“Ha! You’ll have to try better than that!”

Steven Hudak hated the flying ones. The suit Steven wore was bulky, restricting. If he shot at things flying in the air, he could never keep up, and the fire erupting from his gauntlets could never reach them.

While in this suit, Hudak was called the Scorcher. His eyes followed the hero prancing through the sky. It wasn’t that hard, even at this hour: the hero wore a ridiculously bright costume, so at least that made it easier for Scorcher.

“I see you’ve got quite a fiery temper!” Freedom Ring laughed again.

Scorcher groaned at the bad pun. Streams of fire still missed his target. He growled, “You seem to be flaming enough for both of us already.”

Freedom Ring had a glowing aura about him, obviously from the brightly flashing ring around the middle finger of his right hand. He still smiled. “Offensive remarks already? We’ve only been fighting for two minutes! Would it be easier if I was a girl kicking your ass?”

“I bet you wish you were a girl!” Scorcher was getting impatient. That much was obvious from the way he spewed fire in every direction now from the hoses on his wrists. There was no strategy to his attacks, just desperation to end this quickly before another costume showed up.

Freedom Ring frowned. The appearance of another super-hero was something he didn’t want to see either. He’d been chosen to wear the ring and the costume after beating out hundreds of other applicants. If he had to be saved on his very first job, the Triune Understanding might be inclined to rethink their decision. Time to finish this up quick.

With a quickness and agility that he didn’t even know he had, Freedom Ring lithely dodged flame jets, while still getting closer to Scorcher. Finally, he was within reaching distance of him. He grasped Scorcher’s chest plate with his ring hand and watched it crumble to dust. Soon, the rest of Scorcher’s armor did the same.

Steven Hudak fell to the gravel, naked.

“Stop!” he yelled, “You beat me! I give up! Just don’t hit me in the face!”

Freedom Ring scoffed and then grinned. “Who’s crying like a girl now?” He sighed then. Hudak cowered, and Freedom Ring thought of what to do next.

He gazed out over the New York skyline. They were on the roof of the Triune Understanding’s research partner, Stane Pharmaceuticals. It was too bad: Freedom Ring would have rather fought him down on the streets, so citizens could see him.

“Okay, off to Midtown with you.” Freedom Ring aimed his hand at Scorcher, planning on teleporting the villain to the Midtown Manhattan police station.

But Hudak was suddenly staring at someone behind them. Freedom Ring felt a sinking in his stomach. His eyes widened. An accomplice? He spun around.

A man was standing there, dressed in tight black leather, from tall boots to a long, buttoned coat to a tight cowl. The leather clung to him so well, Freedom Ring almost thought he was a woman. But a raspy voice dispelled such a thought. It took Freedom Ring a second, but he saw the pistol in the stranger’s hand. It was misshapen and strange, almost like something the Skrulls or Kree would use, if Freedom Ring remembered his research correctly.

“Fools. Both of you. One for ignoring the will of Nature, the other for ignoring the will of Law. But that’s dwarfed by the blasphemy you wear on your finger, queer. Reality is not meant to be bent at the will of humans.”

Bright energy burst from the pistol in the Foolkiller’s hand.

---

“Hey! Salinger! You got a phone call!”

Greg Salinger sat up quickly in his cell, feeling the bed creak and wiggle underneath him. He stood up quickly, sticking his arms through an opening in the bars, so his hands could be cuffed. It had been the same routine for years, but Greg didn’t get very many phone calls. Maybe this was his lawyer about his upcoming parole hearing…

Guards were sure to make as much noise as they could, opening, then shutting his cell door, then marching alongside him toward the phones. The walk felt like forever.

“Who is it?” Greg was weary of asking the guard that question.

“Your son,” the guard replied.

Luckily, neither guard saw the color flush from Greg Salinger’s face. But Salinger kept up the pace. If there was one thing Greg Salinger did not have, it was a son.

Greg waited until each guard was out of earshot before he even picked up the phone. He could hear heavy breathing on the other end before he spoke.

“Greg?” the voice was soft, but stern. “Greg? I know you’re there.”

“What did you do?” Greg whispered harshly into the mouthpiece.

“What you can’t do.” The answer felt like it had been prepared. “But that’s the glory of what’s happening. You didn’t think God was just going to let these fools get away with this, did you? Heroes and villains take the public’s attention from real moral dilemmas.”

Greg hissed, hoping to keep his voice low enough to not worry the guards. “God has nothing to do with you, cretin! You know it! I’m going to find out who you are, and when I do I’ll—”

“You’ll do what? Tell the police? Or your psychiatrist? Or the parole board? Nobody is going to believe you, Greg. God has abandoned you. And He’s chosen another to do His bidding. Just as you should have expected.”

“No.” Greg muttered, “I’m going to kill you. I swear I’m going to kill you.”

“You’re the example I follow, Greg. Why do you treat me like this? I treasure these little talks that we have. I thought you’d be proud.”

“Who are you going to kill next?”

“I will continue to punish those that deserve it. Those who’ve gotten away with a crime, or those who stand in the way of moral progress. Don’t worry, Greg, I’ll be in touch.”

There was a loud click, just before Greg Salinger slammed the phone hard on the hook.

---

The Foolkiller pressed the button on his cell phone to end the call. He slipped the phone into the pocket of his long, sweeping, black trenchcoat.

Kneeling to get under the police tape, he breathed deep. The blood was still thick in the air, though the cops had come and gone, taking the body with them. When the Foolkiller exhaled, hot breath was like steam from his lungs.

It was cold in the parking garage where he stood, with no heat given off by lights keeping the garage bright. Occasionally, he could hear screeching tires from cars angry that the entrance was blocked by police tape, rushing off to find another spot. Maybe there were a few drips of moisture on damp concrete, but other than that? Nothing. Not a single sound but his heel grinding on dirty pavement every time he took a step.

The Foolkiller kneeled again, pressing a gloved finger against the dried blood. It was still sticky. A chalk outline did nothing to impede the abstract pattern the blood followed. The Foolkiller walked around it, examining it like a sculptor would his work.

“It’s always true: killers return to the scene of the crime.”

The Foolkiller spun around, his trenchcoat waving in stale air. He kneeled behind a nearby car, keeping his hands deep in his pockets.

“No use hiding from me. It’s just the two of us.”

From the angle he was hiding, the Foolkiller could just barely see who was addressing him. Bright light was absorbed by his black and red costume. Thick boots were surprisingly quiet when they took two steps closer to him.

“Come on, let’s talk.” Hellspawn taunted, “Devil to devil.” His smile was clear. *

(* Hey, who is this Hellspawn guy? Curious? Check out recent issue of Daredevil to find out! – Dave, the EiC)

The Foolkiller stood fully. But he still kept the car, and the crime scene, in between him and the man without fear.

The Foolkiller raised his hands. A distorted voice said, “I don’t want to fight you. I’ve stayed away from the cesspool you control. We’re a long way from Hell’s Kitchen.”

Hellspawn began to stalk, walking casually around the car, closer to the Foolkiller. Hellspawn said, “True. But Timothy Wolfe was a friend of mine.”

The Foolkiller kept his distance, walking the other way from Hellspawn, not caring about the blood and chalk he was trampling under his rubber boots.

“Timothy Wolfe was a fool.”

It was true. Wolfe had made his money exploiting the weak and the crippled. Some of his patients needed real medical help, and instead, Wolfe took their money and their time saying that treatment would take much more of both.

“He was a hack of a psychiatrist.” The Foolkiller said, “Published two books on the neurosis of the super-hero and cured absolutely no one. Soon his schedule consisted of nothing but lunch with pop singers, and occasional appointments with has-been super-villains or crippled heroes. Trust me, I looked. Oh, and he was fucking his secretary while his wife and four children waited at home for their bread-winner.”

Hellspawn said nothing, but the careful carousel around the car continued.

The Foolkiller chuckled, and his hands disappeared into his coat again. “I guess that sounds like your type of friend.”

Hellspawn was in the air by the time the Foolkiller started pulling his hands from his pockets. Hellspawn was on top of the car by the time the Foolkiller raised the twin pistols toward him.

A swift kick to the jaw sent the Foolkiller sprawling to the concrete, but the guns remained firm in his hand. He hit the ground hard, but rolled, firing blindly behind him. It was surprisingly good enough to keep Hellspawn away from him. The bullets embedded themselves in the car, and pushed Hellspawn behind another.

It gave the Foolkiller enough time to jump to his feet. His chest was thundering, and the cold air stung his lungs. “Let me leave, hero! I don’t have time for this! Your time will come sooner or later.”

“I pick ‘sooner’.”

The Foolkiller spun to his side, away from where he’d thought the Daredevil-esque vigilante had hidden himself. He was wrong. Hellspawn knocked him hard across the jaw with a billy club. The Foolkiller pulled the trigger again, wildly, and this time there was a loud ricochet and then one of the brightest lights around them burst.

The Foolkiller dropped to his knees, with Hellspawn standing tall in front of him. There was only his silhouette in the darkness, but the Foolkiller heard him clearly.

“What’s your game, killer?” The words were stated simply.

Hellspawn pulled the Foolkiller up, grabbing the wide collar of his trench. The Foolkiller left his two pistols on the ground near his toes. Hellspawn slammed the Foolkiller hard into the cold wall behind him.

“Tell me! You want to tell someone, don’t you?” Hellspawn kept slamming the Foolkiller’s back against the wall. “Now’s your chance. Little crooks have been telling me all about you. Little whispers from all over tell me how you’ve knocked over gun stores, pawn shops…how the cops don’t seem to pay you any attention. Is that it? You a blue-belly? You a copper? Huh? Tell me!”

The Foolkiller said nothing, but went limp in Hellspawn’s hands. Hellspawn had a hand ready to pull of the Foolkiller’s ski mask, but he was stopped. Two more gunshots ricocheted off the concrete wall just past Hellspawn’s ears!

Hellspawn instinctively crouched, letting the Foolkiller slump to the ground against the wall in front of him. He scanned across the parking garage, but there was nothing to give him any hint of where the bullets could have come from. Then…he heard a CLICK!

The Foolkiller had his guns back in his hands. They were pointed straight at Hellspawn.

“Fool.” A simple word only. Then, the Foolkiller fired.

Hellspawn felt a sharp sting through his shoulder that flung him backward to gravelly pavement. The Foolkiller was quick on his feet again, and stood, aiming, over Hellspawn.

“Come on!” a voice shouted, and Hellspawn finally saw a faint figure in the distance waving at the Foolkiller. Was this the person who shot at him?

The Foolkiller looked back down at Hellspawn, then shook his head. “Your time will come.” He put his pistols back in his coat, and ran after his accomplice.

As quick footsteps faded away, sirens became louder and louder. Hellspawn lay back on cold concrete, and grunted. He pulled from a reinforced pocket in his suit a cell phone. The brightly-lit screen was a beacon in the dim garage. Daredevil pressed a few buttons.

After a few seconds, Hellspawn said, “Hey, Matt. It’s Mike. You know how I was talking to you about that one guy, the Foolkiller? Well, I found him. And…I think I might need some help with this one.”

---

Bulbs flashed. Carl Gainey held up his hand against his eyebrows. There were dozens of voices, screaming from behind the police tape. Red lights bounced off brick walls, casting shadows off the bloody scene at his feet.

“Oh, for the love of—hey, Delaney!” Gainey shouted toward one the squad cars providing the blissful boundary from the press corps.

A younger cop hurried up to him, her suit nicely pressed, and cap stoically over her brow though it was past midnight. “Yes, sir?”

“You and Malcolmson move that boundary back a couple yards.” Gainey sipped his coffee, then took a bite out of the maple éclair he held in his other hand.

“Uh, how should we do that, sir?” Delaney asked. “There are…dozens of them. Papers I’ve never heard of before.”

“They all come out after midnight, kid.” Gainey grumbled, “Anyway, it’s easy. Just back up your squad cars a few yards. It’s not like they’re gonna stand there while you do it.”

“Yes, sir!” Delaney hurried away.

Gainey quickly looked around. “Now, where the hell is Chase?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Gah!” Gainey almost spilled his coffee. “Good god, Chase. You woke me out of bed to give me a heart attack?”

“No, sir,” Chase answered, hanging his head low. Then, he turned back to the scene in the alley. “Seems like just your routine mask-job. Then it got nasty.” He was tall and dark, and his baldhead shined in the moonlight.

“Who are they?” Gainey asked, peering down at the two bodies in the alleyway.

“This guy here, the one missing the finger is Chris McCarthy.” Chase looked down at a wrinkled piece of paper he had pulled from his worn Chicago Bulls jacket. “He was on the payroll of the Triune Understanding…he was the first of their ‘Freedom Ring’ masks. You know, the gay pride superhero?”

Gainey grunted, “And the other?”

“Scorcher,” Chase said simply. “Steven Hudak. He stole the suit. Gives him flame throwing capability, withstand high temperatures, yada, yada, yada.”

Gainey sipped on his coffee again. “But he didn’t chop off this guy’s finger.”

“We actually haven’t found the finger yet, chief. Or the ring that was supposed to be on it,” Chase said quietly.

“So, what? Is this is a hate crime? Reverse hate crime?” Gainey smiled at his own grim humor.

Chase didn’t. “Uh, well, Scorcher—”

“Hudak,” Gainey corrected him.

“Hudak,” Chase continued, “was making off with a check. It was the Triune Understanding’s biannual ‘Future in 3-D’ Grant. It’s awarded to certain charities working to end certain global epidemics through certain science.”

“Ugh.” Gainey rubbed his sinuses with his thumb and forefinger. “I hate this. It’s never easy with masks, is it?”

“Pretty easy way to die.” Chase pointed to the roof of the building behind them. “Both of them. From ten stories up. Cracked open like boiled eggs. They were fighting up there; that we know from the burn marks across the roof.”

“But something got to both of them.” Gainey finished his éclair.

“There was something else, sir,” Chase said. “I wanted to show it to you myself. I searched each of the bodies and I found…these.”

Gainey almost expected to see what was discreetly placed into his palm. He scanned behind him: the press had been moved back an acceptable distance, and there were no other prying eyes around Gainey and Chase.

They were small, rectangle paper cut from thick stock. Raised ink letters were easy to feel against Gainey’s fingers.

“Foolkiller,” Gainey said quietly.

Chase leaned into him. “Sir, this is starting to get ridiculous. This makes six murders, including the Connors case. It’s only a matter of time—”

“Chase.” Gainey cut him off sharply. “I told you not to worry about this. This investigation is a sensitive one. It’s being handled by special interests. Just wrap this up. Tell the press they killed each other. Tell the coroner, Quincy, we’ll give him the standard bonus for…alterations.”

An expression formed across Chase’s face, one that reminded Gainey of what humans look like when they drink sour milk.

“Is there a problem, Chase?” Gainey whispered.

Chase was hesitant in responding. But eventually, he did. “Sir, I didn’t join the police force expecting—”

“Chief Gainey! Inspector Chase!”

Chase and Gainey suddenly stiffened as they heard the unmistakable tone of a reporter’s voice. Sure enough, running, feet splashing through the wet pavement, was Arnie McGuffin, reporter for the sleaze rag Global Gazette Daily.

Close on McGuffin’s heels were officers Malcolmson and Javier. When they reached Gainey, both of them started to stutter.

“Sir, he darted past the line while we were backing up the squad cars.”

“Sneaky bastard, got right past us, sir. We’re sorry—we’ll take him.”

Malcolmson wrenched McGuffin hard under his arms. “Eeeouch!” McGuffin cried before pulling away from the cop’s grasp. “Watch it, pig. I only got a few questions.”

“Easy, officer,” Gainey grunted, taking a hard, long swig of his coffee after saying it. “Get back to watching that police line. You’re doing good work, but Arnie’s an old friend.” It was a lie, but it was enough to get Malcolmson and Javier back to their place.

After the two rookies had gotten out of earshot, Gainey eyed McGuffin wearily. “So, Arnie, what do you know that we don’t?”

Arnie smiled as he said, “Foolkiller.”

Chase was motionless, but Gainey scowled. After another second, Gainey swilled his coffee again.

Licking his lips, Gainey replied, “Heh. You mean that story Connors cooked up? About that old ESU campus killer, Salinger?* He’s been locked up for years. Still is. We aren’t entertaining notions of a copycat. Tell him, Chase.”

(*- that took place waaay back in Marvel’s Amazing Spider-Man issues 225-226- Bryan loves bell-bottoms)

Chase was silent.

Arnie McGuffin smiled and turned his attention fully to the inspector. “Yeah. Chase. You’re the one I’m most interested in talking to. Pretty hard man to track down.”

“Homicide investigation’s a tough job.” Chase sneered, “Unlike tabloid reporting. I hear Bat-boy’s had a baby. A-sexually. Satan’s face appeared in a kid’s chocolate milk over in Queens. Hop to the beat and leave me alone.”

“Hmm…” McGuffin scratched his chin sarcastically, while pulling out a pad of paper and a pencil. “No can do, bro. Frankly, I’m not surprised to find you up so late. With so many homicides on your shoulders, you need to pull a few all-nighters. But, I am surprised to find that the chief is adding another to your long list.”

“What are you talking about?” Chase spat, loosening his tie.

“I’m not just talking about the Wiles murder,* I’m talking about Timothy Wolfe, celebrity psychiatrist? Line that up with the Wiles murder, the m.o. stays the same. Of course, there’s another connection: the investigating officer, one Leonardo Chase.”

(*-Doctor Gilbert Wiles was murdered back in Amazing Spider-Man Annual 2007- Bryan)

Chase said simply, “No comment.”

Now, McGuffin’s face soured. “No comment? No comment on the deaths of two of your friends—officers Salazar and Fuller?”*

(*-the two officers were killed by the Foolkiller back in Amazing Spider-Man issue 42- cop-killer Bryan)

“Can’t you give him any more than that, Chase?” Gainey asked, eyeing Chase carefully.

Chase looked back at his commander, giving him a hard stare. Neither budged for a few seconds. McGuffin was obviously aware of the tension.

Finally, Chase said, “There is no connection in these murders. You’re pulling at the wind, McGuffin. All homicides cross my desk eventually. I could hardly give you details on any of them anyway, considering victim privacy and all that.”

McGuffin put his pad and pencil away. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I thought you two were supposed to be locking up the bad guys, not giving them a free pass.”

“That’s it, Arnie,” Gainey said through a mouthful of maple éclair. “This interview is over. I’m sure the loyal readership of the Global Gazette Daily will be shocked by what you’ve found out here tonight.”

“You think I don’t know people?” Arnie cocked his eye. “Sure, I’m just working for a tabloid rag, but that doesn’t mean I don’t talk to people at the Post, at the Bugle, in your own department—”

“I said this interview is over, McGuffin.” Gainey barked, “Now, go home.”

McGuffin puckered his lips, but didn’t say anything else. Shaking his head in controlled anger, he marched away in defeat, making sloshing noises through shallow puddles. When he was out of earshot, Gainey looked back to Chase.

“Get the boys to clean this one up. They killed each other. Another senseless homicide in the name of vigilantism. I’m going back to bed.”

Chase’s eyes widened in disbelief, but it didn’t stop Gainey’s trek back to his car.

---

“Fancy meeting you here.”

J. Jonah Jameson looked over his shoulder. Then, he looked back down at the grim scene in front of him. “Oh, shut up, McGuffin.”

Arnie stopped right beside Jonah and lit a cigarette. “Who’s outline is this now?”

Jonah said grimly, “Timothy Wolfe.”

“The shrink?”

Jonah raised an eyebrow. “You know him?”

“Well,” Arnie kneeled and tried to get a better angle of the scene, but it looked like it had already been trampled by the cops enough. The yellow tape didn’t make it any easier. “I didn’t know him personally, but I was at some of his press conferences. Gruesome.”

“Once in the back, twice in the head,” Jonah said simply, and he puffed on his cigar.

Arnie got back to his feet and eyed Jonah. “How were you allowed down here?”

“I still got connections.” Jonah growled, “Most are the same ones I had years ago—the same ones I gave you about back when you were a promising young reporter.”

Arnie laughed, “Yeah, the same days when the Bugle was a reputable news outlet.”

Jonah just munched on his cigar, then huffed, “Says the guy who quit my paper to go chase aliens and black-suited conspiracies? Still got your priorities mixed up, Arn!”

“Just tell me why you asked me here,” Arnie said simply, “I got a better view of the Manhattan scenery from my apartment window, Triple-Jay.”

Jonah grunted. McGuffin was the only man who had ever called him that. For now, he’d let it slide.

“You’ve been digging into this Foolkiller copycat,” Jonah said.

Arnie narrowed his brow, but stepped a little bit closer to Jonah. “Maybe I am.”

Jonah shook his head. “It’s the kind of underground conspiracy I knew you’d like.” Then, he raised his hand, there was a card in between his index and middle finger.

Arnie carefully took it from him, though he knew what he’d see—

Foolkiller
e pluribus unum
Actions have consequences. Heed the warning lest ye be damned forever to the pits of Hell where goeth all Fools. Act wisely.

Arnie whipped his chin to Jonah. “This what happened? What put you in the hospital?”

Jonah’s gentle shiver was enough of an answer for Arnie. Arnie didn’t push the subject.

Arnie said, “Mercy, this guy’s just warming up. And the cops don’t do anything…”

Jonah shrugged. “So we don’t trust the cops. They rarely do their jobs right when they do them at all.” Then, he prepared himself to say, “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. I just want the bastard caught, so you can put the story anywhere you want. You’re the only reporter worth a damn that’s gonna believe me when I say that.”

Arnie chuckled again. “You just don’t want any reputable reporter settling your grudge for you. I know you well enough still, old man.” He handed the card back to Jonah.

Turning on his heel, Arnie started to walk back out of the parking garage, tossing his cigarette in front of him before trampling it underfoot. Jonah looked over his shoulder and watched him for a second.

Arnie called to him, “Oh what the hell. You got a deal.”

---

End of Part One

---

Fool’s Errands

Well, there we go. The Foolkiller saga just got too big for the Amazing Spider-Man title. That’s not to say that we won’t get a pay-off with the Foolkiller in Amazing. This is going to be something special for the Knights branch, I promise. We’ve already seen the Foolkiller tangle with Hellspawn…and the Heroes For Hire might just be on the prowl for him too…will the Foolkiller trade fisticuffs with any other Knights Branch mainstays? Well, keep readin’, true believer!

I’m not sure if the next chapter of the Foolkiller saga will be directly the next ish, as you know how these “Various” titles can be, but look for the second chapter soon enough anyway.

-Bryan