Devil's Island, then

 

Cybermancer diverted every last ounce of energy into her boot-jets as she trailed after a enormous missile with a payload powerful enough to exterminate an entire country. But no matter how hard she pushed her armor, Suzi found it impossible to close the distance. The only reason she could even see the missile was because of the magnifying capabilities on her visor, allowing her to se the missile that was a mile away as if it were right in front of her face.

 

If that missile struck, with its pay load ...Suzi shuddered. She literally did not want to think how the mutant population of the world would react if 'their' nation was suddenly wiped off the face of the earth one morning. Riots and killings on a global scale for certain and if that's all that happened, they were lucky.

 

But not all hope was lost, Cybermancer knew. When the missile launched, the team's shapeshifter Eshu had managed to get aboard, and worm his way inside. The only problem was,  Eshu happened to be an ex-patriot of Genosha, and that was exactly where the missile she was chasing was aimed at.

 

And God help them all if Magneto or some other omega mutant on Genosha actually managed to stop the thing without blowing it up. The amount of bio-weapons and radioactive material on the missile could have paid off the national debt of a small country if sold on the black market.

 

The question now was, would Eshu help her disarm it, or stand idly by as it devastated his former homeland? Some could easily see it as dying for their country.

 

Only one way to find out…

 

“Eshu, this is Cybermancer, come in!”

 

Silence.

 

“Come on, this isn’t funny!”

 

Nothing.

 

“I will so jam that missile so far up your ass if you don’t answer!”

 

“Had you going, didn’t I?” replied Eshu. Though Cybermancer doubted the shapeshifter even had a mouth, she knew somehow that jerk was grinning.

 

“Yeah, ha ha,” Cybermancer growled, “have you found any way to disable that thing?”

 

“What, like a big red button that says 'off',?” Eshu shot back, “sorry babe, you’re the big brain, not me. You gotta tell me what to do, not the other way around. What are our options?”

 

“Premature detonation is the ideal choice,” Suzi explained, “if the bomb detonates before it's properly armed, the blast should destroy the bio weapons instead of simply scattering it.”

 

“And it'd also kill me,” Eshu observed.

 

“Like I said,” Suzi chuckled, “it is the ideal solution.”

 

“Ha! Gallow humor, I think I like you even more now!”

 

 “We'll go with option two for right now. See if you can't worm your way towards the front of the missile. If we can hack its navigation computer, we might have some leverage with this damned thing.”

 

---

 

“Oh god, oh god, heroes, why did there have to be heroes here?” Professor Ethan Mortious asked no one in particular as he verged on a nervous breakdown. He was a man of short height, brown hair with an average face. The only thing that made him stand out in a crowd was how his left eye  was covered in a replaced with metal and circuitry, a specially crafted microscope enhancement designed to give him a better view for some of the micro-surgery he had to perform on certain pieces of technology. 'The Mort',  as he was known in most underworld circles, was unlike most 'mad scientists' that heroes encountered. The Mort recreated existing weapons and sold cheap knock offs to the crime agencies that could afford them while paying a percentage to the original inventor. Where someone like the Tinkerer might help a villain build and maintain his weaponry, it was people like Mort who helped the same villains turn a profit elsewhere. After all, they needed money to stay operational after the authorities shut down their accounts and confiscated all their equipment.  

 

The Mort was hardly the only scientist to devote his time to selling imitation weaponry, but he was by far the most successful. He'd worked with the Trapster, Klaw, Doc Ock and on the rare occasion, The Wizard among others. He'd secretly helped them either turn their current inventions into money, or secretly patent a new one under an assumed identity. 

 

But the six digit income that brought him just wasn’t enough for ‘The Mort’, not with the risks involved, so he thought that he might branch out and cultivate some new contacts. He especially hoped to make inroads with Abyss, the latest up and comer on the international crime scene.

 

But now, with Excalibur only yards away, those dreams were like ash in the wind. Gathering up the more powerful (and thus more expensive) weapons into one silver container, he tapped his wrist watch to activate an emergency teleporter kept on standby for just such an emergency.

 

Nothing.

 

He tapped it again, a little more urgently this time.

 

Again, he remained rooted.

 

“This multi-level phase interference devise you have over here? Top notch work, mate,” complimented a new voice, “designed to keep unwanted guests from teleporting in unexpected. Or out, as the case may be.”

 

The Mort spun around to see Union Jack standing next to one of his prize inventions (the very same one that kept him on the accused island. Who knew the patriotic idiot was so damn smart?), his gun leveled at the quivering scientist's head.

 

“I need some equipment. And according to Interpol, you're the go to man for that.”

 

The Mort wiped a thick sheen of sweat off his face, “What...what do you need exactly?”

 

“Hydra grade weapons, probably some MGH and if you have a certain Dutchman's weapons, I'll definitely need that,” explained Union Jack.

 

“MGH? Why...why do you need a drug like that? Can't cut it with your team?” sneered Mort.

 

“I've never had a problem standing equal to titans,” Union Jack countered, “it's a failsafe.”

 

“Is that how you justify it?” Mort asked, his voice containing a little too courage for a man at the wrong end of a gun barrel.

 

Union Jack barely heard the soft crunch behind him before it was too late. He swung his left arm up and behind to block a skilled karate chop aimed at his head, and instinctively fired the pistol in his right hand, hitting The Mort's kneecaps like it was a bullseye. The scientist went down screaming.

 

Union Jack faired little better. The shot had cost him, as his mysterious foe landed a solid kick across the stomach, followed up by a blinding (literally!) right hook that spent Rock sprawling into the nearby equipment.

 

“I'm in a bit of a pickle, old friend,” explained the attacker, “and I think your life would be just the thing to get me off this island before even more idiots crash the party.”

 

Union Jack shook his head to clear the stars, and when he saw the man that had attacked him, he gritted his teeth in anger.

 

“Shockwave, you prat...”

 

Shockwave, clad in a yellow body suit with wires running all across it and a glass plate plate that the man's entire face, was a name well known by everyone in MI5. Lancaster Sneed had been trained in explosives, but botched his first mission so badly he was almost killed. While most people that idiotic would have had the good sense to fade into the shadows on an agency pension, this bastard got himself enhancements and went mercenary, with an eye towards sticking it to the agency that had trained him. Armed with an armor that gave him electric punches (and kicks) and comprehensive training in martial arts, he was a man to be reckoned with.

 

At least, for most people.

 

“I don't have time for this,” Union Jack growled as he stood up, “leave now, and we can call it square.”

 

“You're my ticket out, you little poof,” Shockwave countered. He assumed a fighting stance, “that's the only reason why I won't kill you. But lets see how much you can take, eh?”

 

Union Jack strode forward unafraid. Shockwave assumed it was simple arrogance and opened with a punch towards Union Jack's ribcage. The hero didn't even budge when the blow landed, and that's when Shockwave realized his mistake.

 

“It's called insulation,” Union Jack grabbed Shockwave's wrist and bent it backwards, “only been around for over fifty years.” 

 

With his right hand, Union Jack's knife flashed, and almost instantly Shockwave found his suit losing power. Union Jack then closed the distance between them in a simple step. Though he had released Shockwave's wrist, it really didn't make that much of a difference.

 

With his left fist, Union Jack punished Shockwave's kidneys, where the armor plates were looser to allow greater flexibility. At the same time, he repeatedly swung his right elbow into Shockwave's face and neck. The mercenary tried his best to fight back, but the sand underneath his feet made it impossible to dig in and counter.

 

The Mort didn’t intend to stick around to see who’d win the fight, though. He began crawling towards the entrance of his tent with his leg ruined, and hopefully out of the scrambler’s range.

 

He didn’t get five feet before Union Jack grabbed him by the collar, and swung the pitiful scientist over his head and face first into one of his many storage create and pressed the barrel of his gun on the terrified man’s forehead.

 

“I asked you a question. I want an answer now, or so help me I’ll literally pick your brain and find what I want that way!”

 

---

 

Mehemet Faoul, the Scarlet Scarab, felt as though his eyes were being pitched in acid as he looked towards his teammate, but he couldn't look away.

 

Not when his teammate needed his help.

 

Hellios' body was releasing enough light to be mistaken for a small star, but the mighty hero wasn't in control of an ounce of it. A suicidal cultist had blasted the Greek champion with a missile that tore control of his stores solar energy from him. Scarlet Scarab knew it was only a matter of time before his teammate lost all control, destroying the island, killing everyone and if the damage was limited to that, then they could be counted as lucky.

 

“Hellios! Hellios, can you hear me?!” Scarab shouted as he edged closer to his teammate, all the while soaking in the rampant solar energy with his magical scarab. But even with his incredible power, Scarlet Scarab found the light and energy just too much to bear. His skin starting to sizzle and his eyes searing with pain, he stepped back and looked away, trying to blink the dots from his eyes.

 

“Did you manage to reach him?” asked Darkstar. She'd erected a full shield around herself to keep from being scorched, Scarab saw. All around them, Hydra, AIM and even their own soldiers had stopped fighting, watching the scene unfold with pure terror.

 

“No, his body is expelling energy too fast, even for me!” Scarab exclaimed, “if there were some way to slow the process, I might be able to help him resume control, but…”

 

“I can help there,” Darkstar interrupted, “the solar energy his body is putting out is disrupting my powers, but it may be just enough to let you get close enough to Hellios, and maybe stop his meltdown!”

 

Scarab nodded, “Then we haven’t a moment to lose.”

 

Darkstar nodded, pointed her hands, and expelled a mass of darkforce. The ebony energy blanketed the Egyptian hero from head to toe, and he immediately dove into torrent of energy. He could feel the darkforce sheath around his body chipping, energy cutting chipped and ate away at the shell, but it slowed the onslaught of energy to an acceptable rate, and made it almost bearable to cast his eyes at Hellios without losing his vision.

 

“Hellios! You have to get out of here!” Scarab yelled as he willed himself to absorb even more power from his teammate. It both amazed and terrified him, the sheer amount of power his teammate possessed.

 

“I…I can’t!”

 

“You have to!” snapped Scarab, “you’re a hero, Hellios! Reach into yourself and find the strength! I know you don’t want to die, but I also know you don’t want to be a killer!”

 

“I…I am a hero,” Hellios snarled through gritted teeth, more for his own benefit than anyone else’s.

 

“And for what it’s worth, your death will be that of a hero’s.”

 

“I won’t die, Scarab. Trust in Allah.”   

 

Pushing aside the pain, Hellios rose to his feet. Uttering a half remembered prayer from his youth, Hellios mustered his willpower and rocketed into the sky, like a falling star in reverse.

 

Almost instantly, Scarab aimed his hands towards the sky, and released the pent up energy, enough to destroy an entire city, into the night’s sky. For a moment, the entire island was awash in pure light, before the night sky reclaimed the island.

 

Spent, Scarlet Scarab fell to one knee and glanced towards his teammate. From the look of her, Darkstar was equally exhausted, having strained her abilities to the limit just giving him the chance to get close to their teammate.

 

Having succeeded, the two wanted to do nothing more than pass out into blissful unconsciousness.

 

That's when the first mortar fell from the sky, hissing like an insane firecracker. Darkstar threw up a force field while Scarab crossed his arms over his face, and hoped that he still had enough energy in his mystic jewel to protect him, because it was obvious these terrorists weren't about to show them the least bit of gratitude.

 

I only hope the others are faring better, Darkstar thought to herself as she willed herself into the air. In the past, Laynia had found flying to be an effortless matter. But right now, she felt as though her body were made of lead and returning fire with blasts of darkforce was easily three times as hard now, because it's hard to be doing any worse than us!

 

---

 

Silverclaw wanted to throw up as she saw U.S. Agent's body slide off the sword of Ninjato. Sabra stood there impassively, her body taunt with power waiting to explode. Though she was concerned for her teammate's welfare, she also knew that their mystery foe could still end his life with a flick of his wrist.

 

“I'm going to make this simple,” he began, “the Agent's life for this room. Give me your word that you'll allow me to leave in piece, and you can take your man.

 

“No,” Sabra retorted simply. She slammed her palms together so loudly it sounded as if a cannon had just been fired. A wave of pressurized air traveled through the air like a cannonball, and Ninjato just barely leapt over the attack before it crippled him. When he came back down again, he found Sabra standing between him and U.S. Agent, and clearly unwilling to budge.

 

“Silverclaw, get U.S. Agent out of here, and call for a teleport. And do it quickly, this room is filled with a fast acting poison. My body is strong enough to take it, but it may start affecting you.”

 

“Actually, I’d suggest that the both of you leave,” Ninjato suggested politely, “just before U.S. Agent interrupted me, I had placed several dimensional anchors around this tesseract. Within several moments, this room will be released from the portal at Devil’s Island and will reconnect at a location of my choosing.”

 

“You’re bluffing. The technology you would need …”

 

“Was thoughtfully provided by my master,” Ninjato bowed respectfully, “I fear you already have enough to deal with this day. I suggest you leave, immediately.”

 

“You are the cause of all this, aren’t you?” hissed Sabra, fists clenched, “you’re stealing a damned tesseract…you don’t get the hardware to do that from just anyone, especially when you’re ripping AIM, or all people.”

 

“You’re every bit as intelligent as your file indicates,” complimented Ninjato, “however, as I explained, you questions will have to be answered at another time.”

 

The room began rumbling, as if a stampede of elephants were tearing through the room.

 

“Unless of course you’d like to make the journey with me? Because I assure you, the people I work with are more than prepared for that possibility.”

 

Sabra spun on her heels, and though she hated herself for it, flew out of the room and back towards the island at amazing speed. The moment she emerged from the tent, she looked back and saw the room she’d just occupied slowly shrink into a dark horizon.

 

“I got Agent back to base, what the hell just happened?” asked Silverclaw.

 

“A tesseract is basically a larger dimensional space transposed over a smaller one,” explained Sabra, “remove the anchors and it becomes unhinged from reality. Our mystery foe said he replaced the anchors, meaning he can bring it back anywhere he wants! He likely got away with an untold amount of advanced technology!”

 

“That sucks, but we're still here! What do we do now?!”

 

---

“We leave,” Abyss ordered. He was watching the carnage from his personal craft, removed from the chaos caused by the raid on a summit that he had convened.

 

“As we should have done the moment we heard this raid was coming!” Charon, one of Abyss' top aides, whined, “our little magic isn't enough to keep them from looking our way forever!”

 

“Noted.” Abyss barely seemed to shrug as he took his seat in the center of the craft.

 

Fatale, another close operative of Abyss, elbowed her associate in the ribs and gave him a look that translated into a perfectly reasonable plea to 'Shut the hell up or he'll kill us!'.

 

“Someone did this to me,” Abyss said aloud, to no one in particular, “I know Chapman. It cannot be a coincidence that this fell into his lap, or that his forces were so ill prepared. Or that we were forewarned.”

 

The craft lifted off unnoticed, and soon Devil's Island was little more than a fiery speck of unfortunate chaos in the distance.

 

“Someone did this to me. Why, who, I don't know. But I will find out, and I will make them pay a hundred times over!”

 

---

 

It's so...small from up here, Hellios looked down at his home planet, in awe of the blue and green globe beneath him. He'd seen earth like this before, in fact the solar powered champion made it a point to see earth from space at least once a week but something about it seemed different now.

 

It was probably because he was dying, allowing him to truly realize that despite everything, despite how people and nations tried to divide themselves, that humanity was just one race, one people.

 

Death brought the most romantic thoughts, Hellios concluded.

 

He had only made it to the upper atmosphere before he hadn't the power to keep flying any farther. Thankfully, all the radiation that the ozone layer was designed to keep out was absorbed by Hellios' body like a sponge, even as he lost more and more control over his body's energy stores.

 

Caught between the pain of life, and the prospect of death's release, Hellios honestly didn't know what to do. He was fairly certain that if he just...let go of his enormous power, that it would purge the energy infection.

 

But what the Greek hero didn't know, was if his body could recharge the energy fast enough to prevent him from either suffocating at the edge of earth's atmosphere or burning up on reentry, whichever happened first.

 

But in the end, it was the prospect of being trapped exactly where he was for all eternity that prompted Hellios to at least try.

 

In the end, all he had to do was let go. It was easy. Two lives flashed before his eyes, and then the world faded to a cold black as he tumbled backwards.

 

---

 

“Lay down suppressing fire! Keep them back!”

 

Trapped behind several AIM rapid assault vehicles and over a half dozen metal crates, were about twenty disparate men, the military attache that had accompanied Excalibur on the raid. But in the first few minutes of the raid, either half their number had been separated from their commanding officers, or killed by superior fighting power.

 

That was until Lieutenant Commander Frank Armin began shouting orders, pulling his men into a defensible position, and just held on. Laser beams, particle blasts and energy daggers seemed to fly every which way, having killed at least three of his men now, but Armin was determined to hold. Even if retreat were possible (too damn many devises were screwing up the radios), he'd be damned if he let these scumbags off without a fight.

 

But when he felt someone drop down from above, Frank felt that in his gut, it was the end. He spun around...and found never found himself more relieved, and then angry, to see another nation's flag.

 

“Union Jack! Sir, I nearly took your head off!”

 

“Sorry,” Union Jack said unconvincingly. The two of them crouched down while the other soldiers tried to keep the legions at bay, “I just had to liberate some party favors.”

 

Union Jack unslung a heavy sack from his pack onto the sand. When the British hero unzipped it to expose the contents, a smile washed across the soldier's face.

 

He didn't know the model names, and some of them looked amazingly outlandish, but he knew high powered firearms when he saw them.

 

“What can they do?” Armin picked a small, silver handgun at random. In truth, it reminded him more of a steel water pistol than it did of a deadly weapon.

 

“Why don’t you find out?”

 

Aiming at a cluster of Hydra agents, the soldier pulled the trigger and was gratified to see a purple lance of energy shoot out the barrel effortlessly, literally slicing through five Hydra agents.

 

“Holy…”

 

“Did you see that?” asked soldiers on both sides.

 

“Well, what do you know? Cut one down, another two  really do take their place,”   Union Jack remarked blithely .

 

Within seconds, the soldiers had discarded their standard, military issue weapons for the sleek and vastly more powerful weapons that Union Jack had procured for them.

 

The effect was obvious. Hydra agents ducked for cover, free lance mercenaries began looking for an escape as they came under a hail of fire. The support soldiers, who'd seen so many of their comrades cut down, some not less than ten minutes ago, unleashed an unholy hell against their attackers.

 

The tide had clearly turned, and for the first it was in Excalibur's favor.

 

Union Jack, though, knew that it wouldn't last forever. His troops were outnumbered, poorly coordinated and despite the weapons they now had, were still not powerful enough.

 

But they didn't just allow anyone to assume the mantle of Union Jack. Percival Rock had gone into this mission knowing that his chances of victory were slim, and planned accordingly, creating several contingencies in his mind. Although he was no Tony Stark, Union Jack was still a former career spy, respected inventor and leader of Excalibur.

 

He always had a plan, though most sane people wouldn’t call what he had in mind a real ‘plan’. Stupid, and fool hardy might better describe his course of action, but at this point, it really didn’t matter.

 

The math was painfully simple. Insufficient intelligence. Under equipped troops. Numerically enemies with vastly superior firepower. If something about this equitation wasn’t changed, they’d all die. And soon. Retreat simply wasn't an option. All it would do would be to embolden their enemies later.

 

But then, a good spy knew how to, if not beat, than circumvent a superior enemy, and that’s just what Union Jack had in mind.

 

---

 

“…shielded by some kind of force field, best I can tell. I can’t get in.”

 

Cybermancer cursed imaginatively in Cantonese while she rolled another plan over in her head. It was the absolute last one she wanted to use, but now, having exhausted all other options she was simply left with no other choice.

 

“Alright Eshu, I need you to break an exterior panel and see if you can extend your form so that you can reach me. I’m positive that if I get aboard, I can disarm this thing.”

 

“So your genius plan is to make myself into a rope and haul your nice ass aboard? Stark hired you with ideas like that?”

 

“Can you think of any other options?”

 

“You’re too far away,” Eshu insisted, his heart heavy, “there’s no way I’d be able to reach you and be able to pull you back in.”

 

“You’ll just have to find a way. It’s the only way to stop this thing!”

 

“Suzi, we know that isn’t true.”

 

“Eshu…!”

 

“…I always liked you, Cybermancer,” Eshu’s field of vision was like looking at a dozen mirrors at once. His liquid like form allowed him a unique vision of the world, one that certainly came in handy for what he was planning next, “I figured if anyone knows what it’s like to have to serve a less than perfect government, it’s someone with China Syndrome.”

 

“Eshu, please…!”

 

“Kevin,” replied her teammate, “my name is Kevin. Eshu’s just a name a smart ass spook who spent too much time in the bush came up with.”

 

“Kevin, you can’t think that you can sabotage that thing and still escape.”

 

The shape shifting mutant willed himself to wrap several tentacles around a variety of wires. The only one of which he knew was important was the one line that carried the rocket’s coolant system, but if you’re going to make a mess, might as well go all the way!

 

“Yeah, escape wasn’t part of my master plan, sorry.”

 

“Kevin, we have other options, you don’t have to…”

 

“No, no we don’t,” Eshu interrupted, “for what it’s worth, I really did like you, Suzi. You never judged me too harshly, and I think you could have understood where I was coming from. See you around, babe.”

 

Eshue terminated his comm. link and with a wistful sigh, yanked loose each cable he had wrapped his form around. Red lights went off instantly, as did the typical screeching 'warning! warning!'. Eshu silently chuckled about the thought of them placing alarms inside the damn thing. Just who exactly was going to hear them and be able to do something about it?  

 

Of course, one didn't take chances with a missile that had enough chemical weapons to wipe out an eastern seaboard without breaking a sweat.

 

Feeling the missile plummet, Eshu felt strangely at peace. He recognized the irony of a former Genoshian mutant magistrate, the definition of a race traitor by some, saving what the world called 'Magneto's Genosha'. All the shapeshifter saw Magneto and his cronies as, were occupiers, invaders.

 

All the same though, with his death so obviously approaching, Eshu wanted to check out knowing he'd done just one unselfish deed of his own free will. He knew he'd never reach those pearly gates, but ever since he walked into the genetic screening room, Eshu wanted to do something good, something pure for his country. Like everyone else, he had grown up knowing Genosha's dirty little 'secret', and he had a boyhood dream of some great heroic act that would redeem the country he loved so much.

 

But there were always excuses, something else that needed to be done or orders that prevented it. When it was discovered his powers prevented the mutate bonding process, the government of Genosha decided that he’d make a good spy, doing dirty deeds to maintain the secrecy of his nation’s power. His sins ran the length of a baseball field, but that desire, that childhood dream to do one great thing, was never fully extinguished.

 

Here, now, with no one to tell him what to do, there were no more excuses. As a searing heat washed over him, Eshu felt a tinge of honest, untarnished pride for the first, and last, time of his fourteen year career.

 

---

 

Cybermancer watched in silent horror as the missile she was chasing careened into the ocean, and kept going. Perhaps guided by some divine hand, the guidance computer had been the first thing to give out on the lethal weapon, and now it was plunging into the crushing depths of the ocean, where it would do the least harm.

 

Not a minute later, her sensors detected a massive explosion beneath the waves, and then...nothing. The missile had plunged so deep, the water above barely bubbled in acknowledgment.

 

Suzi didn't even bother with her sensors. As a scientist, she knew that hopes of survival, even for someone like Eshu, was impossible. She simply hovered there, and cried silent tears for the man she had never really knew at all. 

 

---

 

Darkstar crashed to the beach, completely spent. She barely had the strength to keep her eyes open, which at the moment was no mercy. Several Hydra soldiers had watched her crash, and like true vultures rushed in for the kill. Barely able to move, Darkstar simply apologized to her husband in her mind for dying, and accepted that this was the end.

 

“Don’t remove your comms.!” Union Jack ordered over the radios, before they squealed with static.

 

Darkstar put her hand over her ear, and was about to tear the radio from her ear when she saw the Hydra soldiers were beginning to fall themselves. Like drunken fools who didn’t know their limits, they staggered about before falling flat on their face.

 

As Darkstar swept her vision over the island, she saw the exact same thing happening all across the battle field. So relieved by what she saw, Darkstar had all but forgotten about the loud, scratchy noise in her ear.

 

Some fifteen meters away, Union Jack was running through the battle field, aiming his makeshift sonic pulse rifle indiscriminately. With its blanket effect, it wasn’t like he actually needed to aim the damned thing, after all. And with only four minutes of battery time maximum, he couldn't waste a second. 

 

As luck would have it, The Mort had a prototype of the sonic converter invented by the villainous master of sound known as Klaw. All Union Jack had to do was jury rig a power supply (thank you very much, Shockwave), remember what sonic frequency induced nausea and dizziness and create a counter frequency over his team’s comm. links and do it all before his team was killed.

 

They weren't out of the woods yet, but Union Jack did feel a small amount of pride for what he'd accomplished this far. He savored that fleeting taste of satisfaction, knowing what he planned next would be a blight on his entire career that would dwarf any of today's accomplishments.

 

Union Jack sprinted to Darkstar’s side, and held out a vial labeled MGH for her to see.

 

Darkstar couldn’t hear a word her leader might have been saying because of the static piped over her communicator, but she didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to recognize that it was a drug and likely dangerous one at that.

 

It came down to a matter of trust, and desperate need. The Laynia knew that Union Jack would never ask such a thing of her unless he was positive there was a chance of her survival, and there’d be no chance of their survival the way things were going. Hadn't she just been saying her good byes to her husband only moments before?

 

Darkstar looked at the vial, then to Union Jack, and simply nodded okay.

 

She didn’t feel the needle when it pierced her skin, but the mutant heroine definitely felt its effects. MGH, or Mutant Growth Hormone, created with a mish-mash of chemicals and biological material from a real superhuman, anything from some pieces of hair to actual flesh, gave ordinary people incredible super powers often with little control. But for those that already possessed superpowers, MGH acted exactly like a steroid, enhancing the existing powers to amazing levels as Darkstar was beginning to learn.

 

Her strength returned while a tingling sensation spread across her body, like ants crawling underneath her skin. Within seconds she could feel her connection to the dark force dimension rip open, flooding her body with power unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Glancing as her hands, she saw dark force energy literally bleeding off her body almost like water from a faucet. Channeling so much power, it almost seemed like a chore to pay attention to the world around her.

 

Rocked activated his comm. and yelled,

 

“Excalibur! This is Union Jack! Everyone who's still standing, form on me! Form on me!”

 

Within seconds, the order was acknowledged. Sabra and Silverclaw flew side by side, Scarlet Scarab rushed to join them on foot while roughly a dozen men from the regular attachment who'd survived rejoined them.

 

But opposite the heroes, the villains were rallying as well. The Red Ghost, Crossfire and Black Brigade, among others, stood at the forefront of a mix of Hydra, AIM and assorted other mercenaries, all of whom were left behind to cover their superiors' retreat, but none of them willing to stand and just be taken into custody and well aware of their superior numbers.

 

For several seconds, it was a text book Mexican stand off. Neither side wanted to be the one to start what was most definitely going to be the night's final battle and both needed a second wind. 

 

Finally, Rock had had enough. Win, lose or draw, he wanted this battle to be over with.

 

“Laynia, luv, would you mind clearing a path?”  

 

Darkstar nodded. Her eyes were glazed over and her reactions were slow, but she still understood what Rock was asking and the danger they were facing, at least on some level. She pointed her hands forward, and what could only be described as a flood of dark force energy crashed forward.

 

On the opposing side, those that saw the attack coming wisely dove to the side to avoid the black death. Those behind them weren't nearly as luck, and screamed as black death washed over them.

 

The onslaught only lasted several seconds, but effect was terrifying to behold. All that remained of the men were bones bleached white without a single trace of flesh, while their clothes entirely and black steam drifted up off their corpses. The sight was baffling and terrifying to behold.

 

At least for the bad guys.

 

“Let them have it!” screamed Union Jack.

 

The heroes surged forward, and only after a moment's hesitation, the villains rose to meet them. Like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, the two sides unleashed terrible power as they met, but neither side seemed ready to give an inch.

 

Silverclaw swooped down from the sky, shifting her animal form from bird to anaconda and wrapped herself around the feral, orange mutant known as Smiling Tiger, and squeezed hard.

 

“Those claws don't help when they're trapped at your sides, do they?” Silverclaw asked  rhetorically. Smiling Tiger said nothing witty as he struggled to escape the young heroine's grasp before the lack of oxygen did him in. 

 

“But that snake form's gonna make it that much easier to tear you apart,” hissed Blookstrike, Smiling Tiger's super strong teammate.

 

“You'll need to deal with me first,” Sabra stepped between Silverclaw and Blookstrike, and unleashed an amazing right hook. While Bloodstrike was still trying to clear the stars from his vision, Sabra leapt into the air and smashed down hard on the mutant's shoulders, driving into the sand like a nail in wood.

 

“Oh no...” Bloodstrike felt his heart seize when he realized his head was level with Sabra's waist, meaning that she held the height advantage now.

 

---

 

A sleek, silver plated fist flew through the air and collided with Mehemet Faoul's cheek. Scarlet Scarab's face snapped to the side, spitting teeth and blood as his body soared some ten feet back through the air. His free flying body collided hard with a downed Man-Droid armor, creating a large human sized dent in the three inch titanium steel hull.

 

“You are weak, muslim trash!” hissed Black Brigade. The cyborg stood some nine feet tall with muscles that dwarfed the greatest football player, stood with shoulders as wide as the Hulk and possessed a pronounced hunchback that made him look that much more sinister. His entire body was covered with silver plates with a plasma cannon on each shoulder.

 

And though the two had never met before today, Scarlet Scarab knew all about Black Brigade. How the man terrorized ethnic Muslims in the Balkans, and assisted in purges until a team of loose cannon American heroes (with tacit approval of the international community) brought him down. As he was a government agent as well as superhero, Scarab was forbidden to do something so foolhardy, but he did fantasize about what he'd do to the villain if their paths ever met.

 

Right now, reality was hardly living up to his expectations. He was exhausted and the crimson jewel that gave him his awesome power was virtually exhausted. As Black Brigade stomped forward, Scarab hatched a desperate plan.

 

“Have you nothing to say before death?” Black Brigade activated his boot jets and streaked forward, “good! Death should be silent!”

 

Channeling the last dregs of his power into his fist, Scarlet Scarab waited until Black Brigade was almost on top of him before he rammed his fist into, and then through, the man's chest. The two stumbled backwards, but Scarab kept his arm firmly implanted in his enemy's chest, siphoning more and more power from the steel monster.

 

Finally, the two ground to a halt. With barely a shrug, Scarlet Scarab brushed the 1000 pounds of high tech mercenary off of him, and flew back towards the conflict refreshed.

 

---

 

At almost a leisurely pace, Darkstar unleashed her vast power against Excalibur's enemies. With a brush of her fingers, she unleashed a blast of darkforce that erased another five Hydra agents off the face of the earth.

 

“Move your asses, do you want her to notice us?” demanded Adam Perkins, the defacto leader of the remaining AIM agents. There were only four of them left now, but if things went according to plan, it wouldn't matter. They'd salvaged a photon missile launcher, and with some jury rigging, had actually gotten it working.

 

The only problem they were left with was four former college nerds struggling to move it's eight hundred pound weight into position. Hidden behind the scrapped remains of several jeeps, they hoped that they wouldn't be noticed before they were able to actually use the thing.

 

Unfortunately for them, Darkstar wasn't the heroine they needed to worry about.

 

“You've already been noticed, losers.”

 

Standing atop the wreckage, her form shimmering in the moon light, Silverclaw allowed her prey to stare in fear for only a split second before she fell atop of them in her cat form, slashing and tearing.

 

---

 

Union Jack pistol whipped Midnight's Fire across the face, and turned around just in time to see the villain known as Crossfire level a rifle right at his head.

 

“Goodbye 'Jack arrgh!”

 

Crossfire held face first into the sand, needles sticking out of his back.

 

“Strength in numbers, Union Jack,” Sabra said as way of apology, “I ordered Silverclaw to cover Darkstar. There's only a handful left now, all we need is one last push!”

 

A blast of signature crimson energy flew past several, taking down a terribly large man.

 

“I must concur with that logic,” Scarlet Scarab touched down beside his leader, looking more refreshed than he had any right to.

 

“Well, lets do it then.”

 

Side by side with Sabra and Scarlet Scarab, Union Jack pushed once more into battle, and vowed not to take a single step back.

 

---

 

Now

 

“...and we didn't,” finished Union Jack. He sat in front of the United Nations Security Council, calm and collected even though the memories of the mission still burned. So much that went wrong, so much that could have been done better... “by then, most of the heavy hitters had fled. We got a few choice catches, though.”

 

“At high cost,” remarked one council member, “Hellios is MIA, your African attachment...”

 

“Eshu,” interupted Union Jack, “not 'African attachment', his code-name was Eshu and his name was Kevin.”

 

“Right...Eshu killed. And both Darkstar and U.S Agent in comas.”

 

“...Darkstar is expected to fully recover,” Union Jack pointed out, more for his own benefit than that of the official record. He also noted how the Council members didn't mention the support forces that had been slaughtered.

 

“She is, but U.S. Agent is still in critical condition. Your team has been diminished to only five active agents, all of whom it’d be fair to say suffer from poor morale. I feel it’s worth noting that this could have been avoided...” The Council member left the statement hanging, though it wasn't hard to tell what he wanted to hear next.

 

“Agreed,” Union Jack replied, “but if what you’re about to suggest next is that we should have retreated, I’d urge you to reconsider. One of the most basic tenants of law enforcement is to never back down, even in the face of superior force. Especially then.”

 

“The losses sustained…”

 

“Happened because we were under funded and under equipped,” snapped Union Jack, “our budget is a pathetic fifty million, three quarters of which are spent on equipment upkeep, communications and basic security. We’ve no dedicated staff, our equipment is second hand..."

 

With a heavy sigh, Union Jack stood up and said simply, "I suppose this is where I should deliver some great, uplifting speech. But that's never been my strong suit. So I'll stick to the facts. By now, both sides of the street have heard about what happened on Devil's Island. And it's up to you five people to decide if what they see is Excalibur returning to the field stronger than ever, or dying with a whimper. Just remember that whatever happens, they'll still be out there... and if they see us go down, they'll think they can win. That if they fight hard enough, if they kill enough people, that they can get away with their crimes when faced with law enforcement. If that's what you want to tell criminals the world over, well...that's your business. Let me know what you decide, eh?"

 

Union Jack walked away before the Security Council could get a word in edgewise. Rock knew, not suspected, but knew, that they expected him to turn on Chapman, to undermine the director and given them an excuse to shuttle the team.

 

Obviously, that hadn't happened. But without a scapegoat, what would they do?

 

---

 

Later

 

This is it, Chapman reflected, the end of his short tenor as director of Excalibur. It seemed so easy, so obvious to assume control of the floundering organization when his Hellfire Club had fallen apart. Now the same thing had happened all over again and Chapman found himself at the mercies of the fates, the one thing he vowed to never let happen again!

 

Standing in front of the Security Council, he braced himself for their decision. The representative of the United States cleared his throat, and began.

 

“Your organization should consider itself lucky that it is about the sole thing this body agrees on unanimously. Given the extra normal events that seem to happen weekly and assorted superhumans who are not confined to any one nation, we consider it foolhardy not to have our own strikeforce. But we now realize that Excalibur is not something we can do halfway. Since the beginning, Excalibur has been underfunded and understaffed. We now recognize that, and pursuant to we’ve agreed to fund your original proposal that you gave us when we appointed director.”

 

Chapman had to prevent himself from visibly reacting, or else he might have been jumping up and down, giddy with this unexpected turn of events. His original proposal for the Excalibur organization was solid, but little more than a pipe dream at the time. He asked for the stars and the sky in the hopes of getting a few simple scraps of dirt.

 

“However, you remaining as director, at the moment, remains in doubt,” stated the representative, “consider this next order an assignment. Fail, and we find someone else.”

 

In the back of his head, Chapman all but knew what was to come next.

 

“As you know, according to the debriefings, the Excalibur member Hellios took off into space and released his body’s store of bio energy.”

 

“He didn’t perish, did he?”

 

“No, Shield’s global security net traced an object with Hellios’ mass to an impact crater outside a small South American village. But by the time a team got there, there was nothing to find.”

 

Chapman silently processed the information. Hellios was still alive, and he hadn’t checked in. Hadn’t made contact. Whatever the reason for that, it couldn't be good.

 

“We have reason to believe he might know the truth now. I don’t think we have to explain the damage he could do if he decides to switches alliances. If you want to keep your job, find him. Find him, and bring him back to Excalibur, dead or alive!”

---

 

Next issue: The two part ‘Hunt for Hellios’ begins! But Excalibur isn’t the only team out there looking for this wayward hero! And just why hasn’t he returned home? Find out next issue!