrating!”

The former X-Man spun around in his chair to face his long-time friend just as she slumped into the seat next to him.  “I implore you, Carol,” he said sincerely, abandoning the humorous prankster that normally defined his personality, “take my advice and step away from all of this for a while.  Let your body adapt to the changes its undergone, because I’m afraid that if you keep this up you may lose a lot more than just your powers.”

“I’ve fought so hard to get back here,” she replied, “I don’t know if I can just walk away again.”

Far above the two Avengers that struggled with an unfortunate but perhaps inevitable decision, in one of the surface bungalows that served as the living quarters for the team members without local homes to call their own, Christopher Powell found himself unable to stop smiling.

“What’s that look for?” the young girl named Lena Myers asked as she stared at Chris’ face from atop him, the two laying in an embrace across his large bed.

“I just can’t believe that everything’s going so good for me now,” Chris answered, his voice almost a whisper, “I’m a member of the greatest team of heroes ever and I’m actually pretty good as an Avenger.  Plus, I’m laying here in bed with a beautiful girl that I don’t have to hide my secret identity from.  Not bad at all for a kid from Brooklyn, huh?”

Lena laughed softly.  “I’m not sure if I should be offended that you put being an Avenger over me, but I suppose I can’t complain too much.  You saved the world, Chris...you saved us from Moomba.  You’re my hero, much more so than Iron Man or any of the others.”

Chris smiled even wider at the words of a girl he’d fallen in love with so deeply in so short a period of time.  No more words were necessary as the two leaned into one another, kissing passionately as if they had been together since the beginning of time.

Elsewhere on the Compound, in another bungalow only sparsely furnished, another pair of Avengers sat on a bed not unlike the one currently being used in Powell’s abode.  These two, however, were not lovers but lifelong friends and allies, their bonds much deeper than any romantic couple.

“Is it naive of me to think of this as a fresh start for me and Hank?” Janet Van Dyne, the wondrous Wasp, said as she unpacked a box at her feet.  “Things have been bad for so long, after what happened to the Vision, but now Hank is closer to his old self again.”

Clint Barton grinned at his friend’s statement as he cut the tape that held another box sealed tight.  “I wouldn’t be too worried about it, Jannie,” Hawkeye said.  “Ol’ Hank Pym’s made a career out of coming back from the worst life’s thrown at him, and this time won’t be any different.  I’m just happy as a lark to see you guys back with us again, right where you’re supposed to be.”

“And it feels good to be back,” Jan admitted, “but I still feel guilty about leaving Hank like I did when we answered Thor’s summons last week.  I’m just glad the poor dear was able to regain his normal size before I came back....I could only imagine how sore he’d have been if I’d left him stuck somewhere at ant size.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Clint began, “just what were you two doing when the call to assemble went out?”

Jan giggled and blushed slightly, her cheeks turning a light scarlet.  “Let’s just say that he and I were celebrating being back with the Avengers in our own, special, little romantic way...”

Hawkeye stopped and stared at the woman, his mouth hanging agape as he realized the true answer to his question.  “Oy vey, Waspy,” he remarked, “you shouldn’t be putting thoughts like that into a single guy’s head.”

Before Janet could respond to Clint’s comment, the room was pierced by a shrill cry, an alarm claxon resounding through every inch of Avengers Compound.  “That’s the Priority Red signal!” Hawkeye shouted as he and the Wasp both rushed from the bungalow, moving as quickly as they could to the meeting room contained within the main building.

Each Avenger made similar advancements toward the assembly chamber, coming from the labs below and the residences outside.  All arrived at their destination at roughly the same time, a grim determination evident on each of their faces as they prepared for what might be awaiting them.  Whatever new threat stood ready to challenge them, the mighty Avengers were confident that they could meet and best it.

When they entered the room, however, the facial expressions of the eight heroes changed and moved into looks of confusion and outrage.  Standing at the controls of the alarm system stood their guest, the Moon Knight, but his presence was not what shocked them.  For, cradled in the ebon hunter’s arms was the bruised and bloodied Vagabond, only just beginning to stir from the unconsciousness beat into her by a man the Avengers had brought into their home as a friend and former member.

“Knight!” Iron Man yelled, breaking the silence as he rushed into the room, followed by the others.  “What the hell is going on?  What did you do to her?" 

“It is my suggestion that you convene a tribunal, Avengers,” Spector commanded as he dropped the awakening Priscilla into the nearest chair, “for I have news of betrayal most foul, perpetrated by one you call your own.”

THE END 

Next Issue: With the Avengers at their lowest, will the team survive when more members depart their ranks?  Don’t miss the first issue by the series’ new writer, Mike Exner III!

WEST COAST ASSEMBLERS 

So there we have it, the final issue of AVENGERS WEST COAST written by yours truly, and after the last two issues I have to honestly say: I’m going to miss writing these guys.  Luckily for me, I’m sticking around as co-plotter on the series during the tenure of the next writer: none other than he-who-kicketh-ass, Mike Exner III!  As anyone who’s read his CHAMPIONS series here at M2K knows, Mike is an old hat when it comes to writing the Avengers, and I’m happy as can be to join him in chronicling the next great era of AWC.  Maybe I’ll even write an issue sometime down the road...who knows?

What I DO know is that I’m not going very far now that my scripting run on this book is finished.  In a very short while, you will all be able to witness my brand-new ongoing title, AVENGERS IMMORTAL.  If you’re a big fan of Avengers history, odd-ball rosters, or Kang the Conqueror, then you most certainly need to stay tuned for this new series.  You should also keep an eye on my other ongoing title at M2K, THUNDERBOLTS, for what happens to our recently court-martialed Vagabond.  I’ll just say that her story is FAR from over.

Lastly, before I head off into that good night, I want to give thanks to the man that helped me kickstart this series and essentially carried my ass all the way until he left.  Russ Anderson is the reason AVENGERS WEST COAST exists, and everyone that enjoys this title needs to thank him for being both an awesome guy and one incredible writer that helped the book find its sea legs early on.  Russ, this issue’s for you.

So, with that said, I want each and every one of you to come back next issue to see what Exner and I have in store for the Whackos.  Big changes are coming...trust me.

~ Chris Munn

02/12/06